Burning Shadows (20 page)

He felt the strength of her impetration, and his own ardor rose to meet hers. “If it is in me to release you, I will do what you ask.”

With a soft exclamation, she went into his arms, clinging to him as if she expected to be pulled apart from him. “You needn’t worry—I’m not a virgin.” She burrowed her head into his shoulder, shivering with something that was not quite passion. “You can be quick, if you want.”

“No,” he said gently, touching her hair, and then her cheek. “I cannot.”

“Why not? Do I offend you?” she asked flatly even while she strained her body to his.

“Because you will not be quick, no matter how urgent your desire, and my relief is tied to yours,” he said, tilting her face upwards to kiss her, lightly at first, then growing more rapturous as her fervor increased. As he started to move back from her, she laced her fingers behind his head and renewed the kiss with determination. For a long, suspended moment, they remained together, her body locked to his, as if striving to melt into him. She trembled and slowly released him, her face revealing the depth of her arousal. “Where shall we go?”

“To your bed, if you like,” he said, certain that the thin mattress that lay atop a chest of his native earth, which had served him when he slept, would afford her little comfort.

“It isn’t much,” she said apologetically.

“No bed here is much,” he said, and lifted her easily into his arms. “But you have two blankets and a sheet, which is more than many have.” As he walked, she hung on to him lightly, her arms around his neck, and pressed little kisses along his jaw and on his angled ear, growing more adventuresome with every step he took. He made his way toward the far end of the alcove, into a small space behind the confession-cell where her bed waited, smelling faintly of rosemary from the needles in the stuffing of her mattress.

She did not wait for him to lower her, but scrambled out of his arms, threw back her blankets, and patted the sheet as she stretched out on it. “Here, Dom. There’s room enough for both of us if we lie close together.” She opened her night-wrap and patted the sheet again.

Her offer was so obvious that he sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over her. “There is no hurry.”

“But we should be quick …” she began, then was silenced, trembling as he slipped his hand inside her night-wrap, moving over her body, barely touching her, but evoking responses from her flesh that astonished her.

“Why lessen your enjoyment in the name of haste?” he asked as he leaned down to kiss her slowly and thoroughly, his fingers teasing at her breast while his lips provided a kind of fascination no other lover had awakened in her. Gradually, luxuriously, he worked his way down to her shoulders, and then his mouth began on her breast where his hand had been, his tongue more artful than his fingers were.

Her hands caught his hair and pressed his face hard against her breast. “I want to
feel
you, Dom.”

“You dislike pain; I will not give you any,” he said steadily, eluding her grasp. “This is to bring you joy, not hurt.” His hand explored down her torso, over her taut abdomen, then dawdled among the soft, moist folds between her legs.

She inhaled sharply between her teeth, and she seized the edge of her blankets in a solid grip; she laughed again, her head thrown back euphorically, and suddenly the spasm was upon her, coursing through her in ecstatic waves. Suddenly she released the blankets and grabbed him, pulling him down on top of her once more; she hardly noticed his mouth on her neck. Her being was subsumed in greater fulfillment than she had ever experienced. Her body, made malleable by passion, sank down, more relaxed than when Sanctu-Germainios had massaged her muscles. As she loosened him, she kissed him soundly once, then looked at him critically. “Why didn’t you …” She gestured to show what she meant.

He got up from the bed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Those of my blood have limitations—at least the men do.” He had long since become accustomed to his impotence and spoke of it without embarrassment.

She took hold of his arm. “You … have nothing for yourself.”

He caressed her admiringly. “Now there, Nicoris, you are wrong; I have fulfillment through your fulfillment,” he said, his voice kind, his dark eyes full of understanding. “I have you.” Yet even as he said it, he wondered why she was lying to him.

Text of a letter from Rugierus in Constantinople to Sanctu-Germainios in Apulum Inferior, written in code in Imperial Latin with fixed ink on vellum, carried by hired courier as far as Oescus and turned over to the Praetor Custodis, never delivered.

To Dom Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios, regional guardian at Apulum Inferior, this from your devoted servant Rugierus of Gades, now in Constantinople, resolving certain problems confronting Eclipse Shipping and the question of your private properties. It is one month past the Winter Solstice in the Christian year 439, and I am in residence at your house in this city.

My master,

I am sorry to tell you that I have had to deal with a zealous priest who enforces the taxation levied on foreigners by the Emperor’s orders. Patras Methodos, priest though he is, is cut from much the same cloth as Telemachus Batsho in Roma, two centuries ago. He has a remarkable talent for finding taxation schedules that require more money from you. In addition, the Patras has made it his business to demand every tax he can think of from the earnings of your ships. He has inspected cargo frequently and inventoried goods in your warehouses. He will not allow me to leave until he is satisfied that you have provided all the monies that can be demanded of you. Your new factor, a prudent Greek called Artemidorus Iocopolis, who is acceptable to the Metropolitan, has tried to ask the Metropolitan to review what Patras Methodos has demanded, and as a Constantinopolitan, he cannot be considered a foreigner. But the Metropolitan is too pleased to have the money that Patras Methodos has required you to pay. I have stated that I am obliged to leave here by the end of February in order to report to you in a timely way of your affairs in this city. Fortunately the Metropolitan puts much importance on the dedication of servants and slaves to their masters.

I have to tell you that it is unlikely that you can return to Constantinople for some years yet. There are too many still alive who are likely to remember you and the upheaval that revolved around the Captain of the
Hecate
and his fellow-smugglers. In fact, it seems to me that some of the rapacity of Patras Methodos arises from the assumption that you in some way benefited from those smugglers’ crimes. I have ordered certain necessary repairs on your house, and told Iocopolis to monitor the house and maintain it in your absence. That will calm the Patras and the Metropolitan.

