Night Blooming

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Since you will have to leave behind many horses, I will take them in change and add them to my own herds. This is as much of a tribute as I can offer to you, and to that end, I have ordered that your catch-colt—the tall one with the red coat—will be put into my stable as well, as one of my own mounts. This will show my kinsmen that I do not disdain you, and it may make it possible at some future time for you to return to Franksland and to my Court, when there is less unrest.

  I pray that we will meet again, on this earth. There are many things that I should still like to learn from you, and I am certain that, in the years ahead, I will be able to make some demonstration of my good opinion once again. In the meantime, I wish you swift travel and the satisfaction of knowing you have served me well.

  Karl-lo-Magne

  Emperor of the Franks and Longobards and

  Imperial Governor of all the Romans of the

  West (his sigil by his own hand)

  by the hand of Fratre Hinehild

  Chapter Fifteen

  INSECTS BUZZED IN THE WARM NIGHT, small eddies of them following the two men and nine animals who made their way along the broad ruts that led across the swath of pasture-land toward the dark mass of the forest; the moon, two nights short of full, poured down its pellucid light on the fields in the last throes of summer, the brightness making all shadows blacker by contrast.

  “There may be bandits in the woods,” Rorthger warned; he could not forget Waifar and their first encounter with him, and all that had resulted from it. That alone made him apprehensive; he was riding behind Rakoczy, leading a horse and three well-laden mules, and the hard pace his master had set over the last ten days was beginning to tell on him as well as their animals. They were moving through Austrasia at nine leagues each day, the best time they had made since they left Sant’ Cyricus.

  “There probably are, but at this time of night, they will all be asleep. They only watch the roads during the day, or at twilight. No one is abroad after full dark, and the brigands know this better than anyone.” Rakoczy spoke as quietly as he could and still be heard; he led a remount and two pack-mules.

  Rorthger accepted this. “The moonlight won’t help us when we get to the forest.”

  “No; we will find a place to stop before we get there. It is still many leagues distant.” Rakoczy relented. “Your point is well-taken, old friend. I must not punish you or our animals for my own dismay.”

  “Dismay?” Rorthger said before he could stop himself; he did not want to question Rakoczy, knowing that such inquiry could send his master into a more removed state of mind than the one in which he already was. “Why should you feel dismay?”

  “What else should I feel: perhaps chagrin,” Rakoczy said ironically. “I, of all men, should know not to rely upon the gratitude of rulers.”

  This admission brought Rorthger fully alert. “Did you rely upon Great Karl?”

  “Far more than I should have,” Rakoczy allowed with a hint of a rueful smile. “I should have remembered that for a Frank, kinship is everything, and that I, as a stranger, would never have his complete support no matter what he promised. I knew that, but I allowed myself to be persuaded that he would not be bound by the demands of his relatives. It was foolish and I know better: nothing is more compelling than the ties of blood.” He managed a single chuckle. “How could I forget such an essential thing?”

  An owl flew over them on silent wings, then dove into the field, emerging with a rat in its talons.

  “Great Karl doesn’t uphold blood as you do, and he professes to honor merit above blood; it was an easy thing to believe, for he has advanced those not among his kin—think of Alcuin, who is no Frank,” said Rorthger. He peered into the limpid distance. “There is a hamlet up ahead.”

  “Yes; I see it,” said Rakoczy. “We’ll probably hear dogs barking shortly.”

  “Doesn’t that trouble you?” Rorthger asked; he had seen Rakoczy like this many times in the past, and always it had disquieted him—that careful courtesy and slightly reticent demeanor that served to tell Rorthger that there was deep pain and intense grief behind the self-contained facade.

  “They will assume deer have come down to graze in their fields, or a bear is in their orchard. They won’t expect two men and a string of horses and mules.” He looked at the leads in his hands. “If they see our tracks in the morning, they’ll assume merchants went by before dawn.”

  “You’re sure of that, are you?” Rorthger challenged.

