The Bronze Tripod: A Tale from Ancient Rome

The Bronze Tripod: A Tale from Ancient Rome

by David Franchi-Christopher

Copyright © 2104 David Franchi-Christopher

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ISBN: 978-1-291-85355-1

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The Empire’s Saviour

Sleep was rudely interrupted.

Wake up! Wake up master! He’s coming!

What the...? the boy muttered in anger and confusion.

Master, it’s me, Saturninus. I’m sorry, but the mistress says you must wake up.

Through bleary eyes the young boy made out the shape of the old servant bent over him.

Ok, ok! he muttered to show that he was awake and to stop the old fool from shaking him anymore.

What time is it? he asked, noticing that it was still quite dark and the light from the oil lamps licked the shadows in his room.

Early! Saturninus confirmed, the cock has just fallen silent.

The young lad sighed and swore an oath as his feet came into contact with the cold floor.

This is madness! he hissed in a foul temper.

I know my master, I know! the old man smiled, trying to placate him, but it’s the mistress you see. She’s so excited at his coming and wants everything to be just right.

Hmm! the boy muttered in response.

The mistress asks you to dress and then to join the rest of the family as soon as possible, Saturninus smiled lopsidedly, gesturing towards the clothes that had been left out for the purpose.

The boy smiled bitterly at Saturninus as the old man bustled out of his room. It would be fair to say that he did not dress in the best of humours that morning. It was cold and dark and his mind was still groggy from being rudely awoken. He hated getting up early. To be so forcibly ejected from sleep, well that was not right! Anyway, he could not see what all the damn fuss was about. Who was this person that they were getting so worked up about? A bloody stranger! He could hardly recall his last visit, what his voice sounded like or his face. He could not understand his mother. She must have taken leave of her senses!

The boy harrumphed and muttered to himself as cold fingers fiddled with unfamiliar clothing. That was another thing, why couldn’t he wear his normal gear? The clothes that had been put out for him were new, unfamiliar and uncomfortable. They rubbed his body and chafed him. No, enough was enough. He might be woken early, and be presented like some sacrificial beast, but he would damn well do it in comfortable clothes. Alas, he had reckoned without the efficiency of Saturninus, who had removed the offending articles. He would have the offending fool whipped, he snorted to himself.

He remained in this same foul humour as he moved through the villa looking for his mother. Everywhere was a blur of action as servants and slaves worked feverishly to clear the cobwebs, sweep the floors and generally present the place in its best aspect. Did they live in such a hovel? Was it only worth cleaning for a visitor? Murderous thoughts gripped him.

Mother! Mother! he shouted in a dark and angry voice. Where was she?

There you are! a familiar voice called out behind him.

He turned round and, looking up into her face, despite the darkness of his mood it was only with an effort that he prevented the smile that crossed his facing from sticking.

Where have you been, sleepy head? the young girl teased.

Her good humour riled him more.

I’ve been trying to get a decent night’s sleep, but then some old damn fool was sent to wake me up!

Oh dear! she pulled a funny face to mock him, we did get up in a mood didn’t we!

We didn’t have much bloody choice, did we? he glared back.

She looked at him closely and then grinned. I know, but try not to be so angry, eh? You know how important it is, to your mother.

Yess! I suppose so! he forced out in exasperation. But why on earth do we have to get up at the crack of dawn and go through all this palaver? he asked, motioning with his arm at the frenetic activity going on around them.

She glared at him. Now you’re just being childish!

No! he said clenching his fists defiantly, I cannot for the life of me understand why she gets so worked up like this!

Worked-up! Worked-up! Listen to yourself. Don’t you want to see him? she asked angrily.

I don’t know! he shrugged. I hardly know him!

Great god! she snapped, if you were younger I‘d slap your stupid face! How can you say something like that? How can you? she blazed at him.

Oh do calm down! he smiled, at last finding some pleasure in the day. She glowered at him.

Don’t you care? she hissed.

He shrugged.

But for your mother. If not for your own sake, or mine, can’t you just try and be pleased for her, support her.

