Alcazar
The creaking floor board from the room above had Claudius reeling with anger-yet as always he shut out the sound, forcing aside the violent fantasy in his mind for a future date.....
Any thoughts of optimism I may have cherished since starting from home to attend my interview, slipped away as I focused my perspective work place. Where I expected to feast my eyes on flourishing bud and verdant sculpture, I was disappointed; for up ahead dereliction and unattended decay rose in abundance. Where once there had flourished foliage and breeze touched lawn; now lay ominous mud swamps, surrounded by dead shrubs and reeds. Trees I'd seen from a far and considered a healthy wood, now atrophied before me as if seized by some terrible disease; bark gnarled and branches twisted into a million agonized configurations.
I considered turning back, though needed the money for my bike ride to the coast, so persevered- even though my intuition urged me to do otherwise. Up the dead tree avenue I moved, heart strangled and limbs cramped with sinking dread. Eventually my fear boiled over and I was seized by a wild panic as the overwhelming jewel of this desolate place, shone from behind the dark veil of dead trees. I stood for a long, hopeless moment and screwed my eyes tight to shut out the wretched structure ahead of me. Then, finding courage, escaped my seizure and forced my eyes to confront the grotesque magnificence of the Alcazar de Dius.
The gnarled oak door swung open as I stepped up to it and there stood a stout, scowling man; his black face, seething and his brown eyes savage as they focused down on me. "Mr. Dius?" I asked offering my hand.
The man developed a deep sneer on his lip and his cheeks flexed into a harsh frown. I looked down at his hands and noticed they were for ever clenching and unclenching as if he was in a permanent state of vexation. "Mr. Dius does not entertain visitors," he declared, once he'd satisfied his curious eye.
Immediately he turned away from me and made a move to close the door. "Actually I've come about the labouring job," I offered. The man turned slowly, his neck creaking as the muscle fluid within seemed to boil under the skin. He glowered at me and his eyes creased into hateful slits.
"The position has been withdrawn," he hissed and was about to slam the door again, when an iron voice boomed from within the Alcazar. "Claudius Ajona who is calling at my door."
The man before me, who was obviously Claudius Ajona, tightened in his suit and his vein-pumped forehead tensed beneath a thick jet of sweat. "My nameÕs Anthony. I've come about the labouring job," I called back, deciding it was best to speak on my own behalf, rather than let the sullen doorman take responsibility.
A tall, distinguished, grey haired, black man, appeared beside Claudius and surveyed me with a critical eye. Then, when he'd evidently satisfied his curiosity, introduced himself as Mr. Dius and asked me when IÕd like to start work. I told him I'd like to start as soon as possible and after a few minutes of negotiation we shook hands and I officially became his labourer. Though my pleasure at securing the position was overshadowed by the seething Claudius; who made his disapproval clear by leaving u at the front door in a whirlwind of furious agitation.
Mr. Dius gave no sign he'd noticed anything strange about Claudius and swept me into the grounds for a tour of my new work place. Although Dius was tall, I noticed, as he showed me around the grounds, that his stance was not gangly or ungainly. No on the contrary, it was sure- even arrogant. Though the POSTure did not appear unusual when coupled with the proud face, African and most noble in design.
As we walked he explained exactly what had to be done, gesturing to different areas of the grounds and saying with determination, "Believe me when I say this soil will flourish again."
Personally I failed to see how anyone could accomplish this end. Even the most dedicated and gifted gardener would surely find it impossible to grow the hardiest of thistles in this miserable mire. The deeper into the grounds we went the worse the scene of death and disease became. Around every corner, under every stone and behind every wall, lay in wait more soul destroying examples of unrivalled pestilence. As a consequence of this latest visual nightmare I felt my enthusiasm for the job drain -yet bolstered my resolve with a million fanciful images of what any potential wages could buy. As we came around to the last leg of the tour even the thought of cycling through sun drenched scenery, wages tight in my hand, could not lift my dejection. My limbs ached and joints creaked under the effort of every dragging movement. Dius for his part remained composed and kept glaring at me impatiently as I struggled to keep up. We arrived back at the entrance of the Alcazar and I hoped for some respite for my sore eye and foot. To my disappointment I found neither, just more of the same decay I'd witnessed so miserably in the grounds. Everywhere the fetor of mildew hung in the air and no light permeated here, save for a single candle, casting a flickering, urinous glow over relic upon relic of morbid splendour.
We sat at a heavy gold table and Dius explained my duties for the week and the arrangements for payment of my wages. All the time I was sitting there I couldn't help notice how he watched me with a surreptitious eye. It was like roasting under the heat of an intense microscope, and within a few minutes my skin stung as if it had been attacked by a thousand rotating needles. Mr. Dius on seeing my obvious discomfort did nothing to expedite his induction and droned on, eyeing me ever more thoroughly a he did so.
