Aries Fire (27 page)

“By influential allies do you mean you, sir?” she replied tersely.

“We are here to conduct a negotiation with heretical and barbaric evil-doers, enemies of the Church, Madame. May I remind you that as wife of the Emperor, you represent the great city of Rome and more importantly, the church upon which the heart of Rome resides?”

Eudocia despised lectures from ambitious priests.  She saw in Leo someone with the same passion for a precise agenda as hers.  Eudocia wondered where his game of power concluded.

“And may I remind you that my husband, son of Theodosius the first, maintains the church Christian rule as Emperor of the great eastern empire? The eastern peoples are not easily swayed, Deacon.  The men who bring the Christian word to this land are supported by the works of people such as Josephus, or Asanga and Vasubandhu of the Pali Buddhist scholars,” she said, pausing.  “We must understand the language of all people that we might integrate the pagan nations with the language of the holy Church and the Roman civilization.  Your way would have them all crucified.  How can the extermination of God’s children possibly strengthen the Will of God, Deacon? By the One God!  Have you forgotten that Jesus himself was a Jew? Is that truth a thorn in your ambitious side, sir!” she blurted, eyes on fire with indignation.

“You dare to speak to me of God’s Will, Madame Empress?” He hissed.  “Do you know the position I hold over your husband?” Leo’s face flushed with rage.  His well-hidden ruthless demeanor, antagonized by a woman of intelligence, suddenly exposed him. 

Eudocia instantly recognized his weakness with educated women. Silence held tiny explosions of righteousness.  Eudocia willed herself to a calm place. She warmed her tone for the sake of propriety.

“As a woman, I dare to speak my mind, Deacon.  Threats hold little sway with another if fear is not present,” she said with composure.

They stood in silence for a moment longer. Deacon Leo searched for a dignified departure from his momentary loss of equanimity.

“Come,” she said, approaching him like a welcomed breeze on a hot day.  Her head slightly tilted, a smile beamed, shoulders relaxed. The tiny lines around her eyes lifted upward, entreated him.

“We are both passionate about life, are we not, your Grace? And for the sake of God’s mysterious will, yes?”

The Empress took him by the arm and exuded femininity to relax him. Leo gladly accepted the change of discourse.  He quietly thanked God that Cyril was not present to witness his display of common, masculine frailty.

“I have a book I think you might enjoy,” she said with sweetness and patted his hand.

“A work of fiction?” he mused.

They turned to face the immense library.  Leo made note to delve further into the Empress’ affairs upon his return to Rome.  The Empress scanned the titles for a work by Pope Celestine regarding Pelagius.

“It is a book by Pope Celestine,” she said quietly and continued to look.  “Ah, I am beside myself, your Grace.  I cannot seem to locate it,” she began.

The Empress looked at the Deacon and saw his face turn pale. Leo’s hand reached out to touch a scroll, but he withdrew quickly and moved away.

“Are you ill, Deacon?” she asked.

“Oh, no. It is nothing. The long journey perhaps.  Or the meeting with the Huns on the morrow,” he said then added, “and our argument, Madame I do apologize for…” Something unnerved him greatly.

Leo walked to another shelf and seemed engaged by another book.  Small beads of sweat formed on his brow.  He swiped them quickly.  Eudocia knew his composure was pretense.  She walked casually toward him and glanced at the place where he previously stood. 

Which one of these works set him off axis? Eudocia wondered. 

A woman’s intuition led her to silence.  Something remained in his behavior.  The Deacon was deeply disturbed.  The Empress noted his dismissal as information stored for later use.

Chapter Twelve

Reconciliation with past influential figures opens a door to the future

Or Saturn conjunct Neptune

T
HE TIME ARRIVED.
Bleda’s ship sailed safely to shore.  The Emperor’s army, five hundred strong, was positioned carefully along the wall tower to the Imperial palace.  Even as they stood watchful and alert, the Roman soldiers knew nothing of the thousand Huns, laying in wait across the channel, behind the Scutari mountain range.

Attila gave Seira a ceremonial dress of soft, white goat’s skin, stitched at the seams with silvery, braided horse’s hair that flattered her figure.  By this gift, she assumed she would be introduced to the Emperor as Attila’s counsel. 