That was a low shot.

You know I’ll always support my mother, my family!

Perhaps! she sighed, but sometimes you have a funny way of going about it.

He grunted.

Anyway, I thought you’d be pleased to see your father again.

He shrugged again and she glared at him and sighed heavily.

Calm down, calm down! he smiled holding his hand up to placate her. Ok? he asked, checking that she had calmed down.

Well, yes, on one level it will be pleasant, he continued, but then again I hardly know him and so, I’m a little scared, you know, of meeting him.

She nodded. I suppose you’re right! But surely you remember him?

He shrugged. I’m not sure, bits I guess, more feelings than events. I can’t really recall what he looks or sound like!

Like Mars! she sighed wistfully.

It was at times like these, when he least expected it, that he loved her the most. He took her hand and squeezed it.

She leant forward and kissed him on his forehead. Be brave! she murmured. He’s a good man, the best of men.

I know, he murmured, he’s the Empire’s saviour.

Yes, yes he is, she smiled, and you’re his son. Just you remember that!

He smiled and straightened his back feeling better about things.

Now, she murmured, go and find your mother, and see what you can do to help.

Yes my mistress he laughed giving her a mock salute and then quickly running off as she chased after him laughing and trying to slap the back of his head.

A Roman farmstead

An old barn, empty save a few unused harrows and old, empty sacks was cool, dark and still as a temple. The end of a late summer day was approaching. The sun was getting low now and the shadows were lengthening. On the floor sat six or seven urchins, of assorted ages all very still and expectant staring at the young girl who had taken centre stage. No doubt, if found out they would all get in to trouble, but hearing one of her stories was worth the risk.

She leant on an old trestle table in front of them, commanding their attention.

So, she smiled, what is to be?

Tell us about the sacrifices at Diana’s Mirror! one of them shouted.

No! others chorused, We’ve heard that one loads of times!

Hercules and his feats? she suggested.

There were groans all around.

One of your father’s old stories? somebody shouted out.

Boring! others chorused and, for a while, the group descended into squabbles.

She let them have their head for a few minutes but then her patience went. Quiet! She commanded and almost instantly a hush fell upon them.

Since you can’t decide, she smiled, I’ll decide for you!

They stared back at her expectantly. I think, she said slowly, the best thing, would be... a ghost story!

A collective gasp went around the room. A ghost story! The children were terrified and titillated at the same time. The small group looked at each other furtively, secretly thrilled.

Good then, that’s settled, but, she added sternly, remember the rules!

They nodded mutely and respectfully. Tell nobody! Not your parents, not your master and don’t let any of this get back to my family. If you do, you know what will happen?

She was older than them, in itself enough to make most of them obey, but more than that, she was the young mistress of the house and, as such, so far above them they it did not even occur to any of them to question her authority.

They nodded vigorously. None of them wanted to be the subject of the bloody and horrible revenge that she had promised should they let the secret slip.

Right then, she continued, you know what to do.

They all placed their right hand over their hearts.

Repeat after me, she instructed:

"Oh high and Holy Ishtar

I give you honour and praise.

I swear on my own life,

That of my parents and family

To keep thy secret

And honour thy memory

May you strike me down.

With your death dealing darts

And hound me into the underworld

If I break this pledge!"

They repeated her words solemnly and so put themselves under oath. Only now would she proceed, confident that the secret would be kept.

She smiled. Good. Are you all ready?

They nodded, silently, obediently, spellbound.

Good! The story I am about to tell is very, very old, she continued. It was told to me by an old woman. Who knows, she may even have been the cumaean Sibyl herself!

Eyes opened wide at this last bit of information. She smiled, the power thrilled her.

Long ago, in a country far to the east, towards the Parthians, this last word she spat out, there lived a young and brave prince. He was the son of the king of Armenia and he was young, handsome and brave. He was the apple of his parent’s eye and beloved by all the people. And yet, despite his wealth, despite his position, and the love in which he was held by all, he was wretched and unhappy. Why was he so miserable? she threw out her rhetorical question and the simple and innocent crowd stared at her dumbly.

