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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “That’s Bernardius’ job,” Mangueinic snapped. “Neves’ men have the peaks and the main road, Bernardius the lesser routes. For the next ten days, those leaving here will have to consult Tribune Bernardius, not Neves.” He motioned to one of his Watchmen, saying, “Take two torches and affix them to the outer wall at the battlements.”

  The Watchman nodded and grabbed two of the torches.

  “Men coming through the pass!” the gate-sentry bawled out, his cry passed along the ramparts to alert all those making ready for battle.

  A loud crash of falling stones announced the release of the rock-falls, with shouts and screams almost lost in the noise.

  “That’ll give them something to think about,” said Mangueinic in great satisfaction. “Wruntha! What do you see?”

  From his position on the roof of the gate-tower, Wruntha shouted, “There are horsemen coming! Some got through the pass. Not too many! Probably thirty or so, no more!!”

  “Thirty!” Mangueinic crowed, all but dancing on his single leg. “They’ll need time to clear away the rubble and renew their attack, if they come that way for their next assault. In the meantime, we’ll post archers to the peaks above them. Reduce their numbers before they reach the pass.” He laughed. “You see, Dom? Even so small a place as Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit can keep the Huns at bay with a little planning.”

  “I hope you are right,” said Sanctu-Germainios.

  “We’ll keep the torches lit through the night, and by dawn, we’ll be able to keep the upper hand.”

  Then the alarm clanged again, and shouts from the other end of the compound erupted. “Huns! On the hunters’ tracks!”

  Everyone in the gate-tower went quiet as the full importance of the cries was borne in upon them.

  “A diversion!” Mangueinic spat as if it were a curse. “The pass was a diversion! They’re coming in from the hunters’ trails!” He looked around and began shouting orders to shift his men to the other end of the inner wall, to carry torches, to join with Bernardius’ soldiers in manning the far end of the wall to augment what Neves’ mercenaries were just now massing to face.

  Sanctu-Germainios descended the steep flight of stairs all but unnoticed, and ran with uncanny speed for the old chapel, thinking as he went that the Huns’ spy was earning his reward this night.

  Text of a report from the spy at Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit, calling himself Romulius, to the commander of the Huns in the immediate region, written in Latin and Greek with fixed ink on vellum, carried by Hredus three days after the battle and delivered two days later.

  To the courageous leader of the Huns in the western region of the former Roman Province of Dacia, Ave, on this, the second day of August in the Year of the City 1192.

  As your soldiers have told you by now, I have fulfilled my end of our bargain in keeping the resistance from the defenders of this place to a minimum. As I pledged, I have stopped many of the refugees from leaving, and I have taken several opportunities to lessen the number of Watchmen standing duty. When you last assailed the monastery the soldiers on duty were short of weapons, which I arranged. That your men were eventually driven off was no fault of mine: your soldiers were able to seize ten goats and six foals, with a force of just over one hundred twenty men; by attacking from two directions your men were able to create confusion, and I was able to slow the response from the soldiers manning the walls without appearing to be doing anything detrimental to the residents here.

  Your losses were minimal, under the circumstances—again, in good part through my apparent inept attempts at defensive deployment of those under my command—only thirty-one men and seventeen horses. We, on the other hand, lost ninety-four men, have another one hundred forty-four with injuries, and our supply of weapons is seriously depleted.

  The man who carries this is applying to join your ranks, as I will do when my task here is completed. He is able to read and write in several tongues, and although his skills are not advanced, I am certain he may be most useful, discreet, and reliable. He will read this to you if you cannot. His name is Hredus, and he is a freedman from Drobetae where he served the current Praetor-General, Verus Flautens, before being sent here to observe and report on the state of this place. His knowledge will be most useful to you.

