by M. K. Hume
Deuteria was furious! She sulked, refused to eat, and even refused to drink until she realized that Lorcan didn’t really care, one way or the other.
“No one has stipulated what condition you should be in when you eventually arrive in Reims, my lady, just that you arrive alive and in one piece,” Lorcan informed her in a completely unpriestly manner. “You may starve yourself by all means, but that leaves more food for the rest of us. I will be very sorry, of course, because you’re a beautiful woman and I’d hate to see you become ill. But I’m in charge of this journey, and you will obey my instructions. If you wish to harm yourself, I cannot stop you, but I must say that your personal cook is certainly an excellent chef, and I’ll happily eat his stews and pies all day and all night.”
Lorcan saluted the chef, Coptus, who was seated in the back of the wagon, while peeling and dicing a pile of wilted carrots, turnips, swedes, and other unidentifiable root vegetables. He had already expertly skinned the rabbit that Gareth had dropped with his bow an hour earlier, and the travelers knew that he’d produce a hot stew an hour or so after they stopped for the night. Coptus had discovered that riding a horse could become a painful task if a man was in the saddle for ten hours a day. Besides, the showy horse had a dreadful, uneven gait that almost jarred the teeth out of the chef’s head. He had now decided to remain permanently on the wagon while his horse carried some of the luggage.
Deuteria rode occasionally during those times when she decided to flirt with Gareth, who was the most attractive male present. Unfortunately, Gareth had no idea how to flirt and even less inclination to spend time in the company of the Roman matron. Disconsolately, she was forced to practice her seduction skills on Father Lorcan, who might have been a priest, but possessed an appreciative eye for a pretty ankle and a generous expanse of thigh.
And so no one was totally happy during the four long weeks that their journey into the north was to take. The maid developed a tendre for the bodyguard, who appeared to be repelled by females of any age. Ultimately, Lorcan was forced to intervene and explain the situation to the callow girl, which both shocked her and sent her into torrents of hot, embarrassed tears.
“The silly little slut has no idea!” Deuteria complained. “What woman of any reputation would have a personal bodyguard who might compromise her? Crispus loves men, and he’s far too pretty to be a real man. He plucks his body hair, for the sake of the Virgin! What did Adelia expect? Did she think he was naturally hairless?”
Crispus and Deuteria competed for Gareth’s attention, but the young man was afraid to sleep close to the nightly fire for fear that he’d waken to find a warm body pressed against his. The very thought of plucking out his body hair repelled and fascinated the young Briton, who was wholly occupied with his belated lessons in sexual matters.
“Stay away from all of them and stick close to my side,” Lorcan suggested, trying hard not to laugh when Gareth came to him after being harried all day by one or the other of his admirers. “Better still, you should spend your time with Adelia. Her heart is broken! She needs a friend now, because she’s been in love with Crispus since she was a little girl. He used to tell her stories and he was kind to her after Deuteria sold her mother.”
“Deuteria sold her mother?” Gareth was round-eyed with shock and contempt. “How old was Adelia when her mother left the villa?”
“According to what Adelia remembers, she thinks she was about nine or ten years old. She’s belonged to the villa all her life, and when Deuteria returned from the north, she trained the girl to dress her hair and keep her clothes mended, sweet, and clean. Apparently, Adelia is very adept at what she does, or Deuteria would have removed her long ago.”
“I hate this stinking country,” Gareth said. “Slavery, plague, betrayal, mindless talk, and violence! A man can’t keep his head straight in this place.”
Lorcan grunted at the young man’s prejudices. “It’s long past time you became less censorious, Gareth. This land is much the same as any other, including Britain, for that matter. Stop being such a prig, boy! I have to stomach the performances of everyone else . . . but I’m not prepared to put up with too much nonsense from you.”
And so the journey went on, stumbling from one small crisis to another, so that when Reims was only one day away, Deuteria swore that she would never travel by wagon again. Gareth and Lorcan had other problems, especially the knowledge that they had no idea where they were going when they arrived.
“Our murderous friend seems to trust to luck, unfortunately,” Lorcan told Gareth when the younger man asked how they were supposed to conduct Deuteria to her destination. “You’d best ride to the gates of Reims and see if you can get some information from the inns on the whereabouts of Germanus or his anonymous master.”
“You’d be far better at carrying out this task than me, Lorcan. You know I don’t have the knack for talking to strangers.”
Lorcan snapped his fingers irritably. It was a sure sign that his temper was stretched.
“How can I trust you not to annoy Deuteria to the point of murder? She’s already killed her own daughter, so I wouldn’t trust your chances if you irritated her sufficiently. And, boy, you do irritate the lady a great deal. If you’d bedded her as she wanted, we wouldn’t be having problems with her now.”
“She’s loathsome! I couldn’t . . . I wouldn’t!”
“And I suppose you never have,” Lorcan retorted, his temper breaking out like hot lava to burn anything in its path.