She stepped from the ship, barefoot, observing the Hun way.  Attila approached her and saw that her eyes glowed in the moonlight.  He quietly inhaled her beauty and wished he brought Seira as his One wife.  He dismissed the thought when he turned toward the palace with Seira close behind. 

Ruga and Bleda were already on the path to greet the Emperor.  Alexander remained on board the ship under guard. Seira thanked the stars for his safety.

Trumpets blew from the wall.  The gates opened, huge doors towered.  Seira did not notice the golden eagle affixed to the top of the archway. She fixed her eyes on the immensity of the city and the richness it imbued. Guards pushed open the colossal doors to the great hall. Black skinned Nubian women in sheer, peach dyed silk bodices adorned with jangling coins danced in honor of the Hun royals. Musicians played; light tambourines jingled and drums tapped. Seira pitied the Nubian women held as slaves in this household.

Her attention turned to the Emperor and Empress.  They sat regal in their seats of gilded gold leaf. Seira sensed the Emperor as being an impressionable man, a pawn in the affairs of men, but sincere nonetheless.  In him she saw the eventual fall of the Roman Eastern Empire.

Ruga promenaded through the great hall as if he were the master of the house.  A banquet of delicacies caught his attention.  He raised his already tall posture to look at the night’s feast.  He ogled the dark skin of a dancer as he passed.

Bleda strode across the marble flooring with the arrogance and pomposity of a self-proclaimed god.  His gait almost brought him in pace with the narcissistic reprimand of Ruga.

Attila entered alone but with pride and absorbed every movement in the room. He carried a noble appearance, neither arrogant nor humble. His loyalty extended to his uncle and brother as long as it served his purpose.

Ruga, Bleda and Attila stood side-by-side. Seira was three steps behind Attila, but just enough to his right side to be in clear sight of the Empress. She did this with purpose and the Empress acknowledged it as she examined Seira. Seira felt drawn to the Empress as their eyes met briefly and an instant respect formed in this company of men.

“Welcome, Sublime Khan Ruga.  And to the heirs of your kingdom, Ulus Bleda and Attila, we bid you welcome to our home,” the Emperor said without excess pageantry.

He stood and bowed.  The Empress stayed seated and lowered her head in respect for her guests.

There existed six steps to reach the Emperor and Empress.  Ruga raised his hand and nodded his head in acceptance.  Bleda encroached onto one step and leaned forward in an aggressive gesture as he responded to the Emperor’s greeting.  Attila remained steadfast in his pose, hands on his hips.  He nodded to the Emperor then looked at the Empress, dropping his arms, he bowed his head.  The Empress immediately struck a silent rapport with Attila.  This was the second time they had met. Attila once accompanied his father Mundzuk to meet the Emperor and Empress.  Attila, a small boy then, had grown to a formidable size and influence yet the Empress did not fear him.

Attila subtly lowered his right hand, palm up, as he ingeniously introduced Seira to the Empress.  All the while, Ruga, Bleda, and the Emperor oblivious to his actions.

The Empress tilted her chin downward and kept her eyes on Attila and Seira. A small smile lifted the lines of wisdom surrounding her eyes.

An eastern musician played the tambora.  The harmonious, often high-pitched sound from the drone lute filled the room with an exotic mood.  Incense burned in the trays.  A soft, cool salty breeze blew in from the Northeastern sea.

Seira felt an unmistakable reminder of her mother’s house.  She thought it strange, in this foreign place, but did not dismiss it.  She held the feeling as it gave her the promise of hope.  The living ethers spoke to her and told her to be still, to be aware of the moment that would present an opportunity.

Emperor Theodosius ll raised his hand to halt the music.  The Empress filled the pending silence with graciousness.

“Please, come and join us for our evening meal,” the Empress said.

She rose to lead them all to the dining area.  They sat at the marble table with gilded plates and ornate bowls of every type of food.

The Emperor and Empress sat opposite each other at the smooth, cold stone oblong table. Bleda flanked the Emperor.  Attila sat next to Bleda and Seira was shown the seat next to Ruga, across from Attila.  Enough space separated them for Seira to feel comfortable.

Fruit, dates, and nuts, filled several delicately painted clay bowls.  Small berries dangled over the sides.  A servant brought a large platter of cooked meats and fish.  The first platter laid in front of Ruga, propelled him to smile and comment.

“We are pleased with the selection of tender meats,” he said.

