Empress Aurora Trilogy Quest For the Kingdom Parts I, II, and III Revised With Index (Quest For the Kingdom Set) (11 page)

Slowly they
descended to the valley. Marcus determined that they must make their way to the
villa of the Governor. Urbanus and his wife Renata had been but lately sent to
Gaudereaux to fill the position left vacant when Aurora and Liberius had
returned to Valerium upon the death of her father the Emperor Beatus, who was
also his uncle. Urbanus had more in common with that great, just man than with
his volatile cousin Aurora.

In the year
that had passed since that event, Urbanus had been received warmly by the
people of Gaudereaux, finding his fairness and sense of justice, along with the
gracious charm of the lovely Renata, far more to their liking than the
autocratic preening of the unpredictable Aurora with her capricious whims. And
the daughters of Gaudereaux were far safer now that the rapacious Liberius had
been removed from their midst, and was no longer around to threaten their
chastity.

Urbanus had
proved to be kind and honorable, but always conducted himself with the bearing
of a Valerian dignitary. He held regular court days where the rich and the
poor, the great and the humble could present their cases and sue for justice.
Always he listened to both sides impartially and passed sentence justly. He
ruled wisely and well, and had won the hearts of the people of Gaudereaux.

All of this
Marcus had been told by Felix, who had heard it from Captain Onemius. In their
hours of conversing he had spoken freely of the land to which they were going.

“A rich land,
aye, no doubt about that. Ever the people of Gaudereaux are ready for a feast,
or a frolic in the woods. It is a land of plenty, where the vines yield a
bountiful crop. Thus it was from the foundation of their land. The first among
them to plant a vine gave it their veneration, and thus it has been to this
day. It is the vines that make Gaudereaux prosper, and they are revered almost
as a deity in that land. Yet the people worship no god in Gaudereaux; it is
pleasure alone they pay homage to, and the vines provide them with many an
opportunity to do so!

“But a word of
warning, young master: beware when those who indulge from the vine have had too
much of it. For their eyes see strange things, their tongues tell of strange
tales, of thing which cannot be imagined. Then you must determine between truth
and fantasy.”

Marcus
remembered this warning as he stood on the thresh hold of the Governor’s
courtyard. The three young men and the small boy presented a strange sight to
the guards.

Marcus and
Felix were clothed in the garb of aristocratic young Valerians, but Dag and
Cort were a different matter entirely.

Dag no longer
needed his animal furs in the milder climate of Gaudereaux, so he shed his
pelts in favor of a rough cloak woven from flax, and his fur-lined boots were
exchanged for ones of soft leather. Cort was similarly clad and their rustic
attire contrasted sharply with the elegance of Marcus and Felix in their cloaks
of fine Eirini wool, and supple sandals of the softest of suede.

“We are
citizens of Valerium, sent by the Empress Aurora. We desire an audience of
Governor Urbanus. At once.”

Marcus
addressed the guard with the full ceremony that the occasion demanded. The
guard examined closely the scroll of introduction Marcus presented to him.
Aurora had given it to him for just such an instance, that all might know that
Marcus was an Imperial Emissary.

Into the
courtyard they went. Marcus found it far more to his liking than that of the
Imperial Palace. Here was a more refined display of dignified grandeur than the
pomp and pretensions of the Palace. Past sparkling fountains and a profusion of
flowers, benches of dark wood and woven baskets filled with flowering vines
they walked.

The flowers
were of a kind that Marcus had never seen before but whose names he would come
to know; trailing honeysuckle that bespoke the laziness of summer days, exotic
orchids emitting a spicy aroma reminiscent of sultry summer nights, magnolias
whose delicate bloom brought poignant memories of the fleeting joy of first
love, and jasmine of such an intoxicating essence that one whiff seemed to
satisfy all one’s desires, and to hint of others as yet undreamed of.

Marcus and his
companions followed the guard into the spacious atrium. Tall pillars of the
finest cedar wood rose on three sides of the vast hall. The fourth side gave
onto a stately staircase of rich mahogany. The center of the roof was open to
the sky, and the sun of high noon warmed the polished wood floor beneath their
feet. Baskets of fresh flowers graced little wooden tables, and baskets of
vines adorned the walls.

