“I understand. We will comply,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, and signaled to Rojeh, Do it.
Rojeh dismounted at once and took the leads of his stallion and the mule and came up behind Ragoczy Franciscus just as he stepped out of the saddle. “Is this wise?” Rojeh asked in Chinese.
“They should have information of what lies ahead, and we need that,” Ragoczy Franciscus said in the same language. “Also, if we do not stop after asking for entry, we risk a spear or an arrow in the back, or in our horses, for they would then be convinced that their worst suspicions are true.”
“It would be best for us both to sleep indoors,” said Rojeh purposefully.
“You have the right of it: I will have to be out of the sunlight come dawn.” Ragoczy Franciscus motioned Rojeh to silence as the first of the logs was pulled back, the sound deafening.
“There is some grass left, too; the horses and mule can graze.”
Ragoczy Franciscus swore testily. Almost at once, he added, “I’m sorry, old friend. I have become irascible again.”
“You’re famished. No wonder you’re short-tempered,” said Rojeh, who had dined on a goose the night before.
When the fourth log had been moved, another voice——also male, but clearly much younger than the impressive bass—shouted, “You may come in. Single file. At a walk. Unarmed.”
“That we will,” Ragoczy Franciscus replied. “I have a dagger in my boot, and another next to the mace buckled to my saddle.” He did not mention the slim-bladed knife lying under his belt along his back.
“Any traveler must have something to protect himself,” said the young voice; an oil-lamp was held up to help show the entrance more clearly. “Come ahead.”
Ragoczy Franciscus made a quick signal, Careful, to Rojeh, then led his mare through the opening in the logs. Immediately three young men surrounded him, spears in hand, warily inspecting him. All three were thin, and they had the skittish demeanor of those who had recently endured a deadly attack.
A big man in filthy priest’s vestments approached on crutches; his thick profuse hair stood out around his face like a lion’s mane, and his beard lay on his chest like a wolf’s ruff. His pectoral crucifix was silver and gold hanging from a silver chain, and he wore a ring with a simple cross cut into its stone. The priest came closer and Ragoczy Franciscus could see he had only one leg. “So,” the voice resounded, “a pair of travelers returning from the distant East with little to show for it, and arriving late at night.”
“Yes. Sometimes night travel is safer than day,” Ragoczy Franciscus said steadily.
“You have the right of that,” the priest said, and called out, “Admit the other, and the animals.”
Another trio of young men took up their positions and lifted their spears. “Ready,” one of them said.
Rojeh came in at a deliberate walk, his horse and mule behind him. “So you will not be troubled when you find them, I have a shimtare fastened to the saddle, a dagger in my belt, and another in a sheath along my arm.” He, also, did not include the dagger he carried in a sheath down his back, wanting to be sure he had reserved some extra measure of protection for himself.
The priest pegged forward and stood contemplating the two newcomers. Finally he said, “Two men and three animals, as you said. I am Irkovoyto, the priest here in Poranache, and by default, I am the leader of what villagers are left. I am the one who will determine if you must be guarded or kept apart from these good Christians.” His Byzantine Greek was very good, and his manner suggested a superior education and a comfortable life in childhood.
“I am Ragoczy Franciscus of Transylvania, and this is Rojeh of Gades,” he said, regarding the armed youths with the semblance of aplomb. “We have come a very long way.”
“So I surmise,” said Irkovoyto, shifting his stance for better balance. He summoned the young men to him with an imperious single syllable, then stood with them, conversing in whispers. Finally he moved toward Ragoczy Franciscus. “Our church—the Church of the Armenian Martyrs—was looted by the raiders and it has not yet been reconsecrated. We will put you into it, with your animals, for the night. In the morning, we will make a final decision regarding you.”
Ragoczy Franciscus did not know which title to use when addressing Irkovoyto, so he simply said, “Good Priest, we thank you for a place to spend the night, and we ask that you permit us to sleep well into the day; it is very late at night now, and we still have many leagues to go before we reach our destination, and neither of us is young.”
