Saint-Germain 18: Dark of the Sun: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Certainly a long time,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, remembering the first time he had gone into these vast plains and mountains; then he had taken the Amber Trail into India, to the lands of Oshaka; that had been three centuries before he had journeyed into Gaul with Gaius Julius Caesar and his Legions. It had been a long, arduous journey, but no more difficult than this current crossing had been. He vaguely recalled the Stone Tower fortress where merchants carried out their exchanges, the occasional lush meadows, and the many small towns that marked the route: Kokand was just one of many.

  “This is Kasha’s house,” Ourisi said as she stopped in front of a small wooden door. “You can bring your pony into the courtyard if you—”

  “—pay for the privilege,” Ragoczy Franciscus finished for her. “I am prepared.” He fingered three more strings of cash on his arm and was glad they were wrapped in bands of cloth so they would not jingle.

  Ourisi tugged a rope by the door, and a chorus of camel-bells sounded. “Someone will come,” she said.

  “So I expect,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, trying to decide how best to approach Kasha when he came to deal with the man. He was deep in thought when the door was pulled open and a youth of no more than twelve shoved the door open and glared out.

  “Qasashi, open the door,” said Ourisi as she saw the outraged youngster.

  “It is you,” he responded, making a sign against the Evil Eye. “If you had any wisdom, you would stay away from this house.”

  “It is where my master lives, and I must stay here unless he shuts me out,” said Ourisi wearily. “Open the door and let us in.”

  For the first time, the young man noticed that Ourisi was not alone. He frowned at Ragoczy Franciscus, saying, “You should not have come here.”

  Ragoczy Franciscus did not object to being so bluntly confronted; he regarded Qasashi steadily. “If you would let me in, I may be of use to you and your family.”

  “We have little money, and not much food, so there isn’t much to steal,” said the youngster defiantly.

  “Qasashi,” Ourisi said with the authority born of exhaustion. “Let us in.”

  “My father will be displeased,” Qasashi predicted, but held the door to admit Ourisi, Ragoczy Franciscus, and his pony to the small courtyard that fronted the house.

  Ourisi held out four silver coins from the string Ragoczy Franciscus had given her. “Not with this,” she said, and sank onto a plank bench near the door.

  “Silver!” Qasashi exclaimed, all suspicion vanishing. He snatched at the coins, but could not wrest them from Ourisi’s closed fist.

  “That is for Kasha,” said Ourisi.

  “You mean he will buy you and take you away with him?” Qasashi asked with unabashed enthusiasm.

  Ourisi drooped in her place, but anything she might have said remained unuttered as a large, painfully thin man burst out of the house, cursing and waving his fists.

  Ragoczy Franciscus stepped forward and began his mentally rehearsed explanation, all the while aware that his chances of winning Kasha over were much lower than he had assumed; he could not decide how to assess the blank expression on the man’s face and remained puzzled until Kasha turned suddenly to Ourisi.

  “Your boy died. I’ve given him to the guards for burial,” he announced, ignoring the dreadful wail with which Ourisi received the news. “Just as well,” he said to Ragoczy Franciscus. “A simple boy like that—why waste food on him?”

  To his inward surprise, Ragoczy Franciscus heard himself say, “Then let me reduce your burden still further: what do you want for Ourisi’s freedom?”

  Text of a letter from Atta Olivia Clemens in Bononia on the Via Aemilia in Italy to Ragoczy Sanct’ Germain Franciscus in Yang-Chau, written in Imperial Latin and filed as unreadable when delivered four years later.

  To my most-dear, most-aggravating friend, Ragoczy Sanct’ Germain Franciscus on the far side of the world, the greetings of Olivia on this the thirteenth day of May in the 1,289th Year of the City, or the 536th Pope’s Year, since so many monks are keeping records now. I have only a single sheet of parchment and so must be more terse than I would like to be.

