Come Twilight (65 page)

“She would accept you,” said Ruthor.

“In time, she might,” said Germanno. “But always with reservations, and eventually with disgust, though that would trouble her. She is true to her religion, and that does not give room for friendship with vampires.” He paused, and added, “I have not said that word aloud for a long time, I think.”

“A prudent thing, as you have often told me,” Ruthor reminded him.

“True, but sad, nonetheless.” He started away from Ruthor, then hurried back. “You have many tasks to attend to, have you not?” This time he spoke in the language of Castile and León. “You are apt to be occupied with them for a day or two, are you not?”

“As we have just returned, yes, I have, and I will be.” Ruthor was puzzled; it was unusual for Germanno to ask about something so obvious.

“Then I will not bother you with going to the Jewish quarter and speaking with the elders there on Lailie’s behalf.” He laid his hand on Ruthor’s shoulder, a familiarity that was unique in Toledom households. “You may have to supervise visits here while I am gone.”

“Gone? I am not to go with you?” For the first time since Idelfonzuz had arrived, Ruthor was alarmed.

“I doubt the King will allow it,” said Germanno. “Besides, if it comes to that, I would prefer only one of us be killed.”

Ruthor found it difficult not to argue. “If that is your wish,” he said stiffly.

“For your sake, old friend, I wish it.” He dropped his hand and began to walk away. Halfway down the gallery, he paused and looked back. “There is no reason to be angry. It is no punishment to be kept from the fray. And you are for more useful to me here: I rely on you to keep all in order until I am able to return. We have some little time, after all; I do not have to leave instanter.”

“You leave at the pleasure of the King,” said Ruthor in a steady voice, knowing it was useless to press the Comide.

“Of course,” Germanno said with a quick smile. “What other reason is there.”

Text of a letter from Ximon ben Mazo to Germanno, Comide Ragoczy, written in the Toledom vulgate and delivered by messenger.

To the most respected foreigner who enjoys the favor of Idelfonzuz himself, to Germanno, Comide Ragoczy, the greetings and deep esteem of Ximon ben Mazo, clerk-advocate of Toledom and Reader of Texts at our synagogue; it is in the latter capacity that I am moved to address you, in answer to your visit of the immediately previous week.

We do not generally admit women to our numbers. There are many good reasons for this exclusion, all to be found in the Texts of our faith that advise men and women to be as God made them, and not to try to venture to the proper realms of the sex to which one does not belong. I would be glad to cite those references which are the authority in these matters, if you are not familiar with them for your own perusal of sacred writings.

Still, as you have said, an educated woman is a rare thing, and as such, requires nurturing and protection beyond that which is usually extended to women. It would be most helpful to our scholars to have one among us with such broad knowledge of tongues as you say this woman possesses. We ask you to bring her here that we may test your claims of her knowledge, so that we may decide if it is appropriate to forgo our usual exclusions and permit her to assist us, and on what terms.

You say she has only a rudimentary command of Latin. This is unfortunate, for now that Toledom is once again in Christian hands, such capability is especially valuable. Still, it is possible that she might, in time, learn enough of that language to increase her worth in our eyes.

I must tell you that I, myself, am not sanguine about having a woman-scholar in our numbers. Women are a distraction, and can lead to jealousies and intrigues that would serve to disrupt the standard of study we have sought to maintain here, no matter who occupied the
palace. What Moors and Christians could not accomplish, I fear a sin
gle woman might, for the men who study here are not eunuchs, and
they are not unmoved by female wiles.

How much easier this would be if she were old, or disfigured, or deaf, or in any other way unattractive, for then it would be an easy task to discourage all improper thoughts. But you tell me she is young and handsome. This could be intolerable, no matter how great her scholarship. Many of our scholars have wives who would be moved to anger if their husbands should be in the company of a woman—let alone a young and personable one—during their hours here. Do not argue that wives would not protest her presence, for they have occasionally spoken against the beautiful Moorish youths who would come here from time to time in the past. If a young man can stir such opposition, think what a young woman would do. The discord that might result from this appalls me as I write.

