“The girl obviously made a deep impression on you, and you must have thought that you had saved her life,” Almeric added. “Saved her for a better kind of life, perhaps.” He spoke lightly enough, but he was plainly curious to see how Reinmar would respond to the tantalising hint. Reinmar concluded that Vaedecker was right. They did not know quite what to make of him and were anxious to take his measure. They had not waited long to see whether he would accept Noel’s invitation.
“I would have taken the girl with me to Eilhart if she had been agreeable,” Reinmar informed them. “I would have continued to protect her. I loved her.”
“I’m sure you did,” Noel said.
“Have you come to offer me a cargo of your precious wine?” Reinmar asked the monk, sounding a slight but carefully-calculated note of interest. “I admit that it had a good odour and an unusual sweetness, but the promise that it would ease my sleep and make my dreams pleasant was unfulfilled.”
“You did not take enough to obtain that effect,” Noel told him.
“Perhaps not,” Reinmar admitted. “Having thought about the matter, though, I realise that there is not much demand for sweet wine in Eilhart and Holthusen. Were I to buy a couple of casks of your wine I would probably have to trade them on, at least as far as the Reik—perhaps as far as Marienburg.”
Reinmar saw Almeric’s eyes narrow in response to the mention of Marienburg, and noticed once again the peculiar quality of their radiance. When he looked back at Noel he saw the same strange glow in his eyes, but Noel forced a smile.
“Our agents have found new customers since your grandfather lost interest in us,” Noel said, in a neutral tone, “but our order has always valued tradition. This is a sad time for you, I know, but it might be best for you to put your loss behind you and find what distraction you can in matters of business.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Reinmar observed, “but not so easy for me to do.”
Brother Noel was not so easily put off. “We have consulted our fellows at the monastery,” he said, gently, “and we have been authorised to sell you a little of our stock, if you are prepared to take it. The name of Wieland is fondly remembered by the older brothers, and our superior was attracted by the notion that we might be able to rebuild one of our oldest bridges to the outside world. We enjoy our seclusion, to be sure, but it is not good even for men of our kind to be entirely isolated from the greater society of men. If the price were right, we would be prepared to let you take a sample case of our wine, ready-bottled in good crystal glass. We have our own glass-blowing shop, you know, and were almost as famous at one time for our bottles as for the wares they contained. You are, of course, very welcome to taste our produce again if you wish to make sure of its quality. But if you are not interested…”
“I suppose I might be,” Reinmar said, with a contrived sigh. “But I am acting at present solely as my father’s agent. He instructed me to be very careful with his money, and to stick very carefully to the route which he had planned. He might not be pleased to hear that I had deviated from his scheme and bought wine from someone other than our regular suppliers.”
“We were numbered among your regular suppliers once,” Brother Almeric pointed out. “Were we not, Brother Noel?”
“We remember your grandfather’s name very well,” Noel confirmed. “He never came here, but we used to send our emissaries to deal with him. Zygmund’s father knew him, I think—perhaps Zygmund met him, as a boy.”
“The farmer appeared to recognise the name of Wieland,” Reinmar agreed, reflectively. “My steward will be worried about me, though, and I really ought to try to get back to the wagon before nightfall. I really ought to…”
He trailed off, hoping to leave the impression that he really did not know what he ought to do, and did not quite understand his own motives.
“Any business we do could be concluded before sunset,” Brother Almeric observed. “The day is not so very far advanced. Perhaps you should give the wine another chance. When you tasted it last night the circumstances were far from ideal, and the girl’s unfortunate death has obviously unsettled you. If you will come to the monastery, you may sample a number of the vintages we have in store. You are obviously a man who knows the value of wine.”
Reinmar continued his show of hesitation. “If only my steward were here,” he said, eventually, “I would feel much happier. I don’t even know that my wagon is safe. We were attacked by monstrous beasts, and it was damaged. Although they ran off they might have returned. Are the environs of the valley always haunted by monsters?”
“Not usually,” Almeric said. “Zygmund told us that he had heard rumours, but we did not take them seriously.”
“Should you wish to purchase some wine,” Brother Noel assured him, “we could instruct Zygmund and one of his men to carry it safely to your wagon. They are skilled men, and would be pleased to help with any necessary repairs. It should not take us long to conclude our business—and this is an opportunity that you might never have again.”
“Well,” Reinmar said softly, “I suppose that is true.”
Chapter Sixteen
While he walked back to the monastery in the company of Brother Noel and Brother Almeric, Reinmar tried to take more careful note of his surroundings and of the buildings towards which they were moving. Because they were walking along the valley floor his vantage was not ideal, but he had a reasonably good view of the slopes on either side of the lake. They were heavily wooded, and there was no sign of a vineyard.
The temple by the burial ground was not so very different from the Temple of Morr in Eilhart. The main part of the building was surmounted by a rounded dome. Its narrow windows were filled with leaded lights, so that the interior might be invisible from without while being softly illuminated within by the colour-stained rays of the sun.
