Apprehensions and Other Delusions (33 page)

The Metropolitan shook his head. “How many men do you think he has brought with him? A dozen?”

“At least,” I said, thinking it was like Nizety to take his train of soldiers to Lodz and leave a pretty creature like—what was her name? Valeska?—his daughter behind, contenting her with a fair instead of the Thing.

“And the others are similarly protected,” the Metropolitan said to himself. “Where does one begin, with so many possibilities?”

“We begin by arriving,” I said lightly, giving his lesson back to him.

There was another bark of angry laughter from the Metropolitan as we rode into the brazen dawn.

* * *

The innkeeper grumbled, but he provided a change of horses for an outrageous amount of money. When the Metropolitan commented on the price, he opened his hands and with an expression guileless as a baby, protested that the demand for mounts was overwhelming with the’ Thing at Holy Lodz, and were it not that we were bound for it, he would not have been able to give us anything to ride, not even a mule.

The Metropolitan swore his annoyance, as any fighting man would, and inspected the animals brought out for us. “They are not bad,” he conceded.

“Superb,” the innkeeper corrected him. “And newly-shod. They won’t go lame or cast a shoe on you, be assured of that.”

“For your sake, I hope that’s true,” the Metropolitan said, then handed over the final gold coins. “There. If I have any cause for complaint, I will let it be known among other men-at-arms and your business will suffer.”

We were favored with a smile that was ingratiating and sour. “Of course, good knights. A man in my position cannot afford to offer poor horseflesh.”

“It is good you’re aware of that,” the Metropolitan growled. “Have these nags saddled and we’ll be off.”

The innkeeper was taken aback. “At this hour?” Most of those at his inn were like the villagers—they slept after the noon meal.

“We are under orders,” the Metropolitan said, as if he, too, were displeased with the idea of riding out now. “Get them ready. We will buy wine, water, bread, and sausage from you, and bags of barley for the horses.”

“Of course,” the innkeeper said at this familiar request. “Do you have a set of food satchels?”

The Metropolitan handed them over without comment, then lifted on his helm. “We wish to leave at once, innkeeper,” he warned as the innkeeper toddled over toward his scullery.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he called over his shoulder, moving a little faster. “Shortly, good knights.”

The Metropolitan stared around the courtyard at the inn as he buckled the helm into place once more. “I have been wondering,” he said conversationally but with an underlying lack of ease that alerted me to his distress, “if we are the only messengers sent by the Patriarch to Lodz. I was told there were no others, but it might have been a prudent lie, in case we should fall into the hands of those who wish to prevent our warning from arriving. If we know of no others, then we cannot speak of them. It is not impossible,” he said thoughtfully, “that there are other messengers on the road to Lodz. Some may ride with the pilgrims, and some may go by the Royal High Road.” He crossed his arms over the mail on his chest and I could see that the camise beneath was already darkened with sweat.

“Do you think this has happened?” I asked as the ostlers brought the tack for the horses.

“I don’t know. But were I the one sending the message, I might have done it.” He turned to watch the girths being buckled and paid little attention to the sound of an approaching wagon.

There were shouts behind us, and the riotous good-humor of the harvest fair as the passengers on the heavily-laden wagon tumbled out into the courtyard, many of them shouting for wine and beer in drink-sodden voices. One of the men reeled toward us, singing bits of lewd songs, and brandishing a wineskin over his head.

“Sots,” the Metropolitan said softly. “It’s as well we’re leaving now.”

I could not argue with him, but my condemnation was not as severe. “It is as bad for most attending the Thing.”

“True,” the Metropolitan said. “It does not please me to think so, but I have seen the streets of Lodz at each of the Four Yearly Things and always I marvel at the debauchery that is
excused as zeal.” He turned to the ostler. “Our food should be ready. Get the satchels for us.” To sweeten the order, he tossed a brass coin to the man, who caught it and bowed as he scurried off toward the kitchen.

The man who was loudest of the lot came toward us again, subjected us to a bleary-eyed scrutiny as he swayed in an effort to keep upright. “Have a drink!” he insisted, holding out a freshly-broached wineskin. “Haven’t tasted it myself yet. Two men like you need the drink more than I do.” He laughed loudly and the wine dribbled out onto his leggings, staining them as if with blood.

