Burning Shadows: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain (Saint-Germain series Book 23)

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  The youth mumbled a response, his teeth still chattering as he tried to pray.

  “Did you see who attacked you?” Priam Corydon asked as he put the branches onto the glowing embers of the night-fire.

  “No. They weren’t monks,” he answered with some vehemence.

  “Not monks,” said Priam Corydon as he stepped back to avoid the shower of sparks that accompanied his prodding of the coals with the fire-fork.

  “No. They didn’t smell like monks, they didn’t sound like monks . . .” His voice faded suddenly, becoming a mewl of pain.

  Priam Corydon abandoned his efforts on the fire and knelt down next to Ritt. “It won’t be much longer. You will be better by dawn.”

  “May God spare me,” the novice cried softly.

  “We will pray for you at the morning Office.”

  Ritt nodded listlessly.

  The sound of a door closing thundered along the corridor, and almost at once there was the sharp report of rapid footsteps from two persons; Priam Corydon had rarely heard such a welcome sound. He got to his feet, anticipating the return of Monachos Vlasos with the physician.

  “Priam Corydon,” said Monachos Vlasos as he entered the main kitchen, “this is Dom Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios, the regional guardian of Apulum Inferior.”

  “God reward you for coming, Dom,” said Priam Corydon, liking the man he saw: a bit taller than most, sturdily built with a deep chest and powerful, well-shaped legs, his dark hair trimmed in the old Roman style; his cheeks were shaved, and his narrow beard was carefully cut; his countenance was regular, although his nose was a little askew. His most striking feature were his eyes: the most compelling dark eyes that seemed almost black but glinted blue. He carried a leather case under his waxed-wool byrrus.

  “Monachos Vlasos tells me that he and his assistants were attacked by men seeking to steal meat from the larder.” His eyes went from Priam Corydon’s to the novice. “It looks as if the boy has taken the worst of the fight.”

  “I couldn’t see them,” Ritt grumbled.

  Sanctu-Germainios crouched next to the novice and eased him out of his huddle so that he could examine his arm. “They bent the arm back and snapped both bones below the elbow; I think they may have intended to break the bone above the elbow, not the two lower ones,” he said when he had finished his scrutiny. “And they unseated the elbow in its joint. I’ll have to align the bones and splint them before I reset the joint.”

  “How long will it take?” Priam Corydon asked.

  “No longer than it must,” Sanctu-Germainios said, and looked about the kitchen. “How long until the cooks begin the breakfast?”

  “The monastery’s slaves will rise in a short while. They will be here well before sunrise,” said Priam Corydon.

  “Then is there a room nearby where I may take this young man?” Sanctu-Germainios asked. “Preferably one with a large table and torches or oil-lamps for light?”

  Priam Corydon answered quickly. “There is a drying room for herbs and fruit. It has a table and two trees of oil-lamps.”

  “How far away?”

  This time Monachos Vlasos answered. “It is on the west end of this extension—about twenty paces.”

  “That should do. When the lamps are lit, I will set to work there.” Sanctu-Germainios looked down at Ritt. “I will carry you, but before I do, I will give you an anodyne drink so that you will not have much pain.”

  “Do you want me to summon monks or slaves to carry him?” Priam Corydon asked.

  “I can carry him,” said Sanctu-Germainios. He opened his case and took out a small, covered cup, which he held to Ritt’s lips. “Drink this. Not too quickly.”

  The novice did his best to comply, only once giving a sputtering cough. “God spare me,” he whispered before he finished the contents of the cup.

  Monachos Vlasos left the kitchen, saying, “I’ll light the lamps.”

  A short while later, Sanctu-Germainios lifted Ritt in his arms with little show of effort, and bore him into the drying room; he was struck at once by the odor of fennel and thyme, rosemary and figs, but he paid no attention to them as he laid Ritt out on the table, took his case from Priam Corydon, and said, “I have slats for splinting, but I may need cloth for a sling.”

  “I will have someone bring it to you. Will linen do?”

  “Very well.” He paused. “Also, I may be a bit late for the meeting this morning. I hope you will explain my absence to the others.”

