Saint-Germain: Burning Shadows Part 22

"Is it over?" she whispered.

"The rain should go on for some time," he said, and lightly brushed her upper arm with his fingers.

She flinched as if she had been scalded. "Don't! Don't treat me well when you know I'm not worthy of it. If I told you-" Then she studied his face, her curiosity mixed with contempt. "Why don't you force me to tell you? No one would blame you, not even I would."

"When has force ever gained truth?" he asked her, compa.s.sion in his dark eyes. "You would tell me what I want to hear, not the truth." He had a brief, troubling memory of Srau. An ineluctable sadness came over him, and he regarded Nicoris heedfully. "When you decide to tell me, I will be honored to listen." He could not tell her that he knew because he had tasted her blood, knowing how much such a revelation would distress her.

"Why? Because you take your pleasure with me?"

"No: because I love you, and the pleasure I receive is yours to give." His compelling gaze rested upon her.

"You love what I provide you," she countered, unnerved by his serene demeanor.

"Yes: because it is the essence of you."

She began to weep, making almost no sound, her hands shading her eyes as if to block the sight of her tears from him.

"Nicoris-"

"Promise me," she said as she cut him off. "Promise me you won't tell anyone about this."

"That you have a secret? I will not."

She whispered, "I wish I could believe you."

He held out his hands to her. "So do I." He waited, and when she remained still, he added, "You know my secret, and you have kept it."

Slowly she put her hands into his. "Dom, why do you endure my insults?"

"Because I hope to keep your good opinion," he said, and realized Nicoris would be puzzled by this explanation, and so added, "To retain your respect."

"You can command my respect," she said.

"If I must command it, it is not respect but concession." He slowly enfolded her in his arms, remaining silent while she cried.

When her tears had given way to sniffs and hiccups, she finally looked up at him. "I wish we could leave this place."

"So do I," he said. "But until we know that we may travel without risk of being attacked, it is safer to remain behind the double walls here."

She sighed. "Do you think you could go with the soldiers? If Neves and his company left, couldn't we go with them? Wouldn't we be safe?"

"Possibly," said Sanctu-Germainios, cradling her close to him. "But they will not be departing until the crops are in, at the earliest." And when, he added to himself, the risk of raids would be at its height.

Nicoris thought about this for a brief time. "All right," she said, "but must we stay here for another winter?"

"I . . . ," He faltered. "I hope it will not be necessary."

The wind was picking up and the rain swept the mountains in angled waves; inside the old chapel it sounded as if the storm were breathing.

"It is G.o.d, making His Presence known." She twisted in his arms, listening to the susurrus of the rain. "The monks are right about that."

"It is the nature of wind and rain," he said.

"How can you be sure?" She s.h.i.+vered from fright.

Instead of renewing the debate, he kissed her forehead. "It will pa.s.s, Nicoris, and if it rains long enough, the fire to the east will be put out. If the wind lessens, we will have a fine day tomorrow."

She relaxed a little, her body no longer bow-string taut. "It would be a fine thing to have the fire die."

"The wind has s.h.i.+fted to the north, which will also serve us well." He turned her face to his. "Let me give you a tincture to help you to rest. By the time you waken, the storm should have lessened and we will have time together."

"Will I have dreams?" Her apprehension was less apparent than it had been while the thunder was beating the mountains, but it had not faded entirely.

"You may," he said gently.

"Can you make sure I won't dream?" she pleaded.

He considered. "I can make it so you probably will not dream."

She thought about this, then she nodded. "All right. I will take your potion." She moved out of his arms. "And tonight I'll welcome you to my bed."

"If that is what you want," he said.

"It is. It will be," she said with conviction.

He started toward the red-lacquer chest. "Then it is what you shall have," he said.

As she watched him, she said suddenly, "You could give me poison, couldn't you?"

"I could, but I will not," he said, turning toward her.

"How can I be sure?" She trembled, but held his eyes with her own.

Certain now that she felt threatened by more than the thunder and lightning, he opened the chest and took out a chalcedony cup, his curiosity about her apprehension quelled for the moment. Selecting his ingredients, he said, lightly and painfully, "I suppose you will have to trust me."

Text of a letter from Verus Flautens, Praetor-General of Drobetae in the former Province of Dacia, to Gnaccus Tortulla, Praetor Custodis of Viminacium in the Province of Moesia, written in Greek code on sanded linen and carried by Flautens' personal courier and delivered twenty-two days after it was written.