  As you see, I have left Lago Comus and am now bound for Roma, and a return to my estate, as well as the direct care of yours. The entire Comus region has been mired in cold, and the sun has been unable to bring enough warmth to the earth to end the chill. All of last year we had frost, and that, while less consistent this spring, is still enough to cause profound worry amongst the farmers and peasants working the land. I have granted access to the Lago Comus property to the local growers and forgiven them their rents-in-kind for the next five years. I am sure you will not object to such measures, for if you were here, you could see for yourself what a dreadful hardship this cold has been. It has been worse to the north of the Alps, for they say that they are going to have another year with almost no harvest, and they also say the boars and aurochs are dying in the forests, for want of food, so only the vultures and the wolves have fared well.

  When last spring was so disappointing, I bred only a few of my better brood mares, and now I am glad that I did, for only three foals have survived beyond their sixth week, and they are not as hearty as I would like. I am bringing them south with me, and I am hoping that in the slightly warmer and brighter environs of Roma, I will be able to save at least one of them, for I know another hard summer will be more than these foals can deal with, young as they are. I have taken to feeding them raisins from the vines we could not get wine from last autumn, and that seems to have a little benefit, as do the dried apples you had stored at the villa’s stables. We have been able to travel at twelve thousand paces a day—hardly any speed at all compared to the days of my breathing youth, when messengers could cover eighty-five thousand paces a day, and troops could march for twenty-one thousand paces a day. Still, given the weather and the poor state of the roads, twelve thousand paces is acceptable, or so Niklos informs me. He is going ahead to Roma to make my estate ready, and to see to yours. I have not had word from Romulus Ursinus in more than eight months, and that is beginning to worry me, what with the raids on Roma and the problems of scarcity, for in such times, even the most upright man may be driven to steal and maraud for the sake of his family.

  For that reason, I am taking as little with me as I providentially can. Those with much in the way of food and goods require armed men for protection, which only serves to alert desperate men that there are things of value to be seized. I have two small carpeta, drawn by mules, and six riding horses, and the mares with their foals at their sides—not very rich pickings for anyone. I am planning to spend the summer putting our estates in order and then working on building up my stud again, but that is for later, when I am once again on my native Roman earth and have access to my three casks of gold, which you so generously provided me before you left for distant lands. Not even Niklos knows where the casks are hidden, and that inclines me to believe that at least two of them are intact, since they are not hidden together, but, as you recommended, are secreted in separate locations.

  There are two minor advantages to these horrendous times: mal aria has not struck in over a year, some say because of the cold, which has kept the miasma from rising; and the Byzantine army in Italia has not made as much progress toward conquest as the Emperor in Constantinople has ordered. General Belisarius has been delayed in the far south, and that has given the people some opportunity to prepare for his coming. The barbarians from the north are retreating, which I, for one, view with mixed emotions, for it may be that we are trading one ill for another. I would like to see Roma returned to Roman hands, but I am afraid that will not be possible.

  I have finally had it confirmed that it is true: Emperor Justinian has ordered the Academy in Athens—Plato’s school—closed because its teachings do not all conform to Christian dogma. I was saddened to hear this from a reputable scholar, bound for Pisae, who had gone there in its last two years to improve his knowledge of geography and ethic
s, neither of which meet with Justinian’s approval. I know the loss of that school will distress you, and I am sure that many others will share your grief, but I cannot think that such useful knowledge will be forgotten.

  This is going into the hands of Brother Servus, who is leaving on a mission to the churches in the East, to report on how this cold has affected the Christians in those foreign climes. I have asked him to put this into the hands of Chinese merchants bound to the south and the city of Yang-Chau. I have done my best to copy the scratches you told me in your last letter—years ago—were proper writing for that place. I hope I have done a good enough rendition of the lines to get this into your hands, just as I hope you have not had to endure all the vicissitudes that have been visited upon us.

