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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Exactly. He could not go over to the Huns; unless his hand is sound, they will not accept him,” said Sanctu-Germainios.

  Monachos Niccolae glowered in his direction. “And how is it you know such things?”

  “I know them from listening to what has been said about the Huns for the last four years,” said Sanctu-Germainios. “As you do.”

  Priam Corydon held up his hand. “As we all do,” he said, making an effort to enlarge on his observation. “Every traveler has tales about Huns and we listen to each word as if they were angels and their revelations gospel. There is no reason to be suspicious of anyone purporting to have knowledge about the Huns, particularly this man, since he has served as a regional guardian and therefore has heard more than most of us about the Huns.”

  Sanctu-Germainios lowered his head. “You are most kind, Priam.”

  “Kind? I am a sensible person, nothing more.” He folded his arms. “If you can mine safely, then you may have your malachite.” Then he looked at Monachos Niccolae. “You are circumspect, Monachos, and that is a laudable trait, but neither of these men is an enemy of this place, or anyone in it.”

  Monachos Niccolae made the sign of the fish. “As you say,” he muttered, and backed toward the door. “Until our next prayers.”

  “God save you,” said Priam Corydon automatically, then, as the door closed, gave Mangueinic a hard look. “So what do you recommend be done about Severac? Do we give him time to heal and then turn him out into the world, assuming his hand is strong enough?”

  “I haven’t decided upon anything yet; not until the Dom tells me how much of a chance Severac has of getting the use of his hand back.”

  “It may not be a popular decision,” Priam Corydon warned. “No other man sent away from this monastery has been allowed to delay his departure.”

  “No other man had such injuries,” said Sanctu-Germainios. “If he leaves now, I can tell you without doubt that the cuts will putrify and that he will not survive.”

  “Then sending him away would be sentencing him to death.” Priam Corydon stared at the elaborate Greek crucifix above the door. “I understand that. You made it clear.”

  “The others at least had a chance. Severac has none.” Mangueinic slammed his fist into his palm. “But we must uphold our rules, or there will be chaos here, and we needn’t wait for the Huns to destroy us.”

  “Very true,” said Priam Corydon. “Very well; I will pray on the matter and give you my decision tomorrow. Will you be able to assess his condition by then, Dom?”

  “I should think so,” said Sanctu-Germainios. “I ought to know how severely his hand has been damaged by then—what ligaments have been cut.”

  “I thank you for that,” the Priam said. “If he is truly crippled, then we must regard his case differently than those of able-bodied men.” He glanced toward the window. “I’ll be glad when the weather clears. Having almost everyone indoors in such close quarters sours people, like animals kept stalled too long.”

  “Truly,” Sanctu-Germainios said. “As does constant worry.”

  Priam Corydon made the sign of the fish. “As we have reason to see every day.” He sighed, “It shows a lack of faith.”

  Mangueinic cleared his throat. “No cause for us to become morbid about it,” he growled. “It isn’t fitting that we should succumb to despair.”

  “You’re right,” said Priam Corydon, pushing himself to his feet again. “In fact, it is a sin. Your rebuke is righteous.”

  “I’m not rebuking you,” said Mangueinic, shocked at the idea.

  “Well, it would be fitting, in any case,” said Priam Corydon, going toward the door. “Best not to be laggard all day; it presents a bad example.” He stopped next to Mangueinic and laid his hand on his shoulder. “Difficult though it has been, you’ve shouldered your task well, Watchmen Leader; you deserve far more gratitude than you will probably see.”

  Feeling abashed, Mangueinic mumbled, “Most kind, Priam.”

  Priam Corydon turned to Sanctu-Germainios. “You, too, deserve the gratitude of many and will not see enough of it.”

  Sanctu-Germainios said nothing as he followed Priam Corydon and Mangueinic out of the office, though he found himself considering the many hazards he had experienced as the result of gratitude. As they reached the intersection of corridors, he said, “There are many problems still to be dealt with—assuming Severac is not in fit condition to be exiled.”

  “There are,” said Priam Corydon. “I’ve been reviewing the various possibilities since I left my office, and I think this may satisfy all those concerned: if Severac were to profess himself a penitent and join this monastery as a monk, I think the people will agree not to enforce his exile. What do you—”

  They turned toward the foot of the Orthodox-cross–shaped building, bound for the refectory, when they heard a harsh voice announce, “God is displeased with you all! He has seen your sins!”

  “Monachos Anatolios,” said Priam Corydon, and lengthened his stride, waving to the men with him to hurry.

  “God has offered you Salvation, and you spurn His gift! You set yourselves up in pride and rebellion to Christian teaching, and then you add to your error by imploring His aid in your endeavors.” The voice was rising in volume and pitch. “He will not be merciful forever. Every day that you cling to your defenses here, you reveal the failure of your faith.”

  Monachos Vlasos was standing in the door to the refectory, a wedge-shaped kitchen knife in his hands, his arms folded. “Priam,” he said as Priam Corydon came up to him, “I could not stop him. He insisted on addressing the monks.”

  “And you chose not to fight with him,” said Priam Corydon, resignation in every part of him.

  Monachos Vlasos looked abashed. “Fighting isn’t permitted. Otherwise, I would have—”

  Priam Corydon held up his hand. “I can’t dispute that.”

  Monachos Vlasos made the sign of the fish. “He is a most demanding man. His faith is powerful within him.” He kept his voice low so as not to interfere with Monachos Anatolios’ harangue.