I shall tell you then? she smiled triumphantly. He was in love!

There was another sharp intake from the audience. Yes! He was in love with a fair young lady. She was from one of the highest houses in the land, young, beautiful and modest. He loved her with all his heart. He had always loved her. From the day that he had first set eyes on her his heart had burned with a terrible fire that consumed his very soul from within in. He burned for her and suffered for his love.

The urchins shivered. She even managed to make love sound terrible and full of agonies.

"There was a problem. Their parents said they were too young, and must wait. Imagine the agony of seeing each other each day, being so close and yet so far apart. The fire within burned at their very souls, licking and caressing them, making every day apart miserable. It was unbearable.

Slowly, time passed and eventually the happy day when they would marry was announced. All seemed well with the prince and his beloved, until disaster struck. The day before the wedding, she was out in the garden playing with her maids. They had a small apple which they were throwing to each other. She was at the centre and throwing it to her maids telling them who they would marry in the future. However, one maid, her head giddy with the game and the name of the man she was given as her husband to be, threw the apple carelessly and it got lost in the garden.

Laughing at the maid’s silliness, the young lady chased after the apple and reached in amongst the plants to retrieve it. Alas, unknown to her, there in the cool and pleasant garden, a small green snake was enjoying peace. Imagine its surprise when the princess’ hand closed around it. Instantly, the beast sank its fangs into her and, as it did so, the deadly venom flowed into the young lady and with a scream she fell to the floor!"

There were sharp intakes of breath all around and hands raised to mouths as the horrible story had its effect. In the gloom of the old barn the grubby faces looked ghostly and pallid.

She continued, pleased with the effect she was having.

She was carried into the palace and the King, Queen and young prince were summoned. The palace guards were roused and they searched the garden for the offending snake, but it had crept and slithered away unseen to a hiding place where it was safe from man. So, all the gardeners were rounded up and beheaded for allowing this foul beast to pollute their paradise, all except one, the youngest, who instead had his left hand cut off and sealed with fire so that the he could be a constant reminder to all the people of this dreadful act.

The young children groaned appreciatively at this gruesome turn of events.

"And what happened to the young lady? The palace was full of tears, cries of lament and misery. Her mother fainted and was carried away. The king commanded his best wise men and physicians to treat the lady, but it was no use. The poison was too strong and too swift and had already found its way to her small, young heart, a heart already weakened through her long and torturous love for the prince. Solemnly, the wise men told the king that she must die that very day and the prince should prepare himself for heart-break. The prince was distraught, cursed his misfortune and accused God of abandoning him. Weakened from his love and this latest blow, he collapsed and was taken to his room.

So, the young girl died and the palace was plunged into grief. That night, a strange thing happened. It seemed to the prince that he woke in the middle of the night and that a voice spoke to him. He could not tell if it was a dream, or a waking reality, but the words were quite clear to him. Do you know what it said?" she asked.

They stared at her goggle-eyed, shaking their heads.

Well, she smiled continuing, it told him to go down to the crypt where his dead beloved was lying for there he would find a marvellous gift from the gods.

The children stared at each other nervously and in anticipation.

"So, very carefully, trying to avoid waking his parents and the entire palace, he crept through the cold, dark and chilly palace until he stood face to face once more with his beloved. In the flickering torchlight he stared down at her face, so still, peaceful and pale. In death, she seemed even more beautiful than ever, horribly beautiful indeed, so he bent and kissed those cold, cold lips.

Then, to his horror, he heard the voice again. It spoke to him and looking between her legs on its instruction, he found a human head. This is the offspring you were denied by her unholy and untimely death. Guard its secret well, for all good things will come from it! The voice told him. So he took the head to his room and hid it from all, only speaking to it when alone.

It so happened, that within a few days the king’s hated enemies attacked the palace and breached the walls. There was great slaughter and it seemed all was lost. However, the head spoke and told the prince to take it and stand on the highest rampart and show it to his enemies. He did as he was told and, at the sight of this terrible head, whose eyes seemed to flash with murder and anger, the enemy were struck dead. Those few that survived were so terrified that they begged for peace and offered to make the prince their king. The prince accepted the offer and watched with joy as their old king was dragged through the city and then flayed alive to cheers and laughter."

