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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Ragoczy Franciscus nodded emphatically twice and gave a quick frown of pain.

  “But questioning the guards’ purpose may be more dangerous still,” said Rojeh.

  Again Ragoczy Franciscus nodded his agreement and reached for the wax tablet. We have to leave, he wrote in the wax. Soon.

  “At this time of year it isn’t safe to travel, not with the storms and the cold, to say nothing of the hunger and want everywhere.” Rojeh guessed that what he said was useless, but he continued on, determined to make all his reservations known. “There are hazards on the road that—”

  Writing quickly, Ragoczy held up the tablet. There are greater hazards here.

  Rojeh said carefully, “I think that going out into the winter might entail too much risk. We can watch the guards, and—”

  But we cannot feed, Ragoczy Franciscus wrote. Neither of us can.

  Attempting to make light of this caution, Rojeh said, “With your throat cut, you cannot feed in any case.”

  Ragoczy Franciscus pointed with his stylus to where he had written, We have to leave. Soon.

  “As soon as the ice begins to withdraw, we should be away.” He saw Ragoczy Franciscus point to Soon one more time. “Is that why you had the map out?”

  The answer was a single nod.

  “If you think we should leave while it is still winter, you must be more worried than I am about the guards,” said Rojeh, his faded-blue eyes somber. “Why are you so troubled?”

  After wiping a bead of accumulated wax from the tip of the stylus, Ragoczy Franciscus wrote, Emrach is greedy and he is a martinet. It would be useful to him to make himself appear a hero in the town’s eyes, and what better way to do that than to have his men strive to thwart a murder?—not just a murder, but one of a foreigner that can be blamed on a foreigner. It would assure him an impregnable position and it would warn all foreigners to hold Emrach in properly high regard.

  Rojeh read this twice. “Are you certain he is so dangerous that he would do this?”

  I think he knows an advantage when one presents itself, Ragoczy Franciscus wrote, and added, in very small letters in the little room that was left, We must establish signs. This is too cumbersome. Then he reached for the smoothing iron and put it on the tablet.

  “You’re right. We need a better means of communication than this.” Rojeh glanced toward the door. “Has anyone been up here since I left?”

  With exaggerated care, Ragoczy Franciscus mouthed Aristion and Sinu.

  “That must have been awkward,” said Rojeh, curious about the two visitors. As Ragoczy Franciscus nodded, moving his head gingerly, Rojeh pondered briefly, then said, “In terms of how I intend to deal with obtaining this information, I will handle the questions adroitly, as a general inquiry into how the house has been run on the first sunny day in five. I will ask each in turn, starting with your household servants, then going on to the widow, her children, and her servants. I have made similar inquiries before. I will ask Dasur about the markets he visited and what he found. I’ll ask Chtavo about the health of the mules and the horses. I’ll ask the widow if she has anything that needs household attention, and how the progress on her own dwelling is progressing. Who knows—I may even come upon something useful beyond what I ask during this delving. If the guards should hear any of this, or all of it, they will have nothing to notice in it, for it will be what anyone might expect. Is there anything in what I have said that distresses you?”

  Yes and no, Ragoczy Franciscus mouthed.

  Rojeh looked across the room to Ragoczy Franciscus’ bed. “It might be as well for you to rest until I come back from the kitchen.”

  Ragoczy Franciscus reached for one of the six books he had carried from China; he opened it with care, holding it up for Rojeh to see.

  Rojeh accepted this. “If you become tired, or your head or neck aches—”

  Ragoczy Franciscus pointed toward the bed.

  “Exactly,” said Rojeh.

  Taking hold of the wax tablet, Ragoczy Franciscus wrote again. Do not let the guards know how I am doing.

