Burning Shadows (16 page)

“I am an exile. Exiles travel.”

There was a silence, then Kynthie moaned again, and spasmed as blood frothed between her legs.

Sanctu-Germainios responded promptly. “Give me a knife. She and her child will be dead almost at once if I do not remove the baby,” he said, holding out his hand; Isalind put her knife into it. “Move the lamps as near as you can,” he ordered, and cut.

When the Watchmen returned with the terrified Ionnis, sometime near midnight, Thirhald hurried to the wagon where Kynthie lay. He called her name as he approached, faltering now that his goal was in sight.

“Thirhald. You have a son,” said Sanctu-Germainios, coming out of the wagon to speak with him. “But I grieve to tell you that your woman is dead.” He could see disbelief in Thirhald’s face, and softened his tone. “The boy is with a wetnurse, and will remain in her care as long as it is needed.” He watched as incredulity became shock and sorrow, and Thirhald swayed on his feet as if the ground had shaken beneath him. “You have my sympathy.”

“Does Patras Anso know?” Thirhald asked blankly.

“He has blessed her and will supervise her burial when we reach Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit, so she may lie in sacred ground.” He met Thirhald’s vacant gaze with his own. “I wish we could have saved her.”

Thirhald nodded once. “Yes,” he mumbled, and turned away.

Text of a letter from Verus Flautens, landholder of Drobetae, to Gnaccus Tortulla, Praetor Custodis of Viminacium, written in code on vellum with fixed ink and carried by Tortulla’s confidential courier; delivered in eight days.

Ave to the esteemed Praetor Custodis of Viminacium, Gnaccus Tortulla, on the twentieth day before the Winter Solstice. I am honored to be of service to you once more, and thank you for giving me the opportunity to perform the useful deed you have informed me you require.

I can understand your fear regarding the large numbers gathering at Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit monastery. Too many of those living in the Carpathians and on the plains the mountains surround have gone over to the Huns of late, and I agree that the monastery could prove an opportunity for subversion. Those who have lost their lands and goods to the Huns may seek to regain them through Hunnic favor. I also agree that leaders of any such movement constitute a threat to the remains of Roman-and-Byzantine rule in the region and cannot be allowed to continue their illegal course. I am eager to comply with any actions that will bring about an end to the Huns’ invasion.

This is not a task I can undertake personally, of course, for I would be viewed with suspicion by many of those seeking refuge at Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit, but I will dispatch my newly freed manservant, Hredus, to go to the monastery and report on all he sees. Hredus has an elementary knowledge of letters and he may be relied upon in this undertaking as I relied upon him assisting me in my dispatching of Sergios of Drobetae, who would surely have betrayed Roman interests to Byzantium in exchange for the advancement he sought. If there is any skulduggery afoot, Hredus will root it out and get word to me as quickly as distance and weather allows. I will charge him also with learning all that he can about the location and number of Hunnic forces in the region and the nature of their attacks: with all the barbarians flocking to the Huns, it will serve us well to know how and where the Huns have enlarged their armies, and any changes they have made in their methods of making war.

Know by this that my devotion to you and the Roman cause is beyond corruption and unending,

Verus Flautens

PART II

DOM
FERANESCUS
 

RAKOCZY
SANCTU
-
GERMAINIOS

T
ext of a letter from Atta Olivia Clemens in Aquileia to Ragoczy Sanct’ Germain Franciscus at Apulum Inferior in the Kingdom of the Gepidae, once the Province of Dacia, written in Imperial Latin on two sheets of vellum in fixed ink and carried by Iraeneus Catalinus, but never delivered.

To my most cherished friend and blood relation, the greetings of Atta Olivia Clemens from her estate at Aquileia on this, the Winter Solstice of the year 438 according to the Christians, the 1191
^st
Year of the City, and the 2557
^th
year since your birth:

How long it has been since I have had word from you—and I am assuming you have written—or received any letters from anyone in old Dacia. Were it not for the accounts of increasing Hunnic raids, I would think only that any messages sent to me had been delayed, but given the increasing alarms from that region, I have become more vexed than I was earlier in the year, which is saying a great deal, and now that word has come that the Western Emperor has hoped to bring about an alliance with the Goths or Gauls against the Huns, I am growing truly distressed; there have been so many assaults on Roma that I doubt any of the Empire is safe. You needn’t remind me that I would know if you had died the True Death, but a great deal of harm could come to you without that happening, and I have imagined the most dreadful things.

A month ago I received a visit from a merchant, Demetrios Maius, whom I had known in Porolissum, who has lost everything that he owned that remained there. He is now attempting to gather what little he has left in the towns and cities where he has done business before this ruin came upon him, telling me that he fears for all of the Empire in the West. Assuming he can amass enough to salvage a small trading company for himself, he then plans to leave for Constantinople and enter into a partnership with a cousin who owns ships. His family and household were spared destruction by leaving Porolissum last July, and are now at Ravenna with the family of his mother and her brothers, most of whom are rich; once he has established himself, he will summon his family to join him. His experience is unusual only because he was so beforehand in his planning, and he made the most of the opportunity to depart ahead of the forces of Attila, the new King of the Huns, who he claims is responsible for their new ferocity. He asked me how many others I knew of had got out before the town was razed, and I had to admit that I knew of fewer than five households. Thinking of you, I provided Maius with ten golden Emperors as an initial investment in his new trading company, and the name of your factor in Constantinople, in case his cousin there reneges on his agreement. It is the sort of gesture you would make, don’t you think?

