Heart, Faith, and Steel 6/8
===========================
That night in bed, after Tak Ne and Cassandra had gotten reacquainted,
Cassandra asked him about his new student.
"I bought him from another Immortal, a Roman named Tarcinus." Tak Ne shook
his head in disgust. "He kept Rubio as a slave, and crucified him whenever
Rubio tried to escape. Tarcinus pretended he was a god, bringing Rubio back
to life. He never even told Rubio what he was."
"Hardly uncommon," Cassandra said, her voice calm and remote as she adjusted
the wool blanket over her shoulders. "My first master killed me many times,
and he never told me anything about immortality. It's easier to control
people when they're ignorant, when they think you're a god."
She had spoken of her first master only that one time before, and Tak Ne
sensed the pain behind her enforced control now and her long silence over
the past eighty years. Her master had been the first man ever to touch her,
and he had probably been the first to kill her as well. Tak Ne pulled
Cassandra closer to him and held her, and she nestled against him, accepting
the comfort he offered. Tak Ne had been a slave many times, and he had kept
slaves of his own. He knew how slaves were broken, how they were controlled.
Brutality at the beginning broke a slave's spirit, and most masters stopped
there, relying on pain and fear to keep control. But pleasure and affection
were much more effective; bonds of love were stronger than any chains. The
master need only offer comfort, present himself as a safe haven in an ugly
life, pretend to care. It might take a few months or a few years, but
eventually the slave would respond, becoming obedient and compliant, even
eager to please.
Cassandra had responded thus to her first master, Tak Ne knew, tried to
"please him well." That man should have been her teacher, her guide.
Instead, he had kept her ignorant of immortality, broken her spirit by
raping and killing her repeatedly, then offered her pretended affection. She
had been young and inexperienced, and she had believed him. She had loved
and trusted her master, even worshipped him as a god. Then he had abandoned
her.
Tak Ne kissed the top of her head and tightened his arms around her. No
wonder Cassandra found it difficult to trust. If he ever found the
cold-blooded murdering swine who had brutalized her so, he would do more
than just take his head. "What's his name?"
"It doesn't matter," she said. "He's dead."
"Did you take his head?"
"No," she answered. "One of his students did. He hadn't told that one the
truth about immortality, either."
"Good," Tak Ne said with grim satisfaction. "Then neither he nor Tarcinus
will be keeping any more Immortals ignorant." He had taken the Roman's head
while Rubio had watched. It had been a good first lesson for the lad.
Cassandra lifted her head from the curve of his shoulder to look at him. "I
know you are an excellent teacher for Rubio." She smiled, a mischievous,
teasing grin that made her eyes dance in the flickers of light from the
small oil lamp on the table. "I know you can be an excellent teacher for me,
too."
"Can I?" he asked, grinning in return, ready to stop this talk of students
and former masters.
"It is important to practice everyday," she said seriously. "And I fear that
you and I have woefully neglected our duties."
"Duty calls," he agreed, then applied himself eagerly to the task. Tak Ne
had always been a conscientious man.
~~~~~
A few days later, as the petals of the lemon blossoms floated down slowly in
the hot still air, Cassandra watched while student and teacher sparred in
the courtyard. Tak Ne was better, of course, but Rubio knew the basics and
was eager to learn more. Too eager.
The two men joined her in the shade of the colonnade, for the sun was
fierce. "You are doing well, Rubio," Tak Ne said to his student, and the
young Immortal beamed. They discussed the finer points of the lesson while
Cassandra listened and embroidered a new gown, then Tak Ne suggested, "You
should spar with Callista soon."
"Her?" Rubio exclaimed, not even glancing at her. "But, she's--"
"A woman," Cassandra finished for him acidly, then fixed Tak Ne with a
steady gaze. He had no right to suggest such a thing without asking her
first.
"It would be good practice," Tak Ne said, as he reached for one of the small
pastries stuffed with raisins and almond paste. Then he leaned back in his
chair and added, "For both of you."