  “Certainly. God be thanked for you.” The Priam made the sign of the cross, then withdrew from the room, praying that he had made the right choice and that Dom Sanctu-Germainios would be able to care for Ritt properly. He worried about his decision through prayers and breakfast and the first of his meetings that morning, trying to keep his mind on what the Tribune of Ulpia Traiana had to say rather than fretting about Ritt.

  “It is for me to uphold the honor of the Legions, for the sake of my great-great-grandfathers, who served so well. Honoribus Romanum, as they would have said.” Bernardius folded his arms to express his determination and pride of heritage, and a lack of awareness of his ramshackle Latin. “I’ll be glad to organize a temporary garrison here, of course.” He was a tall, substantial man with hazel-green eyes and a true Roman nose that was marred by an angled scar; his light-brown hair was thinning, so like Gaius Julius Caesar, over four hundred years before, he combed it all forward and kept it trimmed short.

  “I had hoped it would not come to that,” said Priam Corydon.

  “So might we all hope,” said Rotlandus Bernardius. “But the Huns might not feel so magnanimous. We should prepare for the worst, you know.”

  “I know,” said Priam Corydon heavily.

  “There are men enough to do the needed labor, and enough of them to man the battlements when they are completed.” Bernardius made an abrupt turn about the confined space that was Priam Corydon’s office. “I will speak with the Watchmen from Apulum Inferior, and between them and my men, we should be able to set up a successful defense for all of Sanctu-Eustachios.”

  Mangueinic eased himself more comfortably into his chair, taking care to adjust the soft shearling lining the socket of his wooden leg to prevent any binding against his healing stump. “Enlitus Brevios will welcome the chance to assist in protecting this place; it is fitting that we do our part to preserve Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit. Our Watchmen are eager to demonstrate their gratitude for the haven you provide.” Although he knew his presence was due to his new appointment as advisor to the Watchmen of Apulum Inferior, he was determined to make himself useful.

  “That would be welcome,” Priam Corydon conceded. “If we must fight, it would be better left to secular men.”

  “So I think,” said Bernardius, and was about to continue when there was a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?” Priam Corydon asked, wondering what had happened now.

  “Sanctu-Germainios. Your novice is resting in his cell; his broken arm is set and splinted and his elbow is realigned. I will look in on him at mid-day.”

  “God be praised,” said Priam Corydon, making the sign of the cross.

  “Is this the regional guardian of Apulum Inferior?” Bernardius asked quietly. “I have been told he is an accomplished man for a foreigner.”

  “Yes. Would you like to speak with him?” He started toward the door before Bernardius could answer.

  “He’s an excellent fellow: excellent,” Mangueinic informed Bernardius.

  “Your people say good things of him,” said Bernardius, “for all that he isn’t a true Roman, a Byzantine, or even a Goth.”

  Not wanting to show any sign of favor, Priam Corydon said nothing to the Tribune and the former leader of the Watchmen; he called out to the black-clad foreigner, who was already some distance away from the door, “Dom Sanctu-Germainios, if you would join us for a short while . . .”

  Sanctu-Germainios stopped and looked back. “As you like,” he said, coming back to Priam Cor
ydon.

  To account for his request, Priam Corydon remarked, “I thought it would take longer for you to finish your care of Ritt.”

  “So did I,” Sanctu-Germainios said as he entered the office. “His break was less complicated than I had expected, and his elbow had not swelled much, so my work was quickly done.” He looked at the man across the room and made a shrewd guess. “You must be the Tribune of Ulpia Traiana.”

  Bernardius gave a startled stare. “I am.”

  “It is a privilege to meet you at last, Tribune,” said Sanctu-Germainios with a little salute, his right hand touching his left shoulder before he extended it to Bernardius.

  “The Tribune was just explaining his plans for garrisoning the monastery,” said Priam Corydon. “The refugees from Ulpia Traiana, Apulum Inferior, and—what was that other town?”

  “Tsapousso,” Sanctu-Germainios supplied.

  “Ah, yes: Tsapousso,” said Priam Corydon. “It seems to me that if you can come to an accord, it would be useful to all of us.”

