Burning Shadows (25 page)

“But they fear it would,” said Sanctu-Germainios. “And their fear makes it a certainty.”

Isalind took a deep breath and let it out slowly, striving against her pain. “It would make their winters easier. With their flocks and herds, they have dung enough to tath their fields. Slops aren’t required. A channel could carry the waste out of the valley and down the mountain. If any of them have the courage to build such a channel—with the Huns about, as you say.” She scowled as she lifted her leg until it was straight. “I have truly hurt myself,” she said.

“That you have,” said Sanctu-Germainios, rising and reaching for a stool to put under her elevated foot.

“What will you have to do?” Isalind asked. She was pale; her ruddy hair made her look pasty.

“I will tell you when I have discerned the extent of your injuries. Your ankle is clearly sprained, but you may have broken a bone in your foot as well; I will not know if you have until the ankle is less distended. And I’ll want to clean that abrasion.”

“The slops spilled. You can probably tell. I reek of them.” Isalind looked abashed at this confession.

“You’ll have to give up your clothes, and not for the odor, for the animalcules that may cling to them,” said Sanctu-Germainios. “You will need to keep the laceration clean for it to heal. Nicoris will bring you an abolla to warm you for now. Being cold when there has been an injury can be very dangerous.”

She looked skeptically at Sanctu-Germainios. “My man won’t like me undressed before you.”

“Tell him that your clothes were unhealthy; I will go into my sleeping alcove when you change; I will not see you naked,” said Sanctu-Germainios, watching while Nicoris went to the one of his traveling cases he had indicated and removed an abolla and a long- sleeved tunica made of sand-colored wool; both belonged to Rugierus, but Sanctu-Germainios knew he would not begrudge them to Isalind, for he had more clothing to choose from.

“This should be enough for her to be properly dressed and warm.” Nicoris set the garments on the raised treatment bed.

“If you will heat some water so we can put her in it to wash,” Sanctu-Germainios suggested. “Then we can add more hot water so her foot can be soaked in restorative salts.”

“The salts you use on the horses and mules?” Nicoris asked.

“The same. Tendons are tendons, no matter what animal or human contains them.” Sanctu-Germainios laid his hand on Isalind’s arm. “You will recover so long as that scrape has no infection. But to avoid that, you must be clean.”

She sighed. “Patras Anso won’t like it.”

“Nor will Priam Corydon,” said Sanctu-Germainios, who had had his share of disputes with both the Patras and the Priam, “but treating injuries is not a religious exercise, no matter what they may believe.” As he said this, he thought back to his centuries at the Temple of Imhotep, the Egyptian god of healing and architecture, whose priests provided medical treatment for all Egyptians, no matter which of the gods they favored or what illness or injury brought them to the temple.

Nicoris rolled out a large wooden tub and set it near the stone hearth. “I’m going out to load the cauldron with snow,” she announced, anticipating his need. “You can build up the logs for me, Dom, so the water can boil. I’ll be back shortly.” She hefted the large iron pot from its hook over the dying fire. As she opened the door, snowy wind shrieked into the old chapel, chilling it and making the lengths of linen flutter from their neat stacks into confusion.

Isalind glanced around her, taking stock of the chapel for the first time. “You are treating no one else but me?”

“I have at present nine other patients in the old dormitory. I carry them there once their hurts are dressed, where their companions and families may care for them.” He smiled at her without any sign of concern. “You will be at your man’s side by full dark.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose my clothes will be useless after this? Blood and shit won’t wash out, will they?”

“Most likely not,” he said. “If you need clothes, you may keep what I give you.”

“My man wouldn’t let me accept such a gift, neither would Patras Anso, but I thank you for your offer,” said Isalind.

Sanctu-Germainios went to his red-lacquer chest and brought out a small jar. He then took a small pottery cup from the top shelf of the chest and poured a little of the contents into the cup. “I will mix this with a little wine and honey. I want you to drink it. It will lessen your pain and help the swelling in your ankle diminish.”

She watched him as he prepared the mixture. “Is there anything in it besides what you say?”

“The medicament has ground willow-bark and pansy, which reduce pain and swelling, crushed juniper berries, celery seed, and ground pepper for swelling and stiffness, in a paste of sourberries, which helps to preserve it and provides a lessening of fever if any should arise. It is useful in treating scrapes and strains, and tightening of the joints. I have been told that it has an unpleasant taste. The honey will help that, and the wine will aid the medicament to work, for it eases the body and strengthens the blood.” He used an alabaster spoon to stir the mixture, then gave the cup to Isalind.

She drank cautiously, pursed her lips after the first swallow. “You’re right. Its taste is unpleasant.”

“Well, drink as much of it as you can endure,” he recommended, then turned to see Nicoris struggling with the cauldron brimming with snow, the wind pursuing her, howling. Going to help her, he closed the door and set the brace, then said, “You have done a fine job, Nicoris.” He took the cauldron from her and carried it easily to the hearth.

“There’s more snow coming down,” she said, watching him speculatively. “This is a very bad storm. The passes will be closed again for at least a week.” She pulled off her byrrus and hung it on a peg near the door to dry. “I’ll get more once the tub is full, so we may adjust the temperature of the water.”

Sanctu-Germainios went to the stacked logs at the end of the fireplace stones and selected three lengths of good girth. He brought these back to the weakening fire and carefully set them to burn, leaning them on the embers to promote a good draw of air. Then he placed the cauldron on its hook once more and swung it into the fireplace over the logs. “I should have done this before you returned.”

“You have been treating Isalind,” said Nicoris, still scrutinizing him; she knew how heavy the snow-filled cauldron was, and she was amazed that he could lift it so effortlessly. “I was approached by a monk while I loaded the cauldron. He says that the hermits have come down from their caves. They’re in the monastery in the upper cells, and they have announced they intend to remain until the storm passes.”

