The Forgotten Tale Of Larsa (16 page)

‘You see? No man here would dare question my authority or allegiance to this kingdom. Your remarks are as foolish as your pathetic robes.’

‘These priests are inclined to say that they trust a dog even if it’s bitten them on the arm. You’ve trained them to say whatever you command, not what they truly think,’ responded King Nelaaz, struggling to keep his posture straight. He was trying his best to appear polished and poised, just as any king would, but it was a game at which he was miserably failing.

‘Please, gentlemen, calm yourselves. We are all allies here; let our soldiers draw their daggers and let us promote the peace,’ interrupted the young Priest of Xidrica, trying to be the voice of reason. ‘I think it’s best if we sit in silence; that way no man can be offended by another.’

‘Your peaceful words deceive no one here; every day is a battle worthy of a cause and at this moment the battle is between men and fools, so take your own advice and silence yourself,’ replied the Grand Priest of Ursar, determined to divide the Counsel into friends and foes. He had always disliked the young priest; he never trusted anything he said, and every time the man spoke he felt an immediate desire to quiet him.

‘We may be at a time of war but let’s not mistake our friends for our enemies: King Nelaaz of Aram is a friend to this kingdom and to this Counsel; he shouldn’t have to defend himself from an attack by you.’

It was the first time the young priest had challenged the Grand Priest of Ursar’s command; he knew he would be opposed by everyone else, but even so, he would not watch the little king being bullied by a line of priests.

‘Thank you for your support, noble priest,’ said the king. ‘It’s very kind of you to stand up for me, but there is really no need for you to defend me. I’ve always fought my own battles and I’ve always won them.’

‘It’s not a matter of defending you: it’s simply a matter of principle.’

‘You grow unwise, young priest,’ said the Grand Priest. ‘A battle against me is a battle you can’t win. It seems you’ve forgotten who I am, or do you need to be reminded?’ There was no trace of humour left in his voice.

‘I haven’t forgotten who you are; in fact, you remind us every day. But it does seem that you’ve forgotten why we’ve gathered here. It’s for the brotherhood of peace, not for the declaration of war, or do you purposely want to divide us?’

‘Do not try me, boy, you’ll regret the day that you provoked me!’ declared the Grand Priest of Ursar. His fist tightened around the golden cane he always carried. There was nothing wrong with his ability to walk; rather, it was used to show off his grandeur, wealth and power.

‘If I’ve offended any man here, then I sincerely apologise; it wasn’t my intention to offend any of you. I simply want to preserve the peace of our kingdom, something we won’t be able to do if we squabble among ourselves.’

He could feel them staring at him, they were all glaring disapprovingly. None of them had ever liked the young priest; in fact, his modesty and politeness were seen as more of a threat to them than a quality to be admired. The young Priest of Xidrica knew it was better to keep silent from now on; they would never ally themselves with him even if it was the right thing to do.

‘No traitor deserves forgiveness,’ said Marmicus, his words bold and loud. The birds in the palm trees scattered; it seemed that even nature itself had recognised his anger. ‘The only man who has wronged this kingdom has been you.’ He was looking at the Grand Priest. ‘Your lies and your deceit have left this kingdom bleeding, but it won’t bleed for much longer. Tonight the kingdom’s mourning will be over and the punishment of traitors shall begin.’

He walked towards the Counsel, drawing all their attention. ‘There is a serpent among us; he is sitting with us now and he is rejoicing at this kingdom’s downfall,’ declared the Gallant Warrior. His eyes were like a hawk’s, fixed on the old priest.

‘Are you certain of this?’ said the young Priest of Xidrica above the shocked whispers. It was fair to say that he did not like the Grand Priest of Ursar very much, but he would never have expected him to be a traitor; it was an act of total defiance, punishable as treason.

‘I am as certain about it as I am that the sun will rise each day, and I shall have my vengeance before sunset!’

‘You have no power to judge me; only the gods can do so.’

‘Then call upon them now! Let them defend you, because tonight you will be judged by the weight of my sword.’

‘Marmicus, I urge you to be rational; think of what you’re saying,’ said the young Priest of Xidrica.

‘If you trust this man, then you too are a collaborator and a traitor to this kingdom,’ responded Marmicus coldly. Nothing anyone said could change his mind, even if it came from a friend. He had come for a purpose and he would not leave without achieving it.

