Saint-Germain: Burning Shadows Part 10

She lay down again as he began on the backs of her thighs, his fingers seeking out the tenderest knots. The sharp ache his first touch evoked quickly gave way to languor. "You feel it all, don't you? The places I'm most tense."

"You will learn the trick yourself, in time. You will discover how the body reveals itself." He had bent over her legs as he moved down below her knees and focused on her calves. "You have a bruise on the back of this leg," he went on, tapping her left ankle just below the purple smudge. "Do you know how you got it?"

Thinking back over her day, she took a short while to decide that "It had to have been when they were moving the farrier back to the infirmary; the stretcher-bearers had swung a stool out of the way and it banged into me." She twisted on the table so that she could see it. "Not as bad as some I've had."

"That stool could be the cause," he agreed, and took care not to squeeze that part of her leg.

"Yesterday I tripped on the enclosed channel from the spring to the lake; the snow covered it completely. I might have got a bruise then, as well." In spite of her determination to keep from giving herself away, Nicoris heard evasion in her answer.

"It is possible," he said, feeling her response to him intensify along with her attempts to disguise the cause of her heightened state.

To distract herself, she asked, "What do you make of this Antoninu Neves? Is he really what he says he is?" The man had arrived at the monastery the day before with a small company of mercenaries under his command, claiming to have come from the Roman garrison at Porolissum; they said they had been in the employ of a Gepid landholder at his estate since the city was sacked, but that their arrangement had soured: sent off on their own without pay, they had been given provisional shelter at the monastery until the spring thaw in exchange for their labor and scouting.

"He seems a reliable sort of man, and his soldiers will be most useful here. Better that they should guard this valley than turn brigands."

"Do you think they would do that?-turn outlaw?"

"It has happened before," he said, recalling the trade routes he had followed, which were infested with gangs of former soldiers, as well as remote tribes that stole as a matter of survival, and the cities where garrisons enforced the laws in ways that made up for the pay they often did not receive. "And those who come from the Legions' traditions have the habit of fighting."

She could think of nothing to add; her thoughts remained fidgety. "How much longer will it snow?"

"Probably another day, and then it will be clear for a time-at least it has happened that way in the past," he said.

"Then some of the men will go out to hunt boar," Nicoris remarked.

"If the snow is not too deep," Sanctu-Germainios remarked, and added, "You will need thicker wraps on your feet under your calcea; you have a blister forming on your heel."

"I'll be careful," she said, her concentration disrupted by his touch; she could feel that his hands were cool, but where he put them, her skin seemed hot. A short while later he asked her to turn over.

"You mean you're going to do more?" she exclaimed.

"If you like. If you would rather I not, then I will stop. There is hot water in the tub behind the confession-cell. You can wash away the soil of the day before you sleep. I have put a night-wrap next to the towel for you."

Nonplussed, she could think of nothing to say. She wriggled onto her back, taking the time to look up at him as she wrestled with her clothes, unaccountably self-conscious. "What more will you do?"

"Your feet, your face, and perhaps your shoulders," he said; he was aware of her confusion and sought to put her at ease. "If you are too tired to continue, I will leave you to sleep."

"No," she protested, repeating more calmly, "no. This is helpful."

"As you wish," he said, realigning the cotton blanket for her. "This will not take long, I think. You will want to sleep shortly."

"Oh," she said, between disappointment and relief. As he touched her foot, she quivered.

"Are you ticklish?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"No. It must be that the cold is fading and the heat p.r.i.c.kles," she said.

He said nothing in response to this as he started working on her foot, flexing it gently before stroking the sole with his thumbs, following the long tendons from toes to heel, aware that everything he did was no longer wholly relaxing for Nicoris; her pulse was getting faster, and her breathing was deepening. So long as she did not recognize her own fledgling arousal, he would continue; once she realized what was happening within her, he would cease his malacissation, it being no longer effective. He watched her stretch, her back arched, as he moved to her other foot. "I think, when I'm done with this"-he tweaked her big toe-"that you may want to go off to your bed." It was in another alcove on the far side of the nave, less than half the size of this one, with its own small bed and fireplace, shutters over the tall, slitted windows, and a heavy wooden door to ensure her privacy.