  In haste but with affection, nonetheless,

  Olivia

  PART III

  RAGOCZY FRANCISCUS

  Text of a report from the Apostle Gideon of the apostlary of Kuldja-and-Almalyk; sent to the apostlaries of Cambaluc, Khara-Khoja, Kumul, Khanbalik, Kuldja, Kashgar, Ning-Hsia, and Wu-Wei; written in vernacular Latin.

  To my most esteemed, most highly valued Brothers in Christ, the greetings of the Apostle Gideon from the apostlary of the Most Sacred Crucifix in Almalyk, where God has seen fit to strand me for the winter, and where I am prepared to depart this world, if that should be His Will.

  For the last eleven fortnights I have had no news from anyone, Christian or pagan, due to the remaining depth of the snow and the bad condition of the road leading to this place. We have had avalanches and rock slides at many places along the Silk Road, and that has impeded progress for all caravans. But there is now a way around the worst of the slippage, and the snow is retreating a little, all of which has meant that I have at last been able to read your accounts of the autumn past; nothing more recent has arrived, although we are well past the Feast of Resurrection, and for that reason, I will strive to tell you as much as I can of what we have endured in this place, and how it has shown God’s Hand to us.

  I must inform each and all of you that the past winter has been worse than any in living memory or in the records of any region that has them to consult. God had already made demands upon us, and that has only increased in the last year and a half. We have borne all in patience, offering our affliction to God, with thanks for His Mercy, but we have had to bear hunger and the continuing raids of unbelieving clans. Turks are the most persistent, but there have been Jou’an-Jou’an and Mongols as well, though the groups have been smaller and their damage less extreme. One of the small clans of Jou’an-Jou’an did little more than steal three goats and two sheep before going on to the West. They said their magician—a woman with white hair—had warned them against shedding human blood, for which we are grateful to God for so moving her pagan heart. Others were not so charitably inspired: twenty-six of our congregation have died from wounds received in resisting the pagan attacks. Another forty-three have starved to death, four as a show of sacrifice, giving up their food to those in greater need of it, by which example all of us have gained in the strength of our faith. We have defended the apostlary and the town, in the hope that if we prevail by force of arms we will also demonstrate the Power of God that is bestowed on all true Christians in the face of danger.

  How have we failed in our efforts, that God has so greatly reclaimed our stewardship over the earth? In what way have we sinned, but in our inability to bring all souls to God? Since we have received God’s mandate to care for the world, it is our responsibility to deal with the new conditions He has created, and to see our lands in good heart again, with flourishing crops and fruitful herds and flocks. By giving us this new world, which is harsher than the one we have lost, we are punished for our lapses and our pride and provided the opportunity to bring our sins and our failures to God in our devotion to repairing and restoring the earth. It is for us to fix what has been broken before we will be sufficiently worthy of the salvation bestowed so lovingly upon us, to return the land to the natural garden God intended, not to let it languish in this state of decay and infertility. Those who run from such burdens are not deserving of Redemption or a place in Heaven, and so I have told my congregation. I can only thank God for His Goodness in bringing the consolation of faith to those mired in want and despair.

  Not that our condition has been relieved: our supplies are all but gone—I have only a dozen sheets of paper left when this report is dispatched, and a single ink cake remaining, which is commensurate with the state of our other supplies—and what little we have left at Most Sacred Crucifix has been carefully rationed and will be so until God sees fit to provide us with food and sweet water again, for although not so odious as the water of a year ago, there is still a yellow tinge in the stream and in the snow, and a faint odor of rotten eggs. We have done all that we may to extend charity and shelter to those in need and, in so doing, have brought more souls to Salvation, although many have proved obdurate because of their dread of writing. If any of you have supplies that could be added to our stores, we would bless you and give thanks to God for your charity. We are almost at Midsummer Festival, but so far there is little to celebrate; I have ordered that the lamps we light burn only until midnight, not through the night, so that we may not squander what little oil is left. I hope that the Four Evangelists, whose Feast the festival is, will understand and forgive our decision. We will go to bless the fields, but it will be a sad occasion, for we have almost nothing growing in them, and our prayers may have more of despair than thankfulness in them. If you have any new crops that have been strong enough to thrive under this cold sun, then I beseech you in the Name of Christ to send as many shoots as you can spare so that we may have some degree of harvest. Our crops are not developing in spite of all our efforts, and even our trees are dying. If you have it within your power to aid us in this effort, I ask you to lend us your aid, for God’s Glory and your joy in Paradise.

