Saint-Germain: Burning Shadows Part 7

She gave a single nod and left the reception-room.

He regarded Kh.o.r.ea. "If any of these men should need attending, call upon Patras Iob. He has some experience with the wounded. I will give you my full attention as soon as I have the opportunity, but what Mangueinic requires will take at least a quarter of the morning." He then described what he needed her to arrange for him.

Kh.o.r.ea made the sign of the cross to call the protection of the Christ upon them all. "I will do my utmost. And I will pray that the Huns do not return today, or tomorrow."

"Very good," said Sanctu-Germainios, doubtful that her supplications would make any difference. He went to his quarters, chose his clothes, his special surgical tools, then went out into the frigid morning, all the while hoping that the amputation was not coming too late to spare Mangueinic from death.

Text of two identical letters from Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios to Rugierus, written in Imperial Latin on squares of sanded split leather in fixed ink, then entrusted to Patras Nestor for delivery to the crossing-fortresses at Drobetae and Oescus on the Danuvius. Only the first reached its destination, sixty-seven days after being dispatched.

Rogerian, When you receive this, we will have moved on to Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit, where we will spend the winter, and hope that the Huns will not follow us there. We have forty-six carts and wagons, and over four hundred people in our company. A few of the Gepidae in Apulum Inferior have decided to take their chances on reaching Aquinc.u.m, and have already left.

Since I have received no messages from you, I must hope that this reaches you as you return from Constantinople. So much has been disrupted by the presence of the Huns that I am going to a.s.sume that the failure of messages is the result of their actions and not an indication of harm to you. Additionally, I am a.s.suming that Dona Rhea has been established appropriately in the city of her birth-for which I am deeply obliged to you.

If matters go ill at Sanctu-Eustachios, then I will attempt to reach Olivia in Aquileia, and should that fail, I will strike out for Lago Comus. At every opportunity I will dispatch messengers to ports where my trading company has offices, on my own s.h.i.+ps if possible, and ask you to do the same so that we may once more reunite.

Sanct' Germainus (his sigil, the eclipse)

7.

Glistering sunlight shone off the patches of new snow along the narrow road that led up over the ridge to the little valley where Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit was situated, all but obscured by s.h.a.ggy pines and ponderous oaks; the wagons and carts and flocks were strung out for almost a league along the way, forced into single-file by the narrow path. Humans and animals kept up a steady walk even as the road grew steeper; the herders strove to keep their animals from bolting into the trees, and mothers kept vigilant watch on their children, knowing how capable they were of mischief and how dangerous it could be for them all. This was their fourth day of travel and the weather was deteriorating, high, thin clouds increasing the glare of the sky, riding on a sharp, searching wind.

Mounted on a large mule, Patras Anso led the people from Apulum Inferior and the refugees from Tsapousso on the torturous road, followed by Enlitus Brevios, the new captain of the Watchmen and master mason, on a mountain pony. Watchmen with spears in their hands walked between the two leaders, alert to any disturbance on the road or near it. Behind them came an a.s.sortment of wagons, the third of which held Mangueinic with Hildren and Nicoris to tend him. Immediately behind that wagon rode Sanctu-Germainios on a handsome gray horse-one of six he had brought with him. To protect himself from the biting wind he wore a fine black abolla of boiled wool over his heavy silk pallium and black-dyed doeskin femoralia; his thick-soled boots were of dark-red leather from Troesmis. He carried his case of medical supplies on a strap across his chest. After him came more wagons, and the people from Tsapousso with their vehicles and animals, then the flocks and herds of the region of Apulum Inferior with their keepers flanking them, and finally the carts pulled by donkeys and driven by under-cooks and grooms, holding the foodstuffs, supplies, and household goods from the abandoned town.

Sanctu-Germainios moved his horse up close to the rear of the wagon and called out, "How is he doing?"

Nicoris stuck her head out of the leather panels that covered the back and said, "The syrup of poppies is keeping him asleep for now and the bandage you gave him is allowing the cauterized scar and the skin flap you have sewn over it to breathe, as you said it would. There is no sign of returning infection, though he complains of itching. He drinks when we give him your medicaments in water, and his fever is moderate, not high. Hildren tells me he has made water twice since we broke camp."

"Has he been awake for any period of time?"

"He has been groggy, not truly awake, about a third of the time; at those times he forgets that we're traveling. He keeps talking about reinforcing the outer wall. He wants it done before the Huns can return." A slight frown crossed her face. "If the road gets much rougher, it will take a toll on him."

"On us all," said Sanctu-Germainios. "Thirhald's woman could go into labor early if she has to endure much more of this."

"Agtha rides in the wagon behind us, doesn't she? All the injured are in wagons or on mules, isn't that right?" Nicoris asked, holding on to the frame as the trail dipped down toward a fast-running stream.