  Rakoczy did not answer at once. He kept his eyes on the road ahead. At last, when they had gone another half-league, he spoke up again. “The worst they might do is throw rocks.”

  “And they will remember,” Rorthger warned.

  “Perhaps, if they actually see us,” said Rakoczy. “But so far, not even one dog has barked.” He urged his grey on as the road began to rise. “Do you remember the ponies we rode across the steppes? They would be useful to us just now, wouldn’t they?”

  “Yes, they would,” said Rorthger. “And so would good Roman roads.”

  “True enough,” said Rakoczy. “In another two months, this will be a mire, and it will be well into spring before anyone will travel on it again.”

  Rorthger knew it would not be possible to get Rakoczy to speak about what was vexing him, so he abandoned the attempt. He settled in for a long, silent ride on the twisting road. The moon rode overhead, sliding down toward the west as the night began to fade; they were not far from the trees now, and the first stirrings of night’s end had begun, and Rorthger looked around for an isolated building to bring to Rakoczy’s attention.

  “There,” said Rakoczy, pointing to a small stone chapel. “It is a good place to spend the day.”

  “If no monk or hermit lives in it,” Rorthger cautioned.

  “No, not now,” said Rakoczy. “There is a Pox sign on the side of it. Whoever lived there died during the summer.”

  Rorthger knew that Rakoczy could see in relative darkness far better than he could, but this startled him. “You can see it?”

  “So can you if you care to look,” said Rakoczy. “It is quite large.” He pointed to the side of the squat stone building. “In rust-colored pigment. The Great Pox took a high toll on this part of Franksland since May. We have seen its depredation from our crossing at Mainz. Everything to the east of the river has been blighted by it. That hamlet may have lost half its people if the outbreak was as severe in this region as it was at Mainz; they lost at least one in six in that town—that has been the pattern here for more than two centuries.”

  “The Great Pox is a curse to men,” said Rorthger. “Anyone it touches takes its mark whether they live or die.” He wanted to add something about the whiteness that marked Gynethe Mehaut, but he could not bring himself to speak of her, fearing he would worsen the pain that had Rakoczy in its grip; he bided his time and hoped that eventually Rakoczy might offer his thoughts of his own accord.

  Rakoczy said nothing more until they reached the turning for the chapel, and then he said, “If you will look for a well or a spring?”

  “Certainly,” said Rorthger. “The horses and mules need drink.”

  “And it would be pleasant to wash. I feel as if I have grime everywhere,” said Rakoczy; he noticed a stand of reeds. “There may be a stream.”

  “If there is a stream, there are surely ducks,” said Rorthger, who did not want to admit how hungry he was.

  “Yes,” Rakoczy said, his tone still distant.

  “Do you plan to go on before nightfall?” Rorthger asked, and patted the neck of his copper-dun as if to reassure the horse that their long night was almost over; his back was tired, and he hoped for a full day of rest before they rode on.

  “Probably we should leave in late afternoon.” Rakoczy was almost at the entrance to the chapel. “We’ll have a clear night again and I hope to make the most of it while the moon is at its brightest.”

  “Shouldn’t we go after dark? You will be able to guide us through t
he trees, and fewer people will see us,” Rorthger suggested. “I will catch a brace of ducks.”

  “Just as well. We’re both hungry.” Rakoczy got out of the saddle and took the reins and leads, pulling the animals toward the entrance to the chapel. “Take them all inside. Give them grain from the sacks, and a palmful of oil each.”

  “All right,” said Rorthger as he dismounted. “The peasants won’t like having their chapel used as a stall.”

  “Will you tell them? For I won’t,” Rakoczy countered with a trace of amusement. “We can bed the floor and sweep it out before we leave.”

  This satisfied Rorthger. “I’ll help you cut reeds for bedding. We have time enough before dawn.” He forced open the door, pushing it back in spite of groaning hinges; the chapel was dank from disuse, the air stale. The altar was little more than a plank table under two high, barred windows.