‘What are you intending to do with him?’ asked one priest, while everyone else shifted nervously in their seats. Most of them had chosen to keep silent; they knew they were at the mercy of his sword, and right now there was no leverage to bargain with.

‘What every traitor deserves.’

‘Me, a traitor to this kingdom? It’s an absolute lie!’ yelled the Grand Priest of Ursar with anger. ‘I will not be treated in this manner!’

‘The only lies spoken here have been drawn from your lips, but not for much longer. From every curse there comes forth a blessing, and yours has been the chance to claim this kingdom’s throne. With our king dead and the princess buried, this kingdom has no divine ruler, no loyal heir to the throne, no progeny to pass on its sanctity and no power to oppose you. You wanted Larsa dead, and you sent word to Jaquzan, telling him everything he needed to know about her journey. Only this Counsel knew about it, and you were the one who proved where your allegiance truly lies.’

‘I am no traitor! The only treachery here is your wretched accusations. Will nobody speak up?’ declared the Grand Priest, rising to his feet. He had expected an outraged reaction from his comrades, but the Counsel remained silent.

‘Silence, old fool!’ roared the Gallant Warrior, unsheathing his mighty Sword of Allegiance. The air rang with a metallic hum: Marmicus had raised the heavy weapon to the priest’s neck in one deft and unforgiving movement; he could kill him at any second. ‘Nothing you say can change what you are; you are a traitor and you are a serpent. You are an enemy of our kingdom and a liar among men, and now you’ll pay for the wrongs you have committed against us all.’

‘Marmicus, be rational!’ said the young Priest of Xidrica. ‘You’ve fought for justice all these years, but what you’re doing at this moment is unjust. If you kill this man, you’ll be killing everything you’ve stood for all these years. Be sensible; put down your weapon and let’s discuss this as civilised men.’ His face became pale as he intervened; he had hoped that his words would somehow extinguish his friend’s fiery temper, but nothing the young priest could say or do would stop him from doing what he desperately needed to do, and that was to exact revenge.

‘I know exactly what I’m doing.’

‘No you don’t, you’re acting on impulse. As your friend, I urge you to restrain yourself. Violence is not the way to settle this battle; give this man a fair trial. Right now, you’re angry and you wish to blame him because it would ease the burden you’re carrying.’

‘Listen to his wise words: don’t do this, you’ll only regret it,’ said another priest, summoning the courage to speak up.

‘The only regret I will have is allowing this man to live when I’ve had the chance to kill him,’ Marmicus whispered as he peered into the eyes of the frail priest without pity.

‘Wait! He’s not the traitor – I am,’ cried King Nelaaz, jumping up, wanting to stop the madness before it got out of hand. If only he had known that by saving one man’s life, he was actually putting an end to another …

Hopelessness is the one enemy that can threaten the survival of a soul: for the desire to survive is bled from the veins, and optimism is slowly dissolved until nothing remains. Tonight Larsa’s hopelessness suffocated her like a pillow over her face. She lay on the stone floor, curled up in a ball and crying loudly; Jehan sat beside her trying her best to comfort her. With every breath Larsa remembered Jaquzan’s face; it frightened her to close her eyes and be left alone with him in her imagination. If she were not careful she would lose her mind, just like the Queen of Persia.

‘Take a deep breath; it’s not right that you treat yourself like this. You have to be strong,’ said Jehan. She brushed the princess’s fringe from her eyes, and began to dab her fevered forehead with a wet cloth. Nothing the maid said could reassure her; the emperor’s punishment ran through her mind. Jaquzan was right, he had given her the worst sentence imaginable, and it had broken her in two.

‘I can’t fight him any more; I’m so tired, I want to die,’ sobbed Larsa, covering her face with her hands. Her lungs hurt and her head throbbed.

‘Don’t say such a thing! There’s still hope yet, you must believe it.’

‘Hope can’t change my fate, nothing can now.’

Larsa grabbed the maid’s hand, squeezing it tightly as she forced out her words. There was only one thing she needed from her; it would save her from all of this, offering her the salvation she needed.

‘You’ve been very kind to me, and I hate to ask anything else from you, but I need you to bring me something.’

‘I’ll try my best. What do you need?’

‘I need you to bring me the petals of the handiguk.’