Gareth’s face flushed hotly, and the priest’s bad temper was leached away with the realization that the boy was either still a virgin or so inexperienced that he was completely ignorant of the ways of sex. In fact, Gareth had enjoyed the sexual favors of Kerryn, the servant girl at the Forest of Arden, but she had approached him. As for homosexuality, the boy had known servants aplenty at the villa who loved persons of the same sex, but he’d never considered himself in this light.
“Shite, boy! Your father was so busy creating the perfect warrior that he forgot that an idealized swordmaster would have to be a person as well, someone who’d have needs and desires.”
Lorcan sighed and cupped Gareth’s cheek with his horny right hand. “I understand, Gareth! You’ve had a difficult time of it, and I’ve not helped you by being insensitive. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Gareth simply looked at the priest with a wide blue stare, and Lorcan was forced to grin ruefully.
“Aye! It’s not easy to have discussions about your sexual experiences if you haven’t had many. No, Lorcan! I can’t keep this bitch away from me by sleeping with her, because I’ve never had sex with anyone like her, and I wouldn’t know how to perform what she wanted, even if I wanted to. In any case, I don’t want to! I’m sorry!”
The priest thought for a moment.
“Very well then, Gareth, I’ll go into Reims. I’ll see if I can find Germanus near the city gates first, and then I’ll just follow my nose. There must be a number of inns suitable for pilgrims who are eager to pray in the cathedral where all kings are crowned. Perhaps we can find our friend through them.”
Gareth sighed with relief, but Lorcan hadn’t finished his instructions to his young novice. “Stay outside the gates, Gareth. Lie if you have to! Say anything to shut the Roman bitch up, but don’t go into the city until I greet you again and let you know that all is well. I’ll find Germanus, one way or another, and then we can shake the dust of this place off our clothes. Keep the whole party silent and safely outside the city walls—tell our charges how the death carts circulate daily through the city and how the dead are burned in communal graves outside the walls. Besides the fact that this tale is true, Deuteria knows nothing about Justinian’s disease, so just explain what the illness is like and don’t be afraid to exaggerate.”
When Lorcan galloped away just before nightfall, Gareth knew how demanding Deuteria would be once she realized the priest had l
eft for Reims without them; his prediction was all too correct.
“Why has the priest deserted us? What is the problem that he must go to Reims without us? Tell me, boy! I’m tired of being treated like a servant. I swear that I’ll not move another step until you tell me what is amiss.”
As Deuteria’s hysterical speech was shouted shrilly and was accompanied by a purple-red flush around the neck, cheeks, and breasts of her usually luscious body, Gareth found himself recoiling in disgust. With considerable effort, he struggled to keep his voice even and reasonable.
“Reims was badly affected by Justinian’s disease at the time we left these parts to travel down to Beziers. The plague was the main reason that Theudebert’s army was quartered at Soissons. Now that autumn has arrived, we believe the disease has halted its inevitable march towards the north, but we want to be absolutely sure of your safety. Lorcan and I have experienced this ghastly illness, and we believe it’s advisable to wait until the situation has been clarified. Lorcan is putting himself at risk by entering the city.”
“My . . . friend wouldn’t risk my life by allowing me to undertake a journey to any place where death is possible,” Deuteria snapped spitefully. “Nor would that smelly priest risk his life for me.”
If you only knew, you stupid cow, Gareth thought, in the full knowledge that the courtier they had met would have her throttled if it suited his purposes.
“The disease kills unpleasantly and your . . . gentleman friend knows that the risk of contagion is in every town and every village throughout the land. My friend, Germanus, who survived the disease, was only in the Frankish kingdom for eight days before he succumbed to its horrors. Neither Lorcan nor I caught the illness, although many thousands of other poor souls did, and died. While coming to Reims, we have deliberately avoided all the major towns to bring you this far in safety, my lady. Did you not wonder why we never stopped at inns and other places where travelers are prone to catch the illness?”
Something in the young Briton’s demeanor spoke of truth. When he went on to describe the huge boils that filled with pus and poison in the armpits and the groin areas, Deuteria looked sickened, and Adelia wailed with fear. But when he continued his description to include the dead flesh that destroyed noses, lips, fingers, and toes, all four of his charges paled and Crispus vomited discreetly into the bushes.
“Very well then, we’ll travel to the outskirts of Reims and wait there until your priest returns. But if you’re lying to me, Gareth, I’ll personally arrange for your dishonest tongue to be removed from your mouth.”
Gareth had no doubt that she would try to fulfill her oath if she deemed it necessary.
“Crispus would happily obey me, especially if he thought you had risked his perfect, aquiline nose by keeping us out of Reims,” Deuteria averred. “Isn’t that right, Crispus?”
Crispus nodded impassively, but the large and overmuscular bodyguard touched his nose to assure himself that this perfectly formed feature had not suddenly been afflicted with the contagion.
The party of travelers waited within sight of the great walls of the city, yet they were still some distance away from the houses, shops, and markets that existed beyond the outskirts of this venerable and ancient town built by the Goths and originally called Durocortorum by these long-dead artisans.
But the plague hadn’t quite relinquished its hold.