  “I’ll be careful,” said Rojeh, and went out of the room. Descending the stairs to the kitchen again, he found Chtavo, Herakles, and Aethalric there with the others. All three of them were drinking hot wine, and Chtavo was still in his bearskin cloak; he hunkered down before the fire, his cup held in both his hands for warmth. Herakles had taken a seat on the bench next to the hearth and was rubbing his swollen knees as he downed his wine. Aethalric had seated himself across the main table from Dasur, at the opposite end of the table from Thetis and her children. “Where’s Sinu, and the guards?”

  “Sinu’s working on my talaris,” said Pentefilia with a wicked, covert glance at her sister. “My mother says it will look well when I die. They can dress me in it.”

  “Pentefilia,” Thetis cautioned, blanching.

  “Well, you said,” Hrisoula reminded her mother.

  “The guards are still in the slaves’ room, making up their pallets, I think,” said Aethalric.

  “We are all going to eat together,” Dasur announced, putting a stop to any wrangling and successfully shifting the subject. “It makes little sense to do two tables in the dining room, one for the widow alone, and another for her children.”

  “I would have to build a fire and sweep the floor,” said Aethalric. “Here, the room is warm, and all of us may have the food we want.”

  “As much as is available,” Pentefilia sniffed.

  Rojeh said, “Remember that the widow and her family are our guests and must be treated as such.”

  Thetis shot him a look of earnest gratitude. “You are always courteous, Rojeh. You remind me of the majordomi in Constantinople: gracious and calm. I never supposed I would die here.”

  “Why should you die here?” Rojeh asked as the rest pretended not to have heard her.

  “If Ragoczy Franciscus is going to die, then who of us is safe?” she whispered.

  “He is not going to die,” Rojeh said. “His wound will heal.”

  “Will it?” She daubed the cuff of her tablion at her eyes. “It’s hopeless.”

  “Mama,” said Hrisoula, panic in her young eyes.

  Immediately Thetis made a reassuring gesture. “You mustn’t mind what I say. I am … worried. Ragoczy Franciscus is in grave danger, and what is to become of us?”

  “You will not be cast on the world, whatever happens,” Rojeh said, looking at the girl, not her mother.

  Thetis choked back a sob and put her hand on his. “I thank you for saying that.”

  Aristion ground his fists together. “Why do those guards have to be here?”

  “Because the Master of Foreigners wishes it,” said Rojeh in his calmest voice.

  “I don’t like it,” said the boy.

  “Neither do I,” Rojeh agreed, and would have said more, but the inside door opened and the two guards stepped into the kitchen. Both of them had daggers in their belts; their stance was inhospitable. Rojeh reverenced them and pointed to the unoccupied benches next to the main table. “We are preparing for our evening meal. I hope you will share our fare,” he invited cordially.

  One of the guards grunted an acceptance for them both; they sat down.

  “Would you like some hot wine?” Dasur asked with a quick glance at Rojeh. “I think we can provide cups for you.”

  “It would be nice,” said one of the guards.

  “I’ll fill the cups,” Aethalric volunteered, and rose before anyone could object.

  “I fear we have only a simple meal, but you may find it adequate,” said Dasur nervously.

  “Probably better than what we get usually,” said the second guard, whose teeth were either missing or nearly black.

  Rojeh stepped away from the table. “Then may you have good appetite.”

  “Do you not eat with us?” The first guard was instantly suspicious.

  “No, he does not,” said Dasur, intervening. “He follows the customs of our master, he s
ays.”

  The second guard glared. “Strange custom, to eat apart. It is not what happens in this town.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Thetis suddenly, “that is what happens in this house.”

  Aethalric came back to the table, carefully holding two steaming cups by their rims. “You should like this.”

  Abandoning their questions for the time being, the guards took the cups and drank eagerly, no longer paying attention to Rojeh, who was once again on his way up the stairs to Ragoczy Franciscus.

  Text of a writ by Ragcozy Franciscus in Byzantine Greek, witnessed by two merchants of Byzantium remaining in Sarai for the winter, with instructions to file these dispositions with Emrach Sarai’af and Patriarch Stavros in Sarai upon my departure from the town.

