Come Twilight (66 page)

“If you could find Mont Calcius at all,” said Ruthor. “There have been many landslides in that area, where the trees were taken.” He put a massive roll of linen into the satchel with Germanno’s clothes. “You may need this.”

“So I might,” Germanno agreed as he laced up his other estivaux. “I could wish it were cooler.”

“It is July; it is heat or storms,” said Ruthor, shrugging at the choice.

“The staff?” Germanno asked, referring to his courier’s staff that was intended to give him safe passage through the fighting lines.

“I put it in a sheath on your saddle. You will not have to search for it.” Ruthor began to buckle the satchel closed.

“You are not pleased that I am going, either, are you?” Germanno gave Ruthor time to answer.

“No, I am not. I cannot forget the years it took to find you at Leosan Fortress.” He put the first satchel on the floor and began to buckle the second closed.

“This is hardly a similar case,” Germanno pointed out. “I am not going on a sea voyage but a mission for the King.”

“To the region of Holy Blood,” Ruthor reminded him. “It is as dangerous as the ocean, in its way.”

“Yes.” Germanno frowned at his feet. “However, time has gone by. Who knows what I shall find there now.”

“More vampires, if Chimena has had her way,” said Ruthor bluntly.

“Perhaps,” said Germanno as he picked up one of the satchels and started toward the door. “Will you see me off, or would you rather not.”

Ruthor picked up the other satchel. “I should never have asked you to help me find my family, all those years ago. I should have left well enough alone.”

Germanno stopped in the doorway. “By all the forgotten gods, Ruthor, you do not still hold yourself accountable for what happened then, do you?”

“It set things in motion—” he began, but would not go on.

“So did the Goths, so did the Moors, so did the Franks. You are not responsible for any of it,” Germanno assured him.

“You would not have known Csimenae.” He used the archaic form of her name deliberately.

“Very likely not,” Germanno said at once. “But it was my decision to give her my blood to drink, not yours. And you did not tell her to bring others to this life; she came to that against our advice, as I recall.”

“True enough,” Ruthor allowed as he began to lead the way along the smaller gallery toward the stable yard. “I have selected the blue roans for you, and the two spotted jack-mules.” He walked a little faster.

“Very well, we will not discuss it any longer,” said Germanno, increasing his stride to match Ruthor’s. “The blue roans, you say?” It was a much safer topic.

“Yes; the mare and the gelding. Same sire, different dam; the sire is that stallion Olivia provided when we came here. We have half a dozen of his get still in the stable, and another three more in foal to him. Of the two you will ride, the mare is the older by a year or two.” Ruthor went on a short way, then added, “I’ll say this for Spain: the horses are wonderful.”

“That they are,” Germanno agreed. “If not for the horses of Lusitania and Andalusia, the Romans would not have been as eager as they were to keep control of the central part of the peninsula; they would have contented themselves with the coasts and left the interior alone. But the horses were too good to ignore.”

“Their shoes are new. You will not have to worry about that for another six to seven weeks.” Ruthor opened the door for his master and together they walked out into the warm dusk.

“I am sure I shall find a smithy somewhere,” said Germanno, and glanced toward the stable. “The spotted jack-mules: how old are they?”

“Six and seven, I believe,” said Ruthor as they went into the stable, into the long broad aisle between the box-stalls. “They are all in the exercise arena.”

“A good place for them,” said Germanno, sounding a bit remote.

“They should be ready for you.” He paused. “A few of the stable-hands have asked why you are leaving at night.”

“Raises their suspicions, does it?” Germanno considered, then said, “The King has given me urgent orders—”

“That he has,” Ruthor agreed.

“And I am eager to discharge them. Also, there are fewer eyes to see my leaving if I go at night, which serves the King’s purpose, too.” Germanno smiled. “Tell them that. It should be enough.”

They had reached the exercise arena at the rear of the stable, and found, as Ruthor had promised, two blue roans, one saddled, the other haltered with a lead, and two spotted jack-mules, both their pack-saddles moderately laden. Grooms held the animals, and one of them said to Ruthor, for it was unacceptable for him to address Germanno directly, “They are ready. They have eaten and been watered. They are fresh and should go well into the night before they have to rest.”