The children gasped at the exquisite horror, pulling faces to show their appreciation and disgust.

"The stuffed body of the enemy king was then left on show, as a warning to all and sundry not to take up arms against their new ruler. The old king, the prince’s father, thought he had secured a wonderful victory and his own future, but he was wrong. Now, the head poisoned the prince against his parents. It told him that his parents were enjoying the fruits of his success.

Accordingly, the next night he crept into their room and slayed them mercilessly, the courtiers found him laughing madly, covered in their blood and gore, but were too terrified to do anything.

So, he joined the kingdoms and became the most rich, powerful and feared king in the world. Wherever his armies went they were victorious, nothing could stand in the head’s way. As he became more and more powerful, he became more and more wicked. One day, he saw a beautiful young girl at the court. He discovered that she was married to the captain of the guard. He fell in love with her and wanted her for himself. So, he had the captain murdered and then pretended to be heartbroken for her. He hid his real character and tricked her into thinking that he was kind and generous.

Soon enough they were married, but even on her wedding night he revealed his true self and beat her mercilessly when she refused his drunken advances. In a rage, he left her sobbing in his chamber. However, as she cried and lamented her fate, so she heard a voice calling to her. She followed the sound and then, to her horror, discovered the head. However, to her it looked like the head of a gorgon, a foul and evil thing, with green hoary skin, snakes for hair, a hooked nose and terrible flashing eyes. Without thinking, she took the prince’s bronze dagger from the bedside and stabbed the monstrous head right between the eyes!

Ooooh! the children murmured, some putting their hands to their mouths and a few of the smaller ones beginning to sob.

There was a massive bang! she shouted, making them all jump, and in a flash the head disappeared and the room was filled with thick, black smoke and a terrible stench. At that very moment, the king fell down dead. They say that his soul was chased into the underworld by the dog-headed furies themselves, where it would suffer never ending agony and torture! The whole world rejoiced at the tyrant’s death. They made the queen their mistress and she ruled over them in peace and kindness for a hundred years!!

The elder children smiled at the horrible story and begged for another, but some of the younger ones, terrified by the gruesome tale made such a frightful noise that she refused to tell them any more stories just then, and sent them back about their business. As they went, she smiled to herself at the effect her story had had on them. For those few moments she had been the centre of their universe and they had waited on her every word. It was true perhaps, she thought, that the power of words was the greatest of all. She smiled to herself, but could not help reflecting ruefully on the poor young girl in the story who had married the brutish king. In the end, it had turned out well for her, but only through death.

********************

The young girl tried to relax in the shade of her room. As evening approached, so an almost serene peacefulness settled over the villa and its environs. In the hills the air was sweet and fresh, a pleasant change from the stifling heat and stench of the city. If nothing else, she had escaped the city and was free from its worries and cares, its intrigue and danger. She could breathe properly once more. It reminded her that no matter how familiar she had become with Rome, she remained at heart a country girl and could only ever hope to find true peace there. The old place was familiar to her. Her family had a history there, a sense of belonging and permanence which made everything else seem faintly absurd and temporary. This was the family’s seat, its sanctuary their home.

The villa had seen better days, although there was a grandeur just visible below the surface. She recalled long summers there and instinctively found herself smiling at those fond memories of her childhood. She knew that it could not be true, but whenever she thought of the villa, she remembered sunshine, long hot days, helping to bring in the harvest and playing in the fields with her cousins and the local children. This had always been a good place for her and she was sure that it would be again.