Sanctu-Germainios adjusted his seat in his Persian-style saddle, with a broad, raised pommel to help him maintain his balance; he held his horse with his lower legs and leaned back as the gelding picked his way down the slope. "She does; Kh.o.r.ea and Dysis are with her. I may ask Isalind to ride with them when next we stop; she has had four children of her own, and has birthed six others-more than Kh.o.r.ea and Dysis combined." She was, he believed, the nearest thing Apulum Inferior had to a midwife.

"It will calm her, at least, having such good help with her. It will calm Thirhald as well," said Nicoris, and ducked back into the wagon.

From the front of the line, Patras Anso called out, "We will ford a stream ahead. The water will be cold, but not too deep. It should not rise above your knees. We will group on the far side so the animals can drink, and we may have a short rest before we have to climb to the ridge."

Four of the Watchmen turned and made their way back along the line, relaying the Patras' words to all the travelers; a buzz of conversation followed their progress along the line.

As predicted, the water was cold, flowing fast in a rocky bed; it rose a bit higher than the Watchmen's knees, but no higher than half-way up their thighs. The horses and mules had a dodgy crossing, finding poor footing in the stream; one of the wagons almost lost awheel as it lurched across. Sanctu-Germainios, feeling queasy as he always did crossing running water, held the team of mules from the back of his horse while half a dozen men worked to keep the wheel in place so that the wagon would not founder. He avoided looking at the water, and instead concentrated on the mules in order to contain his sense of vertigo. If only he were not hungry, he thought, this pa.s.sage would be less disquieting; the blood of horses that had sustained him on the trail thus far did little to offset his enervation.

By the time the herds and flocks were on the far bank, it was past mid-day and Patras Anso ordered that they prepare a meal before they resumed their journey. "No fires!" he shouted. "No fires! Cheese and bread and apples, but nothing hot! We want no smoke to mark our place."

There was a discontented rumble of protest, but everyone understood why Patras Anso had ordered it, and they went about putting together meals that needed no fire and that could be eaten quickly.

"Are you never hungry, Dom?" Nicoris asked as Sanctu-Germainios dropped out of the saddle; they were at the edge of the gathering, away from the bustle.

"Of course I am," he said, aware that he was now; it was more than a week since he had taken any sustenance from a human source.

"But I never see you eat." She contemplated him, her quicksilver eyes alive with curiosity. "You don't join the rest of the household for prandium, nor did you when there was a convivium in the town."

"No; those of my blood dine in private."

"That's haughty of them," said Nicoris as if remarking on the distance they had covered that morning. "How did they come to decide such a thing-are they afraid of poison?"

"Not that I recall," he said, realizing that she had been observing him more closely than he had supposed.

"Then do their G.o.ds demand it?"

"Possibly: they see it as respectful, in any case," he said, recalling the living G.o.d of his people who had brought him to his life before he fell in battle. He drew his horse's reins over his head and started to lead him to the edge of the stream.

Nicoris tagged after him, her saie dragging on the ground behind her. "Who are your people, that they have such manners?"

He paused, then spoke to her. "Long ago they lived in the mountains east of here, but they were driven away from their native earth by powerful enemies who came out of the east and forced us to the south and the west, away from our native earth. There are not many of us left."

She had the grace to look chagrined. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"You had no way of knowing," he answered calmly, and resumed walking, his horse's nose nudging his upper arm.

"I know how I feel when I think of my family." Her voice was small and she looked over her shoulder as if she were afraid of being overheard. "The people of Tsapousso have been kind to me, but it doesn't change the loss of my family."

"No; it would not," he said, sympathy for her burgeoning within him. He s.h.i.+fted the reins so that his horse could drink from the cold, rus.h.i.+ng stream. "Why not go get some food. Just because I do not eat hardly keeps you from doing so. You will need nourishment if you are to keep to your tasks. The climb ahead of us is rigorous."

Nicoris stared hard at him. "All right," she said, and went off to join the growing crowd around the two carts of foodstuffs that had only just arrived.

Once his horse had drunk his fill, Sanctu-Germainios led him to another one of the carts and removed a small bag of grain and a pail. Emptying the grain into the pail, he offered it to the gelding, holding it while the horse fed. When the animal was done, Sanctu-Germainios put the pail back in the cart, told his groom to see to his other horses while he went on a short errand, then vaulted into the saddle and rode a little way up the track to the first level spot on the road in order to have a clearer view of the mountainside: bare rock faces stood out above the tree-line, somberly gray under the ma.s.sing clouds. In spite of the wind, he made a careful inspection of the road ahead and the road behind. When he was satisfied they were not being followed, he returned to the temporary camp and sought out Patras Anso.

