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Caius Insidius had done his homework. Privately, he didn't think he was that much better an agent than all the others: what made him stand out was that he took the time to think things through. So many idiots rushed in without making proper plans.
For example, he had taken care to plot the exact locations of the village gates, coming and going from the forest to the gates so many times that he could traverse the distance blindfold. He'd made a point of planning a route that took him past Asterix's hut, in order to make doubly sure that the big brute wasn't sleeping over at the midget's, as was his wont more often than not. No, not 'the big brute' – Obelix, Caius corrected himself, Obelix. Time to immerse himself completely in his role. Obelix stayed over at his own house maybe once a week, when he wanted to wake up early and get some menhirs made – and that was another mystery, where he delivered them all, and, by Juno, his father before him – but most of the rest of the time he spent the night at his friend's.
Insidius had researched carefully, but despite many hints, he had found no signs of eros between the warrior pair. He rolled his eyes as he slipped through the darkened, sleeping village. Even in this, the barbarians lacked the civilization to do as any self-respecting Roman bonded pair would have done. Wedded to no woman, nor yet seeking consummation of their own union – how did these Gauls even call themselves men? They seemed to comport themselves like something out of a story for children.
Like a shadow Insidius slipped through the village, and like a shadow he approached Obelix's hut.
"WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!" A tiny thunderbolt blasted out of the house – and blasted was the word, as the infernal animal streaked towards Insidius, intent on bloodshed. If Insidius hadn't planned for a disturbance, this would have been the end. His hands were already outstretched, bearing a towel saturated with a potent sleeping-draught. As the little dog leapt at him, he caught it in the towel, wrapping it firmly all about the animal's small body.
It was only a few seconds until the barking subsided, and the small animal went limp beneath the fabric. Insidius carefully laid the dog down, the towel covering it. He needed to work undisturbed.
"Dogmatix?" came Obelix's slurred voice from above.
"Meow," Insidius called, high-pitched and innocent.
"Oh, Dogmatix, give it a rest," rumbled the deep voice, changing timbre as its owner rolled over in bed. The wooden floor to the sleeping-chamber creaked, and in a few moments, all was quiet once more.
Only when the crickets began to chirp again did Insidius anoint the door-hinges with oil, and slip silently into the big man's bedchamber. This was where his real work began.
Insidius wasn't really sure how he did what he did; he supposed it must be a gift from the gods, for he had tried to teach it to numerous other agents and failed. He had told them what to do: sit by the head of the bed, even as he himself now sat. Then, come into the breathing of the sleeper. Breathe with him as one, until you half-slumber with him yourself, until you enter almost into the space of his dreams. Then, reach out with your heart and your mind, and wait for the trance to beckon.
It was at this stage that the other agents always fell short. They breathed, but no matter how they tried to match their breathing to the sleeper's, it was forced, and they never slipped into the dream-world that, past a certain point, opened itself to Insidius, calling to him. It seemed so clear, so close, a small step over a soft and nebulous threshold, allowing him to lose himself in the dream-thoughts of the sleeper.
The trick – this was the only difficult part – was to retain one's objective, one's plans. To avoid becoming one with the sleeper. He'd tried to explain it to that inapt idiot Practicalmattus, but he'd never grasped the concept of dream-whispering. It was a unity more intimate than the physical union of lover to lover, an understanding deeper than that of the rhetoricians of the Grecian universities. Its backbone was sympathy; sympathy and understanding and unity. In fact, if you weren't careful, sympathy for the sleeper would overtake you, drawn into his world as you were, and you'd be useless for this kind of work. This talent of his, his Mater had told him, was used among select of her ancestors' healers – well, technically his ancestors, though her, although he preferred to call himself a Roman through and through and disown his barbarian heritage – among select of her ancestors' medicine men and shamans, those who had the gift from her African pagan gods, for healing. Insidius had a hunch that it wasn't really meant for the purpose he put it to, but he kept that doubt at the back of his mind. He tried to forget that his Mater would be turning in her grave if she learned he was using his gift for extracting secrets, instead of healing.
Healing. It almost sounded… tempting.
