Behind Meredith stood the Admiral. He shook Alfonzo’s hand stoically; both held themselves tightly. Throughout all the greetings, Alfonzo did not betray his ardor, keeping his stature mature and his air commanding. But that changed in an instant. He looked beyond and saw Celestine standing sweetly in the rear, waiting for the others to present themselves. Their love was not a painting in public, only to be seen and never felt; nor was it a sculpture in private, rigid and unmoving.
“My love!” and he could not disguise his rapture. He ran to her and she to him, and together they became lovers. “All is well,” he said, “For I am whole once more, not to be overtaken.”
“Not by men, in any regard,” Celestine smiled.
“And if by God, then I am willing,” Alfonzo returned. Then, looking her over, “You look pale and worn. What has overtaken you?”
“I was scourged, then rowed in the galley.”
“In the galley!” Alfonzo turned to the Admiral. “I will have a word with you, in a moment.”
“She chose it herself. She is a woman. Who am I to tell her as if a child?”
“What fools and heathens!” mocked a voice to the left. Cybele came forward. “While others deny their actions, I embrace mine, I flout them proudly. What fools, that evil is a thing to be abhorred. For evil is considered such only by the power of God and God has no power that I have seen.”
Alfonzo faced her. “If it is sin to boast about good deeds, how much more about evil ones. What you say to anger me only drives me to compassion, that one could be so proud to cast away her sister. Do you think debts are not to be repaid? Mercy is not eternal.”
“Nor is it here, for there is no such thing. Where there is forgiveness, there is a pride that dictates it. What mercy is there when the strong are respected for their mere strength and the weak destroyed for their mere weakness? What mercy is there from God, whose purpose is only to glorify himself? As is God so is man, I say: given to their own glory. And you are also a man.”
“If there were no mercy, where would you be? And what has Celestine gained in her dealings with you? Good will lead to good, and evil to evil.”
Cybele drew her beauty from its sheath and smote them with a poignant smile. “Then let it be: she has forgiven me without selfish motives. But what will her forgiveness lead to if I make my escape? Will I not return to evil deeds and to persecuting your rebellion? It will not lead to good, and the evil will be your own reward.”
Celestine advanced toward her sister. “You see only what you look for. Life is more than cause and effect, for there are infinite causes and infinite effects.”
“Yet if God is merciful, why would he inflict evil on all only to give reprieve to some? If we are known by our actions and the fruit of our labor, then who is God?”
“
“Perhaps,” Cybele returned, “But,
“Then open your eyes and see, for you are mad! If you seek God, do not look to the circles of the godless. You will find the contrast, but not the vision; the darkness, not the light. God will show himself if you look.”
“Will he? Then let Lord Milada, who lays dying not far from us, be healed. Give me a sign and I will believe.”
“What of the sign on the Marin? There you asked and it was given.”
“That was coincidence. A sign must be something entirely impossible. Lord Milada must walk to me – upright and full of vigor – and kiss me upon the lips. Then I will believe.”
“That is not such a terrible prospect,” laughed a voice from behind them.
“My God!” cried the Admiral, “How can you be walking, Milada?”
“How? William, do you not remember that I have a Godly daughter – praise be to God. Not two minutes ago, I was overcome with warmth and healed. I do not know how, but I do know why.”
He jigged and jibed his way to Cybele, giving her a gentle kiss on the lips.
“The proof is given,” he laughed. Then, winking, “Unless you require more?”
She was silent for a moment, then whispered to herself, “Still, I will not believe!”
Chapter 75
De Casanova sat alone at the top of Castle Plantagenet, in the same room in which Celestine had been imprisoned. The only addition was a writing table before the window and a stool before the table. It was there that he sat, his back perfectly straight and his arms resting on the table before him. His head was extended toward the window, but even this he did with a controlled bearing. Only his countenance was not so well-mannered. His hair changed to the light, cut short but not combed, and sat high on his forehead. His thick side-burns remained trimmed, the rest of his face clean.
With de Casanova, method was the arm of madness. His plots were achieved systematically, rather than with daring or rash courage. Once an objective formed in his mind it could not be finished but with success. He was a bureaucratic warrior, a terror to those either passionate or pedantic. To commit evil in a desperate passion is an abomination, but to make it an institution of one’s person beyond the mere animal nature is something far worse. Generally, the righteous work assiduously to keep themselves from sin and the evil lazily allow themselves to fall into their own sinful natures. But de Casanova was an assiduous worker of evil, going beyond the lust or pride that drives a man to a self-sacrifice that denies himself.
“What is this pressure which attacks my chest?” he moaned to himself. “What is this throbbing which fills my body and this tingling which oppresses my veins? Can it be?” and he fell silent as he gazed out the window. “Lydia!”
Gylain had come in during the pause and heard the final word.
“What is this?” he asked.
De Casanova turned, saw it was Gylain, and returned his face to the window.
“I have lost,” he sighed. “I can crush him and kill him; I can burn his honor and feed its charred remains to the beasts of history. But still I have lost; I am defeated.”
“Your strength forsakes you in your emotion. This is not the time to be forsaken.”
“But what am I to do? For above all, I love her.”
“De Casanova, you do not know what love is. If you did, you would see it to be emotion and thus to be disregarded. There are but two things in this world: strength and weakness. Anything else is only a way of viewing or denying them. Is God righteous? His strength makes him so. Is Satan evil? His weakness makes him so. Right and wrong, justice and injustice, liberty and oppression – these things are strength and weakness in a different dress. Love is emotion and emotion weakness. Therefore, flee from it before it steals your robe, lest you sleep with it.”
“And you do not love Cybele, nor her mother, nor her sister?”
“I do not,” and Gylain hesitated. “I hate,” he said at last, “And what love I have serves only to increase my hatred.”
“And yet, as you say, it is weakness.”
“It is, and I will defeat it. It will die with William Stuart.”
“And you? Overconfidence is a vice,” the other returned. “To defeat the rebels will take more than we have given. The people—”
“The people!” Gylain laughed. “They are horns to the bull and claws to the leopard, but they do not swing themselves. This democracy they flout is tyranny in a harlot’s dress; for it must have strength the same as any dictator, and something cannot be strong unless another thing is made weak in contrast. If democracy follows the will of the people, why is it needed? As far as it needs power to enforce its rule, it is not freedom; and if its rule is not enforced, it does nothing.”
“What I was saying, my lord, is that the people would not care if we were deposed. So we should not care if they are destroyed: give and take.”
“There you are wrong. We rule for power and receive our due. But without the people there would be no power to be had. We cannot take what they do not give. Therefore, we let them go their way.”
“Emotion is to be feared in leaders, but cultivated in followers. And this is our disadvantage: our soldiers are trained beyond humanity, while theirs fight for self – albeit under the guise of woman and country. The emotions of self are a powerful ally in matters of justice.”
“I doubt their emotion. Still, we will see, for I have the heart of William’s daughter as a security and it may have to be used. But will he hesitate when the time comes? He will not flinch.”He paused. “The end will come and