Her gaze became a glare, but Tak Ne ignored it--and her--for Rubio was
talking again.
"Are there many female Immortals?"
"A few," Tak Ne said. "They usually don't last long."
Cassandra took another stitch in her sewing and said nothing. Most Immortals
didn't last long, male or female. Rubio probably wouldn't, either. He was
too ready to fight, especially for a man of his physical age.
Tak Ne added, "Callista is one of the oldest female Immortals I've met."
Rubio looked at her now, curious--even avid. Cassandra gave him her most
bland meaningless smile, then turned to Tak Ne, still smiling, even though
she was seething inside. Tak Ne had no right to tell his student how old she
was! But she should not correct him in front of his student, or show her
anger. Cassandra suggested smoothly, "Lucius, I was hoping we could go
riding today?" He glanced at his student, so Cassandra quickly changed her
smile to a more seductive one and added, "To the river."
Tak Ne grinned, for they had spent a pleasant afternoon by the river the day
before. "Indeed. I think that's enough swordwork for today, don't you,
Rubio?"
Rubio stood, bowed stiffly, and left. Cassandra watched him walk away.
~~
At the river, she waited until she and Tak Ne had gone swimming and enjoyed
themselves on the river bank before she spoke of her concerns.
Tak Ne did not share them. "Rubio is my student, Cassandra, and he's a good
man."
"Have you never had a student turn on you?"
"No," he said, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his hand to
look at her intently. "But it sounds as if you have."
Cassandra did not respond to that. "You've told him of the Game and the
Prize. Do you think he doesn't want to win it? At any cost?"
"Rubio wouldn't come after me."
"Maybe not now," she admitted, though she knew Rubio would come after her
easily enough, if he thought he could win. "Maybe not a hundred years from
now. But there can be Only One."
"Eventually, yes," he agreed, sitting up and folding his arms around his
knees. "But the Gathering may be centuries away. We can't live our entire
lives distrusting everyone."
Cassandra had lived almost her entire life that way, and with good reason.
~~
During the evening meal, Rubio and Tak Ne discussed siege weapons and the
defense of cities. Cassandra had lived in many besieged cities--she had died
in them, too--but the men did not ask her for her opinion, did not even
speak to her.
Tak Ne was most attentive in bed that night, but he did not want to talk to
her then, either. When she woke the next morning, she was not surprised to
see that he had already left to go spar with Rubio. Cassandra knew the
demands of teaching a new Immortal. The bond between teacher and student was
much like the bond between brothers, and she had no place in it. Cassandra
packed her things.
When Tak Ne returned, he asked in surprise, "You're leaving?"
Had he thought she would stay simply to service him in bed while he spent
the rest of his time with his student? But she should not be jealous, and
she should not be angry. "Your student needs all of your attention now," she
told him. "Rubio should not have to share you."
Tak Ne nodded slowly. "It is best." He smiled at her and suggested, "I will
be done in a decade or two. Should we plan to meet?"
Cassandra put aside her irritation with him, remembering the happy times
they had had. "Yes, we should. Aqua Sulis in twenty years?"
"I haven't been to Britain in some time," he said. "That would be good."
"Travel may not be easy, Tak Ne. The world is changing again."
"The edges of the Empire are crumbling," he agreed, sitting down near the
table and leaning back in his chair. "The legions are pulling back. In a
century, maybe less, the tribes will take over again." He shrugged. "Well,
it was their land to begin with."
"Yes," she said, remembering the way it used to be, the way it would never
be again. She joined him at the table. "How many cultures have you seen
fall?"
"Egypt, once or twice. Babylon, of course. The Greeks had their time, then
the Persians, then Alexander. Rome has lasted longer than I thought she
would." He swatted away a passing fly. "And you?"
"Those you mentioned, and earlier ones: Troy, Phoenicia, Carthage, the
Hebrews. Others that don't even have names anymore." Her own people were
gone forever, vanished beneath the shifting sands. She couldn't even
remember the language anymore, only snatches of a lullaby, fleeting glimpses
of her father's face. It was all gone.
