“You are not going to make a vampire of him, are you?” Aulutiz asked.
“Perhaps. It would be useful and he, at least, understands loyalty.” She gestured as if to shoo him away, but he stood his ground.
“I think that would be very foolish. So do many of the clan. You could see that, couldn’t you?” He attempted to keep her from entering her stone house without actually touching her. “You push them too far.”
“You mean I push you too far,” she said, more amused than annoyed.
“They will not always do as you order them. They are growing restive.” Aulutiz shook his head. “If you make the Moor one of us, it will cause hard feelings.”
“Is that so?” Chimenae challenged. “You would have no part of it, of course, would you?”
“I would not be happy, but I would do nothing against you,” he said with subdued emotion.
“No; you cannot forget you are my child.” She touched his face softly, seductively, and smiled at Aulutiz.
San-Ragoz wanted to speak but did not; Chimenae and Aulutiz had forgot he was still watching them and he knew it would be indiscreet to remind them of his presence. He kept his thoughts to himself even as he felt a twinge of dismay deep within. He was appalled at what he saw, and more appalled because he had made it possible. Little as he wanted to admit it, he also recognized an antagonistic fascination in this mother and son, who were of his blood but alien to him.
“No, I cannot,” said Aulutiz, and kissed his mother’s mouth.
Chimenae smiled and turned to face San-Ragoz. “I told you he is loyal to me.” Then she laughed and said, “Go away. You have seen what you have come to see. But do not try to leave this region while the Moors are searching for you. I will not put my clan at risk so that you can reach Frankish lands. I will allow you to remain here for a time because of what you did for me, but do not ask for more, and do not fly. If you make such an attempt my clan will hunt you down and leave you staked on a midden. I will tell you when you may depart.” With a flick of her fingers she dismissed him. “Be here tomorrow night, or be my foe.”
San Ragoz made his way back toward Mont Calcius, to the place he had put his native earth. He had no wish to find food that night; he would regain as much of his strength as he could before daylight: with the powers of his native earth and darkness working together, he realized he would be almost as restored as if he had found living nourishment. What he lacked was solace, and now that troubled him, for he could not resign himself to what Chimenae had done, or his role in it. Living as a wild beast must had no satisfaction for him, and the ravenous offspring Chimenae had created sickened him. As he followed the game trails through the forest, he began to grieve.
The next night Chimenae sent her tribe off through the forest, searching for the Moors. “Bring me any stragglers you may find—alive,” she said before she dismissed them. “They will sustain us for a while. We must learn what has brought them into the mountains.”
“But you know that already,” said Edic, puzzled.
“No. I know what Sanct’ Germain has told me. The Moor who left this world last night said nothing of use to me, or any of us.” She began to pace. ”I think there is a larger purpose here—that the reason we have been given is only an excuse, a means to conceal far more dangerous intentions.”
Wembo pointed to San-Ragoz, standing apart from the circle around Chimenae and her stone house. “Why do you discuss this in front of him?”
“I want to know where he is, and what he has heard.” She made another of her flirtatious turns. “You may guard him, if you wish.”
Wembo shook his head. “You indulge him.”
“If I do, or if I do not, it is of no matter to you,” said Chimenae, staring him down. “It is not for you to choose for me.”
Into this uncomfortable silence, one of the other female vampires spoke. “The Moors are more dangerous than this one wandering creature, are they not, at least to us?”
“Folma is right,” said Edic, with a covert glance at Chimenae.
Taking this as a kind of truce, Chimenae allowed, “Yes; these Moors can bring us trouble if they ever recognize our existence.”
“If we find the Moors are still in our region, will we attack them?” Dorioz asked, his eyes alight.
“If we may do it entirely,” said Chimenae. “If we may not, then we must permit most of them to depart.”
“Most of them?” Edic repeated suspiciously.
“We can pick off one or two of them” said Chimenae, taking full charge of the situation. “You may have one, and I will want one for my own use. Then we shall see what we shall see.”
“This has no purpose,” Achona complained as she came and put her hand on Aulutiz’s sleeve. “We know where to hunt.”
