“I think that one of these two will tell us,” said Ragoczy Germainus, once again speaking in the language of the region.
“Tell you what?” Blaga demanded.
“The way to find Chimena, of course,” said Ragoczy Germainus blandly.
“Never. If you want to carry us to her in disgrace, you must find your way on your own.” His face set in hard lines and his brow lowered obdurately.
“Then you will ride, wrapped in bearskins over the backs of our chests and packs, until we are trapped or we reach a road or village. We may have to leave you then,” said Ragoczy Germainus, and smiled wryly. “The villagers know what to do with you, do they not?”
“You would not!” Blaga yelled. “How can you leave your own kind to be killed at the hands of men!”
“So now I am your kind after all,” Ragoczy Germainus marveled.
Ennati looked up. “I will tell you how to find her crag.”
“You will not!” Blaga shouted. “You will not betray her, or us!”
Ennati shrugged. “He is right. If we leave him to wander, then sooner or later we will fall into unfriendly hands. All of us.” He nodded. “You will have to reach her before the end of the day, or you will be attacked again, and by many more than the seven of us who came here tonight.”
“Is it possible to do that?” Ragoczy Germainus asked, his demeanor serious and attentive.
“If you keep a good pace, it should be. The worst of it is that there is only one trail leading to the crag and it is carefully guarded at night.” Ennati ignored Blaga’s furious gaze. “The mountains are rugged, and you may find that it is more difficult to climb them in the heat of the day. The Moors and their slaves rest through the worst of it.”
“Do you think the animals can endure the heat?” Ragoczy Germainus was not at ease about the effort that would be demanded of them, but he concealed his concern behind a composed mien.
“They are your stock,” said Ennati indifferently. “How have they fared thus far?”
“They have done well enough,” said Ragoczy Germainus as he thought of the jenny’s swollen hock.
“Then you must decide if you can risk it,” said Ennati. “The last part of the path is the steepest—and it is narrow.” He looked gratified at this, as if the severity of the climb made his revelations less a betrayal than they would have been if the road were an easy one. “The canyon is deep and not even you could survive a fall into it.”
“Very likely not,” Ragoczy Germainus said. “So we will have to be diligent. It would not do to lose you and our mules on such a climb.”
Blaga spat out an obscenity and glared at Ennati. “You will answer for this.”
“He may well do so,” said Ragoczy Germainus, “but only if we all arrive at our destination without mishap.”
Sighing, Ennati said, “I will tell you what I know. You must decide if you are willing to risk the journey.” He squatted down, making himself as comfortable as possible. “You must go to Canthiz and take the track that leads to Querzus Scopuluz. Do you recall where that was?”
“Above that old monastery?” Ragoczy Germainus asked. “Is there anyone living there anymore?”
“Owls and badgers,” said Ennati. “The monks left long ago—before the Moors came.” He coughed as if embarrassed by what he had said.
“So we take the trail up the mountain to Querzus Scopuluz. What then?” Ragoczy Germainus was doing his best to recall that part of the mountains, and wondered how much he might discover in that region if he had time to explore; he suspected he would learn more about the extent of the changes in the forest in that area than he might in many another.
Ennati avoided looking at Blaga as he continued. “You go to the old shrine on the flank of the mountain there, and proceed along the side of the cliff to the fork in the way near the waterfalls: there are three of them, one beneath the other. There you cross on the rope bridge and keep on until you reach the old tombs built into the caves.” He went silent, his face without expression. “That is where you will find what you seek.”
Blaga muttered under his breath, the words inaudible to Ragoczy Germainus; Ennati winced.
“That must be sixteen thousand paces at least,” said Rotiger. “A hard day’s journey in such territory as this.”
“Yes,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “But one we must make.” He looked past the fire to the enormous shadows of the forest.
“Is it really so necessary?” Rotiger asked. “This will take us far from the road to Usca.”
“If we do not face this now, we will not be safe from it,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “It will follow us everywhere.”
“But why should it? Do you not want to be away from here?” Rotiger persisted. “You said you did not want to come this way, yet we came. You said you did not want to deal with Chimena’s tribe, yet here we are.”
