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"It is I, Endymion of Acquitaine.."
CHAPTER 3: "The Kinsmen and the Mercenary"
Queen Amphitritus anxiously awaited news from the kingdom of Brittany, from whence hail her two kinsmen, third cousins or so, who are many years her junior.
Amphitritus herself did not belong to a royal family, but she had been a part of the Brittany line and its most powerful court. Her two kinsmen, sons of Anthony, leader of Brittany's military legion, came to pay homage to Constantinople, this time for the first. What attracted them the most was the city's greatest treasure-the Oreads of Scyllia.
Heracles, being a merry and lax man, insisted on yet more celebration for the kinsmen, mainly to please the political leaders of Brittany and gain their full alliance in his campaign against the Turkish army.
And so came the day when Amphitritus' kinsmen arrived. Their royal titles were that of the gods, and so were their wit and charm. Valentinian of the Rhiannon and his half brother Deucalion de Montpierre (nicknamed the Deucalion Diamond for his sizable nobility and consequence) rode gallantly on gargantuan steeds toward the towering citadel of Constantinople. Equally attractive in their share, Valentinian and Deucalion were both tall and formidable with an indomitable physique. Valentinian bore striking ginger- red hair and watery gray easy, whereas his brother possessed a whitish glare to his hair and pearly turquoise eyes.
The maidens of Constantinople swooned one by one at their arrival, but the visitors' fancy lies only in Heracles' renowned Oreads of Scyllia, or so was their hidden reason.
Amphitritus welcomed her kinsmen warmly, and Heracles presented his won son Ephialtes and wife Ambrogina. He then acquainted Lavinia, Persephone, Electra, Romaine, Natali, and Elison, while Selenity speculated everything from behind the courtyard walls. She remained hidden until Amphitritus finally requested and cajoled for her reluctant presence. Much to her own despair and that of every other Oread, Selenity struck the curiosity of Deucalion, the more practical and mulish one of the two kinsmen, and also the one who does not so easily relinquish the satisfaction of his own curiosity, especially on such a little maid with so much potential if given the right impression.
Before a request was cited, Romaine had successfully erased Deucalion's whimsical curiosity, and his focus returned to a more obvious beauty; it even served as a safeguard to Selenity's personal distance. She quietly returned to the sanction of the rose menagerie.
Meanwhile, aside from Amphitritus' visitors, Heracles expected his own personal guest. During a brief campaign to Wales, Heracles had unfortunately stumbled on a band of thieves wile out alone for his nightly ale, and his savior was an impressionable young mercenary with a stalwart nature. Nocturnal excursions to the less reputable parts of Wales would do no good to Heracles' well-built Byzantium esteem, so he thought it best to keep the incident as clandestine as possible. The mercenary accepted no compensation save Heracles' gratitude, but the king, in his gratefulness, managed an impromptu invitation to Constantinople twelve days after summertime, which, for the sake of this story, is this very night.
Through night's cloak on his own intimidating Cypriot (a type of stallion), the Welsh mercenary galloped towards the lighted citadel, centered neatly in Constantinople. Heracles' personal footmen tended to his crony.
"Come!" commanded Heracles only half jokingly and with an air of habituated dignity, "kneel before Constantinople's mighty sovereign and present yourself!"
The mercenary stared at the king quite sardonically and then bowed overdramatically. "It is I, Endymion of Acquitaine.." He trailed off, not knowing what to say next. In his escapades in Wales, Heracles de Paradis quite forgot his kingly attitude and seemed to be on friendly terms with the locals. Thus, they no more thought of him as a high king than dear old Jupiter personified fidelity. Granted, he did present his position, but with the pretext of keeping himself as low-key as possible in the midst of a battle wherein would-be assassins lurked to kill the leader of any and all campaigns, Heracles did not stress that bit of information.
"Dear Sir of Acquitaine, friend Endymion, yes, I am king, king of little old Constantinople. I am inclined to grant a little more than my gratitude for such a king service." Heracles balked suddenly as his guest drew quick conclusions.
"Ahem," said the mercenary, "I am at your service, my lord."