By the end of the briefing I seriously considered leaving to seek employment elsewhere. Yet somehow clung to the notion that all would turn out well and prepared for my first days labour. My workload involved moving stone blocks from the back of the Alcazar to the front. All day I toiled as the rain lashed the sod and the job of moving the stones became laborious to the extreme. At nine in the evening the rain stopped, yet the clouds did not part and a doom grey fissure continued to hang menacingly overhead. To me it made no difference; I was already soaked through to the skin and beyond. Eventually Claudius came out from the Alcazar and told me it was time to stop work. I did so with great relief and followed him into the Alcazar to collect my things and leave for home. Once inside he explained, in his own bitter way, how Mr. Dius wished for me to stay the night so I could make an early start in the morning. I agreed, after considering the alternative, a five hour walk to my lodgings. Claudius looked none to happy with the prospect of my staying and treated me to his usual display of vexed- hand rubbing and guttural curses. I pretended no to notice and followed him down a long, damp corridor, dripping with gold framed portraits and extravagant animal busts. I considered with deep remorse the scene where the animal was slaughtered as it drank peacefully by a water hole-then mounted in this ridiculous and humiliating pose of savage violence. On several occasions I noted how the creak of a floorboard from above sent Claudius into a rage from which I thought he would lose total control. Thankfully, on each occasion he regained his composure and we continued down the hall as if nothing had happened. Every now and then I caught sight of his face in the half light and saw the usual anger resting there. Yet the more accustomed to the light my eyes became the less anger I witnessed. His profile in hot close up revealed a man trapped in a deep pit of despair; and for one terrible moment I felt the burden of his anguish drag over me and suck me down into the pit where he languished so miserably. "You shall sleep here," he declared, stopping suddenly and flinging open a door.
I thanked him and offered a night cap, but he'd already plunged into the darkness of the corridor, voice cursing and hands for ever rubbing. I closed the door and examined my surroundings. In keeping with the rest of the Alcazar, the room contained nothing less than dark foreboding and dripping antiquity. Still I was exhausted and would have welcomed a bed in hell had it been offered to me. I lay down to sleep yet to my frustration could not settle and after many unsuccessful attempts decided to read something from the vast collection of books lining the long corridors of the Alcazar- hopefully that will put me to sleep. The first book I picked up dealt with the history of Mr. Dius's family, and if anything could be gleaned from the dusty pages in this depressing half light, it was that Dius was the descendent of a noble dynasty; his people, kings, grand and ruthless. During their reign they'd controlled an empire encompassing a third of the world; tongues unlimited were spoken and the cultural myriad it encompassed astounding. I soon forgot my tired state and wrapped myself in the world of kings and queens, golden skinned and proud; they building empire upon empire, beneath the scorch of the sun and the cold-bake of the moon. By the end of the fifth Diusian dynasty only one race, the Ajona, remained unconquered; and for twelve bloody centuries the struggle between Dius' and Ajona's raged-until finally, crushed by a single act of treachery, the Ajona's were enslaved by a Dius curse. The curse hidden in the seed of every Ajona male, swept throughout the population within two disastrous generations. To annihilate them all was it's original thrust. Yet as the empires need for manpower increased it was decided instead of destroying every Ajona, they would divert the healthy ones into slavery and the weaklings as always to the grave. All across the empire deep pits were carved out of the earth to accommodate the steady stream of rejected Ajona babies-they thrown screaming into the maggot ridden pile, to starve amongst their rotting brothers and sisters. Those selected for a life of slavery fared no better and had to justify every second of their terrible existence. If at any moment they displayed signs of slacking or malevolence they were thrown into the jaws of a mincer and as food for their fellow slaves. Any doubts Dius liberals had about the moral obligations to fellow man were soothed by Dius scientists, who justified the brutality with a multitude of reports on the primitive and barbaric Ajona personality. The Dius, it was explained were superior in every way, weather the contest be of intelligence or physical power. Though five generations later the supremacy was beginning to wain and the Dius grip loosened on distant parts of the empire. Their main problem was a lack of personnel to police the troubled areas. At first the already over stretched army tried to patch up the situation by assassinating key individuals. This though only served to increase the enslaved peoples resolve and the situation deteriorated into a messy guerrilla war. The military solution was eventually abandoned in favour of the more subtle approach of creating elite groups amongst the enslaved population. These individuals were granted certain privileges in return for controlling their communities for the benefit of the empire. This worked for a time, though eventually the idea was shelved when many of the elitists began to formulate their own visions of empire.
The solution to this seemingly interminable problem was eventually solved by a Dius scientist who designed a genetically engineered breed known as Whipmasters. The Whipmaster gave no clue of their predetermined plan to control and to confine and over a period of five years slipped into the community unnoticed.
In every guise they flourished: sister, brother, mother, father, plumber, carpenter, lawyer, thief. In every aspect, in every trade, around every turning could be found a Whipmaster, collecting evidence against those who dedicated their existence to freeing themselves from the chains of empire. And when the signal came to round up the rebellious, no one was spared. Mothers confused and afraid, looked on with large, wet eyes as the daughter/son they'd nurtured so tenderly in the womb, imprisons their wrists and herds them into bleak compounds to be exterminated. The Whipmasters secured the future of the empire in a way the Dius never imagined possible- they installed a universal paranoia amongst the enslaved Ajona. People began to become isolated in their own minds, and slowly the entire population was dragged into a world where no one could be trusted. The successful breeding of Whipmasters provided Dius scientists with the perfect platform to drive ahead with their selective breeding programs. Ajona women of strong constitution and proven child bearing potential were selected as trialists for the new technology and after many deaths from unsuccessful experimentation, a breeding programmer was eventually formulated. As the methods became more sophisticated the Dius scientists developed a system of breeding on demand. If at any time a part of the empire required a specialized worker, a miner for example, then the necessary physical attributes were genetically manufactured and the clone despatched.