Her yawn had a sigh in it. "You're right. I should . . . wash and get to sleep." That would get her away from his compelling presence so that she could regain her self-possession and bring her mind into order again.

"Very wise. The nights may be long, but you will need every hour of this one, or you will be tired still in the morning." He rubbed at her Achilles' tendon, keeping his mind on the feel of what was under her skin.

"All right," she said, trying not to sound disappointed. "I'll go bathe as soon as you're done."

"Very good," he said, continuing his ministrations. "You should sleep very well."

"I hope so," she said with a spurt of nervous laughter.

He finished in silence, standing back with his hand extended to help her to sit up; she took it promptly, pulled herself erect, then released it more quickly than was necessary.

"Thank you, Dom. It was a very . . . helpful . . . I'll be refreshed, come morning." That was more for his benefit than to express her conviction. She got down from the table, stepping back from him as she did, her marvelous la.s.situde now almost gone. "The tub has hot water, you said?"

"Yes: it was filled from cauldrons set above the hearth-fire to boil. It was done while you were at supper. The water should be hot enough, but not scalding." He inclined his head, sensing his flaring attraction to her. It had been four nights since he visited one of the women from Ulpia Traiana in her sleep, and his esurience was awakened, keyed by Nicoris' dawning excitement. "There are a brush and a cloth for you to use."

She flushed at this, and was baffled by the unexpected embarra.s.sment that came over her. "I'll let you know when I've finished, if you like," she said, then turned abruptly and headed for the confession-cell, apparently unaware of the cold stones beneath her feet, or the chill that took hold of her as she got farther from the hearth; her breath came quickly.

A branch of oil-lamps stood beside the tub-an old tun cut in half, with a faint odor of wine still clinging to its ancient slats, with a rim a hand's-breadth wide around the top-and there was a bench with the brush, cloth, towel, and night-wrap set out on it, as he had told her. Above the black, s.h.i.+ny water, specters of steam writhed over the surface, promising heat, which she suddenly desired as a starving person desires bread. She had a moment of self-reproach, then dismissed it. s.h.i.+vering, she skinned out of her clothes as quickly as possible, grabbed the brush, climbed up onto the stool beside the barrel, and eased herself into the warm water, trying to minimize splas.h.i.+ng as she sank into it up to her shoulders, her skin tingling. The sensations that ran through her made her gasp with a frightening kind of delectation. Closing her eyes and holding her breath, she slipped under the surface, remaining there until her chest began to ache; she stood up, the water streaming and steaming off her. She reached for the brush and started to scrub, starting with her feet and working her way up her body, her skin becoming more sensitive with each stroke. A twinge very like a cramp shot up her leg from her calf, and she gave a little cry, slos.h.i.+ng water as she struggled to keep her balance.

"Nicoris? Are you all right?" Sanctu-Germainios called to her.

"Yes," she answered brusquely. "I . . ." What should she tell him? that she was fl.u.s.tered by his nearness? that she had become aroused by what his hands had done? that she wanted to share his bed? that she-? "I'm fine!" She took hold of the rim of the tub and steadied herself, preparing to emerge from the warm bath into the cold air.

"Have a care getting out," he recommended while he pinched the flames on all but one of the oil-lamps. He looked around the alcove, his dark-seeing eyes making out the faint paintings on the walls, faded with age, detailing the life of Sanctu Eustachios the Hermit, or so the monks claimed: to Sanctu-Germainios, the murals showed the life of the Maiden of the Spring, a much older figure than Sanctu Eustachios. Saint or Maiden, the miracle-working spirit of the place was depicted as being tall, thin, and in flowing white robes. The Maiden of the Spring had been wors.h.i.+pped while Sanctu-Germainios still breathed, and her place in this isolated valley had been sacred before he was born. He sat down on the table and let his long memories wander back to that vanished time when his own people still lived in the eastern hook of these mountains, to his capture by the invaders from the east, and his execution at their hands, more than twenty-five centuries ago. "Why do they so often come from the east?" he murmured in a language that no one else on earth could speak now, except Rugierus, who had learned it from him.

