Night Blooming

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “From what source? Can you tell me?” Rakoczy said.

  “There was a delegation from Byzantium, and this was among the gifts they brought to Great Karl,” said Alcuin. “More than that, we do not know.”

  “Well, it is from China, that is beyond question; it is authentic, not a copy, so you may rely on what it depicts, unless it was designed to cozen the enemies of China. It is accurate as far as I can tell, but that may be part of its usefulness,” said Rakoczy, who was certain this was not the case; he was certain the map was authentic, but he did not want to speak against the group wisdom. “The Emperor of China has many maps, but whether this is one of them, I cannot tell.” In fact, he had read the characters on the side of the map that said it had been commissioned by the Governor of Kuan-Nei Province for the use of his couriers; he decided to keep that information to himself. “It marks fortresses and towns, and merchants’ roads. It also shows rivers and lakes, with information about how to cross.” He indicated two of them, then pointed to the next features on the silk. “These towers are the fortresses, and this walled house means a village.”

  “How can you be sure?” The monk who asked was young, perhaps no more than twenty. “Couldn’t they be something else?”

  Rakoczy wondered what the monks had been told, and by whom. “I have seen other Chinese maps,” he said. “That is their tradition. They distinguish such buildings in that manner.”

  “How do we know you are reporting aright?” The young monk folded his arms into the sleeves of his habit.

  “You invited me here so that you could ask these questions of me, and I have come. Why would I lie to you, or mislead you—particularly now, when I have only just arrived?” Rakoczy fixed the young man with his dark eyes, waiting until the monk lowered his eyes. “I have no reason to—”

  Alcuin made a gesture that stopped the rankling. “I think we must accept Magnatus Rakoczy’s good-will and just intentions until we find otherwise.”

  “He comes from the East,” said the shortsighted monk. “The Byzantines rule in the East.”

  “So they do,” said Rakoczy. “And the Bulgars. Beyond them is the Khazar Empire, and dry realms of the Turks and Mongols, Finally there is the vast land of China, that reaches to the Unknown Sea.” He recalled his cold journey again, and said, “Byzantium is only a small part of the world, Fratres, and great though it may be, there are greater still to be found.”

  “And whom do you serve?” the young monk demanded.

  “Fratre Theodo,” Alcuin said mildly, although this was clearly a rebuke.

  Rakoczy held up his small hand. “No; I’ll answer him. For the time being, I serve Karl-lo-Magne, until it suits him to dismiss me, or I am called away by relatives of my blood.” It was an acceptable response and delivered with conviction; the young monk colored and looked away toward the end of the table as if he had not seen it before; he would not look in Rakoczy’s direction.

  “You have seen these places?” Alcuin asked, waving his hand at the silken map. “With your own eyes?”

  “Some of the places,” Rakoczy answered truthfully.

  “It must have been the journey of years,” said Alcuin.

  “I was gone for some time,” Rakoczy responded. “On the journey home, we traveled quickly. It took slightly more than a year to come from Ch’ang-an to my homeland in the Carpathian Mountains. There was famine in the land, and speed was required.” Famine had been the least of it, but it was something these men would understand, having come through just such a calamity two years ago. “But that was an extraordinary passage, driven by necessity.”

  “As is much travel,” said Alcuin. “Consider those wretches who come here for sanctuary. They come for dire reasons, and we, in the Name of Christ and Great Karl, take them in.”

  “I was not so fortunate in my trek,” said Rakoczy.

  “The Church does not extend much beyond Karlus’ borders,” said Alcuin. “I am not astonished that you found no succor in those wild lands.”

  Rakoczy kept his thoughts to himself, saying only, “It was a difficult time.”

  There was a long silence, and then Fratre Roewin said, “As much as you can tell us, we will add to our itineraries and descriptiones of the world, and if it proves incorrect, Great Karl will decide what is to be done.”

  “I am on my mettle, then,” Rakoczy said with an ironic lilt to his voice.

  “Karlus requires true service,” said Fratre Roewin. “If you fail to give it, you will face exile, and worse.”

  “That is acceptable,” said Rakoczy, seeing Alcuin’s slight nod of approval.

  “This place,” said Fratre Theodo, pointing at a character at the end of the map. “What is it? What can you tell us about it?”