Behind the temple there was a huddle of subsidiary buildings, presumably storerooms where tools were kept and perhaps a closeted shrine for private prayer. Then there was an open space separating the temple from a single-storeyed U-shaped edifice which Reinmar assumed to be the monks’ living-quarters. That too was augmented by a set of wooden outhouses, but most of them were hidden from view by its bulk.
The grey stone of the temple and the living quarters was considerably darker than that from which the Wieland house was constructed, and the architectural style of the monastery complex was sterner and more angular than the one in which the grander houses of Eilhart were cast. Even so, the contrast between the buildings and their woodland setting did not seem as strong as Reinmar had expected. The stones comprising the temple and its outbuildings were square and sullen, while the trees were green and full of the vivid enthusiasm of high summer, but there was something about the way that the weather had worn and pitted the fabric of the monastery, while mosses and creepers had made themselves at home upon its walls, that suited the man-made constructions to their natural surrounds.
Reinmar also realised while he walked that this was not at all the same kind of woodland as the one through which he and Vaedecker had trekked the day before. Its trees grew less straight and its greenery was more confused. The hard berries which decked its thorny bushes were bright with warning colours to bid the birds beware.
Reinmar could not suppress a shudder as the three of them passed the burial-ground, and he could not keep his eyes from the freshly-turned earth with which the monks had covered Marcilla’s body.
“It would be best if you could put her from your mind,” said Brother Noel, quietly. “The living must give themselves to life, while the dead have business of their own. You are sad because you found her beautiful, but those who are chosen are chosen, and those who are not must choose instead to live.”
“Chosen?” Reinmar repeated. “Who chose her?”
Almeric looked sharply at him, but Noel remained solicitous.
“It is but a manner of speaking,” the monk assured him. “All men and women are born with appetites and potentialitie
s already established in their souls. We have freedom of choice, but not of desire. We are guided to our different fates by yearnings not of our own making. Each of us has to find himself, and those who find themselves in the wine of dreams are as fortunate in their way as those who find themselves in monastic discipline or the machinations of trade.”
While he was delivering this speech Noel guided Reinmar into the quadrangle protected on three sides by the U-shaped building. It was rimmed by cloisters, where more monks were abroad. Most bowed to their visitor as they passed but none spoke to him, although one took Brother Noel aside and whispered something in his ear. It seemed to Reinmar that whatever news was passed by this means was unwelcome; Noel frowned deeply before rejoining Almeric.
The two monks did not take Reinmar to the main door, but to a smaller one set in one of the wings. He had no chance to explore the mazy corridors within, because he was taken into the first room that presented its door, to the left of the entrance. There was a table within, on which three small casks had been set, along with a jug of water, three glass goblets and a ladle. There was also a leather bucket on the floor. The goblets were neatly formed, but they could hardly be reckoned exquisite examples of the glassblower’s art.
“These are three of our most recent vintages,” Almeric told Reinmar. “AH are now in short supply, so we cannot offer you more than a drop of each to taste. We shall be forced to ask high prices if you wish to buy—but I think you are better placed now to estimate their worth than you were last night/
The casks were not spigoted, but their tops were loose and Almeric used the ladle to fetch a tiny measure from the first, which he tipped into the first of the goblets. Reinmar accepted it, and touched it to his lips. He took the whole measure into his mouth—there was little more than a drop—and let it lie on his tongue for a moment or two before spitting it into the bucket. He suspected that he was being tantalised, and that the monks expected him to become greedy for a more generous portion, but he was determined to resist any such temptation. He swilled out his mouth with water before taking a second meagre drop from the second goblet, and then repeated the whole sequence for a third time.
All three samples were the same sweet wine, but Reinmar could discern the subtle differences imposed by ageing, and knew without having to be told which vintage was the youngest and which the most mature. He did his best to consider the offerings as a winemaster would, focusing his entire attention on the taste sensations and putting aside all thought of dreams. Noel watched him closely throughout, his expression clouded by thought—and perhaps by doubt.
“I saw no vines as we approached the monastery,” Reinmar remarked, offhandedly. “Nor did I see any other sign of elaborate cultivation, save for Zygmund’s vegetable-plots. Where do you grow the fruit from which the wine is made?”
“That is our secret,” Almeric told him.
“What fruit is it?” Reinmar asked. “If it is a grape, it is none that is grown elsewhere in the surrounding hills.”
“That too is a secret known only to the members of our order,” Almeric told him. “All you need to know is that the wine is good, and that we can send consignments to Eilhart three or four times a year if there is enough demand.”
“We normally buy once a year from each of our suppliers and store the casks in our own cellars,” Reinmar said. “It is more convenient for everyone concerned.”
“Not for us,” Almeric said. “We prefer to store our supplies until they are needed. Our agents only sell what is required for imminent consumption.”
“I do not know the market,” Reinmar said, carefully setting out his stall for a hard bargaining session. “I do not know who your regular customers are, or the price they usually pay. I would be taking a risk if I were to make an offer for the produce. My father might be very angry if I were to turn up with goods that he is not expecting, for which he has no ready-made buyers. I ought to consult him before making any decision—but I shall be happy to return here, if he thinks the matter worth further exploration.”
