Burning Shadows (35 page)

You will not be released immediately, but I am assured that once they have the one hundred twenty golden Emperors in hand to cover the cost of your detention and investigation, you will be permitted to leave the city, and the Eclipse Trading Company will be free of all suspicion. I have pledged to produce the money within ten days, which is not as large an amount as I had suspected we would be asked to provide. I must assume that Dom Sanctu-Germainios has powerful friends in the ports where our ships call, for nothing his associates in this city have said has been able to bring about your release. If you will inform me who among your guards and attendants is to be given a token of your gratitude, I will see to the amounts at once so that no one will have reason to keep you from leaving.

I understand that the priest who spearheaded the inquiries into Eclipse Trading Company has been assigned to the Imperial Magisterial Court in Tarsus in the former Imperial Province of Cilicia, to monitor the terms of trade in that port, so you may be easy in your mind about coming to Constantinople again. Inform Dom Sanctu-Germainios of these developments, but use an Imperial courier to carry any message you dispatch before your release.

My congratulations on your deliverance,

Artemidorus
Iocopolis

factor, Eclipse Trading Company

Constantinople, Roman Empire in the East

2

As summer took hold of the Carpathian Mountains a few more travelers fetched up at Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit, bearing tales of Huns and refugees in ever-more-colorful details. More refugees straggled into the monastery in groups of three to twenty, seeking the only true asylum to be found in the whole of this part of the mountain range; there had been raids on villages three and four leagues away, but no large company of Huns was seen on the road to the monastery, and no Hunnic scouts wandered this part of the mountains. Encouraged by this apparent indifference of the Huns, another ninety-six people left the protection of the monastery’s double walls and set out southward for Roman-held territory, leaving the monastery unevenly staffed, and the defenders troubled by the loss of men to fight in case of another attack; most of the new arrivals had had their fill of fighting and were set to more commonplace labors.

Antoninu Neves and Tribune Rotlandus Bernardius strove to integrate their two groups of men, arriving at an arrangement that they hoped would be most likely to work in the event the Huns returned in force. The Watchmen of Apulum Inferior were added to the company of soldiers and mercenaries. Priam Corydon set up a council among his monks to help ease their dissatisfaction with the refugees, promising his followers to enforce stricter codes of behavior on those living within the walls. Four huntsmen from Tsapousso were injured while hunting for wild boar when the animal they sought turned on them; they brought home the boar and were treated by Dom Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios, who occupied a portion of each day digging in the slopes around Sanctu-Eustachios for malachite, which he powdered into medicine and used on those coming to him with injuries; it was not as effective as his sovereign remedy, but it was better than nothing.

Two days after the refugees’ festivities for the Summer Solstice— which offended the monks, being given over to rowdiness and lasciviousness and other pagan excesses—a lone man riding an ash-colored horse and leading a well-laden bay horse and two mules arrived at the gates of the monastery. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed, dressed in a pallium and trabea of heavy linen, leather braccae decorated with lavish embroidery, and calcea laced from ankle to knee. Although he had no escort, his air was prosperous, and when he presented himself to the warder-monk and Watchman, he offered a handsome sum for admission. “I prefer to pay for a bed within than to camp outside.”

“Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit will—”

Mangueinic, summoned to the gate for his advice, interrupted, “Two horses, two mules, no guards. He seems harmless enough. Let him in. If nothing else, he should have news for us. And he says he’s willing to pay.” He signaled to the Watchman manning the gates to pull them open.

Once inside, and the gates secured behind him, the stranger dismounted and saluted first the monk, then the Watchman, saying, “Thank you for admitting me. I am come from Aquileia at the behest of the Roman noblewoman Atta Olivia Clemens, with supplies that may help you in this difficult time. I am her bondsman, Niklos Aulirios, and I bear a greeting from her.” He spoke the regional dialect with a strong Greek accent, and noticed that he had attracted some attention from the guards in the gate-tower.

