Ad eternum

Chapter 3

They were inside one of those cabins that barely deserved the name of houses—little more than shacks made of earth and straw—in what seemed to be the largest one. There was a hearth within, and a short man with little hair, broad hands, and a short neck observed Ruy with apparent suspicion. Blanche had actually asked, "Where are you makes carrying me?"—a phrase that made even less sense, but for the purposes of this narrative, her initial grammar will be improved, which will progressively get better over the years. The short man watched them both with noticeable disapproval. 

They spoke in the strange language Blanche had heard at the beginning. Yet, this man looked nothing like Ruy, who was ragged and dirty.

 On the contrary, he wore a brownish-green tunic, and his feet were carefully fitted in leather sandals. Without knowing the language, Blanche noticed how the air began to grow tense between the two men before her. Then, the short man addressed the one who was once Blanche Gauthier. He spoke in Latin.

"Where do you come from, woman?" he inquired, and she remained silent for a moment, unsure if there was a right answer to this. He seemed to grow impatient. "My son told me your name was Alba. Is that true?"

"It is".

Strictly speaking, it wasn't a lie. Blanche, now Alba, stood rigid as Ruy's father circled her, his hands clasped behind his back. Then, he spoke to his son.

"We cannot keep her",  the father grunted. 

"Father, please. What we cannot do is remain subjected to an empire that is falling apart. What is Rome, Father, tell me? What is it but the cradle of idiocy and lack of standards?"

"Don't speak to me of a lack of standards, Ruy".

Ruy smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile.

"The Romans once worshipped Etruscan pagan gods, then the Greeks, and next, they adopted the image of a beaten-to-death slave to worship. Don't you find it ironic, my king? Don't you think that the crucified one is nothing but the image of Rome and its beliefs? It is dead. Dead. Dead!""He resurrected," replied the one now called Alba, without really knowing why she did.

"What did you say?"

"That Jesus, called Jesus Christ, resurrected."

"And maybe Rome will resurrect too," Ruy mocked, "but first we'll have to kill it."

Alba felt a lump in her throat. Ruy's voice was that of a madman, but what he said was etched in every children's history book. Was she, instead of replaying the movie of her life as caricatured at the moment of death, replaying world history? She almost laughed at how absurd it sounded.

"I have no doubt," she finally said. "Rome will resurrect, and it will do so many times."

"Is it true that women live longer because of their excess imagination? I've heard that, although when I was captive, I came to the conclusion that they lived longer because they were bigger liars." 

Ruy let out a bitter laugh, then leaned in close to Alba, close enough for her to feel his foul stench. 

"Though it may also have been due to their little worth in war, but this other theory makes sense. They are not in the world; they do not suffer its problems. They only imagine nonsense and live in a reality that isn't. What do you say, Alba? Could it be true? I was not a domestic slave. I did not have costly garments like yours. No one paid me enough to buy my freedom. I served in war."

The so-called king interrupted him, muttering something in the language that Alba did not understand. She said nothing. But Ruy continued, impassioned."And you, my father and king, what do you say about it?"

Ruy's father looked out the window, a small square without glass, a mere hole in the wall. He was not paying attention to his son's tirade.

"It's not necessary to attack Rome, my son. Rome is falling on its own. Go, wash yourself, and return to your people as they deserve to receive you. Legions will probably come for your slave soon enough. Besides"—the man looked her up and down with what Alba recognized as lust—"I don't doubt that in the city, she's not much different.

""Father..."

"Do not 'Father' me, Ruy. Here you are and will be my subject like any other. Leave your slave with me, though. I want to see how much use she might be to us."

Alba swallowed hard. The short, stocky man before her, who seemed to be a leader or sovereign, spoke again, baring his yellow teeth.

"Go cleanse your body, my son, since there is no saving your soul."

"And what will you do with the slave? What will you do with the Roman?"

"I'll decide soon enough."