The Scarlet Rose

The very beginning of a story in early 16th century Europe. Starting at the moment In the Asturias, the writer of this journal is tasked with finding a cure to the scarlet fever of a friends family.

Gijon, July 26th

All I can feel is time that passes, with but a few grains of sand to measure it.

 Taverna Della Albatros… what a droll name. A small building on the unshapely corner of an unpopular street. There always seems to be a row whenever I’m in, and a drink in silence and solitude could do no harm, but then again at least I have the drink.

  Claudia awaits me in Toscana. In our home about a kilometer outside of Monteriggioni. However at this moment, I have found myself to be in the Kingdom of The Asturias. There is no questioning the beauty of this land, but what a pity it should be inhabited by a relatively foolish band. But what they lack in intelligence they make up for in character. Of course I am generalizing.

The B*****d princess of this land however, Ariadne, she is one that I must say is ravishing. She is by far the most beautiful lady in this land beknownst to me. But such is a beauty unbeknownst to many; And yet simply the spoken word of those crescent cheeks which grace her dark skinned visage that press themselves nervously towards her eyes; Just as if two effervescent moons gravitated towards a duo of emerald seas, by the delicate power of her smile causes the heart of a faithful man, even priest, to swoon.

She only holds such a title, “b*****d”, to a few people. I being one of them, as the Kingdom has gone lengths to preserve the honour of their beloved princess, which is unrightfully so, squandered by the dishonour of her mother and/or father. This knowledge was bestowed upon me by my good friend whom " with I am staying and whose name I shall exploit in a short minute " knows the man who is in the position of “queens lover”. I know not the mans name however I am curious; Perhaps I do know the mans name? Perhaps I know him far better than I am led to believe?

 Regardless, at this moment I have loyalty and love for my Claudia. And I dare say that though she is not as beautiful as Ariadne, she is still a true sight to behold. and she is also Italian. So, in hindsight, I would or, I should say, do choose my lovely Claudia over the fanciful Ariadne. 

         Fortunately I only need be here but a few more nights. The town itself is quite a mess but there is an air about it…One that I must concede I do enjoy.

 it could be the way the shadows fall on the swaying cobblestone roads, Or even the way the walls stand slanted and arching with time. Who knows. Perhaps it is not knowing which is this air. Either way, I am here to complete my tasks.

 The main reason I am here is because a man of the name Alvarédo Della Alcantara Forensalmenté. He owns and runs a shop which he named Negozio Fabbro Del Ponte. He’s Spanish born and of Spanish descent, from Santander. It’s a beautiful store, and of great quality works and irons preserved by its lack of popularity. This unpopularity owes to the other stores on the bridge attempting to shut him out and away. And also slightly due to his social skills which, some might say are nonexistent. However he is my old friend, and I have full faith in him. His shop lies on the beautiful Ponte Vecchio. I requested him to construct for me my most cherished model of a sword; the Gladius. A beautiful, and fine weapon. The weight of it is distributed to balance to such a degree that I have found that anyone who gives it a go tends to believe they are better swordsman than is the truth may know. I also commissioned a helmet as well. A Roman Galea to be exact. A simple one. And in return he did not ask for money, but only for me to travel here, the Asturias, which is the only place known to him where a specific salve may be found. I shall explain this tomorrow. 

 That is a wash of how I find myself here, in the Albatros. The moon has now passed its peak in the darkness of the sky. And noting this, I shall retire to my quarters.

 I finished my ale and left a few escudos (the currency of this Kingdom) for the bartender. Luckily for me, upon walking out the door, the Albatros invited a fight, which I narrowly escaped. 

Having walked along a heading, down the streets and navigating the few roads of this town, I reached the outside of the town just by the sea. It is beautiful here, especially at this time of the year, which is late springtime. 

I returned to my friend Graziano’s home just up on the hill by the sea, overlooking the town. He’s an old friend. We fought in the battle of Marciano together. But at the moment, he was and is asleep, so I had to be very quiet, for fear of him awaking and possibly striking me down with one foul swoop. I crept slowly to my room and without haste, made it peacefully. Now I sit at my desk for final words to close this day. Dawn shall arrive soon and I have a few tasks to complete in the morning. But now it is time of sleep. A cool breeze, with the fresh air of the sea comes into my room refreshing my blood. It glides over and cools my body caressingly. The moon shines bright upon the sea on this cloudless, starry night. And I shall pass away into my dreams.

