Empress Aurora Trilogy Quest For the Kingdom Parts I, II, and III Revised With Index (Quest For the Kingdom Set) (25 page)

He could not
have asked for a more perfect afternoon. The day was fair, one of those June
days when the grass was green, the air was soft, and the impossibly blue sky
was festooned with billowing white clouds as fluffy as a featherbed.

Marcus and
Tullia strolled amiably in quiet appreciation through the lovely grounds of the
Villa Alba which her mother had leased for the summer months. Her father
Tullios was back in Valerium attending to the business of Empire. A Centurion
in the Imperial Army, he did not have the leisure or the desire to travel
through Moldiva that his wife did.

Drusilla
Octavius, on the other hand, never lost an opportunity to associate with those
of a higher social status than her family. During the years when her husband
had been stationed in Lycenium she found a world different from the city of
Potentus, where the hierarchy was so clear-cut and confining. In Lycenium she
mixed with those who would have considered her beneath their notice in the
capital of the Valeriun Empire, where the wife of a Centurion was ranked far
below that of a General’s wife, and less likely to rate an invitation to the
Imperial Palace. In Lycenium, however, Drusilla and her daughter were frequent
guests of the Governor, and dined with all of the leading citizens of that
great metropolis.

None of this
was on the mind of Marcus as he promenaded the grounds with Tullia. The sweet
scent of roses filled the air, mingled with the more subtle aroma of carnations.
The formal gardens had been carefully laid out with the color scheme of red,
white, and pink. The red roses on their sculpted bushes lent a vivid contrast
to the delicate pink carnations and the airy spray of white baby’s breath that
was scattered among the shrubbery and white stone benches.

It conveyed a
sense of order and stateliness, of dignity and discretion. And it was in this
garden that Marcus decided to bare his heart to Tullia, of all that he felt for
her, and the future he longed for.

The others had
tactfully left them alone, having gone for a row on the river in one of the
estate’s boats. Felix balked, but Dag finally told him he was needed to help
him row, for the girls were too frail and Cort too small. Felix glared at Dag,
but backed down under the unwavering gaze of the older man and its unspoken
command. He sullenly accompanied the others, though he warned Dag that in his
present mood any aimless chatter on the part of Fanchon might result in her
unceremonious dunking in the river. Dag merely smiled and replied that if such
a thing took place he would see to it that Felix joined her for a swim. 

At last they
were gone and Marcus was left alone with Tullia. He smiled at her tenderly and
picked a red rose which he placed in her hand. She smiled in return, and bent
her head to sniff its scent. Her eyes closed and her smile widened as she
sighed. Marcus thought he had never seen a lovelier sight than the perfectly
sculpted face framed by the black curls cascading over her white robe, with the
rose raised to lips as red as its petals. And when Tullia opened her eyes,
their color mirrored the blue of the sky.

Marcus felt
his heart skip a beat, and he was suddenly at a loss for words. Long had he
imagined this moment and what things he would say to Tullia, but now he could
think of none of them, and he was silent.

They wandered
side by side through the garden, and said not a word. Marcus felt the strain of
the silence, yet Tullia seemed reluctant to break it. In the past he had
appreciated her dignity and lack of giddy chatter as evidence of her
superiority to other maidens her age. But today there was a constraint in her
manner. She appeared uncomfortable, and it affected Marcus and his ability to
find his tongue.

They roamed
through the garden, and climbed a flight of stone steps that formed part of a
bridge that spanned a small pond. From the bridge they saw green lawns dotted
by bushes grown so closely together that they fashioned a hedge. A line of
massive pine trees provided further concealment from the eyes of the curious,
and their living walls completed the sense of a screening partition. A fountain
at the end of the grassy promenade was the only object made by human hands
visible in this emerald enclosure.

  They
lingered on the bridge, looking over the balustrade at a small family of white
swans that glided on the still waters of the pond. Marcus mused to himself how
like Tullia they were; graceful in movement, regal of bearing, with imperious
heads carried with dignity on their long slender necks. Tullia twirled between
her fingers the red rose Marcus had plucked for her, and stared down dreamily
at the water.

