Path of the Eclipse (7 page)

Saint-Germain wanted to demand the return of his outriders, but said calmly, “If I may have access to a forge, I would appreciate it. One of my wagons has a damaged wheel and the axle is worn. I would like to rim the wheels with iron and put in heavier axle pins.”

Magistrate Hao shook his head sadly. “If I had a smith to spare, I would be pleased to do this, but—”

“I will do the labor. All I require is a forge. I have my own iron and tools.” He was standing very straight and there was a light in his eyes that glittered unpleasantly.

“Oh, very well,” the Magistrate grumbled. “Your clothes will be brought to you presently. I cannot imagine why it has taken so long for them to be delivered.”

“Can’t you.” Saint-Germain folded his arms and regarded Hao Sai-Chu sardonically. “How grateful I am for all you have done.”

“You should be,” the Magistrate agreed, and there was a threat under his words. “A foreigner in this part of the country … well, no one would blame me had I decided to question you more … shall we say rigorously?” He met Saint-Germain’s eyes for a moment, then stared down at the scroll he held once more.

“I imagine we understand each other, Worthy Magistrate,” Saint-Germain said, his voice cold.

“Yes.” Hao was about to close the door when Saint-Germain spoke once again.

“I am aware that your minions might be somewhat lax in the performance of their duty. When one is hurried, many courtesies are forgotten. I would count it as a token of your goodwill and the efficiency of your servants if I found my safe-conduct in the innermost pocket of my sheng go where I left it.” He watched Magistrate Hao until he saw the man duck his head in acceptance. “Very gracious of you, Worthy Magistrate. And very wise.”

Hao Sai-Chu could not resist planting a final barb. “I intend to make a full report to the Secretary for the Co-Ordination of the Regional Militias. If it turns out that you have in any way misrepresented yourself—”

“The Secretary may send soldiers to the Mao-T’ou stronghold,” Saint-Germain finished for the Magistrate. “I am certain that Warlord T’en will welcome them.”

A sudden gust of wind curvetted through the dressing room, and a few muffled voices were heard. Steps approached, and a moment later a man in the official dress of a tribunal scribe entered the hallway and gave Hao Sai-Chu formal greeting. The Magistrate scowled, but stepped back to hear the whispered words of the scribe. Saint-German did not move; he watched the two men through the half-open door.

At last Magistrate Hao turned to him with a penetrating look. “Your clothes are being brought,” he said shortly.

“And my safe-conduct?” Saint-Germain inquired politely.

“It is in order!” With this irritated announcement, Magistrate Hao swung away from the door and stamped off down the hallway.

Some little time later, Rogerio opened the dressing-room door and stepped inside. He carried a stack of carefully folded garments. He himself was already dressed in his usual somber manner.

“Did they trouble you?” Saint-Germain asked as his manservant held out the black sheng go.

“A few questions and a great many threats,” he answered calmly.

“Were you harmed?”

Rogerio paused an instant. “No.”

Saint-Germain knew the man too well to accept this. “What happened?”

“You know that we are losing three of the outriders?” He did not wait for Saint-Germain to answer. “They’ve also intimated they might confiscate the wagons.”

“When?” Saint-Germain had picked up the quilted woolen dalmatica, but paused in the act of pulling it over his head.

“When did they intimate that? When they had us in the dressing rooms.” Distaste tightened Rogerio’s mouth.

“Then you need not worry yourself,” Saint-Germain told him sadly. “That has been resolved.”

“Resolved.” Though Rogerio did not inquire further, Saint-Germain relented.

“It appears that the Worthy Magistrate has a taste for Western art. He has permitted me to give him my Byzantine mosaics.” Now he did not conceal the bitterness he felt, and he saw an answering ire in Rogerio’s features. “So you see.” He opened one hand fatalistically.

Silently Rogerio handed Saint-Germain his Persian-style leggings.

As Saint-Germain bent forward he felt oiled paper press against his chest. He straightened up and reached into the unfastened collar of his sheng go. “Ah.” He pulled out a tightly folded packet. “The safe-conduct, I assume.”

Rogerio offered Saint-Germain a pair of thick-soled slippers. “I watched the scribe read it and seal it, and I myself replaced it.”