“That is not possible,” Almeric said—but Noel immediately put a hand on his arm to instruct him to be silent.
“How do you like the wine, Master Wieland?” Noel asked, quietly. “How does it sit upon your tongue? Do you feel an affinity for its special qualities?” He seemed disappointed by Reinmar’s attitude, and his own had undergone a marked change since the other monk had whispered in his ear. If someone had brought intelligence from Eilhart, Reinmar thought, there might be more contained in it than news of Machar von Spurzheim’s arrival. Even if the message had not come so far, it might say that he had been seen with Matthias Vaedecker, a witch hunter’s man.
Now that Noel had raised the question, however, Reinmar was forced to consider it earnestly. He did like the wine, although he had nothing left of it in his mouth but the aftertaste. It had sat upon his tongue very comfortably, as if there had indeed been an appetite inborn in him that he had never before understood or had the opportunity to serve. And he did, indeed, feel an affinity for the prospect of luxury that it held out to him. But honesty was not the game he had come to play.
“It is too sweet and too rich for my taste,” he said, cautiously. “The people of Eilhart are used to plainer and simpler wines, whose taste is brisk and clean. That is what I have been brought up to value. If my own taste were to determine my decision, I might be disinclined to make you any offer—but I will admit that the wine is of good quality, and it is certainly interesting. I wonder, though, whether there are too many imponderables to allow me to strike a wise bargain.”
Almeric seemed to be ready to argue with him, but Noel’s hand was still resting on his companion’s arm and it was Noel who spoke. “I understand your reluctance,” he said, amiably. “It requires a certain boldness to be adventurous in trade, and you are evidently a careful man. We will not press you. Produce like ours requires a sympathetic distributor, and we had better search until we find one. We shall bid you farewell. I’ll accompany you back to the farm and ask Zygmund to guide you back to your wagon.”
“That’s not necessary,” Reinmar said, trying hard to overcome his astonishment at the abrupt closure of negotiations. “I can find my own way easily enough, and Zygmund has been far too kind already.”
Brother Noel made no protest. “As you wish,” he said. “I am sorry that we could not find common ground.”
Brother Almeric did not seem satisfied, but he had divined that the situation had changed since they all set out from Zygmund’s house. He said nothing as Noel led Reinmar back to the door.
“I am sure that you have business of your own to attend to, Brother Noel,” Reinmar said, as they stepped out into the sunlight. “I can retrace my steps easily enough, and will make better time if I travel alone. I need to reach the wagon before dusk.”
“Very well,” Noel said. “I wish you a safe and profitable journey home, Master Wieland. I am truly sorry that we could not do business, but if you cannot commit yourself to the wine the loss is yours.”
“Perhaps we shall meet again,” Reinmar ventured.
“Perhaps we shall, if it is our fate,” Brother Noel echoed, although the tone of his voice suggested otherwise.
Reinmar immediately set out to walk back to the farm, intending to pass by in clear sight of Zygmund and his wife and to continue towards the neck of the valley at least until Matthias Vaedecker rejoined him. This time he refused to look into the burial-ground as he walked past it.
He never reached the farmhouse, because Vaedecker appeared by his side at almost exactly the same spot as before, in the wood between the farm and the monastery.
“You should not risk being seen here,” Reinmar complained.
“I was wrong,” Vaedecker told him, without any preamble. “They did not wait before taking the girl from her shallow grave. Almost as soon as you had passed the burial-ground on your way to the wine-tasting they came for her. They are obviously in a hurry. Did you see anything in the big buildin
g—anything that von Spurzheim will be glad to know?”
“Nothing at all. Where did they take her?” Reinmar demanded.
“Into the temple,” Vaedecker said, glumly. “They have not come out again, although I could see no sign of them when I went to peep through the door that they had left ajar. Nothing at all, you say?”
“A cloister and a single room,” Reinmar told him. “They did not give me a tour, and when I established my starting-point for what I expected to be a lengthy bargaining session, they took my apparent reluctance to deal at face value. Brother Noel apparently decided that he would rather be rid of me than work for my conversion. One of the other monks whispered in his ear while he passed through the cloister. The gypsies may have sent word to say that the wagon had an extra passenger, and that he is a witchfinder’s spy; if so, any inclination they had to trust me would have disappeared on the instant.”
“Something has happened,” Vaedecker said, pensively. “It may have been a message from outside that instilled a new urgency in the monks. If they are discomfited, that is our advantage. We must find out more while we still have the chance.”
“If Marcilla is not dead,” Reinmar reminded him, “we cannot leave her here. If they intend to harm her, we must do our utmost to save her.”
“We must certainly try to find out what has become of her,” Vaedecker agreed. “If we are lucky, we might come out of this with exactly what von Spurzheim needs, and the answer to a riddle that has lain unsolved for centuries—but it will be dangerous. We have no idea what odds we might be facing. Are you ready?
“If there is a possibility that Marcilla is alive,” Reinmar insisted, “I would risk anything.”
“It is not the best possible reason,” Vaedecker told him, “but it’s the right pledge. We are comrades in arms, then?” He offered his hand, as a token of the compact.
The Wine of Dreams Page 15
