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.”
“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.
Bernardius pointed to the inner walls ahead. “My men are on watch until mid-day, then those of Apulum Inferior replace them. That should serve to occupy their afternoon, at least.” He swung around. “You are fortunate to have so many men with you.”
Brevios hesitated. “It would be better if we hadn’t lost nine of them coming here, and that none of them had taken an inflammation of the lungs.”
“Better yet if we hadn’t left,” grumbled Denerac.
Neves heard this and came to a halt. “Don’t say that,” he recommended. “I know what the Huns do, I’ve fought them, so has Tribune Bernardius. You have spared your families horrible suffering by abandoning your village.”
“The Huns came to Tsapousso,” said Denerac, visibly bristling; his thick, white mustaches quivered and his shoulders rose.
“And sensibly, you departed,” said Neves, unimpressed by his display.
“Yes. We left behind everything, including the dying.”
Neves nodded. “Just as the rest of us would have done in your situation. Not an easy decision, of course, but something that you had to do. Any leader must be called upon to deal with unpleasant things from time to time. You chose the most sensible action, though it was difficult.”
Before the two men became furious, Priam Corydon intervened. “No doubt each of you has had his own horrendous experience with these barbarians, and shares the desire never to have to engage with them again. Since we can’t be the ones to decide that, it behooves us to prepare for the worst they can do. We do this by improving our defenses and our housing. Don’t you agree?”
Neves and Denerac exchanged vitriolic looks, then Neves moved on. “You are fortunate that the spring is inside the inner walls; they will not be able to drive us out by thirst. We will have to lay in more meat—smoked or salted—so that we can’t be starved out, either. We will have to try to hunt in the meadows. There must be boar and deer about. Are there fish in the lake?” He reached the stairs up to the new battlement, and leaned forward to steady himself for the climb.
“A few. We could chop a hole in the ice, I suppose; we have done so before,” said Priam Corydon, setting his foot on the tread after Neves, heading upward.
The rampart-walkways were no more than eighteen hands above the ground, but high enough to raise them above the level of men on horseback, and the logs that made the walls were notched to allow for more effective use of weapons. Each upright log was bound to its neighbor by wide iron straps, making the wall especially sturdy. The heavy planks of the walkway were a hand thick and fifteen hands wide, supported by upended-log pillars and braces to the wall that added to its strength. A dozen men could stand upon this section and not fear a collapse.
Leaning forward to support himself on the steps above as Neves had done, Priam Corydon soon reached the platform, where he asked, “What of the monks living in caves around the valley?” pointing to the ridge beyond the lake, its crags towering over it. “Do you see that spur? Three of them have cells there. The rest are lower down, above the scree.”
Neves and Bernardius looked shocked; Brevios and Denarac were not surprised at anything monks might do.
“How many are there?” Neves asked, recovering himself slightly.
“Nine, if they’re all still alive,” Priam Corydon answered. “They come here on major feast days.”
Bernardius scowled out at the face of the mountain. “Nunc non fassi est,” he muttered in mangled Latin.
“It isn’t safe for them to try to reach this place, not with snow so deep,” Brevios remarked, stepping out on the walkway and squinting out at the sawtooth tor in front of them.
“Try to tell them, if you like; you need only walk half a league through deep snow,” said Priam Corydon. “They have been there for years, and only two have died in the last six years. Monachos Vlasos makes them meat, cheese, and bread on Sundays and the novices carry the food to them; in addition they’re provided meals on feast days, when they come here. They are always welcome at our table, of course, but they usually avail themselves of the welcome on feast days alone.”
“When is the next feast day?” Neves asked.
“In three days’ time,” said Priam Corydon. “It commemorates our founder, Sanctu Eustachios, who came here forty years ago.” Warming to his topic, he continued, “He had been a disciple of Sanctu Ioannos Chrysostom, and when that holy man was sent into exile, he dispersed his followers so that none would have to suffer on his account. Sanctu Eustachios, faithful to his vows to uphold traditional Christian worship, came here from Byzantiu—”
“In winter?” Denarac marveled. “Why would he come in winter?”
