“That’s something,” said Mangueinic.
“We can train some of the refugees to man the ballistas; that would be helpful just now,” Neves went on.
“Not all the refugee men want to fight,” said Bernardius, “but it’s probably worth a try. I’ll ask among my townsfolk.”
“If we stay in here much longer, people will think we’re plotting against the Priam and Denhirac,” Bernardius remarked.
“True enough,” Neves said, and started toward the door.
“Do we meet here later, or at the monastery?” Mangueinic asked, working his crutch to gain more speed.
“Probably at the monastery. I don’t think the Priam will seek us out.” Neves sounded annoyed, but he continued out into the deepening twilight, the increasing darkness banished by the large fire at the center of the compound where the carcasses of deer turned on spits and the smell of smoke, venison, wild garlic, and thyme filled the air.
“When do your men change their posts?” Bernardius asked. “Is it the same as most evenings, or have you assigned another hour?”
“It is the same as it has been,” said Neves. “As I assume it is for your men.”
“Most of them, yes, but not all.” Bernardius cleared his throat and spat. “Our ranks have thinned, as have all ranks, and I am hard put to fill the posts on the battlements, so I have lengthened the watches stood to a half a day or half a night and staggered the times of service so they overlap, giving the appearance of more guards than we have. Or so I hope. Having more of the refugees to add to their numbers will embolden my soldiers.”
“So that’s what you’ve been doing—lengthening the watches your men stand,” Neves exclaimed. “A good precaution. Astute of you.”
“More necessity than cleverness, I fear,” said Bernardius, opening the door for the three of them. “After supper, when we’ve spoken to our men, we should meet at the horse-trough, and decide how to deal with the messengers and the woodsmen. I hope we have some volunteers.”
They stood together outside the door, looking serious. Neves finally broke their silence. “I trust we’ll have good news by then.”
“Truly,” said Mangueinic, and would have said more but the loud, unmelodious clang of the alarm sounded.
“The outer walls are burning!” came the shout from the gate-tower.
“Huns!” Mangueinic started toward the center of the compound.
“No,” Neves said, loudly enough to be heard. “No sentry or guard reported them approaching.”
“There has been no lightning,” Mangueinic said. “It has to be Huns.”
“Then they killed the sentries and guards,” growled Bernardius.
“All of them?” Neves asked, starting toward the lower gate that led to the fields and the outer wall where smoke was beginning to churn into the twilight sky. “And no one noticed?”
“It doesn’t matter the cause: the fires must be put out,” said Mangueinic, and started off as rapidly as he could go toward the inner gate, bellowing as he went, “Men of Apulum Inferior! To your posts! Bring water, and form a line to quench the flames!”
“But if there are Huns . . .” Bernardius began, then his words faded as the fire began to shine along the tops of the outer stockade. “We must be careful, in case this is another deceptive tactic.”
“Then we must have the men take up their positions on the inner walls!” Neves shouted, running after Mangueinic. “We must put it out!”
Men came running from the center of the compound, their hands still shining with the grease of the basted deer they were dining upon. Some carried weapons, others held buckets of water, and still others had baskets of stones. Bernardius took up the task of directing them toward the outer walls or the battlements of the inner walls, all the while shouting encouragement and scrambled Latin phrases.
“What would you like me to do?” The voice came from a short distance behind Bernardius, and it shocked him to hear so reasonable a question. He swung around and looked into Niklos Aulirios’ face.
“Are the horses safe?” Bernardius asked.
“For now. I put the grooms to wetting down the outside of the stable and the barn, though neither is very near the flames.” Niklos paused. “I also ordered two of them into the roof, to stamp out sparks.”
“A good idea,” said Bernardius. “If you’re willing, would you go around from the main gate to the fire and see if you can find anything that might reveal who did this?”
“You mean you want me to find out if the forest is full of Huns,” said Niklos, faintly amused.
“Or brigands, or Gothic outlaws, or—well, who can say?” He coughed as the smoke thickened.
