Let The Games Begin.

Note Worthy

     "He's been avoiding me for two weeks and suddenly wants to meet for lunch?" I question, staggering away from my desk. "Please tell him I have some important documents to review and I'll be there shortly."

Nodding, the hoplite turns and walks away, tugging the door shut behind him. 

I didn't really want to know if Marcellus was involved in the plot of this rumored wedding, or perhaps even in my poisoning, but I already knew I had to ask. I know he won't come outright and tell me; it would be foolish to confess on his part. Perhaps, I'm wrong. But I doubt it. Likewise, I am not naive. I know asking without any sort of evidence would be foolish on my part. I need to be patient and wait until Lucas returns with my mother. During my time away from the limelight, I came to realize how fragile life is. Had the girls been successful, I would be just another grain of sand in the ocean. And still, we had not found them. I presume they went with my mother. She probably promised them protection and, like Ajax, threatened their life if they ran or gossiped. But, knowing my mother all too well, she most likely lulled them into a false sense of security and had them killed elsewhere. 

After latching the door behind the hoplite, I make my way back to the desk, plopping into the chair. Once all the documents were read, signed and sorted, I cautiously make my way to the door and call for someone to fetch Olea. Swiftly, she appears, like she had been waiting around the corner. 

         "You called?" She asks, wiping her hands on the fabric tied over her chiton, serving as a smock. 

Nodding, I gesture her into my room. When the door is closed behind us, I say, "I need to be dressed. I'm meeting Marcellus for lunch." Pausing, I wring my hands in my plain chiton and add, "Olea, because I value your service, I want you to know that some dangerous things are happening right now. The less you know, the better. And because I know my mother can be crazy sometimes, I'm letting you know that I'm going to assign guards to shadow you."

A genuine smile passes her face. "Although I appreciate your concern for my life, I did not survive sixty one years," she gestured the number one with her right hand, "by being a ninny." Crossing to the tall, worn armoire, she begins shuffling through the garments. "Any particular color you fancy?" She asks, glancing back at me. 

Coming to stand by the window, I take a long look around the countryside. Turning my attention back to Olea, I say, "Red. The color of victory."

Finally dressed, and feeling much stronger now, I take all the papers I had sorted to the envoy's quarters and then head off to find Marcellus, which was relatively easy. He was sitting at a table under the pergola, playing with a set of ivory dominoes. The table in front of him is lined with snacks and jugs of various wines. Only because I'm not sure what I'm going to say, I approach from behind and sit in the chair opposite him, crossing my legs at the knees.

     "I was starting to think you wouldn't show...again." He said, keeping his gaze on the game pieces before him.

     "Still hung on that, aren't you?" I spit. "I was busy then, but now I have more reason than ever to stay away from you." I cross my arms, leaning back into the chair.

     "Do you now?" He asks, picking up a small, handwoven basket from beside his chair. With one swift motion, he swipes all the game pieces in and leaves it on the table between us. "And what would they be?" He glares up at me. 

     "Like I'd tell you. You're probably keenly aware of exactly why I'm upset with you." I narrow my eyes at him.

He stares at me blankly. 

     "Don't tell me you have no idea what's been happening lately." I remark, leaning forward in my chair. "You were in my room when I awoke. I assume my survival is why you stayed away for two weeks."

     "Wow." He says, a genuine scoff of unbelief escaping him. "We've known each other for what, a month? And you think I'd have a hand in your attempted murder? You do realize that as the only heir of Greece, your death would only benefit your mother. Not me. When she mentioned the marriage-" his voice trailed off. Suddenly, he looks very sheepish. 

My eyes widen. I sit up and, in a quiet, low tone, ask, "Wait- you knew? When did she mention a marriage to you?"      

"Well, I- I only-" He starts. 

Slamming both hands onto the table, pushing myself from my seat, I raise my voice and shout, "DID. YOU. KNOW?!"

     "YES!" He shouts back, passing a hand over his face, "Yes, okay? I knew about the arranged marriage plot. I only spoke to your mother once about what it might take to truly win your heart. She laughed and said it would be easier to drink all of the Mediterranean. She suggested the marriage, mentioning that you yourself had brought it up once. And while I do intend to marry you, it won't be by force." He pauses, glancing up at me. "It is something I won't consider. So I excused myself and left her presence immediately. So although I knew of the scheme, I had no part in it."

As his words wash over me, they quickly become drowned out by a loud ringing in my ears. As if drawn by a hook in the belly, I turn away from the table, head back through the shaded pergola, through the arches that lead into the main hall, across the throne room to the hall that leads to our bedrooms. Stopping before my mother's bedroom door, I take a deep breath and then push the door open so hard, it bangs against the wall behind it. I hear Marcellus calling me from behind, but I don't have time for any further conversations right now. Her room is set opposite of mine: bed and dresser to the right, desk to the left. Starting at her desk, I tug open every drawer and dump them out on the floor. Every case, opened and dumped as well. The neatly stacked parchment? Tossed about the room. 

Moving from desk to armoire, I swing both of the doors open and start yanking out the fabric, one by one. I don't know what I'm looking for but I'm going to find it. Leaving the heap of cloth on the floor, I move to the hand carved bookshelf, resting to the left of the window. Book by book, I shake their pages above the floor. Nothing but pressed flowers and bookmarks fall out. Tossing the books over my shoulder, I make my way to her bedside table. Pulling out the drawer, I drop the contents onto her bed and rummage through them. Some jewels, and rings. Again, pressed flowers, balms, ointments and well stored salves in small vials. I scoop them up and tuck them into my chiton. Perhaps the apothecaries could test them and tell me what they are. 

At this point, I can tell Marcellus is beside me, probably pleading with me to calm down but I can't hear anything he's saying. I dodge his attempt to grab me by vaulting across the bed and landing by my mother's dresser. Drawer after drawer, I dump their contents onto the floor. The only place that could be left would be a secret compartment like the one in my room, and even then, I'm not going to reveal it with Marcellus in here, or...

Turning slowly, I look down at my mothers thin mattress. Squatting down to grip the edge, I lift it up and fling it off the other side, barely hearing the racket of her possessions falling to the floor. Bingo! Beneath the mattress is a layer of flattened parchment, with a distinct script on it, which I instantly recognize to not be my mothers. Whatever Marcellus is saying is interrupted with an audible gasp.

For quite some time, neither of us say anything. Finally, Marcellus breaks the silence with, "I recognize the script." We share a glance, and then he adds, "Well, on some of them." He bends down, picking up one of the notes. "I'd recognize my father's hand writing anywhere."