As a consequence of this latest development, new born Ajona no longer had a need to justify their existence, now that was done for them in a Dius laboratory. However, the Dius controlled the urge to clone every Ajona and kept a small population of several hundred thousand for experimentation. They were held in isolated work camps of a few hundred and knew nothing of the world beyond the thick stone of the compound walls. Even if they were allowed to taste freedom, they would perish within days-they knew neither how to eat or drink without guidance. Because they did not possess the curses seed they were controlled by commands learnt from Dius trainers, long before they exited the womb. When to eat, when to sleep, when to work, when to shit, all performed with military precision upon commands bellowed over the camps public address system. Men and women worked and lived apart. The men doing tedious manual tasks and the women, below or above the age of impregnation, sowing and cleaning. The remaining women of child baring age were taken from the work camps and herded into birth centres whenever breast milk was required for Dius orphans. Women shackled together in dark, over crowded pens. The stench of rotting placenta thick in the air, it's taste coating every tongue; stomachs bloated by cold, greasy sperm, breasts swollen and sore; streams of hungry Dius children suckled at the nipple, growing stronger with every nourishing mouthful, while another Ajona fetus withers in the silence of it's mothers, collapsing womb. The aborted fetus's were collected on a steel conveyer belt, running the length of the pen, then sorted into two categories: disposable and experimental. Those who fell into the first group were loaded into a furnace and incinerated. The experimental group consisted of healthy babies ripped from their mothers womb's and fed by mechanical teats pushed through the bars of a thousand cramped cages. Then bloated from a glut of synthetic milk the babies were loaded in crates and shipped to live a life of squalid research labs and dirty syringes, pumping chemical isolation into their veins ...... On and on the atrocities flooded. Each new page forging a path into a land where utter madness, reigned supreme. By morning I had sunk into a low, stifling depression; every word I'd read stamped on my mind like a red hot brand on the rump of an Ajona new borne. I lifted myself stiffly off the bed and drifted over to the window. I saw Claudius collecting wood for the fire and called down to him, anxious to make some sense of the horror of my nocturnal read. He started at my shout and dropped the wood he was carrying. "Infidel," he cried, shaking his fist up at me, and gathering the wood coated me with further curses as he disappeared inside the Alcazar.
I pulled on my clothes and made my way down into the garden undeterred by his outburst. When I emerged from the Alcazar Claudius had returned to the grounds and was at the far end of the dead- tree avenue chopping more wood; every blow sent crashing by hands and arms pumped with rage barely controlled "Claudius," I called. "Who want's him ?" he asked, putting down the axe and facing me. "It's me Anthony," I said extending my hand to embrace his.
He turned his back on me and pointed to the logs. "If you want to do something with your hands, pick up the wood and take it inside,"
I did as he asked and carrying the load into the Alcazar, could feel his eyes burning into my back. Hatred. That's what I saw in his profile as he loaded the logs into the fire; face flexed with vexation and hands gripping the bark as if he were strangling the life from an offending neck. "I read about your families struggle," I blurted, knowing no other way to broach the subject other than head on. "And where did you learn about this struggle ?" "From books around the Alcazar."
"Books," he scoffed. "What can they tell you of a man eternally brutalized ? Can they bring you his true agony as his daughter is raped and butchered before his eyes- while he stands by and does nothing? Can they do this my dear labourer ?" "Not entirely, no but they-"
"But they what ? Give one such as yourself the opportunity to indulge in a few minutes of pain, so you can tell your grandchildren how you suffered alongside the oppressed, ÒIf you think you're the only one to suffer than your wrong," I said with calm conviction.
For an instant his face relaxed and I thought I saw empathy in his eyes. Then his shoulders flexed and again vexation stiffened his face. "Do you usually make a habit of rifling private property," he asked.
I was about to offer a defence, but his attention had switched to the top of the west wing. I followed his gaze as it narrowed into a deep frown, and at the uppermost window stood Dius. For a split second he glared down on us through needle -pinned eyes, then with a violent twist of his heel departed our view.
I looked at Claudius for a reaction, yet found none, save for the usual sour blemish, and anyway he was already attending to his duties. Disappointed, though not surprised he hadn't wanted to discus what IÕd read, I turned my back on the Alcazar and walked down to the largest swamp, waded into the mire and began to shovel the oil, sodden mud into a barrow. Every five shovelfulls I wheeled the barrow up to the back of the Alcazar and deposited my load just ahead of the stones I'd moved yesterday. Within a couple of hours my arms ached and I stank of stagnant oil and rot. My back felt tense and my shins throbbed from constantly banging against the lip of the barrow. All this I could usually bear, yet the grim details of last nights read, sucked out my strength and made every movement a painful struggle. As I trudged up the path with my latest toxic load I came upon Dius and greeted him with a drained smile.
He said nothing and starred at me, chewing his lip for what felt like an eternity. When he did finally speak, he did so in a slow deliberate tone, and his eyes never once blinked. "You've been talking to Claudius," he said.
I nodded in mute reply and tried to appear easy beneath his intimidating glare. He leaned close and looked about himself as if to make sure no one was listening and whispered. "His mind is not all there. So it's best you keep conversation within the realms of your job, so as not to confuse him,"
I went to reply, but he'd turned on his heel and was now well down the path leading back to the Alcazar. What the hell. I'm not struck on Dius after what IÕd read and certainly feel no need to explain my actions to him, other than in my capacity as his labourer of course. Then again I don't want to offend him and loose my job, because without that there will be no cycle to the coast next summer. From here on I'll keep any questions I have to myself. At least then IÕll have something to entertain me throughout my stay here.