  “—in the Name of God. With your surrender to His Will, nothing will be denied you. You will walk on water, as Christ did, you will stand amid fire and remain unscathed, and you will vanquish armies with a shepherd’s staff. Yet you prefer to cling to the ways of the world, forgoing the exaltation of His Glory in Paradise!” Monachos Anatolios held his thin arms up, the palms toward the ceiling, his lopsided face suffused with a rapture of rage. “But you fail Him! You impose your will on His Will, like ungrateful children. You do not believe His promise!” He stared at the men seated at the long tables, a hard light in his deep-sunk eyes. “Look at you! Huddling behind walls like rats, giving power to men of violence, not men of prayer. None of you has the courage of your religion to walk beyond the walls armed only with the Gospels. You will not face the Huns but on their terms, blood and fire. And you claim you are Christians!”

  Priam Corydon stepped into the refectory. “Monachos Anatolios,” he said firmly, “you are welcome at our table. We are pleased to have you pray with us. But this is not the place for you to preach.”

  “What better place?” Monachos Anatolios rounded on Priam Corydon. “Our Lord preached while his Apostles were at table. I seek only to emulate His perfect example.”

  “You seek to disrupt the spirit of community that is present here; you have lost your humility in your pursuit of holiness,” said Priam Corydon, resisting the urge to take a step back from him. “In the name of Christ, you must not bring rancor here.”

  “I bring no rancor,” declared Monachos Anatolios, his face becoming red with ire. “I bring only the duty of monks, to submit to God in all things. How can you call that rancor?”

  “If you want to make yourself a martyr, so be it,” said Priam Corydon, straightening his posture and meeting Monachos Anatolios’ glare with one of his own. “The monks here are pledged to defend and protect the souls of their fellow-Christians, the refuge
es and soldiers who are within—”

  “Christians!” Monachos Anatolios jeered. “Those soldiers you protect make sacrifices to pagan demons. I have seen them in their red caps, giving up offering to the Persian Mithras. Their heresy has brought you to this sorry pass, for God punishes apostasy.”

  “Whatever they do, so long as they honor our faith, God will not be so uncharitable to deny them Grace for fighting our enemies. Their diligence in our cause will bring them Salvation through God’s Mercy.” Priam Corydon made the sign of the cross, holding Monachos Anatolios’ gaze unflinchingly. “Your devotion may compel you to expose yourself to needless danger as a sign of your faith, but I have sworn an oath that I will succor those in my charge, and keep them from the pains of the world, and that is what I will do while there is breath in my body.”

  “A false oath, made to men in finery and jewels, living amid the corruption of the Imperial Court, claiming to be true to Christ and His Redemption.”

  The monks seated at the table were becoming restive; although speaking was forbidden, a murmuring joined with the whisper of the rain as the men listened to this confrontation.

  Priam Corydon noticed this, and he spoke more quietly but with no loss of authority. “You must come away from here so that the monks may take their meal in peace. If you insist on prosecuting your intent, you may address the residents—all of them—in the main courtyard before sunset. I will guarantee that rain or no rain, you will have listeners.” He motioned to Monachos Vlasos. “Take Monachos Anatolios to the kitchen and feed him fish soup and bread, then take him to the church so he may join with our novice in perpetual prayer.”

  There was no protest that Monachos Anatolios could make to such offers that would not compromise him in the eyes of the monks, so he made the sign of the fish. “I pray that God will reveal Himself to you so that you will no longer remain in stubborn, willful error.”

  “As I pray the same for you,” said Priam Corydon. “May we both become wise enough through Grace that we may be capable of such understanding.” He stepped aside for Monachos Vlasos to provide escort to Monachos Anatolios, then he looked around the room and three times made the sign of the cross.

  “If you do not surrender to His Will, God will send you despair and ruin before the end!” Monachos Anatolios promised as he went with Monachos Vlasos toward the short corridor leading into the kitchen.

  Monachos Egidius Remigos, the gate-warder, rose from his seat on the bench. “I ask the forgiveness of all the monks here for letting Monachos Anatolios inside the gates.”

  “You needn’t do that,” said Priam Corydon. “Monachos Anatolios is entitled to enter the monastery; no one can forbid him access to this place so long as monks live here.”

  “He wants the Huns to kill us all,” called out one of the monks.

  “He wants us to be martyrs and have crowns in Paradise,” cried another.

  Priam Corydon held up his hand. “Whatever may be the case, eat in silence, and meditate on what is owed to the body in the Name of God, Who gave them to us.”

  An uneasy silence settled over the refectory, and three of the novices put their hands over their mouths to stop the impulse to speak more.

  Mangueinic moved away from his place at the door, signaling Sanctu-Germainios to come with him. When he spoke, it was in an under-voice that hardly carried to the man he addressed. “Dom, something must be done about that hermit-fellow. He’s going to cause more trouble, I can feel it in my bones.”

  Sanctu-Germainios did not respond at once, and when he did, his dark eyes were troubled, and his words were sad. “I wish I could disagree with you.”

  Text of a letter from Artemidorus Iocopolis, factor in Constantinople for the Eclipse Trading Company, to Rugierus of Gades, presently detained in the Magistrates’ Palace in Constantinople, written in Greek in blue paint on Persian vellum and delivered by Eclipse Trading Company courier.

  To the manservant of the distinguished foreign trader Dom Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios, Rugierus of Gades, the greetings of factor for the Eclipse Trading Company, Artemidorus Iocopolis, on this third day after the Summer Solstice,

  I have spent the last month in negotiations for your release, and I am pleased to report there has finally been some progress. Most accounts from the Eclipse Trading Company factors throughout the region in which the ships trade have arrived and been perused by the various officers appointed to the task, and they report that the information is exemplary, both in content and in compliance with the law by the factors.

  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?”