Aries Fire (37 page)

“But you do, you see,” he blurted as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with quavering fingertips. He sat down on the divan.

“We were so young. Too young to understand the weight of our association.”

“Association? Is that what you call it? By the stars, you were lovers! And I am the result of that, of that association.” She paced in front of him. “She was my mother!” she screamed.

A taut fist curled ready to strike his face. Seira suddenly froze, swathed by her mother’s posture. How would Hypatia handle him? Seira instantly relaxed.

I am his equal and his superior.

“I pity you,” she said calmly.

Leo looked up at her and stood.

“My mother died because her brilliance outshone your cowardly ambition. The future pope in a clandestine affair with a powerful Neo-Platonist did not serve you,” she said.

Seira wanted to stab him in the heart for all she had ever suffered. Rage shot up through her like a volcanic explosion. She trembled slightly seeing now that her father, so very much alive, was dead to her.  Fueling her rage would give him power and would seduce the violence she fought long to suppress.

“Tell me Father, how does one bring God to the house?” she asked leaning close to her father with undeniable confidence. “By acknowledging and uniting all of God’s children. Something you are incapable of doing as a priest and as a father,” she said.

Leo felt a blade slice through his heart, stabbed with veracity. She spoke the truth he had long denied. The strength of the truth, the remorse and guilt were too much and they were hastily forced aside, supplanted by the familiar self-importance.

God forgives me! his mind insisted.

Seira saw compassion leave his eyes exchanged with something cold.

“I leave here at dawn,” he said.

Seira moved aside, disgusted with this zealot. Still, though, drawn to his face, she kept her attention on Leo’s profile.  A last hope surged through her.   Would he turn to her, embrace her, and ask for forgiveness?  Seira’s fantasy was shaken by Attila’s voice.

“Attila and the Deacon have an alliance now. She lives safely. You have peace. She dies and war is yours. I will come for you first,” Attila said.

Seira pulled his arm toward her, hoping at least, she could save him from Leo. She knew Attila would one day fall, because of her or perhaps because Leo was her father.  Seira couldn’t bear the burden of another life, not his.

Leo tossed Hypatia’s scroll onto the table.

“I have no need of this,” he said.

The scroll rolled to the floor and Seira became incensed. Eudocia picked up the crumpled scroll and gently smoothed out the wrinkles. Leo walked to the door then turned to face Attila.

“I return now to the negotiations. We wish peace between our nations. God has granted me the voice to make it so,” he stated and left the room.

“He is no longer my father,” Seira said.

“My Dear, he was never your father. Nor is he a threat,” Eudocia replied.

“Perhaps not,” said Attila. “But… Bleda is.”

Eudocia witnessed a gallant protector. Seira saw Attila’s mind look intently at the future. She looked at her mother’s scroll and suddenly found the memory a dream. The puzzling images of the mosaic in the palace bath overpowered her focus.

Yes! The dream, she thought.

The fractal images slid into place alongside the mosaic tiles and she saw it clearly for the first time in years.

We were all wearing some style of silver and striking ocean blue.  I wore a dress that seemed made of liquid with a silver insignia that I couldn’t identify; two triangular shapes set opposite each other tied together with a shape of ribbon.  There was a compassionate and familiar feeling in this place.  Our time inside the temple ended and I was led outside in communal silence to the most amazing sight.  Above us the moon was full and powerful.  It nearly encompassed our total vision. 

“Why are we here?” I asked.

My mother pointed to the sky and before us were two gallant men on horses. Were they Sheiks? One man was dressed in white with a purple, skirting stola.  On his head he wore a tall, white crown with two peaks. He rode a stout, camel-colored horse of an unfamiliar breed. The other man had long hair that flew violently in the air. He sat upon a black stallion, almost blending in with the black night. As they neared us I noticed that the man in white appeared holy, but was, in fact, devoid of kindness. They engaged in battle right there in the sky.  The clanking of their swords thundered and the sound split my head.