Accustomed to
hard marble pillars and carved floors of mosaic tiles, Marcus found the
abundance of wood unsettling, disturbing, almost. While pleasing to the eye, it
did not give the assurance of permanency that stone possessed, but rather
hinted ominously of transience, of a fragility somewhat easily shattered. Like
the green vines and blooms of summer, nothing in this room could last…

Governor
Urbanus was a tall and robust man with a head of black curls who wore his white
robe of luxurious linen in the manner of one who is so accustomed to fine
garments that he has ceased to remember that he is wearing them. His casual
elegance was in keeping with his free and easy manner. He did not stand on
ceremonial dignity, but seemed determined to make his unexpected visitors to
Gaudereaux feel like long-awaited guests. He greeted Marcus and Felix warmly,
although he looked somewhat askance at their rough-hewn companions.

“Welcome to
Gaudereaux!” he boomed, as he gave the Valerian salute.

Marcus and
Felix returned it, touching their taut hands to their foreheads. Dag and Cort
looked at them blankly. Then Dag stepped forward and held out his hand to the
Governor. Urbanus looked at it, then at Dag with uncomprehending eyes. Dag
waited, but Urbanus did nothing.

“Dag,” Marcus
explained, “we do not grasp hands in Valerium as you do in Trekur Lende. We do
not touch strangers.”

“Ah!” said Dag
with a nod of his head. “And you think Trekur Lende is cold,” he muttered.

“Your
Excellency,” Marcus hastened to say as Urbanus stared in amazement at Dag. “I
am Marcus Maximus, son of Valerius Maximus. My friend Felix Lucius and I are
citizens of Valerium. Our companions are Dag Adalbjorg and Cort Bjorn, whom we
met in Trekur Lende on our journey.”

“But what has
brought you to Gaudereaux?” Urbanus inquired.

Marcus froze,
uncertain how to proceed. He had not anticipated the need for an explanation of
their presence. He had thought only of the quest for the Pearl, and his need to
acquire it. And of the Pearl it was too soon to speak.

He was saved
the necessity of an answer by the quick wit of Felix.

“Your
Excellency,” burst in Felix with a winning smile, “we have heard much of your
fair land of Gaudereaux. Indeed all along our way we heard of little else but
your green vines, your purple grapes, and enchanted woods. It is our ardent
desire to rest for a few days in this haven of rich lushness.”

“Do not overdo
it, Felix,” Marcus muttered.

Felix merely
smiled at him. Urbanus, however, was mollified by the flattery bestowed upon
his fair land.

“Ah, you
desire rest. But of course!” Urbanus beamed. “We have everything you can
desire; food, drink, rest, anything.”

And with a
flourish of his arms, he bade them to enter in.

That evening
they feasted. Food of every imaginable description was placed before them for
their enjoyment. At the center of the table was the head of a boar, with two
apples stuck in its mouth. On either side lay dishes of lamb sprinkled with
rosemary, of beef hot and sizzling, just removed from the brazier of blazing
coals. Surrounding the center were several kinds of fish, just caught that
morning; delicate sole, hearty mackerel, salty herring, and rich haddock.
Platters of silver were heaped with piles of fruit; tangy peaches, smooth
melon, pungent blackberries, tart plums, and refreshing grapes, always grapes.
They spilled over everywhere, on the platters, in bowls of cut glass, and
glistened in the red wine in the golden goblets.

Marcus lost
track of all of the food. He knew in Valerium that banquets lasted most of the
night. It was not uncommon for a feast to begin with the going down of the sun
and to end with its rising. And after the weeks on shipboard with nothing to
eat but salted fish, wrinkled apples, and potatoes cooked every way imaginable,
he eyed the spread before him in a rush of anticipation.

He glanced at
Felix, who sat across the table from him. Felix winked and rubbed his fingers
together in glee. So he also was eager to begin!

Marcus allowed
his gaze to roam further down the table to see how Dag and Cort viewed the
display set before them. Accustomed to the barest of essentials, they must
surely be overwhelmed at such an array from which to dine.

And indeed,
Dag did seem dazzled. He was not, however, looking at the food. His gaze
instead was unmistakably riveted on the vision that sat across from him at the
table. For the first time, Marcus noticed the young lady who had captured Dag’s
attention.

