The Chosen Prince (11 page)

Alexos isn't sure. “I will try,” he says.

“Good. Then take up your burden again and continue your life of service. Fulfill your duty as a prince and the champion of the goddess.”

“But my father—”

“Yes, well, I have considered that. And I don't think it would be kind to tell him the truth; nor would it be good for Arcos. Why don't we just leave things as they are? You've done harm enough already.”

“Suliman?”

“Yes, Alexos?”

“What would you have done if I had lied, if I'd said your version of the story was true?”

He gives this a moment of serious thought. “Would
I have exposed you—is that what you're asking?”

“No. I mean, what would
you
have done?”

“I'd have packed up my things and left the kingdom and never returned. Because you would have broken my heart. But you didn't lie, Alexos, even though I gave you a big, wide door to walk through.”

“Was that a test?”

“I hadn't thought of it that way, but I suppose it was. And in that at least, you proved to be the boy I always believed you to be. So you also have
my
forgiveness, for what it's worth. And I shall stay and guide you and help you become a whole person again. I will be at your side for as long as you want me, Alexos.”

“Is that it?”

“No. I want you to sit up and eat. After that, we shall see.”

ALEXOS RETURNS TO HIS
classes late and unannounced. He waits till the boys are seated and the master of mathematics has started his lecture. Then he slips in and takes the back bench, which is always empty.

But he hadn't considered the noise he makes—the tap of his cane, the click when the brace is released, the thump as he sits down—or the startled expression on the master's face. His classmates turn as one and stare at Alexos. And at first they seem unable to speak or move. So much has happened since the last time they saw him, that terrible day of the festival race. And none of it was good. What can they possibly say?

They hardly recognize him now, this boy in the long black tunic, a brace on his leg and a cane in his
hand. He is shockingly thin, with bruiselike shadows beneath his eyes. And he has cut off his hair in mourning for his brother, as women do. He looks older, wounded, sick.

After a long, awkward moment, they get up from their benches and move warily in his direction. This is something they are required to do out of courtesy, but there are no rules to guide them. How does one greet a boy who nearly died, was forever damaged by his illness, then lost his beloved brother—all in the space of a few short months? They have no idea.

So they gather around him politely: the boys standing, Alexos still seated, because getting up would be such an embarrassing production that it would only make things worse. They mutter condolences:
Oh, Alexos, so sorry, what a bad time you've had, it must have been awful
. Not once do they allude to his cane and brace. Nor do they mention Teo, who is presumably included in all the rest.

Alexos finds this unendurable. He wonders, not for the first time, if his father would allow him to be taught in his chambers by tutors from now on.

The master, who has been standing at the back of the crowd, sees that the welcome is going badly; the boys aren't up to the challenge and the prince is distressed. He makes his way to the front.

“My lord Alexos,” he says with an unaccustomed low bow, “you have been in our thoughts every day since you fell ill. We sacrificed to Zeus and Athene and Apollo to bring you safely through your ordeal.” The boys all nod energetically at this:
Yes, it's true, we did!
“We were most relieved when we heard that you had survived. Most relieved.

“But even then,” the master goes on, “your ordeal was not over. You were left with paralysis in your legs. The royal physician has told me of your struggle to build up your strength again, so that you could walk with a cane. It was painful and difficult, he said, but you fought like a lion.” The boys let out sighs almost in unison.

Alexos is transfixed by the master's performance.
Get it all out there
, he thinks,
that must be the plan: speak the unspeakable.
He feels a twitch at the corners of his mouth, as if a smile was trying to form.

“And then—forgive me for mentioning this if it's too painful to hear—but just as you had grown strong again and were ready to return to life, an even greater tragedy struck.”

Oh, thank you for that
, Alexos thinks.
Thank you for knowing that that was the worst.

“The loss of our dear prince Matteo, so beloved by everyone who knew him, was devastating for us all.
We sacrificed again to the gods for the speedy progress of his soul into that happy place where the good live for all eternity. But, Alexos, our sorrow was nothing,
nothing
compared with what you must have felt. I know you were ill with grief. I would guess it was the worst thing that has ever happened in your life.”

“Yes!”
Alexos says. He is so grateful that this man, the quietest master in the school, always so strict, dull, and precise, has the wisdom and the daring to say these very hard things out loud.

“I wish you to know that we were with you through the whole journey. You are one of us, Alexos. Your princely status may set you apart, but these boys are your friends and they care about you. They have mourned your every sorrow. And now they want to welcome you back with the full understanding of everything you have endured and the courage you have shown in the face of it.”

The master bows again as a sign that he's finished speaking. Then he steps back and all decorum is abandoned. The boys are all around Alexos now, squeezing his arm and patting his back, laughing and talking. The sympathy and affection, which they had not known how to express till now, is released in a flood of boyish exuberance. Alexos knows he doesn't deserve it, but he accepts it willingly as another of Athene's merciful gifts.

He stays for the rest of the classes, but returns to his rooms after the midday meal, when the afternoon training begins. He is shocked to discover how tired he is. The bitter days of winter will have arrived in earnest before he's strong enough to train again.

During that time, Suliman has worked with the master of arms to equip an exercise room for the prince's special use. Benches have been constructed and wrapped with padding, iron bars of varying sizes brought in, oversized pallets laid on the floor, and ropes hung from the rafters, to which rings and wooden rods are attached.

The boys have been following this activity with intense interest. When Alexos is finally ready to use this equipment, they are eager to know what everything is for and how it works. The master of arms looks to Alexos for permission to answer. It is, after all, his private regimen, and not really any of their business.

“Go ahead,” Alexos says.

“Very well. The prince will use these various devices to strengthen his upper body, both because it will help his mobility, compensating for his legs, and because he can't maintain his overall strength in the usual ways.”