Time to start again, to build again. Time to go somewhere new. "We should
say farewell, Tak Ne, though we will meet again--someday."
"You said that last time, and you were right." He looked at her curiously.
"Do you tell the future, Cassandra? Are a prophetess, like your namesake in
Troy?"
"I see things," she admitted reluctantly, "in dreams. In the fire,
sometimes. But I can change nothing, and sometimes, what I think I see is
not what happens."
"That's always the way of prophecies, is it not?" he asked, seemingly
unconcerned. Then his eyes darkened, serious and intent, and he leaned
forward to take her hands in his. "I'm glad we've had this time together,
Cassandra."
"Yes," she said fiercely, holding tight to his hands. "So am I. You've been
... very good for me, in many ways." She kissed him gently on the lips, a
ceremonial farewell. "I'll miss you, Tak Ne, but we will see each other
again."
"I'll look for you," he said, and pressed his lips to her forehead in a
benediction, and a promise.
****************************************
STEEL
Cassandra and Ramirez
****************************************
=====================
Venice, the Italian Peninsula
Carnevale, 1501
=====================
Tak Ne dodged his way through the costumed throngs in the streets and
bridges of Venice, as the people danced and fornicated their way through
this last night of festival before the solemnity of Lent began. In Roman
times, the festival at this time of year had been called Lupercalia, and
priests of the god Pan had run through the streets, striking half-naked
women with goatskin thongs to help make them fertile. The Catholic Church
had changed the name and some of the customs, but the Christians still knew
how to celebrate it.
A plump woodland nymph gave him an eager kiss that tasted of wine, but he
pulled away from the wench as the sense of another Immortal roiled in his
stomach. He moved cautiously to a narrow dark street, then turned toward a
flutter of cloth. "Stand forth!" he demanded.
The Immortal stepped from the shadows of a doorway with sword in hand, but
the blade was merely held at the ready, not raised to attack.
"Cassia?" he asked in delighted surprise, taking a step back, lowering his
own sword. A thousand years earlier, he had missed the rendezvous with her
in Britain, a small matter of a rebellion. He had gone anyway, five years
later, but she had not waited for him.
"Xanthos," she replied, smiling a little. "Or should I say, Lucius?"
He swept off his hat and bowed, being careful not to take his eyes from her.
He didn't think she would attack him, but best to be careful. "Actually, of
late I have been known as Luciano Antonio Calaveri." He clapped his hat back
on his head. "However, that name no longer appeals to me, and I am thinking
of choosing another. And you are called ...?"
"Isadora Caboto," she answered, smiling more now. Her cloak hung open, and
her long Grecian-style gown revealed the curve of her thighs as she took a
step closer to him.
"The name suits you," he said, then looked about him at the filthy alley.
"Shall we find a more congenial spot to talk?"
"Yes, I think we should," Cassandra replied.
They both sheathed their swords, then he bowed again and offered her his
arm. They made their way through the crowds and finally arrived at a small
tavern, marked by a sign of a howling wolf over the door.
They chatted of the festival, of the fashions of the time. He was in modern
dress: knee-high boots; woolen hose and puffed out breeches; a red velvet
doublet slashed through with cream silk. She had been to a costume ball and
wore the ancient Greek chiton. It looked as good on her now as it had two
thousand years ago. Better.
He poured her a glass of wine and cut her a slice of bread, then leaned back
in his chair and simply enjoyed looking at her. But he was also
watching--wondering what had changed, wondering if there could still be
trust between them. And maybe something more.
They talked of countries, of places to go, and he chose the new name Juan
Sanchez Ramirez. Cassandra suggested he add Villa-Lobos to it, in honor of
the sign of the wolf over the door. Some more conversation, a bit of
flirtation, and soon they agreed to travel together to Spain and live there
as husband and wife, in deference to the local laws about cohabitation. It
was good to know the trust--and more--was still between them.
