Sailing to Byzantium

Belenus slides the tightly rolled parchment over the scorched table. Antiochus eyes the wax seal with disgust. A fire blazes behind Antiochus; the kitchen air swelters.

"Constantinople, eh?" he growls. “So that’s where my son wants to learn a trade? You'd sail across the world and spit on your father’s legacy?” Antiochus shakes his head. “Belenus, you could be the finest tanner in Numidia!"

With a meaty fist he unfurls the letter. Reading, his repugnance turns to fury. He pounds the table and rises to his feet. "Apprenticing under a glassmaker, boy?" he booms, "I thought you’d forgotten this nonsense."

Belenus cringes. "Father, he owns the largest workshop in Constantinople! I cannot let this pass. It…it is a dream beginning to seep into reality."

"Constantinople," repeats the tanner. "Leaving your father with no son, no heir to the industry. You leave me ALONE!" he thunders.

"I will return," says Belenus, his voice trembling. "Once my apprenticeship is complete. Five years. And then people will whisper about Numidian glass."

His father drops his gaze. "Nobody who goes there ever comes back. It changes them: heart, mind, and spirit. They forget about their past, become obsessed with industry. You’ll be no different.” He turns to leave. “I go pray to Dis Pater, that I will not lose my son.”

Belenus stares at the letter for a long time. He notes the precise, confident penmanship; admires the master glassmaker’s ornate signet.

The sound of squeaking leather comes from the opposing room—his father is moving hides. The smell of tanic acid stings his nostrils. It is a smell Belenus has never grown accustomed to.

The kitchen fire blazes. It consumes the parchment quickly. Only ash remains.