Chapter 2

Two


Once the letter was dispatched Manfred von Richthofen set out to Italy from Barcelona. It was a long journey, once reaching south of Spain on horseback he would abandon Hispania and head on ship to the Mediterranean shores. His thoughts were dancing between Esmeralda and future imagined glories in the Italian shores. And so he began to compare himself to the history figures from ancient times. On his travel south he encountered a statue of Alexander the Great. He stopped to admire it, and in deep meditation for some minutes broke down and wept.

A strong nostalgia came over him, a desire for the ancient heroes to be alive. A terrible shame gripped him, he didn't amount to nothing worthy of his name. At 23 Alexander the Great was conquering the known world, he was a miserable dandy who had squandered his inherited fortune. The memory of the shameful venture with Esmeralda now haunted him. He now realized that in his poetic stupidity he viewed her power over him as something to be admired.

"Love? What is love!? Is love not the surrender of ones entire focus into one person? How could you, Megalexandros, ever find "true love" in the arms of a woman? Nay! Power was your mistress! You worked too hard to conquer her, and you wouldn't be so vulgar to let her go!"


He gave a sigh, for he knew that his ambition began and ended in capturing Esmeralda's heart. The youthful fool! He had the intellect to know such, and was now beginning to realize the repulsive position he was in but it was futile to fight against his desires for the simple country girl. This was the 19th century was it not? He was a product of the Romantic movement, and it was in his blood to be ready to build and burn another Troy for a beautiful face. Disgust entered his thoughts: "A women should at best soften a man, not weaken him whole!"

Richthofen was sick with the fullness of his luxurious life. Comfort now was a sin as he marveled at the statue of Megalexandros. He spoke thus:

"I've been waiting all my life, for what? And if opportunity were to arrive years to come, will all this waiting have atrophied the legs of my soul? Would I be able to stand and with vigor move onwards? Or will I collapse, spirit-broken and shout to the heavens 'It's to late! My life is in vain! I lack the will to move on...' and acknowledge my life was not worth preserving?"

 The gods of love and war were fighting over to gain his control, the god of chaos gained their spoils.