“That shows some small measure of sense,” said Sanctu-Germainios .

“They’re claiming that God has sent the storm to show us His might.” Isalind stopped herself from saying something more reckless.

“How did you find out about it?” Nicoris asked.

“Everyone was talking about it in the dormitory,” said Isalind. “The Watchmen were complaining that Monachos Anatolios has been exhorting them while they’ve been on duty, telling them that they are betraying God.”

“They want the world to end, so God will reign on earth,” said Nicoris, her face set.

“You do not want that to happen?” Sanctu-Germainios asked, a touch of irony in his tone.

“Do you? They say only the most dedicated Christians will be chosen to share the Kingdom of God, all the rest will burn forever in Hell,” said Isalind. “Monachos Anatolios has stated that only virgins can hope to be among the few who will attend upon God’s Glory when the apocalypse comes. Those who try to forestall the Second Coming by opposing the Will of God will be among the first cast into the Pit.” She managed to drink the last sip from the cup, then set it on the floor beside her chair.

“He expects God to prefer men like himself, I imagine. Men of his kind usually do,” said Sanctu-Germainios.

“Don’t let any of the religious hear you say that,” Nicoris warned him. “Antoninu Neves has had two of his men sent away from this place because they would not honor the religion of the monks.”

Sanctu-Germainios looked surprised. “When did that happen?” And why, he added inwardly, did no one tell him about it?

“Yesterday morning, while his men were bringing in more wood for all the fires,” said Isalind. “They were accused of chastising the monks for praying instead of working at a time when labor was more necessary.”

“How unwise of them,” said Isalind.

“I must suppose it did no good,” said Sanctu-Germainios. “Since the soldiers were cast out, it’s a double loss. There are two fewer men to cut and saw wood, and no monks are willing to take their place,” said Nicoris. “Neves has said that such losses are damaging to all of us.”

“And Monachos Anatolios says it is God’s punishment for our lack of submission to His Will,” said Isalind.

Sanctu-Germainios bit back the remark he wanted to make, and said instead, “As soon as the water is warm, I will wash your leg and then you can prepare for your bath. When I am done, I will leave so you may get into the tub.”

“I’ll remain with you when you come to bathe, in case you need any help,” Nicoris said to Isalind. “You might have difficulty getting out of the tub.”

“So I might,” said Isalind, staring at her puffy ankle.

“Thank you for that,” said Sanctu-Germainios, once again struck by her beneficent pragmatism and her unusual directness. If only, he thought, she would tell him the truth about herself, for after their second love-making, he knew beyond all doubt that she had not been veracious with him.

Isalind tried to flex her foot and let out a small mew of dismayed pain. “How long will it take before my ankle is well?”

“That will depend on how you treat it,” said Sanctu-Germainios. “If you will follow my instructions, you may hope to be significantly improved in a month. You will feel better before then, but your ankle will not yet be strong.” He saw her wince at his remark. “There are things you can do that do not require carrying heavy items. Devote yourself to making clothes and mending those that need it. That is as useful as carrying slops.”

“My man won’t like it,” she said with foreboding.

“If you would like, I will explain your situation to him. But whatever he may think, you will only delay your recovery if you try to resume your duties too quickly.”

Isalind looked troubled. “I have my tasks to do.”

“Not while your ankle is injured.” He regarded her steadily. “Neglect it now and it will never be fully strong again.”

She shuddered. “The monks have told me I should pray.” Sanctu-Germainios gave a single shake of his head. “Pray if you like, but do not stress your ankle.”

Although Nicoris had said nothing, she was clearly listening to everything. She used a poking-stick on the logs to get them to burn more fiercely. “Pay attention to the Dom,” she advised. “He has great skill.”

“All of us from Apulum Inferior know that,” Isalind said brusquely, going on with a bit more cordiality, “All of us have seen what he can do.”

“Then do as he tells you,” Nicoris said, bringing a stool to the side of the wooden tub.

Isalind sighed. “It isn’t that simple.”

Nicoris clicked her tongue impatiently. “Then don’t fault him when your ankle twists on you again.”

“I will speak to your man, and to Priam Corydon,” Sanctu-Germainios offered again. “The monks may have no regard for their bodies, but few of us can be so inattentive.”

“Let me think about this,” said Isalind. “It is a difficult matter. Patras Anso will put his faith above your medicaments, and my man will follow his lead.”

Sanctu-Germainios did not bother to ask why; he knew that among the Gepidae, women were not coddled—as their men put it—the way Romans coddled their women. It would require persuasion of a most practical kind to arrange for Isalind to get the care she needed. “I will do what I can to explain the risks.”

“He’s good at that,” said Nicoris. “He’s explained a lot to me. I understood him, too.”

Isalind shook her head. “You may try, Dom.”

“I will,” he said, and turned to Nicoris. “We’ll need a drying sheet for her. You may take one from my copper-banded chest.”

Nicoris nodded. “Yes, Dom,” she said, and went to get it.

“She’s devoted to you, isn’t she?” Isalind asked.

“It seems so,” said Sanctu-Germainios, adding, “Her knowledge of herbs is extensive, and she aids me in my work. I am very grateful to her.”

“Grateful?” Isalind looked startled at the word. “Why should you be grateful?”

“Why should I not? She is capable and well-informed,” he countered, and would have said more had Nicoris not returned with a drying sheet over her arm.

“There you are,” she said, addressing Isalind as she put the sheet on the raised bed, then went back to poke the fire again.

“The water will boil in good time,” said Sanctu-Germainios, regarding Nicoris with perplexity: what was she hiding, he asked himself, and why? What would be so dreadful that she would not tell him?