There are three major gardens within and around the villa. Two around its exterior and onesituated at the very center of the house, which is accessible from one of four heavy oaken doors. Fragrant herbs, flowering and non-flowering, perfume the air of this herborium. Rosemary, thyme, quince, lemongrass, dragon's blood, sage, basil and many more. Here, there could be little else but complete peace.
     There are stepping stones that lead from each door to the circle of stone in the center. Here, there is a fountain, two benches and two chairs. The fountain is bronze, gone green with age, and in the center of its bowl there is a fish. A beautiful example of 17th Century object d'art.
     You knew, of course, that he would be here. According to the oldest habits of this old knight, one should find him sitting in one of the chairs by the fountain, hands holding a book. And, indeed, he can be found thus tonight. Dressed more casually than when he arrived, but nevertheless impeccably. In creams that make him seem more golden, paired with a dash of cobalt -- which brings out the color of his eyes. There is a small serving cart and serving tray beside him -- Charles has evidently been here -- and it looks as though he's had some of the pear and wine already.
     Alire's eyes are on the page -- the Confessions of St. Augustine, in the original Latin -- and his fingers turn them as he steadily reads.

     The scholar's spent his first hour or so puttering among his books before coming to the garden, but come he does, eventually. He is not dressed so impeccably, not dressed to impress, though he ends up turned out handsomely by the simplicity of his raiment, if nothing else. Earth tones, for him - dark brown and sober tan, a small skullcap placed upon the iron locks before stepping from interior to exterior.
     "You look engrossed enough in your studies," he says with quiet amusement, "that it would be a sin for me to disturb you. Shall I tiptoe out, and leave a sign for Charles to leave you alone?"

     There is a smile -- and as they tend to be with Alire, slender -- but when cobalt blue eyes lift from the page, there can be no doubt to the warmth of it, and the genuine respect and affection. The book is folded, closed easily, carefully -- for it is quite aged -- and there is no bending of a corner to hold his place. He shall remember well enough on his own. And he rises. "No, magister," he says easily, with a grin couched at the corners of his mouth, "... I was merely reading Augustine to pass the time. And to reacquaint myself with the old saint," of course. "I try to keep my philosophical mind sharp. It helps with an... extended life..." Alire stands, gesturing to the chair next to him -- this, too, Charles had arranged. "Please join me...."

     "I can imagine that it would be of use," Samuel's voice is amused, even as he dryly rejoinders, settling into the indicated chair. "So what has come to your mind from the sainted Augustine's passages?" There is no sharpness to the words, just that same hint of humour. He is too much a scholar to dismiss anything which might be useful, after all, and certainly not based on something as often ephemereal as religion. "You seem well-rested, nonetheless."

     "In my old home, in this sanctuary?" Alire smiles, "How could I be anything but well-rested, Magister?" He, too, seems amused. "Ah, Augustine. The frankness of his speech comes to mind. His candor." It was the Confessions that he was reading. "That is what I was remarking on this reading." But that is of little import, truly.
     "I have decided, magister," Alire says, settling in the chair once more, but only after you, and he smoothens the wrinkles on his silk-blended trousers that were created by the motion. "I am going to make a confession of my own to Giancarlo. For I have learned most of all, in my former life and in my present, that one must proceed with eyes open. There is always danger, risk -- no matter what one may pursue in life, or what sort of life one may lead. And I would not have him follow my blindly." As I once, for a short time albeit, followed the words of a Pope. Clement, I lost faith in you quickly.
     And so, there it is. The Prince confesses. As for what he shall do about the law? He is going to cross that bridge when he comes to it and not before.

     "You always were swift to move, once you have made a commitment," the Jew comments. "And I suspect this comment was made earlier than you realize, even now." The corners of his eyes crinkle, the heavy mouth pulling upwards at the edges. "I do not think it will be so traumatic, in some ways, though possibly more traumatic than expected. Time will tell." One hand lifts, rubbing his beard absently.
     Samuel considers for a moment, then glances over. "I will wish to meet him, once your confessions have been made. And you may wish to consider your plans, as telling him will ... change many things."

     "What sort of things, magister? Other than the risk that he... may not take the news well, despite his own age... he may... cut off love, for love can be cut," Alire mentions softly, but without getting brooding about it, he looks to you, open-eyed and open-faced.
     You have his attention. And that active mind is focused on what you have to say...
     "I do not see how you could meet him, and how we could proceed, without him knowing. I have concerns. But there are concerns... no matter the choice. And risks. And dangers. And, perhaps even delight." Alire extends his hands, gesturing: who knows? He takes up his glass of wine and sips at it.

     "I do not anticipate meeting him if you do not tell him," Samuel says in attempted reassurance. He examines the back of his hand for a moment, considering. "You have said he is a mage," he says finally. "That will change things. If he loves you, and you say that he does, it will change nothing, I think. I would prefer it if you would accept, however, some small item from me, which will grant you ... a few moments' respite, should anything go wrong."

