Come Twilight (60 page)

The leper nodded. “That they do. Those who go without escort do not always reach their destination.”

“What of the rest of Spain?” Germanno asked.

“There you need only fear soldiers and monks and bandits.” The leper shivered suddenly, as if a cold wind had gone over him. “From time to time a few of the creatures are caught and burned. Nothing is so sure of killing them as burning.”

Germanno nodded in slow agreement. “Burning kills almost everything.” He studied the leper for a long moment, then said, “Have you seen such burning?”

The leper nodded eagerly. “Yes, I have. Twice I have seen it.” In the shadow of his cowl, his eyes glittered.

There were many questions Germanno wished to ask, but he realized it would be unwise to press his guest. “The Church praises such efforts, does it not?”

“It does,” said the leper. “It also praises giving alms to lepers and other beggars, but . . .” He stopped, continuing a moment later. “God has chosen this for me, and it is my duty to accept His Wisdom.”

“Do you miss the life you had?” Ruthor asked as he stirred the thickening oat-gruel.

The leper nodded. “Who does not miss being one of the living?” He took up the bowl and held it.

“Who indeed,” said Germanno, who had witnessed the Mass of the Dead celebrated for lepers as they were shut away from most of humanity.

Ruthor tested the gruel. “It is nearly ready.”

“It smells as if it were baked meats in saffron,” said the leper. He put the bowl out, cradled in his muffled hands. “I will remember you in my prayers.”

“That is kind of you, but it is also unnecessary.” Germanno went to another of their crates and tugged a stoneware jar from its contents. This he held out to the leper. “It is wine from the Rhosne Valley. I have a little of it, and I can spare this; the followers of the Prophet do not drink it. Take it with you.”

The leper sat very still, listening intently as if he had misunderstood Germanno’s words. “You will give me
wine
?” His astonishment was so total that for a long moment it seemed he was not breathing.

“Certainly,” said Germanno, wondering why this gesture should be so remarked upon.

“It is nine years since I tasted wine,” the leper said. “The last was the Communion the night before they sang the Mass of the Dead for me.” He stared at the stoneware jar. “Is it sealed properly?”

“With wax,” said Germanno, showing this to the leper. “You will have no reason to fear it has lost its savor.”

“Wine,” the leper crooned. “I pray it is as sweet as I remember.” He lifted his head and the light struck his face enough to reveal a face ravaged as if by fire: his nose was almost gone and his mouth no longer had defined lips; his cheek was a mass of sloughing tissue and the lobe of his ear was in tatters. Aware that he had been seen, he ducked his head, hiding his visage in shadow once more.

“A terrible scourge, this leprosy,” said Germanno as neutrally as he could.

“That it is,” the leper agreed, and, after a short silence, asked tentatively, “Will you still give me the wine?”

“Of course,” said Germanno. “I have seen more severe cases than yours.”

“And you are still clean?” the leper asked incredulously. “How can that be?”

“I cannot explain it,” said Germanno, knowing that being undead, he was proof against any sickness that could touch the living. “But as there are those who are untouched by the Great Pox, so there are those who cannot be lepers.”

“I pray that is so,” the leper agreed after a thoughtful silence. “It is as God Wills in all things.” He crossed himself without putting down the bowl.

“Here,” said Ruthor, lifting the pail from the spit over the fire, his hand wrapped in a scrap of leather. “Hold that out.”

The leper did as Ruthor told him, and bent forward to smell the odor of cooked oats rising in the steam. Behind him, one of the horses whinnied, tempted by the fragrance. “How wonderful, to have this.”

“Let it cool a bit before you eat it,” Germanno recommended. “You do not want to burn your tongue.”

“What difference would it make?” the leper asked with sudden bitterness. Then he set the bowl down beside him and said, “When I was whole and clean, I wanted nothing more than to be able to pass freely down the length and breadth of Spain. Now I am a leper and I may go wherever I like. No one stops me. I have my wish, I suppose.”

“You were a man of some position, I take it,” said Germanno as kindly as he could.

“I? Oh, yes. I had lands and a title, and I served with Adelfonzuz before he died. I had been the student of a learned man, and I made a journey to Roma when I was thirteen. My son has the title and lands now, and he fights with Idelfonzuz; his son will have the land and titles after him.” He looked down at his swathed hands. “Who knows what they will know of me in another generation?”

