Sylvandrus Polli came up to the newcomers. "Be welcome in the house of Bondama Clemens," he said. "Your companion is being treated by Mater Rhodanthe, who will tell you of his condition later. If you will come with me, I will show you to your rooms. Your personal cases are being brought in from the stable. Will you need a servant to help you, or would you prefer to manage on your own?"

The merchants exchanged glances, then Basilios said, "If you could spare one to wait upon two of us?"

"Of course," said Polli. "This way," and he started off under the overhang of the atrium, leaving Niklos to go to Olivia.

She was seated at her writing table, a tree of oil-lamps providing illumination for the reports Niklos had given her earlier. "What have you learned?" she asked when he had explained the basics.

"They're worried about the Huns, that was conspicuous, and not just in words, but the whole of their expression: more worried than they are about Roman tax collectors." He paused, then added, "Orestes said that they have their sights on the Carpathians." As he said that, the first rush of rain washed down over the hillside, sounding like a continuous load of pebbles had been dropped across the land.

Olivia looked up at the ceiling and a shiver of discomfort went through her, but she spoke calmly enough. "I have been thinking that I should send you to Sanct' Germain with my next letter to him, as soon as the storm is over. You can see for yourself how he is faring, and you may add your voice to mine if you think he would be wiser to leave the mountains than to stay."

"And what of you? Do you intend to come with me?"

"No, much as I would like to do it. If you think Aquileia isn't safe, the roads north are much less so, and not only because of the Huns." She smiled without amus.e.m.e.nt. "Don't fret, Niklos. The household here will guard me well enough, though I will miss you while you are away." She smiled, and there was something profound in her eyes, an acknowledgment that she could finally be of use to Sanct' Germain, who had done so much for her. "If you have to be gone until winter, so be it, so long as you find him and determine he is safe."

"Rogerian is with him. Why should he need me?" Niklos asked.

"Rogerian has only recently left Constantinople, and he won't have reached the Carpathians yet; for all we know, the Huns have caught him," said Olivia with the kind of tranquil determination that Niklos knew it would be useless to dispute.

"All right. But speak to the merchants this evening, before you decide to send me off."

She considered. "Very well. But if I tell you that it must be done, I expect you to comply without complaint."

Niklos sighed. "As you wish, Olivia," he said, and began to plan what he would have to take with him on the coming journey.

Text of an arrest warrant for the detention of Rugierus of Gades, issued by the Imperial Secretary, Herakles Akacios, in Constantinople, copied with fixed ink on vellum and dispatched by Imperial couriers to nine cities in Thracia and Moesia.

To the Imperial Governors, the Praetori Custodii, Governors, regional guadians, the garrison Tribunes, and the Proconsuls of the Emperor, this notification of detention from the Imperial Secretary, Herakles Akacios, at the pleasure of the Emperor Theodosios.

Be it known that the servant of Dom Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios, one Rugierus of Gades, currently believed to be traveling alone toward the Danuvius River, is to be apprehended and returned to Constantinople to explain to the Imperial Questor certain matters put before the Imperial Questor by the factor Artemidorus Iocopolis, at the exemplary instigation of Patras Methodos, who has declared he is convinced that this Rugierus of Gades is part of an organization of smugglers who may or may not be allied with Rugierus of Gades' employer, the Dom Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios.

In order to determine the truth of this allegation, Rugierus of Gades must be held and returned to Constantinople. Failure to comply with this order will serve as an indication that the official refusing to carry out this order is no longer loyal to the Emperor Theodosios and the Roman Empire in the East.

Those who are willing to pursue this matter will be brought to the favorable attention of the Emperor, and will, in due time, be rewarded for that loyalty. Those who shirk this duty will be known as officials of tergiversation and no longer worthy of the trust bestowed upon them by the Emperor.

At ten days before the Vernal Equinox, Herakles Akacios Imperial Secretary to the Emperor Theodosios at Constantinople

5.

For two weeks the mountains had been showing signs of spring: pines and oaks shed their mantles of snow; the little creeks lost their ice and ran chuckling down into the lake at the end of Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit; a few early flowers struggled into the sunlight, leaving the snow in patches around them. The sounds of birds returned to the air, and the underbrush rustled with the pa.s.sage of foxes, badgers, marten, deer, and wild boar; the first few bear emerged from hibernation and grumpily sought out streams for fishing.

Then, five days after the Equinox, winter returned in gelid fury. Snow rode horizontally on ferocious winds and the trees once again were swaddled in white. Occasional loud cracks came from the forest as branches broke under the weight of snow and wind. The many people at the monastery crouched indoors, crowded together, their tempers sharp and their states of mind alive with increasing fear. No one looked forward to the Paschal Ma.s.s that would be celebrated the following morning at dawn.

In the old wooden chapel, Sanctu-Germainios continued to tend those persons the monks in the infirmary would not touch; it fell to him to set broken limbs and remove frostbitten fingers and toes, to purge putrid lungs and poisoned guts, to sew up cuts and gouges, and to set misaligned joints. On the second day of the blizzard, Isalind was brought to him with a badly sprained ankle and a severe sc.r.a.pe along her shin.