Outside, she could hear the sounds of their people. Wagons were being put away for the night, men were talking, and heavy objects were being lifted and moved. In the air was the particular sweetness that comes from being in the country when the fruits of the earth are coming to maturity. There was lots of work to be done. Their survey had shown them that the fields and orchards needed attention. It was amazing how quickly teeming vegetation and wildlife could reclaim the land. Trees and brambles had sprung up all over, pushing down walls and lending the place a slightly melancholy, if charming air. She fancied that, if she half-closed her eyes, she could see the rustics, the fauns, satyrs and dryads gambolling in the glades, with a chaste virgin goddess watching over them. She recalled the words her uncle used to speak to them about the fall of Babylon:

"Their houses shall be full of doleful creatures;

And owls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there.

And thorns shall come up in her palaces,

Nettles and brambles in the fortresses thereof:

And it shall be a habitation of dragons, and a court of owls.

The wild beasts of the desert shall also meet with the

Wild beasts of the island,

And the satyrs shall cry to his fellow:

The screech owl also shall rest there,

And find herself a place of rest."

The rhyme, with its melancholy recollection of times past, seemed somehow appropriate.

On their return, Belota had whispered to her as they stood in her room. Your mother always said that, at night, when the moon shone, you could see wonderful things from this window. The room, her room, was large, cool and central to the whole complex. It had a window opening onto the garden, but best of all, it also had a balcony on the outer wall that allowed her to see their land spread before her. The hills in the background framed the scene. She could see what her mother had meant, particularly when the place was silent and deserted at night. Growing directly under her window, were blood red poppies and a strange shrub, which had hairy leaves and delicate, yellow, bell-shaped flowers. Some of her people had wanted to remove it, but she told them to leave it be. Although heavy and pungent, she rather liked its scent and fancied it soothed her mind.

Despite the peacefulness of the surroundings she had not been sleeping well. Hardly surprising really, with all that was going on, but at heart she knew it was the same old illness that was gnawing away at her. She had tried to distract her mind by reading some of the classics, both to educate and occupy her mind. She had managed to get hold of various texts, but only Petronius had come close to holding her attention. The problem was not the setting, it was as safe and peaceful as she could find. The problem was that she carried the poison within herself and changed surroundings could not affect that. In fact, she was starting to worry that, if anything, the stillness allowed the poison to wax stronger.

She had not told anybody in the household about her problem, it would only cause worry, and she saw very clearly, that now was not the time for frivolous distractions, there was so much to do. She did not want to upset anybody. She had tried, she really had. She had fought it hard. She had prayed every day, seeking divine guidance and succour. She tried to forget and had almost convinced herself that she had done so, until it happened. Her reaction had revealed just how weak she was and she hated herself and old the turmoil and panic came rushing back in on her and she felt wretched and worthless once more.

She had been able to hide it from all except Belota, the old Jewess who looked after her. She had been with the family forever and so, despite her natural reserve, she had not been scared to confide in this woman. The old woman had smiled knowingly and tried to soothe her. She had prepared simple broths to keep up her strength, drinks to keep her cool and calm, and various concoctions and decoctions, each supposedly with its own restorative or preservative virtues. She had used all her wisdom and experience, and her affection for her mistress, but it seemed that nothing availed. Secretly, they had even consulted a physic, but he had merely pronounced her melancholic through an excess of black bile. The man was an imbecile. Furthermore, his proposed cure of bleedings and a rebalancing of the humours in line with the movement of the Sun and Saturn, seemed both drastic and old-fashioned.

In short, she had tried all conventional, acceptable methods. All had been conducted in utmost secrecy. She had her dignity and position to consider. No one would ever hear of this, no one. Then one evening, her maid had come to her.

Mistress, what are you prepared to do to rid yourself of this, this, this madness?" Belota asked.

Anything.

Anything? the old woman smiled sympathetically, what do you mean?

I mean, her mistress said, choosing her words carefully, anything that would not bring discredit on my family’s name. Anything that is, appropriate.

Belota smiled, of course my lady.

She sensed that Belota was pausing, holding something back.

Speak what is on your mind, she commanded.

Belota smiled. My lady knows that I have her best interests at heart and would do nothing to cause, uh, trouble.

Her mistress nodded.

Then, there may be another, uh, avenue that we could pursue.

Her mistress stared at her and for her to continue.