  “I cannot speak for any of the refugees,” Sanctu-Germainios pointed out. “But I can help us all agree on your plan’s particulars.”

  “We need a clear statement, all proper,” Bernardius agreed. “Something everyone can understand.”

  “Then let us address our concerns; I will send for the recorder for Sanctu-Eustachios to take down our discussion,” said Priam Corydon, and decided to send for Monachos Niccolae of Sinu to record their agreement. “We will distribute our items of agreement throughout all the monastery.”

  “An excellent notion,” said Mangueinic, trying not to fret as his missing foot began to itch once more.

  “Then let us discuss our intentions while one of the novices brings Monachos Niccolae to us,” Priam Corydon proposed. “The agreement could be read at supper to everyone.”

  “In Roman and Byzantine dialects, as well as Gothic, Dacian, and the languages of the Gepidae and the Carpi,” Mangueinic appended. “We may need more besides.”

  “Yes,” said Priam Corydon heavily. “In all those tongues, if we are to understand one another. Those of your men who know two languages will prove most useful to all of us.” He was fairly sure that Monachos Niccolae would resent such a demanding task. “Can any of you help him with other languages? We wish to make this task as undaunting as possible.”

  “I can,” said Sanctu-Germainios.

  Text of the agreement for conduct and order at Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit monastery, written officially in Byzantine Greek with copies in five other tongues.

  To the monks, novices, slaves, soldiers, and refugees currently resident at Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit monastery, take heed to observe these terms of order to be enforced from this, the twelfth day following the Winter Solstice, in the new Christian Year of 439:

  This is a haven for all who have come here, and it must be part of our purpose to keep it as safe for all those living within its walls. Comradeship must be maintained among all of us sharing the dormitories, the warehouse, the provisions for livestock, and all other aspects of civilized Christian life. To that end, we endorse and will impose the following regulations, all implementation of prescribed punishments to be administered equally, showing no favor to one group or person over another:

  There shall be no physical disputes among any of the residents. Any residents who resort to fighting may be confined to cells for five days for a first offense, and exiled from the monastery for a second offense. Any resident whose fighting has caused a death will be exiled at the first offense.

  Any abuse of any of the women abiding within the monastery walls will result in castration of the offender and immediate exile.

  Any theft of monies or possessions will be put before a magisterial committee consisting of: Priam Corydon of Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit; Mangueinic, advisor to the Watchmen of Apulum Inferior; Denerac of Tsapousso; and Tribune Rotlandus Bernardius of Ulpia Traiana. Anyone found guilty of theft will be confined to a cell for ten days for a first offense, confined to a cell for a month for a second offense, and exiled for a third. Anyone maliciously and erroneously accusing another of theft will spend five days in a cell for a first offense, and exiled for a second.

  Any deliberate insults visited upon one group of refugees to another, or to a monk or novice, or to soldiers, will result in those offering the insults to have beer and roasted game withheld from all of the members of that group for a period of ten days for a first offense and for fifteen days for a second, the withholding to be supervised by Monachos Bessamos or Monachos Vlasos according to the preference of the offended group. Any monk insulting any refugee or soldier will be confined to his cell for a period of fifteen days, and fed on bread and water.

  Any resident deliberately inciting fear in other residents will be confined to a monk’s cell for thirty days.

  Any resident resorting to lewd or irreligious behavior will be confined to a cell for a period of ten days for a first offense, thirty for a second offense, and exile for a third.

  Any resident found stealing foodstuffs or hoarding needed food will be consigned to a cell for ten days for a first offense and exiled for a second.

  Any resident withholding feed for the livestock of others in favor of his own will be fined half of his food supply for his animals for a first offense, and will lose title to his livestock entirely for a second. Any hunter holding back his kill from the residents of Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit will be confined to a cell for ten days for a first offense and confined for thirty days for a second one, and be deprived of his bows, arrows, and spears for a period of two months.

  Those who offend against these regulations may expect the punishments described to be meted out promptly. Enforcement of the regulations will be the province of the Watchmen of Ulpia Traiana and Apulum Inferior. Those who believe they have been wrongfully accused may engage an advocate to press that claim, provided the advocate is approved by at least three of the undersigned.

