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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Can you improve their food?” Rojeh inquired skeptically.

  “How, when there is no good fodder to be had?” Ragoczy Franciscus sounded dubious as he began on the off-side of the blue roan.

  “Do you think they will take your suggestions to heart?” Rojeh waited for Ragoczy Franciscus’ answer.

  He stood very still. “She sacrificed a goat—cut its throat.”

  “And that troubles you?” Rojeh knew it did, but kept his awareness to himself.

  “It does,” Ragoczy Franciscus admitted. “Most rites demand blood in some form, but I find I cannot—” He stopped talking.

  “You find you cannot watch killing—even ritual killing—as you once did.” Rojeh wondered if Ragoczy Franciscus would be angered by these observations and steeled himself for his employer’s wrath.

  Ragoczy Franciscus gave Rojeh’s comments quiet attention and said levelly., “Perhaps you are right.” He added nothing more as he combed the blue roan’s mane, then changed the roan’s bridle for the halter. “Is there any grain left?”

  “Very little,” said Rojeh. “I have tried to find more, but without success. If the Volgamen come soon, they may bring some—I understand they did the last time.”

  “Very good; I will speak with Emrach Sarai’af to arrange for purchasing priority; I am sure he will consent to letting us have a high position on his list if I give him a gold bar or two,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, going to one of the barrels standing against the far wall. He scooped out a handful of the mixed grain and brought this back to the roan, holding it under the horse’s nose, waiting while the soft tongue licked up the last of the treat. “We may need to open that cask of gold yet,” he said as he wiped his palm on a rough cloth.

  “To buy feed?” Rojeh sounded worried. “Or to pay bribes to the Master of Foreigners?”

  “It is all part of keeping our animals sound,” Ragoczy Franciscus pointed out.

  “And Emrach Sarai’af knows it,” Rojeh protested, adding sadly, “Since you will not do more than visit women in dreams, and that very rarely, you must depend on the animals.”

  “This is hardly the time to seek out a lover,” said Ragoczy Franciscus.

  “It may be just the time,” said Rojeh. “That Constantinopolitan widow would be glad of someone to protect her and her children. She would not begrudge you what you require.”

  “Are you so certain of that?” Ragoczy Franciscus asked in dismay.

  “She has spoken to me on three occasions. I know she would like to speak with you, but has no acceptable reason to do so.” Rojeh folded his arms. “You will do nothing with Dukkai, will you?” He allowed no time for an answer. “Then think about Thetis Krisanthemenis. She may well prove to be precisely what you seek.”

  “I seek more than blood,” Ragoczy Franciscus reminded him. “I seek acceptance. I seek the touch of intimacy. Do you think the widow is willing to provide that?”

  “I cannot say,” Rojeh replied. “And neither can you until you try.”

  Text of a dispatch from Hsai Wilung at Khotan to Ogulijen the Ax at An-Hsi; carried by personal courier and delivered five fortnights after it was written.

  To the most estimable warlord Ogulijen the Ax, the greetings of Hsai Wilung, who, with his private company of soldiers, has arrived at Khotan at the foot of the Kunlun Range, according to the instructions issued by the great warlord Ogulijen, whose name is revered by all Mongols, as well as by all who hear of his deeds.

  I am assuming that your scribe, Manun-Tsuj, will read this for you and send any answer you may wish to give us, your contracted men, in this far place where we have found so much despair and suffering that very little fighting was required to claim this place in your name. Not many others have succeeded in coming here since the Yellow Snows began because there have been avalanches on both sides of the town that have cut it off from the commerce that has kept it thriving for so many decades. We managed to make our way around the slides, and thus we have arrived here, according to your orders, and are now in possession of the town, although it is not much of a victory we have achieved.

