“Do you think so?” she challenged him. “If that is your fear, then you will be glad to be away from here, will you not?”
He was silent for a short while; her clear rejection of him did not surprise him, but it caught him up short. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, I will.”
“Then you are going to leave?” She was happily astonished. “You will be gone after winter is over?”
“Yes,” he said.
“You give me your Word? You will not change your mind?” Her questions came quickly, and she leaned toward him. “You are willing to leave?”
“Yes.”
She smiled. “Then I will leave these travelers alone, for your sake. This time. Do not ask me again. And once you are gone, I will do as I think best. I cannot be forever running into the forest for deer or boar or wild goats, or netting birds.” Looking toward the door, she licked her lips. “Before you go, you must show me how to visit sleepers and take what I want without discovery.”
“You do not take what you want, you give a pleasant dream and participate in it. You share in the passion you have helped to awaken. It is what you exchange that gives the blood its virtue. If you pursue a man or woman for your benefit alone, neither of you will be furthered by what you do.” He spoke as if by rote, certain that she would not heed him.
“You will have to show me how,” she repeated slyly. “Who shall it be? If I cannot learn on these travelers, who among the villagers shall I—”
“Neither,” Sanct’ Germain snapped.
“But it must be someone, mustn’t it?” Csimenae asked, approaching him with slow, determined steps. “And if you forbid me the travelers and my people, who is left?”
He sighed. “There is another village a day’s walk away from here, is there not?” He waited for her to nod. “We will go there.” It was not a solution he wanted, but it was the only one he could think of that would not put her in immediate danger.
“I cannot,” she said quickly. “I would have to leave Aulutis here alone, and he would be at the mercy of the villagers. If they killed him while I was gone, it would not be safe for me to return.”
Sanct’ Germain studied her. “The villagers have sworn fealty to Aulutis; why should they kill him.”
“He is a baby. He cannot defend himself. If I am not here, the villagers may decide that their vows have no meaning. Why should they honor a boy who cannot speak or fight, who has no horses to defend him?” She pointed directly at Sanct’ Germain. “They would say you have done away with me, or have made me your woman, and abandoned my son.”
“Why should anyone assume you would leave your son?” Sanct’ Germain responded. “You have made his cause your own.”
She shook her head. “What man would take another’s son if he sought sons of his own? No, no; without me Aulutis would be lost. If he were bearded, that would be another matter, but that is years away.” Her laughter was harsh. “I cannot leave Aulutis unguarded, and I cannot take him with me, for then we certainly could not return, for someone else would have risen to claim the village.”
“If you are gone for a single day and night?” Sanct’ Germain was incredulous. “Is the village as precarious as that?”
“A day and a night would be enough,” said Csimenae darkly. “There are men enough in the village that they would claim the position of leader. If they did not kill one another attempting to maintain their place.”
Sanct’ Germain’s dark brows lowered; she was forcing him to accommodate her, but he had no argument to counter her demands. “All right. If other travelers come before winter is over, I will show you what to do.”
Her grim mood vanished, to be replaced by sarcastic gratitude. “Oh! Thank you. I am relieved. Then you can leave without worry.”
“Of course,” he said, aware that he would fret no matter what assurance she gave him.
“So the travelers will go away tomorrow, and tell others that they can find rest and shelter here.” With a faint chuckle she rounded on him. “You are clever, Sanct’ Germain. I begin to see your plan. These men will live to tell their tale. If other travelers hear that we will take them in, I will have a better opportunity to have what I desire.” Before he could speak, she went out the door, leaving Sanct’ Germain to try to sort out his emotions.
Rogerian found him later that night sitting beside his red-lacquer chest, his demeanor revealing his uneasiness. “Has there been another misunderstanding?” he asked when Sanct’ Germain offered him a half-hearted greeting.
“I would not think it was a misunderstanding,” said Sanct’ Germain. “It is more a question of cross-purposes.” He rose. “Csimenae continues to have . . . doubts.”