"How did this happen?" Sanctu-Germainios asked her as he knelt beside her to touch her swollen leg. He motioned to Nicoris, who had been sorting lengths of linen, to come closer. "And bring the steady chair. She needs to sit down so she can raise her leg to keep the ankle from swelling any more than it has."

"I was carrying slops to the midden, and I slipped." Isalind scowled and ground her teeth, both in aggravation and against the pain. "My ankle twisted as I fell."

"I see that," he said, and glanced at the two monks who had brought her. "The skin is not broken, she has none of the signs of inward illness."

"We have no means to care for her in the infirmary," said one of the monks, his voice devoid of all emotion.

"Then it is fortunate that I do," said Sanctu-Germainios. "You may put her in that chair." He went in, pointing to a straight-backed, square-seated one that Nicoris had moved beside the raised bed he used for treating those seriously injured.

The monks did as he instructed, neither of them liking the work they were having to do. Both of them made an effort to touch Isalind as little as possible. As they put her down, they both made the sign of the fish. "That none of her ills pa.s.s to us," said the shorter of the two, then lowered his head and made for the door, his taller companion following him. Neither made the sign of the cross as they departed.

"It is because I'm a woman. The infirmary monks don't like treating women. They say it compromises their chast.i.ty." Her aggravation was obvious from her face and the harshness of her voice.

"They're becoming more stringent about their vows," said Nicoris, raising her voice so that she could be heard. "They aren't comfortable having so many residents who don't want to practice their rites and rituals. They told Bernardius not to talk Latin."

"It is also part of their discomfort with having bodies. They believe holiness is attained through neglect of their bodies in all manner of ways," said Sanctu-Germainios. "It is a foolish thing to do; if you ignore the flesh, it will lead to all manner of unnecessary ills, and in the end it will shorten life." He had seen it before, in many places, and he knew beyond doubt that clean bodies resisted disease and infection better than bodies that were not.

"They are fools not to have a better bath-house and proper latrines," said Isalind, not only to agree with him, but to try to keep her mind off the gnawing ache from her ankle. "I wouldn't have to carry slops if they had latrines. No one would. And we would stink less than we do, and have fewer lice and lice fever. Our clothes could be kept cleaner, as well, if there were a laundry here."

"The monks won't agree to a bath-house or a laundry. They say it glorifies the body to have enclosed latrines and baths, and that clean clothes promote vanity, all of which they believe imperil the soul, and all of them fear for their souls with the Huns about," said Sanctu-Germainios, recalling his fruitless discussion with Priam Corydon, and the awkwardness that had resulted from it. "The monks prefer their dirt and their vermin. It comes from their peculiar understanding of chast.i.ty and their disdain for their well-being."

"An enclosed latrine wouldn't lead to debauchery," said Isalind, then hissed breath through her clamped teeth as Sanctu-Germainios slightly repositioned her leg.

"But they fear it would," said Sanctu-Germainios. "And their fear makes it a certainty."

Isalind took a deep breath and let it out slowly, striving against her pain. "It would make their winters easier. With their flocks and herds, they have dung enough to tath their fields. Slops aren't required. A channel could carry the waste out of the valley and down the mountain. If any of them have the courage to build such a channel-with the Huns about, as you say." She scowled as she lifted her leg until it was straight. "I have truly hurt myself," she said.

"That you have," said Sanctu-Germainios, rising and reaching for a stool to put under her elevated foot.

"What will you have to do?" Isalind asked. She was pale; her ruddy hair made her look pasty.

"I will tell you when I have discerned the extent of your injuries. Your ankle is clearly sprained, but you may have broken a bone in your foot as well; I will not know if you have until the ankle is less distended. And I'll want to clean that abrasion."

"The slops spilled. You can probably tell. I reek of them." Isalind looked abashed at this confession.

"You'll have to give up your clothes, and not for the odor, for the animalcules that may cling to them," said Sanctu-Germainios. "You will need to keep the laceration clean for it to heal. Nicoris will bring you an abolla to warm you for now. Being cold when there has been an injury can be very dangerous."

She looked skeptically at Sanctu-Germainios. "My man won't like me undressed before you."

"Tell him that your clothes were unhealthy; I will go into my sleeping alcove when you change; I will not see you naked," said Sanctu-Germainios, watching while Nicoris went to the one of his traveling cases he had indicated and removed an abolla and a long-sleeved tunica made of sand-colored wool; both belonged to Rugierus, but Sanctu-Germainios knew he would not begrudge them to Isalind, for he had more clothing to choose from.

"This should be enough for her to be properly dressed and warm." Nicoris set the garments on the raised treatment bed.

"If you will heat some water so we can put her in it to wash," Sanctu-Germainios suggested. "Then we can add more hot water so her foot can be soaked in restorative salts."

"The salts you use on the horses and mules?" Nicoris asked.

"The same. Tendons are tendons, no matter what animal or human contains them." Sanctu-Germainios laid his hand on Isalind's arm. "You will recover so long as that sc.r.a.pe has no infection. But to avoid that, you must be clean."