  We are low on food, and I am sending my men out in search of wandering clans who still have flocks and herds so that we may have food enough for the soldiers and those in the town willing to help us. I was able to lay my hands on a few pigs, but they were very thin and their meat had little savor, being tough and tasteless, and they did not last long. We must find a better source of food, or we will have to eat our horses, which is not to be thought of. There have been some fish in the streams, of course, and some birds as well, which will hold us until we can find more substantial food. It is unfortunate that there is so little grass growing here, for there is hardly any grazing possible, and that puts a fresh burden on us all, as food that we might well use must be given to our horses.

  The town has had many disasters befall it, including Swine Fever and Gray Cough, and there has been almost no one here who is able to treat these diseases. We have seen houses left empty by the deaths of all the families who lived within them. Already I have lost two men to Wet Lungs, and I do not want to lose more. It has been a time of starvation, as you know, but also of sickness, and that is troubling my men, for they fear that the fevers are not ended and that they may succumb to them. I have ordered them all to drink strengthening herbs, if we can find them, and to eat grasshoppers if there are any to be caught. That may help to keep them well while we establish our control of the town and the region.

  This being the time of year when there would usually be a harvest, the Fortnight of the White Dew, we have tried to find fields that we could reap, but in this place such farms as there are do not have a great deal of planting in good years, and in this year, not even the beans are doing well. I have sent men up the slopes of the mountains to see what they might find for us. They have killed mountain goats and sheep, and some spotted deer as well, but their hunting has exposed them to danger from other raiders, some of whom are of your people, judging by their clothes. In a good year, I would capture them and hold them for slaves, but since slaves must be fed if they are to work, my men have wanted to kill them instead.

  There has been some difficulty regarding the women in the town. My men, being men, are eager to have women, but very few of the women here are willing to give themselves to them, so I must condone their selecting the women they want and permitting them to force the women into concubinage. I regret that we could come to no other arrangement with the people of the town, and I know they will complain of it to you when you finally come here, but I have no other solution to propose, and the men cannot be expected to go without the solace of female flesh, as you know. I have established a heavy fine for any murder committed on an unwilling woman, and that appears to have lessened the deaths that were occurring too often when we first entered the town.

  I have worked to establish a customs center to tax the caravans that must eventually return. to this place. I have talked with the two remaining leaders of the town to discover how much they had charged in the past, and I have increased. those rates by half again as much, a quarter of which will go to repairing and securing the town and paying my men, the rest of which will be yours. According to the people here, the last caravan coming through this town was here more than three fortnights ago, when summer—such as it was—was still present. Now that autumn is beginning, I have been told that it is unlikely that we will see any more merchants before spring, and that is not what you had hoped for. If there had been no avalanche on the Chanchi-Lah Pass, men might come from the Land of Snows, but with the pass blocked, we cannot expect those traders, either. In the spring, I will send part of my company to help clear the pass if I deem it safe enough to do, or if you order us to do it.

  There may be more trouble coming from the wandering peoples of Takla Makan, for some of them are banding together for safety, and they are all searching for pastures for their flocks and herds. I believe that in time we will need more than this company if we are to hold o
n to this town. I ask you to consider sending us another company of fighting men—they needn’t be Chinese like us, but it would make it easier if they were—to help man the town, for the spring will surely bring more trouble to us all.

  In all duty and supreme respect, and with thanks for the nine bars of gold to guarantee the payment of me and my men, I pledge our continuing loyalty.

  Hsai Wilung

  (his chop)

  4

  Rain seethed down on Sarai, washing the fine sand out of the air and leaving the streets streaked with grit that made the paving stones slippery; the first storm of winter had arrived with exuberant ferocity. The wind rioted among the buildings, sending unlatched shutters and loose roofing planks flying; with insistent, cacophonous fingers, it tugged at the oiled-parchment windows, snatching a few from the security of their frames and sending them careening. Anyone venturing out of doors was shoved and buffeted along while being drenched, which accounted for the bedraggled appearance Thetis Krisanthemenis presented when she came to Ragoczy Franciscus’ hired house at the height of the storm. She had attempted to protect herself with a vast woolen talaris with only a single, small tablion inserted in the front, but it was soaked through, her dark-blond hair dripping steadily, serving to give her an appearance of waiflike hopelessness. She lowered her head apologetically, preparing to explain her errand, and struggled to find the words she needed to engage the occupant’s sympathy. Her shivering was completely authentic, although her demeanor was a bit forced.