Niklos reverenced Bernardius as elegantly as a Byzantine courtier would have done. “I shall inform Dom Sanctu-Germainios of my mission, and will report to you as soon as I am finished with my inspection.”
“If the fire enters the forest, things will go badly for us,” Bernardius warned. “We must have trees to repair the walls—more so now than this morning.”
“I’ll observe as much as I can, and I’ll tell you what I find, but you probably shouldn’t hope for too much.” He turned away and strode off to the old chapel, entering by the side-door and finding Sanctu-Germainios setting out medicaments. “I suppose you know?” he asked in Greek.
He sighed and spoke in the same tongue, “About the fire: how could I not? This will bring trouble.”
“As if we didn’t have any already,” said Niklos. He studied Sanctu-Germainios narrowly. “Bernardius has asked me to go outside the outer walls to assess the damage.”
“Because he can spare you, I suppose,” said Sanctu-Germainios.
“I’m not one of his soldiers, or one of Neves’ mercenaries, or one of the refugees, so I am more expendable than most.” Niklos chuckled his exasperation. “I think I had better do it, don’t you?”
“It would probably be advisable,” said Sanctu-Germainios. “But be circumspect.”
“I know: Olivia would kill me if I died again.” Niklos ducked his head. “If I’m not back by midnight, look for what’s left of me in the morning.” He took a step back. “Where’s your ice-eyed companion?”
“In the women’s dormitory,” said Sanctu-Germainios. “There has been an outbreak of fever there.”
“The fire won’t help that,” said Niklos, and departed. He walked quickly to the horse-trough and drenched himself with water, then went to the main gate and slipped out through the warder’s door to the outer wall of the monastery. Above him on the ramparts, a few of the guards still remained, but most had gone to fight the fire; Niklos kept in the shadow of the wall, not wanting to take an arrow in his flesh because a soldier thought he was an enemy.
The outer walls were more than half a league around, but Niklos covered the distance to the fire quickly. Nearing the shallow end of the lake, he saw the first of the flames gnawing away at the standing logs; the fire crackled and spat as it reached pockets of resin in the newly cut trunks. Niklos peered through the smoke, glad for once that ghouls did not have to breathe very often. The trees nearest the lake had been cut down during the most recent rebuilding of the fortifications, and most of the underbrush had been cleared away as well, so there were no signs of the fire spreading—at least not yet, he reminded himself. He approached as near to the burning stockade as he dared, noticing that the wind was blowing toward the buildings inside the walls rather than toward the forest. “That’s something to be pleased about,” he said aloud, and continued down toward the lake, wanting to wet himself down again before he continued his survey. Wading into the shallows, he crouched down and began lifting handfuls of water and pouring them over his head and shoulders. He rose slowly when he was soaked again, and looked around the edge of the lake, searching for any sign of men waiting for the breach in the wall to widen sufficiently for them to storm the defenses. He caught sight of what appeared to be a mound of rags at the edge of the lake, a dozen strides from where he stood. Frowning, he
started toward the heap, and halted as he heard an agonized voice come from within the pile.
“God’s Will. God’s Will.” The voice cracked, and the mass of rags lurched.
Niklos moved quickly, going to the fallen man, who lay supine, half in and half out of the water; Niklos was aware as he did that this could be a trap, that the man at the edge of the lake could be one of many others bent on catching him unaware. He felt for the dagger in his belt, prepared to use it. He reached the ragged figure and saw that his monkish garments were dreadfully burned, as were his hands and face. After he had taken a little time to look around, wishing as he did that he had a vampire’s night-seeing eyes, he bent down next to the man. “You’re badly hurt,” he said, slowly and distinctly. “Do you understand me?”
“God’s Will,” the man whispered.
“Do you hear me?” Niklos persisted.
“I hear,” the man answered. “The fire . . .”
“Yes, there is a fire.”
“Is it still burning?”
“It is,” Niklos answered, fearing the man’s eyes had been damaged; his eyebrows were singed away and most of his face looked as if the skin had been melted.
“Is the wall destroyed?”
“It’s . . . damaged,” said Niklos.
