Authors: L. M. Roth
Then, a howl
pierced the night. Not ten feet away stood a snarling, angry black wolf that had
crept up on them like a ghost while the two had been fighting.
With a speed
that took Marcus’ breath away the wolf leapt straight at Cadeyrn, who lay
defenseless on the ground.
Faster than
thought Marcus grabbed the wooden staff that lay by the fire. He passed one end
through the flames and jabbed it at the oncoming wolf. It singed his snout and
the wolf howled and whirled around on Marcus. Marcus brandished the flaming
staff at the wolf again, and as it opened its mouth wide he plunged it down its
throat and stabbed the beast, knocking it to the ground. With one foot on its
belly he continued to twist the staff from side to side in its gaping jaws,
searing its throat and suffocating it. Finally, the wolf lay still and struggled
no more.
Panting for
breath, Marcus turned to Cadeyrn. He helped him to his feet. Cadeyrn stared at
Marcus; then he smiled. He held out his hand.
“I thank you.
In return for saving my life, you are free to go.”
It was now
Marcus who stared.
“Do you mean that?
I am
free
?”
“Yes. Go. You
saved my life. I owe you yours. Go.”
Marcus did not
wait for Cadeyrn to change his mind. Cadeyrn raised the staff in salute, as he
had seen Valerian soldiers do. Marcus hesitated, then lifted his arm in the air
with the hand extended in the custom of the Eirini.
Then he flew
down the wind-swept hilltop to freedom.
“Keep going,
just keep going,” the words beat through Marcus’ brain. “Almost there, almost
there,” he panted.
Numb with
fatigue, every step was an agony, every breath seemed to pierce his lungs with
sharp stabbing pain. He recalled the words of Valerius of how solders on long
marches forced themselves to focus on something other than the actual trek,
which helped to make the trudging more endurable. Due to the necessity of
secrecy when on the move they could not engage in conversation, so they used a
variety of hand signals to communicate with one another, and had advanced to
the point where they could even speak back and forth through their hands to
while away the monotony of their hike.
But Marcus had
no one to exchange signals with, and it had been a long journey from Erinia.
Having no money to pay the boat fare across the sea which was the shortest
path, he had been forced to take the land route, by far the longer way. Through
the bare woods of November he had wandered uneasily, the trees shorn of the foliage
that would have covered him from inquisitive eyes. He felt as naked as the
trees as every step upon withered leaves that crackled underfoot exposed him to
the keen ear of any foe, human or otherwise, that would track him to his death.
For he knew
that to be seen was to risk capture at the hands of the Eirini, a fierce people
who looked on all foreigners to their lands as an enemy, and one who would not
be tolerated to live. In Eirinia were other terrors as well, the legend of
strange, unearthly beings that the Eirini claimed walked at night. Marcus gave
no credence to such tales, yet he found himself looking uneasily over his
shoulder at every snapping of a twig, every slight breeze unaccounted for by
the actual flow of air currents.
Once he slept
near a small mound in a thick copse of trees and heard a low moaning sound that
he nervously attributed to the night wind, only to realize that the night was
still without any breeze to disturb the air. From whence came the unearthly
sound then? Was there some truth after all to the outlandish fables of the
Eirini, who said that others walked at night, taking back the land they had
roamed so freely before the advent of men to their domain? It was not a thought
that brought Marcus comfort as he lay alone in the dark wood…
And after he
entered the borders of Valerium he must beware of any who would report his
presence to Aurora, for surely the seizure and enslavement of the son of
General Valerius Maximus was known to all the citizens of the Empire by now.
Marcus hoped to make it safely home to the arms of his mother and father before
Aurora learned of his escape and return.
Once he had
encountered a small troop of Valerian soldiers. Fortunately he had spotted them
before they saw him. He had heard their approach, and quickly climbed a pine
tree whose branches lay close enough to the ground for him to grasp. The
needles pricked his skin, but all other species of trees were bare and would
have exposed him to the soldiers. He scrambled up to the highest limbs his
weight would hold, and there he hid, having drawn his gray cloak about him and
the hood over his head and around his face, hoping he blended in successfully
with the dark gray trunk. For what seemed an eternity he waited as they passed
under his hiding place, one by one through the forest, fifty of them in all.
Their leader
stopped abruptly.
“This looks a
good place to rest for a while and break our fast,” he declared as he slung his
pack to the ground.
Marcus
inwardly groaned. It was just his cursed luck!
“Aye, indeed
it does,” assented his second in command.
For an hour
the soldiers sat under the trees as they ate a lunch of cheese, bread, and
dried fruit, the standard fare for an army on the move. The only meat they
consumed was what they caught and killed in the forest. It was evident they had
not done any hunting this day, or had eaten some earlier in the day.
As the
soldiers ate they talked, and Marcus strained his ear to hear their
conversation, hoping to hear news from his homeland.
“Another week
and we should be in Potentus,” one of them remarked.