“You have done well,” said Ruthor with a glance at Germanno. “These two satchels are to be secured to the master’s saddle. Then you may have extra bacon with your evening bread and cheese.”

The grooms all looked pleased and a bit embarrassed by so lavish a reward; one of them brought a stool for Germanno to use to get into the saddle; no simple task, for both the pommel and cantel were as high as his waist once he settled into it. Then they secured the satchels to the rings fixed in the back of the cantel and stepped back, saying to Ruthor, “All is ready.”

“Then I am away,” said Germanno, taking the leads of the mules and the horse, and starting them toward the door in the outer wall.

One of the stable-hands was there to open the door, and did so promptly, closing and barring it after Germanno had passed through.

The streets of Toledom were nearly empty; a few beggars and some monks were still about, and, as he neared the eastern gate in the city walls, Germanno encountered two small bands of roving soldiers, clearly out for adventure and mischief; only their recognition of Germanno’s obvious position caused them to hesitate approaching him. The guards at the gate were surly, but did not argue with Germanno’s courier’s staff.

“God save King Idelfonzuz,” said the guard as he opened the gate sufficiently to permit Germanno to leave.

“Amen,” said Germanno, hearing the gate thud closed behind him. He started off into the night without looking back. He had elected to travel without lanthorns to light his way, for night did not trouble his eyes, and the mules did not need the extra illumination to find their way. It seemed to him that having lanthorns would only serve to mark his passage and alert those who might be his enemies to his location. So he went without any lamps, enjoying the anonymity this afforded him: he was a shape, a shadow passing, a sound among other sounds. Occasionally he looked up at the stars, scattered bits and clouds of light against the darkness. One day, he promised himself, he would take time to study the stars, not for omens, as so many others did, but to discern their nature. “Who better than a vampire to study the night sky?” he remarked to his horse as they went along the broad, dusty road that led to Zaraguza. By the time he stopped for the day, in an old Moorish way-station, now half-charred and deserted, he was more than seven leagues from Toledom, and a small, square fortress lay half a league ahead of him.

Late in the afternoon, he resumed his travels, passing the fortress before sunset so that no one would seek to halt him for the night. The road was in good repair as it rose toward the broad plateau that would take him east. There were signs of fighting in many places, from the absence of trees to the ruined houses and empty farms, many of which were black from fire. Even at night the air was hot, and when the wind blew it did not offer relief, as if to remind him that the calm of night was illusory at best.

On the third evening he come upon a group of wounded men, more than a dozen of them walking slowly in a group for protection and assistance; they were making their way toward the monastery to the north in the hope of finding a haven there, and monks to treat their injuries without holding them for ransom. Germanno paused long enough to give them some food and water, to find out where their battle had been, and to receive news of the Moors.

“You will have to bear northward a way if you want to avoid them completely,” said the man who had clearly become their leader; he had a bandaged arm that smelled of infection and a cut on his face that would leave a bad scar.

“How far to the north?” Germanno asked.

“Two leagues should be enough. They are sending only raiding parties for now. Our forces have held the greater part of their soldiers at bay. They remember the Cid and they retreat.” The man indicated the men with him. “We have lost three men since we started walking. There was nothing to be done but bury them.”

“Was the battle very hard?” Germanno asked.

“It was fiercer than it was hard,” said the leader. “The Moors fight like madmen. I was sure they would have a second force behind them, the way they came hurtling at us, lances and spears filling the air. But they were alone, without reserves. It took most of the morning, but we beat them back. We captured their captain and had his hands struck off so he could never again lift a weapon against a Christian.”

Germanno said nothing: he was no stranger to these appalling acts, but he had lost his indifference to them more than two thousand years before. “The King will rejoice,” he said at last, knowing it was true.

“That he will, as will all Christians.” The leader motioned to the men behind him. “I hope the monks will not have so many wounded that they cannot take us.”

“I have some medicaments,” Germanno offered, ready to dismount and treat the most severely injured.