  Rojeh came to the door to answer her third pull on the bell. “Neighbor Krisanthemenis,” he exclaimed in Byzantine Greek. “What is so urgent that you come out in such weather?”

  “I fear I come to ask a favor.” She stepped into the shelter of the inner court, under the broad eaves; she twisted the long cuff of the talaris’ sleeve, then spoke in a rush. “Actually, it’s more than that: I have to ask for your help. It is not something I can take to the Master of Foreigners myself, at least not now.” She faltered, then went gamely on, “You see, a portion of my roof has been blown away by this storm, and I and my children are in need of shelter.”

  “What a terrible thing,” said Rojeh sympathetically. “Come in, and tell me what my master and I may do.”

  “We cannot stay in our house, not with half the rooms ruined, and our belongings.” She took a deep breath. “We have to leave the house, and we must have a safe place to go.” She said this last more bluntly than she had intended. “I don’t mean to be brusque, but I am nearly beside myself with worry. I am afraid we are in a most precarious situation: with my husband dead, there is very little I can do to tend to the house without Emrach Sarai’af’s approval, and he is not going to extend himself while the storm is blowing. But my need is present—it is immediate—and I cannot pretend that the loss of the roof is only an inconvenience.” She shook her head as if suddenly bereft of strength. “We can work, do household chores, if your master requires it.”

  “You may discuss that with him, when you know more about what you may do for your home,” said Rojeh, certain that Ragoczy Franciscus would never make servants of this woman or her children.

  “I wish I could be permitted to make my own arrangements for the house, as my husband would do if he were still alive.” She pressed her lips together, then went on, “It is much the same for widows in Constantinople, but at least there my brother could supervise our needs.”

  “We are not your relatives,” Rojeh pointed out. “Emrach might not permit us to do more than shelter you until your house is sound.”

  Thetis flung up her hand. “For now, that is enough.”

  Rojeh stared at the raging rain and the flotsam on the wind and listened to the hiss and howl. “Then, if it suits you, I will send our houseman and our man-of-all-work to bring your children and such goods as you need into this house,” he said, making up his mind.

  “And your master? What will he say?” Thetis glanced about uneasily, as if she expected to be disappointed.

  “He is with the Jou’an-Jou’an just now and will likely remain there until the rain has passed,” said Rojeh, knowing what agony running water could be to Ragoczy Franciscus; he hoped his master would spend the storm in that stupor that masqueraded for sleep, safe in one of the Desert Cats’ tents.

  “He is out of the town?” Thetis seemed shocked.

  “Yes. The clan he is visiting has had many troubles with their ponies, and he has gone to help them as much as he can.” His austere features revealed little, but his faded-blue eyes were worried. “If you will come into the house?”

  She sneezed. “Oh. Yes. Thank you.”

  He indicated the door to the reception room. “You will find an upholstered bench and a table. The lamps are already burning. I will have some mint tea sent in to you.” Fortunately, mint was hardy enough to still be available, and Dasur Shiraz’af, the Persian cook, used it frequently in the five-person household.

  She looked startled. “Mint tea? Hot tea, with honey? Yes, if you would.”

  “I will instruct the cook,” said Rojeh, and left Thetis in the reception room. He decided he would ask Aethalric, the houseman, to build up a fire for her—in those wet clothes she could easily become chilled, and the chill could bring aches and sickness.

  Both the Persian and the Goth were in the kitchen, huddled in front of the great, open hearth where a single lamb’s carcass turned on a huge spit intended for oxen, and both men looked about guiltily as they heard Rojeh enter the echoing chamber. Dasur scrambled to his feet and reached for another log, thrusting it into the burning stack in the huge fireplace.