“And that
signals the end of freedom; I would rather quell a rebellion in Eirinia and
face their savages than have to endure life in the shadow of the Palace now
that Emperor Beatus no longer sits on the throne.”
“Hush!”
whispered the leader. “Who knows who is listening and may report back to her!
Even the soldiers in the army these days may be her spies. Do you want to hang
as a traitor?”
“Of a truth, I
do not! But how I long for the old days before this evil Empress took power,”
the offending soldier whispered in return.
“Then I
suggest you keep your ears open and your mouth closed,” the leader admonished
him.
Nothing
further was said except for some desultory remarks on the weather and reunion with
their families, and the troop gathered their gear and resumed their trek, much
to the relief of Marcus. Only after he judged them well out of range, some half
an hour after they left, did he dare to let himself down from the tree.
He had lived
primarily on berries and nuts. Once he found an apple orchard and filled the
pockets of his robe with as many apples as he could carry. On another occasion
he had surprised a rabbit which he quickly killed with his dagger and roasted
over a furtive fire. But most of the woodland animals fled at his approach, and
meat was a forgotten staple of his diet. Even the mutton he had partaken of
with predictable monotony at the table of Cadeyrn would be welcome now. It
would be good to reach his father’s villa and once more eat a hearty meal!
He began to
climb the hill that signaled the end of his journey. Once he ascended the
summit he would behold his father’s estate on the opposite hilltop. It always
lifted his spirits and filled his heart with pride to view the magnificent
villa with its stone walls that encompassed it giving it a look of
invincibility. Like a fortress it looked, rising up with such an air of impregnable
power in its granite construction that it seemed to scoff at any challenge to
its supremacy.
“One, two,
three!” Marcus exclaimed as he reached the summit.
Ah, there it
was! The sunlight struck the silvery quartz in the gray-black stone of the
walls, making it shimmer like starlight in the darkness of an autumn night. At
once dreamlike and dominant, it was truly a sight to behold.
But as Marcus
fairly flew down the hill and slowly began to climb the opposite one, he
realized something was amiss. At this time of day the villa should be abuzz
with the sounds of activity: his father returning from the army compound to
spend the evening with his family, his mother coming home after calling on her
friends, the slaves arriving from errands in the marketplace, friends alighting
from chariots, calling on the Maximus family to share an evening banquet.
But it was silent.
No sound of voices calling to one another, no clip clop of horses hooves or the
rolling of chariot wheels, no indication of occupancy to be found. He heard no
signs of life from within the walls.
Marcus
stopped. He took a deep breath and attempted to slow down the wild beating of
his heart. Never in his life had silence so frightened him…
He stood up to
his full height and squared his shoulders. He took one more deep breath, then
lifted one foot, then the other. One foot, then the other. On and on he plodded.
Up, up, and up further still. Each step was excruciating in his agony of
weariness, yet he soldiered on until he reached the summit.
On reaching
the top, he paused for a long moment to inhale and exhale slowly, until the
beating of his heart slowed down, and his breaths came more regularly. He then
collected himself and proceeded for the last leg of the journey. He walked for
a good half mile until at last he arrived at the long drive that led to the
gate. It was locked, with iron chains bound firmly around the posts, holding it
securely closed.
Marcus stared
at the chained gates. It could not be! Not after longing for home and family
for so many months!
“No,” he
moaned. “No!”
He flung
himself at the gate in an attempt to break the hinge. The gate swung slightly
inward, but the chains held it fast and it bounced back when he stepped back.
Foolishly he
hammered on the gate with his hands, bruising them and wasting his strength.
“Can anyone
hear me?” he cried out. “Is anyone there?”
His only
answer was an ominous silence.
“No! No!” he
pounded.
Then he
slumped to the ground as agony swept over him. So it was true, then. His
father’s estate had been seized on the day he was taken captive. Not even a
slave was to be seen or heard, which meant the Empress had taken them or had
them sold.
And his
father? His mother? What of them? Were they also sold into slavery as he had
been? Or had a worse fate befallen them?
How long he
lay there slumped at the gate, Marcus never knew. He was frozen with shock,
unable to stand or to reason, as an acute pain in the pit of his stomach grew,
threatening to engulf him and bury him in the depths of despair.
He felt the
burning rays of the setting sun wash over him. Somewhere a crow cawed, seeming
to mock his distress. He lay exhausted, as the time passed and the sun warmed
him. All of the events of the last months rambled through his brain; his
seizure, his slavery, the silence of his homecoming, none of it making sense.
At last he
stirred, realizing that he must go on. He must solve the mystery of the fate of
Valerius and Honoria, and find them if he could. He knew that night was coming
on and he needed shelter and food. But where to go? Where could he be safe from
the wrath and revenge of the Empress Aurora?
He could go to
Felix. The Lucius estate was adjacent to his own. Surely they must know what
had happened!
Yes, but what
if he endangered the Lucius family? Was there some crime charged against
Valerius and his family that would attach itself to any who assisted him? Would
any who aided Marcus live to regret it?