“This may be acceptable. We have to observe the Lord’s Day tomorrow, and most of us will remain within doors until sunset. Only the guards and the watch will be about the village until after our Mass at midday.” Irkovoyto took a firmer hold on his crutches. “My wives will prepare a meal at noon tomorrow, if you would make a donation to our work of rebuilding, you would be welcome to join us.”
“We thank you, but we will look to our own nourishment,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, “although we will contribute to your work.”
This announcement startled Irkovoyto, who regarded Ragoczy Franciscus narrowly. “Why would any merchant part with money for no gain?”
“Ah, but there is gain in having a town to return to on our next journey, particularly where good-will has been established,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, reverencing the priest. “Only a very shortsighted merchant would fail to see the advantage.”
After a moment’s reflection, Irkovoyto touched his pectoral crucifix. “You have a clever tongue and you seek advantage in time to come, as good Christians must. Tomorrow we will talk further, and with God’s Grace, we will learn much that will benefit us.”
“May it be so,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “If your young men will show us where your church is, we will settle in for the night.”
“To sleep the sleep of the just,” said Irkovoyto, and pointed to three of the young men. “Mopuoli, Heovo, Otsija, accompany these men and their beasts to the church and see them into it. You may light up to three of the oil-lamps for their use.” Without waiting to be obeyed, he swung away from the opening in the wall, calling out, “Eloka, you see to putting the logs back.”
“Yes; we will,” one of the youngsters answered for all.
None of the young men had an accomplished command of Byzantine Greek, but they did their best. The tallest of the three given the task of escorting Ragoczy Franciscus and Rojeh with their animals to the church identified himself. “Heovo. I will walk ahead; Otsija will walk between you; and Mopuoli will bring up the rear. Anything you do, one of us will see.” He pointed down a narrow street. “That way.”
“If you lead, we will follow,” Ragoczy Franciscus assured him, and prepared to accompany him down the street.
“Then we go now,” said Heovo, striking out through the darkness. The church was not any great distance, and as they reached the square in front of it, Heovo ordered a halt. “I will go open the door and strike oil-lamps alight until there is enough brightness for you to see. Then you may come behind.”
Ragoczy Franciscus stood quite still, his full attention on the church; it was three times as long as it was wide, with stubby cross-arms two-thirds down its length; the walls were made of heavy planking with a squat dome on top surmounted by a simple Roman crucifix. There were twelve windows set high in the side walls, hardly large enough to admit any more light than a beam the size of a plate. “We can rest here,” he said to Rojeh in Byzantine Greek so that they would not be suspected of subterfuge.
“And rest is much needed,” said Rojeh. “We have been riding too long, and our horses are in need of a day’s rest before they can journey farther.”
“So they are tired, and so are we,” Ragoczy Franciscus said, and made a point of stretching. Then he asked Otsija, “How can we get water to our animals?”
“I will have buckets carried to you,” said Otsija.
“Thank you.” He continued to wait patiently until Heovo appeared in the door of the church and waved the
m forward. “There are pallets on that side. You may sleep on them,” he said as Ragoczy Franciscus came up the stairs to the narthex of the church.
Ragoczy Franciscus took note of the dark corner Heovo had indicated and nodded. “You are most kind to travelers.”
“If Irkovoyto did not command it, it would be otherwise,” Heovo said grimly.
“Then I thank him through you,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, pushing his blue roan aside so that Rojeh could come in through the tall, narrow door.
Scowling at Ragoczy Franciscus’ mare, Heovo declared, “The Devil rides a black horse.”
“This is not a black horse, as you will see in the sunlight,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, unperturbed.
“You ride in the dark,” said Heovo sharply. “Then it is black.”
“She is a blue roan, a fairly rare coat, but handsome.” He moved the mare a little nearer the oil-lamp. “Look for yourself.”
“She seems as black as night to me,” said Heovo,
Rather than give a brusque answer or argue the point, Ragoczy Franciscus said amiably, “I fear I must have done something to offend you, and if I have, I offer my apology, although such affront was not intended.”