To the most esteemed Praetor Custodis of Viminacium in the Province of Moesia, the Praetor-General of Drobetae in the former Province of Dacia, on this, the last day of July in the Christian year 439, Ave!

My colleague and friend, I fear I must once again beseech you to send us troops to guard and to provide escort for the many refugees who are flooding into Drobetae from the north. We have no place to shelter them, and still they continue to come. We have had to house them in all manner of places, from the halls of the basilica to the stables of the inns. There are many among these refugees in need of more care than we can provide, and I despair of their safety if at any time the town should be attacked.

Our supplies of food are also growing crucially low, and with the Huns raiding through the mountains, no one can tell what crops they may actually be able to reap, so it is essential that we have food brought to us, or that places south of the Danuvius agree to take in as many of these refugees as they can. Otherwise we may be facing starvation among many of those who have come to us for safety.

Some several days ago, a Hunnic scout was taken by one of my mounted patrols. He was brought to Drobetae to be questioned, but killed himself before anyone could question him. I find it worrying that he was only four leagues from the town when he was captured, and I have doubled my patrols to search out any others that may be lurking in the hills.

Patras Fortunatos has warned that the churches can no longer provide the charity they are commanded to do, and will have to close their doors to those seeking the succor of the churches. Other priests have said much the same, although a number of mendicant monks have offered to seek out the sick and do what they can for them.

That is another concern I have: that in such close conditions, fever could arise suddenly and spread before we would be able to isolate those who bear the disease, thus making it certain that more of the people in the town, as well as the refugees, would take illness. I have no means of treating such an outbreak, but with the summer in full heat and the people worn and tired, I cannot believe that such a terrible outcome may be completely avoided.

Whatever you have that you may spare to help us would be appreciated beyond anything you can imagine. I pray you will do all that you can to relieve some part of the misery that has come to Drobetae.

Verus Flautens Praetor-General of Drobetae the former Province of Dacia

4.

By the time Drinus made it down from his outpost at the narrow pa.s.s leading to Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit, the three arrows in his shoulder and back had him reeling in the saddle from pain and loss of blood. He all but fell off his horse as he came through the gate, leaving a trail of blood to mark his progress; three monks and half a dozen mercenaries rushed forward to help him. Dazed as he was, he was able to say, "Huns. With scouts. I got two. Of them. But two more. Got away."

Oios, now recovered from his wounds of the previous attack, took the time to help Drinus to the ground and position him to lie on his side. "Someone! Fetch Sanctu-Germainios! Tell him to bring his medicaments! Perigrinos! Get Mangueinic! Monachos Benignos, summon Priam Corydon!" He bent over his comrade and said as calmly as he could, "Don't worry. The Dom will take care of you." The early afternoon was hot, the sky was clear, and most of the refugees were busy in the orchard, bringing in the first of the ripe fruit; women with baskets collected the peaches and plums and pears so that they could take them, remove their seeds, and set them out, halved, to dry. This violent intrusion brought many of them running from their tasks, while Rotlandus Bernardius' men rushed to their positions to man the inner walls, weapons in hand.

The flurry of activity rapidly became a maelstrom, monks rus.h.i.+ng to discover what had happened, refugees attempting to find out when the Huns would arrive, soldiers hurrying to their stations on the walkways on the stockades, youngsters running for the fenced fields to drive the livestock into the barn, stable, and pens. Someone had begun to sound the alarm, the brazen echoes sounding over the valley in counterpoint to the murmured distraint of those gathered around the fallen look-out.

"Are we ready? to fight them?" one of the novices asked as he knelt beside Drinus. "How many are coming?"

Before Drinus could answer, Oios pulled the novice back. "Leave him alone! Get the Dom!"

The youth stumbled to his feet, then started running toward the old chapel, calling for Dom Sanctu-Germainios, his voice made strident by his fear.

"We have to tell the Priam," the nearest monk said in a manner that rebuked all those gathered around Drinus for not thinking of this first.

"I'll go," said Monachos Erigolos, who had once been a fowler and was now almost blind. He used his stick to find his way, moving as fast as he dared.

"Tell him it's urgent!" Oios shouted after him.

There were fragments of questions buzzing around Drinus, although no one was willing to raise his voice to ask Drinus anything more; the man had turned a pasty color, and his scars stood out, starkly white in his chalky face. Blood was slowly spreading around him, not so fast, Oios hoped, that it meant Drinus would surely die, but steadily. "Drinus!" He knelt down once more. "Drinus, listen! Help is coming!"