Some of the reserve faded from Saint-Germain’s dark eyes. “That was well done of you.”

“I also took time to be certain that nothing was added to the documents,” Rogerio added after a short silence.

Saint-Germain stepped into his slippers. “This is much better,” he said abstractedly. “Yes,” he went on as he secured his wide belt, “you’ve been very wise. Hao Sai-Chu has cost me too much already. I have sacrificed my mosaics to his greed. It would be unpardonable to become victims of his stupidity. I assume that there was another document?”

“The scribe told me it was an accident and that the two papers had stuck together,” Rogerio said quietly.

“And the second letter was an order for imprisonment or execution.” His compelling gaze rested on his servant’s face. “Execution,” he said softly. “I will work the forge tonight. Tell the other three that we leave at first light.” He went to the door of the dressing room. “The rain is stopping. That’s in our favor.”

Rogerio bent quickly, and when he stood again he had a thin Egyptian dagger in his hand. “You may have need of this, I think,” he said as he offered it to Saint-Germain.

Saint-Germain’s small hand closed on the hilt. “So I might,” he said lightly, and tucked the weapon into his sleeve before stepping into the hall.

Text of a letter from the Pope of the Nestorian Christian Church of Saint Thomas in Lan-Chow to the Nestorian community in K’ai-Feng.

In the twelfth month of the Year of the Rat, the Thirteenth Year of the Sixty-fifth Cycle, the one thousand two hundred seventeeth Year of Our Lord, to the Pope and congregation in K’ai-Feng.

Greetings from Lan-Chow.

We are certain that you have heard of the latest Mongol incursions here, and we wish to reassure you that we are, by the Grace of God, unharmed. There have been many battles to the northeast but they have not penetrated this far, and we are confident that the reinforcements promised to the garrison here will be sufficient to keep the barbarian invaders from reaching our walls.

A fortnight ago, during the first real storm of winter, one of the local customs inspectors discovered that an innkeeper has been passing messages to the Mongol spies. This despicable act was related in the Tribunal and the man has been sentenced to death by exposure, both for the sake of expediency and as a warning to any others who may seek to enrich themselves by such treason. We have said a Mass for the repose of the wretch’s soul, as Our Lord has admonished us to do, but I must add that most of us believe that the criminal is far from redemption.

The last news we heard of the outer world came some little while ago from a foreigner passing through Lan-Chow to the Mao-T’ou stronghold. He informed our District Magistrate that he had seen evidence of Mongol raids at two locations along the road here, and had lost one of his three outriders in a skirmish with a band of outlaws, though he could not say whether they were Mongols or highwaymen. From him we have been led to understand that the Paulist Church in the West is filled with tribulation, just as Cha Ts’ai prophesied so long ago. It comes from departing from the words of the master and listening instead to the disciple. We will pray that they may be guided out of the darkness of the soul they have made for themselves, and remember at last that the Way of God is found through the brotherhood of creatures, and the dedication to those principles for which Our Lord died. In this, certainly, we are in agreement with our Taoist brothers.

We have agreed to provide this Shih Ghieh-Man with more information as we get it from the other churches in the Empire, and he has said that he will send word to us if he learns anything of importance.

The signs are for a long, wet winter here, which will bring more snow into the mountains, and will block the passes until late in spring. Already travelers are being warned of the danger of venturing too far into T’u-Bo-T’e, as the Land of Snows is treacherous at the best of times. The farmers in the district have been saying that they are apprehensive about their winter crops because of the heavy rains, and it is true that onions and cabbages are not as plentiful as they were at this time last year. Many valleys to the north of us were visited with blight, and as a result there is little grain for them to store away. If the Mongols have suffered equally, they will return with the ferocity of hunger when the rains stop. It has been suggested that all farmers establish a system of sentries so that they will not be taken unaware if Temujin’s horsemen should decide to come into the western mountains again, which seems all too likely.

