The Bone House - By Stephen R. Lawhead Page 0,11

Arthur happily. “Indeed, my soul has been singing since I set foot on Tyrrhenian soil this very morning.” He spoke with greater ease and confidence as his former skills, like birds returning from migration, came winging back to him across the years. “How long has it been since I was here?” he wondered. “Five years? Six?”

“Over twenty, I fear,” said Turms, shaking his head slightly. “Too long, my friend.”

“Ah, me,” sighed Arthur. “I had hoped to return much sooner. But events overtook me and it was not possible.”

“Still, you are here now.” The king turned away suddenly and called, “Pacha! Bring wine and sweetmeats! We must welcome our guest.”

He turned back and, taking Arthur by the arm, led him to the couch. “I was made aware of your coming,” he said, taking his place beside his guest. “Just this morning I received an omen foretelling your arrival. I did not know it would be you, of course—only that I would receive a foreign visitor before day’s end.” Turms smiled. “And here you are.”

“Indeed, I am,” said Arthur. “And I could not be happier.”

“I will have a house prepared for you—a new one this time—”

“The old one will be more than satisfactory,” said Arthur quickly. “If it is available?”

“No, no, I will not hear it. That house is too far away. I want you close by so that distance will not impede our lessons.”

“Your generosity, O King, is as wide as your wisdom,” said Arthur, bowing his head in assent. “But you may change your mind when I tell you that I did not come alone this time.” He leaned forward. “I have a wife.”

“You are married!”

“I am.”

“But where is she?”

“Still aboard the ship—”

“What!” exclaimed Turms. “You keep her waiting like a bundle of cargo on the deck of a stinking ship? What a thoughtless, uncaring husband you are!”

“Please, Turms, I meant no disrespect to either yourself or my dear wife. In truth, I was uncertain of my reception.”

“I hope you know you can trust our friendship,” said Turms. “My regard for you has never altered.”

“It was not you or your friendship I doubted,” replied Arthur. “Believe me, that thought never entered my mind.”

“But?”

“I wanted to see how things stood here.”

“Ah!” Turms nodded with appreciation. “Very wise. Yes, I remember now—at the time of your last leaving the Latins were threatening our borders. You might have returned to a very different place than you last visited.” He made a laudatory gesture in the air with his hand. “I commend your caution.”

Pacha approached, leading a servant bearing a bronze tray with silver goblets and a delicate glass jar of pale, amber-coloured liquid. There were bowls of honeyed almonds as well. The servant placed the tray on a three-legged stand and backed away as the Master of the House poured the wine, sipped from the goblet, then handed it to the king. He repeated the process for the king’s guest, then retreated quietly.

“I am glad to see that all appears peaceful now. The realm prospers under your reign.”

“For now, yes. The bellicose Latins have been tamed, or at least discouraged. The prime instigators have been caught, judged, and either executed or exiled. The Umbrians—an altogether more reasonable tribe—have taken over administration of Ruma city. At present, you have no need to fear becoming ensnared in a battle between warring nations. Peace, that ever-fragile flower, blossoms in profusion across the land.”

“Since that is the way of things,” said Arthur, rising once more, “I will inform my wife. She will be most heartily glad to leave the confines of the ship.” Arthur’s manner became grave. “Xian-Li is the reason I have come. My wife is with child, you see—”

A glance at his visitor’s face told Turms that all was not well. “What should be a joyous occasion has been clouded for you in some way. I can see it. What has happened?”

“Xian-Li has had a troubled time,” replied Arthur simply. “I have come to you for advice. I have told her of the skill of Etrurian physicians, and she is most eager to meet you. I will go fetch her now.”

“You will do no such thing, my friend,” said the king. “I will send Pacha to the ship with my bearers and they will bring her in my chair.” He raised his hand and summoned his servant. “Arthur’s wife is waiting aboard the ship in the harbour. Take my chair to her at once—but see the bearers employ the utmost care. The lady is with

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