Movement Two

Virgilius emerged from the forested edge of the volcano, limping and pulling his weary horse. Draped over the stallion was Nikandros, muddy and unconscious, stripped of his armor and Spartan pride. Virgilius took in the scene before him, awestruck by the interior of the volcano. Dormant for centuries, it still presented a striking view. In the crater’s center, a small pond mirrored the orange and purple hues of the setting sun. To his surprise, a small herd of sheep were present, grazing peacefully around the pond. 

“Unbelievable,” Virgilius muttered, his eyes narrowing as they focused on Set, who sat on the porch of the cottage, playing fetch with his fearsome wolf. “Does he truly reside here alone?”

At that instant, the old man stood and walked to the edge of the porch. He stretched lightly and scanned the horizon until his gaze aligned with Virgilius’s.

“He sees me!” Virgilius blurted, fear coursing through him, causing him to dart behind a nearby tree. His limbs trembled uncontrollably as he recalled how effortlessly the old man had overpowered him and his comrades the previous night. “What should I do? My leg is injured, and I am bereft of weapons and armor. I could flee, but to where? Returning to the ship in disgrace is not an option. I must confront him. I must at least try.”

“I have been expecting you!” Set called out from across the volcano, his voice resonating around the crater. “You seek retribution, and I will grant you the opportunity. You can have your armor and weapons back as well. All I ask is that you share a cup of tea with me and listen to the words of an old, dying man. “What say you?”

Virgilius remained silent, his mind awhirl with thoughts. How could the old man have anticipated his arrival? Would he truly return his sword and armor? Such an act defied belief. Yet, he remembered their first encounter. The old man had spared only him and Nikandros. Was this by design?

“Take your time, young man,” Set continued. “I shall prepare a pot of tea. The door is open; make yourself comfortable.”

Virgilius cautiously peered around the tree and met Solara’s cold, blue-eyed gaze. The wolf sat alone on the front porch, drenched in pond water. Shaking the water from her fur, Solara watched as Virgilius descended from the outer wall with his horse and Nikandros in tow, slowly making their way across the crater. A few minutes later, Virgilius stood nervously before the cottage door as Solara sniffed and nipped at his legs. Once satisfied, she wiped her feet and entered the cottage, leaving the door slightly ajar. From the entryway, Virgilius could see the old man in the kitchen, tending to a stone stove.

Perhaps he does merely wish to talk, Virgilius pondered, crossing the threshold of the cottage. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting patterns on the wooden floor. The air smelled of herbs and wood smoke drifting from the kitchen. Along the walls, the wooden planks were adorned with foreign tapestries and colorful frescoes, their vibrant hues depicting pastoral scenes and mythological tales.

“Before we speak, let us play a game,” Set proclaimed, emerging from the kitchen with a large pot and two stone cups. “Should you correctly name the three herbs in this tea, I will answer all your questions first. Should you fail, you must answer mine and listen to my story without interruption. What say you?”

Although wary of drinking from an enemy’s cup, Virgilius’ thirst overcame his caution. “I have questions for you,” Virgilius replied, as he sniffed and blew at the fragrant steam wafting from his cup. “So yes, I will partake in your game. As a man of culture, I shall give it my best effort.”

“Fantastic.”

“Well, there’s definitely a lemony flavor here. Perhaps…” Virgilius ventured, taking a cautious sip of the tea. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste, letting it take him back to a sunlit garden in Rome, “a lemon balm?”

Set smiled approvingly. “Indeed, it is lemon balm. You have a keen palate, young man. Tell me, when did you last taste it?”  

Virgilius sighed, his eyes momentarily distant. “It was in Rome, during a banquet at the house of a consul. The gardens were filled with herbs, and the aroma of lemon balm was unmistakable. I remember thinking it was the smell of tranquility.”

Set nodded. “A fine memory. And the next herb?”

Virgilius took another sip, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Oh yes, this one is more familiar. It’s soothing, gentle on the tongue. Yes, surely it must be chamomile?”

“Correct again,” Set confirmed, his expression remaining impassive. “You are truly a man of culture. When did you last encounter chamomile?”

“A friend offered it to me on a quiet night, after a long day of labor. The drink brought comfort, a reminder of simpler times,” Virgilius replied, lost in thought for a moment. “But this third herb,” he continued, tasting the tea again. “It’s different. Earthy, with a hint of sweetness. It reminds me of distant lands, places I have not yet seen.”