  “Close quarters,” said Rakoczy, moving his animals inside and making room for Rorthger.

  “Truly,” said Rorthger as he came inside with his horses and mules.

  “We’ll make do,” said Rakoczy. He tied the reins and leads to the frame of a small shrine near the door. “I’ll take the sickle with me. If you’ll see to the unsaddling, I’ll get the first armful of reeds.”

  “Of course,” said Rorthger, and secured his animals to the other side of the shrine. “Which Saint is this, do you suppose?”

  From the door, Rakoczy laughed slightly. “I suppose it is one of the old gods who has been re-formed as a Saint. Look at the cat at her feet. One of the old goddesses rode in a chariot drawn by cats—I forget which one, but I suspect the villagers could tell me, for if they say this Saint has a connection with cats, I surmise that connection is similar to the one the old goddess had.” He slipped out of the door, leaving Rorthger to his tasks. He returned a short while later with a double armload of reeds. He put them down almost as soon as he was inside and began to spread them about. “Not as good as straw, but better than branches and twigs,” he said as he continued to work on the bedding.

  Rorthger had stood the saddles on end and was preparing rough-leather nose-bags with grain and oil for their animals. “I’ll take them down to drink in a while.”

  “Why don’t you go get more reeds and snare a pair of ducks for our comestus?” Rakoczy recommended. “I’ll tend to the grooming; I’ll make camphor wraps for their legs to reduce the chance of lameness.” He picked up the box of brushes and began to work on his older grey. “Their manes need wool-fat. I’ll treat them, and their tails.”

  “Very good,” said Rorthger. “I’ll catch the ducks—you can have the blood and I’ll eat their flesh.” He knew he sounded hungry, and for once, he did not care. Taking the sickle and a pair of weighted nets, he left Rakoczy to care for the horses and mules. As he stepped outside he looked up and saw that the eastern sky was beginning to lighten, a soft dove color shone over the mountains; in the west, the moon had dropped below the peaks. In the distance, a cock crowed, announcing morning, and Rorthger hurried to do his work, not wanting to be discovered by early-rising peasants. A short while later, as he snared his second duck, he heard two cows lowing; he hastened to cut an armful of reeds and carried them and the squawking ducks back to the chapel.

  “I don’t think it would be wise to make a fire,” Rakoczy said as he saw Rorthger come inside. He was brushing down the fourth mule and had a large jar of wool-fat tucked under his arm. “Do you want me to flay the ducks for you?”

  “I’ll do it,” said Rorthger. “When you’re through.”

  “All right,” said Rakoczy, and went on working. “I want to braid the mules’ manes, to keep them from worse tangles. We’ll be into the woods shortly, and they’ll have brambles and branches to snare knots in their manes.”

  “Do you have thongs enough to tie them?” Rorthger spread the reeds he had brought; in the nets the ducks still struggled.

  “I believe so.” He smeared wool-fat into the mane and forelock, then used a wooden comb to spread it through the hair. “One more to go.” He did the same for the jenny-mule’s tail.

  “All right,” said Rorthger. “The peasants in the hamlet must be waking.”

  “I heard the cows, and the cock,” said Rakoczy. “Milking will be first, and that will take a bit of time. When that’s done, they’ll go out into the fields. We have a little time yet.” He moved on to the last mule and gave him a good brushing.

  “A pity we had to leave Livius behind,” said Rorthger, watching Rakoczy closely. “He would have assured us a welcome at any fisc.”

  “But he would be remembered and he was wanted by Great Karl, who would have begrudged our taking him.” Rakoczy continued to ply his brush. “That and the catch-colt—such a sturdy horse, and sweet-tempered.”

  “For the Emperor’s daughters to ride,” said Rorthger, and before Rakoczy could say anything more, changed the subject. “We’re all hungry.”

  Rakoczy put his brush aside and reached for the wooden comb. “As soon as I am finished with this, I’ll deal with the ducks.”