“We would, soldier, if we did not have to leave. We’re under orders. You know how that is.” The Metropolitan was good-humored still, but firm in his resolve.

“Damn the orders. It’s almost Saint Hubert’s Thing and we’re keeping harvest fair. What orders supersede that?” He belched heartily.

The Metropolitan’s eyes narrowed behind the visor of his helm. “Then drink for us, soldier, and we’ll thank you for the sympathy.”

The other man shoved me away as he leaned forward to glare into the Metropolitan’s face. “Take off the helm and drink. You think to insult me!”

“Another time,” was the short answer, and the drunken soldier swore and fumbled for the dagger in his belt just as the innkeeper came puffing across the courtyard with our satchels in his hands.

“Here, good men-at-arms,” he said with rancor. “Take them and be gone.” He gave a disgusted glance to the third man and shook his head. “You’ll have to sleep it off. Get along with you.”

The drunkard raised his arms pugnaciously, then tottered away, muttering threats as he spilled more wine on his leggings. The innkeeper flapped his apron at the man’s back as if shooing away flies.

“It’s the fair,” he said to us. “They all drink and roister, all through Saint Hubert’s Thing. They may sing hymns in Lodz, but here it’s bawdy songs and tippling.”

“Pray for deliverance,” the Metropolitan advised as he took our satchels and handed one to me. “Where are the waterskins?”

“The groom has them at the well,” the innkeeper said, and accepted the silver coin the Metropolitan held out with a practiced, swinish deference.

“It’s madness to ride in the heat of the day,” he said by way of farewell. “But the roads will be clearer.”

The Metropolitan was into the saddle before the innkeeper was back in the kitchen door. I mounted and followed him out into the hazy warmth of the afternoon. As we passed through the town gates, the Metropolitan pointed out the tawdry sprawl of the tents and stalls of the fair.

“They’ll be idle for another hour or so, and then they will rise to their revels again. Tomorrow there will be Masses, and they will attend, heads aching and limbs stiff, to be assured of their salvation.” He shook his head ponderously as much as the helm would permit. “What can we do for them, but pray? If God sends them brutish lives, will not the glory of Paradise be all the greater? The Alexandrians promise them delirium and call it joy, and it is wrong to blame them if they are seduced by it, but they defile their souls with hedonism and heresy.” Again he was speaking to himself much more than to me, and I said nothing as the Metropolitan took the road leading north and east away from the fair.

* * *

By sunset we had changed horses once more, this time obtaining the animals from an ancient and eccentric Grave who kept a round-towered fortress over a deep gorge. He knew the Metropolitan from his soldiering days and was delighted to aid us. He cackled in anticipation of the lies he would tell any who asked of us, but I heard the somber note in the Metropolitan’s warning that it might be too dangerous to dissemble. What the old Grave would do, neither of us knew. We had the best horses in his stable and his blessing, and fresh water to still our thirst as we left the massive, elongated shadow of the towers for the steep, rutted road that followed the river.

As we came to a sharp turn in the road, the Metropolitan held up his hand to stop us. “It’s too late now,” he told me, cocking his head toward the setting sun. “We will not reach Erl Dru by nightfall.”

I had not known our next goal was Erl Dru, and was not wholly pleased to discover that we would be at the mercy of a family who had been for so long the most bitter rivals of our House. “Erl Dru,” I heard myself say.

“I know, Euchari,” the Metropolitan said quietly. “But they are faithful to the Northern Church and the Patriarch of Graz has used them before as way-stations for his personal messengers. I told him once that the Moricin are not as politically safe as they are religiously, but my cautions were dismissed.”

“It’s just as well that we have not reached Erl Dru. I could not think myself, or you, protected there.” I could not shake off the cold dread that clutched at me, holding me in icy bands.

“I share your concern,” the Metropolitan said, putting his hand up to shade his eyes from the reddened glare of sunset. “There are clouds building up in the east. We may have rain soon. It is best that we find shelter to rest these horses as well as ourselves, so that we can be away before first light. I have two sausages left, and a little wine.”