"What did you see, Dom?" the priest asked in roughly accented Byzantine Greek. He was half a head taller than Sanctu-Germainios, making him easily the tallest man in all the people following him; his face was lean and deeply lined, his nose was pointed, and his large ears protruded as if providing handles for his head.

"Nothing troublesome, Patras; a small party bound to the south on the Roman road, either merchants or farmers abandoning their land," said Sanctu-Germainios in the courtly version of the same tongue.

"G.o.d is good to us." He blessed himself with the sign of the cross, and then made the sign of the fish. "When we reach the ridge tonight, if the weather holds, we will arrive at the monastery tomorrow afternoon. A good pa.s.sage, considering what we have had to deal with."

"Not to discourage you, Patras, but I doubt the weather will hold, not with the way the wind is blowing; there will be rain before nightfall, and the snow may fall here as well as on the crest of the rise," said Sanctu-Germainios, not wanting to alarm the priest, but seeking to provide him warning. "As you can see, the clouds are gathering in the northwest, and they will reach us before mid-afternoon."

"Possibly," Patras Anso allowed. "But they may not. G.o.d has watched over us for most of the way. He may well continue to do so."

"What if the storm closes more quickly than we expect, and strands us on the upward track? There will be no place for us to make a camp, and we will have to manage for the night on the steep side of the mountain, all strung out along the way." He gave Patras Anso a little time to consider this. "If it is, as you say, G.o.d's Will that we reach the monastery, then He may seek to render us safe in our climb. In which case, He may well intend to keep us here," said Sanctu-Germainios. "This hollow can provide protection greater than the ridge will, or the road up the mountain."

Patras Anso folded his arms. "Why should that be the case? We must show our faith by pressing on. G.o.d will know that we trust in Him. He will bring us to the haven of His monastery once we have pa.s.sed the test He has set for us."

"We would be almost two leagues closer to Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit if we keep climbing: that is true enough, and we may arrive there before sunset if all goes well. It is a pity the ridge is so exposed. If we must make camp there, we will all be open to the weather and without the stream for water. And we will be more readily seen by any foe." Sanctu-Germainios waited as if something had just occurred to him. "If we stay the night here, we will be far more protected from the weather by the trees, we will have water, and we will be rested in the morning; so will our animals."

"But it would take at least another day to reach Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit," said Patras Anso.

"Or more," Sanctu-Germainios said. "But it is likely that we will all arrive, which might not be the case if we try to ascend now. With so many injured and so many children, pressing on could mean a great risk to all of them."

Patras Anso glowered at the stream. "And if we are being followed, what then? You say there might be foes behind us. What if they are hidden in the forest as they hunt us? They would be upon us before we were ready to fight."

"Bad weather will halt anyone behind us as surely as it stops us," said Sanctu-Germainios.

"We will have to make fires if we stay here, and the Huns could use the smoke to find us." Patras Anso shook his head, weighing alternatives.

"Yes, and in addition, we will have to put up our shelters and set up pens for the animals. But we will have to do that no matter where we pa.s.s the night, and it will be more difficult to do that in a storm, and more demanding, since frightened animals tend to bolt. We have no hope of other shelter-there are no estates between us and the monastery."

They had reached an impa.s.se and both knew it. They fell silent, and into that silence came Enlitus Brevios, his fair skin wind-reddened and his blue eyes watering. He addressed Patras Anso.

"Hovas' son is missing." He tried not to seem confused or ineffective, so he spoke bluntly and loudly.

"Are you sure?" Patras Anso asked. "Is it certain he isn't-" He waved his hand to indicate the confusion of the camp.

"We have searched and called everywhere among the wagons and carts, and there is no sign of him." Brevios held up his hand as if to swear an oath. "Bacoem is organizing a group of Watchmen to search for him. There's just the one son, you know, so Hovas is beside himself. His other three children are girls."

"You mean the nine-year-old? The one called Ionnis?" Patras Anso asked, looking alarmed. This was the second child to go missing since they left Apulum Inferior, and the first lost one had been found dead from cold.

Brevios nodded. "He was last seen when food was being pa.s.sed out. He got his share and ran to the edge of the trees so that the bigger boys would not take it from him. He is an adventurous rascal."

"Do you think he wandered off on his own, or there has been something done to him?" The priest made the sign of the cross.

"I haven't any idea," said Brevios.

"What does Hovas say?" Sanctu-Germainios asked.

"He says that his son must be found. He and his family will not move on until they know the child is safe, and a dozen men swear to remain with him, and will order their families to remain as well."

"What of Hovas?" Patras Anso pursed his lips in thought.

"He is miserable, weeping and decrying his fate. His woman is as if she is asleep." Brevios put his hand on the short-sword that hung from his belt. "I have said we will find him."