Their horses bucked and resisted the blows and I thought, ‘one of them will fall’.  The man on the black horse turned so that the moon lighted his face. He looked ugly and depraved; black eyes and black hair on his face.  Strangely, my silent encouragement lay with him and I thought he couldn’t be evil if I championed his cause. Suddenly, the man on the white horse fell, struck by a deadly blow.  He crashed to earth and was about to be absorbed by the sand when I felt a tugging sensation on my heart and I began to sink as well.  The dark man vanished into the air and I screamed to him for help but he was gone. Then a hand appeared from the sky and lifted me up.

“Oh,” Seira whispered seeing the vision clearly for what it was. “It was Alexander’s hand.”

Attila turned to Seira. Eudocia smiled sweetly and she knew Seira was ready to leave this place.

“Eudocia I fear for your safety now that the Deacon has marked you in our company,” Seira said.

“No. Nonsense is what you speak. You must be in shock from the day’s events,” Eudocia said and waved her hand in the air as she replaced the scroll onto the shelf.

“This is a copy I’ve made of your mother’s work. I would never think of giving that man the original,” Eudocia mumbled. She tilted her head back and admired her rows of scrolls. “I fear nothing from that man. I am an empress and a just one at that,” she said and turned to Seira.

Attila took Seira’s hand and held it to his mouth kissing it. Seira looked into his dark, passionate eyes. Eudocia watched them for a brief moment then started to leave the room, a knowing smile on her face.

“Soon we must move with speed,” she said to them before closing the door behind her.

Attila pulled Seira close and kissed her hard. Their mouths fit as if two halves of the whole. She put her hands on his face and pulled away.

“Aya,” he said.

“Evet,” she replied.

Bleda called out to his uncle from the hallway. There was no answer. Thick knuckles wrapped repeatedly on Ruga’s door.  No reply.

“Nagybasci Ruga!”  Bleda yelled to his uncle Ruga again.

“Bleda,” Attila said from behind. “Napja halal.”

Bleda turned then frowned hearing this. The day of his uncle’s death came without warning.

“Halal?” asked Bleda.

Attila opened the door and Bleda entered the room. He cautiously looked at his dead uncle. Attila closed the door.  Bleda estimated from his peaceful surroundings that Ruga died of natural causes. Attila did not disagree. In either case, neither brother cared how their uncle died. They now co-ruled the western and eastern empires as khans.

Bleda stood erect and proud. He took his dagger and cut a tuft of Ruga’s hair as was custom for a succeeding khan.   Bleda tossed the wooden hilt to Attila who swiftly caught the blade and cut a curl from Ruga’s head.  Attila stared at the curl intently, grasping his destiny. Bleda grabbed his blade and slid it through his belt.  His foresight shrank to a more immediate gratifying event.

A sudden knock at the door and Bleda flung it open to see Tarvel and Umar ready to fetch the body and return it to the ship.

For a moment, Bleda scrutinized Attila for having prearranged Ruga’s removal. Attila stood casually while the guards wrapped Ruga in cloth.

Bleda slapped his hand onto Ruga’s chest and jerked the Foederati chain from his fat neck. The guards carried the dead khan away.

Attila and Bleda agreed to meet on their ship in three hours time. Tactical negotiations would begin shortly in the great hall. Attila would speak for both khans.  A division of power was now at hand.

Attila watched his brother hasten to leave.

“This way,” Paulinus said to Alexander and Seira as they followed close behind him.

Seira wrapped her cloak firmly around her shoulders to keep the biting rain and wind from hurting. It stung her face without relief.

“Hazaad,” said Alexander feeling as though small rocks were pelting his skin. He tried to look upward but the sky rained down on him too hard. For the first time he was relieved to be traveling on land in this horrid weather.

The Empress had sent them through her private courtyard to reach the tunnel to the vault. Goodbyes were brief. Seira embraced her friend and blessed her for all of her generosity.

Eudocia stood inside the balcony of her room and saw the blue figures slip through her courtyard, their shapes smeared by weather. She felt a sense of pride at having freed two more slaves.

Seira’s heart pounded with excitement. Attila protected their escape and Alexander held her hand tightly. There was no surer path of safety.

Paulinus pushed them against the wall of the palace kitchen. He glanced inside, saw the way was clear, and waved for them to follow. Once inside and nearer to a large fireplace, the three of them warmed their hands.

“Wait here,” Paulinus said and left the room by another door.

Seira’s fingers were red and raw.

“I thought this was Spring,” she mumbled.