  May God show you His Favor and may He bring you to triumph, if not in this world, in the next,

  Gideon, Apostle of Kuldja-and-Almalyk

  At the apostlary of the Most Sacred Crucifix

  1

  In the dusty marketplace of Tok-Kala a small crowd had gathered to marvel at what the foreigner in black had brought in from a camp on the eastern branch of the Kushan Road; the afternoon sun had dropped low enough in the west to cast long, purple shadows from brilliant yellow skies, making the huge, stone bone appear more impressive than it was, and it was remarkable on its own merits. The marketplace was surrounded by two- and three-story buildings of clay bricks, most without decoration of any kind, but with two marked by ominous swaths of dark-reddish brown stains and ornamented with racks of skulls, now shining in the spectacular colors of early sunset.

  “How did you find it?” asked a Byzantine merchant in a tattered paragaudion of dark-blue, nubby Antioch silk. He spoke the dialect of Silk Road merchants in the West—an amalgam of Persian, Byzantine Greek, and the local vernacular.

  “There was a landslide, coming into Ferghana, that brought down a long section of the hillside, and the bone was exposed; there were bits of what I suspect were other bones, but I could not wrest them from the earth; they were all of great size,” said Ragoczy Franciscus in excellent Byzantine Greek; the merchant gave a hearty sigh of relief as he heard his native tongue, and he nodded his thanks to Ragoczy Franciscus. “I also found two teeth,” he added, taking the sharp, triangular objects from the sleeve of his sen-gai; they were nearly as long as the palm of his small, elegant hand. He cast his mind back to the early morning three days since when he and Rojeh had come upon the swath of fallen rocks that blocked the road. The work of clearing the slide away had taken most of the morning and half the afternoon, and in the process they had come upon the great stone bone, which, when stood on end, came up to the middle of Ragoczy Franciscus’ chest. He had struggled to load it onto one of the camels, after adding the camel’s chests and sacks and barrels to the other animals’ pack saddles; at the tim
e it had seemed a very important thing to take with them. “Whatever this being is, it is ancient.”

  “Ancient? I should say so! What manner of creature has such teeth, if they are truly teeth?” the merchant exclaimed. “They could be arrowheads, or spear-points, from an ancient battle.”

  “Both with no means to fasten them to a shaft?” Ragoczy Franciscus inquired gently. “No, I must suppose they are teeth, but I cannot imagine what creature has such teeth.”

  “A giant, whatever it was,” said the Byzantine merchant.

  “I think we must assume that,” said Ragoczy Franciscus.

  “How could such a creature manage to—?” The Byzantine merchant looked about. “They say strange beasts have come down from the northern forests.”

  “It could be one,” said Ragoczy Franciscus quietly, and prepared to join Rojeh at the inn they had chosen. “But I have heard nothing of anything like this, and I would expect news to travel quickly about such a beast.”

  “Very true; very true. I would like to discuss it with you, later, if I may?” He slapped his chest. “I am Vermakrides, from Kaffa. I may still do some trading before I return home.” He grinned, his openness a deliberate ploy to encourage Ragoczy Franciscus to volunteer as much about himself and what goods he might have. “That bone of yours interests me.”

  Ragoczy Franciscus ignored the last. “Then I wish you a successful end of your journey.”

  Vermakrides nodded. “Yes, it is almost done, and never have I been more glad to see the end of travel ahead. Have you far to go?”

  “I, too, am returning to my native earth,” said Ragoczy Franciscus with a slight, formal reverence, aware he was being prodded for information.