“Yes; and since we are here, and so are they, I cannot dismiss my part in this.” Ragoczy Germainus shook his head slowly.
“Because you feel responsible for what Chimena has done, do you not?” Rotiger said, his expression keen.
“If I do nothing, many living and undead will pay the price,” he answered gently and indirectly.
“You will not change Chimena,” said Blaga, all but boasting.
“Perhaps not,” Ragoczy Germainus agreed, “but I must make the attempt to persuade her.”
“You are not answerable for what she does,” Rotiger insisted as he tightened the braided thongs holding Blaga’s wrists.
“No; but I am responsible for making her what she is,” said Ragoczy Germainus in a voice of finality.
“You will not succeed,” Blaga said with certainty.
“I may not,” said Ragoczy Germainus, his smile as bleak as it was fleeting; he put another branch on the fire and watched with enigmatic eyes as it began to burn.
Text of a letter from Ursino Baroz in Asturica to Comites Egnacius in Toulosa, carried by pilgrim monks and delivered four months after being entrusted to the monks’ care.
To the most excellent Comites Egnacius of Toulosa who is rightly entitled to the recognition and dignity of that position, and who has been
a most gracious patron to the clerk Ursino Baroz, his greetings and expressions of regard from the beleaguered city of Asturica.
Surely you have heard of the campaigns being waged against the Christian north of Hispania by the godless forces of the Caliph, and you know how desperate the position of the soldiers of Christ has become, so you will not be astonished to learn that the Dux Manrigo has gone to join other Christian knights for the purpose of mounting a proper counter-attack on the Caliph’s men. This place is filled with men-at-arms and belted knights who seek the favor of God and the Dux, and who are sworn to accompany him on his campaign. It is said all the cheese for ten thousand paces around the city has been seized by the Dux’s growing army, and that wine barrels have been brought by the wagon-load to fill the tankards of the men going off to fight.
You pledged your support, and vowed to send aid to this place, but no such aid has arrived, and it is feared that some terrible fate has be fallen the men you have sent here. We know the Roncesvalles Pass has been closed, but it is now open enough for men on horseback to venture through it. Yet there has been no report of any such men coming here on your order. We pray that they were not caught in the avalanche that blocked Roncesvalles and that they will come soon, so that they may join with the others in this drive to reclaim this land for the good of Christ and His people. So long as there is no report, we must hope that they will arrive.
It is known that you have men here in this court who report to you; from them you will learn that I describe the situation here truthfully. You will have no reason to doubt me, or them, in regard to the plans of the Dux. You are in a good position to help us, and Manrigo will see that your aid is lauded everywhere Christians fight the hoards of the Caliph. You will be forgiven many sins for your assistance in this time, and should the Caliph’s men breach the Pyrenees and strike into Frankish lands, the Dux would be obligated to show you the same reinforcement that you provide him now; should you fail him in this time of greatest need, you may not be confident of his participation in your defense, or in his willingness to send his own troops to fight your battles.
In the name of the Savior and of all Christian Kings, I tell you the Dux must have every man you can send him, and I ask you in his name to respond in haste. The armies of the Caliph are massing to drive us north and into the sea. Those men you have dispatched are urgently
needed, and any more you can send to us will be needed in the efforts of the knights and men-at-arms. You will be glad of the honor you will bring to your House, and you will enjoy the gratitude of Dux Manrigo and all his sons and their sons for your devotion to this highest cause.
I am bidden to express the thanks of the Dux, in anticipation of your donation to his war.
In the name of Manrigo, Dux of Asturica and of Christ our Savior
Ursino Baroz
Clerk to Dux Manrigo
at Asturica on the 20
th
day of June in the 752
nd
year of Salvation, by the calendar of Sant’ Iago
This was the second time they had stopped to rest their mules and horses, letting them drink from the stream their path followed in a steadily upward climb toward the crest of the mountain. The additional weight of Blaga and Ennati in their muffling bearskins slowed the mules, making them increasingly reluctant to go on.