Of course, Belota said allowing herself a small smile, you must understand that nothing is promised, but there are those who say there are other ways of achieving what you desire.

Belota paused and waited for a sign of encouragement. However, she had to make do with her mistress’ silence and so continued. They say, that all you need to know is how to use the hidden powers of nature. They say that, if you do so, then great knowledge, and power, can be achieved.

Go on, her mistress said uncertainly, not entirely comfortable with where this conversation might be going.

Sensing the unease of her mistress, the old woman shrugged and smiled as though it were all a joke. Well, that’s it really. It may be the idle chatter of foolish people, the old, rustics, who knows. And yet...

And yet? her mistress asked, her interest piqued.

Well, I’ve heard talk of one, an old woman, perhaps even the sibyl herself, Belota chuckled, whom the locals claim has knowledge of plants, animals and much more beside. She has, they say, vision, although, of course, I dismiss this as the idle words of old and common people.

She paused, waiting for her words to have effect. Her mistress hung on her every word. She claims, Belota continued, to soothe by her charms the minds of whomsoever she wishes, and to cause cruel anxieties to others; to stay the current of the stream, to turn the stars back. She can summons the spirits of the dead at night and, some say, she rides out at night with Diana and the unplacated dead.

Who is this person? her mistress asked both thrilled and repelled.

That I do not know, but I think a liberal donation could encourage tongues to loosen, but only if my lady wishes? Belota arched her eyebrows suggestively.

This put her mistress in a terrible position. How could she, of all people, contemplate such a course? Her family, her position, their reputation, would all be nought, would be blasted if this became known and yet, if she only dared do this last thing, then may be everything would be alright. It went against reason, against all she believed in, but she was so desperate and no other avenue of help seemed available. Maybe it was weakness or maybe she was really wicked at heart, but she allowed herself to hesitate and then succumb. Surely, to enquire could not be wrong? If there was nothing in it, what was lost but a little dignity? Who could reproach her with more than folly? To investigate was merely, she argued, prudence and good sense, but if it were true and the power was available? As long as this power was used for good ends only and not abused, what could she be reproached with? Not a word passed her lips, she simply nodded and it was done.

********************

She had hoped to sleep better that night, having given Belota her permission to make her enquiries but, if anything, sweet sleep eluded her more than ever. It was deep night and outside the dogs were asleep and creatures of the night nosed the air while they slithered and crept about their business. She let fall the book she had been reading and inhaled the musk from the plants and flowers under her window. Somewhere, outside, an owl cried. She followed its sound and her mind floated up, up to the ceiling. It rested there a while and then floated out through the window into the scented darkness. It was still warm outside, even though it was dark. The moon was shining strongly and, on the breeze, she could smell the pollen of plants and grass. Every now and then she was brushed by flying, flapping things as she glided silently and effortlessly through the night. Caressed by a warm breeze, she passed over the farm, the fields out into the wild and then slowly dropped to the ground in a thicket.

Panic engulfed her. Heart beating, pounding, unthinking she scrambled through the undergrowth trying to escape, but from what? There, behind her, in the dark, was the sound of wolves, chasing, following, hunting! She moved unthinkingly now, through the night, through the dark, through the wood. Brushing passed bushes and plants running for her life, life that now, more than ever, coursed through her body. Crashing through the undergrowth, bloodied, torn, wild-eyed but alive, still alive! The wolves were behind, closing in, while in front there was something else. Strange almost human beings, were dancing, singing and laughing in a clearing. Half grasped figures, in the dim light of a fire, with headdresses, horses’ heads, dancing and murmuring rhythmically consumed and wild with lust. Then, to her side, a white bolt, a hart, dashed into the gloom.

She bounded after it with the last of her energy and found herself by a cavern with an entrance gaping before her. In the distance she could hear the wolves howling savagely. The white hart darted past her again and disappeared into the cave. The wolves were getting closer and their howls sounded more furious than ever. She scrambled into the cave and found herself in a small square chamber, lit by a hole above, with seats carved into the rock on all sides. The beasts were almost on her now so she scrambled deeper. She followed a corridor running deep into a mountain, which led to polished doors of metal, opening on to an inner labyrinth, another set of doors followed. All the time a great wind, very horrid and marvellous, howled up from the lower regions, or was that the wolves, which had otherwise disappeared?