  Rorthger nodded. “I could use a good meal.”

  “So could I,” Rakoczy admitted candidly. “But ducks will have to suffice for now.” He combed wool-fat through the jackmule’s mane. “I am sorry I couldn’t do anything to mitigate what became of Gynethe Mehaut,” he said in an under-voice. “I would have liked to have spared her suffering; she has had more than she should have done long before now.”

  “Anything you might have done would have made her situation worse,” said Rorthger. “Think of Nicoris. She didn’t—”

  “She didn’t want to live as a vampire must, and neither would Gynethe Mehaut. I know. And your point is well-taken.” He stopped grooming and put the brushes and the jar of wool-fat away. “Give me the ducks. I’ll do the camphor wraps while you eat.”

  Rorthger lifted the two nets with their protesting contents. “Here they are.”

  “I won’t take long,” Rakoczy assured him, and went to the far corner of the chapel to take what he needed as privately as he could. When he came back to Rorthger a short time later, the two ducks were silent and limp; Rorthger took them and went to work with his knife, removing the skin so that he could eat the raw flesh. When he was finished, Rakoczy had completed wrapping their animals’ legs and was nearly done braiding the mules’ manes. “Are you going to rest?”

  “I think it would be prudent, don’t you?” Rakoczy asked. “We have a long way to go to Wendish territory, and not many days to get there. The King’s passagius doesn’t allow us much time to reach the frontier, and I don’t want to try to extend its grant of passage.”

  “Do you think he intended that you shouldn’t get away?” Rorthger asked as he cut away his first long strip of succulent duck.

  “I would like to think that he would not be so petty as that, but I cannot be certain,” said Rakoczy slowly. He tied his last small braid with a short leather thong and finally put his things away. “I will be glad of a short rest, I admit.”

  “But you’re not well-fed,” said Rorthger.

  “And I will not be for a while,” Rakoczy agreed. “Still, I can’t see any advantage in trying to find a woman to visit in her sleep—not here, and not at Fulda in the Travelers’ Hall.” The famous monastery was a day ahead of them. “The cubicula are watched.”

  “Then one of the slaves?” Rorthger suggested.

  “No. I will take nothing from slaves. They have lost too much already.” He frowned, remembering his time with the Emir’s son.

  Rorthger knew better than to argue, but he could not keep from fretting as he ate the two ducks; he paid no attention to Rakoczy when he fetched his bedroll from the pack-saddle and opened it on the rough stones of the chapel floor. “Rest well,” he said as Rakoczy stretched out on the bedroll. “I’ll take care of the horses and mules,” he said as he finished his meal.

  “Thank you,” Rakoczy said, lying back on the thin layer of his native earth.

  After he
disposed of the duck bones and skin in a hastily dug hole, Rorthger took their pail and went out to get water for each of their animals in turn. On his fifth trip to the stream, he saw a young boy staring at him from the other side of the water, eyes wide and face showing worried astonishment. Keeping the lad in his view, Rorthger filled the pail and went back to the chapel, noticing with relief that Rakoczy had not yet fallen into the stupor that passed for sleep among vampires. “I was seen.”

  “By whom?” Rakoczy asked.

  “A child.” Rorthger held the pail for the third mule.

  “Boy or girl?” Rakoczy had pushed up onto his elbow and was watching Rorthger closely.

  “A boy,” said Rorthger. “About six or seven.”

  Rakoczy frowned. “Did he speak to you?”

  “No. He gaped at me, and fretted,” said Rorthger. “He might have seen a haunt.”

  “You said nothing?” Rakoczy asked, sitting all the way up.

  “Of course not. He was alarmed enough without that.” Rorthger shook his head. “He was still standing there, watching me, when I came back here.”

  “That’s something,” said Rakoczy. “If he is apprehensive, it may buy us some time.” He rose and began to wrap up his bedroll. “I’ll help you saddle up.”