  “I will begin the afternoon meal shortly,” Dasur said as if he had only just become aware of Rojeh.

  “I have another task for you,” said Rojeh calmly. “For both of you, and for Chtavo, as well.”

  “He’s in the stables, cleaning tack,” said Aethalric.

  “Then he won’t mind having to stop awhile; the stable is drafty as a tree, and as damp as sitting under one,” said Rojeh. “You, Aethalric, are to build up the fire in the reception room, where you will find our neighbor, and then you and Chtavo are to take the covered handcart and go to her house. You are to gather such items as clothing and personal possessions as they might need and bring those things, and her children, to this house. Take blankets of oiled muslin with you, to protect you from the storm.” He paid no attention to the incredulous stares of the two men, but went on, “Dasur, if you will make a good portion of mint tea with honey, and provide whatever we have in the way of breads for the widow and her children?”

  Aethalric stared in astonishment. “Why should we have those Byzantines with us?”

  “Because, as I understand it, their house is damaged, and they are in need of a place to stay while it is repaired. You cannot expect her to remain there with the storm still at full cry, not if there is no shelter to be had.” Rojeh gave both men a hard glance. “Not that it is for you to question such a decision.”

  “It may not be,” said Dasur, “but it is not the usual thing.”

  “This storm is not the usual thing, either, from what I have heard,” Rojeh observed. “Nothing in the last”—he calculated the length of time since he and Ragoczy Franciscus had left Yang-Chau—“nearly two years has been.”

  “You may think this excuses what you do, but it may not,” Aethalric warned. “It is dangerous to take strangers into the house.”

  Rojeh regarded him in silence, then said, “My master brought you into the household, and you both are strangers.”

  “The law provides that you cannot employ natives of Sarai,” said Dasur.

  “Even they are strangers to Ragoczy Franciscus and me,” Rojeh observed. “The times have made demands on all of us—this is no exception.”

  Dasur added his own note of caution: “Taking in a widow and her children, there will be talk.”

  “Particularly about the odd habits of foreigners.” This remark of Rojeh’s got the men’s attention; Dasur we
nt to fill a pot from the water barrel, and Aethalric started for the door. “Let me know when you and Chtavo are back.”

  “All you will have to do is listen; children are never quiet, and you haven’t special accommodations for them,” replied Aethalric as he went out into the gushing rain toward the shed containing the household supply of wood. He came back with five cut logs in his embrace, two of which he shoved at Dasur before he headed up the stairs toward the reception room.

  “Mint tea with honey?” Dasur asked Rojeh as he hung the pot of water on a hook and pushed it over the fire. “Enough for the women and her children?”

  “Yes. There are three still living, as I understand it,” said Rojeh. “I have seen the boy walking with his mother. He’s about ten or eleven, by the look of him.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Dasur. “He is a well-mannered youth, reserved and trying to be grown-up, now his father is dead.” He retrieved a large, metal, spouted pot from the utensil shelf, set it on the trestle table in the center of the room, then went to his spice chest to take out a handful of dried mint leaves; these he put into the pot, then went to the pantry to get the honeycomb. As he brought back the sticky box containing it, he said to Rojeh, his face showing disapproval, “Take care that the widow does not take greater advantage of your hospitality.” He acknowledged Rojeh’s nod as he set about pouring off a generous portion of honey into the spouted pot. “When it is ready, I will bring it. A pity we have no dried figs or dates, but no one has had any for well over a year.”

  “They will probably return, in time,” said Rojeh, and went to the rear door to secure it against the blustering wind.

  “May you prove right,” said Dasur as he returned to the pantry. “I haven’t much in the way of breads, just a few sesame cakes I made this morning, with a bit of chopped egg to garnish them. And I have an oil-loaf with a few raisins. I can cut some of that, if you think it will do.”