from being a natural occurrence, the lightning was the result of divine intervention, for at the very moment Anne had set out for her ride, in far -off Italy an angry Bacchus had at last come to punish Sylvanus for the loss of Ariadne’s diadem.
The Mediterranean evening had already closed in as the ever-young god of wine, pleasure, and wild nature arrived in the grove, attended by a retinue of scores of Sylvanus’s mischievous brethren. The purple-robed deity was tall, handsome and dazzlingly golden, and led a panther on a silver chain. He wore a vine and ivy leaf wreath, carried a long wand topped by a bunch of myrtle, and his eyes were ablaze with fury as he commanded Sylvanus to come forth from his hiding place.
The terrified faun crawled out on all fours, and his goat tail trembled in the air as he pressed his face to the grass. “Have pity on me, oh, mighty Bacchus, oh, Great One...” he whimpered.
The panther growled, and Sylvanus forgot his fear for a moment in order to give the animal a look of loathing. As far as he was concerned, it was little more than a large tomcat with airs and graces above its station.
Bacchus poked Sylvanus with his wand. “Save your attention for me. Faun!”
Sylvanus cowered again, and the gathered fauns beganto snigger at his discomfort, although they were immediately silenced by the god’s baleful glare. Then Bacchus stretched out a foot and pushed Sylvanus to the edge of the pool. “You’ve let me down, Sylvanus,” he accused.
“F-forgive me, Master,” Sylvanus whimpered, eyeing both the god and the shining water that was once again within inches of him.
“Forgive you? Why should I do that? Your task was to guard the grove, but you failed! Now my Sweet One’s crown has been taken, and all because of your folly. Can you give me one good reason why I should spare you?”
“Give me one more chance. Lord, and I vow I will redeem myself!” Sylvanus pleaded.
Bacchus bent to stroke the panther. “You are not a cat with nine lives, Faun, merely a worthless creature who has displeased me. Your time has come.”
Sylvanus squeaked with terror and hid his face again. “Please! I beg of you! Remember that the Lady Ariadne liked me, and would not wish to see me die!”
Bacchus had raised his staff, but then paused. “You presume by mentioning her name,” he breathed, glancing up at the deep turquoise sky, where the first evening stars had begun to appear. He had commemorated his adored Ariadne in the constellation known as the Corona Borealis, named after the very wedding diadem this inept failure of a faun had allowed to be stolen!
Sylvanus’s tail shook with dread. “Let me save the diadem for you. Liege, let me go after the Englishman and punish him as I punished the duke!”
“That is another thing. The man you turned to marble is innocent of attacking the woman Teresa.”
Dismayed, Sylvanus clasped his arms over his head. His goat tail became very still, and he drew his hooves up until he could have been rolled into the pool like a ball.
Bacchus snapped his fingers and nodded at one of the other fauns, who immediately ran to Sylvanus’s hiding place and returned with Gervase’s clothes, which were placed respectfully at the god’s feet. The silver buttons of the greatcoat winked in the half-light, their maze pattern very clear to see. “Ah, the defenses of Troy, how well I remember them,” the god murmured, touching one of the buttons with the end of his staff. A flood of knowledge immediately swept through him. He saw the maze at Llandower Castle and the old duke issuing his ultimatum to Anne. He saw Gervase being told he must marry Anne if he wished to retain his inheritance. He saw how very much the man who now lay entombed at the bottom of the pool resented the match, and he saw also Hugh, the new Duke of Wroxford, lying in the arms of Kitty Longton. Last but not least he saw Anne riding through the early evening sun along the bank of the Wye.
A
The Mediterranean evening had already closed in as the ever-young god of wine, pleasure, and wild nature arrived in the grove, attended by a retinue of scores of Sylvanus’s mischievous brethren. The purple-robed deity was tall, handsome and dazzlingly golden, and led a panther on a silver chain. He wore a vine and ivy leaf wreath, carried a long wand topped by a bunch of myrtle, and his eyes were ablaze with fury as he commanded Sylvanus to come forth from his hiding place.
The terrified faun crawled out on all fours, and his goat tail trembled in the air as he pressed his face to the grass. “Have pity on me, oh, mighty Bacchus, oh, Great One...” he whimpered.
The panther growled, and Sylvanus forgot his fear for a moment in order to give the animal a look of loathing. As far as he was concerned, it was little more than a large tomcat with airs and graces above its station.
Bacchus poked Sylvanus with his wand. “Save your attention for me. Faun!”
Sylvanus cowered again, and the gathered fauns beganto snigger at his discomfort, although they were immediately silenced by the god’s baleful glare. Then Bacchus stretched out a foot and pushed Sylvanus to the edge of the pool. “You’ve let me down, Sylvanus,” he accused.
“F-forgive me, Master,” Sylvanus whimpered, eyeing both the god and the shining water that was once again within inches of him.
“Forgive you? Why should I do that? Your task was to guard the grove, but you failed! Now my Sweet One’s crown has been taken, and all because of your folly. Can you give me one good reason why I should spare you?”
“Give me one more chance. Lord, and I vow I will redeem myself!” Sylvanus pleaded.
Bacchus bent to stroke the panther. “You are not a cat with nine lives, Faun, merely a worthless creature who has displeased me. Your time has come.”
Sylvanus squeaked with terror and hid his face again. “Please! I beg of you! Remember that the Lady Ariadne liked me, and would not wish to see me die!”
Bacchus had raised his staff, but then paused. “You presume by mentioning her name,” he breathed, glancing up at the deep turquoise sky, where the first evening stars had begun to appear. He had commemorated his adored Ariadne in the constellation known as the Corona Borealis, named after the very wedding diadem this inept failure of a faun had allowed to be stolen!
Sylvanus’s tail shook with dread. “Let me save the diadem for you. Liege, let me go after the Englishman and punish him as I punished the duke!”
“That is another thing. The man you turned to marble is innocent of attacking the woman Teresa.”
Dismayed, Sylvanus clasped his arms over his head. His goat tail became very still, and he drew his hooves up until he could have been rolled into the pool like a ball.
Bacchus snapped his fingers and nodded at one of the other fauns, who immediately ran to Sylvanus’s hiding place and returned with Gervase’s clothes, which were placed respectfully at the god’s feet. The silver buttons of the greatcoat winked in the half-light, their maze pattern very clear to see. “Ah, the defenses of Troy, how well I remember them,” the god murmured, touching one of the buttons with the end of his staff. A flood of knowledge immediately swept through him. He saw the maze at Llandower Castle and the old duke issuing his ultimatum to Anne. He saw Gervase being told he must marry Anne if he wished to retain his inheritance. He saw how very much the man who now lay entombed at the bottom of the pool resented the match, and he saw also Hugh, the new Duke of Wroxford, lying in the arms of Kitty Longton. Last but not least he saw Anne riding through the early evening sun along the bank of the Wye.
A
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