While they waited, Deuteria saw the black carts filled with corpses leave the city for the burning pits, where the bodies would be cremated, and she quailed to think that these carts still came daily to collect plague victims.
Then, just before dark, the travelers saw a row of slum houses, all in the same district, burning fiercely. They were afraid that the city might have caught alight, but then Gareth pointed out the small, antlike figures carrying buckets in long lines to and from the blazing street of derelict buildings. There was order in the chaos of this fire, and the observers were soon aware that streets nearby were being drenched to ensure that storms of sparks wouldn’t set light to the thatched roofs of other buildings.
“I’ve heard they burn the houses of the poor to kill the disease carriers. This usually means that a city is finally defeating the sickness and the townsfolk are taking action to isolate the infected areas and bring the contagion under control. Fire seems to destroy the evil humors that feed it during the warmer weather. Now that the cold has come, the citizens are removing the slums in the belief that the plague will have nowhere to live during the winter months.”
Deuteria was struck by a sudden thought.
“I do believe that’s true! Any of my kinsmen or -women who have died in contagions in the past seemed to perish during spring or summer. I always thought it was unfair that my parents died when the weather was so warm and lovely.”
Gareth nodded and prayed inwardly that Deuteria’s fear of becoming ill would be stronger than her desire for the comforts of Reims, including a soft bed, her latest wish and the subject of much nagging.
The very next morning, after three days of waiting, Father Lorcan appeared on Berry. He was followed by a smiling Germanus, who was looking hearty and healthy. The two men were accompanied by two other Frankish warriors, watchful and suspicious by nature. They were obviously keeping a close eye on their charges.
Gareth could barely contain his relief and joy.
“Well, my boyo, I can see you’re still in one piece,” Lorcan said with a wink and a grin. “Look who I found? He’d been checking every alehouse near the southern gate for a week or so, when we happened to walk into each other.”
“He’d been sampling the quality of the beer in a number of inns, I’m afraid,” Germanus quipped in his usual slow and reasonable manner. Joyfully, Gareth realized that nothing had changed and that the two old reprobates would probably needle each other until one or the other died.
“This is Mistress Deuteria and her servants.” Gareth made the necessary introductions, while Germanus brought an attractive flush to Deuteria’s cheeks by taking her hand and kissing her fingertips in a display of obvious admiration.
Gareth could almost read the Roman bitch’s mind. A real man at last!
“Shall we go now, mistress? I have personally selected your villa, which is a charming little palace on top of a hill away from the press of the Subura, as your people in Rome called the crowded streets where the commoners live.”
Deuteria simpered.
“Of course, I have ensured it is well furnished. It even has a small bathhouse, which, as you know, is very difficult to find in these uncivilized days. A well provides fresh water, there is a fine orchard bearing every kind of fruit, a kitchen garden to please your cook, and neighbors of the highest quality in all of Reims. I believe you’ll be very pleased with your purchase.”
Deuteria almost skipped as she hurried to the wagon to depart for her new villa. All thought of the plague had been forgotten in Germanus’s clever description of her luxurious new home.
“I didn’t know you had become a merchant and taken to selling palaces to rich and foolish women,” Gareth jeered at the Frank, whose eyes swiveled towards the two tall Frankish guards who were examining Gareth and his weapons with particular care.
“Keep your voice down. These, er . . . nursemaids have been sent to ensure that Deuteria is well and happy in her new lodgings. They are carrying the payment for our services and a letter from the king that will grease our way through to the Dene borders.”
“If you believe in the effectiveness and integrity of those documents, I can assure you that I happen to possess a ship full of Falernian wine that I can sell to you at a very, very cheap price,” Lorcan added with his usual irreverence.
• • •
TWO WEEKS HAD passed since the travelers left Reims.
The night was gelid with cold, while a slight wind stirred the icy tree branches. The first few raindrops from the coming s
torm fell on the solitary man who had settled himself into the shadows of ornamental trees in the grounds of a small villa on the outskirts of Soissons. Winter was almost here, and the Frankish army would soon be snowed into its new barracks that Theudebert had ordered to be built on the fields where they had camped in tents during the spring and the summer. Although there had been no further incidents of plague in Reims during the past month, the king had decided to honor Soissons with his presence, so he had settled into the palace that he owned in the center of that thriving city. His officers and aristocrats were forced to hire whatever rooms they could find and, of course, Hubert had found a small, congenial estate that was a little out of the way, but had the advantage of complete privacy.
Inside his scriptorium, Hubert lazed in a comfortable chair with a soft cushion behind his back. A glass of superior red wine winked beatifically in the ruby light from a torch which lit the room adequately, so he could read the notes of the accounts he had been assembling. Deuteria was very happy with her new home, which the barbarian had purchased at a much-reduced price after the death of the original owners from Justinian’s disease. Finally, the three bothersome strangers had been paid for their work and had departed into the north. Unknown to them, Hubert had sent couriers to the northern frontiers, ordering their immediate execution the moment they presented their travel documents that promised safe passage.
