Eric Luthi

Deux Contes

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In Aeternum

 

“Et tu?”

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“Et tu, Brute?”

 

“Et tu, Juli?”

 

“Copycat.”

 

“Not me,” said Brutus.  “I said it first.”

 

“But you didn’t complete the phrase,” said Julius.  “I did.”

 

“Et tu was complete.”

 

“Nay.  It isn’t complete until one names the recipient.  Hence the spoken form of the name,

Brute.”

 

Brutus thought about this for a moment and then dropped his head.

 

“You always win.”

 

“Not always.  But when it matters.  How about tesserae?

 

Brutus’ looked up with a smile.  “Knucklebones?”  He pulled a worn pouch from the belt of his tunic and emptied it into the tile floor.  Six bleached bones tumbled out.

 

“Knucklebones is a child’s game and one for the lower classes,” said Julius.  “It is not worthy of you.  Real noblemen throw tesserae.  And we play on a table.

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From somewhere inside his tunic, he produced two six-sided cubes each containing marks representing one through six, one number on each side.  Brutus put his knucklebones back into their pouch and picked up one of tesserae to examine it.

 

“Tessera?” he said holding up the cube.

 

“Tessera,” said Julius pointing at Brutus’ cube.  He picked up the other and tapped Brutus’ cube with his own.  “Tesserae.” 

 

Brutus took the second cube from Julius and rolled both on the tile floor.  “No table.  Oh, well.” 

He rolled a four and a two: six.

 

Julius scooped up the cubes and rolled.  A four and a three: seven.   Julius smiled.

 

Brutus rolled again.  Six.

 

Julius rolled.  Nine.

 

“Three out of five?” said Brutus.

 

“Of course,” said Julius.

 

Brutus rolled again. Ten.  “I think I have you,” he said.

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Julius smiled and rolled.  Twelve.

 

“You always win, Juli.”

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“Only when it matters,” said Julius.  “And, when it matters.”

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Brutus said nothing.

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“Are we friends?” said Julius.  “Amici?”

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“Yes, of course.”

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“Then I have something for you, my friend.”  Julius pulled a dagger from the sheath on his belt and handed it hilt first to Brutus.  Brutus had seen the ornate handle but had said nothing.  He had not wanted to appear envious even though he was.

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Out of its sheath, the dagger exposed a polished six-inch Damascus steel blade.  The hilt, wound in silver wire all the way up to the end, was secured by a gold cap weighted to balance the knife.  It was a well-made blade and yet the blade felt light in Brutus’ hand.

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Julius removed his belt and slipped the sheath from it and handed that to Brutus.  “Here,” he said.  “Care for it well.  Use it when you must.”

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“It is a nobleman’s blade,” said Brutus.

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“Yes. For the noble man to come.”

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“I have no gift for you.”

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“You are my friend,” said Julius as he put one hand on Brutus’ shoulder.  “Amici?”

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“In aeternum.”

 

I Walk the White

 

The wind on the moon freezes my words.  Surrounded by friends; like them I am wrapped in wool.  They are in white.  I am in brown.

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But I walk the white.

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A rabbit streaks past.  It, too, is wrapped in white and I lose it against the snow.  Another one comes from the dark and flashes past. There are more.  Hundreds more and they surround us.

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Overhead, a nightwing cries.  First one, then dozens.  Their dark wings are hard to spot against the dark sky.  Only when the mist parts and the moon reflects off the snow can we see them above.

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The nightwings fly and I walk the white.

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The storm comes and giants hurl icicle knives.  The pale horse races and the wind blows harder until the last acorn falls.

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I am unafraid.

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I walk the white.

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A yip sounds from a distance and then closer.  A hundred puffs of snow and the rabbits are gone. 

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The yip turns into a growl and then a howl and my friends close in around me.  They at least have the advantage of numbers whereas I am alone.

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They wear the white wool.  I wear the brown.

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The wolf appears in a thicket.  First I see his eyes and then his coat.  He, too, wears white.  He shows me his white teeth and growls.

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The sheep draw away from the wolf and gather behind me.  But they don’t run.  They know that I protect them.

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From the sheaths on my belt, I draw two blades, one for each hand.  I turn them so they catch the moonlight.  The blades flash and the wolf sees that I, too, have fangs.

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The wolf growls and my friends shiver and bleat.

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I stand my ground.

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I walk the white.

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The storm passes and the wolf withdraws; the blood of the lamb will not spill this night.  My friends draw close again and are soon asleep in the snow.

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I do not sleep but watch as the rabbits return.

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I walk the white.

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