"Dom Sanctu-Germainios," Nicoris' voice cut into his reverie.

He shook off the hold of the past. "Is something wrong?"

"N . . . no, not wrong," she responded. "It's my mind; it won't be still. My thoughts are . . . jumping like locusts. I can't stop them." Moving toward him through the darkened alcove, she concentrated on the single burning oil-lamp rather than on the shadow he had become. In her night-wrap she was pale as the mists hovering over the snow, her damp hair hanging unconfined; she looked very young as she came up to him. "Don't tell me to pray."

"Are you worried, or are you edgy from so much work?" He took the hand she held out to him, once again aware of the turmoil within her.

"Neither of those." She went silent, summoning up the courage to tell him the truth. "I haven't the right to ask this of you, and I know it, you being Dom and regional guardian, and Priam Corydon wouldn't approve, and this being a holy place, but my body needs . . . I need . . . succor. Don't make me go to one of the soldiers; they're too rough. All the tenderness has been driven out of them." Her eyes glittered in the lamplight as they fixed on him. "You are not a man to deny me, are you?"

He felt the strength of her impetration, and his own ardor rose to meet hers. "If it is in me to release you, I will do what you ask."

With a soft exclamation, she went into his arms, clinging to him as if she expected to be pulled apart from him. "You needn't worry-I'm not a virgin." She burrowed her head into his shoulder, s.h.i.+vering with something that was not quite pa.s.sion. "You can be quick, if you want."

"No," he said gently, touching her hair, and then her cheek. "I cannot."

"Why not? Do I offend you?" she asked flatly even while she strained her body to his.

"Because you will not be quick, no matter how urgent your desire, and my relief is tied to yours," he said, tilting her face upwards to kiss her, lightly at first, then growing more rapturous as her fervor increased. As he started to move back from her, she laced her fingers behind his head and renewed the kiss with determination. For a long, suspended moment, they remained together, her body locked to his, as if striving to melt into him. She trembled and slowly released him, her face revealing the depth of her arousal. "Where shall we go?"

"To your bed, if you like," he said, certain that the thin mattress that lay atop a chest of his native earth, which had served him when he slept, would afford her little comfort.

"It isn't much," she said apologetically.

"No bed here is much," he said, and lifted her easily into his arms. "But you have two blankets and a sheet, which is more than many have." As he walked, she hung on to him lightly, her arms around his neck, and pressed little kisses along his jaw and on his angled ear, growing more adventuresome with every step he took. He made his way toward the far end of the alcove, into a small s.p.a.ce behind the confession-cell where her bed waited, smelling faintly of rosemary from the needles in the stuffing of her mattress.

She did not wait for him to lower her, but scrambled out of his arms, threw back her blankets, and patted the sheet as she stretched out on it. "Here, Dom. There's room enough for both of us if we lie close together." She opened her night-wrap and patted the sheet again.

Her offer was so obvious that he sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over her. "There is no hurry."

"But we should be quick . . ." she began, then was silenced, trembling as he slipped his hand inside her night-wrap, moving over her body, barely touching her, but evoking responses from her flesh that astonished her.

"Why lessen your enjoyment in the name of haste?" he asked as he leaned down to kiss her slowly and thoroughly, his fingers teasing at her breast while his lips provided a kind of fascination no other lover had awakened in her. Gradually, luxuriously, he worked his way down to her shoulders, and then his mouth began on her breast where his hand had been, his tongue more artful than his fingers were.

Her hands caught his hair and pressed his face hard against her breast. "I want to feel you, Dom."