Chimenae’s commanding tone stopped Achona. “You will leave when I give you permission, and not before.” She waited while Achona glared and stepped back. “You do not comprehend what may be happening here. We must learn all that we can, and be ready to face what is coming.” There was genuine apprehension in her eyes, and her voice shook.
“And what then?” Aulutiz demanded, hands belligerently on his hips. He had added a Moorish bangle to his trophy-laden clothing, one that had inscribed on it one of the many sacred names of Allah, intended to protect the wearer from enemies; Aulutiz’s edgy movements revealed his hunger.
“Once we have gained information, I will decide how to deal with these interlopers.” She regained her majestic composure. “You will do as I say. Tonight find them. If there are stragglers, seize them, and bring them to me before dawn.” She raised her arms and waited until all her tribe had left and only San-Ragoz remained. “You see?”
“That they do as you order them?” San-Ragoz said as she came up to him. ”Yes, I see that. I see also that many of them resent doing as you order them.”
“But they do not defy me. Remember that,” she advised him. “They will kill you if I tell them to. You are clever, but you cannot escape them.”
“Very likely,” he agreed with a slight, sardonic smile. “Do you want to kill me?”
It took her a moment to answer. “Of course not.”
“Because,” he went on in a level tone, “it appears to me that you want either my adulation or my death.”
This time she coughed before she answered. “That’s preposterous.”
“Is it.” He waited for her answer; when she did not deign to give one, he continued. “It seems to me that you want me on jesses so that you may show your authority to the vampires you have made; if I do not admire you, at least I obey you. If you are willing to kill me, they will know you are capable of killing them.”
“You are a fine one to condemn me. You traveled with your servant—he was a vampire, and you both managed to live; you would sacrifice him if you had to.” She made this an accusation, as if she thought such a sacrifice had already happened.
“Ruges—Rogerian is not a vampire; he was once truly dead, but he lives again. He is a ghoul. His needs are not mine.” His enigmatic gaze rested on her face. “You want to keep me at your beck and call, until you can make the most of my True Death. Have I erred, Csimenae?” His use of the old version of her name startled neither of them.
“I will not dignify such drivel with an answer,” she said. “Go find a sheep or a deer to feed on. I am not hungry tonight.” She went toward the door of her stone house.
“Where are you planning to leave the body? The soldiers might find it if you do not conceal it well,” San-Ragoz asked before she could enter. “The more Moors you kill, the more they will send to search for the missing. You cannot continue to attack them all. They will not cease their efforts until they discover what has become of their men.” He knew she was listening although she did not turn. “Think, Csimenae: you must know that the Moors will come to find their own.”
“And what is that to me?” she inquired with profound indifference.
“They will find the bodies, and they will hold the people of this region responsible.” He took one step toward her. “The villagers will answer for your acts.”
She shrugged. “Why should that happen? The villagers are cowards and the Moors will recognize their cowardice when they see it.”
San-Ragoz considered her a moment. “Do you recall when the bandits attacked Mont Calcius?”
“You made me a vampire because of it,” she said sharply. “Of course I remember.”
“Those villagers fought well, even though they were cowards. Why should they not fight the Moors with the same determination? If they do, they will be taken as slaves, and you will lose . . . fodder.”
“Fight the Moors?” She laughed. “How? It is more likely they will flee into the woods if the Moors come, where they will be ours.” Opening the door to her house, she paused long enough to add, “You may want to think otherwise, but that would be foolish.”