  “The place is Talas. It is in the far west of the Chinese Empire, in a small valley between great mountains. It is on the northern trade route, which brings fur and amber into China. The river bears that name. A battle was fought there about fifty years ago.” Rakoczy rubbed his clean-shaven chin; he suspected he had been asked about this place because these monks had heard of it.

  “You don’t know what lies north of it, do you?” asked Fratre Roewin.

  “Mountains, a large, long, hooked lake, and Turks.” Rakoczy faltered, “Or so I was told by my guides. I didn’t travel there myself.”

  “Did you trust your guides?” The Fratre who asked was blind in one eye, and scarred from brow to cheek.

  “Yes. They kept me alive,” said Rakoczy.

  “Then you were a fortunate man,” said the scarred Fratre.

  “Fratre Isembard has reason to distrust guides; you must pardon him for questioning you,” said Alcuin, making a gesture to Rakoczy. “You may sit; so may we all.”

  All but one of the seats were short, plank benches; the X-shaped chair at the head of the table was reserved for Alcuin, who sank onto it while the others jockeyed their way onto the benches, which were each designed for two men. Rakoczy was permitted to occupy a two-man bench alone. Once everyone was in place, Alcuin nodded to Fratre Roewin.

  “We were told by a merchant from Tana that this map belonged to the Emperor of China himself.” Fratre Roewin could not keep the satisfaction out of his voice.

  “It is an official map,” Rakoczy agreed. “But all the Emperor’s personal records are done in red, and this is in black.”

  “Are you saying it is not the Emperor’s?” Alcuin inquired.

  “I am saying that it isn’t in red ink.” Rakoczy shrugged. “I would suppose it could be a copy of one such map, but it isn’t the map itself.”

  “An astute response,” said Fratre Theodo in a slightly condescending tone.

  “It is all I can say,” Rakoczy responded. “Anything else would be speculation.”

  “You’ve seen the trade road, though,” said Fratre Isembard, satisfying himself on that point.

  “Yes, I have,” said Rakoczy. “I will be pleased to tell you as much as I can recall of the way.”

  Alcuin nodded. “It is true that will be most helpful in compiling our descriptiones and itineraries, and for that alone, I am certain that we were well-advised to bring you here. No doubt there will be many other uses to which your knowledge can be put; we will determine them all in time.” He paused as a loud but unmusical bell rang from the Cathedral. “It is the hour for prayer.”

  The monks rose and formed a line, the oldest at the front, the youngest at the rear; Alcuin blessed himself and the monks and prepared to leave from the collegium, but he paused, looking directly at Rakoczy. “The slaves will have your chests and crates in your chambers. One of them will lead you there. You will not be asked to observe our Hours today, but tomorrow we will expect you to join us in worship.” He inclined his head as a sign of welcome. “There will be a meal served in two hours.”

  “I believe I will rest this afternoon; I thank you for your graciousness,” said Rakoczy. “And I thank you for your hospitality.”

  “It is what Our Lord commands us,
” said Alcuin. “Those who stop with us are given a haven in His Name.”

  “I thank you, as His servant, for so carefully fulfilling His bidding,” said Rakoczy, staying with the forms of custom among the Franks. “You honor me with your kindness.”

  “As you honor us with your presence.” He clapped his hands, and a slave hurried up in response. “Take the Magnatus to his appointed chambers.”

  The slave lowered his head and averted his eyes as the monks filed out, and the sound of chanting arose, a repetition of prayers on a cycle of five notes.

  Rakoczy looked at the slave. “Thank you,” he said, and saw the man start in surprise at such recognition; belatedly he remembered that the Franks’ desire to emulate the Romans of old did not extend to acknowledging the service of slaves. He realized he would have to go on carefully. “It is the custom of my people to show gratitude for service, no matter who gives it.” This was stretching the truth a bit, for Rakoczy had not come to that habit until he, himself, had been a slave.

  “Foreign,” said the slave, accepting this as an explanation. “Come with me.”

  With a gesture of acquiescence, he followed the slave out into the narrow corridor, which now echoed the chants of the monks. Passing through the central archway, they entered a steep, narrow staircase that led upward to the second floor of the collegium, where they entered a gallery that overlooked the grounds of the petitioners’ court on one side and faced a wall interspersed with iron-banded doors on the other; it ran the length of the building and ended at another staircase. The slave stopped in front of one of the iron-banded doors, reverencing Rakoczy.

