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Authors: Sandra Heath
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thoughtful expression entered the god’s eyes, and he prodded the terrified faun. “Get up,” he commanded.
Sylvanus couldn’t move.
“Get up!” Bacchus ordered, poking him more harshly.
Sylvanus uncurled and rose unwillingly to his hooves, then stood with his head bowed as he awaited sentence.
“You’re right to remind me that my Sweet One liked you, and for her sake I will indeed give you another chance, but don’t think I intend to let you off lightly.” Bacchus hooked the greatcoat with the end of his staff and tossed it toward Sylvanus, who caught it. ‘Touch one of the buttons,” the god commanded.
Sylvanus obeyed, and the knowledge flooded through him, too.
“There are conditions to be met before you will have fully redeemed yourself in my eyes, Faun. You will go to the place called Llandower Castle, where the diadem will soon be brought. It must be given willingly into your hands, do you understand?”
“Yes,Master.”
“But before you can receive the diadem, you must help the other man complete his task.”
“What other man?” Sylvanus was puzzled.
The god pointed at the water. “The wrong cousin was punished for what was done to the woman Teresa, but even so he was guilty of trying to steal the diadem, so I am going to send him to England as well. He will have to assume a new identity and win the heart of the bride he treated so badly. He will remain a statue by day, but at night will be turned into flesh and blood again in order to woo her. Without ever knowing who he really is, she must tell him she loves him. It will not be easy to make her confess, for she is a young woman of great integrity who now considers herself honor-bound to the man called Hugh. There is only one circumstance that will afford any advantage at the moment—the lady is temporarily alone because her parents have gone to Dublin. There will be several days, or rather nights, before Hugh arrives.”
“What if she cannot be won?”
“Then the duke will remain a statue throughout eternity, and you. Faun, will stay in England with him, provided I spare your miserable hide, that is,” the god said harshly, and the other fauns sniggered again, for they always took mean delight in each other’s misfortune.
Sylvanus swallowed, resigned to what lay ahead. “What is to happen to the man called Hugh?” he asked then.
“His fate I will leave to you and the duke. If you both succeed in your allotted tasks, you will have the pleasure of punishing him as you both see fit.”
Sylvanus shuffled his hooves. “When are you sending us?”
“At this very moment,” Bacchus replied. “However, first I must make one thing clear. You are not to employ your power to make men and women irresistibly drawn to each other. What the duke achieves must be done without your intervention, is that clear?”
“Yes, Master.”
Bacchus pointed his staff at the grass and conjured into existence a marble plinth about four inches high. Then he pointed the staff at the pool. “I grant you the power of communication. Englishman. Have you heard everything?”
Gervase had indeed heard and was able to reply through thought. “Yes.”
The answer seeped up through the pool to Bacchus and the fauns. “Do you accept my conditions?” the god inquired.
“Yes.” Gervase felt he had no choice; besides, it offered the only way to escape from this dreadful petrified imprisonment.
Bacchus waved his staff, and the water bubbled and seethed as Gervase began to rise slowly to the surface. Naked, white, and dripping, with weeds draped around his arms and another more private portion of his anatomy, he was suspended in midair for a moment, before being drawn to the bank and deposited on the low plinth, for all the world as if he graced the garden of a villa in ancient Rome. He gazed in amazement at the golden magnificence of the young god, whom he had expected would be a much older personage, grown fat from a surfeit of wine. He was also startled to
Sylvanus couldn’t move.
“Get up!” Bacchus ordered, poking him more harshly.
Sylvanus uncurled and rose unwillingly to his hooves, then stood with his head bowed as he awaited sentence.
“You’re right to remind me that my Sweet One liked you, and for her sake I will indeed give you another chance, but don’t think I intend to let you off lightly.” Bacchus hooked the greatcoat with the end of his staff and tossed it toward Sylvanus, who caught it. ‘Touch one of the buttons,” the god commanded.
Sylvanus obeyed, and the knowledge flooded through him, too.
“There are conditions to be met before you will have fully redeemed yourself in my eyes, Faun. You will go to the place called Llandower Castle, where the diadem will soon be brought. It must be given willingly into your hands, do you understand?”
“Yes,Master.”
“But before you can receive the diadem, you must help the other man complete his task.”
“What other man?” Sylvanus was puzzled.
The god pointed at the water. “The wrong cousin was punished for what was done to the woman Teresa, but even so he was guilty of trying to steal the diadem, so I am going to send him to England as well. He will have to assume a new identity and win the heart of the bride he treated so badly. He will remain a statue by day, but at night will be turned into flesh and blood again in order to woo her. Without ever knowing who he really is, she must tell him she loves him. It will not be easy to make her confess, for she is a young woman of great integrity who now considers herself honor-bound to the man called Hugh. There is only one circumstance that will afford any advantage at the moment—the lady is temporarily alone because her parents have gone to Dublin. There will be several days, or rather nights, before Hugh arrives.”
“What if she cannot be won?”
“Then the duke will remain a statue throughout eternity, and you. Faun, will stay in England with him, provided I spare your miserable hide, that is,” the god said harshly, and the other fauns sniggered again, for they always took mean delight in each other’s misfortune.
Sylvanus swallowed, resigned to what lay ahead. “What is to happen to the man called Hugh?” he asked then.
“His fate I will leave to you and the duke. If you both succeed in your allotted tasks, you will have the pleasure of punishing him as you both see fit.”
Sylvanus shuffled his hooves. “When are you sending us?”
“At this very moment,” Bacchus replied. “However, first I must make one thing clear. You are not to employ your power to make men and women irresistibly drawn to each other. What the duke achieves must be done without your intervention, is that clear?”
“Yes, Master.”
Bacchus pointed his staff at the grass and conjured into existence a marble plinth about four inches high. Then he pointed the staff at the pool. “I grant you the power of communication. Englishman. Have you heard everything?”
Gervase had indeed heard and was able to reply through thought. “Yes.”
The answer seeped up through the pool to Bacchus and the fauns. “Do you accept my conditions?” the god inquired.
“Yes.” Gervase felt he had no choice; besides, it offered the only way to escape from this dreadful petrified imprisonment.
Bacchus waved his staff, and the water bubbled and seethed as Gervase began to rise slowly to the surface. Naked, white, and dripping, with weeds draped around his arms and another more private portion of his anatomy, he was suspended in midair for a moment, before being drawn to the bank and deposited on the low plinth, for all the world as if he graced the garden of a villa in ancient Rome. He gazed in amazement at the golden magnificence of the young god, whom he had expected would be a much older personage, grown fat from a surfeit of wine. He was also startled to
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