“If I remember correctly,” the Admiral turned to Barnes, “The prisoners were all killed attempting to escape, except Nicholas Montague?”
“Correct, sir. The men had little choice, for the captives were escaping
“No doubt, Barnes, for the winds of Gylain blow here just as the trade winds blow in the Indies, only more regularly.”
The Admiral gave Barnes a more serious look. “I suspect you are glad to have gotten over your childhood fancy for my daughter? She is as compassionate as her mother, for good or for ill.”
“Father,” Celestine broke in, “Think of her only at her best; she was not always as she became in the end. You harm the good memories when you think only of her faults.”
“Her faults were also her charms, my daughter. And her charms cannot be forgotten by any who loved them, much less those who suffered for that love.”
“Suffered, yes, but with joy,” she answered, “And with hope. Memories are so much more than the present, their love so much fuller.”
“But memories are the past, and the past is no more.”
“Then why do you not let it go? Why is a memory of anger and hatred allowed, when one of love is not?”
“Because the parting note is the most replayed – in its melody the others are forgotten. If only the hearts of women were won as easily as the hearts of men, and the victories of love as the victories of battle.”
“Both battles can be lost, even in the end,” Alfonzo said. “I hope ours does not go that way tonight.”
“We will see soon enough,” William Stuart answered, “For the ships are up to us now.”
While they had been conversing, the gap between
“Ahoy there! Is it not late to weigh anchor?” It was Montague’s voice.
“Our orders were late in being fulfilled, but our schedule allows no time for idle stops. Just as well to sleep aboard while sailing, than to sleep aboard while anchored,” the Admiral called back.
“There may not be much sleeping beyond the harbor this night, for the sea grows rough.”
“Yes, I can taste it in the air. It will be a long storm, though, and I would rather take the pressure until we reach the calms of the stretch, than be stranded here while it blows itself out.”
“A wise decision. Have you sailed these regions before, for your voice is familiar?”
“It is an accent shared by everyone from my home port.”
“Ah, well,
“Well?” Blaine said, “How long has it been, fifteen years? You left a boy and return a man.”
“A man in form, perhaps,” Barnes returned, “Yet I have much to learn. Before, I felt as if I knew the world, but now I have seen that I am nothing.”
“I, on the other hand, have been given the wisdom of age, and know it dries up the energy of youth,” Blaine said. “Neither is better or worse.”
Silence fell upon them. Each tried to sneak a look at his brother, but when their looks met, they turned away as if some distant object required their immediate attention.
“They tell me you’ve become an expert fisherman,” Blaine said after a moment, as if they had been apart for only a few weeks, “A real terror with the hook.”
“My early lessons have made me great,” Barnes laughed. “The forest has its fishing holes, I surrender that. But there is nothing like trolling for deep sea fish with a mackerel on the hook. You have got to twitch it just right,” and he stood and pretended to jerk a rope in a complex pattern. “If the movements are right, the big ones go for it. Then you hold on tight and hope it gets tired before you do. How have the old forest rivers been?”
“As good as ever. Osbert made a flat-bottomed raft, and we take it out to the sand banks on the old Gloten. I hear some of the best trout are down there, but it takes patience.”
Their conversation continued in this manner, passing over the missing years to those before them, when one was a child and the other a young man. It was not that they confused the two times, but that it was easiest for their hearts to speak the native tongue of their youth.
Meanwhile, Ivona and Oren Lorenzo had gone to the center of the boat. They stood alone, near the side. Ivona was beautiful in the moonlight: her fair skin glowed like the dawning sky, and her eyes like the owl’s. Her head hung low, as if in shame, and her demeanor was powerless – a sharp contrast to her stint as the Queen of Saxony. She was broken-hearted, without the strength or the will to pretend innocence. And yet she had done nothing that would seem wrong to another person – only her own conscience condemned her.
“Do not hang your head in shame, child,” Lorenzo said as he stroked her hair with his rough hand. “The forgiveness of our God is great, and greater still his mercy.”
“Yes, father, but how can it be given to one such as I? How can it be given to one who knew what was right yet did not do it? Ignorance cannot shield my guilt, nor even passive understanding.”
Oren’s fiery mustache erupted in passion as he answered. “You are young, child, and your wisdom is insufficient to guide your life.”
“Yes, but is not that of any man – or woman – the same? Do you know wisdom?” and she turned her head from him in muted emotion. Her flesh attacked her spirit.
He reached out and drew her back to him. “God uses authority to guide us, but those who wield it are cursed to guide themselves. Your father is your authority and he has pledged you to Willard. Who would not marry a handsome king?”
“I do not see you chasing after him,” she laughed.
Lorenzo shook his head, flopping his mustache about. “You feel no love for Willard?”
“Yes, but the love I feel for him is the love of self, rather than of others. Therefore, it is but a bland imitation of love. True love is to give, but the love I feel for Willard is to receive – to receive his affections and perfections, and thereby to satisfy my own desires for companionship. But it is my spirit that seeks such love and not my body. Therefore, it cannot be fulfilled with a physical love.”
“But he has as much spirit as you, and it is the spirits of a man and a woman that become one.”
“I am consecrated to God through salvation; Willard’s spirit is not holy. Men are changing, yet I need an anchor to build my love upon. Men are selfish, yet I strive to forget myself. My need is for God, and so I will desire none else: I have tasted the water of life and am no longer thirsty.”
“You may be a spiritual being, Ivona, but still you are physically based. The loves of the flesh can bring companionship – the joys of marriage and of motherhood.”
“Joys, yes, but only so far as they are a reflection of the relationship between man and God. Does not God give birth to his creation, and nurse it to maturity? So he gives us motherhood as a symbol. Is God not intimate with his followers? So he gives us marriage as a symbol. He gives us these things as placards to the heavenly. But I can have the spiritual: why would I abandon it for a pale comparison?”
“Yet, since the physical reveals the spiritual, it can be used to guide our souls. It is good or God would not have made it.”
“God desires my whole heart, leaving no room for any man or child to be loved of their own accord. I cannot love a man romantically without putting him above my God. I can only love him through God; as a creation rather than a creature. If I do not hate my father, I cannot be of God, and if I do not hate Willard, I cannot follow his commands. For if I give love to a man for his own sake, I would be tempted to love him more than God.”
“My dear child,” Lorenzo said, “Why do you sell yourself?”
“Do you not see? The kingdom of heaven is like a great treasure hidden in a field. When a man finds it, he sells all that he owns and buys that field – that he may own the treasure.”
Lorenzo began to speak, but before he could a shout came from the stern.