A winters work ahead of me, cold days torching my resolve and throwing the iced ash in my face. What a job.
* * *
And indeed it was just that as the weeks rolled by; every morning, darker and more frozen than its bleak predecessor. The ground an iron sheet, almost unbreakable; making the task of digging an intolerable test of endurance. Still I comforted myself with the fact that I was at least keeping fit-even if I was doing so in the palm of winters frozen hand.
All the same without the wealth of books and my desperation to save every penny, I would not be in this most desperate of places. Yet here I am, three weeks down the line and almost a permanent fixture. My relationship with Claudius and Dius has hardly been dynamic during this time. Dius I see seldomly, and when I do, it's only a fleeting glance. As far as I understand he travels a lot, and upon returning, prefers the solitude of the Alcazars isolated west wing. As for Claudius he's always too busy and angry to have any time for friends or even the simplest of conversations. Although in all honesty I have no need to speak with either - their lives are explicitly revealed in the volumes packed into the Alcazar.
In isolation I find myself planted and intend to make full use of my time. It would be easy to root in this place, to decay along with the Alcazar and the grounds. Thankfully though IÕve resisted the temptation to entangle myself in the surroundings. Work, dreaming and more work. That is my life here. When I lay in the silence of my room after the day is done, I dream of nothing but the ocean. I hear the surf pounding the beach, sucking out the shingle in a single sweep of it foaming, blue mass, the breeze floating across the day and coating my sun -golden frame with well earned ease. Then I hear another sound, a clicking and my body is instantly primed. I see my legs moving in a frenzy of muscle and tarmac, feel my energy drain as I shift the bike into top gear; and head down, blaze the coast road until my lungs wretch and heart staggers. The gradient is forever creeping upwards and the strain on my vein-pumped face begins to show; soaked in sweat and cramp I battle to the summit, lungs bursting and back sizzling beneath the blood, red sun. Up and up I battle, concentrating on he road and nothing else- then a rude awakening, as the growling voice of Claudius summons me to work. Out of the coast dream I struggle, reluctant to exchange the heat and swell for an icy morning in the company of my permanently acerbic work-mate.
Still I survive, thanks to the discipline built up by years of cycling. That more than anything else has provided me with the strength to fight the boredom and acrimony of any situation. And now more than ever, in this disenchanting place, I will use that discipline to guide me right through to next summer.
* * *
One frozen winters morning after I'd been at the Alcazar for some months I was woken by Claudius. I was surprised to see him as he'd been sent away by Dius to deal with some business up north. I considered asking him why he'd returned so quickly as I helped with the baggage, then thought better of it, knowing only to well the acidic reply I'd receive. Once inside the Alcazar I noticed how pale and drawn he'd become since IÕd last seen him. The explanation could be due to the bight of the wind, as my skin too had faded. Yet now, as I look straight at him I see more than weather beaten features and travel fatigue. What had happened to the well built man I'd encountered at the entrance to the Alcazar all those months ago? Was this pallid relic really him ? "Have you never seen me before ?" he asked suddenly. "Of course IÕve seen you before."
"Then why do you stare at me so?"
"If you want the truth it's because you're looking ill," I answered honestly. To my astonishment his face relaxed and an unprecedented smile crept onto his harsh lips. "Are you not also suffering under the bleach of the frozen sun ?" he remarked, gesturing to my wintered features. "Suffering yes, but not ill,"
He stepped towards me and took my hand in his. "Can you feel my pulse run on a slow timer ?" he asked, pressing my index finger against is neck.
Yes his pulse rate was indeed slow. Like an ancient metronome, ticking out of time. "Soon you'll touch my vein and feel nothing," he said, the smile broadening into an even grin.
I tried in vain to get him to elaborate, though he refused to say anything more, and for the rest of the morning we attended to the luggage in the usual acrimonious silence. That afternoon as I was repairing the boundary wall Claudius came over and stood behind me. I ignored him having become accustomed to his silent stares and continued with my work. Everytime I moved along to the next section of wall he moved with me. Eventually I lost my cool and asked him what the hell he was playing at. He tensed his shoulders and to my astonishment said he had something to tell me. "Why couldn't you just say that in the first place, instead of shadowing me in silence?" I said angered by his muted watch. "Because what I have to tell you is not easily said."
The solemn, almost desperate nature of his reply at once quashed my anger and I prepared to listen. "I know you understand the history of this place from what you've read in the journals housed around the Alcazar," he said. "That though is the Dius version. I want to give you the other side of the coin- the suppressed part of the equation concerning my own race the Ajona."
I was stunned by this candid disclosure and could only mumble that IÕd be more than pleased to listen. "I know it must seem odd that after ignoring you for so long, I suddenly want to talk. Previous experience though has taught me to choose carefully who I confide in," he explained. "I have watched you Anthony as you toil in the grounds, head bowed and back straining under the pressure of your workload. I see your eyes, intelligent and ever watching; your mind like a sponge absorbing all around you, and I know you understand my situation. Or at least I think I know," "I understand," I said, remembering my own time under the crack of the masters whip.
A smile warmed near golden on his lips and his eyes shone pure, unblemished by hate. "Forget the past they tell me. Forget it all," he cried, then lowering his voice said. "How can I do that when the past has shaped me into what I am today?" "You can't," I replied unreservedly. " Your past directs your future weather you like it or not," "That's exactly my point Anthony. I've never known what it is to have a future. It's as if I've learnt nothing or moved nowhere in my life. As if I am trapped in the same section of time, eternally," "You're not alone Claudius," I reassured him. " Almost everyone feels the same," He smiled still warmer and leaning against the wall, looked in the direction of the Alcazar with large, hopeful eyes.