“What about the rings?” Leander asks.

“They're for pulling up, like so.” The master
demonstrates. “It's harder than it looks. Try it; you'll see.”

“Yes, Leander,” Alexos says. “Please give it a try.”

“All right. Watch and learn.” Leander poses briefly, flexing his muscles, then slaps his hands together as if wiping them of dust. Finally he takes hold of the rings. “Agggghhhhhhh!” he grunts as he pulls himself up, the rings spreading apart and making it harder. “Grrraaagh!”

“Elegantly done,” Alexos says, when Leander drops to the ground. “Beautiful.”

“I know. Wasn't it? Master, may we train with them too?”

“That's entirely up to the prince.”

Titus is trying the rings now and finding it just as hard.

“Please?” Leander begs.

They seem to have forgotten—or if not exactly forgotten, then thoroughly accepted—Alexos' damaged legs. They understand what he hopes to accomplish and enthusiastically support it. There's something about this that makes it possible for him to accept it too.

“Please, please, please?”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Leander—yes. But it's my equipment, all right? I can't use yours, so I'm not
standing in line to take my turn.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! Yes, yes, yes!”

“Don't be tiresome, Leander,” the master says, though he can't resist a smile. “Now Alexos has work ahead of him—as do you all. Scoot.”

“But can't we just watch for today so we can learn what to do? I ask most respectfully, Master. I think this is a really good way to get stronger—in addition to the other things, of course.”

“I don't mind,” Alexos says.

So they stay.

Really, he's more than glad. He's never felt so included, so thoroughly a part of the group. And their interest touches him, the way they gather to watch, discussing the finer points of his technique and offering to help.

Alexos lies on the bench and raises an iron bar straight up, then lowers it over his chest: up and down, up and down. As he does this, Markos hold his legs so Alexos won't strain his back. Felix and Titus stand on either side of him, holding the bar till he's ready, then taking it away when he's done. His classmates vie for the honor of assisting him.

Alexos has smaller weights, too—short, thick bars he can move independently. He raises them at
shoulder level, or extends them to the side. Sometimes his body itself is the weight. He lies facedown on a pallet and pushes his torso up or hangs from the suspended swing and hauls himself off the ground.

All of it is harder than it looks, harder than he expected. But true to his nature, Alexos pushes himself, and after months of systematic exercise he can see that his body is changing. His shoulders look broader, his arms and chest have grown. Weights he struggled to lift before are easier now. His endurance has also improved. He now spends as much time training as his classmates do.

Suliman, pleased with the results, adds new exercises to the prince's routine, to develop balance and flexibility as well as strength. They are more complex and therefore more interesting to Alexos. He's missed working with the sword: the quick decisions that have to be made, the heightened awareness, the speed of the action, the way subtle movements are joined with powerful strokes. The new routines aren't as engaging as that, but they do require him to think, to use a variety of muscles at the same time. And they allow him to move in a graceful, rhythmic way. He's missed that too—being graceful.

Alexos supports himself by holding on to one fixed, suspended ring while grasping a movable ring
with the other hand. The far end of the movable rope is controlled by a willing volunteer who keeps it at just the right amount of tension. Alexos pulls it hard, down and to the side, as if throwing the discus. Or he pulls the ring back, also against tension, as if preparing to hurl a spear.

While someone holds his legs, he sits up with his arms crossed over his chest and twists to the left and then the right.

He feels aches in different muscles now: his belly and back, his hips and buttocks. And he finds their growing strength makes a difference. He walks with more confidence now. Sitting and rising are easier, too.

The worst of a very hard winter is over and they're well into a cold, wet, dreary spring when it occurs to Alexos that with a specially constructed harness (and perhaps some adjustments to his brace) he might be able to ride a horse again. But he keeps this precious dream to himself, half afraid to give it voice. Meanwhile he works on designing it in his head.

It will be a sort of chair that sits on the horse's back. The chair will have to be strapped onto the horse and Alexos strapped into the chair. He'll need something to hold his legs in place so they don't flop around. But none of this seems impossible. A wooden
structure covered with leather and fitted with straps—how hard could that be?

At last he gathers his courage and mentions it to Suliman, who laughs.

“I wondered how long it would take you to arrive at that conclusion.”

“You think it would work?”

“Of course. It was always one of my goals for you. In my country, saddles are common. We put them on horses, on camels—I have even heard of people putting them on elephants. But I warn you that it will be painful. We can build you a comfortable seat, but we can't change the anatomy of the beast you ride, and your legs will be forced into an unnatural position. Here, let me show you.

“This is your accustomed way of sitting. Now, imagine that the great barrel chest of a horse is between your legs. Your thigh must rotate out from the hip, like so, and your calf must turn at an angle, thus, to embrace it. After a time, muscle and bone will cry out in protest. And that's not even considering the brace, which will press against your leg. We can make adjustments to the brace and add some protective padding, but it's still going to be painful. And it will hurt even more when you get down.”

“Good.”

Suliman frowns. “And why is that good, Alexos? You
want
to feel pain?”

“Yes. It will help me remember.”

Dark brows shoot up. “Are you really in any danger of forgetting?”

It's hard for Alexos to answer that, mostly because of the way Suliman has framed the question. “In a way. I keep getting drawn back into life. There are moments when I actually feel happy. The world is starting to seem normal again.”

“I would say that is both desirable and healthy—being drawn back to life and feeling happy. It's natural to turn from darkness and seek the light.”

“Nothing about me is natural or normal. I'm not like other people.”

“Oh, Alexos!” Suliman draws back in his chair, as if recoiling from something appalling. “Do you truly think you're the first person ever to suffer, the first ever to do something horribly wrong?”