Insidius shook his head. Things were what they were. His Mater had wanted him to be a healer, but she now lay in the earth. Insidius was alone. He was a spy. He had his duty to perform.
Caius Insidius focused on slowing his breathing. It was hard with Obelix. The potion gave the big man's breathing a rhythmic cadence which, while sounding deceptively normal, was extremely efficient and extraordinarily hard to mimic. In… out… in… out.
The world softened, metamorphosed. It was no longer dark. This was Obelix's world, now.
Insidius blinked, stunned at the blurred edges, the sunshine, the bright colors, the innocence of the world in which this grown man still lived. All was gloriously in the moment: sun and sky and lush greenery and water, beckoning heart-deep, calling to enfold his body and mind. If mind it can be called! Insidius mocked, for he had caught himself falling, and righted his own mind with a lurch.
He looked further, and had to steady himself with thoughts of the Caesar he served and his loyalty to the Roman Empire, for he was overtaken by a love so deep and intense, in dreams, it threatened to unmake Insidius' own soul. A mother's love: Mummy, a great mountain of a woman, but small in Obelix's sight: his 'dear little Mummy' still, though her hair was grey. His Dad, tall and corpulent as he, but loved with a deep, pure affection. Panacea, her beauty in his mind's eye pure and innocent, her blonde hair enfolding her like the wings of an angel. By all the gods, was there ever a man more childlike in his passions? His little dog, shining like a star of affection in the garden that was his heart – the druid, warm and bright in his robe of white, the villagers, set round like jewels in a sundial all of gold. All was joy and light and life, the few shadows cast here and there quickly dispelled by the boundless sunshine.
But where, then, was his supposed best friend? Insidius couldn't spot him anywhere among the circle of sparkling jewels. He looked right and left, feeling out along the tendrils of the man's love, the warmth that filled his soul. He wasn't there. But the intelligence had been incontrovertible, and he'd seen it with his own eyes! The link between the pair was undeniable, they lived in each other's pockets, inside each other's hearts…
Inside. Insidius stopped looking about him, closed his eyes, and delved beneath the surface.
He was immediately caught, steadied, enfolded by love deeper than a mother's, brighter than all the sunshine in Obelix's world. Insidius gasped, in his dream-world, at the realization: Asterix the Gaul was the source of it. He was the warm earth that made the grass grow, the core on which Obelix's world rested.
In the inner heart of this world, earthy and warm yet transparent and transcending, Insidius looked about him, stunned. Naively, Insidius had thought that as Obelix's best friend, Asterix would be the crown jewel of villagers and family, shining alongside Obelix's parents and Panacea. But it was more visceral: this love ran far deeper than that. Asterix was Obelix's security, his bedrock. His life ran through Obelix's veins. His laughter was the buoyancy that lifted Obelix's spirit, his smile the sunshine that illuminated this dreamforest's sunlit world. You couldn't see Asterix in Obelix's mind, because he lived in Obelix's heart.
Without Asterix, that heart would split asunder. The sun would dim, the warmth grow cold… Insidius shuddered. The very grass would wither, in this forest bright with birds and flowers. There would be… a wasteland. Without his friend's love, there was nothing.
And destroying it was his mission.
It must be done. The trust placed in him by his Emperor would not allow for anything else. Only it was a shame, a crime, to destroy this sanctuary. But he must. And yet…
The pity of it, Caius. The pity of it!
Before he could draw back, Caius Insidius whispered into Obelix's dreams. "Obelix," he said. It was more of a thought, more of a breath. But the ripple in the big man's soul told Insidius that it had reached him.
"What…?" In the dark, a deep voice echoed back to him.
"Obelix, listen to your conscience. Heed my call."
"My conscience?" Insidius watched as a cloud shadowed the sunshine in the pure, clear dreamforest of Obelix's soul. There was no place so innocent; none of the men's minds he had entered before had a tenth of this Gaul's purity and light. What man had any business being so unsullied, anyway? "I didn't know I had one."
"You have been acting as though you do not," Insidius forced steel into his tone, "which is why I have come to intervene."
He felt a chill wind pick up, rustling the leaves in the dreamforest. "What… But I haven't done anything."
"You are hurting Asterix."