Seeing the way
she held the rose,
his
rose, and the look of soft reverie in her eyes
gave Marcus the courage to speak at last. He cleared his throat. Tullia started
from her daydream and looked at him, with an air curiously like that of
apprehension…

“Tullia,” he
began, “there is something of which I wish to speak to you.”

He felt a warm
color flush his face, and then the words he had stemmed back poured out in a
rush of pent-up longing.

“Oh, Tullia, I
love you so much! All these long months of our separation I dreamed of telling
you, of asking you to make me the happiest of men by consenting to give me your
hand. Will you, Tullia? Will you have me?”

He would not
have thought it possible for anything to rival the redness of the rose Tullia
carried. Yet her face put it to shame, as she blushed and stammered. So
flustered was she that she dropped the rose, and Marcus saw it float slowly
away in the gentle current of the pond.

“Marcus,
really, I, I do not know what to say,” Tullia stuttered.

Marcus laughed
awkwardly in his surprise. This was not the response he had envisioned in his
imagination. What ailed the maiden?

“Say? Why, say
yes
! That is all that you need to say,” he laughed with restraint.

“But, Marcus,”
she hesitated. “I cannot say yes,” she whispered as she averted her eyes from
his own of piercing gray, and the fire of fervent ardor that burned in them.

“What? Why
not?” Marcus blurted out, his voice sounding strained to his own ears, his eyes
riveted on the girl’s scarlet face.

“How can I?”
she responded in earnest. “Why, Marcus, your status has altered! Your father
has lost his rank as General of the Imperial Army. His estate is confiscated,
and you do not even have a home to offer me.”

The sudden
pounding in his ears reminded him of the slow, solemn beat of the drum played
at the beginning of the funeral procession for a warrior fallen in battle. The
matter of fact way in which Tullia spurned his proposal stunned him like a blow
to his breastplate when he and Felix practiced fighting with their swords. Such
an impact always required time to recover his breath which had been knocked
from his lungs.

It was several
minutes before Marcus could reply.

“A home? But
what of my heart? I adore you, Tullia! Do you not return my love? Do my
feelings mean nothing to you?”

“What do
feelings matter? We need to live somewhere once we are wed,
if
we wed.
We could not impose on my family, after all. And your family is ruined.”

Ruined.
Ruined, she said. His family. So too his dreams and desires. Somewhere a crow
cawed, and to Marcus it seemed like a voice of mockery, laughing at him with
his fool’s hopes.

Then he found
his voice.

“Tullia, yes,
it is true that my family is imprisoned, my home confiscated. Yet I have
another hope. I did not have the chance to tell you in our brief time together
yesterday, but now I shall.

“I am a
changed man, Tullia. I am not the Marcus that you knew. I have found a new
purpose in life, a hope to live for, and a cause to fight for, perhaps even to
die for.”

Tullia looked
at him warily, bewilderment in her eyes. She waited for him to continue. And he
told her of Dominio, of Alexandros and the Kingdom of Heaven.

Tullia
listened intently to his account, her eyes occasionally widening, sometimes
blinking. But she said nothing.

“So you see,
Tullia, I do not fear the future, for Dominio will take care of me. He will
provide a home, and a future, no matter what may befall my parents; although I
earnestly pray for their release and the restoration of our estate. But
whatever may yet be, wherever my road will take me, there is one thing I desire
above all else, that is that you walk beside me, and that we take the journey
together.”

He looked at
her with all the love he stored up in his heart bared for her to see. But it
moved her not. Gently, sadly even, she shook her head.

“I am sorry,”
she answered in a voice as silken as the robe that adorned her. “It is not
possible.”

Suddenly anger
surged through him. How cruel, how terribly cruel after all he had endured over
the last year, for his love to reject him. Then a niggling suspicion entered
his mind.

