Read Online Ariadne's Diadem by Sandra Heath - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sandra Heath
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see the immense gathering of fauns peering curiously at him from behind their master. The panther growled, and Gervase flinched, at least he would have done so had he been capable of even the slightest movement.
Bacchus eyed him critically from head to toe, and then used his staff to remove the waterweed that was draped so embarrassingly around Gervase’s more outstanding lower regions. “Hardly Hercules, but nevertheless a fine enough specimen of humanity,” he conceded, “although whether Miss Anne Willowby will ever think so remains to be seen.”
“Is there no other way I may make amends for my part in the theft of the diadem? Must I really win her love?” Gervase asked.
“Yes, you must, but be warned that you have been wrong to dismiss her as a schemer.” Bacchus told him briefly about Anne’s reasons for entering into the match, knowledge he had absorbed from the buttons on the greatcoat, along with everything else.
Gervase felt chastened, for he’d said some very harsh things about her. “ I concede I was at fault, but can you tell me why my father chose her in the first place?”
Bacchus smiled. “Oh, yes. Her great probity revived memories of his first wife.”
So that was it. Gervase’s mind cleared. His mother was his father’s second wife and had always known that she stood in the shadow of her predecessor.
Bacchus turned to Sylvanus. “Well, Faun, it is time to commence. Pick up the duke’s clothes.”
The faun obeyed.
“Now climbupon his back.”
Sylvanus gaped. “Climb? But—”
“It is the only way to be absolutely certain you both arrive in exactly the same place at exactly the same moment. Climb!” The god’s staff quivered at the faun, who hastened to do as he was told. It was no easy matter with an armful of clothes and a pair of riding hoots to contend with, for his cloven hooves found little purchase, but at last he managed to haul himself up to put his arms around Gervase’s neck, his furry goat legs around his waist, and wedge the clothes between himself and the cold marble.
Bacchus looked at Gervase. “By the way, I have caused Miss Willowby to fall from her horse and then into a deep sleep perilously close to a riverbank. She will slip into the water and drown unless you reach her quickly. Do not forget that she must live if you are to be released.”
As both Gervase and Sylvanus wondered to what purpose the god had done such a thing, Bacchus gestured again with his staff, and a great wind sprang up from what had been utterly still. The flowing purple robe billowed, and the company of fauns shrank together as the water of the pool was whipped up into countless little waves. Sylvanus clung on with all his might, and Gervase felt the plinth shudder a little, then suddenly the wind snatched them both, whirling them high into the evening sky.
There was a roaring and rushing of air, and Naples and its bay fell away behind. The twist of smoke from Vesuvius meandered heavenward for a time, but then Italy itself was lost from view as they swept northwest. They were so high that the air was bitterly cold, but although Gervase felt nothing through his shell of marble, poor Sylvanus’s teeth chattered. He bleated wretchedly, scrabbling with his hooves as he lost his grip for a moment. How he wished he were back in his cozy hiding place. More than that, how he wished he could swim, for then he would never have landed in Teresa del Rosso’s debt, and none of this would have happened!
A journey that should have taken weeks was over in a few minutes. Suddenly, England was below them, clearly visible in the northern twilight. Sylvanus peered down at an alien landscape of neat fields, lush meadows, and scattered villages, with trees that were just beginning to show their cloaks of spring green. He and Gervase flew above a river that flowed from north to south like a silver ribbon, through a beautiful tree-clad valley that was sometimes rich farmland, sometimes tree-hung cliffs
Bacchus eyed him critically from head to toe, and then used his staff to remove the waterweed that was draped so embarrassingly around Gervase’s more outstanding lower regions. “Hardly Hercules, but nevertheless a fine enough specimen of humanity,” he conceded, “although whether Miss Anne Willowby will ever think so remains to be seen.”
“Is there no other way I may make amends for my part in the theft of the diadem? Must I really win her love?” Gervase asked.
“Yes, you must, but be warned that you have been wrong to dismiss her as a schemer.” Bacchus told him briefly about Anne’s reasons for entering into the match, knowledge he had absorbed from the buttons on the greatcoat, along with everything else.
Gervase felt chastened, for he’d said some very harsh things about her. “ I concede I was at fault, but can you tell me why my father chose her in the first place?”
Bacchus smiled. “Oh, yes. Her great probity revived memories of his first wife.”
So that was it. Gervase’s mind cleared. His mother was his father’s second wife and had always known that she stood in the shadow of her predecessor.
Bacchus turned to Sylvanus. “Well, Faun, it is time to commence. Pick up the duke’s clothes.”
The faun obeyed.
“Now climbupon his back.”
Sylvanus gaped. “Climb? But—”
“It is the only way to be absolutely certain you both arrive in exactly the same place at exactly the same moment. Climb!” The god’s staff quivered at the faun, who hastened to do as he was told. It was no easy matter with an armful of clothes and a pair of riding hoots to contend with, for his cloven hooves found little purchase, but at last he managed to haul himself up to put his arms around Gervase’s neck, his furry goat legs around his waist, and wedge the clothes between himself and the cold marble.
Bacchus looked at Gervase. “By the way, I have caused Miss Willowby to fall from her horse and then into a deep sleep perilously close to a riverbank. She will slip into the water and drown unless you reach her quickly. Do not forget that she must live if you are to be released.”
As both Gervase and Sylvanus wondered to what purpose the god had done such a thing, Bacchus gestured again with his staff, and a great wind sprang up from what had been utterly still. The flowing purple robe billowed, and the company of fauns shrank together as the water of the pool was whipped up into countless little waves. Sylvanus clung on with all his might, and Gervase felt the plinth shudder a little, then suddenly the wind snatched them both, whirling them high into the evening sky.
There was a roaring and rushing of air, and Naples and its bay fell away behind. The twist of smoke from Vesuvius meandered heavenward for a time, but then Italy itself was lost from view as they swept northwest. They were so high that the air was bitterly cold, but although Gervase felt nothing through his shell of marble, poor Sylvanus’s teeth chattered. He bleated wretchedly, scrabbling with his hooves as he lost his grip for a moment. How he wished he were back in his cozy hiding place. More than that, how he wished he could swim, for then he would never have landed in Teresa del Rosso’s debt, and none of this would have happened!
A journey that should have taken weeks was over in a few minutes. Suddenly, England was below them, clearly visible in the northern twilight. Sylvanus peered down at an alien landscape of neat fields, lush meadows, and scattered villages, with trees that were just beginning to show their cloaks of spring green. He and Gervase flew above a river that flowed from north to south like a silver ribbon, through a beautiful tree-clad valley that was sometimes rich farmland, sometimes tree-hung cliffs
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