“Then her slaves will observe what we do and tell anyone who will pay them,” said Gynethe Mehaut. “Slaves are always watching.”
“Not at Olivia’s house,” said Rakoczy. “She knows what she must do to be safe, and keeps only loyal servants around her—no slaves.”
“You keep no slaves, either,” she said.
“For similar reasons,” he told her with a quick glance at the door.
Gynethe Mehaut considered this. “Is she like you?”
“She is of my blood,” Rakoczy admitted.
“Then she will do what is necessary, for her own sake, and the sake of your family,” said Gynethe Mehaut, then thought of something more worrisome. “Will the Church allow this?”
“Certainly,” said Rakoczy. “Olivia is well-known to the Papal Court, and her character is beyond question, even in Roma, where everything can be corrupted.”
She listened to this, then rose and moved away from him. “I must wait.”
“It won’t be too long,” Rakoczy said. “If there is a chance before then, you have only to tell me and I will exult.”
“If it is possible,” she said pensively.
“In Roma,” said Rakoczy as a slave came in to announce that the lamps would be extinguished shortly.
“In Roma,” she said as if trying to encourage herself.
After Pisa they made fairly good progress, covering seven to eight Roman leagues on most days, and encountering only two delays before they got to Alsium; the ancient town was being rebuilt, for it had been sacked thirty years before and was at last beginning to make a real recovery. There was also a new monastery being built on the outskirts of the town, its fortifications nearly complete, laborers gathered in the shadow of the walls for their mid-day rest. The heat of early afternoon penetrated everything, sapping strength and encouraging sleep; the sun glared down from an empty sky. For once there was no breeze off the sea. Only insects droned around them in annoying shoals.
“Shall we stay here?” asked Gynethe Mehaut from her plausterum; the mule hitched to it was restive, tossing his head and pulling at his bridle. Few of the pack-mules had the vigor to do more than sulk; the remount horses fidgeted on their leads, stamping and slapping the air with their tails.
“None isn’t over yet,” said Rakoczy, squinting up toward the sun. “We can cover another two leagues or more before Vespers. Then we can reach Roma tomorrow by day’s end.”
Einshere interrupted, declaring, “This is a good place to stop. The air is heavy, and that means it is filled with infection. It is better to rest than to move in such air. If we need an extra day to get to Roma, so be it.” He swung around in the saddle to see what the soldiers felt; all but Sulpicius nodded.
“This is a most difficult decision,” said Theubert. “We are obliged to travel swiftly, but if we do, we may risk sleeping in a barn or by the side of the road.”
“True enough,” said Notrold, giving Einshere an uncertain glance. “But so near Roma, it would be wise to make haste, so it may be reported that we didn’t dawdle.”
The soldiers shifted uncomfortably in their saddles, their faces deliberately blank. At last Anshelm said, “We’d best go on. No one will report us laggards if we do.”
“And there is infection everywhere, all kinds of infection,” said Notrold.
“The sun will be bright for some time yet,” said Sulpicius. “If we continue on, we’ll have daylight.”
“At least until Vespers,” said Theubert, sighing.
“But why not take advantage of the day? We have had prandium, and comestus will come at Compline; none of us can complain of hunger,” said Einshere with a brusque assertion of authority that surprised them all. “We can go on, if we must.” This was so abrupt a transition that the five soldiers were more troubled than they had been at his first suggestion that they halt for the day. “Let us go forward.” They continued slowly along the road, the torpid heat of the afternoon taking a toll on all of them.
“There is a convent not quite four Roman leagues ahead,” said Rakoczy. “If we press, we should arrive there at Vespers.”
“A convent. Which convent?” asked Einshere, his tone almost angry. “Tell me.”
“Sant’ Xystus the Second; there is a monks’ portion and a nuns’ portion at the convent; it is small but it is safe enough. The patron has a fine reputation, and the convent is prestigious because of it,” said Rakoczy. “He was a Pope and martyr to the faith,” he added for the benefit of the soldiers.