There was roughly the same amount in my satchel and I had learned, as had the Metropolitan, to travel on light food so that my horse would not be more burdened than was absolutely necessary. “If there is firewood, and water, we will have enough,” I ventured in the hope that there would be no need to forgo the fire.

“There is a copse of brambles and larches ahead, and a stream near it, clear enough in the spring. I doubt it’s too brackish to drink.” He set his gelding in motion and gestured to me to follow.

As we rode, I could not keep from worry. Why had the Patriarch wanted us to stay at Erl Dru? Even the Metropolitan traveling alone would not be welcome there, so closely was he allied with our House. The Moricin had once held the throne of Bohemia and had been brought down in an attempt to seize Poland as well. They had fled to the Prince of Saxony and had only recently been permitted to return to their holdings at Erl Dru. The Patriarch was from Kiev and might not know how long the fury had burned between our families, or how deeply. Perhaps in his quest for secrecy he played into the hands of the enemies of our House, who wanted only the opportunity to do us harm.

Once in the shadows and concealing bulk of the copse, we both dismounted and made our way along the shepherd’s track that branched away from the road. It would not be too intolerable to sleep here in the open, if it did not rain and there were not too many insects and vermin to contend with. I took the bag of grain from behind the cantel of my saddle.

“Good. Barley now and then we can hobble them for the night so that they can graze.” The Metropolitan pointed ahead in the gloom to the stream and then reached to remove his helm.

“Do we keep watch?” I asked as I took my helm off.

“For the first half of the night. I waken early.” He was loosening the girths of his saddle and preparing to lead the gelding to drink.

“Then perhaps you should take the first watch,” I suggested. “There is less chance of over-sleeping.”

By the time we had boiled the sausages in the tin forage pot, it was dark night. The glow of the fire was carefully banked so that what little light it provided did not penetrate the dense foliage around us. We huddled near the low flames so that we would stay warm a while longer. Now that the sun had faded, the heat of the day drained away into the dark. The Metropolitan blessed the sausages as if they had been royal fare, and we ate them as contentedly as our mounts munched the grain in their nosebags.

* * *

“Riders passed in the night,” the Metropolitan said as he wakened me to a dead fire and clammy morning mists.

“While you were on watch?” I could hardly see him.

“No, much later. There were more than six of them and they were heavily armed; I heard the jingle of them quite plainly.” He had brought up his gelding and was rebuckling the cheekstrap of the bridle as he spoke. “We will have to go carefully, for we do not know what visitors arrived at Erl Dru last night.”

“We know of two that didn’t,” I remarked acidly as I got up. My shoulders were stiff and creaky as unoiled leather.

“For which we may both thank God for His protection.” He pulled the girths tighter and then jabbed the gelding’s belly sharply with his knee. As the horse snorted indignantly, he secured the buckles.

I stumbled to my feet and stepped into the bushes to relieve myself, trusting that if we were still followed, they would not use dogs to track us. When I had returned, the Metropolitan offered me half of what was left of the rind of cheese. It was little enough to break our fast with, but we both ate gratefully before we set out once more.

* * *

When the sun was half way to the meridian, the Metropolitan reined in and pointed to a dark plume of smoke rising over the brow of the hill we were ascending. “There is a monastery in that defile,” he said as the cloud became denser.

“The riders, do you think?” It did not seem possible that armed men would attack a holy place, and I wondered if there had been a mistake, and there was another explanation for the coiling smoke.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” He hesitated, holding his restive gelding with calm authority. “We dare not stop now. The Thing is tomorrow and with the greatest aid from God, we will not reach Lodz until late tonight.”

“Do you wish to stop?” I asked without considering it.

“How can you doubt it?” he demanded of me. “There are good and blessed men there who have given their lives and fortunes into the keeping of God and His Saints. Were there nothing more than a blaze in a hayrick, it would still be an obligation of my rank and office to give them any help I could. If I stop, I disobey the Patriarch and endanger the Archpatriarch and the Patriarchal Archmandrites in Holy Lodz. God will weigh my sins and judge me for my neglect now.” He spurred his horse so suddenly that it reared, almost throwing him from the saddle.