A cloud of
golden ringlets caught up in a gauzy band of white that matched the flowing
gown of gauze seemed to complement the ethereal creature Marcus saw before him.
He could not picture her in satin or brocade; they would weigh down the fragile
body that was hardly bigger than a child’s. And like a child she seemed, one
who did not yet know the solemnity of life, but still indulged in games and
laughter.

For laugh she
did, her delicate features transformed into the radiance of some creature out
of legend, a nymph, or a sylph, and not a mere mortal of flesh and blood. Her
blue eyes sparkled and the saucy nose scrunched in delight as she regaled her
companions with her observations of the evening in a voice as light and airy as
a piping flute.

“Such a lovely
evening, like a cloak wrapped around one’s body, covering all manner of secrets
and mysteries! I simply
adore
a mystery, don’t you? It simply stretches
my mind to puzzle around a good riddle. Not that my mind can bear much
stretching, my father says. Mother, on the other hand, does not think it a good
thing for me to stretch it
too
much, for then it might snap and then
where would I be? Leave the heavy thinking to the men, she says. Although I
don’t think I have met many men who do
much
heavy thinking. After all,
how much thinking is necessary for feasting and dancing? 

“Speaking of
dancing, I can hardly wait to begin. Just whirl and twirl, around and around.
Of course, we can’t do it without music. Where is the Bard? He is late, no?”

All this
prattle did Marcus listen to, shaking his head as he did so, one thought
uppermost in his mind: she would weary me with much of that prating! He was
suddenly reminded of Tullia, who, although as fond of celebration as anyone,
yet possessed a dignity and a sense of decorum that never permitted her to make
a display of herself at revels. Always her laugh was merry yet modulated, her
conversation lively yet intelligent. He was thankful that
she
at least
knew how to conduct herself in a public assembly!

Dag, however,
could not tear his eyes from the young lady. He seemed in a stupor, his eyes
glazed over and his mouth half-open. Cort said something to him which was not
heard. He followed the direction of Dag’s gaze, then sighed, rolled his own
eyes and gave full attention to his food.

Marcus glanced
at his other table companions. Urbanus sat at the head of the table in the
dignity expected of a representative of the Valerium government. The laughter
around the table grew increasingly boisterous as the wine was passed around the
table,

Urbanus,
Marcus noted, limited his intake of the intoxicating drink. Marcus approved of
this, having heard many tales from Valerius of soldiers who relaxed their guard
at banquets and said too much for their good after imbibing liberally. Far too
often was a night of revelry followed by a day of reckoning for those who had
spoken their minds too freely for the comfort of their commanding officers.

At the other
end of the table, Renata held court with the graciousness typical of a great
lady of Valerium. She inclined her head to listen to those closest to her,
giving full attention to each before moving on to the next. She then drew each
into conversation with one another, so that all were conversing together.
Marcus was reminded of his own mother. How like the gentleness and refinement
of Honoria! How did she fare in her prison? Marcus ached at the thought of her
suffering, and tears sprang behind his eyes.

He was roused
from his reverie by a clamor from those seated closest to the door. Their attention
had been caught by the arrival of an old man clad in a robe adorned with long
flowing sleeves. In one hand he clutched a small harp. In his eyes he carried
secrets and mysteries known to himself alone.

“The Bard! The
Bard has come!” cried the golden-haired girl, whom Marcus had heard someone
address as Fanchon. She clapped her hands with the glee of a small child.

The old man
proceeded into the great hall. Urbanus rose from the table and escorted him to
a couch near the fire.

“Welcome,
Lothair! We are honored that you grace us with your music. Come, sing a tale
for us!”

The Bard took
the seat indicated for him. His robes fell in graceful folds around him as he
softly strummed the harp strings. His eyes gazed off as if in the distance. He
seemed transported, seeing visions beheld by no one else. He closed his eyes
and hummed gently. The humming became entwined with the golden gleam of the
harp strings, until they became one voice, one song. Then the Bard began to
sing.

“My lady was
so young and fair,

With rippling
locks of golden hair.

That she
surpassed the morning sun,

And from the
first my heart she won.

We spent many happy
hours,

Days as sweet
as summer flowers.

I pledged my
love and gave her pearls,

Her wayward
heart she gave to churls.

It was she and
she alone I sought,

But alas! My
lady loved me not.

Another came,
so strong and bold,

Her hand and
heart he sought to hold.

She listened
to his charming lies,

And hastened
from my love-struck eyes.