“A hero, in other words,” said Einshere, his face brightening. “They will admit us.”
“We have the paravareda from Great Karl himself. They can’t refuse us,” said Notrold harshly, and laughed.
“They have dormitories for travelers,” said Rakoczy carefully. “Unless they have no room, or there is fever in the convent, they will accommodate us.”
“What shall we do if there is no room?” Notrold demanded. “I don’t wish to sleep in a barn again. The fleas are still with me from the last time.”
“Would you want to stay near fever?” Usuard asked. “A barn is preferable to an early grave.”
“It is the time of the mal aria,” said Anshelm, and made a sign to protect himself from the dangers of the illness. “I have holy seals to wear.”
“And I,” said Usuard. “Pray God it is enough.”
“Then let us keep on,” said Notrold dryly. “If we debate, we lose light.” He clapped his heels to his red roan’s sides; the mare bounded forward, overtaking Rakoczy and Einshere in the lead; his remount neighed in distress at this treatment.
“Rush your horse and you will lose time; and your remount will be too tired to ride,” said Rakoczy. “On such a day as this, we must walk or the horses will suffer.”
“So you say,” Notrold blustered.
“So I do: and they’re my horses,” Rakoczy said curtly. He was aware of the resentment simmering within Notrold and was careful not to challenge him, for the soldier longed for an excuse to rebel.
“Fall in line, Notrold,” Einshere said as if heartily bored.
The soldiers waited to see what Notrold would do next and were not surprised when Notrold drew his sword, dropped the remount-lead, and pulled his horse around to charge Einshere, shouting as he did, “You said we should stop, now you say go on! Where is your courage? You disgrace us all!”
Rakoczy moved to put his horse between Notrold and Einshere, but the grey balked, half-rearing and neighing as Notrold lifted his sword; Einshere swung his spear from its sheath and held it as Notrold rode into it and screamed in outrage as the iron point penetrated just below his ribs, half-lifting him out of the saddle.
Einshere let go of the spear abruptly and looked away from Notrold, who was reeling in the saddle, his side pulsing blood as he pulled the iron point out of his flesh. Notrold’s roan sidled, tossing the wounded soldier onto the ground before she ran off a short way, then stopped, flanks heaving, sweat on her withers. Rakoczy rode after her, leaving the soldiers to care for Notrold; such a wound was quickly fatal—not even syrup of poppies was quick enough to spare him pain. He quieted the roan and led her back to the company, relieved to see that Sulpicius had the remount in hand.
Anshelm and Theubert had dismounted and were kneeling beside Notrold, who had turned an ashen hue; sweat stood out on his face and his breathing was ragged. Theubert was praying, reciting prayers for the dying, tears running down his face.
Einshere remained rigid in the saddle, looking straight ahead, his eyes like pebbles. “How long?” he asked flatly as Rakoczy rode up.
“He’s going quickly,” Rakoczy said, and studied Einshere.
“It was easy to kill him; it is right he should die. He should have fought the bison, not Pepin. Then this need not have happened,” said Einshere remotely. “His family and mine have fought for generations, so this was inevitable. No one could have prevented it, though both of us promised the King we would abandon our feud in his service. Notrold swore a blo
od oath against us when he first learned to fight. So did I. It is more binding than any promise, even one given to a King: Great Karl should never have made us part of this escort, not both of us.”
Rakoczy heard him out without comment; he handed the leads and reins to Einshere, then dismounted to go to Notrold; the man was pasty, his breath shallow, and his eyes had rolled up so only a sliver of blue showed at the edge of the lid. He gestured to Theubert, signaling him to continue his prayers, and he bent down to touch Notrold’s neck. “He will be gone shortly.”
“Then I suppose we will remain here for tonight,” said Anshelm in a soft, stricken voice.
“I think we must.” Usuard made a sign of protection. “He has to be given to the monks or a priest, so he may be buried as a Christian.”
“Karl-lo-Magne has said that his soldiers must be accorded a good burial.” Anshelm stared at Notrold. “All that blood. To lose it so quickly.”