  Agreed to by:

  Rotlandus Bernardius, Tribune of Ulpia Traiana

  Mangueinic, advisor to the Watchmen of Apulum Inferior

  (his mark)

  Denerac, master of Tsapousso (his mark)

  Priam Corydon of Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit

  Witnessed by:

  Monachos Niccolae of Sinu, recorder for Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit

  Dom Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios, regional

  guardian of Apulum Inferior (his sigil, the eclipse)

  Enlitus Brevios, deputy to Mangueinic (his mark)

  2

  “That feels . . . wonderful,” Nicoris sighed as Sanctu-Germainios’ small, strong hands worked their way down her aching back, kneading out the tension that had taken hold of her. “It wasn’t an easy day,” she said with a sigh of pleasure as she felt another knot give way, “not with the mason smashing his arm between stones, and the farrier getting himself kicked in the head by a lame mule.” Just speaking of these two dreadful accidents brought back the horror she had done her utmost to submerge during the time she had worked to assist Sanctu-Germainios with the injured and the ill. She tried now to shift her attention beyond the thick wooden walls, out into the night, where there was the muffled silence of snowfall that wrapped the whole valley in a thick cloak of smooth white. Mixed with the myriad flakes on the deceptively gentle wind was the scent of wood-smoke and the odor of grilled meat, a reminder of the nine hundred seventy-eight people—townsmen, their wives and children, farmers and their families, goat-and-shepherds, soldiers, servants, slaves, and monks—within the walls of Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit, all shut up in close quarters against the growing storm.

  “It is unfortunate that the farrier survived,” said Sanctu-Germainios, his face revealing little emotion as he considered the man from Tsapousso.

  She raised herself on her elbows and turned toward him. “Unfortunate? Why?—he’s alive, isn’t he? If his wound doesn’t putrify, won’t he recover?” The square-sleeved linen tunic
a she wore over her woollen stola had spots of blood and brain on it left over from treating the farrier; she had made a point of ignoring them until now, and wished she had removed the engulfing tunica when she had taken off her femoralia and calcea so she need not have such a reminder: surely the stola would be garment enough for propriety, and she would not feel so queasy. She wondered if Sanctu-Germainios was as sympathetic as he seemed, for his equanimity made her think that it might be a sign of indifference to her, or to the farrier’s suffering.

  “Because after such a blow to the head, he will not be able to function as he did before he was injured. It will be some days before we know how extensive his impairments may be, but without doubt he will have them. He may lose some or all of his ability to speak, or his coordination may go, and leave him incapable of working. He may forget everyone he knows, or where he is. He will probably have to learn his profession all over again, if he has concentration and energy enough to permit him to trim and shoe hooves, which he may not.”

  “You sound so positive that he will remain . . . damaged.” She bit her lower lip. “How can you be certain?”

  “A blow to the head often brings serious problems with it. Anything that cracks the skull can ravage the person who endures it. Given the extent of his hurts, it is beyond doubt that he will have lasting effects from them. At the very least, he will be disfigured.” He thought back to the Temple of Imhotep, recalling the times he had seen devastating fractures to the head; he shook off the memories. “He may yet curse us for saving his life, and with good cause.”

  “You were so . . . so composed when you picked out the bone splinters with those little grabbers and then put in that piece of ivory to cover the—” Nicoris closed her eyes, trying to shut out the recollection of the farrier with the left side of his head broken and bloody, with his soft, whitish brains showing through the cracks. “Don’t you ever feel the repugnance such injuries cause?”

  “Yes,” he said steadily. “But I have had more years to learn to quiesce my revulsion than you have.” The L-shaped alcove off the old chapel near the barns that had been turned over to them to serve as a treatment room was warmer than most of the old wooden building, which was drafty as a tree and as empty; only a square stone altar gave any sign that the chapel was a place of worship. Here in the alcove at least there was a fire in the hearth, a stout door between them and the nave, and shutters on the windows; the low couch on which she lay was padded with goat-hair and covered with a cotton blanket, making it comfortable and warm, which even he found soothing.