Monachos Egidius Remigos nodded brusquely. “Give me the greeting from your bond-holder. I will present it to the Priam. You are welcome to Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit.” He indicated the leader of the Watch, who stood next to him. “Mangueinic will see to your housing.” And with that, he took the letter and the gold coin Niklos proffered with equal disdain for each, then trod off toward the monastery church, saying something under his breath as he went.

“Cordial fellow,” said Niklos.

“He’s tired of dealing with the laity.” Leaning heavily on his crutch, Mangueinic offered Niklos the suggestion of a salute. “Your animals can be taken to the stable to be unloaded, watered, groomed, and fed. I will show you where you can sleep for the duration of your stay.” He swung away from Niklos and took his first step away, heading toward the main barn and stable.

Niklos gave Mangueinic a glittering smile as he took the lead- reins of his four animals in hand, tugging them after him. “I am told that Dom Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios is here. He is a blood relative of Bondama Clemens; I have messages from her to deliver to him. Perhaps it would be possible for me to share his quarters?”

“Do you know Dom Sanctu-Germainios?” Mangueinic looked startled.

“We have met occasionally over the years,” said Niklos, who had been restored to life by Sanct’ Germainus more than a century before. “No doubt he would recognize me, if you wonder at our connection.”

“Dom Sanctu-Germainios is out on the eastern ridge, digging for malachite,” said Mangueinic, watching Niklos through narrowed eyes. “But his assistant is in the old chapel. You could tell her you are here, and then wait for the Dom to return and decide what he would like you to do.” He considered for a long moment. “It would be easiest if you were to stay with him and the woman in the old chapel.”

“If that is what will suit you, then I will comply, with thanks,” said Niklos, his face showing the most cordial expression he could muster; he wondered who
the woman
was. “If you’ll accompany me to the stable, or direct me where to find it, and whom I should speak with there, I’ll see to the unloading of the mules and horse.”

“There are slaves who will do that,” said Mangueinic.

“No doubt there are,” said Niklos, maintaining his geniality, but with a touch more decisiveness in his tone. “Nonetheless, I would prefer to do the task myself.”

Mangueinic shrugged. “Whatever you say, Bondsman. If you seek more work for yourself, who am I to deny you?” He went on down toward the barn and stable, remaining silent until they reached the stable-yard. “There are line-stalls within, and paddocks behind. You’ll want to bring them in at night; it may be summer, but wolves and bears and cats are hungry all the same.”

“I’m aware of that,” said Niklos, stepping into the shadow of the stable, clucking to his animals. “Come up,” he said in Latin to the four of them; his ash-colored horse craned his neck, wary of this new place. Then he whinnied, and was answered by a chorus of others from inside and outside the stable. “Conduct, Vulcan, conduct,” Niklos admonished him, kissing to him to urge him forward. “Remember: we are guests here.”

Vulcan minced into the alley between the line-stalls, pulling the bay and the mules after him; three slaves rushed forward to help him.

“Just tie them and tell me where I may store my tack,” said Niklos, once again in the local patois, forestalling their efforts.

“You may store it atop your chests, once you have unladed them. No one will touch it, or them; we have strict rules here regarding theft,” said Mangueinic, then scratched his beard, giving Niklos another thorough scrutiny. “Yes. I’ll leave you to your animals. When you’re finished here, ask one of the slaves to show you to the old chapel, or have anyone point the way.” He stumped toward the door, then faltered. “You really do know the Dom, don’t you?”

“Yes; as I said, he and the Bondama are blood relations.” Niklos was tying Vulcan to a long railing that ran half the length of the middle of the stable. “I haven’t seen him in some years, but we aren’t total strangers.”

“Very good,” said Mangueinic, and went back out into the sunlight.

Niklos separated the leads of his other equines and handed them to the slaves. “Just secure them. I’ll manage the rest,” he said. “What food for them?” asked the nearest slave.