"Sometimes when the sun comes up on the day, I sit and wonder how it could have been all so different. " He said, voice tinged with regret. " As a young man, I fought against the seed germinating inside me, knowing I'd be killing myself if I continued to do so. Inevitably pestilence swept over me and I was confined to my bed for three weeks. As I lay there drowning in fever I realized by killing myself I'd be doing so on Dius terms, and having discovered this fact I realized I'd won half the battle. So I learnt to conceal my thoughts as I lay on my sick bed, mastering the skill of deception like a true veteran. Within two weeks I'd made a full recovery and was back in the fields. Yet this time felt no pain when the master lashed me- I'd risen above his petty violence. And with the heat of rebellion warming my spirit I went to my people and attempted to stir their hearts as mine had been stirred."
Suddenly his lips lost their golden hue and his face tightened with sorrow. "To my horror I found resistance and resentment," he said holding his voice steady," They chastised me for talking about the reality of our slavery. Many, especially the men, denied they were slaves at all and viewed their existence through deluded eyes. Undeterred I struggled on and after a time had several people at least considering my ideas. Then one night when I was out canvassing my views, my father was visited by several elders from the village. They told him, no ordered him to silence me or face he consequences."
He stopped for a moment and inhaled deeply as if the account took a great toll on him, then composure regained continued in a steady voice. " When I returned home he ordered me to keep my mouth shut. I tried to plead my case yet knew my father was scared of what change might mean for men like him. So I set out to arouse the spirit of rebellion amongst my peers. To my horror I'd miscalculated badly and found the curse had swallowed up their minds and with unprecedented savagery they turned on me. "So runaway slave I became, living and learning in my mountain exile. In the beginning life was tolerable as the mountain provided a reasonable amount of food and spring water. Though when the rainy seasons came the land transformed into a treacherous swamp and I was forced to move to lower ground.
"For six months I saw no one. Then one frozen winters morning, woke to the sound of hushed voices. Speedily I assembled my kit and dashed to my vantage point over looking the canyon. There I saw three men straddling a ledge twenty or so feet below where IÕd been sleeping. In the emerging half light I could see their Dius features and realized to my horror they were bounty hunters. My first reaction was to clamber down and kill them. Fortunately sense grabbed me and I realized if I killed them more would come and within hours the mountainside would be full of every kind of heavily armed misfit. So on I struggled to the summit and into the unknown. "Thankfully fortune was almost smiling on me and I found a path around the most treacherous part of the range. I made excellent progress and was soon exchanging the harsh vista of rock and ice for pasture and bush. My mood was good and I looked forward to dining on fresh fruit and vegetables once I reached the low lands. "My optimism however soon diminished as I discovered all crops were grown in fenced off areas, sometimes hundreds of miles square. Armed guards patrolled the perimeters and attack dogs ran loose around the roads and tracks. For eight long months I dodged the dogs, guards and razor wire, existing on the run; eating, sleeping, living a life strangled by constant terror. " Then one day as I walked through the twist of bark and leaf I came to a vast lake. I found a cluster of fishing boats moored along a sheltered cove, stole one and disembarked, unsure of what lay beyond the turn of the tide."
His voice and manner visibly relaxed and the same golden smile I'd seen earlier, returned to warm his lips again. "Within a week I sighted land and my heart leapt with joy. Free at last I shouted as I moored the boat and ran onto the cool sand. Free at last. "For six joyous months I ate succulent fruit, swam amongst blazing coral and lay happily on a golden beach, relishing paradise under the warmth of the dark, red sun."
His voice wavered suddenly and the smile on his lips visibly slumped. "Then, one morning, I was woken by the sound of barking dogs. Before I could react the butt of a rifle was thrust into my face, then I was hit from behind and I remembered no more. When I woke I found I was confined in a small bamboo cage, no bigger than a dog hutch. My chin was touching my knees and my spine was deliberately exposed through a long slit at the back of the cage. Rarely did the Dius guard ever jab the spine - they knew the psychological pressure of having it exposed and vulnerable was much more terrifying than any beating they could dish out. "After IÕd recovered from the shock of my imprisonment. I studied my gaolers and saw the same Dius features I'd avoided for so long, surrounding me once more. I learnt to my horror, that Dius rule stretched far beyond my imagination and all I'd done, was transfer myself from one part of the empire to another.
He turned his gaze on the Alcazar and his profile drained of any remaining spirit; cheeks suddenly drawn and pale, hands vein-pumped, fingers twisted, clothes once tight, hanging loosely over his diminishing frame. One aspect though remained unchanged- his eyes, gleaming with hate, as he viewed his palatial prison. "The punishment for runaway slaves was death," he said turning to face me again. "And I waited amongst humiliation and defeat for my day of execution. Fate however levelled another twist and a Dius landowner offered my captors a sum of money far out weighing the bounty payment they'd receive from the authorities for my skin. So I was brought here to the Alcazar, a slave until death."
He looked up at the dull sky and in his eyes, amongst the hate, glistened a cold tear. "Come, there is work to do," he said moving away from the wall.
I stepped in front of him, blocking his path, consumed by a desperate need for him to stay. "You can't break off like that," I insisted. "Surely we can talk some more."
He fixed me with a melting glare and shook his head mournfully. "To you I divulge my most private thoughts and still you want more."