Only slightly mollified, Heovo glared at him. “We are not well-disposed to strangers; had Irkovoyto listened to me, you would have been left outside our walls—such as they are.”
“I can understand your distrust of strangers in these hard times; it would be irresponsible of you not to question any traveler.” Ragoczy Franciscus wondered how old the young man was—sixteen? seventeen? certainly no more than that—and that his life was probably half over. “You have done a courageous thing in remaining here.”
Heovo shot an angry look at him. “The brave ones are dead,” he muttered.
Ragoczy Franciscus shook his head. “No. For their bravery is over and was brief; yours is just beginning and it must last you all your life long.”
“However long that may be.” The stare Heovo gave him showed he was at least considering what Ragoczy Franciscus said. Turning abruptly on his heel, Heovo ordered Mopuoli and Otsija out of the church, announcing, “We will keep a guard on the door. If you have to leave the church, call to the guard first, or he will spear you.”
“We will,” said Ragoczy Franciscus as the three young men left them alone with two oil-lamps burning.
“Not an easy situation,” said Rojeh when they were alone.
“No, but being in the open at dawn would not be … pleasant.” He watched Rojeh take their bucket and measure out into it the grain for the night. “A pity we cannot tie them out to graze tonight, but tomorrow afternoon, perhaps the villagers will allow it.”
“I’ll take them outside the walls. There is some grass there that the raiders didn’t cut.” Rojeh began unloading the mule’s pack saddle. “Who do you think the raiders were?”
“Probably a clan driven by hunger and bad weather, as we’ve seen before,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “They are not the first, and they are not the last.”
“Then you are concerned.” Rojeh set down their case of clothing. “At least you know—” He stopped. “I didn’t intend to—”
“To imply that I am not at my best? I know I am not, and I know you have been looking out for me, and have held your tongue,” Ragoczy Franciscus said. “It is not the first time you and I have had to deal with people like these: isolated, attacked, abandoned. What matters if Huns or other tribesmen are responsible for the damage? the people are bereft of possessions and family, surely as much an injury as a blow on the head.”
“There is no Nicoris here, I think,” said Rojeh with calm sympathy.
“No; there is not, nor would I want her in such a place. I gather most of the women were carried off; not the priest’s wives, but many of the others, and the men know they are gone for good,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “Of those who are left, they are probably sequestered somewhere under lock and key.” He pursed his lips in distaste. “That may be worse. Whatever the case, you and I will not be permitted to see any of those who remain, not even the priest’s wives.”
“You will still need sustenance.” Rojeh tapped his hand.
“It will not be found here,” Ragoczy Franciscus said in a tone that ended their discussion.
Rojeh said nothing more; he looked about, taking stock of the little church. “Windows for the Apostles? What do you think?”
“The Apostles or the Armenian Martyrs, whoever they might be,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “Twelve is a useful number, in any case.”
“How many martyrs do you think there were?” Rojeh asked.
“I have noticed that twelve is the number of Magi who attended Christ’s birth, or so some of the churches preach. One Magi for each Apostle, it would appear, and it may be the same with the martyrs. The Romans are now tending to three Magi, for the Trinity.” Ragoczy Franciscus rubbed his chin. “I will need another trim in a few days.”
Rojeh nodded. “Soon, then.”
“Very good; I’ll be glad to be a bit neater,” said Ragoczy Franciscus as he lifted off the saddle and reached for a brush; a short while later he paused in his work. “I am disturbed by the raid here. It means that there are more bands of men about, and as the spring advances, their numbers will increase.”
“And they will prey upon travelers as readily as they attack villages like this one,” Rojeh concurred. “Desperate men do desperate things. Some travel thousands of leagues westward,” he added deliberately.
“To the Egyptian abode of death,” Ragoczy Franciscus said in a distant tone. He finished the on-side of his horse and went around to the off-side, starting to brush her neck, working down and back with the grain of the hair. “I wonder if she’ll ever come into season again?”