  If you will wait a month and attack again in stronger force, I am certain you will conquer this monastery and be able to lay claim to its crops, livestock, supplies, and wealth. You may be sure I will do my part to bring that triumph about, as a further demonstration of my loyalty and gratitude to you and your King, Attila. You need not worry that I will renew my allegiance to the Roman Empire, either in the East or the West, for I did my utmost to serve it for most of my life, and was rewarded with steadily rising taxes, diminishing support, onerous responsibilities, and a general abandonment of my town and my people, hardly honorable recompense for my service. Your assurance of advancement and respect is worthy of my pledge of service as well as my help in any manner that will suit your cause.

  Should circumstances here change in any way that bears on your ambitions, I will find another messenger to carry word to you; there are men among the refugees who would be eager to join with you, but are afraid to let such sentiments be known. I will not prove lacking in attention to your efforts so long as you will be guided by me and not press for an advantage until the monastery is more truly weakened. Already refugees are planning to leave in groups of ten to sixty; three or four such departures and you will not need to risk more than a hundred men, if that, to secure this place with a minimal chance of losses either of men or horses.

  May your gods smile upon your endeavors and upon your people,

  Romulius

  5

  “The men won’t go into the woods to cut more trees,” said Mangueinic, his frustration revealed in every line of his body. “They say it isn’t safe. And they’re right—it isn’t.” He looked around at the faces gathered in the small warehouse that stood between the monks’ church and the largest of the travelers’ dormitories. Half of the building was taken up with the stacked crates and chests of the refugees’ belongings; the rest had been pressed into service as a council chamber. “Five have been wounded since the Huns’ last attack, and one is dead from it. And someone loosed an arrow at them as they came in from felling today.”

  “But we must have logs to repair the outer stockade; two of the main supports are weakened from the fires the Huns started with their flaming arrows. We have to replace them, and the braces behind them,” Neves protested, looking around at the others, leaning forward, elbows on knees, seeking their support. “Don’t they understand how important it is that the walls be repaired and made stronger? We need logs to do that. It isn’t safe to stand on the battlements without reinforcing the braces, not if we have to increase the number of men fighting from there.”

  Mangueinic looked ashamed. “The Watchmen say that since the outer wall is manned by your mercenaries, they should be the ones to cut the trees for its repair. I tried to convince them that the walls protect us all, but none of my Watchmen would listen.” He turned to Priam Corydon. “I’ve tried to persuade them to reconsider, but they’re too frightened. They know the Huns have scouts in the region, and that they have orders to fire on anyone from the monastery they see.”

  “They leave the hermits in the caves alone,” said Denhirac, Denerac’s son, who had taken over his father’s position since his father and a company of men and women from Tsapousso had left Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit for the plains to the west, and the old Roman city of Aquincum in the Province of Pannonia Inferior. He wore his responsibilities awkwardly and often said he would have preferred to go with his father and the twenty-one others; now only thirteen remained.

  “The hermits have nothing the Huns want,” said Bernardius. “They are safe where they are.”

  “Not that Monachos Anatolios would allow them to fight; it would be contrary to God’s Will,” said Neves, making no effort to hide his contempt. />
  “Would that still be true if the Huns take this monastery?” Mangueinic asked.

  “Would it matter? We’d all be dead,” said Neves.

  “We’re getting off the point,” Priam Corydon said patiently. “Our present predicament is to deal with the need for trees to be felled and brought back here to make the needed repairs to the outer stockade, and we must bury the last of the dead. What the Huns may do is up to them, and nothing we do can change that.”

  “What about Patras Anso?” Mangueinic turned his eyes on Priam Corydon.

  “Patras Anso may lie with the monks of this monastery,” Priam Corydon said.

  “That’s all well and good,” said Bernardius. “But we must do what we may, and trust to God to keep us from ruination.”

  Priam Corydon made the sign of the cross and motioned to Monachos Niccolae of Sinu. “We ought to prepare another dispatch for Verus Flautens, explaining the urgency of our plight. As Praetor-General, he is obligated to provide us what protection he can.”

  “Do you think he’s in a position to send soldiers? Assuming he has any to spare?” Bernardius interjected.

  “He hasn’t sent any recently,” said Neves.