Patras Anso made up his mind. "Sad as this is, it is a sign. We will camp here for the night, and we will send search parties to look for the boy as long as there is light. Have Hovas go with the Watchmen, and call for the boy often. How old are his sisters?"

"Thirteen, eleven, and six," said Brevios.

"That's right, that's right," said Patras Anso. "The boy is a clever child, as I recall, and given to mischief-making. If this is a trick, Hovas should beat him for his shenanigans as soon as he is found. Young as he is, he cannot be allowed such license." He gave Sanctu-Germainios a curt nod, and then he started back toward the greatest concentration of people where they cl.u.s.tered on the edge of the stream, Brevios two steps behind him.

For the rest of the afternoon the evacuees and refugees divided themselves between making camp and searching for Hovas' son. The clouds continued to thicken and the wind grew keener, so that in the fourth quarter of the afternoon, everyone in camp was seeking out the newly laid fires for warmth. The first odors of cooking rose on the whining wind.

Sanctu-Germainios had tethered his horses to a long remuda-line and was finis.h.i.+ng putting down hay for them when Nicoris found him. He felt a pang of dismay as he caught sight of her, presuming her errand was not a pleasant one. "What has happened?"

"It's not Mangueinic; he's doing well enough," she said as she came up to him. "It's Kynthie, Thirhald's woman. She has gone into labor; it began a quarter of the afternoon ago, hard and sudden. Her pangs are still some distance apart, but that will change. Isalind is worried that Kynthie may not manage the delivery well: her heartbeat is very fast."

"That is not a good sign," Sanctu-Germainios said, wondering what he could do to ease her birthing.

"Will you come with me now?" Nicoris swept her arm to take in the bustle around her. "If you have other duties . . ."

"Yes, I will come with you," he said, putting down the last armload of hay. "Has Thirhald been told?"

"He's helping to prepare supper for the camp and I don't want to disturb him. He would be distraught."

"It would be wise to inform him; at least he should know her labor has begun," Sanctu-Germainios suggested. "I will go see to her now."

Nicoris remained where she was as she studied his face. "You're worried, Dom. You think she is going to die."

"Perhaps not worried so much as concerned," he said, aware how intently she scrutinized him. "This is not the place for a delivery, particularly if it has problems attending it."

"Then you expect problems," she said.

"Her labor is nearly a month early. That does not bode well under any circ.u.mstances. Hard travel has not helped her." Nor has the danger from the Huns, he added to himself. He patted his gelding on the rump, then started off to where the wagons were a.s.sembled. "Where is she?" he called out to Nicoris.

"Four from the far end," she replied, pointing. "What do I tell Thirhald?"

"Tell him that his wife may be going to give birth tonight-nothing more."

"He may want to know more," Nicoris warned him.

"So he may, which is why it will be better for him to learn from you than to hear of it later, by accident. When his work is done, tell him I will inform him of Kynthie's progress." He lengthened his stride, moving through the groups of people who were making ready for nightfall; in the distance he could hear the sound of calls for Ionnis, accompanied by the moan of the wind in the trees.

Through sunset and the arrival of the storm, Sanctu-Germainios stayed in the wagon with Kynthie, Agtha, Isalind, and Kh.o.r.ea. The women tended Kynthie, making her as comfortable as they could, while Sanctu-Germainios used all his skill to bring about a quick delivery. In the wavering light of oil-lamps, he tried to ma.s.sage Kynthie's swollen abdomen in an effort to align the baby for birth; he could feel the infant and was troubled that its movements were so feeble.

"How much longer?" Isalind asked while a troop of Watchmen left the camp to continue the search for Ionnis.

It was the very question he had been debating with himself. "I wish I could say. It is not encouraging to see her so lethargic. You said she has no other children?"

"She's miscarried once," Isalind told him.

"That's inauspicious." He had attended difficult births before, some during his long tenure at the Temple of Imhotep, and he knew that the more exhausted Kynthie became, the more problems that could arise.

Isalind lowered her voice to hardly more than a whisper. "Is she going to die?"

"She may," said Sanctu-Germainios. "If we had a better place, with a tilted table and tincture of hawthorn to calm her pulse; willow-bark and pansy are anodyne, but will not ease her heart. It would be much better for her and the baby if her-"

Kynthie gave a moan, thras.h.i.+ng her legs and attempting to break free of Sanctu-Germainios' gentle, powerful grip; Isalind and Kh.o.r.ea endeavored to hold her steady while Agtha wiped her face with a cool, damp cloth. Kynthie howled, her voice more like the cry of wolves than anything human.

Kh.o.r.ea started to weep, her hands over her mouth to keep from sobbing.

"Shall I fetch Patras Anso?" Agtha muttered to Sanctu-Germainios.