An errant lord
ensnared her heart,

From my loving
side did she part.

I raged
jealous, storming thunder,

At he who had
torn us sunder.

It was she and
she alone I sought,

But alas! My
lady loved me not.

I looked for
her in every morn,

I roamed the
earth til I was shorn,

Of hope that I
at last would find,

My lady love
so pure and kind.

My anger
burned, my heart was sore,

At she whose
love I knew no more.

She spurned
me, chasing other loves,

Laughter,
cooing, sweet as a dove’s.

It was she and
she alone I sought,

But alas! My
lady loved me not.

The years went
by and still I pined,

For she whose
gaze possessed my mind.

But she had
paled with passing years,

Her laughter
stilled, eyes filled with tears.

The love she
sought for was not true,

He broke her
heart and then she knew.

The true love
she had cast aside,

Was mine, so
tender for my bride.

For it was
she, she alone I sought,

But alas! My
lady loved me not.

The evil lord
is he to blame,

Tis he who
brought her to this shame.

Her glory
stripped, her beauty gone,

That once
outshone and dimmed the dawn.

He bound her
with an iron chain,

Mocked her in
her prison of pain.

For now she
rued the choice she made,

For love of
him from me she strayed.

Still it was
she, she alone I sought,

But alas! My
lady loved me not.

I will
challenge the wicked knight,

Whose lies
brought her to this dark plight.

I will storm
the high castle gates,

For there I
know my lady waits.

No walls of
stone can restrain me,

No dungeon of
death contain me.

To the bitter
end will I fight,

Until her sad
wrongs are made right.

Because for
she, she alone I sought,

But alas! My
lady loved me not.

I opened wide
her prison door,

And her sweet
love I knew once more.

When she beheld
my ardent heart,

She thus was
mine, never to part.

Our love is
now so deep and strong,

The Bards
extol it in sweet song.

For I rescued
my lady fair,

From he who
held her in his snare.

For it was
she, she alone I sought,

It was her
freedom for which I fought.

And now my
lady loves me so,

She will not leave
me, this I know.”

Marcus felt a
tightness in his throat, a pounding of his heart. Surely this song spoke of his
own love for Tullia! The longing, the betrayal, the dashing of dreams, and the
end of hope. It was as if the Bard had known of his pain, and sung for him
alone.

He looked at
others around the room. Dag looked with smitten eyes at Fanchon, who herself
seemed enraptured by the passionate love portrayed in the ballad by the
persistent wooer for his beloved. Even Urbanus seemed touched, with a wistful
look in his eyes as he smiled tenderly at Renata. She also seemed moved, and
returned the gaze of her husband with a nod of understanding.

But on the
face of Felix, Marcus was astonished to see naked yearning as two tears rolled
down his face. He stared at the floor, seemingly locked into his own solitude
that none could share. Marcus looked away, as uncomfortable as if he had
surprised his friend in the act of disrobing. For surely the heart of Felix was
bared by that look.

The silence
was broken as Lothair prepared to sing another song. For the space of an hour
he entertained the guests of Urbanus. But Marcus heard not a word that he sang.
His thoughts were far away. “I opened wide her prison door, and her sweet love
I knew once more…”

The banquet
lasted far into the morning hours. The Bard refreshed himself with food and
drink, then sang for them again. Occasionally he rested his voice and strummed
a lively tune on his harp.

Fanchon led
the guests in merry dancing, laughing and twirling as she flitted around the
hall. Others were caught up in the merriment. There was much laughter and
stumbling as the wine began to have its effect on those who had taken more than
was wise.

Marcus did not
join the dance. His heart was too heavy. But Felix and Dag and even small Cort
were swept up in the dance. Cort alone had taken no wine; Dag had forbidden it
as unseemly for one of his tender years. Marcus had drunk sparingly, drinking
only enough to quench his thirst.

A ray of light
pierced the candle-lit hall. The night had waned and the day was coming. It
seemed to take the dancers unaware, as they came to a sudden halt and blinked
their eyes.

“Hark! The day
has come! Let us greet her and welcome the sun!” cried Fanchon.

She swiftly
dashed through the open door of the courtyard that led to the gardens. The other
dancers streamed after her, as she led a merry dance. Marcus followed at a more
sedate pace, wishing he could join in the light-hearted frivolity with his
whole heart. But all he felt was a hollow emptiness.