Upon Endymion's arrival, Heracles had fabricated a good enough lie to explain the impromptu visit, and Endymion had the proper discretion to just nod and agree. He had allegedly assisted the Byzantium force in Wales instead of assisting Heracles out of a pitiful dilemma. Of course, gullibility and extreme kindness are two of Amphitritus' few flaws, and she put much credence in her husband's works, while knowing full well that the Byzantium army needs anything but assistance, especially if led by a tactful leader like Heracles. She readily accepted Endymion as she did her own kinsmen and offered him a room befitting an honored hero.
Amphitritus believed Heracles well enough, through the haze of her gullibility, she still questioned the credibility of her husband's vague tale. The queen's caution may be overridden by her kindness, but she is in no way stupid. Heracles' heard seemed to her a little too open tonight. Nonetheless, Endymion is a Welsh guest, and Byzantine does not want to make more enemies, especially one as Wales than it possibly has to.
During the brief acquaintance, Amphitritus discovered Endymion to be a close personal fiend of Heracles. "A man as great as he is practically royalty!" Heracles jovially declared. And so Endymion was granted a stateroom in Constantinople's citadel.
Heracles thought Endymion a virtuous and portly youth, but too roguish for anyone's own good. He even brought to light the subject of Constantinople's largely coveted Oreads of Scyllia, which would strike anyone's interest. Unfortunately, anyone but Endymion. However, the guest still feigned thankfulness and declared the Oreads only second to Constantinople's noble king. Quite flattered, Heracles insisted he see the wonders of Constantinople, and Endymion promised he would. As he watched the young man go, Heracles perused the youth's character. Endymion was tall; he must possess a sizeable strength. He had black to his hair and a poignantly dark blue to his eyes. Also, as a lone mercenary for Wales, Endymion never did smile much and was invariably grim for so young an age. He is extremely street-smart and tactful beyond meaning, always replying curtly with no exaggeration.
The sadness that Endymion seemed to bear may be connected to a past tragedy. His mother and father must have died, and, as a neophyte in the harsh world, Endymion entered the path of a nomadic mercenary, which is nothing if not grueling. Be that as it may, Endymion always had enough money to keep him alive and well.
The soldier is there only because of a requested visit, but he cannot help but admire the grandeur that is his assigned stateroom in awed predilection. A fitful sleep in one of Constantinople's goose-feathered beds would do no harm.
"It is I, Endymion of Acquitaine.."
CHAPTER 3: "The Kinsmen and the Mercenary"
Queen Amphitritus anxiously awaited news from the kingdom of Brittany, from whence hail her two kinsmen, third cousins or so, who are many years her junior.
Amphitritus herself did not belong to a royal family, but she had been a part of the Brittany line and its most powerful court. Her two kinsmen, sons of Anthony, leader of Brittany's military legion, came to pay homage to Constantinople, this time for the first. What attracted them the most was the city's greatest treasure-the Oreads of Scyllia.
Heracles, being a merry and lax man, insisted on yet more celebration for the kinsmen, mainly to please the political leaders of Brittany and gain their full alliance in his campaign against the Turkish army.
And so came the day when Amphitritus' kinsmen arrived. Their royal titles were that of the gods, and so were their wit and charm. Valentinian of the Rhiannon and his half brother Deucalion de Montpierre (nicknamed the Deucalion Diamond for his sizable nobility and consequence) rode gallantly on gargantuan steeds toward the towering citadel of Constantinople. Equally attractive in their share, Valentinian and Deucalion were both tall and formidable with an indomitable physique. Valentinian bore striking ginger- red hair and watery gray easy, whereas his brother possessed a whitish glare to his hair and pearly turquoise eyes.
The maidens of Constantinople swooned one by one at their arrival, but the visitors' fancy lies only in Heracles' renowned Oreads of Scyllia, or so was their hidden reason.
Amphitritus welcomed her kinsmen warmly, and Heracles presented his won son Ephialtes and wife Ambrogina. He then acquainted Lavinia, Persephone, Electra, Romaine, Natali, and Elison, while Selenity speculated everything from behind the courtyard walls. She remained hidden until Amphitritus finally requested and cajoled for her reluctant presence. Much to her own despair and that of every other Oread, Selenity struck the curiosity of Deucalion, the more practical and mulish one of the two kinsmen, and also the one who does not so easily relinquish the satisfaction of his own curiosity, especially on such a little maid with so much potential if given the right impression.