“Felix! It is
Felix, isn’t it? He stole your heart from me while I was enslaved. How base,
how utterly base of him to do such a wicked thing to a friend!”

And Marcus
clenched a fist and brought it down on the balustrade. So furious was he that
felt no pain. But Tullia started and backed away from him. She held up one hand
to her face as if to shield it from his wrath.

“No, Felix has
not stolen my heart. It is true that he consoled me when he told me we had lost
you, but I do not love him.”

“Did you
ever?” Marcus spat out the words.

Tullia stammered
as she searched for her own.

“Felix amuses
me, and is interesting to talk with. He treats me as an intelligent woman and
not as a silly young girl as some men I know. I confess there was a time when I
wished to know him more.”

“And then you
met me, and it was different, is that right?” Marcus blurted out, still daring
to hope. “Felix interested you no longer, because you met me?”

“Well, yes, in
a way,” Tullia answered. “But much has happened in a year, and even
you
have changed, Marcus. As you say, you have a new cause, a new purpose. It is
one I cannot fathom. If I cannot see, I cannot believe.”

“And if I
cannot provide you with a home, you will not consent to be my companion in
life, is that it?” Marcus demanded in a voice as harsh as the crow who’s cawing
seemed to mock him, barely able to speak through the bitter taste in his mouth,
the burning pain in his heart.

“Yes, Marcus,
that is it,” Tullia whispered, as she hung her head.

“You see,
Marcus, when I was a little girl my father told me that one day a man would
come for me, a great man, one of wealth and power, who would take me from the
home of my parents to live in a splendid house of my own. And he would love me,
and shelter me, and take care of me. I would be as a queen in his eyes, he told
me, and would live like one as well. I would never know want because he would
provide me with all things my heart could long for. And he would shield my eyes
from all that is unpleasant, even all that is evil in this world.

“And you,
Marcus, in your present position, cannot possibly be that man. You have failed
the Empress and worse may befall you; imprisonment, exile, possibly execution.
Nor will I settle for less than the promise my father avowed when I was a
little girl.”

They stood
staring at one another for what seemed an age.

Marcus knew in
that moment that he would never be able to abide the scent of roses again,
their sweet aroma suddenly nauseating him, smelling decayed and cloying.

Then with
mutual and tacit consent they descended from the bridge and strolled across the
lawn to wait for the others to join them. They walked stiffly at one another’s
side, each one careful not to look at the other. Not a word uttered between
them except for the echoes of their exchange ringing in their minds. But after
all, there was really nothing left to say.

Marcus did not
wait for the others to return after all. Upon reflection, he decided he could
not bear to face the question that would be in the eyes of Felix, who had been
loathe to leave him alone with Tullia, and had cast many backward looks fuming
with resentment in the direction of Marcus as he stormed off with Dag. He could
not bear to expose his broken heart and wounded pride to one who also loved his
lady, and who also hoped for a future with her. That Felix’s hope was no more
grounded in reality than his own did not matter to Marcus: it was too soon to
face anyone after being dealt this disappointment to his dream.

He returned to
the inn where they had found lodging. It would have been proper for Tullia and
her family to offer hospitality to Marcus and his friends; but the obvious
strain that Tullia felt in the company of both Marcus and Felix made such an
offer out of the question. Felix had an aunt and uncle who lived in Lycenium,
but Tullia mentioned that they were presently in Golida, and therefore, could
not offer them a place to stay either.

A small
tributary of the great river ran beside the inn, and Marcus found himself
wandering aimlessly along its banks. He rambled along the course of its
meandering until he found a secluded spot away from prying eyes, where the
low-lying branches of a large willow tree draped a green curtain, and hid
himself among its fronds.

And there,
Marcus cried. He had not intended to do so; he wished to swallow his bitterness
as a man of Valerium, in stoic acceptance of whatever life might see fit to
hand him. But he could not. Great sobs that shook his body and tore at his
throat racked him and he could not contain them.