I felt ashamed and shrunk into silence, allowing him to pass and continue his business without further hinderance. For the rest of the week I fixed the wall in solitude, seeing Claudius only fleetingly as he collected wood for the fire.
At the weekend the weather changed for the worse and for the following week snow storms swept over the Alcazar and it's stagnant grounds. My routine however stayed the same. Each morning I'd trudge down dead-tree avenue and break the ice- sheet covering the swamp. Then wading in start to shovel the sludge.... From dawn to dusk I worked unblocking drains and emptying bucket after bucket of cold, greasy effluent. Occasionally Claudius would appear from amongst the branches of the dead-tree avenue and watch me wade through the freezing sludge. Then he'd be off back to his duties, his curiosity apparently satisfied. Towards the end of the week the temperature dropped and the rain turned to hail; large rocks of compact ice, pouring out of the bleak, grey sky without interruption. By the time I'd completed my day in the swamp, my body was stinging from the barrage of ice and toxic sediment and I collapsed into sleep soon as I hit my bed. In the early hours of Saturday morning I was woken by a fierce gale. The whole place shook and windows and doors slammed and clattered. I pulled the pillow over my head and hoped it was just a bad dream. To my dismay a hard wrapping at my door confirmed it was not. I opened it and there stood Claudius. "Come quickly we have to secure the outer buildings," he said urgently. Wearily I pulled on my clothes and followed him out into the jaws of the tempest. Cacophonous thunder claps and great flashes of fork lighting greeted my every step as I made my way along the breadth of the Alcazar. Over and again the sea of snow swirled, turning it's tide at the whim of the gale and engulfing us in wave after wave of churning white terror. All the same we struggled on, bent double under the ferocious onslaught. Eventually we managed to reach the outer houses but were already too la e. All except one of the buildings had been ripped from it's foundations, and masonry and timber lay scattered amongst the ruins. "I want to take a look around at the chapel. "Claudius bellowed, his shout barely audible above the discordant screams of the storm. "No way. We should get inside," I shouted back," This windÕs too dangerous."
To my surprise and relief he agreed and we started to run the short distance between the outer buildings and the Alcazar. As we turned into the open courtyard I was knocked to the ground by a powerful gust and when I regained my footing and sense, I'd been separated from Claudius. I tried locate the Alcazar but the cascading white sheet blocked my view on all sides. If I went the wrong way I could find myself drowning in the swamps or impaled on the razor- thorns of dead-tree avenue. Thankfully my dramatic imaginings were soon curtailed as Claudius approached, lamp in hand and guided me back to the Alcazar. "Tomorrow if the storm abates, you can begin to clear away the debry of the demolished annex," he said once we were inside. "I will speak with Dius in the morning and see if he wants them rebuilt. In the meantime I suggest you eat and get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a hard day." "Fancy eating with me?" I offered.
He was clearly startled by the invitation and for a moment said nothing nor moved no muscle. "I'm not hungry," he said at length. "But I'll sit with you if you want," "Yes that'd be good," I said and led him to my room.
Inside I offered Claudius a drink and with a mixture of pleasure and surprise I watched him accept it. "About the other day," I said.
He put up his hand to stop me.
"What happened then is over- history."
"All the same I'd like to apologize for my behaviour."
"ThereÕs no need," he said finality evident in his voice.
I waited, clinging to the obscure hope he might pick up the thread he'd left of that day we talked as I fixed the perimeter wall. When it was evident he had no such intention I concentrated on my food, eating and joining in short, sporadic bursts of conversation. We discussed the weather and his plan for rebuilding the outer buildings; spoke about draining the swamps and chopping down the dead-tree avenue, mulled over the possibility of flooding once the snow melted and so on. Yet not once did we talk about ourselves. It was as if we did not exist beyond my apology and Claudius' acceptance. Was this to be the extent of our communication - a two hour dialogue of mundane practicalities?
Why should I get so strung out on what Claudius says or doesn't say? Haven't I learned anything. Before I arrived here the lives of other people were of no concern to me. What they did was none of my business. This indifference towards my fellow man was proved beyond doubt during the occasions I was forced to seek shelter in hostels during harsh winters. Although we were practically lying on top of one another for months on end, I did not once delve into the lives of my bunk-mates or they into mine. Here though, in a place where contact with the other inhabitants is rare, I have become curious. And it is this curiosity which eats away at me now. I have to get a grip. Only another three months to go and I'm out of here. That's all three months. Then the Alcazar de Dius and all it's grim reality will fade amongst sun, sea and solitude. Before dawn Claudius and I set out to survey the storm damage. At first glance the damage appeared slight. Yet as the morning sunlight filtered over the horizon and illuminated the Alcazar and grounds, utter desolation confronted us. All outer buildings had been demolished, their contents strewn over a wide area, dead tree avenue almost entirely up rooted, it's gnarled roots and branches languishing amongst the frozen mud of the swamps, the perimeter wall had disintegrated and the smashed stone scatt red far and wide.
The west wing and the central part of the Alcazar appeared to have only suffered minor damage. The east wing however had been less fortunate. It's roof had collapsed in the centre and as we approached a major supporting beam fractured and several floors crashed downwards. "It will have to be demolished," Said Claudius indifferently, as we walked past the splintered furniture and crumbling stone.