“If you have grain, a handful of grain and a flake of hay for each, in the manger where they’ll be tied. And some raisins, if you have any. They like raisins. For now, a bucket of water for each.” He patted Vulcan on the neck and went to unfasten his bedroll from the back of the saddle, dropping it onto the ground before loosening the girth and pulling it free from the buckles. The mules—both a version of dun: one butter-colored, one dust, both with charcoal manes and tails—dropped their heads as the slaves tied them to the railing, with enough length in the lead to enable them to reach the full buckets of water set hurriedly beneath the rail. The bay horse whickered as Niklos came to unload his pack-saddle. “Where do I stack the chests and cases?”

“There,” said one of the slaves, pointing to a recess in the line of mangers. “Put your animals on either side of your things.”

“I will; thank you,” said Niklos, ignoring the surprise in the slaves’ eyes. By the time he finished unpacking, untacking, grooming, feeding, and stalling the horses and mules, a number of residents of the monastery had come by the stable to ask him where he had come from, how his journey had been, and why he had made it; Niklos answered them the same way, with honesty: “I am here on an errand ordered by Bondama Atta Olivia Clemens, Roman noblewoman, presently living on her estate near Aquileia, who has entrusted me with a message and supplies for her blood relation Dom Sanctu-Germainios.” By the time he left his horses and mules in their stalls to eat, he was sure almost everyone in the monastery knew his mission, and had begun adding their imaginations to what they knew.

Leaving the stable, he asked one of Antoninu Neves’ men where he might find the old chapel. The mercenary—a Goth with braids in his orange beard—pointed the way, and in exchange, wanted to know how conditions on the roads were. “Are there many travelers abroad?”

“Not as many as I have encountered in years past. The Roman roads are in poor repair, but I suppose you know that. Every traveler deplores their condition. The secondary roads are no better; some are much worse. There are four bridges I wouldn’t care to cross between here and Drobetae, and a fifth that I’d use only in dire need.” 

“There is a man here from Drobetae,” the soldier remarked. “He says much the same thing.”

“I should hope so, unless he’s been here for years, or isn’t being completely candid about himself,” said Niklos, aware that the inquiry had been a trap to see if he had actually come from the Roman south. “And I doubt there’ll be much improvement over the next year, not with the Huns continuing their raids. No one would be foolish enough to take work-gangs out.”

“Then you believe they still might come here?” The mercenary sounded as if this were in question. “The Huns?”

“Oh, yes,” said Niklos. “They have built up a major camp to the northwest of here, at the edge of the plains, or so everyone I met coming from that direction has claimed. They are gathering forces there, enlarging their armies, and recruiting local soldiers to their ranks. They’ve already sacked most of the towns in this quarter of the mountains; they’ll pick off these small valleys at their leisure.” He started walking toward the old chapel; the mercenary fell in half a step behind him.

“So, do you think we’ll have to fight?”

“I fear so, if you remain here,” said Niklos.

“But when? Other places have fallen, but not…” He gestured to finish his thought.

Niklos shaded his eyes to look at the small fields and the orchard in the widest separation of the two defensive walls. “I’d expect the Huns to come in the autumn, after the harvest, to take your crops as well as your animals. They have many mouths to feed, and they aren’t farmers.” He said this as bluntly as he could, and saw the suggestion of a smile cross the man’s face. “You want to fight them?”

“Certainly—so we can win,” he said almost merrily, his hand on the hilt of his Byzantine sword.

“Are you sure you will? Be able to defend this place from them?” Niklos asked. “I’ve seen what the Huns do to small places like this.” He made no attempt to suppress a shudder; he had passed through Hunnic devastation only four days ago and the vision of the havoc they had left was still sharp in his mind. “Other village fortresses had defenders, too, and they’re nothing but rubble now, rubble and ash, with bones strewn through them.” He had passed through five other such ruins on his travels north; he knew that the monastery would not be able to withstand any concerted attack by the Huns or any other company of barbarians or rogues.