As she took each step, the conversation she had earlier with Marjanita resounded in her head.
“No. I will not allow it, my lady,” Marjanita had protested, just as she had on the past two nights. “It is too dangerous for you to go by yourself, my lady. I insist on going with you!”
“Are you forgetting your place, Marjanita?” Calpurnia had reprimanded her lightly.
“It is my place to protect you, my lady.”
“I will be fine. He will never reveal himself, if you are with me. Your brusque manner would surely frighten him off. I must find him. I must know the truth about my father’s death.”
“But he is a creature, my lady – little more than a beast of the field. His mind is gone. And I never liked the way he looked at you.” Marjanita appeared disgusted at the thought. “His eye is like that of a vulture.”
It finally came to the point of threatening to punish her before the nearly insubordinate Marjanita ceased her protests and allowed Calpurnia to leave. Calpurnia could not hold Marjanita responsible for her perception of Odulph, for she was like the others, who had only seen Odulph in his bestial form – an enraged, caged animal that hated the world, only showing allegiance to the master who owned and fed him. But Calpurnia knew a different man – yes, man – for that is what he once was. Deep inside, she knew the soul of the man was still there, capable of love, and of being loved.
No one, not even her father, knew that a relationship of sorts had developed between her and Odulph. Just as no one knew about those long months in Antioch with her brothers dead and her father slipping into insanity, how she starved for companionship, for someone that might relate to her suffering and loss. Living in the immense governor’s estate, amongst a people whose culture and customs were far removed from those of the Latins, even under the protection of the unreservedly loyal Marjanita, she had felt so utterly alone.
She had come upon him quite by accident, in the estate’s vast, stone-fenced garden, one bright spring morning. That place, with its dazzling colors, enchanting aromas, and soothing fountains had always been a place of tranquility for her. Her father had had the cage moved to the sunlit garden that day for some superstitious reason or other, and had left it there as state business took him away for several hours. She had been thinking of her brothers, as she walked amongst the colorful rows of red, gold, and lavender, as she did every morning, when she rounded a hedge and found the cage sitting in her path, and herself face-to-face with the twisted features that had repulsed so many. Odulph’s sudden appearance had startled her, but then she was surprised to see that he had been no less startled by her. She realized that she had interrupted his careful study of a vibrant pink rose that swayed in the breeze slightly more than an arm’s reach beyond the bars of the cage, and she somehow sensed that he was very sad.
It was at that precise moment that she knew there was a spark within him, a soul that carried the intellect to appreciate the fragile beauty of this world and not simply live for ravenous consumption of food and drink. For the rose, in all of its dew-speckled brilliance, was a simple message from the gods to mortal men who were destined to walk the earth in suffering. It was a fringe of the intricate perfection that was creation, a mere glimpse of the beauty that must abound in the afterlife.
Calpurnia had seen the suffering of a thousand slaves in her life. Many times, when slaves got out of line, she had been the source of that suffering. They were human beings, true, and she always considered herself fair, but she had never connected with any of them. For some reason, ever since that morning, when she and Odulph had sat quietly together for several long moments enjoying the beauty of the morning sun on the rose, she had felt a bond with him that was impossible to explain.
Perhaps it had happened at the right time, the one moment after her brothers’ deaths when she was vulnerable enough to let someone into her guarded world. Whatever the source of her feelings, she had next done the unthinkable. She had done what her father had commanded that no one but him ever do. She had approached the cage and had closed to within reach of Odulph’s massive arms. Oddly enough, it was the creature that had retreated, backing away to the other side of his small cell, unsure of her intentions. But when he saw her pick off the purple flower and pass it through the bars to him without the slightest inkling of fear, he returned and gently took it from her with one gnarled hand. She had made eye contact with him. She saw that one single sad eye gazing back at her and, in her mind’s eye, saw the form of the great Steppe warrior he had once been.
There were many such encounters after that, always when her father was away, and always in secret. On each occasion, she managed to tap the gentle spirit that had once inhabited the body of the perceived monster. She had learned to communicate with him, and though his cage was never placed in the garden again, she often stole into her father’s chamber in her father’s absence and placed a solitary flower in Odulph’s hand.
Was it pity? She did not know. Surely, had she felt enough pity, she might have done something to arrange the creature’s release. But, she loved her father, too, and she sensed Odulph also loved him. Her father was very protective of the object he referred to as his augury.
Now, as she searched Argonaut’s foul-smelling hold, she knew Odulph would not harm her. If he indeed lived, then he was here, and he would come out to face her, and perhaps she might contrive from him how her father truly met his end.
A noise came from up ahead of her. It was not the sound of a scurrying rodent, and it was accompanied by the distant glow of a lantern. She heard voices, too, and metal against metal, as if someone was unlocking, or locking, a door. Who could be there? Perhaps the night watch, or members of the crew retrieving stores?
She stepped forward warily, realizing that, whoever it was, it would be better for all of them if she made her presence known. Then the voices suddenly stopped. She heard retreating footfalls, but the glow of the light still remained. Its source was hidden by a stack of stores. She would have to venture down the walk and turn the corner to see it.
She stopped abruptly, for she was distinctly certain now that she had heard footsteps behind her. She turned, but could see only darkness. Could it be Odulph? She began moving again, certain that she was being shadowed. Again, she heard the footfalls behind her, not one, but many. She increased her pace, sensing that she was in danger, convinced that whoever it was had somehow been waiting for her. She groped her way forward as quickly as her unsure footing would allow, equating the light up ahead with safety. There had to be someone there, and perhaps that person, or persons, could help her escape from her pursuers.
XIX
The dark, freezing hold of the Argonaut was not a place in which Lucius relished dying, but he could think of no other reason why Barca would have brought him here. Lucius had just finished a shift at the oars. His back ached from the long exertion, his muscles numbed from the endless rhythm, from hours spent fighting the currents of the open sea. He had crawled into his damp hammock for some much-needed sleep, and had just closed his eyes, when Barca had suddenly roused him and had brought him down here at the point of a dagger.
Lucius had half-thought to make a move against the paunch overseer, for the man was no warrior. He held the dagger in such a casual manner that Lucius could have easily wrenched it from him and plunged it into his throat before he took his next breath. But then what? Were he to kill Barca, where could he possibly hide on a ship at sea, with no land in sight? So, he had allowed Barca to direct him down the ladder to the lowest deck of the flagship. Barca had been very careful that they moved unseen. It had not been too difficult to pull off, since most of the crew were asleep in their hammocks.