"You dislike pain; I will not give you any," he said steadily, eluding her grasp. "This is to bring you joy, not hurt." His hand explored down her torso, over her taut abdomen, then dawdled among the soft, moist folds between her legs.

She inhaled sharply between her teeth, and she seized the edge of her blankets in a solid grip; she laughed again, her head thrown back euphorically, and suddenly the spasm was upon her, coursing through her in ecstatic waves. Suddenly she released the blankets and grabbed him, pulling him down on top of her once more; she hardly noticed his mouth on her neck. Her being was subsumed in greater fulfillment than she had ever experienced. Her body, made malleable by pa.s.sion, sank down, more relaxed than when Sanctu-Germainios had ma.s.saged her muscles. As she loosened him, she kissed him soundly once, then looked at him critically. "Why didn't you . . ." She gestured to show what she meant.

He got up from the bed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "Those of my blood have limitations-at least the men do." He had long since become accustomed to his impotence and spoke of it without embarra.s.sment.

She took hold of his arm. "You . . . have nothing for yourself."

He caressed her admiringly. "Now there, Nicoris, you are wrong; I have fulfillment through your fulfillment," he said, his voice kind, his dark eyes full of understanding. "I have you." Yet even as he said it, he wondered why she was lying to him.

Text of a letter from Rugierus in Constantinople to Sanctu-Germainios in Apulum Inferior, written in code in Imperial Latin with fixed ink on vellum, carried by hired courier as far as Oescus and turned over to the Praetor Custodis, never delivered.

To Dom Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios, regional guardian at Apulum Inferior, this from your devoted servant Rugierus of Gades, now in Constantinople, resolving certain problems confronting Eclipse s.h.i.+pping and the question of your private properties. It is one month past the Winter Solstice in the Christian year 439, and I am in residence at your house in this city.

My master, I am sorry to tell you that I have had to deal with a zealous priest who enforces the taxation levied on foreigners by the Emperor's orders. Patras Methodos, priest though he is, is cut from much the same cloth as Telemachus Batsho in Roma, two centuries ago. He has a remarkable talent for finding taxation schedules that require more money from you. In addition, the Patras has made it his business to demand every tax he can think of from the earnings of your s.h.i.+ps. He has inspected cargo frequently and inventoried goods in your warehouses. He will not allow me to leave until he is satisfied that you have provided all the monies that can be demanded of you. Your new factor, a prudent Greek called Artemidorus Iocopolis, who is acceptable to the Metropolitan, has tried to ask the Metropolitan to review what Patras Methodos has demanded, and as a Constantinopolitan, he cannot be considered a foreigner. But the Metropolitan is too pleased to have the money that Patras Methodos has required you to pay. I have stated that I am obliged to leave here by the end of February in order to report to you in a timely way of your affairs in this city. Fortunately the Metropolitan puts much importance on the dedication of servants and slaves to their masters.

I have to tell you that it is unlikely that you can return to Constantinople for some years yet. There are too many still alive who are likely to remember you and the upheaval that revolved around the Captain of the Hecate and his fellow-smugglers. In fact, it seems to me that some of the rapacity of Patras Methodos arises from the a.s.sumption that you in some way benefited from those smugglers' crimes. I have ordered certain necessary repairs on your house, and told Iocopolis to monitor the house and maintain it in your absence. That will calm the Patras and the Metropolitan.

Rhea Penthekra.s.si is now established in a house near Hagia Sophia, in a street of handsome houses most of which are owned by merchants. This permits her to live as a woman of quality lives. She has a small household-a major domo, a cook, a builder, a personal maid, a household maid, a gardener, and a groom to care for her stable and horses. She has found it difficult to go about in society, lacking a male relative or in-law to accompany her. I have attempted to find her an acceptable escort; I still hope that I will be able to find her someone before I must leave the city.

