Pardon me for railing at you—I rail when I am frightened, and I am frightened now, for I fear I will lose all that I have sought for myself and have no means to maintain my autonomy. There is almost nothing I can do about this, and my fear increases as I become lessened in the world. So I howl at the stars and complain to you, and hope that I fear in vain.
I left your villa in good heart, the fields bountiful and the orchards producing in abundance, and with a caretaker and staff who have been reliable before; they currently number twenty-nine, counting the day-laborers, and they are all under the caretaker’s administration, who has your present location and has been instructed to send you annual reports until such time as you return to Rome or I appoint his successor. I have permitted him to reduce the size of your stable from ninety horses to thirty-five. There is less likelihood of them being seized at this smaller number than the larger, so you will still have a few horses left when you return, rather than none at all. Romulus Ursinus will keep you informed on the numbers and genders of the herd.
I realize one of the reasons you have gone so far away is to rid yourself of all the reminders of Nicoris, which I understand, having occasionally done something of the sort myself. But, my most enduring friend, you are not to blame for her decision to accept the True Death. As you told me, almost five hundred years ago now, not everyone can live as those of our blood must. That she discovered she was unable to seek out the living for the sustenance of intimacy is hardly your fault, for you showed her how those of our blood must live, and you were more than generous with her as she wakened to your life. I am unliving proof that you are the very soul of all that is honorable, for you took me from my tomb when I had no hope of restoration, and you have extended your protection and guidance in all kindness. That Nicoris found others lacking where you had not been is hardly a lack in you, but a failure for others, as well I know. Pardon yourself for your caring and return to Europe once again. It has little to recommend it at present, but I would be glad of your company.
As I have already intimated, Rome is no longer thriving, and it is not for military reasons alone that it is so fallen from its former glory, which is now most apparent in the ruins that are the most noticeable features of the old districts of Rome. It is truly unsafe to live there, and that saddens me as much as seeing the peacocks in Constantine’s City proclaiming themselves to the new Rome, and more magnificent than the old. They have the pomp but not the law, the wealth but not the roads, the Church instead of the gods. Magna Mater! They have abolished the rights of slaves to purchase their freedom! Women are forbidden to inherit property without a man to serve as guardian for her legacy. What kind of Rome is that?
It has been a very wet winter here in the mountains, or perhaps it is more usual than I know. The summer has been marked with thunderstorms and strong winds. While this location is generally protected, it is also inclined to be flooded when there is a great deal of rain. A fortnight ago the streams were over their banks as the water from the peaks came down the mountains. This time not much damage was done, but I have ordered that the walls of the streams be set with stones to help contain the water. Such measures helped preserve my fields in Clusium on the Via Cassia and may do so here, as well. That holding is long-gone, but I have not forgot the lessons I learned there. The work will be done in a month or so, when the water is at its lowest. We will dam the stream for a month and do the lining at a time when the water behind the dam may be used to water livestock and provide a chance for fishing. That has made the more recalcitrant peasants willing at least to try this approach. Some of the farmers in the region have said that if this succeeds here, they may do the same with their streams. It is most apparent that they do not expect these measures to work, but they are not set against trying such methods, either.
The last letter I had from you—and it took almost four years to reach me, and I count myself fortunate to have received it at all—was eight years ago. You had just arrived in Yang-Chau and had begun your business. I suppose you have sent other letters that have not arrived and may never arrive. I wonder what I should ask you, since I have little or no information upon which to draw. Still, I am curious to know how you are, wherever you are, and however you have fared since you left Europe. Very well then: are you still in Yang-Chau? What manner of city is Yang-Chau? Is Rogerian with you? This should be inquiry enough to ensure an answer from you, my oldest, most exasperating friend.
I am giving this letter into the hands of a Longobard merchant bound for the Dalmatian Coast, who will pass it on to a merchant sailing for the Black Sea, who, the Longobard assures me, can be trusted, especially since I am providing gold to ensure his help. From there, it will have to go overland, I suppose, on the Silk Road, and be carried into China by other merchants. I find it difficult to be optimistic about this reaching you at all. It is something like shouting into the void of the night, and hoping to hear an echo from the stars. As uncertain as this journey may be, I will assume that you will read this one day in two or three years. Remember when you see it that I would be glad to see you again, and that you will always be welcome at my house, wherever I am.
Before I can become maudlin with missing you, I will sign and seal this, and start it on its way to you. It is my plan to remain here for at least ten years, so by the time you read this, you should be able to get one reply to me before I move on. I assure you I will be discreet, for it would not do for the people here to discover my true nature, any more than they would be pleased to know of yours. It is my intention to look for my sustenance elsewhere, and to pursue my desires with those who sleep, at least for now. And, my cherished one, I will dream of you.
Olivia
4
It was midmorning on a cold, clear day that was crisped by a whipping north wind. Zangi-Ragozh and his men, wagons, and horses waited on the wooden pier for the ferry to take them across the Crane River, one of several southern forks of the Huang Ho; immediately ahead of them was a farmer with four goats. Behind them, a Mongol merchant with a train of ponies carrying casks and bales of goods was bound northward for his homeland. After the Mongol came an enclosed carriage of splendid design, heavily curtained and ornamented, drawn by four handsome Celestial horses and guarded by five armed out-riders: the equipage and escort of a noblewoman. Finally, there were three scruffy men with a heavy wagon drawn by a hitch of six asses.