“Have the travelers anything to do with it?” Rogerian coughed diplomatically. “As soon as the villagers agreed to give them shelter, I thought she was too conciliating, too willing to provide for the strangers. On her order I have seen the travelers fed and cared for. The villagers do not want to have dealings with them because it might bring misfortune; travelers are thought to be unlucky.”
Sanct’ Germain laughed once. “And so they might be, but not as the villagers fear.” With that, he began to pace. “I told Csimenae I would teach her to visit sleeping travelers—no, not these, but the next ones.”
“Do you think there will be others?” Rogerian made a sign of impatience. “There have been none before now.”
“If you do not count us,” said Sanct’ Germain sardonically. “We were lost travelers, too, you remember.”
“And think how much time has passed between our arrival and theirs,” said Rogerian, his sandy brows lifting.
“Do you mean that others might not come before we leave?” Sanct’ Germain asked. “It is possible.”
“It would mean that Csimenae would not be able to claim what she seeks. Is that what you hope?” Rogerian’s gaze was keen.
“Perhaps,” Sanct’ Germain admitted. “Although she will need to know how to bring sweet dreams if she is to continue to live among people.” This admission shook him, and he turned away but not before Rogerian saw the shadow of trouble cross Sanct’ Germain’s dark eyes.
Winter deepened, bringing cold and darkness to the mountains. Wolves howled in the night and the game in the forest grew thin as leaves, then bark and berries were stripped away. Hunting grew more arduous as snow and hunger made their claims on the animals of the forest. In Mont Calcius the sheepfold was built up with pine boughs to keep the worst of the wind from chilling the flock and blighting their wool. Two of the houses were torn down to provide materials for repairing others, and, on Csimenae’s orders, men went into the forest every clear day to gather wood for the village fires.
At the end of January, four monks on two worn-out horses wandered into the village, one of the monks coughing and feverish, the others desperate for warmth and food which the villagers reluctantly provided for the sake of the horses. The monks called down blessings on Mont Calcius and thanked Aulutis for his kindness before setting about tending to their stricken comrade even while the villagers stabled their animals.
“You have heard about the strangers, haven’t you—one of them is sick.” She came toward him. “Will you treat the monk?” Csimenae demanded as she sauntered into the center of his house. “Is he going to recover?”
“I do not know how ill he is. If he grows worse, then I must care for him,” Sanct’ Germain answered. “In a day or two I will be able to tell you more.”
“They came with horses,” she said, clearly convinced that this was significant. “There haven’t been horses in this village since the Great Pox. Other than your two horses.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “I have let you have your horses.”
“Does that make a difference? that they have horses,” Sanct’ Germain asked as he laid more wood on the fire.
“It is a sign.”
“How do you mean?” Sanct’ Germain asked warily.
She regarded him as if his question were foolish. “That the monks are a gift to us. You would not permit me to use the travelers, and I did not argue. You have said that I must respect those men I employ, and I will, I will, when it is earned. This is different. The horses mean the monks are ours.” Her eyes glinted with purpose.
“In a day or two, we will consider what is to be done,” he said, aware he was only postponing the inevitable.
But this time Csimenae would not be put off. “Why must I wait so long? You will show me how to visit these men in their dreams. You said you would.”
“Yes. I did.” He could not deny his promise to her. “If this is what you want, then I am bound to teach you.”
“Good. Tomorrow night, then. I can wait that long. I will feed on one of their horses tonight, to show I am grateful for the gift.” She spun around on one leg. “The horses will make me strong, and my son will flourish.”
Sanct’ Germain regarded her with dismay. “The monks will want their horses when they resume their journey,” he said carefully.
“They will not begrudge us a horse in tribute,” said Csimenae. “You have already sacrificed a mule, which is not quite as satisfactory.” Her smile widened. “You may tell me that I have no claim on the horses, but you do not understand.”
“No,” he agreed.
“The men from the village know the horses are a sign that we have been favored at last.” It was clear that she would not be swayed from her conviction.
“You are planning to kill one of the monks’ horses?” The question was blunt but level.