“Oh,” said the man, his tone remote.
Making up his mind, Niklos said to the man, “I’m going to pick you up and carry you into the monastery where your burns can be treated.”
“No. No!” The man thrust out with his scorched hands; he writhed desperately as Niklos took hold of him.
“I promise you I will hurt you as little as possible,” he said, and dragged the man upright as he wailed. In another abrupt motion, he slung the man up and over his shoulder, his arm holding him in place.
“No! God’s Will! God’s Will!”
Moving slowly so that he could maintain his hold on the squirming man, Niklos made his way back toward the main gate, trying not to listen to the howls the man made. Getting through the warder’s door was difficult, but after two tries, he succeeded, emerging inside the walls to see that the flames were dying, and as much steam as smoke was rising from the outer wall. He started toward the old chapel, but slowed as Priam Corydon approached him with Mangueinic. “I saw no signs of Huns,” he said as they came up to him.
“Then what’s that?” Mangueinic asked, pointing to Niklos’ miserable burden.
“I found him at the lake. He’s badly burned.”
“Let me look at him,” said Priam Corydon.
“He’s not a pleasant sight,” Niklos warned as he lowered the man from his shoulder and helped him to stand upright.
Priam Corydon stared at the tarnished silver crucifix hanging from a braided leather thong around the man’s neck; he made the sign of the fish. “Monachos Anatolios,” he mumbled as if his lips had lost all feeling.
“Priam Corydon?” the man asked, cocking his head to hear.
“What have you done, Monachos Anatolios?” Priam Corydon asked, horrified. He studied the ruined face for some vestige of expression and found none.
“God’s Will. Since you wouldn’t do it, I have,” he said, standing more erect as he spoke.
“You’ve killed us all,” Mangueinic accused.
“God’s Will,” Monachos Anatolios said with apparent satisfaction, then fainted, falling to the ground before Niklos or Priam Corydon could reach him.
Text of a letter from Rugierus in Aquileia to Artemidorus Iocopolis in Constantinople, written in Greek on sanded linen with fixed ink and carried by the same ship that brought Rugierus to Aquileia, the Celestial Crown, and delivered thirty-one days after the letter was written.
To the most worthy factor Artemidorus Iocopolis of Eclipse Trading Company at Constantinople, the greetings and thanks of the bondsman Rugierus of Gades on this, the 27th day of July, in the Christian year 439.
My esteemed Factor Iocopolis,
This is to inform you that I have arrived safely in Aquileia and am now staying at the estate of a blood relative of Sanctu-Germainios just outside the city. I am arranging for Captain Kakaios to carry not only this letter to you, but the sum of one hundred gold Angels as a sign of my gratitude, and to recompense you for all the expenses you incurred in your superlative efforts to gain my release. Without your continued endeavors, I might have languished in captivity for years. If I am ever in a position to extend myself on your behalf, you have only to inform me and I will do my utmost to return to you the exertions you performed for me.
In a month I plan to leave for the former Province of Dacia in the hope of rejoining my master, at which time I will inform him of all you did on my behalf. No doubt he, too, will want to offer some token of his appreciation. I have heard, as everyone has, of the ravages of the Huns, and so I believe I may not locate Dom Sanctu-Germainios readily. My one consolation is that Bondama Clemens has sent her most trusted servant to find Sanctu-Germainios and provide him with his assistance, whatever he may require. That is as much comfort as I can hope for at this time.
At Cnossus we learned of a fever spreading from Egypt, one that is marked by lethargy, great thirst, and general pain. Alexandria has already instituted measures against the fever by limiting public gatherings to religious services and confining all travelers to the foreign quarter of the city. I advise you to be on guard against this fever, and to warn the captains and crews of all Eclipse Trading Company ships about the disease, for it is said that half of those who contract it are invalided by it, or killed. If you suspect any ship of carrying this fever, do not allow its crew ashore, and send a physician to treat those who suffer. I would also take care in sending ships to Egyptian ports, for fear of contracting the fever, and to report any information on the fever’s spread. I know my master would issue such orders, so I give them in his name, certain that you will abide by them, for prudence if for no other reason.