We have agreed to send three of our congregation into Tien-Du and K’i-Shi-Mi-Rh to discover if any of our churches still endure there. If our future is as bleak as some of the army captains have warned us it might be, we all may be forced to leave this place and seek elsewhere for our homes. Mei Sa-Fong will head the group, for he is the most knowledgeable of the congregation, and has traveled farther than any of the rest of us, and knows the cities to the east and south. He takes with him Chung La and his sister Mei Hsu-No. The three will travel by water most of the way. Rivers and canals will carry them to the sea, and it has been arranged that they will go by sea around the end of Tien-Du. Mei Sa-Fong has been instructed that if he does not find Christians there, he is to continue westward. We have provided him with routes to Mi-Sz’i-Rh and Ki-Sz’i-Da-Ni, where Shih Ghieh-Man tells us that the Church rules everywhere since the time of an Emperor for whom the city is named. I have always believed that such a place was more legend than fact, but he assures me that the rumor, if anything, underestimates the city. A few of the elders have said that we are not wise to put our faith in so few of our number, but no one else in the congregation is as competent. Should this party visit you, I ask that you will receive them in the name of the master and give unstintingly of your aid. What they may discover will be of use to you as well as to us.

Mei Sa-Fong and Mei Hsu-No spoke at length with this Shih Ghieh-Man and said that he was most helpful to them, though he has not been in Mi-Sz’i-Rh or Ki-Sz’i-Da-Ni for a very long time. He said that since the Muz-Lum followers have taken much territory, it is not as easy for Christians to move through their countries as it once was. Mei Sa-Fong informs me that if he can face Mongols, he can deal with any Muz-Lum he encounters.

My congregation and I pray that our Christian brothers and all our countrymen come safely through the ordeal that is ahead. Even as Our Lord was tested, so are we, and we must show ourselves worthy of His struggle. We have been taught that those who rule the earth are the self-disciplined, which we must keep in mind through the coming years.

With my blessing to you and your congregation, this by my own hand.

Nai Yung-Ya

Pope of the Nestorian congregation of Lan-Chow

4

Mao-T’ou stronghold sat at the end of a ridge of hills above a winding road between two narrow valleys, very much like the spearhead for which it was named. The keep itself was of thick, ancient timbers but the outer fortifications were of split logs standing in foundations of mortared stone.

“As you see,” T’en Chih-Yü was explaining to Saint-Germain as they rode up the approach through a powder of light snow, “the north flank is our strongest, but if assault came down the crest of the hill, we would not have a chance against any large force. Thirty, forty men we could withstand, but no more than that.”

Saint-Germain nodded grimly, holding his gray to the pace of the Warlord’s feisty sorrel. “You will need to build up most of the walls. An outer retaining wall might be helpful.” The approach was steeper here, and a few pines grew in this fold of the hill, though higher up they had been cleared off, both to provide lumber for the stronghold and to provide attackers little opportunity for concealment.

Chih-Yü’s scale armor jingled as she urged her horse up the incline. It was necessary here to ride single file, and as she took the lead, she called back over her shoulder, “We’re short of labor, so it might be difficult to undertake more building. I was hoping there was a way to strengthen the walls as they stand.”

“There is,” Saint-Germain assured her, “and it is better than nothing. Do you have manpower enough to dig a ditch—a deep one—around the stronghold?”

“A ditch?” Her voice rose in surprise.

“Mongols fight on horseback. A ditch would deter them for a while. It would certainly slow them down. You’d have to contend with the archers, but you have your own bowmen.” His horse, unfamiliar with the ground, stumbled, and Saint-Germain strove to bring the gray’s head up. The hooves scrambled on the frost-hard earth, and though he did not fall, the gray was favoring his off-front hoof as he resumed the upward climb.

“What happened?” Chih-Yü asked, drawing in her sorrel some little way up the track.

“He cast a shoe, I think.” Reluctantly Saint-Germain swung out of the light Persian saddle he favored, and drew the reins over the gray’s head. Speaking softly, he stepped to the horse’s head and bent to lift the leg. “Yes. If you’ll give me permission to use your forge, I’ll replace it this afternoon.” He began to walk up the hill, leading his horse.

“You may do what is necessary, but my own smith can attend to it.” She had brought her sorrel back toward him.

“Undoubtedly, but as I prepare my own alloys, I prefer to work them myself.” He looked up at Chih-Yü, and his expression became enigmatic.