“At least the rain and snow have stopped, now we’re out of the mountains. This wind is bad enough. Look how choppy the water is,” said Yao as he watched the progress of the ferry coming toward them from the opposite bank.
Zangi-Ragozh was already feeling a bit queasy, and he turned away from the river, saying, “At least the ferry is large enough for most of us.” He patted the neck of his gray, hoping the mare would not pick up his nervousness. He brushed the hilt of the sword that hung on his saddle, hoping he would have no cause to use it.
“The crossing will be tedious,” said Yao. “But once it is done, it’s done. This is the end of winter, and the weather will change soon.”
“Yes; spring is coming,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “Our return trip should be much easier than this has been.” He swung around in his saddle and studied the approaching ferry, making note of the degree of splash and bounce its present passengers endured.
“Unless there is more fighting,” said Ro-shei. He was mounted on a broad-backed chestnut with three white feet.
“The new Wen Emperor Yuan is pledged to stop all fighting,” said Zangi-Ragozh with a nice mix of respect and doubt.
“So we will all hope,” said Yao, fiddling with the end of his whip. “Battle and bad weather are always hard on the horses.”
“And on us,” said Jong, who was suffering from a head-cold.
“We will be able to turn south again soon, into milder climes than this,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “You will not have to freeze every night.”
“Just so I do not inflame my lungs,” said Jong, his sniff turning to a cough.
�
��I have something that might ease your illness; it is in my chest of medicaments,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “I think it would help you to recover.”
“Ro-shei has said you have made a sovereign remedy,” said Jong. “Is that what you mean?”
“Yes,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “The herbs you have taken have helped, and I would recommend them myself, were it not that you are developing inner heat. When that occurs, the sovereign remedy may be necessary if you are to avoid dangerous fevers.” He recognized the worry in the startled look Jong gave him, and he went on, “I can see it in your face; your color is high.”
Jong turned away from him. “I have herbs for it.”
“And certainly the herbs will help you ease your discomforts,” said Zangi-Ragozh, knowing his remedy would not be readily trusted, particularly since it was made from moldy bread. “Still, this remedy I offer can reduce the incidence of fever and the weakness it brings.”
Jong was about to speak, but his words were drowned in a loud peal of what sounded like distant thunder. As the goats bleated, all the horses skittered, the laden ponies fretted, and the asses at the rear of the line brayed and rolled their eyes in alarm. The unearthly noise rolled on eerily, a counterpoint to the sudden cacophony, then was gone; the animals remained edgy, showing the whites of their eyes and straining at their leads and harnesses.
“And not a cloud in the sky,” said Gien when the ominous, deep-throated grumble was over; he looked up and blinked in awe. Then, as an afterthought, he made a gesture toward the empty heavens.
“There must be a distant storm,” said Ro-shei.
“Or a battle,” said Yao. “In the mountains.”
The travelers looked about uneasily, and finally the merchant leading the ponies forced out a laugh. “Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with us.”
Jong tried his best to chuckle. “The Thunder God is parading with his drums, and it is well for us to be wary; it could mean rain in the mountains, and floods here. A big storm, no matter how far away, may raise the river by nightfall.” He put his hand to his mouth as he coughed.
“Then all the more reason to cross as soon as we may,” said Yao, keeping his attention on the approaching ferry. “If you must pay more to cross, Zangi-Ragozh, then I ask you to do it.” He fidgeted nervously, holding the reins of his wagon-team so unsteadily that two of the horses began to toss their heads in protest. Yao forced himself to be steady. “The noblewoman behind us undoubtedly will commandeer a favorable place for herself, and this crossing is not a short one; the men accompanying her will insist that she have the ferry to herself, but today that would be folly, as well the ferrymen know. I don’t want to be trapped on this bank if there is a flood coming.”
“Your point is well-taken,” said Zangi-Ragozh, reaching into his sleeve for a string of silver cash. “I’ll be ready to pass this along as soon as the ferryman is ready to load us on.” The amount was fairly lavish, and one that most travelers would not be willing to pay for something so simple as a place on a ferry.
“There looks to be a good number of travelers and their stock for the ferry, perhaps too much for a safe crossing if all get aboard,” said Gien, frowning at the prospect of more delay. “The noblewoman is only one concern.”
“Then let us offer the ferrymen our help in preparing their craft for the crossing,” said Ro-shei at once. “That should incline them to give us a good place for the next crossing no matter how foreign my master and I may be.”
“That should serve our purpose very well, possibly as much as the money,” said Zangi-Ragozh; he was not looking forward to the ride to the opposite bank, for running water always left him feeling ill and disoriented.
“Then we will do it,” said Yao. “I don’t want to lose another day standing here waiting for the ferry to cross. We are going to arrive later than we are expected, in any case.”
