XXXN - The Voice

Chapter 34 - The Voice

 

 

My teeth have deserted me and my hair is of no use as it is, in thin strands of yellowy-white. The lines on my face are grooves and are as deep as furrows in the field and I get the shakes uncontrollably and randomly at the most ill-fitting times. It appears a new condition has crept up on me, one which no one is accepting of. Along time ago I recovered from the battle scars and became fit and felt young again, but lately this disease has beset me and it’s one I cannot get out of; it is of course the elapsing of time.

 

I decant two bottles of red Espanian wine, a gift from Cicero long after Italia’s defeat, into the large crystal decanter and take it with two golden goblets to the table for two and sit one side and wait. The note he wrote with the bottles was full of bitter hatred, disguised in a thin veil of politeness. He spoke of Italia’s success in Espania and the north and threatened another invasion. I savoured this special wine over the years, but now time is short, Ascoli and I enjoy a glass most evenings.

 

From those times, nearly all have passed away apart from myself, Bezon and Ascoli and together we have written this book. Ascoli did try to escape several times and like a bird in a cage he wanted to flee, so I opened the cage door and let him go and he flew back to Italia. But a few months later he was back to Arun with his new wife. He realised then that our empire was growing and becoming stronger and it would be the safest place for him and his new family to be.

 

I rush to write the history pages now as time is against me, lights are dimmer, sounds are quieter. It is the year 50AB (fifty years After Battle) and I am in my eighties. And after I had made all my plans of expansion I was glad I took as many extra throws of the dice as I could. Chancing it all the way.

 

Although it was hard to do and against all my instincts and better judgement, to go grovelling back to Rome worked as it bought us precious time to expand things here, including the colonisation of northern Gaul and the adoption of the Land of Ice as a staging post, place of refuge or a bridge to the mythical lands to the west. It bought us a decade, maybe two; a generation at least. I look at the chess board as the map of Europa and know a continual attack is the only defence. ‘Are you ready,’ I call out to Ascoli as I watch the flickering fire dwindling in the hearth.

 

The three children I had with Yulla, Alwyn, Bezon II (as he is commonly known) and Catia are now running the expanding kingdom that has become an empire. Alwyn governs the lands north of Mercia and is keeping the Norse at bay, Bezon II commands the system of beacons and ships off the south coast and Catia the negotiates with the inner countries of Briton and the endless wrangling with the neighbouring countries of Europa and beyond.

‘Yes,’ a delayed voice replies. I look up to see my old friend Ascoli is now sitting opposite me across the square wooden battleground of our game.

 

‘Can you get some more wood? The fire is nearly out,’ I croak from a dry throat through the smokey atmosphere.

 

‘Huh, OK, but the wood stock is very low my Lord,’

 

‘Go and see. Please,’ I say and sulkily he gets up and stomps down the spiral steps. I feel the cold around my legs as the fire turns to embers, it is just a glow of orange and black now. The damp air is upon me, it is all around. I pull my cloak around my chest and clutching the pale blue amulet I find myself drifting off. My dreams and memories are as faithful as ever and come in vivid colours almost straight away and I am there in the past standing on the high white cliffs that overlook the sea. I see a fleet of black hulled, white sailed Sea Serpents flash me a salute from their braziers and I try and decide if it was a fantasy or a reality? Did I ever go there? Did I do that? I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter now. With a clatter, Ascoli drops a bundle of logs by the fire and I am awake to a blurry world.

 

He pushes his selected piece forward. ‘Your move,’ he says softly.

 

‘I…I…I,’ I say, unable to react, only able to look at him, he is serious and focussed.

 

‘It’s your move, if the game is to go on,’ he says

 

 

The End

 

Empires and Dust []

Reviews

[Debra K Middaugh]

I'm hearing and feeling all kinds of mixed emotions. WOW

[BL]

I take it that’s a good thing so I’m glad you are

[Betty Hermelee]

I'm so sorry, but I try to focus on poetry...Best, Betty

[BL]

No worries at all
Happy New Year 🥂🥂

[Betty Hermelee]

You as well!!!

[MidnightStar]

This is a well written piece that draws the reader's imagination right onto the stage carefully prepared for this 'act'. The descriptions are so rich, that I could almost smell the fire, hear the crackling noise of the wood and actually watch the whole scene of the chess game from within the room itself. Great story telling skills here and imagination has got no bounds... The subject/topic is always in the background, never loosing focus on the the important elements that put together this piece. I was almost sad when it got to the end - my curiosity was altered in a good way by the persuasive tint in your writing that wants the reader to read more!... I greatly enjoyed this piece, thanks for sharing...

[BL]

Glad you liked it and thanks for your review

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Excellently imagined and written. I felt like I was there by the chess board; a secret phantom shivering right along the side of the protagonist waiting for the fire to be stoked. It brought back similar moments in my actual memory; playing chess, drinking coffee and trying to get a fire going. Let the game commence! Great writing. I enjoyed.

[BL]

This is good to hear, glad it took you there