Come Twilight (56 page)

“Will you hang paintings?” Ruthor asked.

“I think not. It would offend any Moors visiting here. I may make an exception in my own apartments. There are those Byzantine mosaics, you know, the ones Olivia had commissioned for me when Justinian ruled.” He went to the stairs that led down to the cellar and the kitchens. “I will probably have to choose my decorations carefully; a saint’s statue in the smaller fountain, so that the Christians will not become suspicious, but I will keep the frieze from the
Qran
in place, so that the Moors will not be insulted by a slight to their scriptures. I will have to hope the Jews will be tolerant. Perhaps a prophet instead of a saint in the fountain would be better: Isaiah, I think; his prophesies are acceptable to both Jews and Christians.” He looked around at Ruthor and said crisply, “This place is grander than when we left it. I suppose it would be foolish not to take advantage of the improvements.”

“Then you will open it for scholars,” Ruthor said, grinning his satisfaction at the notion.

“If the King will allow it, yes. Thank you, old friend.” He began his descent into the kitchens, making note of the niches in the wall for oil lamps. “It seems that the kitchens have been expanded, too.” He stopped at the opening to the cavernous room, looking at the two large open hearths where spits were in place for turning meat. “It would be wise to have more than one cook, judging by the size of this place.”

“And assistants, perhaps two or three,” said Ruthor. “If you have fewer than that, someone will remark upon it.”

“I would not doubt it,” said Germanno, walking through to the door leading into the small kitchen garden. “Herbs and squashes, by the look of it. That should suit any cook you hire.” He closed the garden door and went back through the kitchen. “This is going to be an expensive household to run as the King will expect.”

“Then you are going to refuse him?” Ruthor asked, wanting only to know why Comide Ragoczy would do such a thing.

“Of course not,” said Germanno, ascending the stairs again. “I will have to build my athanor as soon as possible. I think one of the side-rooms will do for it. I will decide which one when we have taken up residence here in the house and may arrange to install it with a minimum of attention. I would rather not have it where everyone in the house—staff and guest—can see it; that could lead to questions I would not like to have to answer.” Now that he had reached the top of the stairs, he set off moving quickly, walking with a deceptively easy grace that covered distance more swiftly than most men could run. “I wonder of my old apartments are still intact.”

“Do you want to occupy them?” Ruthor found it difficult to keep up, but did not ask Germanno to slow down.

“That depends on how they have been maintained,” said Germanno, starting for the stairs and climbing the narrow, steep steps two at a time. “If the occupants have used them well, I cannot see why I should—” He stopped as he reached the door and touched the latch.

“Do you not want to open it?” Ruthor inquired when Germanno did nothing more.

“Yes and no,” said the Comide, and with that, lifted the latch and looked inside.

The room was in poor repair, with an uneven floor and scaley walls. What little paint had not flaked off the wood was so faded that its original color was nearly impossible to determine. A single stool lay on its side near the tall windows, and the door to the inner chamber hung askew on its hinges. There was no parchment in the windows, and the sill showed damage from weather.

“I am sorry to see this in such poor repair,” said Ruthor after a brief silence.

“I have known worse,” said Germanno. “This is not remarkable, considering how long Toledom was fought for. I am grateful that more has not been done. You saw what dreadful condition the old church was in.” He pulled the door closed. “This will have to be repaired; I cannot use . . .” His words faltered as the skittering of rats was heard above them. “While the wells and rooms are being checked, the attic should be, too. If there are rats there, who knows what else we might find among the rafters.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “This will take money. I am in no position to barter for work.”

“That will be expected of you, will it not? Servants are not peasants, to trade labor for a share of their harvest. They will expect housing and food, and some payment besides.” Ruthor went down the stairs ahead of Germanno, not bothering to turn back to look at him. “You have more than enough gold to fill this house with servants, if you want, and to pay them double the usual wages.”

“It is just as well that this is not generally known,” said Germanno drily. “Foreigners with money are easy targets. Idelfonzuz or the Church would invent a new tax if they found out.”

“Are you certain of that?” Ruthor stopped at the corridor leading into the newest addition to the house.

“As certain as I am that campaigns are expensive,” the Comide answered with a wry smile.

“And this one is long,” said Ruthor. “It has lasted for generations.”