Zangi-Ragozh looked about him, relieved to see that his men were willing to extend themselves in this way. “Very good. You, Yao, if you would speak with the ferryman, we may manage better than if either I or Ro-shei should make the offer.”
Yao nodded. “Foreigners aren’t always as well-received as Chinese, especially in times like these, with dynasties changing and borders shifting. It is fortunate that the language here is comprehensible for us, for it makes us less strange. In some parts of the Middle Kingdom, I would seem as foreign as you.” He saw the others nod and did his best to take on an air of authority.
“I will reward your service,” said Zangi-Ragozh, and glanced at the Mongol merchant with the pony-string behind him.
The man muttered something in lower-class Chinese about generations of turtles all the while pointedly ignoring the foreigner in the black leather cloak. He had thrown back the wolf-fur hood of his long jacket, and his rough-cut hair whipped about his face.
“Here,” said Yao sharply to the Mongol, “let’s have no insolence.”
The Mongol spoke again, in his own tongue, spat, and turned away.
Zangi-Ragozh knew enough of the language to be able to say, “I intended no slight to you, worthy traveler. My company and I are under orders from Chang’an to make haste there, and our journey has been longer than anyone expected it to be, so we are trying to make good time now.”
The Mongol stared at Zangi-Ragozh, dumbfounded to hear Mongolian come from a Western foreigner. “Where did you learn to speak?”
“Your language?” Zangi-Ragozh considered his response, selecting the most basic answer. “I studied it for a time at Cambaluc and Kumul.”
The Mongol regarded him thoughtfully. “Your ancestors have not lived for four hundred generations with turtles.”
Jong sputtered an oath. “Is that what you said?”
The Mongol shrugged. “I admit I was wrong. He is no kin of turtles.” He cocked his chin toward the river. “The ferry is almost here.”
Zangi-Ragozh knew that an accusation of living with turtles was one of the most profound insults any Chinese could be given, so he said in Mongolian, “Since I am a foreigner, I am not offended.”
The Mongol looked at Jong and Yao. “I was mistaken in my—”
The sound of a tuneless horn announced the arrival of the ferry, and all the slights were forgotten as the waiting line of travelers jostled for position to get onto the ferry, all the while leaving space for those crossing from the northern bank to disembark. One of the asses became vexed and lashed out with hooves and teeth, only to be called to order with a series of blows from a drover’s whip.
As the front of the ferry was let down to make a ramp for the passengers, four of the six ferrymen jumped ashore and began to collect the fares from those waiting. Zangi-Ragozh held out the string of silver cash, saying, “This is to ensure passage for my wagons, my men, and our horses.”
The ferryman stared at the money. “This is much more than the usual cost.”
Yao intervened. “We are on an urgent mission, and it is worth paying a little more not to have to wait any longer than necessary.”
“Yes,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “If you have to require any of those here to wait for the next crossing, we would prefer it not be our company.”
“We will assist in loading the ferry,” Yao said. “And if you need any assistance during the crossing, we will provide it.” He glanced at Zangi-Ragozh. “It is your order, is it not?”
“Yes, if the ferrymen or the waterman require any aid,” he answered.
“That may speed matters along.” Yao lowered his voice. “If more money is needed, let us know at once.”
“I’ll tell the master waterman,” said the ferryman, slipping the string of cash onto his wrist before going to speak to the Mongol.
“What do you think?” Ro-shei asked as the ferrymen went on about their work, one guiding travelers off the ferry, the other two tending to those about to board.
“I think he is satisfied,” said Yao. “We will be taken across this trip.”
Zangi-Ragozh’s gray began to sidle and he tighten
ed his hands on the reins. “I had best dismount, so I can lead her onto the ferry,” he said, and disengaged his right foot from the foot-loop, swung his leg over the mare’s rump, kicked his left foot out of the foot-loop, and took hold of the saddle to lower himself to the ground. The mare minced in place, huffing her displeasure. “Be calm, Shooting Star,” he said, going to the gray’s head and stroking her cheek until she lowered her head, her nose touching his shoulder. “Are the leads for the spare horses well-tied?” he asked Ro-shei. “We do not want any trouble loading them onto the ferry.”
“I’ll check,” he offered, and prepared to do as he said.
“No. Gien should attend to it.” Zangi-Ragozh spoke more loudly than before.
“If that is what you want,” said Gien, and he scrambled to follow these orders.
“It is not what I want, it is what will calm the horses. They’re restive,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
“Because of the thunder,” said Jong, and coughed.
“If that is what it was,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
“What else could it be?” asked Yao.
“I do not know,” Zangi-Ragozh said, and prepared to follow the farmer and his goats onto the ferry, taking care not to rush the animals ahead of him. Reaching the ramp onto the deck of the ferry, he guided his horse carefully, steeling himself against the discomfort of the river’s current. In spite of his native earth lining the soles of his boots, he felt sapped of strength, and he took hold of the railing at the side of the ferry to steady himself, keeping his mare’s reins tightly in his grasp. He heard the rest of his company begin to move, and he took satisfaction in realizing that by midday he would once again be on solid ground.
Saint-Germain 18: Dark of the Sun: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain Page 7