He showed the same indifference upon discovering that the main pipes for the water system had ruptured. The whole system, he explained would have to be replaced without delay. I was too cold and tired to argue and started to dissemble the fractured pipes. The work was slow and miserable: smashing open the frozen earth, wrestling with hammer and grip, slowly, painfully, easing away each heavily rusted joint, then staggering under the weight of the frozen iron, stacking it by the road side, fingers squashed, muscles and tendons stretched beyond pain. By the time we'd dismantled most of the system I was soaked through to the skin and shivering wildly. Claudius's fared no better, his hands and face blue and eyes sore with fatigue. I hoped he'd call a break so I could change my clothes. Instead he told me to fetch a barrow and move the pipes to the back of the Alcazar. Reluctantly, I trudged off and did as he asked. When I returned I noticed how Claudius was staggering under the weight of the steel pipes he carried. I thought about telling him not to carry so many, then quashed the idea, knowing the suggestion would be met by derision and a stubborn policy of steadily increasing his load. I scrambled down the bank and began the laborious task of collecting the frozen pipes and stacking them in the barrow, wheeling the barrow beyond the Alcazar and trudging back down the remains of dead -tree avenue to repeat the dreary process again. On several occasions Claudius slipped and the pipes he carried rolled down the bank, crashed through the ice and into the sludge it covered. He stumbled down the bank after them amongst, a tired and undignified jumble of limbs. For a few seconds he lay in the snow, panting and screwing his face between pain and humiliation, then after much effort dragged himself to his feet and waded into the ice sludge to recover the pipes. Once there however he lacked the strength to pull them out. He tried again and again, and the sight was pitiful and pathetic. I wanted to ask him what he thought he was trying to prove by torturing himself like this. Though it was not my responsibility to make him understand, by hurting himself he was falling deeper and deeper into the Dius trap.
Resigned to this fact, I loaded more pipes and listlessly dragged my aching body up to the depository at the back of the Alcazar. Half way up I heard Claudius cry out and dashed back to the swamp. When I reached him he was barely visible beneath pipes holding him under the ice. I wadded over to him and tried to pull the pipes away. To my surprise Claudius held them in an iron grip and refused to let go. "Get back," he cried violently. "I don't need your help."
Ignoring him, I angrily ripped the pipes from his grasp and hauled him onto the bank. "You had no right," he said shivering bitterly," No right what so ever to impose your will upon me," "Fine carry on torturing yourself," I replied furiously. "Just don't do it around me," "No one is forcing you to stay and watch," "And no one is forcing you to live your life as painfully as possible."
I turned my back on him and went to the barrow, continuing my work in agitated silence. By late evening the snow had stopped and grey cloud thickened above our heads. Spots of rain began to fall, making the embankment down to where we shifted pipes treacherous to the foot. From time to time Claudius stumbled and hit the ground hard, recovered after a minute of whispered curses and continued with the task. Though in all honesty I was barely conscious of him as I immersed myself in dreams of hot coasts and cool seas. How long he'd laid there, crumpled in the snow, I had no idea. Had it been a minute? An hour? My sense of time was lost.
Eventually I pulled myself together and went over and knelt beside him. His eyes were closed tight and his face wore a dripping frown. His pulse was still there, but faint. Other than that there was no response.
I hauled him onto my shoulders and staggered towards my room. Once there I stripped off his wet clothes, wrapped him in blankets, made a fire and warmed some soup. He looked old and tired, crumpled amongst the blankets and pillows. His face lined and brow scarred from years of grind. When he woke he tried to move, but cried out and sank back into the bed. "Why didn't you let me die out there in the snow?" he crocked.
I said nothing and tended to the soup.
"I asked you a question. Have the manners to answer me."
I turned slowly.
"I don't know," I said.
Enraged he tried again to rise from the bed though began to cough wildly, face deep red and eyes bulging and agonized. Finally, exhausted by his effort he slumped back down and the vicious hack subsided. "When I die I want to be alone. Is that clear," he gasped.
I agreed and poured the soup.
"Do you want some?"
He accepted, albeit reluctantly and I placed the bowl on the bedside table. As he picked up the spoon his whole body began to shake as if he'd been struck by a terrible palsy. To my surprise he acted as if the affliction didn't exist and proceeded to try and eat some soup. It was undignified and heart breaking to watch him continually drop the spoon and spill hot broth down his chest. Eventually, out of anger and frustration he knocked the bowl to the floor and with shame glowing in his eyes dropped below the blankets.
I said nothing and cleared away the mess. By the time I'd returned to eat Claudius was sleeping. I finished my food and instantly fell into an exhausted sleep. When I woke I looked at Claudius and was faced by a veritable skeleton. "My appearance shocks you ?" he asked, opening his eyes. "Yes it does," I replied honestly.
He drew his emaciated frame towards me.
"Will you mourn my death Anthony ?" he asked without emotion.
I shook my head slowly and said. "No."
He clasped my hand with a feeble grip and slipped down into the bed. "Good," he said and closed his eyes.
I left him to sleep and went out into the grounds and continued to repair the damage meted out by the storm. As usual the work was exhausting and tedious to the extreme and by lunch time my limbs were sore and spine aching. I decided to take a break and went back to my room. To my astonishment I found the bed empty and Claudius gone. My first impulse was to scour the Alcazar but I decided against the idea. If I started dashing about the place it would arouse suspicion and I wasn't in any mood to answer awkward questions from Dius. That night as I sat reading I heard a loud bang from below my window. Looking out I saw a body crumpled amongst the darkness and upon unbolting the door found it was Claudius. I pulled him inside as quickly and carefully as I could, keeping one eye alert in case Dius should suddenly appear. "Claudius," I whispered. "It's me Anthony."