“No, no. You are a courier; your staff says so. You have far more important tasks to perform than tend to a handful of wounded men.” He waved Germanno on.

“It would not take me long,” Germanno said, hoping the man would accept his offer.

“Go. Idelfonzuz has entrusted you with his orders. You must not be distracted from your work. You may lose hundreds because you stopped to help fifteen.” He walked a little faster, showing he was determined to have his little company on its way again. “Thank you for the water and the food. That was charity enough.”

Germanno watched them go, thinking they would be lucky if half their number made it to the monastery alive. When he continued east, he bore to the north, in case the warning had been correct, and the fighting had spread again. The roads were narrower and less well-kept, but he made steady progress traveling by night and resting by day, and when he finally saw Zaraguza in the distance, he sighed with relief and allowed himself a night of hunting before entering the city, which he did shortly before sunset the following day. The city was larger than Germanno remembered it, and better fortified. It had spires built by Moors, and gardens; here and there some of the old Roman brickwork was still visible, but most of it had been lost in the last five hundred years. The markets had changed, being laid out on Moorish lines, and ancient churches, once in disrepair, now showed the start of fine new fronts to the people who flocked to them.

The Guard at the gate directed Germanno to the great house of Radulphuz of Sant Palampito, saying, “He commands here, no matter what anyone tells you.”

“Of course,” Germanno said, and handed the Guard a copper Ship for his trouble; he found the house readily enough, brought his horses and mules into the courtyard, and told the startled groom that he was here on the King’s business.

“I will bring the maior domuz to speak to you,” said the groom with properly averted eyes. He did not help the Comide to dismount, but hurried off, seeking a servant with more authority than he possessed.

By the time the maior domuz arrived, Germanno was out of the saddle, his courier’s staff in hand, and his expression so neutral that no one could accuse him of rudeness. He raised his staff as the maior domuz approached, saying, “I trust you know what this means.”

The maior domuz looked startled and put his hand to his forehead and then his heart in respect, a gesture borrowed from the Moors. “I know, and I revere it,” he said to Germanno. “My master is at supper and ordinarily he would not allow an interruption, but he will receive you as his guest.”

“That is not necessary; I have taken nourishment,” said Germanno, waiting while the groom returned. “See they have grain and are rubbed down,” he ordered. “The jenny is mouthy, so be careful around her.”

“I will strike her nose—” the groom said, only to be stopped.

“You will not do anything to my animals but what I tell you to,” Germanno said, his voice kindly and soft; the groom stood in terror. “You will use caution around my jenny. If you strike her, I will strike you.”

The maior domuz looked shocked. “If you do not beat them, they will not submit to you,” he said.

“Nonetheless, if anyone is to . . . beat my animals, it will be me. They have labored hard and have earned their keep handsomely, as any servant would.” He gave the groom a long, hard stare. “Keep in mind what I say and you will be rewarded. Forget, and you will be punished.”

The groom shook his head, and reached for the leads and reins to take the horse and mules away. He did not dare to speak again.

“If you will come with me,” said the maior domuz, indicating a colonnaded gallery that led to the front of the house. “My master has brought his lieutenants here tonight, and dines with these men.”

“May God bless them all,” said Germanno, aware that every word he spoke would be heard and noted.

“May God bless them,” echoed the maior domuz. “As your animals will have tribute for their efforts, so my master is thanking his subordinates. They have been holding the Moors in the hills beyond the river, and my master is moved to reward them.”

“As a good commander will do,” Germanno agreed, curious where this might be leading. He noticed four barred doors leading off of the gallery and asked himself what this might indicate.

“He entertains them, and praises them,” said the maior domuz.

“Which is to his credit,” said Germanno.

“Woe betide him who says otherwise,” the maior domuz declared.

Germanno was still digesting this obscure warning when the maior domuz threw open the door to the main hall, revealing twenty or so men, all of them drunk, most of them naked, roistering amid the ruins of a banquet. Dogs and cats vied with one another to glean the fallen meats that littered the floor; half-a-dozen servants carried trays of cooked meats and new fruits to those still eating, and two musicians, at the far end of the hall, did their best to be heard against the general uproar.