“You are dead to them, are you not?” said Germanno. “They will remember only that.” He knew this was most likely, for few families were willing to admit that any of their number had contracted leprosy. “You have fought in battle—very likely they will say you died from old wounds.”

The leper laughed; it was a rusty, harsh sound. “You are probably right. God will cause them to forget.” He stared into the fire. “It is just as well.”

Germanno could think of nothing to say in response to this. He glanced at Ruthor and said to him, “Is there a blanket we can spare this man?” knowing full well that there was.

“Of course,” said Ruthor, and went to take one from their goods. “You are being most generous to a dead man,” said the leper as he lifted the bowl with one hand and pulled a large wooden spoon from the back of his rope-belt with the other. “Whatever your reason, I will thank you in my prayers.” He paused a moment in anticipation and then began to shovel the gruel into his ruined mouth.

Ruthor came back carrying a rolled blanket under his arm, a long braid of leather in his hand. “So you can tie it across your back,” he said to the leper as he set the blanket down beside him.

The leper nodded and continued to eat in desperate haste as if he expected to have the bowl snatched from his hands.

“Where are you bound?” Germanno asked when the leper finished his gruel. “Do you have a destination in mind?”

“I think I would like to go to Gadiz,” he said. “North and east there is fighting. Gadiz is peaceful, or so I have been told; I have not been there, and they say the ocean is good for lepers.”

Ruthor looked up at the mention of his ancient home. “It is a fine place,” he said adding, “I have not been there in many years, but it was splendid when I last saw it.”

Germanno nodded his agreement. “You might like the ocean.”

“So I think,” said the leper, and touched the blanket he had been given. “At least no one will steal this. Once a leper has a thing, not even thieves will take it.” He rose, putting the bowl down on the chest. “Do you want to keep this?”

“You may have it if you like,” said Germanno.

“So you have respect for this disease after all,” said the leper, and picked up the bowl. “It will be useful. Thank you.” As he spoke, he rigged the blanket with the leather braid, then slung it over his back. “I will not stay. Dawn is coming, and you do not want it known that you gave hospitality to a leper, for they will not admit you to the city if they learn of it. That would be poor recompense for all you have done for me.” He slipped the bowl into one threadbare sleeve and the wine-jar into his other, then began to move off into the woods. “May you travel in safety, foreigner.”

“And you, leper,” said Germanno.

“He is planning to drown himself,” said Ruthor when he was sure the leper was out of earshot.

“Yes I know,” said Germanno.

“Then why give—?” Ruthor began, and stopped at almost the same moment.

“Because he has lost so much. He is utterly alone. What is a blanket, a bowl, and a handful of oats, after all.”

“And a jar of wine,” Ruthor reminded him.

“A jar of wine,” Germanno allowed. “It is all so little.”

“He thought you were afraid of his leprosy, and gave him the bowl on that account.” Ruthor shook his head.

“Why should he not?” Germanno looked into the forest. “It is probably just as well I did not hunt tonight.”

Ruthor understood him. “Probably. Though few people listen to lepers’ tales.”

The stood together in silence for a short while, then Germanno stretched, saying, “I will sleep for a while. It is going to be a busy day.”

“Very good,” Ruthor said, and began to restore order to their chests and bales while Germanno went to his earth-lined bed-roll and stretched out supine upon it.

Birdcalls began as the sky started to lighten, and very soon after the wood was full of rustlings and murmurs as the creatures of the night gave over the forest to the creatures of the day. A light breeze sprang up, strumming the leaves of the oaks and bringing new scents from the camps down the road, closer to the city walls. On their tie-line, the horses and mules became restless, wanting their morning feed. From the river came the sounds of fishermen calling from boat to boat, and the first summons to prayer was carried on the wind from Sevallis.

Germanno woke abruptly, and rose at once, stowing his bed-roll so quickly that it surprised Ruthor, who was used to the Comide’s rapid recovery from sleep. “I’ll take care of the mules,” he said to Ruthor who was readying pack-saddles for the last leg of their journey. He went to give them their nose bags again, with oats in each of them. When he had finished that chore, he went to take down the trip-line around their camp, rolling it carefully so it would be ready for use again.