“His breath is stopping,” said Theubert.
“It will be quick,” said Sulpicius, making a sign of protection.
Rakoczy went to the plausterum and stood near the rear opening, saying quietly, “There has been a misfortune.”
“I know,” said Gynethe Mehaut very quietly. “They will blame me for it.” In spite of the heat, she crossed her arms and took hold of them as if making a barricade against the world.
“How?” Rakoczy asked, trying to keep his voice level; even as he asked, he realized she was right.
“They will dream, they will decide it was so, one way or another they will find a reason that I caused this fight.” She sounded frightened.
“Einshere says their families are feuding,” Rakoczy pointed out. “That has nothing to do with you.”
“Still,” she said. “They will tell the Pope’s Court, and I will be condemned as the Anti-Christ.”
“No. That won’t happen,” he said with more determination than confidence.
“Because you won’t allow it?” She waited. “You’re a foreigner. How can you change what they want to do?”
“I can speak with Great Karl, and if he listens, he will make the Pope listen.” He was whispering now, hoping to keep this between them.
“Why would Great Karl do anything that could cause dissension among his subjects? You are not a Frank, or even a Longobard.” She said nothing more; Rakoczy saw Theubert drop his head, and he went from the plausterum to the fallen body of Notrold.
“He’s dead,” Anshelm announced grimly. “It’s over.” He rose, rubbing his hands on his femoralia to rid them of blood.
Theubert stayed where he was, his hands lifted to his shoulders in an attitude of prayer. He continued to recite Psalms in a monotonous tone. Finally he reached the end of the verses and stopped talking; his face was stark as he got to his feet. “We must find a church or monastery.”
“At this time of day, they’ll be at devotions or prandium,” said Sulpicius, looking about as if expecting to find the world dramatically changed.
“We’ll have to carry him, or put him in the plausterum,” said Einshere.
“Put him in the plausterum,” said Theubert. “He deserves to be sheltered.”
Rakoczy could see that these men were poised for violence; he hoped that Gynethe Mehaut would understand why they would have to use her plausterum to carry a body once again. “If you will lift him, I’ll open the rear of the—”
Theubert nodded. “Yes. In this heat, he mustn’t lie in the sun.”
Anshelm bent to take Notrold’s shoulders in his hands; blood had pooled around him in the road, and it hung off his body in long, stringy globs that no one dared touch. As Theubert lifted Notrold’s feet, he almost dropped them as he saw Notrold’s wound clearly for the first time. He uttered an oath and the flush that heat had imparted vanished, leaving him pale and shaken.
“You’ve seen wounds before,” said Anshelm, deliberately blunt.
“Yes,” Theubert said, and swallowed. “This is different.”
“Because we have served together? Because we kneel to the same King?” Anshelm scoffed. “And if there should be a new war tomorrow, and your family compels you to one side and I must fight for the other, what do you suppose would happen? Do you tell me you would refuse to take up arms against me? Would you hesitate to kill me? For I wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.” They managed to get the body into the rear of the plausterum, both taking pains not to look at Gynethe Mehaut.
“I wouldn’t kill you,” said Theubert. “It would disgrace the King.” He pulled the cloth into place, shutting the dead man in with the White Woman.
“Better to disgrace the King than the family,” said Anshelm, and made a sign to ward off evil. “If you fail the family, all honor is gone.”
“Best not to fight at all,” said Rakoczy pointedly. He was grateful now that this had occurred during the heat of the day, when all those who could rested indoors; there were few witnesses to the fight, and there should be no conflicting accounts that might delay their travel.
“I will stay with Notrold and see him properly buried,” said Sulpicius. “I’ll come along as soon as it’s done.”
“No,” said Einshere. “I should remain behind. You go on without me.” He swatted mosquitoes from his forehead, leaving a smear of blood behind. “I will arrange for Masses for his soul, commission a proper stone, and follow you to Roma if I am permitted to do so. It should take no more than five days.”
The soldiers said nothing, aware there was little they could say. Finally Anshelm found words for them all. “We will pray for you.”