You inform me that this young woman has lived in Sevallis and therefore has knowledge of the society of that place, and that such knowledge may well prove useful to us in time, when the Christians reclaim the south. While I agree that it is likely such a thing will happen, I am not as convinced as you are that it will happen in a decade. I base my opinion on the knowledge that Idelfonzuz has been concentrating on the east, not the south, and until he has the boundaries of Castile against the boundaries of Aragon with no Moorish holdings between them in any part, he will not be content to claim any other lands.

No doubt this is a more sensible strategy; to capture Sevallis and yet see his own kingdom fall to the Moors would be a blow that would be inclined to cripple him as leader of the Christian forces, and would provide the Comide of Barzelunya an excuse to ally more with the forces of Toulouza, a most undesirable possibility. In sum, the young woman’s affiliation with Sevallis is of minor importance at best, and will not mitigate our decision in her regard.

Still, I will not immediately tell you that her cause is wholly lost. We have high regard for learning here, even in so unlikely a representative as a young woman. However, I would advise you to speak to a match maker for her, so that she will be known to be ready to marry. That may well diminish the hard feelings that she would otherwise encounter. Let her find a man, one of our number, to make her his wife, and then, if he is willing, she may accompany him to study with us. That would not be entirely welcome to many, but it would also not be as unacceptable as the presence of an unmarried and unbespoken woman. If she has a dowry of reasonable size—and you tell me that she has—it should not be too difficult to find her one among these young scholars who will be glad of her comfort and aid. If you seek a husband for her among the Christians, I must tell you that the chance of her acceptance here would be slighter than it is now.

I doubt whether it is entirely wise to leave the choice of a husband wholly in her hands. Such a decision cannot be made by a woman. She must be guided by those more prudent than she, more knowing of the character of the men who might offer for her. I also do not think you have been entirely wise to allow her to bestow her dowry as she sees fit. Still, that is your position, and we have your intentions in hand, so if she comes to grief over your ill-considered liberality, it will be on your head, not ours.

Let me and my colleagues examine her, to find out if her scholarship is as fine as you say it is. Then we shall render our decision. If you will permit me to tell the others that she will soon be married, I think you may hope for a better response than if she is seen as wholly independent.

I await your response with respect and patience.

God give you praise and plenty, Comide Ragoczy.

Ximon ben Mazo

Lailie regarded Germanno through narrowed eyes. “You brought me a long way to desert me,” she said in a voice as cold as the summer evening was warm.

“I am not deserting you,” Germanno said, knowing how futile it sounded. “The King has ordered me on a mission, and it would be unwise to disappoint him.”

“So you say.” She looked up at the window in the ceiling of the study. “You have to obey the King.”

“If I want to remain in any of the Christian countries, yes, I do.” He chose a high stool near his unfinished athanor. “I would not do this if it were not necessary.”

“Would you not?” she challenged, taking two hasty steps toward him, then turning back.

“No,” he said in a tone that was entirely convincing. “I would not.”

She thought about this as she made a circuit of the large, open chamber. “Do you think they will let me study with them?”

Oblique as the question was, he understood it, and answered, “We should have ben Mazo’s answer tomorrow or the next day. Then you will know. Until then, I see no point to constant guessing.”

“I surprised them, did I not?” She smiled a bit at the memory.

“Yes, you did.” His face softened a little. “You did very well.”

“They thought I would have only rudimentary knowledge.” Her chuckle was tinged with justifiable pride. “I read those Greek texts with ease, and that shocked them. I wish you had more time to teach me Latin.”

“And I,” he said.

For a short while there was silence between them, then she said, “I thank you for providing a dowry for me.”

“It is my honor to do it,” he responded with an elusive courtesy that was at once flattering and maddening.

“And you have done it only because you hold me in high regard,” she said sharply.