  As closely as I can fix the date of this authorization, I make it the first week of February by the revised Roman calendar, in the 1290th Year of the City; it is the first week of the New Year in China, although I am not certain which animal is in charge of this one; it is the tenth year of the reign of the Byzantine Emperor Justinian, and the eleventh year since Theodoric, King of the Ostrogoths, died, and what is set down here was written in the sixth week since the Winter Solstice, and to which I set my sigil as token of my intent.

  Upon my departure from this city, I have arranged for Thetis Krisanthemenis, the widow of Eleutherios Panayiotos, along with her three children, Pentefilia, Aristion, and Hrisoula, to be given tenancy in the house I have occupied until such time as her family arranges to bring her to them. I have provided the money for a year of occupancy and left funds to pay the wages of the staff, so that she need not be at any disadvantage imposed upon her because of the limitations law puts upon her access to her late husband’s fortune. The monies have been put in the hands of Patriarch Stavros with my specific instructions regarding how they are to be used, and an authorization for providing money to Thetis Krisanthemenis as she has need of it. I will leave a single horse, a copper-dun, for the use of the widow and the household, with funds for its upkeep. Chtavo may continue in his present work, so long as he is in Sarai. None of my servants are bonded and thus may depart or stay as they choose. Aethalric has already declared he has no wish to leave, so he may continue to head the household servants, with his wages paid for another six months, and sufficient monies provided to cover the next six, if they are needed. I leave one restriction for the staff and Thetis Krisanthemenis: that they buy no slaves.

  Should Thetis Krisanthemenis decide to leave Sarai, the sums that would have supported the household are to be provided to her for travel expenses, so that she and her children need not endure more hardships on the road beyond what the journey itself provides. I also leave with Patriarch Stavros a sum of money that will allow her to hire three armed men to escort her, and I admonish her to travel only with a larger caravan, so that her escort may not become her captors.

  All household goods left must be inventoried and kept for the use of Thetis Krisanthemenis and the household until she and her children depart, at which time the goods are to be sold and the monies divided in this way: half for Thetis Krisathemenis and her children to offset the costs of travel, the remainder to be distributed equally among the servants, Sinu and Herakles sharing a portion. So as to leave no burden upon her, I have provided two diamonds for such taxes as the town may impose upon my household and the current tenants of the house; one is for the Master of Foreigners and should cover the sum of my exit tax, the second is for Patriarch Stavros, who has undertaken to serve as administrator of the widow’s affairs.

  The landlords of the Foreigners’ Quarter will have much to repair and restore before the Quarter can be fully occupied again, and to that end, I have set aside one gold and one silver bar for the purpose of helping to pay for such rebuilding as may be required. In return for this sum, I ask that supplies for a shelter be provided to Dukkai, the jou’an-jou’an woman who has been exiled. Failure to comply with this request will result in a withdrawal of all remaining money, which will then be put in the hands of the innkeeper at the Birch House to dispose of in some manner that benefits the town but without helping any construction in the Foreigners’ Quarter.

  I set my hand and sigil to this before witnesses and in the conviction that when it is presented, its terms will be honored.

  Ragoczy Franciscus

  Merchant

  (his sigil, the eclipse)

  Nicodemus Daniatos, merchant of Amisus, witness

  Evagelos Tomi, merchant of Chersonesus, witness

  3

  Rojeh stared out at the wet snow pelting down from a black sky. “Are you sure you want to leave now?” he asked Ragoczy Franciscus as he stood in the door of the stable and stared out at the chaotic night.

  Ragoczy Franciscus gave the sign for yes. He pulled on the lead of the mules and put his foot in the foot-loop of his saddle, preparing to mount, making a last adjustment on the rough-woven blanket that was buckled onto his horse to provide warmth.

  “It could be a very hard ride,” Rojeh said as he went to get his stallion, who was standing tied to a stanchion, fretting at the bit; he, too, was blanketed against the bone-piercing cold. “Just two mules and two horses provides little margin for trouble,” Rojeh pointed out, knowing his argument would not change Ragoczy Franciscus’ mind.