Marcus lay
still and thought about the Lucius family. Justus was one of the leading men of
the city of Potentus, the capital of the Valeriun Empire. Although not as
renowned as Valerius Maximus with his daring feats of military exploits, Justus
was wise, honest, and fair, and was held high in the esteem of all who knew
him. He could always be counted upon to make a just and sensible decision, and
many of the town’s leading citizens came to him to settle disputes.
His wife,
Silvia, was a warm and hospitable woman who enjoyed filling their spacious
villa with guests. She was gifted with a remarkable flair for hospitality, and
succeeded in making each of her guests feel as though they blessed her by
gracing her with their company. Many long hours had Marcus spent in the Lucius
home, and Silvia was in many ways as another mother to him. She was also one of
his mother’s dearest friends and closest confidantes.
Marcus dreaded
the idea of endangering Felix or his family by asking them to shelter him. He
considered his options. And realized he had none. He must find out what had
happened to his father and mother. Felix was sure to know. He lay in the dark
and made a plan…
Felix would
surely maintain his daily routine. No doubt he would go to the gymnasium and
spar with a new partner, then finish at the baths. Therefore, Marcus would lie
in wait for him along the road and intercept him.
Now that he
had planned a course of action, there was naught to do but wait out the night.
So Marcus crawled into a corner created by the edge of the gate and an adjacent
boulder. In the shelter of the rock, he nestled down out of the wind and, worn
out with his long trek home, promptly fell asleep.
Marcus
stirred. The wind had abated during the night and he had slept surprisingly
well. Slowly he sat up and stretched, astonished at how stiff he felt. Surely
he needed a good sparring bout with Felix, followed by the baths. How he longed
for the baths!
The Valerian
people prided themselves on their cleanliness as well as their martial spirit.
The local bath house was a stately edifice. Within its walls were several rooms
of varying functions. Any who could pay the fee was welcome, be they rich or
poor. The only distinction made was to separate the men from the women.
Marcus liked
to start his daily ritual in the thermal bath. Here mineral springs that flowed
beneath the bath house had been channeled by means of pipes into the room. The
warm salty water seemed to penetrate his very bones and his muscles, aching
from his workout, were soothed. Then Marcus and Felix liked to move on to the
steam room, where the men sat in their towels discussing the news of the day. A
sense of camaraderie prevailed as all partook of the discourse, each one
offering his opinion. From the steam room they ambled to the cooling room,
where cold water invigorated and refreshed them, reviving them to start the
day.
Marcus started
out of his reverie. Felix was walking down the road and would soon go past his
hiding place. Marcus watched Felix as he approached. He was still the same,
Marcus grinned as he shook his head.
Possessed of a
cheerful heart that frequently expressed itself in droll comments on anything
that struck him as ridiculous, Felix could always be depended upon to lighten
Marcus’ mood when gloomy, and lift his heart when despondent. He also possessed
a keen intelligence that Marcus frequently marveled at, alight with curiosity
to seek out new experiences, and increase his knowledge of the world. If there
was a mystery to be solved, an adventure to be taken, Felix could be trusted to
sniff it out and pursue it as surely as a bloodhound hot on the scent of its
quarry.
Felix’s crop
of auburn curls bounced as his steps sprang along the way. His narrow face was
not handsome in the classic mold so prized by his culture in the same way that
Marcus’ was, but his vitality and exuberance shone through and transformed his
features, lighting them with a radiance that was attractive with a charm all
its own. His lean body fairly skipped as he made his way. He whistled a tune,
then burst into song.
“Erat tu, mea
dona alba amat…”
The song was
cut off as Felix spotted Marcus. He gasped and paled, clutching his side as if
in pain. He staggered and fell to one knee.
“But, you’re
dead
!
You were assumed to be
dead
!”
Marcus flew to
him.
“Felix, it is
all right. It really is me! And I am no ghost. I am alive!”
Felix blinked
his eyes rapidly. He breathed hard in panting gasps. Marcus helped him to his
feet. Felix looked at him as if beholding an apparition that might vanish
before his gaze.
“Why did you
think I was dead?” Marcus inquired.
“It’s what we
were told,” Felix replied, his breathing becoming less ragged as his composure
began to return.
“No. I was
taken captive and sold into slavery. But I am
not
dead!”
Felix smiled
wanly, the color still drained from his face. He took a deep breath and exhaled
slowly. He shook his head slightly, then turned to face Marcus.
“Well. But you
gave me a shock, my good fellow. It’s not every day the dead return!”
“Felix, what
of my father and mother? Where are they? What happened here?”
Felix looked
away from Marcus’ imploring gaze. He glanced at the ground. He raised his head,
opened his mouth, then shut it again.
“Felix…”
“Well, it’s
the Empress, actually. She appears to have some old score to settle with your
father, and she has taken her revenge.”
“Score? What
score? Where is my father? Where is my mother?”
Felix at last
looked directly at Marcus. He turned to him and gripped his shoulder, as if to
brace him.
“They are
imprisoned. The estate was confiscated by the government. And we were told that
you had been killed in the initial attack.”