“I have done it because you would find it difficult to live here—or anywhere—without a husband.” He thought briefly of Olivia’s long parade of fictitious husbands to make her widowhood acceptable, and added, “Think carefully, before you marry; find an ally, if you can.”

“You say this because of your wives?” she asked, and put her hand to her mouth in dismay. “I did not mean . . . I spoke . . .”

“It is because I have no wife that I can tell you this.” He waited until she managed to recover herself. “Consider what you seek, and find a husband who will seek the same thing for you. Otherwise, marriage will be as much a prison as a protection, and you will not thrive.”

“You have decided on the man?” She stared at him, as if trying to determine if he meant what he said.

“Of course not; you are the best judge of what will suit you,” he said. “I will not select the man. That is for you to do. If I were your father or your brother, I would still want you to choose—it is you who must live with the man, not I.”

“Very generous,” she said sarcastically.

He did not answer her for a moment, and when he did, his voice was low and gentle. “Why do you want to fight with me?”

She made a gesture of exasperation. “You are going away. You are my only protection in Toledom. Anything might happen.”

“And you think it will be less frightening if you are angry,” he finished for her.

“No. Not less frightening. Less . . . strange.” She swung her arm to take in the whole study. “This is a wonderful place. Not as grand as Al Catraz, but more engaging. There is so much to do, so many things to learn. If you go, how can I know I will not have to leave?”

“For one thing, I have provided for you. For another, since the matchmaker is looking for a husband for you, you will have the protection of the Jewish quarter as well as the word of Idelfonzuz that you will not be required to leave this place.” He did his best to smile, and for a brief moment achieved one. “I did not anticipate the King’s orders, or I would have arranged matters differently. But there is no reason for you to fear. You have Ruthor to guard you and this house to live in; there is money enough to keep you, and the household, and to satisfy the tax collector, when he comes.”

She shook her head. “But you will not be here.”

“That is unfortunately true.” He met her eyes, his compelling gaze holding hers as surely as if he clasped her hands. “If I were to refuse Idelfonzuz, then you would be in danger because of me. If I obey, you are safe.”

“Does that matter to you?” she asked.

“Yes, it does,” he answered.

She considered his reply. “Why?”

“Because you are a most remarkable young woman, and life has not treated you well.” He rose from the stool. “But no, you cannot use my affection for you to keep me here.”

“You are as bad as my father,” she said, determined to hurt him for what he was about to do.

He accepted this condemnation without argument. “I hope I will not always seem so,” he said as he went toward the door.

“Sometimes,” she called after him, attempting to halt him, “sometimes I dream about you.”

Germanno reached the door and turned back. “If they are pleasant dreams, what can I be but flattered.”

“They are the best dreams I’ve ever had,” she said, at once pleading and boasting.

“Then let them comfort you while I am gone,” said Germanno, and left her alone in the study.

Ruthor was waiting in Germanno’s apartments, putting together the last of the traveling gear in two large leather satchels; one contained clothes, the other had weapons and a small casket of medicaments. Catching sight of Germanno’s face, he wisely remained silent until Germanno went to change to his short barbaresque riding cote of black leather. “I have put your native earth in all your soles, and in the lining of these cases; you may not be able to keep the chest of it with you.”

Germanno gave him a knowing glance. “You are an excellent fellow, old friend.”

“She does not want you to leave,” Ruthor observed.

“Can you blame her? She has been abandoned by her father and uprooted from the only home she has ever known. Her future is uncertain, no matter what I hope to achieve for her; I would be unkind if I did not understand how much she has been forced to change, and the role I have played in it. Now I am going away to a place where there is fighting.” He pulled on his estivaux, tapping the soles as he did. “Thank you for this.”

“It was mine to be done. You will have to be careful with the supplies you have, for it will not last more than six months,” Ruthor said.

“A pity I can no longer use my cache near Mont Calcius,” he said, using the oldest name he knew for the village.