Rojeh said nothing; he continued to groom the mule and then his stallion. The horse lowered his head into Rojeh’s hand, nuzzling; Rojeh scratched his withers and saw the spotted horse crane his neck and flop his ears in pleasure. As he continued his care with a stiff-bristled brush, he said to Ragoczy Franciscus, “You know they put us in here to make sure we are not demons or other fell beings.”
“No doubt, and if Priest Irkovoyto did not bless it as soon as the raiders were gone, he must have been unconscious; he is hardly the sort of man to allow his village to be contaminated by malign influences if he could do anything about them,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, a sardonic note in his utterances. “I have no illusions about this village, or this church—this is a good jail, but it also provides other protection.” He looked about the little church.
“Do you sense something?” Rojeh looked alarmed now.
“The church is set away from other buildings. It has been looted. They will want to cleanse it.” There was a hard edge to his remark. “Come. Get the saddle-pad and hand me the pack-saddle.”
Perplexed, Rojeh obeyed. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes.” Ragoczy Franciscus took the girth and saddle-pad. “He’s well-groomed, thank goodness. We do not have to start with brushing.”
Their efforts were interrupted by Heovo and Otsija, who carried two wooden buckets apiece, all filled with water. “Is everything well?” Heovo asked as he put the buckets down. Neither youth would look directly at either Rojeh or Ragoczy Franciscus. “Are you going to sleep shortly?”
“Yes,” said Ragoczy Franciscus.
“Then we will bid you a good night; may God protect you and all good Christian souls,” said Otsija; he and Heovo retreated, banging the door in their haste to be gone.
“Do you think they believed us?” Rojeh asked, trying not to sound worried.
“I do not know,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, buckling the girth into place; he felt the mule stiffen in anticipation of more travel; he patted the mule’s neck. “This is a poor way to thank you for all you have done, but we will need to get away tonight.”
“What is it that you perceive?” Rojeh persisted even as he helped saddle the mule.
“I think I’ve smell
ed something, or heard something,” Ragoczy Franciscus replied.
“Are you certain? Or are you reminded of being with the Desert Cats, who kept apart from you when they intended to sacrifice you?” This direct question was meant to be blunt; Rojeh stood still, waiting for Ragoczy Franciscus to provide an answer.
“This is not the same thing,” Ragoczy Franciscus said at last, his voice so quiet that Rojeh almost wondered if his throat were hurting him. “We were no strangers to the Desert Cats, although we were foreigners. I may not have been so willing to visit their camp had not the clan been familiar to me and had we not been accepted as companions to the clan. I do not know these villagers, but I know something has gone wrong.”
“As when Dukkai read the smoke?” Rojeh pressed on.
“No.” Ragoczy Franciscus picked up the case containing their clothes. “If you want something else to wear, take it out now.”
Rojeh said, “I will change my garments after we have rested.”
“Then hand me the chest of medicaments. I know we have use of what it contains.” He set it in place on the pack-saddle and lashed it there. “The sack of grain, to give a soft container for the chest of treasure to rest upon, and my roll of farrier’s tools.”
“Can you not tell me what has made you uneasy?” Rojeh asked.
“If I could identify it, I would.” He handed Rojeh his saddle-pad. “I’ll finish up here. You get your horse ready to go.”
“And yours?”
“I will attend to her directly, just as soon as the net is in place.” He sighed as he checked the mule’s halter and leads. “I will make new buckles and repair the billets.” He was almost finished when the mule brought up his head and brayed loudly; an instant later, the tang of burning wood was on the air. “They have set fire to the church!”
Rojeh hurried to tighten the saddle-girth and free the stallion’s reins from the stout pillar to which they were secured. “You were right,” he said as he vaulted aboard his horse and reached for the mule’s lead.
Ragoczy Franciscus went to open the door and was not entirely surprised to find it braced from the outside. “Come. Back your horse up to the door and set him kicking.”
Saint-Germain 18: Dark of the Sun: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain Page 48