There are more rumors about the Huns, saying they are ransacking all the towns in the Carpathians and will soon move into the Balkans and do the same there. Given the depths of the snows at present, I am puzzled as to how they are to accomplish the raids that make up so many rumors. How the Constantinopolitans come to know such things is never explained. There is much fear in this place that the Huns will enlarge their forces and campaign against this capital. The Emperor Theodosios has been reluctant to send his troops to stop Attila, fearing that his Hunnic mercenaries may well rebel, join with Attila and his men, and render the army ineffective, thus leaving all Byzantium open to attack. When Roma is mentioned, very few of the people here want to take the risk of reinforcing the city.

I am eager to join you at Apulum Inferior again; I will bring you reports from your factor and the Patras, as well as some additional money to make your situation more secure. I am a.s.suming that you will have need of it, with so much turmoil in the region. I antic.i.p.ate arriving by the Equinox, barring any more military incursions. If there are too many conflicts under way, I will stay at Viminacium until I can join a northward-bound company of travelers. Until the day when we meet again, I am, as I have been for almost four centuries, Rogerian

3.

Antoninu Neves strode purposefully toward the half-rebuilt battlements, explaining to those who followed him, "This snow will protect us for two months more, or so I guess. The Huns will not attack through these deep drifts, in the unlikely event they could get through the pa.s.ses; it would be a waste of horses and men; if they got here, they could only wallow in the snow-they couldn't fight. There are farmsteads and villages farther down the mountains where they will strike first, so we will have a little warning of their presence. We will need to keep watch day and night. I have posted four of my men on the peaks around this valley, so that they can report any activity. I would like to send out a hunting party, but only if the weather holds clear, and they can reach one of the meadows down the eastern slope." He waved his arm, indicating the brilliant blue of the sky and the stark whiteness of the mountains. "The trees will have to shed the snow on their branches before anything can be seen in the forest. Logging and hunting in the forest is impracticable with so much snow." His vigor was contagious, and the four men with him took it in eagerly.

Priam Corydon, usually more careful in his manner, looked behind him to the others who accompanied him and Neves. "When the outer wall is finished, we will rebuild the gates, so that they will be as strong as our other fortifications. That will improve our protection and give us power over anyone who enters." Much as he disliked the notion of a fortified monastery, he saw the sense of it. Sanctu-Eustachios had been enclosed since before it became a monastery, when it was a stop-over compound for travelers, and before, when it had been a place of pagan wors.h.i.+p. The foundations on which the current walls stood were ancient. "The warder-monks can keep the gates. You need not deploy your soldiers to the task."

"You will want to put a watch-tower at the gates when they're rebuilt." Rotlandus Bernardius nodded authoritatively. "A pity that work on the outer wall must be delayed. But no one can be expected to work in this snow." He glanced over his shoulder. "What do you think, Brevios?"

Enlitus Brevios coughed once. "My men will not be able to build in the snow, though they will as soon as the thaw comes. It would be as dangerous for them to attempt to work while freezing as it would be for anyone else." He stared down the mountain. "The Huns won't attack until the thaw."

At the rear of the line, Denerac of Tsapousso tromped doggedly in the uneven rift their pa.s.sage made in the snow. Of all the men here, he was the least inclined to build defenses. He had already suggested that as soon as the thaw began, they should evacuate the monastery, leaving in small groups, heading south into Roman or Byzantine territory and the protection that could be found there. Better than most of them, he knew what Huns could do; he did not want his people to experience their ferocity again. He kept his mouth shut; he was being ignored and for now he was glad of it.

"Today and tomorrow," Brevios announced, "the Watchmen of Apulum Inferior will work at repairing the south wall of the Pilgrim's Hall, and come evening tomorrow, we can all gather there to inform our people of how things stand."

"It will have to be a little earlier than evening," Priam Corydon said. "Let's settle on the last quarter of the afternoon. The monastery has an Office to perform at sundown. We keep to the Chanting Rite, and mark our sunsets with Psalms." He was a bit surprised that Neves had not been aware of the monastic routines.