“Do you expect trouble in Sevallis?” Ruthor asked, indicating the line.

“I have no idea what to expect in Sevallis,” said Germanno. “Or what to expect on our return journey.”

“That concerns you, does it?” Ruthor nodded. “There is a great deal of contested territory between here and Toledom.”

“There is,” said Germanno, and set about saddling the mules and loading their pack-saddles.

Some little while later, Ruthor gave voice to his thoughts. “Will you go to the great house first, or to the central tribunal?” He felt uncomfortable asking the question but he could not keep from wondering how Germanno would proceed.

“I think it would be most prudent to present myself to the tribunal, so that it will not appear I am attempting anything underhanded.” He shook his head. “I do not want to create any more suspicion than I must. If it seems I am unwilling to respect the tribunal, who knows what stumbling blocks they could put in my way.”

“All right,” said Ruthor, and pointed to the dusty clothes Germanno was wearing. “Then you may want to don a clean cote and surcote, to show the extent of your respect to the tribunal. Come before them in smirched clothes, and you may well make them think you are deliberately slighting them. It will not take long. You have not yet put the chest of clothing on the mule. Let me choose something for you.”

Germanno sighed, nodding. “You are probably right, old friend. Very well. Find me something that will not be disreputable. If I am going to do this, I want to do it thoroughly. There is no point in trying to impress with half-measures.” He chuckled, and unbuckled his belt so that he could remove the dusty black surcote and dark-red cote beneath. “I might as well have the pectoral, too.”

“So I think,” said Ruthor. “Hand me what you have on and I will give you clean garments.”

“The Moors put great store by cleanliness,” said Germanno thoughtfully as he tossed his surcote to Ruthor, and then the cote, “almost as much as the old Romans did.”

“As the Christians abhor it, for glorifying the flesh,” said Ruthor. “On the whole, I like the Moors’ position better.” He held out a cote of black damask silk from Antioch. “This should impress them.”

“If anything would,” Germanno said, and pulled the cote over his head. “I wonder how much I will have to pay in bribes to settle this purchase?”

“They will want a good amount,” said Ruthor. “You have bought a great house and you have means. That will influence the officials.” He gave Germanno his second-best surcote—a wide-shouldered garment with a high collar of black silk shot with silver thread and lined in a wine-red brushed satin that came from Constantinople. “It will be hot but there is no cure for that.”

“Alas,” said Germanno lightly as he shrugged into the surcote and secured his belt once again before accepting the eclipse pectoral from Ruthor. “There,” he said as he put the pectoral in place. “If this will not gain me some respect, then nothing will.” He took his black gloves from his wallet and pulled them on. “This should do it.”

“That it should,” said Ruthor, and motioned to the last two chests. “I’ll manage these if you’ll saddle the horses.”

“Do you want to ride the chestnut or the bay?” Germanno asked as he picked up his brushes.

“The bay, I think. He’s showier. And you would do best on the lighter gray.” He shifted the chest to his shoulder and carried it to the mule. “This will be a short journey.”

“Yes, it will,” said Germanno. “I wish I knew how I am to find Antoninus the Greek.”

“Did Idelfonzuz not tell you?” Ruthor set the chest on the pack-saddle and strapped it on.

“Not specifically, no.” He finished his cursory brush-down of the bay and took up the saddle pad.

“Then perhaps Antoninus will find you,” Ruthor suggested. “You cannot be the only man Idelfonzuz has ever sent to Sevallis.”

“No; nor am I likely to be the only one of his spies here now,” said Germanno, and remained silent until they were ready to mount up and leave their camp. Then, as he swung up into the saddle, he said, “I do not like being put in such a vulnerable position.”

“Who would?” Ruthor remarked, and took up his lead lines as his bay moved out.

They entered the gates of Sevallis before the sun was a quarter way up the sky; the city—Hispalis to the Romans eight centuries ago, and showing a few remnants still of their occupation—was busy filling up for market-day. Vendors and buyers all crowded along the narrow streets toward the central square. Most of the people were in Moorish dress, but a few wore Byzantine garments, and fewer still were dressed in the style of Castile and León.