The spurning
of his love by his lady fair after all the suffering he had endured over the
last year was too much to bear. He cried for his rejected love and the death
knell of his most cherished hope, for his imprisoned parents whom he could not
release from their cruel plight, and for his homeless state, with no place to
call his own. True, he had put his faith in Dominio, and had entrusted all his
cares to Him, but would there never be relief from all of this pain and
heartache?

How long he
cried he did not know. He wept until he was spent, and no more tears would
come. When he finished, his head ached, and he lay prostrate on the ground, too
weary even to rise. He turned over and lay on his back, gazing through the
trailing branches to the hint of blue sky above. Strange, the sun still shone
like a light of hope in the firmament, the day was still as fair as though the
storms of sorrow would blow no more. But for him the joy was gone from it.
Would he ever know happiness in this life again?

At last he
rose to his feet and stared idly down at the small stream. The water was so
clear that he could see the pebbles on its bed, and his own reflection on its
surface. The flow ran quietly yet swiftly over the rocks, as soothingly as a
whisper, and drew him to it as irresistibly as the tide rushes to the shore,
although knowing it will only be beaten back out to sea. He watched a school of
minnows swim past with the ease of those free from care, then his attention was
arrested by a twig that floated by. Caught in the current, it had no control over
its course, but must go where the stream took it.

Like Zoe,
Marcus pondered. That is what Xenon said of the River Zoe: the River would take
you where it wills, if it wills. But you do not take the River, it takes you.

This
reflection gave him no joy. If he could not plot his course but could only be
carried by the River, of what use was it to make plans for his future? And the
answer came to him: he could not make plans, because his life was no longer his
own. He must yield to the will of Dominio and seek His command.

Logos, Marcus
thought. I must ask Logos and seek guidance. Surely even this rejection of my
suit is known to Dominio, and there may be a word of comfort from Logos that
will help me to bear my pain. For if I do not have a word of comfort, some hope
to cling to, some sign that this torment will cease, then life will be
unbearable and not worth the fight to go on.

With this
intention in mind, Marcus returned to the inn. There was no sign of his
companions to be found, yet he crept quietly, not wishing to be seen by anyone.
He returned to the room he shared with Felix, and after silently closing the
door behind him, removed Logos from the cupboard where he had placed the Sword
for safekeeping. He had not worn it when he left to visit Tullia, for he was
not a soldier in uniform, and felt awkward at the portrayal of something he was
not. And Logos was to be guarded as his dearest treasure, and not to be exposed
to the eyes of the merely curious, nor to be handled in a casual manner.

He carried Logos
to a window, the better to see by the now waning light of day. Hardly daring to
breath, he carefully unwrapped the scabbard from its linen covering, and
withdrew the Sword. It gleamed in his hand, and he clung to the hilt, pausing
even in his distress to admire its beauty, then he addressed it.

“Logos,” he
said, in a voice that was scarcely more than a whisper, and shook with a
weakness that shamed him. “Show me how to bear this pain in my heart. Tell me
what I must do to conquer this despair that threatens to engulf me.”

A faint light
emanated from the blade, softly at first like the silver shimmer of moonlight
on snow; then it grew in intensity. It glittered fierce and bright, and words
appeared on it.

Carefully,
Marcus read them:

“No soldier
enlisted in active service involves himself in the cares of everyday life, but
instead seeks to please the One who enlisted him for service.”

A soldier.

All of his
life he had wanted to be a soldier like his father, the great General Valerius
Maximus…

“Yes!” Marcus
exalted. “I
am
a soldier! Not in the Imperial Army of Valerium as I
always dreamed, but I
am
a soldier! I have enlisted to serve Dominio,
and to extend His Kingdom and rule wherever I may go. And no heartbreak from a
faithless maiden, no hardship to be endured, nor any forces of Hell will stop
me!”

And he threw
back his shoulders, straightened his spine, and with one toss of his head vowed
to go on.