"That suits me and my men," said Neves at once. "The church in Porolissum held to a different Rite, Priam. They sang Ma.s.s four times each full day: at dawn, at mid-day, at sunset, and at midnight. They opened their church for each Ma.s.s so that everyone in the town could attend at least once a day."

"More Roman than we are," said Priam Corydon. "We hold more to the old Twelve Gospels and the Apostolic Rites. Every hour of the day and night, one of the novices chants in the chapel behind the altar. At the canonical Hours, all the monks must chant."

"What happens if you haven't enough novices?" Neves asked, sounding slightly amused.

"Then monks must sing; we fill every moment with prayers and praise," said Priam Corydon, asperity sharpening his answer. "But for now, we have novices enough." He went a short way in silence, thinking that the men around him cared little for novices and Psalms.

As if to confirm his supposition, Brevios said, "Just as well the snow is so deep. Our activities will be shaped by it. We'll need to find work to occupy all the people, women and children as well as men, or they may fall to mischief. My Watchmen will be glad of a little less labor than digging in the snow, but I don't want them to be idle. That could be as troublesome as the Huns if it isn't avoided." He was holding his arms out to help him stay balanced; the drift they waded through was piled up higher than his waist.

Bernardius pointed to the inner walls ahead. "My men are on watch until mid-day, then those of Apulum Inferior replace them. That should serve to occupy their afternoon, at least." He swung around. "You are fortunate to have so many men with you."

Brevios hesitated. "It would be better if we hadn't lost nine of them coming here, and that none of them had taken an inflammation of the lungs."

"Better yet if we hadn't left," grumbled Denerac.

Neves heard this and came to a halt. "Don't say that," he recommended. "I know what the Huns do, I've fought them, so has Tribune Bernardius. You have spared your families horrible suffering by abandoning your village."

"The Huns came to Tsapousso," said Denerac, visibly bristling; his thick, white mustaches quivered and his shoulders rose.

"And sensibly, you departed," said Neves, unimpressed by his display.

"Yes. We left behind everything, including the dying."

Neves nodded. "Just as the rest of us would have done in your situation. Not an easy decision, of course, but something that you had to do. Any leader must be called upon to deal with unpleasant things from time to time. You chose the most sensible action, though it was difficult."

Before the two men became furious, Priam Corydon intervened. "No doubt each of you has had his own horrendous experience with these barbarians, and shares the desire never to have to engage with them again. Since we can't be the ones to decide that, it behooves us to prepare for the worst they can do. We do this by improving our defenses and our housing. Don't you agree?"

Neves and Denerac exchanged vitriolic looks, then Neves moved on. "You are fortunate that the spring is inside the inner walls; they will not be able to drive us out by thirst. We will have to lay in more meat-smoked or salted-so that we can't be starved out, either. We will have to try to hunt in the meadows. There must be boar and deer about. Are there fish in the lake?" He reached the stairs up to the new battlement, and leaned forward to steady himself for the climb.

"A few. We could chop a hole in the ice, I suppose; we have done so before," said Priam Corydon, setting his foot on the tread after Neves, heading upward.

The rampart-walkways were no more than eighteen hands above the ground, but high enough to raise them above the level of men on horseback, and the logs that made the walls were notched to allow for more effective use of weapons. Each upright log was bound to its neighbor by wide iron straps, making the wall especially st.u.r.dy. The heavy planks of the walkway were a hand thick and fifteen hands wide, supported by upended-log pillars and braces to the wall that added to its strength. A dozen men could stand upon this section and not fear a collapse.

Leaning forward to support himself on the steps above as Neves had done, Priam Corydon soon reached the platform, where he asked, "What of the monks living in caves around the valley?" pointing to the ridge beyond the lake, its crags towering over it. "Do you see that spur? Three of them have cells there. The rest are lower down, above the scree."

Neves and Bernardius looked shocked; Brevios and Denarac were not surprised at anything monks might do.

"How many are there?" Neves asked, recovering himself slightly.