“Not as openly as recently, but, yes, it has,” said Germanno, adjusting his black cote of Sicilian silk so that it swung more loosely around his legs, sheathed in dark-red bamberges; his black-leather solers were thick-soled and high enough to reach the base of his calves. “I will need my silver-embroidered surcote for this evening,” he remarked to Ruthor. “The King has said he seeks to learn what I know of Toledom.”

“Will you tell him why you were interested in this house over many another?” Ruthor asked mischievously.

“I have already told him there were records that one of my blood had lived in this house many decades ago. It may incline him to accept my living here without question. He, himself, can make such a claim to other properties here in Toledom, and so he could be inclined to approve my request.” Germanno frowned slightly. “I do not know how long he will expect me to wait upon him tonight. I trust it will not be too late.

“Do you think you might spend some part of the night with a woman longing for a dream?” This question was not lightly asked, nor was it lightly answered.

“I think it would be a tremendous risk to make such an attempt until I have had the opportunity to establish myself and learn something of the way the city has changed. It is not the place we left so long ago, and Viridia is long turned to dust.” He looked directly at Ruthor. “I appreciate your concern, but I am not yet so desperate that I would hazard so much.”

Ruthor said nothing for a short while, then said, “You will not neglect yourself again, will you?”

“It is not my intention,” said Germanno enigmatically as he started to move again. “If you will use my absence to prepare notes for what we will require to furnish this place well, but not too lavishly, I would be most grateful.” He went out into the courtyard to the larger fountain. “We must ready ourselves quickly, for I have no doubt that Idelfonzuz will have plans laid out for me by now. He will reveal them as suits his purpose, and we will have to respond quickly.”

“Our host at the hostel will have men and carts to carry your belongings here, will he not?” Ruthor asked, knowing that such tasks were his to perform. “Assuming your occupancy is granted.”

“Pay him enough and he most certainly will,” said Germanno, sardonic amusement in his eyes. “There are any number of men searching for employment who would welcome a handful of silver for labor.” He pulled his gloves from his belt and drew them on; it was a signal of departure.

“That is apparent,” said Ruthor as they passed through the outer gates to where a youth of about twelve was holding their horses at the edge of the busy street. He averted his eyes, as he was required to do, as he handed the reins over to Germanno and Ruthor.

The Comide tossed the lad three copper coins, saying, “Thank you for your service,” as he swung into the saddle and gathered up his gray’s reins; the horse was still heavily dappled, revealing his youth, and he pulled restlessly, eager to be going. A moment later they set off through the rough-cobbled streets toward the hostel where they were staying.

Most of the streets were busy enough, but there was little camaraderie to be seen, for the peoples here were still uneasy in their dealings with the new masters of the city. Although the number of Moors in Toledom had decreased since the Castilians conquered it, there were still many of them about; artisans of all sorts remained when the military and nobles had fled, and now those artisans were busy expanding their businesses to accommodate the men from the north in spite of the uncomfortableness that still existed between them. The Jews were more apprehensive than the Moors, for they had been targets of Christian hatred before and were keenly aware that it could happen again; they tended to keep their businesses to their own parts of the city and were careful when they went into the central markets of Toledom. Ruthor remarked upon this as they passed a busy street in the largest Jewish quarter.

“Do you think they will be accepted now that the Christians control Toledom again?” He sounded uncertain. “They would have good reason to fear.”

“Still,” said Germanno as they approached their hostel, “given how long and bitter the campaign for this place has been, there is more sufferance here than I would have expected.” His memories welled: the slaughter of his own family, the deliberate decimation of the Assyrian captives in Egypt, the comprehensive butchery of the Huns, the Magyars sending thousands of their captives off into the forests to starve . . . He put his hand to his eyes to stop the visions from coming.

“Would you remain, in their situation?” Ruthor asked as they entered the front court of the hostel.

“I might,” said Germanno. “But it is not the same, is it?” He pulled his gray to a halt and dismounted, handing the reins to a groom who stood waiting to take them.

Ruthor did not bother to reply to the Comide’s question. He came down off his horse and surrendered his reins to the groom, then followed Germanno through the confusion of the courtyard to the entrance of the hostel where the landlord was waiting to give them a message.