Rhea Penthekrassi is now established in a house near Hagia Sophia, in a street of handsome houses most of which are owned by merchants. This permits her to live as a woman of quality lives. She has a small household—a major domo, a cook, a builder, a personal maid, a household maid, a gardener, and a groom to care for her stable and horses. She has found it difficult to go about in society, lacking a male relative or in-law to accompany her. I have attempted to find her an acceptable escort; I still hope that I will be able to find her someone before I must leave the city.

There are more rumors about the Huns, saying they are ransacking all the towns in the Carpathians and will soon move into the Balkans and do the same there. Given the depths of the snows at present, I am puzzled as to how they are to accomplish the raids that make up so many rumors. How the Constantinopolitans come to know such things is never explained. There is much fear in this place that the Huns will enlarge their forces and campaign against this capital. The Emperor Theodosios has been reluctant to send his troops to stop Attila, fearing that his Hunnic mercenaries may well rebel, join with Attila and his men, and render the army ineffective, thus leaving all Byzantium open to attack. When Roma is mentioned, very few of the people here want to take the risk of reinforcing the city.

I am eager to join you at Apulum Inferior again; I will bring you reports from your factor and the Patras, as well as some additional money to make your situation more secure. I am assuming that you will have need of it, with so much turmoil in the region. I anticipate arriving by the Equinox, barring any more military incursions. If there are too many conflicts under way, I will stay at Viminacium until I can join a northward-bound company of travelers. Until the day when we meet again,

I am, as I have been for almost four centuries,

Rogerian

3

Antoninu Neves strode purposefully toward the half-rebuilt battlements, explaining to those who followed him, “This snow will protect us for two months more, or so I guess. The Huns will not attack through these deep drifts, in the unlikely event they could get through the passes; it would be a waste of horses and men; if they got here, they could only wallow in the snow—they couldn’t fight. There are farmsteads and villages farther down the mountains where they will strike first, so we will have a little warning of their presence. We will need to keep watch day and night. I have posted four of my men on the peaks around this valley, so that they can report any activity. I would like to send out a hunting party, but only if the weather holds clear, and they can reach one of the meadows down the eastern slope.” He waved his arm, indicating the brilliant blue of the sky and the stark whiteness of the mountains. “The trees will have to shed the snow on their branches before anything can be seen in the forest. Logging and hunting in the forest is impracticable with so much snow.” His vigor was contagious, and the four men with him took it in eagerly.

Priam Corydon, usually more careful in his manner, looked behind him to the others who accompanied him and Neves. “When the outer wall is finished, we will rebuild the gates, so that they will be as strong as our other fortifications. That will improve our protection and give us power over anyone who enters.” Much as he disliked the notion of a fortified monastery, he saw the sense of it. Sanctu-Eustachios had been enclosed since before it became a monastery, when it was a stop-over compound for travelers, and before, when it had been a place of pagan worship. The foundations on which the current walls stood were ancient. “The warder-monks can keep the gates. You need not deploy your soldiers to the task.” 

“You will want to put a watch-tower at the gates when they’re rebuilt.” Rotlandus Bernardius nodded authoritatively. “A pity that work on the outer wall must be delayed. But no one can be expected to work in this snow.” He glanced over his shoulder. “What do you think, Brevios?”

Enlitus Brevios coughed once. “My men will not be able to build in the snow, though they will as soon as the thaw comes. It would be as dangerous for them to attempt to work while freezing as it would be for anyone else.” He stared down the mountain. “The Huns won’t attack until the thaw.”

At the rear of the line, Denerac of Tsapousso tromped doggedly in the uneven rift their passage made in the snow. Of all the men here, he was the least inclined to build defenses. He had already suggested that as soon as the thaw began, they should evacuate the monastery, leaving in small groups, heading south into Roman or Byzantine territory and the protection that could be found there. Better than most of them, he knew what Huns could do; he did not want his people to experience their ferocity again. He kept his mouth shut; he was being ignored and for now he was glad of it. “Today and tomorrow,” Brevios announced, “the Watchmen of Apulum Inferior will work at repairing the south wall of the Pilgrim’s Hall, and come evening tomorrow, we can all gather there to inform our people of how things stand.”

“It will have to be a little earlier than evening,” Priam Corydon said. “Let’s settle on the last quarter of the afternoon. The monastery has an Office to perform at sundown. We keep to the Chanting Rite, and mark our sunsets with Psalms.” He was a bit surprised that Neves had not been aware of the monastic routines.

“That suits me and my men,” said Neves at once. “The church in Porolissum held to a different Rite, Priam. They sang Mass four times each full day: at dawn, at mid-day, at sunset, and at midnight. They opened their church for each Mass so that everyone in the town could attend at least once a day.”

“More Roman than we are,” said Priam Corydon. “We hold more to the old Twelve Gospels and the Apostolic Rites. Every hour of the day and night, one of the novices chants in the chapel behind the altar. At the canonical Hours, all the monks must chant.”

“What happens if you haven’t enough novices?” Neves asked, sounding slightly amused.

“Then monks must sing; we fill every moment with prayers and praise,” said Priam Corydon, asperity sharpening his answer. “But for now, we have novices enough.” He went a short way in silence, thinking that the men around him cared little for novices and Psalms.

As if to confirm his supposition, Brevios said, “Just as well the snow is so deep. Our activities will be shaped by it. We’ll need to find work to occupy all the people, women and children as well as men, or they may fall to mischief. My Watchmen will be glad of a little less labor than digging in the snow, but I don’t want them to be idle. That could be as troublesome as the Huns if it isn’t avoided.” He was holding his arms out to help him stay balanced; the drift they waded through was piled up higher than his waist.