How many of the fortunes in what was Dacia can still be secure? How many estates are truly safe? Seharic the Goth is in no position to hire soldiers beyond the ones allied to him by marriage or blood, and he is far from unique among his people. The Gepidae have soldiers, but they fight on foot, not on horseback as the Huns do, which puts them at a disadvantage, even if they had men enough to hold off the Huns. Roma cannot send Legions to protect what is no longer theirs in any case, and the Emperor in Byzantium is not about to risk his troops in Dacia. Stilicho is dead and there is now no General in Byzantium who is willing to take on the Huns as he did. For all his skills, Aetius is in no position to contain the Huns either, and is not likely to act unless he is attacked directly.

Do not, I beg you, consider this a challenge to you to take up arms against the Huns because no living man will do it. It is exactly the kind of foolhardy thing you would do. You have risks enough without making a target of yourself with the Huns. As regional guardian, you may limit your hazards to preserving Apulum Inferior and its extended vicinity, as you are sworn to do, which is dangerous enough without you taking on more. Remarkable though you are, you cannot oppose the Huns alone. Compassion for the living is all very well in its way, but it should include your own survival—not that I suppose you will consider such advice if you see peril increasing.

With most of the Roman Court now removed to Ravenna, depending on the Padus and its swamps around the city to defend it from attack better than walls could, Roma itself is ripe for another plundering. For that reason, I have decided to stay here in Aquileia for the time being. I have sent instructions to Adrastus Feo, the major domo at Sine Pari, to reinforce the villa starting with the outermost walls, and to do the same for Villa Ragoczy. I’ve ordered that the inner stockade at both estates be strengthened, and weapons provided for defense, for whether or not the Huns come to Roma, Goths or Vandals or Gauls or other northern barbarians may decide to plunder it now that it is so very vulnerable.

Cognizant of the hazards of Aquileia’s location, Niklos Aulirios has engaged masons to put a stone wall around the central buildings on this estate. I must thank you again for reanimating him for me. It is more than a century since you restored him to life, and every day he proves his worth a thousand times. He believes stone is the better choice now, since the Huns are known to set wooden walls afire. It is an expensive precaution, but one I endorse, and which I encourage you to consider, as well. Were stonework not so dear in Roma, I would have ordered the walls of our villas ringed with it, but the cost is prohibitive, even with the funds you have provided to me. I may regret my decision in time, and Sine Pari may suffer for it, but I believe that a double wall of standing, close-joined trunks will suffice unless Roma is left entirely without defenders of any sort. It will mean cutting down the wood at Villa Ragoczy, I regret to say, but it is the only way to ensure the work is done quickly and properly, and without paying outrageous prices.

If conditions continue to deteriorate in this region, and Roma remains exposed, I will go to Lago Comus to the villa there; it is properly fortified and there is a company of mercenaries based near-by. If you need a place to come to and you decide not to go back to Constantinople—which, I remind you, would be prudent— then perhaps you would like to join me there, at least for a short while, say as long as a year? Ordinarily I would agree with your policy of separate lives, but surely two vampires can spend time together without attracting unwanted attention with so much of the world caught up in bloody turmoil; what we do is hardly comparable. We would have the opportunity to enjoy the tranquillity of accepting companionship, which is as advantageous in its way as the passion of the living can be. At least give it some thought, won’t you.

You may send me an answer with the man who brings it, Iraeneus Catalinus, one of five couriers recommended to me by the Praetor Custodis of Aquileia. He knows the main roads of old Dacia and most of the minor ones, and has three strong horses for his journey, two from my own stable. He has been to Apulum Inferior and promises to find it again. If the roads are blocked by snow when he reaches the frontier, he will wait in Viminacium until the thaw to deliver this. I ask you to reward him handsomely, since many couriers now refuse to venture north of the Danuvius.

Be safe, my oldest, my dearest friend, and, on behalf of all your forgotten gods, be sensible. Let this anniversary of your birth remind you of the value of your longevity. Remember that I want to know where I can find you once you have removed yourself from harm’s way. I should be here for two years unless the Huns come this way, in which case, seek me at Lago Comus. If I leave Lago Comus before you arrive, I will send word of where I have gone to your factors in all the ports where Eclipse Trading operates, so that one way or another, we will reunite, if only for a little while.

Eternally your devoted Olivia

1

Priam Corydon rose from the slated floor of his monastery’s church, his shoulders and knees aching; he brushed off the front of his rough-woven pallium, and went to open the doors for the rest of his monks to begin their daily worship. He could barely hear the novice singing the Psalms’ worn-down Latin in the chapel behind the altar, for the wind was ululating so loudly that the icons seemed to be transfixed by the uncanny noise. It was half-way between midnight and dawn, so cold that the Priam’s breath fogged in front of his face as he trudged toward the door, stamping his feet to help warm them, his wool-lined peri feeling woefully inadequate to keep out the razor-like chill. He told himself that this was the heart of winter, the hardest time that always came shortly after the year turned toward light again, and that he should be grateful that the days were getting longer, but at the moment, he found it difficult to praise God for his discomfort.