“I will take what I need, and then the men will sacrifice it. They will see that I have taken the spirit of the horse as mine own, and they will know that I am protected by horses.” She shook her head. “You will see the wisdom in what I do when I have done it.”
Sanct’ Germain cocked his head, studying Csimenae, wishing again that she did not perplex him so. “These are your people, and you comprehend them as I cannot. But I remind you that the monks will not see your actions as you do.”
“Do you mean they will be angry?” She shook her head. “It is nothing to me.”
“It may cause the monks to denounce you,” he told her as calmly as he could.
“Let them. What can they say that would endanger me?”
“Some monasteries are powerful, with Gardingi to do their will.” He saw her glare at him and added, “I would do you no service to leave you in danger.”
“There is
always
danger,” she said brusquely. “Men are never free of it. I am not such a fool that I do not know it? After everything you have taught me, can you doubt it? You have told me what I have gained and lost in becoming like you. You have laid out your manner of living, and showed me many things to guide me. I will honor what you have told me, so long as it permits me to guard my son and Mont Calcius. That is why we have the horses to protect us.”
Sanct’ Germain held back the retort that sprang to his lips, saying instead, “Yes, there is always danger.” As she shrugged, he continued, “For the living and the undead; for those of our blood, care must be taken if we are not to be exposed, and pay the price for being discovered.”
“Not this again,” she said, starting for the door. “You will meet me tomorrow night at the house where the monks are, and you will show me how I am to bring them dreams. Once I have learned this skill, you will have no reason to teach me anything more.”
“It isn’t learned in a single night,” Sanct’ Germain told her, feeling an inner cold seize him.
“Well enough. The monks will be here for a while.” She pointed at him; it was a gesture he had come to recognize as punctuation for an ultimatum. “You will not withhold anything from me.”
“No; I had not planned to,” he said.
She laughed at him. “And do not try to keep me from the horse, unless you want to give me one of yours in its place; I will do it, if I must. I will deal with the monks when it is necessary.”
He said nothing as she went out of his house; he gave his attention to the fire, finding discretion in this common chore. He was still at it when Rogerian came out of the shadows of the pantry. “You heard?”
“It will be hard to travel in winter,” was all Rogerian would say.
Text of a report from the monastery-fortress of Sancta Gratia, sent to the Captios of Duz-and-Exarch of Terraco.
To the most esteemed commander and leader of the forces of the Duz-and-Exarch, the Captios Willgeprand, the greetings from Sartrium Braulio through the good offices of the scribe Ildefonsus at the Sancta Gratia outpost on this, the 19
th
day of March in Sanct’ Iago’s year 623.
In observance of our duty, we combine our efforts to tell you of the events taking place at this place since the coming of winter, so that you may more readily provide for the welfare of your city, and these men who guard this pass at the will of the Duz-and-Exarch of Terraco.
In December, a company of men—Frankish merchants by the look of them—were found frozen to death in a defile four thousand paces from our gates. These bodies bore the marks of animals’ teeth, but showed no other signs of misadventure. They have been placed in the lower crypt until the ground is thawed enough to allow for proper burial. There was nothing to identify these men beyond their garments, and so likenesses have been ordered drawn; these will be displayed in the Visitor’s Hall in the hope that someone may be able to put a name to the dead men.
In December, five of the guards here were stricken with fever; all but one recovered.
In December, a man from the Greek outpost came here with news that Arab pirates have been raiding the islands off the coast, and requesting additional men to help in ridding the seas of these merciless sea wolves. Two men asked to go with the Greek officer, and permission was granted to them, provided they serve only the Greeks in this campaign. This oath being given, the men were provided with weapons and the assurance of employment upon their return. There is some fear that the Arabs are being aided by the families of Terraco and Valentia who have been in disfavor or driven from power, for which reason, our men have been commended to the Greeks, that they may not be lured into supporting those who are seeking their own ends without regard to their oaths of fealty.
In January, a severe avalanche made our road impassable for five weeks together, and as a result, we ran low on wood and certain foods. Rations were cut twice, as our hunting parties could only go on the slopes to the east of us, the west being too unsafe to traverse.