The esteemed Merlin Herne returned to his home shortly after dusk. I was seeing to the boarding of my horse and my man when one of the countless little darkies came tugging upon my pants leg to announce that his master was ready to see me in his drawing room.
I returned from Avalon's carriage house to the main house where I was met by young Jared. He apologized for not fetching me himself, but there had been some sort of incident with the kitchen staff which could only be handled by a Herne. When pressed for details, he merely replied, "It was just simply a matter of policy and domains. The house staff and the kitchen staff both think their jobs should take precedent over the others. I'm sure you know how servants can be sometimes."
I nodded, although I truth I did not. I had a dozen slaves, yes, but they were all field-hands. The closet thing I had to a house servant was Missy Sweet, who was too old and fat to work the fields any longer, but could change swaddling and feed our youngest, which was just about enough to keep my Pamela from driving herself mad.
The drawing room proved to a bit more of a library than what I had imagined. There was not a single window in the room, although there was no want of places to sit. We came upon the worthy at his writing table, reviewing a hand written document most intently. Jared cleared his throat politely and Mr. Herne became animated once more.
He nearly leapt from his chair to shake my hand and ask how my journey had gotten along.
This was but our second meeting in person and I could not help but notice how pale his skin was. Many a woman would likely sell their souls to have skin so pale and unblemished. The shocking red hair only amplified how white his face was.
He seemed... taller than I recalled. Not by much perhaps, but taller all the same. His eyes were also darker and the shape of his nostrils seemed a bit off. Perhaps it was only the candles' deceptive shadows casting his face oddly or perhaps Father Time was playing hob with my memory.
Still, a face this pale yet still so animated tended to burn an image resolutely upon one's mind. Or so I would think. Yet, there could be no denying that the man in front of me spoke exactly as the man I knew to be Merlin Herne. I pushed aside any hesitations I might have had answered him with all the warmth and sincerity I could muster, and told him the few bits of colonial rumors I had been privy to.
The most exciting aspect of my journey so far was exploring Avalon and its environs, I told him. I judiciously failed to mention the steel tub adventure Jared had unknowingly truncated. One could write that off as an exploration of sorts, I suppose. "I must thank you for your hospitality. Your home is truly like none other."
A small pleased smile appeared on his face, perhaps the first glimpse of sincerity on his face I've seen. "Thank you, Penrod. I must admit, it is a trifle more lavish - perhaps more decadent - than I had intended. Yes, I've traveled Europe and Asian looking for a place that felt like home. Once I stepped foot on the soil of the New World, I knew I had finally discovered my one true fortress against the travails the Old World had to offer." He gestured to one of the many small pagan statues set about the room. "It is ironic, that once I found my haven here, free of the confines of Old World society, I set about gathering as many small pieces of my past as I could possibly find."
I am usually one to try to get down to business quickly, but Merlin Herne seemed so forthcoming and animated in speaking about his home. It was clear to me, he had no desire to speak of business just yet, and I felt obliged to follow his unspoken wishes. I made a show of admiring the piece he had pointed out, I recognized it as either a Greek or Roman forest sprite. It was a satyr or a fawn, perhaps, half a foot tall with an engorged member that would make a stallion blush with envy. It was as highly detailed as it was explicit, a reminder that as civilized as the Ancients had been, that there were still base mortals in their heart of hearts. It was also very obviously cast from gold.
"Exquisite," I said, quite honestly awed. Gold. I felt monetary calculations threaten briefly to overtake my mind, so I sought for an avenue of discussion that might distract me from yet another base temptation. "What can you tell me about this piece?" I heard myself ask.
It was a common business axiom that nothing is more valuable than asking about a client or patron about himself or his hobbies to get in his good graces. The wealthy Irishman cracked open like an egg and, much to the barely suppressed amusement of Jared who had probably heard it all before, I received both a tour of the drawing room as well as a tour of Greek and Roman social mores (or, in some cases, the lack thereof).
All the talk of sexual practices did not ease the struggle within my mind. Indeed, the cooling embers of my loins were re-ignited by the actions represented by the various figures in the room. Beyond mere copulation, the decadence of the Ancients included men with men, men with animals, and even men with boys or multiple women. No orifice, it seemed, was safe back in the land of myth and monsters.
I could not but help but think what a Herne slave might have learned during the course of her service under such a master. I could not help but to wonder what might have been. The shadow of her touch returned to me and I found myself close to embarrassing myself as Herne spoke of variants to the legend of Heracules. Surely, if any one glanced at my crotch, even the restraining walls of tan cotton could not hide the log of flesh pressing up from my groin.
Just when I thought I would have to excuse myself, a black servant announced that dinner was ready to be served.