  “I take it this is mine?” Rakoczy inquired.

  “The next door is for your manservant, since you have ordered that he will sleep inside your door and not in front of it.” The slave was curious about this arrangement, but would not ask any questions, for such impertinence would earn him a beating.

  “That is correct. It is another of my foreign habits.” Rakoczy drew back the latch, and the door swung outward, revealing a small study with a worktable and a stand for books. There were three oil-lamps providing as much smoke as illumination, and on the table, a sheet of precious parchment from which an old text had been meticulously scrubbed and scraped. In the middle of all this was an untidy stack of crates and chests—Rakoczy’s belongings, ready to be opened and emptied. “How orderly it all is. Alcuin is an excellent host.”

  The slave said nothing.

  “And my man-servant—where is he?” Rakoczy went on.

  “He has gone to the kitchens, to make arrangements for your food. He says only he prepares it for you.” The slave waited for a response. “They say he wants to kill the fowl and shoats himself, and do all the preparation.”

  “A man who has enemies must be careful to dine only with friends,” said Rakoczy, paraphrasing the old Roman aphorism with a smile.

  “Yes,” said the slave, who abased himself and withdrew, leaving Rakoczy to deal with the stack of his trunks and chests. He moved aside those with clothing, books, weapons, and medicinal supplies, and took the largest crates into the small chamber beyond, where a makeshift bed had been set up. Rakoczy moved this, dismantling it quickly and efficiently, then putting two chests in its stead, for they contained his native earth and would provide him rest that nothing else could give.

  Rorthger arrived a short while later, a fresh-killed and newly plucked goose in his hands. He looked about, noticing that the crates and chests had been dealt with. “I hope no one saw you do this. There is speculation enough about you already. If they knew you do the work of servants, their curiosity would increase tenfold.” He spoke in the Latin of his youth.

  “Of course I was not seen; the door was closed while I worked,” said Rakoczy, also in Imperial Latin, and nodded to the goose. “I take it that’s supposed to be my evening meal?”

  “Yes. I trust you don’t mind.” Rorthger gave a slight smile. “I have much less to explain if I am acting on your orders. I’m sorry I could not bring you a live one. I thought this was the more prudent thing to do.”

  Rakoczy nodded. “Yes, yes. I concur. I’ll manage, later tonight.” He put his hand up. “Were you followed?”

  “I don’t think so. They’re all either praying or getting ready for their supper.” He looked about and shrugged. “I have a bench in my quarters. I’ll cut this up in there.”

  “Go ahead. You’ve waited long enough for a decent dinner.” Rakoczy took a long moment to listen, assessing all the sounds he heard through the stout door and thick stone walls. “This is a substantial place.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Rorthger. “I have studied it superficially, and I think it is about the most formidable building I have seen since we left China.”

  “The Franks are an industrious people,” said Rakoczy, and gestured to the door. “Best put a crucifix on it, and over our beds. These monks expect it.”

  “I will tend to it. Which shall I use?” Rorthger continued to work on the goose, preparing to joint it.

  “Not the Byzantine, I think,” said Rakoczy with a wry smile. “They’re suspicious enough of us without that. No, use the old ones, the Gothic ones, from Caesaraugusta.”

  “All right. Anything more?” Rorthger kept a somber expression, but his light-blue eyes shone with private nostalgia.

  “Choose some bit of art—religious enough, not the dancing dwarf with the huge phallus—and make sure it is where the slaves will see it,” Rakoczy said. “Alcuin may be pleased to have me here, but not all the monks share his view.”

  Rorthger sighed his agreement. “That’s my impression, too. Listening to the kitchen slaves, I gleaned a fair amount.”

  “Did anyone notice you listening?” Rakoczy asked, a bit more sharply than he had intended.

  “Of course not,” said Rorthger, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand. “I wouldn’t do anything sloppy, my master.”

  “I know, old friend,” said Rakoczy, chastened. “I must be more on edge than I thought.” He took a turn about the confines of the room. “Well, we’re here now. We ought to make the best of it.”