  “Is that man from Drobetae—Hredus, I believe he is called—still missing?” Bernardius asked.

  “I believe so: why?” Mangueinic frowned.

  “It is just that if Priam Corydon is preparing a report, Hredus would be the most useful courier.” He clicked his tongue. “Well, if he is missing, we must find someone else.”

  “True,” said Priam Corydon. “Monachos Niccolae, make a full catalog of our lacks; have it ready by sunrise tomorrow.” He considered the others. “One of you might provide a courier for us.”

  “What about the bondsman who is caring for the horses? Niklos Aulirios. The one the Dom’s relative sent to him. Do you think Sanctu-Germainios could spare him?” Neves asked. “We have men enough to care for the horses without him.”

  “We can ask,” said Bernardius doubtfully.

  Priam Corydon sighed. “There must be someone who will take our report to Drobetae.” He motioned to Monachos Niccolae. “Be sure you include the need for more messengers as well as soldiers.”

  “Yes, Priam; I will,” said Monachos Niccolae, his short-sighted eyes straining to make out the faces of the others.

  “That is all to the good, but it doesn’t resolve the need for more logs, and a more fortified wall,” said Neves. “They’re our most immediate problems.”

  “Tomorrow morning, some of our men must go into the forest,” said Mangueinic emphatically. “They will have to be in the company of guards, which I will order my Watchmen to be.”

  Bernardius hesitated, then said, “Of my soldiers I think I can convince a dozen to log for the benefit of the monastery. Most of the refugees from Ulpia Traiana know what happens when the defenses fail, for they saw it happen. They, like the rest of you, want the inner wall reinforced, and that will not happen until the outer wall is fortified. They will understand the advantage of helping the wood-cutters.”

  “Do you think they will actually do it?” Neves asked, surprised at this offer.

  “I think they will, if I provide sufficient incentive,” Bernardius said, making the gesture for bargaining.

  “And what incentive would that be?” Denhirac asked, his manner tentative although his words carried conviction. “I have six men who could log, and they might agree to help Bernardius’ soldiers if there were reward enough for their labors.”

  “Something can surely be arranged,” said Neves.

  “If you pay them to go into the forest, then the harvesters will ask for the same when they bring in the crops,” warned Mangueinic.

  “There are many kinds of pay,” said Denhirac. “Money isn’t much use here, but there are things that can be exchanged for labor.”

  “What did you have in mind?” asked Mangueinic.

  “First chance at the beer and the cooked food, or a wheel of cheese,” said Denhirac at once. “A chance to select some of the yearling sheep and goats.”

  “Or the right to hunt ducks on the lake,” suggested Mangueinic.

  “That would deplete our flocks,” Priam Corydon warned. “You may plan to move on, but I and my monks expect to remain here; we cannot give away all our food.”

  “You will have many fewer mouths to feed once the refugees are gone. A great many of us plan to leave as soon as the whole harvest is in, and that should be two months at most,” Denhirac pointed out. “You can spare a lamb or two, or a few ducks. You may be sure the Huns will take much more than any refugee would.”

  Bernardius held up his hands, struggling to smile genially. “No more, I ask you. We need no more devisiveness. All of us must be prepared to bend a little to guarantee our safety. We understand what you, Denhirac, have explained, and all of us second your sapience; we know that you, Priam Corydon, wish to protect your own people. Volemus. Both of you have valid points to make, and we should consider everything as we determine how to proceed. But we have to decide, and quickly. The longer we delay, the more exposed we are.”

  Mangueinic thumped his crutch on the floor. “The Tribune makes sense,” he said firmly. “It’s something for all of you to keep in mind. The Huns will know what we do shortly, if they don’t know already.”

  “They’re worse than vermin, or shadows,” said Bernardius, adding defiantly in his own version of Latin, “cavi ombram.”

  There was a brief silence, then Priam Corydon said, “For now, we will turn our attentions to tomorrow and whatever arrangements must be made to repair the walls. We will determine the recompense for the work now and let the men know before they go to have their supper.”