Ruga did not wait for his hosts to partake of their meal.  He plunged into his calf meat and chewed loudly.

“Evet, most delicious,” he said.

Bleda ignored the carved wooden spoons for serving and grabbed cooked turnips with his hands and tossed them onto his dish.  The Emperor watched Bleda with trepidation.  The Empress kept her feelings well within, out of reach of her company. Attila and Seira were silent. Ruga spoke while Bleda shoved food into his mouth.

Seira glanced at Bleda and suddenly remembered the sailor aboard the Ishtar who also ate like a hungry dog.  She held back a laugh and looked at Attila. He nodded to her and Seira put small amounts of oiled whitefish onto her plate.

A servant approached with cooked flamingo bird on a platter surrounded by rice-stuffed dormice. A glass bowl with a strong fish sauce followed.

“Will you not try the garum on your snails, your Sublime Khan?” said Eudocia.

Ruga raised both eyebrows and turned down the sides of his mouth amazed by the splendor of their home.  This was his first time in the Imperial palace. 

“Yes, very enticing, Empress,” he said, sniffing the fish sauce.

He nodded and drenched his snails with it.  He gave the bowl of garum to Bleda who poured the rest onto his bird.

Attila glanced at Ruga on occasion, but maintained his attention on Seira.  He did not drink wine, which was in abundance on the table.  He ate cordially with his fingers, like the others, but kept his brusque manner on reserve.

Seira noticed this and realized that Attila was more cultured than ever imagined. Being a Roman ward had taught him the finer nuances of negotiation protocol.

Bleda and Ruga drank wine liberally; both consumed large quantities of food.  As Ruga bit into a pomegranate, he spit seeds onto the plate.  Red stained lips made him look ridiculous. 

He is made for the circus, Seira thought and chewed modestly.

She glanced up and matched looks with Bleda. He grunted and she looked away quickly.  Attila leaned forward slightly to block Bleda’s view of Seira.  The Empress watched the table with great interest.  The drama unfolding before her captivated her curiosity.

The Emperor spoke to Ruga of culinary and musical pleasures shared among royals.  He dared not venture into politics just yet.

Seira finished her meal.  She automatically dipped her fingers in the water bowl, placed next to each guest for cleansing soiled fingers.  Something she’d not done since living in Alexandria.  Seira was unaware that her ingrained upbringing was being scrutinized.

Eudocia studied Seira’s cultured behavior without being overt.  The Empress, eager to learn of Seira and her presence with the Huns, proceeded with elegant charm.

“Your dress is most unusual and yet elegant, ah…” Eudocia said.

She smiled at Seira, and tilted her head toward Attila enough to infer that she did not know the gentlewoman’s name.  Attila responded first as was custom.

“Empress Eudocia, here sits Seira,” he said briefly.

Seira looked at Attila suddenly realizing he’d never spoken her name before. It sounded strange, like a foreign language to her.

“Ah, Seira, a pleasure to have you dine with us,” she said loud enough for her husband to hear.

The Emperor, Ruga, and Bleda looked at the women.  The Emperor leaned a bit to see Seira.

“Yes welcome, Seira,” he said, turning once again to Ruga.

The two kings’ discourse blended into the background.  Bleda said little, but stared often at the Emperor.  Attila observed the women with interest. He was glad that Seira talked with a woman of culture.

“You are not Hunnish,” Eudocia stated more than asked.

“No, I am Egyptian,” said Seira keeping her voice quiet to discourage Bleda’s attentions.

Eudocia sat back, sipped some wine and nodded at Seira.

“Egyptian,” Eudocia said. “I have quite an impressive collection of art and literary works from all of Egypt,” she said, leaning forward, placing her hand on Seira’s.

Attila paused a moment and nodded to give his approval, his expression unreadable. Seira was unsure as how to perceive it. Her life was still in the hands of Ruga and Bleda.  They could overrule Attila if necessary.  Seira would need to be careful in her actions and dialogue with the Empress.

“You can read of course,” the Empress interjected Attila and Seira’s silent communion as she probed for information.  Attila remained in accord.

“Yes I can,” Seira stated plainly.

The Empress, even more intrigued with this Egyptian woman, plotted her course.

Again she said, “I am mesmerized by the quality of your dress.  Is it deer skin?” she asked Attila.