The Forgotten Tale Of Larsa (13 page)

‘Are there more of your people in this kingdom?’ said Larsa, wanting to strike up conversation again.

‘Only a few of us survived.’

‘Why weren’t more of your people spared or taken as slaves?’

‘The emperor doesn’t need any more slaves; he has plenty.’

‘Then what does he want, more gold?’

‘You’re thinking of the emperor as an ordinary man when he’s much more than that; gold doesn’t tempt him.’

‘If he’s not a man, then what is he?’

‘He’s an idea, and ideas that cannot be controlled grow to be more dangerous than the men that conceived them.’

‘There must be something he desires.’

‘The only thing he desires right now is you.’

Larsa felt her body shudder the moment the maid said that; she knew it was true but she didn’t want to admit it to herself.

A loud thud came from behind them, and the maid jumped with surprise. She truly hoped that nobody had heard their conversation.

‘You mustn’t tell anyone what I’ve told you – it will lead to certain death for me and my grandson,’ said the maid. She hurried to collect the chalice which she had placed on the wooden table while they were talking.

‘I swear I won’t say a word. You can trust me, I promise,’ replied the princess. For a brief moment Larsa had been made to feel safe by the company of another; she needed a friend to confide in, especially when she was so alone in the world. ‘Wait, before you leave will you tell me your name? I want to pray for both our souls.’

‘It’s Jehan, Your Highness.’

‘Then Jehan, if the gods should ever grant me freedom, I pray that I will celebrate it alongside you and your people,’ said the princess softly. A faint smile of hope touched her lips; but it vanished as soon as her enemy walked into the chamber.

‘Leave us,’ commanded the Dark Warrior.

The sacred ritual conducted by the Grand Priests had finally come to an end, and now the Temple of Ishtar could welcome the greatest mourner of them all.

Marmicus stared at the corpse, completely unaware that his grief was for another. Even in death, Larsa appeared beautiful; her body was dressed in a white silk gown and upon her head was a golden headpiece in the shape of flowers and leaves. Surrounding her were white lilies and lavender, and upon her face was a golden mask, to make her appear as beautiful as she once was.

‘Why have they covered her face?’

‘We thought it would be better to hide her wounds from you; we know how much you loved her,’ replied King Nelaaz. From the tip of his nose there hung a single bead of sweat. He fervently hoped that Marmicus’s inquisitive mind would be distracted by the abundance of gold which covered her – a foolish thought indeed, as gold was never something Marmicus craved or loved. He despised gold – to him it was the source of all wars. ‘I know my words will wound you, but I think you’d rather hear the truth than be lied to, am I right?’

‘Speak it.’

‘My advisors told me that the enemy neither spared her body nor her beauty. They mutilated her face – I don’t wish to go into the details – and my advisors said that she was left with only her mother’s eyes. That’s why they felt
–
we
felt – she should be buried with this mask; better the people remember her for her beauty than her tragic death.’ The king hoped he had said enough to stop Marmicus from removing the mask. ‘You know, I’ve spent a large part of my wealth on her burial; I wanted to make it easy for her people to say farewell; I loved her, you see, like my own daughter, really I did.’

‘Then you have nothing to fear. You have my allegiance and thanks.’

‘Thank you, I cherish it so very much, oh Gallant One, really I do.’

‘Now leave me alone. I want to mourn my wife just as any husband would wish.’

‘Of course.’

As the king waddled out of the enormous ziggurat he gave a huge sigh of relief. For endless nights he had tossed and turned in his bed, dreaming how Marmicus would slay him once he found out the truth. Thankfully, this wasn’t going to be the case. ‘At last I can enjoy the sweet pleasure of my food without having to choke on my wretched guilt,’ King Nelaaz mumbled.

But every lie uttered by the lips is like a seed planted in the ground; all it needs is time to grow and become out of control …

‘You asked me once if there was anything I feared in this world, and I told you that I feared nothing, not even death itself. But I lied to you, Larsa. I’ve always been afraid of one thing, and that is living a life without you.’