He opened his eyes slowly, the lids peeling back with a long, weary movement. To my amazement where hatred and sorrow had once lurked like hungry predators in the shadows of his face, now shone a golden aura, smooth and tranquilizing to the eye. He gripped my hand and although his body was doused in a terrible fever I felt a clean energy pulse through him; and if the eyes were, as many claimed the window to the soul, then Claudius was indeed a very happy man. "I'm dying Anthony," he said smiling. "At last I'm dying."
I returned his smile and made him as comfortable as possible, thankfully without any kind of protest or obstruction. "You're a good person," he said, loosening his grip on my hand and slipping into the pillows. " A very good person."
His voice trailed off and he drifted into sleep. I too dozed until I was woken by a wrapping at the door. I opened it and there stood Dius. Any fear accumulating in my gut quickly dispersed as my eye ran over him. Where arrogance sparkled in his eyes, now cast a hollow canyon, sockets empty and unseeing; no stare to freeze the on-looker, no glint to seize the heart; just fear devouring his emaciated face. Flesh once muscular, sagged loosely around his skull and jaw-bone; hands and fingers twisted with an arthritic scourge, hung like crippled spiders at his side; posture hunched, and bones grating in against each other as if all cartilage had atrophied.
Inwardly I gloated at his physical demise. Suffer as you have made others suffer, I thought without a hint of remorse. "He must not die," Dius hissed, looking over my shoulder at Claudius. "You will save him," "You save him," I said bitterly and went back to Claudius's side, unconcerned by Dius' or his demands.
I bent over him and ran a cool flannel across his heated brow. His eyes flickered beneath the closed lids and slowly peeling them back he looked at me and smiled contentedly. "At last I shall be free," he gasped through parched lips. "What did he say? " demanded Dius feebly. "He said get out. Now leave him alone," I answered turning on him angrily.
Immediately he unsheathed a whip tagged to his belt and stepped towards me. For a moment the composure and clinical reassurance I'd noted as we toured the garden all those months ago returned to his frame. Yet as I met his gaze with twice the violence mustered in his own veins, his resolve melted and dripped out of his eyes.
He re-tagged the whip, glared at me and turning on his heel stormed out of the room. I listened to the steps fade until I heard the front door slam; then the same disaffected step crunch over the sludge and gravel towards the west wing. "Has he gone?" Claudius asked feebly.
"Yes he's gone," I confirmed.
A smile curved onto his lips and his eyes glistened brightly. "Long ago I imagined my death would be brutal," he spoke slowly, breathlessly, chest heaving in great waves beneath the blanket. "When ever I heard a floor board creak or a chair scrape as Dius moved about in his quarters, a violent vision of my death would unfold in my mind. I saw the executioners block, the lynch mobs noose, the huntsman's dog's hauling me down and tearing off my flesh,"
He paused a puzzled look on his face.
"Now this, peace in death."
I squeezed his hand and said quietly.
"I should be going."
"No wait," he urged, gripping my wrist with frail fingers. "I'd like it if you stayed."
I accepted his invitation gratefully, pulled up a chair and waited for his dream of death to blossom. Claudius died in my arms as dawn's shroud shimmered on the horizon. He looked happier than I'd ever seen any man look and gazing down at him, lying there paled by deaths hand, I felt no sorrow or anger, just joy warming my heart and reviving any spirit drained by this desolate place. I carried him out into the grounds and built a pyre for his corpse. As I lit the wood I looked up and saw Dius sitting in a chair watching my every move. For an instant I felt fear creep into my bones and a slimy disgust slither into my gut, yet knocked it aside and proceeded to give Claudius a decent cremation.
The flames licked over the emaciated body and fried the skin and bone. Within a few minutes only ash and glowing embers remained. I felt no other emotion save for happiness as I walked away from the doused flames and back into the Alcazar.
When I entered my room I was not surprised to see Dius there. He was sitting on my bed facing the window and I expected him to leap from it and strangle the life out of me with his whip. I need not have worried because when I finally came around to face him he was dead. I looked at him, crumpled and waxen beneath the heated cancer which crawled over his entire frame; slithering over the languid tissue and devouring it with a ravenous mouth. I thought of the agony and suffering he'd dealt out during his long life. He the master, straddled arrogantly upon a great stallion, charging into peasant villages to rape and pillage at will; to take and keep taking without ever giving anything back. Dius, so typical of generations of aristocratic parasites, stealing food from starving children when their own table's are piled high with expensive fruit and meat. On and on rushed the rivers of blood, staining century after century and drowning all those who tried to stem it's sadistic flow. And now much to my pleasure I watched as retribution claimed Dius' soul and drowned it in the river he'd commanded for so long. I collected my belongs and for the last time left my room. As I walked along dead tree avenue and out of the grounds, a wild light swept across my eye and I glanced over my shoulder back at the Alcazar. There, ascending behind it a silver Sun, it's glare so bright I was forced to shield my eyes. Then came a massive explosion and I was hurled into a ditch. I lay there for some minutes, covered in fragmented stone and clumps of iced sod, my head confused and my body numb. Within a few minutes however the confusion in my head subsided and my body enlivened. I picked myself up and looked back across the dead grounds and to my delight saw the Alcazar de Dius in ruin.
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Updated Thursday, 04-Mar-2004 14:58:31 PST