“He followed God’s promptings. The spring and its chapel and the walls and the warehouses and barns were here, and the dormitory; there was a small company of nine soldiers left manning it, and they were glad to have Sanctu Eustachios with them; they became his first monks. As he gained followers, the monastery itself was built. Not all pious men drawn here seek to live among others; they prefer their remote cells.”
“Why would they do that?” Bernardius asked. “This valley is isolated already. Why not accept the safety and companionship of other monks?”
“Some of them are afraid of soldiers, and of strangers, some have secrets they want to preserve, one of them is troubled in his mind and unwilling to live among others, or so they have told the novices; only four of them attended the Nativity Feast. They will join us again before many more days go by, when you may ask them for yourself.” After a moment, Priam Corydon continued, “And some of them disapprove of what we’re doing here.”
“Disapprove?” Bernardius blurted, much shocked. “Why on earth should they disapprove?”
“They believe that to do anything to interfere with the unfolding of events is to go against God’s Will, and therefore anyone who doesn’t surrender to the fate of the world falls from Grace. If they strive to save themselves in this world, they damn themselves in the next,” said Priam Corydon. “They say that if God wants us to be saved, He will save us: we disrespect Him if we seek to defend ourselves. It is for us to acquiesce in the Will of God, not to defy Him.”
“Then they’re fools!” Bernardius flapped his arms to show his indignation. “The Huns don’t care about God.”
“Do you think the hermits could be a problem for us?” Neves asked the Priam. “Would they aid the Huns?”
“Actively aid them, no,” said Priam Corydon. “But they would do nothing to stop them.”
Brevios shuddered. “Would they be willing to warn us of anything they see that might endanger the monastery?”
Priam Corydon considered this. “I doubt it,” he told them at last. “It is likely that they would pray for God to use them according to His Will if they saw trouble coming.”
“All the better then, that I’ve posted men on the mountains,” said Neves, being as practical as he could
.
“Very likely,” said Brevios. “If you need more men to stand guard, I will provide some of our Watchmen. Ours is the largest delegation here: it is fitting that we shoulder the greater part of the care of this place.”
Last onto the platform was Denerac, who brushed off the front of his wolfskin byrrus, then glowered out at the rising crags and said, “We had a monk who came to Tsapousso and preached the same nonsense. A few of our people believed him and would not evacuate with us: they remained behind and that was the last we heard of them.” He shook his head slowly. “What God would ask that of His worshippers? Martyrdom ought to have its limits.”
“Monachos Anatolios would approve of what they did,” said Priam Corydon dryly. “He says it is what he will do.”
“Then I hope the Huns will be merciful and make short work of him,” said Neves. “Since his God will not spare him.”
Priam Corydon made the sign of the cross toward the mountains. “May he enter Heaven singing.”
“Screaming, more likely,” said Denerac, his glare daring Priam Corydon to contradict him. “If the Huns take him, he’ll have a proper foretaste of Hell, and no mistaking.”
“Preco ni Dei me induxerunt in multos erroris,” Bernardius whispered in his chaotic Latin.
“Praying won’t save you,” Denerac grumbled. “Tell those monks that they may help us, or they may keep to their cells, but it must be one or the other.”
Brevios cleared his throat. “There are two families with our group who have declared their intention to leave as soon as travel is possible. I cannot compel them to remain. If they feel they must depart, I will be unable to stop them.”
“If they feel that way when the snows begin to melt, then let them go, so that they will not interfere with our efforts,” said Neves. “The same with Bernardius’ group. No one should have to stay here if the roads are passable if they would prefer not to.” He sighed. “We may have still more wanting to depart, come spring.”
Burning Shadows: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain (Saint-Germain series Book 23) Page 15