"Hurting him? But I'd never hurt him!" The wind swirled, picking up into a gale, rustling the leaves and the grass. Fascinated, Insidius watched the currents of emotion: no righteous indignation, no self-defense, only cold fear for his friend. "How? What have I done?"
"It's more what you don't do. You don't spare a single thought for his safety. All you do is go on your merry way, never thinking of the risks to him. One of these days you'll get him killed." Insidius projected an image of Asterix, lying on his back, one arm across his middle, a sword buried in his heart.
Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. I should have expected it, Insidius groaned inwardly. He had to get out of this dream-representation of Obelix's mental state, or he'd never get anywhere. Taking a deep breath, he turned things around, moving out of the dream-forest of the unconscious and climbing to an upper level, clambering into Obelix's consciousness, seeing through his eyes. He felt Obelix's fear. Good. Outwardly he said, "Why would he want to be your friend?"
Insidius felt it as Obelix shrank back from the voice of his 'conscience'. "What do you mean? He is my friend."
"Ah, but for how much longer?" Insidius continued. "Look at him, and look at you. Asterix is intelligent, is he not?"
"Of course," responded Obelix. "I don't even follow what he's saying half the time…" He trailed off.
"Exactly. Why would he want to be burdened with a friend like you? Wouldn't he be better off being friends with someone as intelligent as he is, someone with his head for strategy, his cunning? Obelix, you're a boor. You eat all the time, everywhere. How many times has he taken you to task for not showing good manners?"
'There's a time and place for everything, Obelix,' Asterix said in Obelix's head. Obelix gulped.
"What about all the things you've broken? What about all the times you've got him into trouble?"
Obelix couldn't help thinking of the time he broke the nose off the Sphinx, the time he had drunk too much wine and got imprisoned in the Tower of Londinium, the time he had drunk a whole cauldron of potion and got Asterix into so much trouble… He hung his head.
Insidius rejoiced. The flood of memories was unleashed, and clearly he'd hit the right nerve. "When has HE done that kind of thing?"
On the forest plain they'd left behind, the storm raged. In their shared space, Insidius observed as Obelix thought: Asterix never does that kind of thing. He doesn't lose his head, he stays focused on the mission.
"And what about the times you just plain turned on him and betrayed him?"
"I've never betrayed Asterix!"
"No?" Through his own consciousness, Insidius heard his own voice, smooth and sinuous in Obelix's ears. "I seem to remember him in a Roman camp, all alone, without potion, launching himself from a ballista to escape. Where were you?"
Obelix paled. He hadn't known of that… but, a ballista? The village had been attacked by ballistae… that was when he had cut Asterix dead because of that little girl Influenza…
"Do you know what happened then? No, you don't, because you never cared enough to ask. You ignored your best friend, so much so that he went into the Roman camp to reconnoiter all by himself – without potion."
Obelix's shock hit Caius like a thunderbolt. "W…what?"
"He was trapped, and ran. The Romans chased him. All alone, he ran through the camp, relying on his own wits to save him, since his closest friend was too busy sulking. He could have been captured and tortured or killed."
Obelix stared.
"He threw himself onto a catapult and slashed the rope with his own sword. He was slung out of the camp, flying through the air along with the great rock in the sling. He must have lain unconscious in the forest for hours. Did you find him? Did you carry him to his hut in your arms, did you nurse him back to health, did you sit vigil by his bedside, as he has done for you? Or did you leave him to lie on the forest floor alone, betrayed and friendless?"
Obelix felt cold, chilled all over. Asterix had been knocked unconscious? He'd lain hurt and alone in the forest? He'd been trapped in a Roman camp? While Obelix had been mooning about over Zaza and sulking? "He wasn't hurt, was he?" Obelix said desperately, overcome with an urge to roust Asterix out of bed right now this minute and check to see if he was all right.
"Oh, now you care. Yes, he's fine. That was long ago. He could have died back then, and you didn't care enough to ask. Years later, you ask? What kind of friend are you?"
"You're right," Obelix muttered. "I'm no kind of friend at all."
But Insidius was just getting started. He had more intelligence on this matter than he knew what to do with—and truth be told, Obelix deserved quite a bit of what he was saying.
