Burning Shadows (24 page)

“Of course. We will have no strangers in the Bondama’s house.” He had donned an abolla over his sleeved tunica, but he still looked cold.

Niklos went out through the main door, making sure to cross the threshold on his right foot. The wind struck him like a weighted club, and he steadied himself against it. He saw the flickering oil- l amp in its glass cage beside the door and wondered if anyone would be able to see it when the rain began. He went out toward the main gate, standing open to admit the small party of merchants; all the while he listened to the boom of the wind. When he was near enough to be heard, he called out, “Travelers! On behalf of Bondama Clemens, whose estate this is, you are welcome to shelter from the storm as her guests.”

There were three men riding mules, huddled into their byrri, their hoods pulled forward to protect their faces; they led seven mules, all well-laden. Their escort was five armed men mounted on horses. They, too, had heavy abollae to keep out the cutting wind. Four grooms had run up to help the men dismount and to lead their animals to the stable. The three slaves manning the gate were struggling to close it once again.

One of the merchants got down from his mule and turned to Niklos. He steadied himself by holding on to the broad pommel of his saddle. “Thank the Bondama for her hospitality,” he said, his Latin heavily accented with Greek. “I am Orestes of Naissus. We are bound for Ravenna and Roma. These are my companions, Fulvius Gaudiensis, and Marcellos Basilios.” He indicated the other two merchants. “I fear Fulvius has taken ill, and is in need of succor.”

For an instant, Niklos wished that Sanct’ Germain were with them and not in the remote mountains of the old Province of Dacia. “Certainly,” he said. “Kardens, see that the ailing man is taken to his room at once, and make sure that Mater Rhodanthe is sent to care for him.”

The slave who had finally secured the gate nodded. “Yes, Bondsman,” he said flatly, and went to the last mounted of the merchants, where he helped the ailing man out of the saddle, then offered him his shoulder to lean on.

The escort had already dismounted and were leading their horses and the pack-mules toward the stable, following the groom with the enclosed oil-lamp. The day was dark now, with no trace of color in the clouds, but it was mid-afternoon. The remaining grooms took the riding mules in hand and went off after the others.

Orestes of Naissus regarded Niklos narrowly. “It is rare to find so … so fine a reception on the roads these days.” He walked unsteadily, as if his back were sore.

“Bondama Clemens keeps to the Roman traditions,” said Niklos, indicating that the two merchants should accompany him. “We will have rooms for you, and a simple meal in a short while, but no convivium.”

“On such short notice, no one would expect otherwise. And I fear Marcellos Basilios and I are tired and would be poor company.” He turned to Basilios and said, “I trust you are willing to have simple fare tonight.”

“After what we have endured on the road, simple fare is splendid; some meat, some wine, and a bread and I will think myself blessed,” Basilios answered.

Niklos was almost at the main door when he thought of something more to ask. “Have you any news of the Huns?”

Orestes moaned, “They kept winter at the foot of the mountains. Odessus and Tomi are thoroughly in their hands, where the cities are not in ruins. The Huns have spent their time improving their weapons and learning more about Roman defenses. They were boasting that by next winter they will control the Carpathians down to the Danuvius.” He crossed the threshold on the right foot and made sure Basilios did the same. Sergius made a sign of approval, and held out his hand for their byrri, saying, “There are laenae laid out for you in your rooms.”

“Do you think they will succeed?” Niklos pursued, for once paying no heed to the courtesy the men had been given. “The Huns? coming so far south?”

Orestes nodded. “I would wager on it,” he said grimly. “They are not inclined to idle bragging.”

Sylvandrus Polli came up to the newcomers. “Be welcome in the house of Bondama Clemens,” he said. “Your companion is being treated by Mater Rhodanthe, who will tell you of his condition later. If you will come with me, I will show you to your rooms. Your personal cases are being brought in from the stable. Will you need a servant to help you, or would you prefer to manage on your own?” The merchants exchanged glances, then Basilios said, “If you could spare one to wait upon two of us?”

“Of course,” said Polli. “This way,” and he started off under the overhang of the atrium, leaving Niklos to go to Olivia.

She was seated at her writing table, a tree of oil-lamps providing illumination for the reports Niklos had given her earlier. “What have you learned?” she asked when he had explained the basics.

“They’re worried about the Huns, that was conspicuous, and not just in words, but the whole of their expression: more worried than they are about Roman tax collectors.” He paused, then added, “Orestes said that they have their sights on the Carpathians.” As he said that, the first rush of rain washed down over the hillside, sounding like a continuous load of pebbles had been dropped across the land.

Olivia looked up at the ceiling and a shiver of discomfort went through her, but she spoke calmly enough. “I have been thinking that I should send you to Sanct’ Germain with my next letter to him, as soon as the storm is over. You can see for yourself how he is faring, and you may add your voice to mine if you think he would be wiser to leave the mountains than to stay.”

“And what of you? Do you intend to come with me?”

“No, much as I would like to do it. If you think Aquileia isn’t safe, the roads north are much less so, and not only because of the Huns.” She smiled without amusement. “Don’t fret, Niklos. The household here will guard me well enough, though I will miss you while you are away.” She smiled, and there was something profound in her eyes, an acknowledgment that she could finally be of use to Sanct’ Germain, who had done so much for her. “If you have to be gone until winter, so be it, so long as you find him and determine he is safe.”

“Rogerian is with him. Why should he need me?” Niklos asked. “Rogerian has only recently left Constantinople, and he won’t have reached the Carpathians yet; for all we know, the Huns have caught him,” said Olivia with the kind of tranquil determination that Niklos knew it would be useless to dispute.

“All right. But speak to the merchants this evening, before you decide to send me off.”

She considered. “Very well. But if I tell you that it must be done, I expect you to comply without complaint.”