She crossed a narrow bridge over a torrent. On the walls of the cavern were the names of men, lost men, who had dared to venture in, to advance into dread, unknown adventures and never returned. Their souls, the unplacated dead, haunted the place with their whispers and she sensed their hungry eyes watching her jealously. Then, through large bronze doors she heard a sound, indistinct, hardly human. As she moved to the doors it was clear that there was something behind them. Beware a voice said to her, and she could not tell whether it came from within her or without, beware that which is not human, that which has never been human, once was, or might yet be!

Mechanically, she pushed the doors open and, despite their great size, they moved easily, gliding back silently. It was dim inside, and she could hear a crying, like that of a far off peacock. The place was cluttered with things, books, strange instruments and there was an old, musty smell that signalled wisdom, death and decay. The sounds came from somewhere near the ceiling. She looked up and there  appeared to be a perch with a cage hanging from it. Although gloomy, she could see that there was something inside the cage, a creature, making the noise. She came closer, it was small and shrivelled and looked like a bat. It, the creature, was convulsing, moaning and muttering to itself unintelligibly. Then, she realised in revulsion that it was a shrunken, wizened old woman babbling to herself.

Mary, Constantine…holy shepherdess, Lord of the Sun…repent and be forgiven…it was mine, my right… let me go, just let me go! Release…death…peace…wisdom. A horrible gurgle rippled through the thing.

The young lady froze as its steady gazed turned on her.

Ah, my lady it addressed her familiarly with a voice like a dry, broken reed. To my mind you did well, to live for love, though it be hell. It smiled like a split in old leather. Then, its eyes opened and in a hushed voice hissed at her.

I’ve seen you, my fair lady, a demon in disguise!

She awoke with a start, bathed in sweat, her bedding disturbed and untidy. In her panic she momentarily did not know where she was, but then, even in the gloom, the familiar shapes of her room and the sounds of the villa reassured her and she slumped back. She relaxed, slowly inhaling the heady musk from the vegetation outside, listening to the sounds of the villa and beyond that the countryside, the wild. She could not go on like this, it was too much. She just needed things to be resolved, one way or another. She craved peace.

The next day she tried to tell Belota of the dream. She felt certain that it contained a message, but what it was she could not tell. However, the old Jewess simply sighed and smiling sympathetically said, my pretty dear, you must be cheerful and stop worrying about dreams and childish stuff. The dreams that come to us in the night are not to be trusted, everyone knows that, and with that, the old woman fussed around her, doing her hair and stroking her cheek so that soon, her worries receded to the back of her mind.

********************

Belota had made her enquiries and they had borne fruit. Now the early evening was cool and pleasant, and a golden sun was still just clinging to the earth as she made her way to her appointment. The birds were singing and the air was sweet with the smell of the woods and the wildflowers. As she approached the house, the hovel, of the herb-woman, it occurred to her that behind her lay the village, the farmland, civilisation. She was aware that she had gone beyond the crossroads and was on the very edge of the human realm. Here she was, far from the villa, the settlements and the cultivated spaces of Ceres. She was surrounded by the wild and the woods, woods that belonged to the old gods, the ones that she did not understand, the ones she feared. Out there it was the wild, the realm of animals, cutthroats, devils and demons and this was where Ticcha-Ticcha lived.

She remembered the stories that Belota had told her, about what some in the village said about this herb-woman. Some believed that she could change herself into a large bird, like an owl, and in this guise prey on unwary, travellers, the old and young at night. This called to mind the stories her uncle had told them when they were young, about the strigæ, horrible women-birds that had magical powers and devoured children. She did not believe these fairytales, how could she, she was educated, but here now, alone and on the very edge of civilisation, it made her stop and think. There was so much out there, so much in the world that she did not know about, had not experienced and never would. Things she could never understand and yes, of course, some of it would be wonderful and pleasing, other parts, she was sure, would be monstrous and dangerous.