I am deeply obliged to you, good Factor,
Rugierus of Gades
bondsman to Dom Sanctu-Germainios
6
“The repairs to the outer walls are insufficient,” said Bernardius, wiping his brow with the cuff of his pallium and looking out over the anxious faces in front of him. “And we haven’t men enough to do what’s needed to keep us safe and bring in the harvest; even if we abandoned all repairs, we’d have to employ the women and monks in the fields. Our numbers are too much reduced to do both. With the outer walls breached, and so few men to defend us, it would make taking this monastery easy for the Huns; they could slaughter us all.” He studied the gathering of men crammed together in the available space in the warehouse, hoping they grasped the increased peril they all faced. “I see no other course: we have to evacuate.”
This was met with shouts of agreement and dissension, the noise rising until Neves shoved himself to the front of the gathering and bellowed for quiet. When the level of sound had decreased, he said, “Then I agree: we must evacuate, and quickly.”
“If the Huns see more of us leaving, won’t they attack sooner, knowing they would have an undemanding raid, a quick battle that they could accomplish without much risk to them?” one of the remaining men from Tsapousso asked.
“They may decide on such an attack, in which case we will very likely be over-run. We have lost almost a hundred people from this place in the last few days, four of them my own men. That shows how dangerous it is to remain, so I am willing to provide what protection we can to those who leave,” said Neves. “But if we arrange the evacuation to be unobvious, using hunters’ trails, and taking only what is absolutely necessary, we might be able to buy a little time, enough time for most of us to get away. If we postpone the moment they—”
“We’d have to give the monastery the appearance of being still manned as fully as possible,” said Imperus, one of Bernardius’ soldiers. “The Hunnic scouts continue to patrol the ridges and crests around us, and they keep track of what happens in this place. If they notice the numbers here are lessening, th
ey will attack sooner rather than later.”
“They might wait until the monastery is empty, if they can get our harvest. Why put your troops in danger when it isn’t necessary,” said Luitpald. “Patras Anso, before he died, asserted the Huns wouldn’t fight if they didn’t have to.”
“That might have been so before we killed some of them,” Bernardius countered. “Now they have blood to avenge. They’ll demand blood for blood.”
Priam Corydon rose and made the sign of the cross. “I pray that your evacuation plan will succeed, but I will not allow the monks here to be used in any way that abuses their calling. All of us renounced the conflicts of this world when we came here. The monks can work the fields and tend livestock, but they will not use weapons against other men, not even Huns. For their sake, we will not remain after the rest of you have gone, for that would leave us open to attack and reprisal. I am charged with protecting the monks in this monastery, and I refuse to sacrifice them for you.”
More cries and cat calls greeted this declaration. The heavy heat of this mid-August mid-day had penetrated the warehouse, draining sweat and strength from the men, sparking rancor, shortening tempers, and stirring resentment and frustration. A voice rose above the buzz of under-voices. “What’ll you do with Monachos Anatolios then?” Mutters of support accompanied his next questions. “Do you plan to protect him? After what he did to this place?”
There was an abrupt silence; Neves looked over at Mangueinic and then at Priam Corydon. “Yes. What will you do?”
From his place next to the door, Sanctu-Germainios spoke up, and though his voice was not loud, it commanded the full attention of all the men in the warehouse. “Monachos Anatolios is dying. The burns on his hands and face are too deep to heal and he has lost all feeling where the fire entered his flesh too severely; six of his fingers and one of his thumbs are gone. The lesser burns bring him agony that can only be alleviated with soporific anodyne tinctures, which are strong enough to be dangerous if taken too often.” He had been using a dilution of blue lotus on Monachos Anatolios, his supply of syrup of poppies being nearly gone. “He is almost blind. I may have to remove the remaining three fingers to keep them from taking rot and spreading it to the rest of his body. Nothing else can be done for him.”
Burning Shadows: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain (Saint-Germain series Book 23) Page 31