Marmicus felt empty and hollow inside. This was the first time he had been able to let out his emotions, something he really needed to do. The more he kept things in, the more his anger ate away at him, turning him into a person even he hated. His world had shifted overnight, and his only solace was seeing that the princess looked peaceful; it gave him unexpected comfort to see that she appeared to be sleeping.

‘I would happily die for one more day with you,’ said Marmicus. ‘Every breath I take has always been for your sake, and now I’m suffocating without you.’

Summoning all his strength, Marmicus got up. It took all his energy and willpower to stand on his feet, but he knew he had to leave the temple before the undertakers came to bury his wife. He wished he could go with them and be buried alongside her; the only thing keeping him alive now was the promise he had made to her, for now he would live only for her sake, at least until his duty was done. Marmicus reached for her hand, wanting to kiss her one last time. He softly pressed his lips against it, and smelt her skin.

‘When war comes you’ll have the vengeance of which only a goddess is worthy, and after that day we can be together again,’ he whispered, knowing that this would be the last time he would ever see her body lying peacefully. As he pulled away, he noticed something unusual, a small detail only someone who knew the princess intimately would notice, and it caught him by surprise.

Upon the princess’s hand was a small birthmark about the size of a black seed. Marmicus had never noticed it before. Certainly, he would remember something like that – or perhaps the stress of everything that had happened had clouded his memory. Either way, something inside him told him to look closer; it was as if he could hear Larsa’s voice urging him to remove the golden mask that concealed her face. Passing his hands over the heavenly mask, Marmicus slowly leant forward. He decided to remove it, and his hands felt heavy as he placed his fingertips around its edges.
Could this be happening? Could she still be alive?
he thought. Just as he was about to lift the golden mask he remembered what King Nelaaz had said moments before: ‘She was left with only her mother’s eyes’.

If Marmicus lifted the mask, he knew he would see the grotesque sight of battle scars. It would destroy him. It was wiser for him to hold onto the beautiful memories than replace them with a vision which could never be washed away from his thoughts; he knew that Larsa would have wanted that.

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ said the Grand Priest of Ursar, who stood by the pillar. His hands were defensively folded on his chest, though his voice sounded genuine enough. Around his neck he wore a large pendant of solid gold, affordable only for the richest of men.

‘Keep your pity,’ replied Marmicus sharply.

‘I’m offering you sympathy, just as any friend would offer to another,’ replied the Grand Priest. Marmicus ignored his words completely. No matter what he said, he could never convince him of any kind of friendship between them. ‘You know we are not so different, you and I; your allegiance is to your sword and mine has always been to this kingdom’s throne. I shan’t deceive you. I wish to be king – as any man would. If you love your people as you claim you do, you would offer your sword and fight with me, not against me. We both want what is best for this kingdom, and at this moment in our history I am the best that can be offered to the people.’

‘I will never offer you my allegiance, not even if you offer me a life filled with the happiness I once knew,’ said Marmicus. His uncertainty about the princess’s birthmark had disappeared from his mind.

‘Then you’re making a mistake, Marmicus. Fight with me and together we can offer this kingdom everything it needs.’

‘If I’m making a mistake then it’s one I can live with.’

Marmicus walked away; he did not want to lose control, at least not within the temple where his wife lay lifeless. The Grand Priest stepped in front of him; he needed to convince him of what he was offering, it was crucial to his plans.

‘If you love your people, you will do what is right for them. No one in the Counsel has the stomach to do what needs to be done for this kingdom.’

‘What has my love for my people got to do with one man’s greed and his desire to be king?’

‘It’s got everything to do with it! If we build the greatest empire known to man, then we will have built the strongest weapon, to be feared by all men: no enemy would dare attack our walls. So, you see, your love for your people has everything to do with it, oh Gallant Warrior. Join me in my cause and together we can protect our people from wars they dare not fight. The choice is entirely yours.’

‘I’ve made my choice. I’ll never use my sword to serve the desires of one frail priest who longs to be crowned a king,’ said the Gallant Warrior. He would not back down from the decision that he had made. This, the Grand Priest knew, would have negative repercussions for his plans. Winning the Gallant Warrior’s allegiance was essential.