"You can say that again. You think of nothing but your own pleasures, your own petty sulks, your own interests, no matter how trivial. Remember when you let him guard Whosemoralsarelastix's money all alone while you were busy guzzling boars at the banquet? You could have gone and given him something to eat yourself, let him know he wasn't alone, but you just forgot about him!"
"I…"
"You don't care about your friend! All you care about is stuffing your face. He might as well BE alone! That way he'd find a friend who actually was some use to him. Who cared enough to step away from gorging himself to keep him company as he stood guard all by himself in the night."
Obelix was crying by now. "Stop," he whispered.
"You didn't go to look for him in Spain. He fought a wild aurochs all alone. Did you know that, Gaul? No, you didn't. You took the little boy to his village and never spared a thought for your friend. You could have gone to search for him, but you didn't. What would you have done if they had brought you the news of his death?"
Shaking his head, Obelix just wept. "No," he muttered. "No."
"If it were only that you were faithless, that could be understood. But it's worse than that. You forget everything when there's food or a fight. You're nothing but a child, Obelix. Asterix needs a friend who is responsible, who does his duty. He doesn't need someone like you around."
"But he—he…"
"Hark at you, going 'he he he.' Asterix is kind, haven't you noticed? He's kind to children and dumb brutes like you. Face it, Obelix – you're nothing but a brainless lump of muscle. You must know, deep down inside you, how much weaker your intellect is than your friend." Insidius would normally never use information he'd only acquired a day ago, but this was priceless. "Didn't you depend on him at school? Would you even have passed your tests if it hadn't been for him?"
The pang that squeezed Obelix's heart shook even Insidius. "…no…"
"He defended you, didn't he? If it wasn't for your borrowed strength, from the potion, he might be defending you yet, and him a fraction of your size. You're not only stupid, you're weak. What do you have to offer Asterix?"
Obelix's mind-voice was wretched. "I'm—I'm all he's got."
"Yes, and can you imagine what a disaster that is for a man with a keen intellect and a refined sensibility? You must know he only spends time with you out of pity. Pity, and loneliness. The other villagers don't give him the time of day unless they want something from him. Do you really think if Asterix had a wife, or some friend intelligent enough to talk to him about something besides boars and Romans, he would waste his time on you? Poor Asterix, tied for life to a brute who can't understand him, can only nod Yes or No and bash Romans and think of his stomach. He must have told you that someday, only you willfully misremember it."
A memory rose in Obelix's head, this time after a fight at a health spa. 'This is what ancient Gaul is coming to. Bread and circuses. The Gaul in the street—huh! A fine specimen, I must say.' That was what Asterix had said. He began to tremble.
Insidius, feeling it, moved in for the kill. "Think of it! You, a brainless beast, boorish and brutish, breaking stones for a living. He, the village strategist and warrior, at home in the highest palace or the poorest hut, his cunning and skill earning the respect of Caesar himself. Would it not be kinder of you to draw away from him, to leave him an opportunity to find a friend who would appreciate him more?"
"I do appreciate him!" Obelix cried plaintively.
"Of course you do. Who would not? He is worthy of it. But you? You're his shadow. A makeweight. Without the potion, you would cease to be of any use to him."
"I…" Obelix choked. "I… At least I can guard him."
"How many times has he been captured – or hurt – when you were supposed to be guarding him, and chose instead to run after food or renounce his friendship over a woman?"
Obelix's heartache filled the dream-space. He knew the answer: Far, far too many.
"You're nothing but a fair-weather friend. Obelix of Gaul, you are nothing. Worse, you are a burden. If you had any decency, you would quit the village here and now, and leave him the space to find a friend who will understand his conversation, think of something besides eating, not embarrass him in front of noble company, and not throw him away for a pretty face!"
Obelix was sobbing openly by now. "But… I can still… I could still fight… protect him?"
Insidius scoffed. "A gourd of magic potion is a far, far better friend to him than you ever were."
That was enough. Insidius knew when to retreat. Silently he slipped down the stairs and made good his escape, stopping only to lift the towel soaked in sleeping-potion off the still-drowsing dog. By the time Obelix woke, his pillow drenched with tears, Insidius had vanished like a ghost into the night.