Alexander grinned. Seira felt self-conscious.  A small, fat woman who resembled Berit, Attila’s house servant and cook, stared at her.

Are all cooks fat?

The woman handed Seira a bowl of steaming hot soup with lumps of fat and fowl, spiced well enough. Seira took it willingly, not knowing when she’d eat again.

“Thank you. Hmm, good,” she said.

The fat woman humphed at her.

Seira looked at Alexander and shrugged. He burst out laughing.

“Let me have some of that,” he said.

Paulinus appeared suddenly.

“The gates are clear. We can escape notice of the guards if we leave now.”

Alexander gulped the bowl’s contents, dropped it onto the table, bowed graciously to the cook, and took her chubby hand and kissed it.  She blushed and waved her towel at him.

Seira glanced at him curiously.

“Do you flirt with everyone?”

“This way,” said Paulinus.

He moved fast, past the inside front entry gates of the palace. Seira and Alexander in his shadow.  The hard rain battered the walls and absorbed any sound they might have made.

They came to a door in the hall that led to the entrance of the palace. They entered the long, dark, narrow room, measuring about eight feet in length and four feet in width. It was a grain room used by the cooks in the kitchen.  

“Is this where we stay or what happens…?” Seira began.

“Quiet now,” said Paulinus.

Paulinus, once so accommodating as a slave, assumed principal leadership with great authority. Seira didn’t know if she liked that.

“I have to pee,” she said suddenly.

“What?” Alexander said.

Seira couldn’t see him very well, but could feel his expression. She frowned and suddenly remembered that he didn’t know her the way Attila did. Her emotional familiarity with him did not include years of war or co-habitation.

“I said I have to…go, badly,” she whispered.

He looked about but couldn’t see anything in the dark.  Alexander fumbled in the room and knocked something over.

“What are you doing?” she hissed at him.

“Here,” said Alexander.

He handed her a bowl.

“Piss in here,” he said, handing her a bowl. “Wait,” he said suddenly, “Where did our guide get to?”

Seira strained to see and realized Paulinus was gone. She quickly squatted and forced her urine. A sudden, dim firelight appeared at the back of the room.

“We must go now,” said Paulinus.

“By the stars!” Seira said. Her embarrassment was hidden by the dark.  She grimaced at having to use her cloak as a swab.

Alexander grabbed her by the hand and they left through a secret door at the back of the room. She felt foolish leaving the bowl on the floor.

The room led to a tunnel, just as Eudocia and Paulinus described. It was crusted with burnt earth from the smoldering torch held in place by a deep hole. They moved swiftly behind Paulinus.

Seira had remembered to put her mother’s scrolls in the pack that bounced against Alexander’s shoulders as he ran. Her eyes burned and teared from the stale air. She held her arm over her face. The smell of the tunnel reeked of a putrid odor that made her gag.

It took her a moment but she understood her sick feelings. All the slaves’ fear, as they fled for their lives, reeked through this tunnel. It was austere and overwhelming. She pushed it away but the feeling lay thick against the walls of earth.

Finally, at the end of the tunnel stood a door hidden by the Earth itself. Paulinus pushed against the outline of the dust-covered access to the vault. Alexander quickly joined their guide. The two men thrust their weight against the wall of Earth. It began to crackle and drag. Seira was amazed at how thick it was and yet how easily it moved.

Fresher air spilled out into the tunnel.  Her nostrils widened with relief. Paulinus flicked his head at her and motioned toward the opening.

“Go,” he said.

Seira stepped through the narrow opening into a wider hallway with a more civilized structural design. Tiles lined the floor and chipped, faded frescoes adorned the walls. Alexander followed, then Paulinus.

“But how will you get back if you shut the door?” Alexander asked.

“I don’t shut the door,” he said.

Paulinus pointed at a lever on the wall. He pulled it down and sharp daggered poles shot out of the doorway molding and lodged into the floor.

“Oh,” said Seira, marveling at the design, wishing Attila could see it as well.

“This way,” said Paulinus.

No one spoke as they moved quickly through the corridor toward the vault. Seira remembered the drawing in Eudocia’s library and knew they would need to bypass the vault and get beneath it to a set of steps.  Somehow, she felt like a rat being lured toward death.