‘Then you’ve made the wrong choice,’ said the Grand Priest of Ursar. His cold look was enough to lash anyone to whom it was directed. ‘I warn you not to make an enemy of me, Marmicus; it serves no one well.’

As Marmicus attempted to make his way out of the burial chamber the Grand Priest of Ursar abruptly grabbed his arm, causing him to pause in his tracks. It was a show of unexpected bravery from the frail priest, whose talents lay elsewhere.

‘Remove your hand, old man, or I shall remove it for you.’

‘This kingdom needs a ruler, Marmicus, you can’t deny it any longer. The princess is dead. Now the people need a leader who is capable of ruling over them. Don’t make a decision without carefully considering the risks; it’s not a wise tactic for you or the people you claim to serve.’

‘This kingdom will have its ruler, but it will never be you, old priest, I’ll make certain of that,’ said Marmicus coldly. ‘Now remove your arm or be prepared to use it as a walking stick for the rest of your days.’

The Grand Priest of Ursar removed his hand. Resentment coursed through his veins as he did so; he had hoped to persuade Marmicus to join his cause willingly, but their loathing for one another had prevented it. The traditional route of diplomacy had failed to work its charms; now the great scholar would have to think of other methods to achieve his vision. Friendship is always better than war, but when all else fails, what option remains?

Nafridos entered the room; he looked at the princess lying on the bed, so helpless and susceptible. In his mind she was naked, with only her beauty to cover her.

‘There are two things I’ve desired in my life. The first is a throne to call my own, and the second is a woman worthy of me; at least tonight I know that one of my desires will be fulfilled.’

Nafridos took his sword from his belt, and removed his tunic, revealing a toned, muscular chest. Battle scars ran along the length of it, reminding Larsa of claw marks made by dogs, except they were probably the last marks made by innocent men who had died trying to protect their families. Larsa didn’t want to look into his eyes; somehow, she feared him more than Jaquzan. His intentions were clear: he wanted to rape her, just like every other woman who caught his attention.

‘Tonight, I’m going to make you feel like a queen, and all the people will know when they hear you,’ he said, approaching her.

Larsa leapt up and tried to run out of the chamber, but Nafridos grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. She was as a wild gazelle locked in his jaws. She was light and delicate; he knew he would enjoy every moment of this. He threw her onto the bed, pinning her with his weight.

‘Let me go!’ she screamed, thrashing her arms and legs, trying desperately to free herself.

‘You put up a better fight than your slaves.’

‘You can mock my servants, but you’ll never take away their honour.’

‘Then I’ll have to settle for yours,’ Nafridos sneered, as he ripped off her shawl.

Brazenly, he began to kiss her neck, tasting her skin; she tasted so good. Larsa screamed, her fingernails clawing at his flesh, but it did little to stop him. His muscles strained as he tried to force himself between her thighs, but Larsa kept moving, determined not to make it easy for him.

‘Marmicus, where are you?’

‘Hush, princess, I’m here for you – think of me now,’ Nafridos whispered, as he grabbed her throat violently with his left hand, and kissed her cheek. Larsa felt the bones in her neck bend like straws; she gulped and choked at the same time.

‘Please just let me go …’ Larsa murmured.

‘You can’t blame me for this, princess; blame yourself. Your beauty is too much for any man to resist. Now, try to enjoy this; it will go better for you.’

He swept his rough hand up her thigh while licking her neck, savouring the smoothness of her skin.

‘Kill me, but don’t kill my honour. It’s all I have left.’

‘No whore has the privilege of honour.’

Larsa fell still. She had given up her struggle; he would have his way now. She could feel him beginning to push inside her.

‘My lord!’ a guard knocked on the door, shouting urgently.

‘Not now! I’m busy.’

‘The emperor desires your presence, my lord.’

Nafridos snorted like an angry bull. The princess had been saved by unfortunate timing. Delaying meeting the emperor was an unwise move – for some it could even be fatal. He lifted himself off her, freeing her body from his heavy weight.

‘Be thankful to your god; it seems he has finally answered your pleas. We’ll continue this later and next time there’ll be no interruptions. I’ll make certain of it.’