Germanno took the reverently offered roll of vellum with the seal of Idelfonzuz on it, tugged the seal off and read the message. “I will have to leave soon,” he told Ruthor. “There is someone Idelfonzuz wants me to assist him with. The man is from the south and in need of someone fluent in the Moorish tongue.”

“A spy?” Ruthor suggested as they went toward their chambers at the top of the stairs.

“Possibly, but I think it may be more complex than that.” He rolled the message up and thrust it through his belt. “I will leave you to begin arranging the transfer of our belongings.”

“Certainly,” said Ruthor.

“I do not suppose I will return much before midnight.” He went into their chambers and reached for the chest containing his clothes. “The surcote with the eclipse embroidery in silver, and my pectoral. This is going to be a grand occasion, from the tone of Idelfonzuz’s missive.” He unfastened the buckles holding the chest closed, and pulled out a camisa of black silk. “I will change as soon as I can wash the dust off. It is too warm for the full cote under the surcote: in such clothes you would think we were back at Leosan Fortress, not in Toledom. The camisa will suffice.” With that he strode into the rear chamber leaving Ruthor to make his garments ready.

By the time Germanno emerged from the inner chamber, his short-cropped hair still glistening with water, the oil-lamps had been lit and his outer garments were ready for him. Ruthor held up the surcote so that Germanno could shrug into it, then helped him shake out his sleeves.

“Do you want the solers of red leather, or the black?” Ruthor asked, both pairs set out for use.

“The red, I think. They are more festive.” He removed his dusty pair and donned the tooled-leather red ones, handing his riding solers to Ruthor. “The soles will need more of my native earth soon.”

“I will take care of it,” said Ruthor. He handed Germanno his device-pectoral—a black sapphire disk surmounted by raised, displayed silver wings depending from a ruby-studded chain of broad silver links—and watched as Germanno set it carefully in place. “Do you need anything more?”

“Probably,” the Comide allowed. “But it is not so important that I can call it to mind.” He took a fist-sized piece of red amber from a leather case that contained a number of jewels. “This should be a suitable sign of appreciation—Idelfonzuz will expect something of the sort. At least I did not make this,” he remarked as he held it up to the lamp. “Good Baltic amber. Idelfonzuz will be pleased.” With that, he put the amber into his wallet and straightened up.

“Have a care coming back; the streets are dangerous at night.”

“So they are,” Germanno agreed as he picked up the short staff given him by Idelfonzuz to secure his passage everywhere in Christian Spain. “I will bear that in mind. At least we are not in Gotalunya, or in Aragon.” He had intended it as a wry jest, but Ruthor responded somberly.

“No. But that day may yet come.” He held up a warning hand to the Comide. “Idelfonzuz is from Aragon. You would do well to remember that.”

“And has made common cause with the Comide of Barzeluna. Yes, I know.” He touched his shoulder with his baton in a gently ironic salute. “Still, old friend, we are not in the region of Holy Blood yet.” Saying this, he nodded to Ruthor and left him in their apartments while he hurried down to the stable.

Text of a letter from Fre Carloz of the Monastery of Santoz Ennati the Martyr near Usxa, to Idelfonzuz, King of Aragon and Navarre at Toledom.

In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and in honor of our Santoz Ennati: Amen.

To the illustrious Christian King, Idelfonzuz of Aragon and Navarre and ruler of Castile and León in the name of Urraca, daughter of Adelfonzuz of Castile and León, the greetings of Fre Carloz of Santoz Ennati the Martyr, for whom you have a special devotion, and in whose name I now appeal to you.

You know how much strife we have seen in this place, and how much is soon to come. As Santoz Ennati battled the demons of Hell, dispatch
ing five of them with his axe before he gained his martyr’s crown at their hands, we, too, must stand and face the horrors of war as your valiant knights join with other good Christians to reclaim the land of Santiago for Our Savior. This is a most worthy goal, and one that we most heartily endorse, but we are cognizant of the dangers that can come from such enterprises. Those of us not schooled in battle are often the most damaged by it. Great clashes often bring ruin in their wakes, and for this, those who must live where the fighting has been are left to deal with the trampled crops, burned forests, contaminated wells and streams, and the confiscation of livestock and poultry as well as all foodstuffs for the purpose of feeding the soldiers of both sides.