  “Then we’d best agree quickly. Food is being prepared right now, and there are two deer turning on spits outside.” Neves rose and clapped his hands together. “Yearling goats and sheep would be an acceptable trade for a week’s work, I believe. Hunting privileges will also be a reasonable exchange for labor; we all benefit when a deer or a boar is killed. What do the rest of you say?”

  “I will ask my soldiers if they’re willing to agree to any or all of these terms, and report their answer to you after supper is ended,” Bernardius said. “Mangueinic, see if your Watchmen will concur.”

  “That I will, and make them answer for it if they cavil,” said Mangueinic, his glance shifting to Priam Corydon. “Will your monks be willing to spare some of the livestock and ducks so that they may be safe?”

  Priam Corydon turned to Monachos Niccolae. “What do you think? Will they consent?”

  “If they understand the danger, I think they might; they know that prayers alone will not deter the Huns, and that soldiers do not fight for the Glory of God alone, to all our ignominy,” said Monachos Niccolae. He looked down at the vellum spread on the writing board in his lap. “Shall I record the terms here, for the archives?”

  “It would be prudent to write this down. It will help us avoid later disputes or misunderstandings,” said Priam Corydon, trying to ignore the condemning glare of Denhirac, who associated writing with magic.

  “Then I will,” said Monachos Niccolae, reaching for a jar of fixed ink and thumbing the lid open.

  “Do you want the courier to leave tomorrow at dawn?” Mangueinic asked Priam Corydon.

  “Ideally, yes. We can decide which road or path to tell the courier to use later this evening. The sooner we send our dispatch, the sooner we may have an answer,” said Priam Corydon.

  “Even if that answer is no, as it is likely to be,” remarked Bernardius, then lifted his head as if to defend himself. “What makes any of you think that Verus Flautens will send us soldiers? What if he hasn’t any more to provide? Drobetae itself may have been attacked by Huns, and all the soldiers are needed to protect the town from another assault.”

  “Like us; we beg for more soldiers because we are losing ours too rapidly,” said Neves. “I’ll ask my men, and Bernardius can ask his, who among them is wi
lling to carry the report to Drobetae. One of them must be willing to risk being chased by Huns.” He snapped his fingers. “Oios knows the roads in this region. He may be willing to go. He’s a brave enough fellow.” He turned toward the door. “When the payment agreement is ready, I’ll put my name to it.”

  “Thank you,” said Priam Corydon, making the sign of the cross in his direction, and then the sign of the fish.

  “I’ll sign it, as well,” said Bernardius.

  Mangueinic shifted uncomfortably on his crutch. “If there is reason for me to put my mark on it, I will.”

  “How will I know that you are going to abide by your agreement?” Denhirac asked testily.

  “You know because I will swear by Christ the Savior to do so,” said Priam Corydon, his countenance becoming severe. “I will bind the salvation of my soul to the terms of this agreement, if it will allay your reservations.”

  “Then I will speak to those few of my men who are still here; if any of them are willing to cut wood for a lamb, I’ll let you know before we retire tonight. One way or another, the work will be done.” He saluted the others with great formality and left the warehouse.

  “That,” said Mangueinic, “is an impatient man.”

  “Not without reason,” Neves said. “We have work to do, comrades, and we had best be about it.”

  Priam Corydon made the sign of the cross. “Come, Monachos Niccolae.” He rose from his bench, gesturing to his recorder. “You and I will have to explain our decisions to the rest of the monks and novices.”

  “Yes, Priam,” said Monachos Niccolae as he gathered up his vellum, goose-quill pen, and jar of fixed ink and prepared to follow him.

  Bernardius, Neves, and Mangueinic were left alone in the warehouse. The place was growing dark as the last of sunset faded from the sky, leaving the two clerestory windows aglowing deep-blue. The three took a little time to gather their thoughts, then Neves said, “At least work will continue on the walls.”