1 Soul Bound
1.2 Taking Control
1.2.3 An Enchanting Original
1.2.3.17 Arcadian
After a couple more turns they came across a large pond surrounded by flourishing rose bushes.
At one end of the pond a small waterfall, only five times the height of a man, poured down into it. A steep set of stairs with a handrail rose beside it, ending in a wooden viewing platform at the top of the cliff. At the other end of the pond the water flowed down a stream that disappeared through a hedge near a broken stone arch that reminded her of the one at the entrance to the atrium of Signora Moda.
In the center of the pond was a life-sized stone statue of two figures. The larger one was a naked woman from the belly button upwards, and an 8-meter long serpent below, tapering gradually from the width of a human waist down to a sharp brass-coloured point at the tail.
Impaled through the stomach by the tail was the second figure, a young man dressed like a shepherd and holding a set of panpipes. Neither figure had eyes, just gaping holes through which flew a steady stream of bees. The effect was quite grotesque, and an altar of sorts had been set up to one side, bearing an inscription faded to illegibility. Standing near the altar were three living Covadan, none of whom had noticed their approach.
A fleshy-faced painter, standing by an easel, was trying to direct a rough-hewn peasant dressed in ill-fitting Hellenic robes of finest linen.
Poussin: “Arcadio, you kneel there by the inscription. No, not like that. More shepherdly. You’re mourning Prince Daphnis, sent by Kallisto, Queen of idyllic Magusa, to deliver Chrysomallos to the great spirit Tunita in return for the hand in marriage of Nomia, his daughter.”
Arcadio: “Yes, Master Painter Poussin. How do I do that?”
Poussin: “How would I know what shepherds are like? Lean on a wooden staff or something. I doubt Cardinal Plessis knows what they look like either. It just has to appear good. Symbolic.”
Arcadio removed a stake supporting a young rose bush and creakily got down on one knee.
A derisive laugh came from the third man, a head shorter than Poussin; he was skinny and spikey haired where Poussin was decidedly rounded and had one paintbrush stuck behind an ear that his short slicked-down hair didn’t reach.
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Moschus: “You have it all wrong. Daphnis was sent to fetch Nomia all right, but Nomia was destined for Kallisto not Daphnis. Daphnis was already married to Lamia. He got what was coming to him, if you ask me. Arcadio, you should be laughing, not mourning.”
Arcadio: “Yes, Master Poet Moschus.”
Arcadio dropped the stake, put a rictus of a grin on his face and clutched his belly as though laughing heartily.
Poussin turned on Moschus. “What are you wittering on about? Lamia wasn’t his wife. She was the assassin who used her magic voice to put Nomia into a deep sleep and steal Nomia’s form, then got Daphnis drunk on mead and tricked him into sleeping with her on his wedding night. Nomia woke up, saw Daphnis with another woman and struck him blind. Arcadio, mourn your prince!”
Arcadio stopped trying to laugh and tried clutching his head as though in despair. Kafana thought she saw him take a long swig from some sort of flask under the cover of the motion.
Moschus closed the journal he’d been writing in with a snap and sounded angry. “That was nothing to do with Nomia. Lamia was bathing in Nomia’s pool when Daphnis spied upon her, thinking his wife was seducing Nomia; spied despite having sworn to her that he would never cast his eye upon her naked body. Instead of infidelity he got to see her true shape for the first time, and was struck blind by a curse for committing Nemoremy. On second thoughts, Arcadio, you should be spitting on him. I have a poem to write for fair Mistress Amaryllis on the subject, and you shall inspire me.”
Arcadio laboriously pulled himself to his feet, and dutifully spat into the pond, swaying slightly as he took an even longer swig, draining the flask. The two masters didn’t even notice. They stood toe to toe, Poussin puffed up and waving his brush in Moschus’ face, Moschus looking like he wanted to tweak Poussin’s nose or tug his droopy moustache.
Poussin: “You cut-price hack, you wouldn’t know a story if it bit you! Lun herself intervened, teaching Daphnis to play the pipes, allowing him to woo Nomia and save the alliance. But then the assassin struck, using her voice to summon the waters of the stream to wash Daphnis over the cliff to where she was waiting to impale him. The mortally wounded Daphnis did not want Magusa’s gift of Chrysomallos, a rare winged ram with golden wool, to go to waste, so he begged Nomia to keep him alive by turning him to stone. The distraught Nomia granted his final wish, and took revenge for him by summoning bees to gnaw out Lamia’s eyes before turning her to stone too, to share Daphis’s fate. The only difference being that Lamia is still conscious there in her form of stone, and every day feels again the pain of her eyes being stung by bees.”
Kafana tapped Bungo’s shoulder, and taking advantage of the distraction they crept past and up the staircase, to the hills above. Only Arcadio saw them, and he gave Bungo a cheerful wave before toppling backwards like a log in absolute silence.
A few minutes later as they looked back over the gardens from the viewing platform, Bungo’s only comment was “Powerful strong stuff, that mead.”