Set watched him silently as Virgilius swirled the liquid in his cup, his face showing signs of uncertainty. 

“I can describe its taste, but the name eludes me. I must admit, I do not know this herb.”  

Set’s eyes gleamed with a hint of triumph. “You have done well. The herb you cannot name is Rooibos, a plant from far-off Africa. Its leaves make a robust and rich infusion, favored by those who seek warmth and vitality.”  

Virgilius nodded, his curiosity piqued. “Rooibos… I have never encountered it before. You have bested me, sir. Now, I am bound to answer your questions and hear your tale.” 

Set leaned back, his gaze thoughtful. “Indeed, and so our conversation begins.”

The peacefulness of the room was abruptly shattered as the front door burst open with a resounding crash. Nikandros, miraculously conscious and evidently disoriented, stumbled into the cottage, wielding a garden hoe like a weapon. His eyes blazed with a mixture of confusion and determination.  

“Stay back, demon!” Nikandros shouted, the hoe trembling in his grip. He swung it menacingly, ready to strike.  

Set remained seated, his expression serene despite the unexpected intrusion. He raised a calming hand. 

“Peace, young Spartan. There is no need for violence here.” 

Virgilius sprang to his feet, moving between Nikandros and Set. “Nikandros, stop! He means us no harm. We are merely sharing a cup of tea.” 

Nikandros’s eyes darted between Virgilius and Set, the hoe still aimed unsteadily at the old man. “Sharing tea with our enemy? Have you lost your senses, Virgilius?”

Virgilius placed a firm hand on Nikandros’s shoulder. “I know it’s strange my friend, but I believe our lives have been spared for a reason. Let’s at least listen to the old man before we rush into battle.”

Set’s calm demeanor seemed to pacify Nikandros slightly, though he still held the hoe at the ready. 

“Why should we trust him?” 

Set slowly rose from his seat, his movements measured and deliberate. “Because I have no wish to see more bloodshed. I invited you both here to share wisdom, not to continue the cycle of violence.” 

Nikandros’s grip on the hoe loosened, the tension in his posture easing. “What wisdom could you possibly offer us?” 

Set smiled faintly. “The kind that may help you understand your true enemy.”

Nikandros’s eyes darted around the room, and he spotted his armor and spear lying against the mantle of a stone fireplace. His face contorted with a mix of anger and desperation. He dropped the garden hoe and leapt for the spear, gripping it tightly as he turned to face Set.  

With a fierce battle cry, Nikandros rushed towards Set, spear aimed to strike. In an instant, Solara had lunged from her spot and landed on Nikandros’s back, her powerful jaws clamping around his neck. 

“Solara, hold!” Set commanded, his voice calm yet authoritative. The wolf paused, her teeth just grazing Nikandros’s skin. 

Realizing the precariousness of his position, Nikandros froze, the futility of his assault sinking in. His grip on the spear loosened, and he slowly dropped to his knees, releasing the weapon to the floor. Solara remained poised, ready to act if necessary. 

Set walked past the kneeling Spartan, his movements deliberate and composed. As he did, he gave a quiet command, “Solara, release.” 

The wolf obediently released her hold on Nikandros and gracefully followed Set, her blue eyes never leaving the two men. Set stopped just before he crossed the threshold of the front door and turned to face Virgilius, “I think you should join this challenge as well. The outcome will decide both your fates.” 

Virgilius glanced at his sword resting against the wall, the blade catching the dim light of the setting sun. He hesitated, then nodded solemnly, understanding that this confrontation was unavoidable.

“If we must fight,” Set continued, “let us do so outside. If  you defeat me, you can kill me. But if you lose, you must listen to my story, without interruption. What say you?”  

Nikandros, breathing heavily, glanced at Virgilius, who nodded subtly, urging caution. Slowly, Nikandros rose to his feet, his defiance tempered by the wisdom of the moment. “Very well,” he replied, “I accept your challenge.”

“And I,” Virgilius added, his tone resolute.

Set nodded, stepping outside into the open space of the crater. Solara followed closely behind, her presence a silent reminder of the stakes. The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the serene landscape. Virgilius and Nikandros followed, their eyes locked onto Set. The air was thick with tension as the three men prepared to engage in a battle that would determine not only their fate but also the path that they would continue to follow.  

Set sank low into his bizarre fighting stance. The two warriors, side by side, steeled themselves for the impending clash, ready to test their mettle against the enigmatic old man.

“Let begin,” Set declared, closing his eyes, “Mhm, six spins should do it.”