Niklos sighed. “As you wish, Olivia,” he said, and began to plan what he would have to take with him on the coming journey.

Text of an arrest warrant for the detention of Rugierus of Gades, issued by the Imperial Secretary, Herakles Akacios, in Constantinople, copied with fixed ink on vellum and dispatched by Imperial couriers to nine cities in Thracia and Moesia.

To the Imperial Governors, the Praetori Custodii, Governors, regional guadians, the garrison Tribunes, and the Proconsuls of the Emperor, this notification of detention from the Imperial Secretary, Herakles Akacios, at the pleasure of the Emperor Theodosios.

Be it known that the servant of Dom Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios, one Rugierus of Gades, currently believed to be traveling alone toward the Danuvius River, is to be apprehended and returned to Constantinople to explain to the Imperial Questor certain matters put before the Imperial Questor by the factor Artemidorus Iocopolis, at the exemplary instigation of Patras Metho- dos, who has declared he is convinced that this Rugierus of Gades is part of an organization of smugglers who may or may not be allied with Rugierus of Gades’ employer, the Dom Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios.

In order to determine the truth of this allegation, Rugierus of Gades must be held and returned to Constantinople. Failure to comply with this order will serve as an indication that the official refusing to carry out this order is no longer loyal to the Emperor Theodosios and the Roman Empire in the East.

Those who are willing to pursue this matter will be brought to the favorable attention of the Emperor, and will, in due time, be rewarded for that loyalty. Those who shirk this duty will be known as officials of tergiversation and no longer worthy of the trust bestowed upon them by the Emperor.

At ten days before the Vernal Equinox,

Herakles
Akacios

Imperial Secretary to the Emperor Theodosios at Constantinople

5

For two weeks the mountains had been showing signs of spring: pines and oaks shed their mantles of snow; the little creeks lost their ice and ran chuckling down into the lake at the end of Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit; a few early flowers struggled into the sunlight, leaving the snow in patches around them. The sounds of birds returned to the air, and the underbrush rustled with the passage of foxes, badgers, marten, deer, and wild boar; the first few bear emerged from hibernation and grumpily sought out streams for fishing.

Then, five days after the Equinox, winter returned in gelid fury. Snow rode horizontally on ferocious winds and the trees once again were swaddled in white. Occasional loud cracks came from the forest as branches broke under the weight of snow and wind. The many people at the monastery crouched indoors, crowded together, their tempers sharp and their states of mind alive with increasing fear. No one looked forward to the Paschal Mass that would be celebrated the following morning at dawn.

In the old wooden chapel, Sanctu-Germainios continued to tend those persons the monks in the infirmary would not touch; it fell to him to set broken limbs and remove frostbitten fingers and toes, to purge putrid lungs and poisoned guts, to sew up cuts and gouges, and to set misaligned joints. On the second day of the blizzard, Isalind was brought to him with a badly sprained ankle and a severe scrape along her shin.

“How did this happen?” Sanctu-Germainios asked her as he knelt beside her to touch her swollen leg. He motioned to Nicoris, who had been sorting lengths of linen, to come closer. “And bring the steady chair. She needs to sit down so she can raise her leg to keep the ankle from swelling any more than it has.”

“I was carrying slops to the midden, and I slipped.” Isalind scowled and ground her teeth, both in aggravation and against the pain. “My ankle twisted as I fell.”

“I see that,” he said, and glanced at the two monks who had brought her. “The skin is not broken, she has none of the signs of inward illness.”

“We have no means to care for her in the infirmary,” said one of the monks, his voice devoid of all emotion.

“Then it is fortunate that I do,” said Sanctu-Germainios. “You may put her in that chair.” He went in, pointing to a straight-backed, square-seated one that Nicoris had moved beside the raised bed he used for treating those seriously injured.

The monks did as he instructed, neither of them liking the work they were having to do. Both of them made an effort to touch Isalind as little as possible. As they put her down, they both made the sign of the fish. “That none of her ills pass to us,” said the shorter of the two, then lowered his head and made for the door, his taller companion following him. Neither made the sign of the cross as they departed.

“It is because I’m a woman. The infirmary monks don’t like treating women. They say it compromises their chastity.” Her aggravation was obvious from her face and the harshness of her voice.

“They’re becoming more stringent about their vows,” said Nicoris, raising her voice so that she could be heard. “They aren’t comfortable having so many residents who don’t want to practice their rites and rituals. They told Bernardius not to talk Latin.”

“It is also part of their discomfort with having bodies. They believe holiness is attained through neglect of their bodies in all manner of ways,” said Sanctu-Germainios. “It is a foolish thing to do; if you ignore the flesh, it will lead to all manner of unnecessary ills, and in the end it will shorten life.” He had seen it before, in many places, and he knew beyond doubt that clean bodies resisted disease and infection better than bodies that were not.

“They are fools not to have a better bath-house and proper latrines,” said Isalind, not only to agree with him, but to try to keep her mind off the gnawing ache from her ankle. “I wouldn’t have to carry slops if they had latrines. No one would. And we would stink less than we do, and have fewer lice and lice fever. Our clothes could be kept cleaner, as well, if there were a laundry here.”

“The monks won’t agree to a bath-house or a laundry. They say it glorifies the body to have enclosed latrines and baths, and that clean clothes promote vanity, all of which they believe imperil the soul, and all of them fear for their souls with the Huns about,” said Sanctu-Germainios , recalling his fruitless discussion with Priam Corydon, and the awkwardness that had resulted from it. “The monks prefer their dirt and their vermin. It comes from their peculiar understanding of chastity and their disdain for their well-being.”

“An enclosed latrine wouldn’t lead to debauchery,” said Isalind, then hissed breath through her clamped teeth as Sanctu-Germainios slightly repositioned her leg.