Before a request was cited, Romaine had successfully erased Deucalion's whimsical curiosity, and his focus returned to a more obvious beauty; it even served as a safeguard to Selenity's personal distance. She quietly returned to the sanction of the rose menagerie.
Meanwhile, aside from Amphitritus' visitors, Heracles expected his own personal guest. During a brief campaign to Wales, Heracles had unfortunately stumbled on a band of thieves wile out alone for his nightly ale, and his savior was an impressionable young mercenary with a stalwart nature. Nocturnal excursions to the less reputable parts of Wales would do no good to Heracles' well-built Byzantium esteem, so he thought it best to keep the incident as clandestine as possible. The mercenary accepted no compensation save Heracles' gratitude, but the king, in his gratefulness, managed an impromptu invitation to Constantinople twelve days after summertime, which, for the sake of this story, is this very night.
Through night's cloak on his own intimidating Cypriot (a type of stallion), the Welsh mercenary galloped towards the lighted citadel, centered neatly in Constantinople. Heracles' personal footmen tended to his crony.
"Come!" commanded Heracles only half jokingly and with an air of habituated dignity, "kneel before Constantinople's mighty sovereign and present yourself!"
The mercenary stared at the king quite sardonically and then bowed overdramatically. "It is I, Endymion of Acquitaine.." He trailed off, not knowing what to say next. In his escapades in Wales, Heracles de Paradis quite forgot his kingly attitude and seemed to be on friendly terms with the locals. Thus, they no more thought of him as a high king than dear old Jupiter personified fidelity. Granted, he did present his position, but with the pretext of keeping himself as low-key as possible in the midst of a battle wherein would-be assassins lurked to kill the leader of any and all campaigns, Heracles did not stress that bit of information.
"Dear Sir of Acquitaine, friend Endymion, yes, I am king, king of little old Constantinople. I am inclined to grant a little more than my gratitude for such a king service." Heracles balked suddenly as his guest drew quick conclusions.
"Ahem," said the mercenary, "I am at your service, my lord."
Upon Endymion's arrival, Heracles had fabricated a good enough lie to explain the impromptu visit, and Endymion had the proper discretion to just nod and agree. He had allegedly assisted the Byzantium force in Wales instead of assisting Heracles out of a pitiful dilemma. Of course, gullibility and extreme kindness are two of Amphitritus' few flaws, and she put much credence in her husband's works, while knowing full well that the Byzantium army needs anything but assistance, especially if led by a tactful leader like Heracles. She readily accepted Endymion as she did her own kinsmen and offered him a room befitting an honored hero.
Amphitritus believed Heracles well enough, through the haze of her gullibility, she still questioned the credibility of her husband's vague tale. The queen's caution may be overridden by her kindness, but she is in no way stupid. Heracles' heard seemed to her a little too open tonight. Nonetheless, Endymion is a Welsh guest, and Byzantine does not want to make more enemies, especially one as Wales than it possibly has to.
During the brief acquaintance, Amphitritus discovered Endymion to be a close personal fiend of Heracles. "A man as great as he is practically royalty!" Heracles jovially declared. And so Endymion was granted a stateroom in Constantinople's citadel.
Heracles thought Endymion a virtuous and portly youth, but too roguish for anyone's own good. He even brought to light the subject of Constantinople's largely coveted Oreads of Scyllia, which would strike anyone's interest. Unfortunately, anyone but Endymion. However, the guest still feigned thankfulness and declared the Oreads only second to Constantinople's noble king. Quite flattered, Heracles insisted he see the wonders of Constantinople, and Endymion promised he would. As he watched the young man go, Heracles perused the youth's character. Endymion was tall; he must possess a sizeable strength. He had black to his hair and a poignantly dark blue to his eyes. Also, as a lone mercenary for Wales, Endymion never did smile much and was invariably grim for so young an age. He is extremely street-smart and tactful beyond meaning, always replying curtly with no exaggeration.
The sadness that Endymion seemed to bear may be connected to a past tragedy. His mother and father must have died, and, as a neophyte in the harsh world, Endymion entered the path of a nomadic mercenary, which is nothing if not grueling. Be that as it may, Endymion always had enough money to keep him alive and well.
The soldier is there only because of a requested visit, but he cannot help but admire the grandeur that is his assigned stateroom in awed predilection. A fitful sleep in one of Constantinople's goose-feathered beds would do no harm.