“I am grateful that this is a long day,” said Ragoczy Germainus in the language of the Poles, so that neither Ennati nor Blaga could understand him, should they happen to be roused from their daylight stupor sufficiently to overhear them. As he checked the girth, tightening it a little before getting back into the saddle, he went on. “Were we in winter, there would be no chance of completing our mission; if the way was not made impassable by snow, the shortness of the day would give us insufficient time to complete our travel before nightfall.”
“I would not like to have to fight on this trail,” said Rotiger in the same tongue as he patted the pommel of the sword slung across his back, and fingered the other weapons on his broad leather belt.
“Nor would I, in any season,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “But still, we ought to be ready for anything once the sun is low.”
“And that will not be long. Once we cross the bridge—” Rotiger began only to be cut off by his master.
“We will not cross the bridge,” he said as he gathered up the reins and the lead-rope in preparation for moving off again.
“Why not?” Rotiger asked in surprise.
“Because Ennati was giving us . . . shall we say, poor information,” Ragoczy Germainus replied.
“Are you certain of it?” Rotiger pulled on the two leads he held, bringing the mules up behind his dun.
“As certain as I am of anything I do not know as a fact.” He took the lead up the steep, winding trail toward the jutting crags at the top of the mountain. “Consider how difficult it is for Chimena’s brood to walk in daylight or cross running water—in spite of being on their native earth. Would they make so crucial a traverse over a series of waterfalls?”
“It does seem unlikely,” said Rotiger, and, after a brief silence asked, “Why does their native earth not shield them, I wonder?”
“I do not know,” Ragoczy Germainus admitted. “I have thought about it for a long time, and all I can arrive at is the same conclusion I reached decades ago: that since there is no reciprocity between Chimena and her . . . offspring, there are none of the benefits that come from that exchanged intimacy, with anything. They have lost their sense of . . . mutuality.” He coughed in warning. “There is an overhang ahead of us.”
“I see it.” Rotiger peered at the stone brow and frowned. “I wish I had a hand free for my sword.”
“And I,” Ragoczy Germainus confessed. “It is an ideal place for an ambush. I cannot use throwing weapons in so confined a place.”
“Or there must be a watch-post,” said Rotiger, holding the leads more firmly. “I would expect them to try to stampede our animals. On a trail this narrow, and over a ravine, that could be fatal.”
“So it could,” Ragoczy Germainus said, recalling just such a trap in the Greek mountains; then the enemy had been Huns and the pack-train had had a dozen mules and six riders in it, but the results were the same as they would be here if the animals were panicked: disorder and disaster.
Rotiger held his horse and mules back on the trail to give Ragoczy Germainus and his horse and mule some room to maneuver or retreat if that became necessary. He knew his nervousness was being communicated to the animals, and there was nothing he could do about it but keep his grip on the reins and lead while hoping nothing untoward would happen.
The high screech of a hawk sounded overhead; a pair of the raptors were circling in their last hunt of the day.
Ragoczy Germainus laughed once. “Do you think we are their prey?”
“The mules might be, if the birds could carry them off,” said Rotiger, watching the hawks slide through the sky.
“We cannot rush the mules, not so high up. The air is thinner here, and they must not be pushed beyond their endurance. It would be folly to exhaust them.” Ragoczy Germainus recalled crossing the Celestial Mountains, and the difficulty he had experienced on the high passes when he tried to speak; so high and cold was the road they followed that the ponies carrying their chests were fed hot gruel with bits of meat in it so that they would not collapse on the journey.
A while later they reached the bridge; it was cooler now, and the shadows cast by the peaks around them moved over more of the mountain, creating a kind of twilight in the canyon. They took the goat-track that led up the mountain instead of crossing the falls.
“At another time I would admire them,” said Ragoczy Germainus, looking down at the spectacular display in the gorge; the rumble of the falls, magnified by the stone walls around them, made it necessary for him to shout.
Rotiger made a sign to show he heard and agreed as they continued upward, toward the long, brilliant rays of the westering sun; behind him, tied over the packs and chests the mules carried, the trussed figures of Ennati and Blaga began to move as the coming of the end of day stirred them from their sleep.