‘But they’re poisonous, Your Highness, they’ll kill you in an instant,’ said the maid, removing her hand; she did not want to contemplate Larsa’s suicide. Larsa understood the gravity of what she was asking her, but her plan made sense: she needed Jehan to hear her out.

‘I’m not afraid of death, I’m afraid of living and what would become of me.’

‘There must be another way I can help you – I cannot bring you poison,’ said Jehan. She had seen so much death over the years, she did not want to be party to one.

‘We both know there really isn’t any other way. Your emperor wants me to bring forth an infant worthy of him; if I don’t kill myself my womb will carry his child. I can’t let that happen, you must understand that.’

‘I know the emperor’s your greatest enemy, Your Highness, but imagine if you were to give him an infant and raise him yourself – the child might become good like you and bring hope to those who so desperately need it.’

‘There’s more to it than that; we both need to die,’ wept Larsa. She pressed her hand against her stomach. ‘Only death can save us now.’

‘Who are you talking about, Your Highness? Who else needs to die?’

‘My baby,’ replied Larsa, turning her face away.

‘Are you with child, Your Highness?’ asked the maid. Larsa’s hands were clasped around her belly. She could feel her infant growing inside her, becoming stronger and more alive each day.

‘Yes,’ whispered Larsa. ‘Before I left my homeland I thought I might be, but I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to tell Marmicus in case I wasn’t. But now I’m certain of it: I can feel my womb growing; my baby is growing inside me and sharing my pain. That’s why I can’t let your emperor touch me. If he does, the baby I’m carrying inside me will be forever thought of as his, and that’s a lie I can’t allow the scribes of history to write. But if I don’t submit to him, then he’ll kill both of us.’

‘Does anyone else know?’

‘No.’

‘There must be another way I can help you. Ask anything else of me, except this,’ urged the maid. She had never imagined helping someone to take their life, let alone that of an unborn child; it was against everything she believed in.

‘I have no other choice. No mother wants to kill her own child, but you have to understand, there’s no poison deadlier than the infant that grows inside me right now; if he’s born here within this kingdom and raised by your emperor, then he’ll become the shadow of my enemy and the tyrant of all mankind. No child on earth deserves to be born with such a curse as his crown – even my own.’ Larsa shook her head; she had lost the faint light of hope that could once be seen in the sparkle of her eyes. She had been thinking about it for some time, and she knew it was the right decision, since motherhood had blessed and cursed her at the same time. ‘I’m begging you to bring me the petals; the poison must run through my veins and prevent the seed that grows inside me from blossoming. It’s the only way to protect the future of mankind. We both need to die, or my baby will belong to him.’

‘I can’t help you kill yourself. I’m sorry,’ whispered the maid, taking Larsa’s hand. She could feel the princess’s hand immediately tighten in response to her words. They were not what Larsa had wished to hear.

‘Why won’t you bring me the poison? It’s all I ask of you. There’s no need for you to watch me take it, or stay with me until the end.’

‘I’ll tell you why, and maybe then you’ll understand,’ replied the maid. It took a lot of courage to say what she was about to say. ‘I had a daughter once, who was brave and stubborn like you. In fact, when I look at you I am reminded of her. Just like yours, her fate was awful. When the Assyrians came, they rounded up all the women in our village. Anyone who was beautiful and young was picked out from the crowd, while older women like me were forced to watch as they were raped. I saw them rape my daughter, as so many mothers did that night. Watching my daughter being stripped of her dignity and beaten by men who laughed at her when she tried to fight them off was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure. She may have been spared death, but on that day she died inside. I didn’t see her smile again – not until she gave birth to my grandson, Paross, nine months later. I cannot say which monster was the father, because she was raped by more than one. When she thought no good could ever come from what had happened to her, she was surprised to find that it did. After the greatest of hardship came her ease; she loved the baby so much. He healed her from within and gave her hope when before she had none. He was only two when his mother fell ill and died, but I try to remind him every day that his mother loved him. So, you see, my child, when the world seems so cruel and everything has turned to dust, all you need is one tiny drop of rain to make a seed of hope grow. So long as you’re alive, and you still believe in the goodness of others, even if there’s only one person left in the entire world they become that seed, and your tears become the rain that will nourish it. I’m always hopeful that life can change, Your Highness. After all, there’s nothing in this world that remains the same: night always turns into day, and oppression can always turn into freedom. The moment we give up is the moment we accept the world for what it has become.’