  Ready? Ragoczy Franciscus signaled, then swung up into the saddle.

  “I’m worried about the widow and her children,” said Rojeh.

  With a long, steady look, Ragoczy Franciscus mouthed, Our staying cannot help her.

  “Still, it could go hard for her, if the guards really do have orders to kill us,” said Rojeh, and went on in vexation, “Do you think you will be able to get the guard to open the gate?” He unfastened the lead.

  Ragoczy Franciscus held up three silver coins in his gloved hand.

  “He will not keep silent for that amount, if that is what you would want,” Rojeh warned as he mounted. “You’ll need double that to buy silence.”

  The response was a restive shrug, followed by the sign Go.

  “We’ll have to leave the gate unbolted,” Rojeh reminded him, taking the lead on his mule. He started his horse out of the stable, saying, “Chtavo and the rest of the servants may be blamed for our departure, if not the widow. The guards will think he helped us, since he lives over the stable.”

  Ragoczy Franciscus made their sign for How?

  “You and I know that he could not stop us, but he could be expected to close doors and gates and ask where we would be going.” He reached the gate and kneed the horse over so he could draw back the bolt so they could go out into the street; since night was more than half over, there was no one else abroad. “When I think of what we had when we left China and what we are reduced to now …” He stopped while Ragoczy Francisus maneuvered his mare to allow him to close the gate.

  Ragoczy Franciscus drew his mare up alongside Rojeh’s stallion and handed him the coins. Take them, he signaled, and pulled his mule into line behind his blue roan, then put his finger to his lips as they started down the street.

  “Of course I’ll be quiet.” Rojeh kept his horse on a tight rein; the stallion disliked having to follow any other animal. Once or twice, the horses and mules slithered on the steep, icy street, but they made their way to the main gate without any serious mishap or disturbance.

  The guard was half-asleep and largely drunk; he took the coins and opened the gate with no questions, and closed it with a promptness that bespoke finality, leaving Ragoczy Franciscus and Rojeh to inch their way down the sharp slope of the approach road to the snowy islands and the paths that connected them.

  Rojeh knew from Ragoczy Franciscus’ notes to him earlier that evening that they were to go to the Jou’an-Jou’an camp to see what had become of Dukkai. He kept his dagger near to hand and patted the sheath containing his shimtare, reassured by the closeness of the curved cavalry sword. The heavily laden mules kept their progress to a walk, and the steady plodding was almost sleep
-inducing. Rojeh had not realized how far they had come until he saw the snow-covered mounds of the Jou’an-Jou’an tents and heard a single bark from one of the dogs in the camp.

  Ragoczy Franciscus rode through the encampment to the far side, out on a spit of land that poked a sandy finger into the marsh where the reeds did not grow, and the water was an obsidian smear against the falling snow; it was the place Dukkai had been sent in lieu of shelter, to crouch in the ruin of an old boat that had been drawn up onto the spit. He rode as near as was safe, then tied the mule’s lead to his saddle, dismounted, and secured his blue roan’s reins to a scrubby bush half-submerged in snow. That done, he stood still for a short while, then started toward the boat, tapping on it before lifting its bow to look at what lay beneath.

  It was impossible to say how long she had been dead, for her freezing had prevented any decomposition. Frost crystals had formed on her eyelashes and her white hair was brittle with ice. Her gaunt face had a bluish tinge, and her lips were a chalky-purple shade. She lay on her side, her head pillowed on her leather sleeve, as if she had fallen asleep and failed to waken.

  Dukkai, Ragoczy Franciscus mouthed as he bent over her body. Rojeh did not dismount; he kept watch from the saddle, in case their presence should be noticed and they were forced to fight their way out of the Jou’an-Jou’an camp. His thoughts were bleak as he surveyed the cluster of tents and the marsh beyond. “We cannot linger,” he said as loudly as he dared.