  Rorthger nodded. “I’ll put up the crucifixes as soon as I eat,” he promised as he opened the interior door connecting his chamber with Rakoczy’s. “As you say, we ought to make the best of this.”

  TEXT OF A LETTER FROM ABBA SUNIFRED OF SANTA ALBEGUNDA TO BISHOP ISO OF SANT’ AUDOENUS IN STAVELOT; CARRIED BY FRATRE OSWIN AT THE ORDER OF BISHOP FRECULF.

  Amen. Benedicamus Domino. Amen.

  To the most esteemed and reverend Bishop, Iso of Sant’ Audoenus, the greetings in God of Abba Sunifred, of Santa Albegunda and daughter of Potente Hilduin.

  Sublime Iso, I come to you with the petition that you receive at your monastery one Gynethe Mehaut, who has been given into our care, for we find we cannot tend to her as devoted nuns should. She requires more learned supervision than we offer here. So I now implore you to say you will do as Our Lord commands, and receive into your protection one who needs your prayers and guidance as few others in this afflicted world.

  She does not bring disease with her, so you may put your thoughts to rest on that point, nor is she mad, or not in the conventional sense of raving. She occasionally displays wounds in her hands and feet, and no one can tell how they came to be there. Her blood flows for as long as a month, and then, for a time, her hands and feet heal, only to bleed again, at a later day. This has caused such dismay among the women here that I cannot continue to vouch for her safety, and thus I send you this petition in the fervent hope that you will be better able to minister to her; if not at Sant’ Audoenus, then at some other monastery or nunnery under your protection.

  It is my most ardent prayer that you, and your Sublime colleagues may determine the cause of these wounds she has, be they signs of blessing or damnation. You, being nearer to Aachen, may draw upon the counsel of many learned men to consider her case, and that would be most laudable in you, for we have been unable to establish fo
r a certainty if this young woman comes among us, white as a lamb, or ravening as a red-eyed wolf. Imploring your wisdom be turned to Gynethe Mehaut, we ask you to accept her into your care, for the good of her soul and the protection of her body.

  I am prepared to send her under guard and accompanied by Priora Iditha, who has cared for Gynethe Mehaut for some time, and has learned to deal with the wounds as well as to protect her from the sun. Priora Iditha can instruct you on the case of Gynethe Mehaut, including advising how she is to be housed and cared for. Gynethe Mehaut, as her name suggests, is of a most pale skin, and I should warn you, as I have already implied, her eyes are red. This, too, has added to the consternation her presence has excited here. She cannot easily go abroad in sunlight, which quickly burns her and makes her ill. I have no doubt your monks, tending as they do to the simple, the dumb, and the mad, will be less distressed by Gynethe Mehaut than my nuns are.

  Prayerfully I await your answer, and I beseech you to agree to give succor to this unfortunate young woman. As Bishop Freculf will vouch, she is not marked by secret sin, nor has she been wayward in her faith; she prays many hours daily, and keeps watch in the night garden for all of us at Santa Albegunda. She is not a foolish woman, and you need not fear she will conduct herself impiously or bring discredit upon your monasteries. For the sake of Our Lord, I ask you to agree to take her at Sant’ Audoenus; on behalf of Gynethe Mehaut, I implore you to honor the Virtue that shelters the homeless and protects the helpless.

  I will be forever grateful to you, Bishop Iso, and will remember you in prayers day and night for the rest of my life. My father, also, will provide you with four fat pigs and a dozen geese each year for the kindness you extend now to this young woman who bears so many afflictions from the Hand of God.

  I prayerfully await your answer on this, the Pope’s Feast of Sant’ Leodegar of Autun, in the Church’s Year 796, at Santa Albegunda.

  Abba Sunifred

  Chapter Four

  A SLOW DRIZZLE IMPEDED THE PROGRESS of the small company of monks and their escort of three pair of missi dominici, four servants, and two men-at-arms as they made their way along the road toward Aachen. The road was covered with fallen leaves, muffling the sound of the horses, the oxen, and carpenta wheels as they made their way north and east. This was their tenth day of travel, and the demands of the road were telling on all the party. Alcuin of York rode in the van of the company, with Hiernom Rakoczy beside him this afternoon. “My old bones don’t do well in this weather,” he complained, rubbing at his knee. “You don’t know yet—you’re still a man of good years.”