Gijon, July 17th

Dawn, And I have awakened. The morning air is a fresh delight to a once stale room. Graziano must probably be sleeping still, so Im going to put on my civvies and find myself something to nibble. It’s a fresh and bright day today, just as the last. And just a touch cooler. The sea breeze always refreshes. 

Graziano I suppose isn’t asleep, as I have found he left me a message nailed to the door with one of his many Stilettos. The message read, “Good morning. I trust you slept well. I found out yesterday, that a friend of mine, a man by the name of Carlos Colta, may know where you can find your Salve. Carlos may be found just south of this town in the inn he keeps. I must apologize for I do not know its name. But luckily for you it is more or less the second closest building south of the town. Take the Stiletto with you, as a man must have some way to defend himself. I know your stubbornness about your damned Gladius, and don’t understand why you won’t carry a different weapon. But for now at least use this Stiletto. I’d hate to see a man who slew so many an enemy fall at the hands of some grateful highwayman. ”

 Gratefully and, somewhat reluctantly, Ill take the dagger, since I do not have a weapon of my own as he reminded me. and I shall head out the door. Unfortunately for me, there is a slight demand for haste, because my friend back in Firenze, Alvarédo, charged me to bring this Salve to him by the 27th of July if possible, and today is the 17th of July. And since I wish to do more than simply search, though searching is a priority, I hope to experience the land at least somewhat whilst doing it.

 

I decided to take a slight detour, or shall I say simply a longer path, and venture into and through the town. Walking through Gijon I reached the market, where many men and woman make their lives by selling their trades and wares, as well as buying them. Amongst the chaos I spotted a Tailor Shop which is as it happens much to my convenience, since one thing I’ve been meaning to do was to get my beautiful cape mended. So I walked in. The poor thing has suffered quite a severe tear, and is very worn. I commissioned to get it mended and fixed. I look forward to its newfound youth when its renaissance is complete. My cape is a beautiful shade of red, almost burgundy. No, it is actually Burgundy. The man who runs the store I found is a quiet, polite man, like most people in this town. A townsperson I spoke to in the market told me about this tailor. He told me of the tailors precision and skill, but that it is slightly ruined by his slothfulness. Thanks to his slothfulness he gets quite a few complaints, but once the people see the work he’s done, their constant protests halt like an infant who is reunited with its mothers breast. I left him a few Escudos more than the sum of which I owed and thanked him. He promised me to have it ready by the at that latest Friday, and it is a Tuesday so hopefully it is done perhaps by Thursday. Foolishly I didn’t ask anyone of the inn and of Carlos Colta. But then again it is best I didn’t announce my pourpose. 

continuing my venture, I Navigated my way through the crowds and through the market. I found a stall that happened to sell what seemed to be touristic items. It’s a small, modest wooden little stall with a short, fat, dark skinned balding man with a few grey hairs on his round smooth head. I noticed the stall due to the mans voice, calling out his merchandise with a voice that reminds me of a fat mountain goat. The stall has a few poorly sculpted wooden statuettes, and some “ancient” artifacts of the town. I noticed as well that he had a few maps. Everything seemingly priced in congruency to the intelligence of the average tourist. I realized I did need a map, and so having spotted the one of greatest quality I bought it…At a price which I have most likely forgotten because It is something whose recollection I don’t want to endure. Continuing my journey I reached the outside of the town.I found myself on the south side as was planned. A blanketing cool breeze caressed my body as I continued to walk on a cobblestone road grown bumpier and darker overtime. A girl near my age, possibly younger, with long hair of golden brown and eyes of what seemed to me to be a moss-green sprinted past me faster than I’ve seen any woman run. Her feet tapped the road gracefully with the end of each stride. From what I recall she was wearing a dress of a light shade of blue. However memory can easily be altered. Also her skin seemed to be relatively tanned. Which I find a bit strange. Shifting the focus, I gained sight of what seemed to be a small little building, id say a kilometer away. As I drew nearer I could make out the word “Inn”. And there the word still sits. Half dead upon the contour of a supporting beam that itself sits half dead, eaten away by time.

Author's Note

My writing is not styled or made to fit a structure, I simply write it as it comes. Not perfected or finished at all. The story is something I pick up every now and then and enjoy writing and reading and rewriting. I havent written much of it at all and this really is, if I do continue for a true book length, the very very beginning. I really would like incredibly honest criticism, and im very curious what some think. thank you for taking the time to read it by the way. it means quite a bit to me.