Drinus' eyelids fluttered and he gave Oios a muzzy stare. "What. Do you. Want?"

Oios bent down so that Drinus would hear him. "I want you to live, Drinus. Hang on!" He emphasized his words by taking the nearer of Drinus' hands. "Don't slip away on me. Stay here."

"What did he see?" one of the refugees shouted.

"Huns," Oios answered curtly, then once again gave his full attention to Drinus. "Hold on. Drinus. Drinus. Listen to me! Help is coming!" He felt the lethargy that was coming over Drinus in his fingers; he looked up, searching for a volunteer. "Someone fetch a blanket. He's getting cold." He waved his arm to emphasize the need for haste.

"I'll go," called out a woman's voice.

"Huns," Drinus muttered, struggling for breath. "Large. Numbers. Two. Three. Hundred."

"Where?" Oios demanded. "How far?"

"Half. A day. Or more. Not all. Pa.s.s." He looked into Oios' eyes. "More. Scouts. Need. To. To." Then there was a sound in his throat, he spasmed once, and his body went slack.

"Need to what?" Oios asked, aware that the question had come too late. He made the salute of Mithras and rocked back on his heels, letting Drinus' head drop from his hand. Those gathered around him made the sign of the cross, then the sign of the fish, and a few of them wept for the mercenary.

A short time later, Sanctu-Germainios pushed through the crowd, and stopped beside Oios. "I see I am too late."

"Unfortunately," said Oios, rising. "He must have lost more blood than I thought he had."

"He has lost a great deal of blood," said Sanctu-Germainios, who could sense his depletion, but added, "Look at the color of his face and you can tell."

"I should have brought him to you at once," said Oios, ashamed of himself.

"It would not have made any difference," Sanctu-Germainios said as he put his case of medicaments down and dropped onto one knee beside the body. "He did not have enough left in him to rally."

"Are you sure of that?" Oios asked.

"As sure as anyone could be." He moved Drinus' corpse enough to examine the arrows that stuck out from his shoulder and back. "They penetrated deeply, so they were probably loosed at close range. Perhaps they closed in on his position and all fired at once."

"Do you think he . . . he saw what he said he saw? that the Huns are coming at last?" Oios caught sight of Neves approaching from one side of the compound, and Priam Corydon coming from the opposite direction.

"I think he must have," said Sanctu-Germainios.

"Because he died?" Oios asked.

"Because the arrows in him are Hunnic. Because there is dust rising on the road to the east, a great deal of dust," said Sanctu-Germainios. "A large number of travelers are coming this way. We need only determine who they are." He had first observed the dust not long after sunrise, perhaps five or six leagues away, and had mentioned it to Priam Corydon when the Priam came from his private sunrise prayers.

"Do you know they're Huns?" Priam Corydon had inquired.

"No; I only know they are raising a long plume of dust," Sanctu-Germainios had told him.

"Then they could be more refugees," Priam Corydon had said.

"It is possible," Sanctu-Germainios had conceded, thinking it would be prudent to make ready for a real attack. "It is more likely that the Huns are moving this way." He could feel fear clutch those around him.

"I noticed the dust," Oios said, cutting into Sanctu-Germainios' reflection. "Tribune Bernardius said it was probably from refugees who had abandoned their town to the Huns. Huns, he thought, would be moving faster, and would raise less dust, their fighting forces traveling at speed. He is of the opinion that dust means wagons, not hors.e.m.e.n. He said that Priam Corydon would have to decide if they are going to be allowed in, the refugees. If they take the turn-off toward us, that is."

The two men said nothing for several heartbeats, then Sanctu-Germainios asked, "What does Antoninu Neves say?"

The mercenary leader coughed delicately. "I think we had best prepare for the worst. I'll post my men on the slope above the pa.s.s, not only to keep watch, but to roll the rocks down to block it if we must."

Priam Corydon stared at him, his expression aghast. "What do you mean, roll the rocks down?"

"I mean my men have set up barriers for falls of stones. All they need do is release the braces, and heavy rocks will descend on anyone foolish enough to try to come through the pa.s.s." Neves smiled, satisfied. "Bernardius' men helped us with building the barriers and gathering the rocks."

"But that would block us in," exclaimed one of the refugees.

"Only on the main road. There are still three other tracks that lead away from here, and, if it comes to that, we can evacuate using those paths," Neves declared.

"Hunters' tracks," scoffed another of the refugees.

"Which the Huns could use," Oios cautioned.