She looked at the sun. Although summer, it was on the wane and soon it would be dusk, if not dark. The crepuscular creatures would be stirring - bat, owl, wolf and perhaps much worse. The wild was teeming with life, even now, as she stood there, eyes could be trained on her, many eyes dark, narrow, feral eyes. Her scent would be on the wind, hare and fox, stag and wolf, mouse and owl would smell her, sense her presence, watch her, be wary of her, lie in wait for her. Suddenly, the villa no longer seemed a prison, nor its routines familiar and boring. Now, magically, it had become a haven of certainty, safety and civility in the midst of an ocean of danger and death. Why had she been so willing to leave her pleasant and safe life, and dive into, into what? The unknown, the unknowable, that which should not be known. She could see the birds in the sky making their way to their roosts for the night. The cawing of the rooks pierced the evening. Then she heard, or so she thought, the hoot of the Lilith, a screech owl, followed by a hollow laugh. She was startled, but perhaps it was just a jay imitating a voice as thought nature was mocking her.

She hesitated at the door. A single simple thought in her mind. This was wrong! She could acknowledge it now, and she knew it to be true. The urge to fly was overpowering. Who would know if she crept away into the shadows? Who would be hurt, who would really care? She knew that this was the correct thing to do, every fibre of her body told her so. She looked lingeringly at the door and momentarily lamented the forbidden and wonderful things it promised, and then she turned to leave.

Behind her, the door groaned as it opened and a reed-like voice reached out to her.

Not so sure now, my lady?

She turned to look at her challenger, an old, sun and wind beaten woman who smiled through thin lips. Don’t be afraid, come in and rest awhile and, if you chose to speak, then we can speak, and if not, so what?

The door was held ajar.

As she entered the dwelling the maiden was engulfed by the gloom and her senses were overcome by powerful scents, pungent musks that infested the murky interior. She took the proffered stool and sat down, nervously, opposite the old woman, who smiled benignly. "How can a harmless old woman help a noblewoman like you?

The young girl remained silent, licking her lips and staring at the ground.

What do you want dearie? the old woman asked gently.

She pulled a face as she struggled to control her feelings.

Want? Just help, she gasped pathetically.

The old creature smiled at the desperation in the girl’s voice.

This world is full of unseen powers and spirits. Everything is connected and anything can be achieved. All you need do is understand nature, read the signs and make use of the hidden power of things. We knew this when I was young, yes even I was young once, she smiled at the maiden’s look, but the knowledge is slowly dying, as new ways of thinking gain strength.

For a moment, she was silent and looked beyond her visitor as if staring into the past. In the background the ravens cawed in the trees. That was how it was once and, I wonder, she said eyeing the girl, I wonder whether it can ever be so again. I could teach you what you need to know, but it won't be quick or easy, nothing worth having ever is, eh? Are you prepared to come here, to listen, watch and to learn?

The girl nodded silently.

Come then my dear, we’ll be friends and I’ll help you to gain your heart’s desire.

Yes, mother, the young girl responded in deference to her age and wisdom. The maiden felt elated and yet full of dread. This old woman, apparently so frail, now had a hold over her. Even if it all proved to be mindless babble, to be found consorting with one like this, to appear to give credence to her ways! It scarcely bore thinking about. She could stand the shame and ridicule for herself, but what about her family, would they not see this as a disappointment, a betrayal even? She could not stand that.

This must be our secret, the maiden said with a surprising firmness, remembering her dignity.

The crone raised an eyebrow. Don’t worry dearie, she chuckled, I know all about keeping secrets. In these times, we must all look after our precious secrets, eh?

The crone was true to her word. The maiden visited her secretly, and through her teacher’s knowledge she gained access to a hidden world. It required time, effort and no little money. She had to leave the villa early, soon after cock crow, and spend many hours with the crone. Luckily, her life of luxury, indolence and socialising afforded her many opportunities to be away from home. She did not think the