“That is kind of you,” said Einshere distantly. “Which turning will take us to a church?”
“The next on your left,” said Rakoczy. “Half-a-league from the road, I’d guess. You can see the bell-tower through the trees,” he said, pointing. “There.”
“So it is,” said Einshere. “Then we shall go there.” He lowered his head. “I will accept any penance bestowed upon me: for the honor of my family, and the honor of the King.”
Sulpicius, who was leading Notrold’s remount, said, “See that the monks write it down. Make sure there is a record of what happened.”
“Yes. I must.” He continued to stare at a vacant place ahead of him. “It is a pity, but honor must be vindicated.”
“What had he done that was so reprehensible?” Rakoczy asked, and realized at once he had erred. “You need not tell me.”
“Notrold did not do it himself, and there have been any number of things that have passed between our families over the generations, though the most recent touched me closely,” said Einshere; he told the story in a colorless voice, as if reciting an ancient lesson. “His father’s brother took the wife of my grandfather away from him and kept her as his concubine. When my grandfather appealed to the Bishop, who was Notrold’s father, he ordered the wife returned, as the King required, but she and Notrold’s uncle caused his death instead.”
“You mean they murdered him?” Sulpicius asked, appalled.
“Worse. They performed rites that struck him down. He was a blighted man. He could not speak and his limbs were blighted, and at last, he suffered a fall, and that ended his life.” Einshere blinked as if fighting off sleep. “They had ensorcelled him. The Bishop agreed, and the woman was hacked to pieces. It was only one of many wrongs they have done us.”
Rakoczy said nothing this time, for there was no observation he could make that would change any of these tragedies. He kept his grey moving steadily and wondered what would happen to Einshere.
“What happened to the man?” Usuard finally had the courage to ask.
“Three of his fiscs were confiscated and given to the Church,” said Einshere; he was drawn and tired now.
“And now you have reclaimed the honor of your family,” said Theubert sadly.
“Thanks be to God,” said Einshere. He achieved a smile. “I hope you will forgive me for not going into Roma with you, Magnatus.”
“I’ll have to explain it t
o the Frankish Bishops,” said Rakoczy.
“We’ll make an account,” said Anshelm. “To our own people. The Romans would not understand, being sots and laggards, all of them.”
“Except the Pope,” said Suplicius.
“Yes, of course: except the Pope,” Anshelm agreed. “The Franks know how these matters are.”
“No doubt,” said Rakoczy dryly. “And I will make my report, too.” He felt dismay at the turn events had taken.
“As you must,” said Einshere. “And you will tell the truth, since you have no family involved in this.” He smiled slightly. “You must tell me if you want me to pray for you, too, as part of my penance.”
Rakoczy shook his head. “You must decide that for yourself.”
“Then I shall,” Einshere said. He stopped talking, his whole attention focused on the road ahead until they reached the door of Sant’ Salvator and summoned the priests with a tug on the bell-chain; a young woman with a mass of brown hair under an untidy veil and in the last months of pregnancy answered the summons, saying, “My husband will be with you shortly. He is finishing None. As soon as he is done, he will come out to you.” She gave the party a guarded look, as if expecting the worst of them.
“God give you good day, Priest’s Wife,” Theubert said, and managed a moderate sort of reverence from the saddle.
“And so He has, but I fear you men are about to end it,” she said, putting a hand to her back. “If you are on the road when most men are praying or sleeping, you must have urgent business.”
“And so we do,” said Rakoczy. “I regret that we must disturb your husband with this, but we must entrust a fallen soldier to the Church for the burial of his body.”
“As well as the preservation of his soul,” said Einshere, and dismounted, handing his reins and lead to Rakoczy. “I thank you, Magnatus. You have done more than was asked of you, and for that I am grateful to you. When I have made my account, I will have it carried to Roma for your sigil for its authenticity. If you will do that for me, I will count myself a fortunate man.” He turned to the priest’s wife. “Is there a penitent’s cell here?”
Night Blooming Page 45