     Now you really have him curious. And part of him has not long considered what would happen if his Caesar, Giancarlo, should react poorly. He does not want to think of this. And yet, every eventuality or possibility must be at least considered. If not planned.
     Alire blinks. Once. Twice. And then he nods, "I know you would not offer, if you did not think it for the best... what is it you would like to give me, magister?"
     Nothing that shall cause him harm, surely. For that I could never do. Even if he turned against me. I should rather be struck down by his hands than to harm him.
     Wine is tasted, but hollowly. His interest is placed elsewhere -- on you, on what you are suggesting. Alire sets the glass aside and sits forward.

     "It will do him no harm. However, if he attempts to cast his arcane arts at you while you wear it, it will ... absorb the energy, and transmute it to speed." Samuel began as an alchemist, after all. Transmutations ... are something he has studied, plainly. He leans forward, leaning one hand on his knee as he does so, dark eyes intent. "What you do in those extra granted moments is up to your discretion, my friend."
     He does not answer the unspoken, whether he reads it or no. "Wizards are ... not always honest," the ancient Jew says, finally, leaning back again. "If he is as you say, then ... it will likely prove unnecessary. But I would prefer not to lose a friend for lack of preparedness."

     The nod is simple, understanding, and prepared. Knowing that all possibilities begin when the truth is uttered -- for ill or for good -- he knows he stands on a threshold. And you have, again, offered him shelter. He is ... so grateful, and his slight smile is gracious. "Though it will be unneeded, for I do trust him, I accept it gladly, my teacher and my friend. I appreciate your truth, and your candor." Even more than he appreciates it of the saint.
     "Wizards are no different from mortal men," Alire murmurs, "...saints or priests, warriors or doctors. There are some upon whom you may place the trust of your heart, your life. There are others upon whom you should not even rest your gaze..." His voice finishes in a whisper.
     I do not need Augustine to tell me this...
     "And so... magister," a term of endearment, as much as respect, "...I will have you with me when I go. Knowing this... will give me strength."

     "We cannot always rely solely upon God to provide, because we do not always recognize provision when we see it. Things sent to test us, perhaps," and Samuel's mouth quirks faintly, "but if this test is sent, we can only study for it in advance, hm? I will begin work upon it immediately, then. What," he then adds curiously, "will you do if he asks where you received it?"

     "I ... will tell him the truth. It was a gift." It is simple sometimes, the Truth. Sometimes not. Alire's eyes are on the wine, the same color of his hair, as he lifts it. A sip of it. A taste of limestone, an edge of citrus. A small smile curves at the corners of his mouth, and cobalt eyes sparkle. "Make it as inconspicuous as possible. I do not like austentatious jewelry..."
     Aha! He does have a sense of humor. But well.... you knew that....

     "I will do so," Samuel's grin rises slowly, and then he laughs, almost soundlessly. "It is good to see you amused, my friend. It has been too long." He rises from his chair, looking round the garden. "If only your many courtiers knew, mm?"

     Courtiers. What? Ah, you must mean the court of Poitiers. Alire is first caught by that, a flush of pink at high cheeks and ears, and then he grins. A broad grin, edged by a soft, warm chuckle. "Ah," he rubs the corner of his eyes, "... they know this already. They learn quickly in Poitiers." And that's part of the problem. But... I have been ruling there for many years already, whether officially or no. First, in the name of Plantagenet. Now, in my own.
     "Is there... anything else you would know or... anything else I should do before I return here? I am planning to be in Venice tomorrow..." I cannot wait longer to see him. The globe is... good... I am thankful for it... but it is no replacement...

     "There are many things I would know, o Prince," and now there's a bit of light-hearted teasing in the tone of voice as in the words, "but few, I suspect, that you can assist me with." Samuel absently runs fingertips back over his skull, ensuring the cap maintains its placement.
     It will be interesting ... to see. "Just when the time is right, bring your friend - should things work out advantageously - to me, that I may meet him. More than that? Really, nothing at all - though I should go to, and begin my work, if I am to complete the task before your rest is done."

     Alire rises, setting the glass aside. A soft thud, a whisper of wine against the crystal bowl of the glass. "I would help you if I could, and endeavor to help you...even if it were futile," Alire laughs softly and reaches forward. To part from you, with a clasp of your hand.
     Tomorrow I shall have to leave you again. But we part easily, you and I. For we part with the understanding that tomorrow may bring another visit, another opportunity to learn. This is the outlook you have engendered in me.

     "Charles will have to be assistance enough, I fear. You, get yourself rested - dealing with mages is almost as difficult as dealing with love." He accepts the clasp of hands with his usual slow smile beneath the heavy beard. "You will watch to your back, my friend. I know this. But ... a little help now and again, a finger upon the scales - they never do harm, do they?"
     There is something almost ludicrous about a man as old as he (no matter how well he wears the years) attempting to look innocent, and Samuel knows it well. He laughs again, quiet and deep, releasing your hand to turn. "If you have need, I will be in my workshop. If I finish in time, you will see me before I go - otherwise, Charles will make sure you receive it before you reach your destination. Baruch shalom, my friend."

     "Baruch shalom," Alire murmurs. Knowing full well the meaning. And meaning it.

Posted by Criseyde at May 29, 2003 07:01 PM