He watched her enter her stone house. When she did not reemerge again, he went away into the forest. He made his way to the outskirts of Mont Calcius, wondering if there was a night-guard at the gate. Although he doubted that there was, he kept within the shelter of the trees rather than move through the cleared land around the stone walls. The more he thought about Chimenae the more despondent he became; she had set herself on a path that could only lead to her destruction, and the destruction of the vampires she had made. If the villagers in the mountains did not turn against them, the Moors would track them down. There was nothing he could say to her to make her realize what danger she was in, and that was the most disheartening of all. She had made this part of the mountains her own and would believe in no will but hers. In the past, when he had had disagreements with others of his blood, he had been able to comprehend what they sought; he had no such understanding in regard to Chimenae, and as a result, no means of dealing with what seemed to him to be her headlong rush toward catastrophe. There was no question in his mind that she meant her threat: if he tried to leave before she released him, she would send her vampires after him to kill him. He was clever enough to evade them for a while, and he could foil them by traveling by day, but their numbers would make his escape more difficult, and more obvious, so for the time being, he was disposed to stay where he was, for Mont Calcius was one of the places Ruges would look for him. That consideration tipped the balance for him for the time being: in spite of the risk he assumed staying so close to Chimenae, he told himself it was more than a vain hope that he would be found, and together he and Ruges would be allowed to leave in peace. The last was cold comfort as he went to rest on his native earth with less apprehension than he had had for some time.
Shortly before dawn he was awakened by the sound of a mountain cat padding through the undergrowth. He sat up slowly so as not to alarm the animal, thinking as he did that this was the first of the kind he had seen since his return to the region. Cats and wolves were higher up the mountains now, and bear had retreated even further. He studied the cat with its tufted ears and short ruff, noticing it was thin, and that a half-healed wound on its flank suggested a recent battle. The catcaught sight of him; its head came up and it froze for an instant before sprinting away toward the deepest part of the forest. San-Ragoz watched the place where it had been, undefined sadness welling within him. Then the first birdcalls began, and he lay back to watch the sky brighten beyond the arch of trees.
By sunset that day, Chimenae had made her plans: she sent her tribe out to pick up any Moor still in their region. ”If there are more than three together, leave them alone. But if you find one or two by themselves, secure them and bring them to me. We have much to learn.” She paused. “The two-legged goat comes from Aqua Frates tonight. See that I have him before midnight.”
The clan agreed automatically, but with an underlying tension that showed the clashes of the last days were unresolved. A few of their number did not depart on Chimenae’s signal, preferring to choose companions before going into the forest. As they dispersed, Chimenae once again summoned San-Ragoz to her side. “You know the tongue of the Moors, do you not?”
“Yes,” he said, uneasy as to why she asked.
“Then you will help me. I believe that hearing the Moorish tongue might cause any we capture to be more revealing.” She almost touched him, but dropped her hand before she actually reached him. “If you will do this for me, I will look more kindly on your plight.”
Ordinarily he would have challenged her choice of words: now he knew it was reckless to try. “I will do as you ask.”
“Very good. Sanct’ Germain.” She sauntered away from him. “Then return after midnight. I have no use for you until then.”
He left without saying another word. Tonight he would hunt, and by midnight he would feel no pangs when Chimenae received her two-legged goat.
Text of a letter from the Primos Blaziuz Gagin of Sancta Cruce in Usca to Timuz ibn Musa ibn Maliq in Zaraugusta.
To the most esteemed officer of the forces of the Caliph and of Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa who rules in Corduba but is presently in Zaraugusta, the respectful greetings of Primos Blaziuz Gagin of Sancta Cruce, the Christian monastery of Usca. Know that the prayers of the monks here will never be to your disadvantage.
In answer to your inquiry regarding the region east of this place, it is my duty to inform you that, I, too have heard the reports you mention and have pondered the meaning of the chalices of blood: I have concluded that although this means of showing devotion is rare, the people of that region are reputed to be obdurate in their zeal, and for that reason, cups in memory of the Sacrifice of Our Lord are placed in sacred niches, to give thanks to God for Man’s salvation. These cups symbolize the covenant of the Christians with our God which was secured by the blood of Redemption. The practice you described is not widespread, but it shows the degree to which the people in that part of the mountains will go to keep their faith alive.
You have dealt most fairly to us, as people of the Book, and surely you can understand the piety that spurs on these tributes. I myself would not encourage such extremes of worship for those not in Orders, but I admire the ardor of the people who remember their Savior in this way. You would be wise, I think, to respect their tributes and to make no attempt to stop their rites, for that could well bring about an uprising that would disgrace you and all Christians.