She sighed. "Patras Anso won't like it."

"Nor will Priam Corydon," said Sanctu-Germainios, who had had his share of disputes with both the Patras and the Priam, "but treating injuries is not a religious exercise, no matter what they may believe." As he said this, he thought back to his centuries at the Temple of Imhotep, the Egyptian G.o.d of healing and architecture, whose priests provided medical treatment for all Egyptians, no matter which of the G.o.ds they favored or what illness or injury brought them to the temple.

Nicoris rolled out a large wooden tub and set it near the stone hearth. "I'm going out to load the cauldron with snow," she announced, antic.i.p.ating his need. "You can build up the logs for me, Dom, so the water can boil. I'll be back shortly." She hefted the large iron pot from its hook over the dying fire. As she opened the door, snowy wind shrieked into the old chapel, chilling it and making the lengths of linen flutter from their neat stacks into confusion.

Isalind glanced around her, taking stock of the chapel for the first time. "You are treating no one else but me?"

"I have at present nine other patients in the old dormitory. I carry them there once their hurts are dressed, where their companions and families may care for them." He smiled at her without any sign of concern. "You will be at your man's side by full dark."

She wrinkled her nose. "I suppose my clothes will be useless after this? Blood and s.h.i.t won't wash out, will they?"

"Most likely not," he said. "If you need clothes, you may keep what I give you."

"My man wouldn't let me accept such a gift, neither would Patras Anso, but I thank you for your offer," said Isalind.

Sanctu-Germainios went to his red-lacquer chest and brought out a small jar. He then took a small pottery cup from the top shelf of the chest and poured a little of the contents into the cup. "I will mix this with a little wine and honey. I want you to drink it. It will lessen your pain and help the swelling in your ankle diminish."

She watched him as he prepared the mixture. "Is there anything in it besides what you say?"

"The medicament has ground willow-bark and pansy, which reduce pain and swelling, crushed juniper berries, celery seed, and ground pepper for swelling and stiffness, in a paste of sourberries, which helps to preserve it and provides a lessening of fever if any should arise. It is useful in treating sc.r.a.pes and strains, and tightening of the joints. I have been told that it has an unpleasant taste. The honey will help that, and the wine will aid the medicament to work, for it eases the body and strengthens the blood." He used an alabaster spoon to stir the mixture, then gave the cup to Isalind.

She drank cautiously, pursed her lips after the first swallow. "You're right. Its taste is unpleasant."

"Well, drink as much of it as you can endure," he recommended, then turned to see Nicoris struggling with the cauldron br.i.m.m.i.n.g with snow, the wind pursuing her, howling. Going to help her, he closed the door and set the brace, then said, "You have done a fine job, Nicoris." He took the cauldron from her and carried it easily to the hearth.

"There's more snow coming down," she said, watching him speculatively. "This is a very bad storm. The pa.s.ses will be closed again for at least a week." She pulled off her byrrus and hung it on a peg near the door to dry. "I'll get more once the tub is full, so we may adjust the temperature of the water."

Sanctu-Germainios went to the stacked logs at the end of the fireplace stones and selected three lengths of good girth. He brought these back to the weakening fire and carefully set them to burn, leaning them on the embers to promote a good draw of air. Then he placed the cauldron on its hook once more and swung it into the fireplace over the logs. "I should have done this before you returned."

"You have been treating Isalind," said Nicoris, still scrutinizing him; she knew how heavy the snow-filled cauldron was, and she was amazed that he could lift it so effortlessly. "I was approached by a monk while I loaded the cauldron. He says that the hermits have come down from their caves. They're in the monastery in the upper cells, and they have announced they intend to remain until the storm pa.s.ses."

"That shows some small measure of sense," said Sanctu-Germainios.

"They're claiming that G.o.d has sent the storm to show us His might." Isalind stopped herself from saying something more reckless.

"How did you find out about it?" Nicoris asked.

"Everyone was talking about it in the dormitory," said Isalind. "The Watchmen were complaining that Monachos Anatolios has been exhorting them while they've been on duty, telling them that they are betraying G.o.d."

"They want the world to end, so G.o.d will reign on earth," said Nicoris, her face set.

"You do not want that to happen?" Sanctu-Germainios asked, a touch of irony in his tone.

"Do you? They say only the most dedicated Christians will be chosen to share the Kingdom of G.o.d, all the rest will burn forever in h.e.l.l," said Isalind. "Monachos Anatolios has stated that only virgins can hope to be among the few who will attend upon G.o.d's Glory when the apocalypse comes. Those who try to forestall the Second Coming by opposing the Will of G.o.d will be among the first cast into the Pit." She managed to drink the last sip from the cup, then set it on the floor beside her chair.

"He expects G.o.d to prefer men like himself, I imagine. Men of his kind usually do," said Sanctu-Germainios.

"Don't let any of the religious hear you say that," Nicoris warned him. "Antoninu Neves has had two of his men sent away from this place because they would not honor the religion of the monks."

Sanctu-Germainios looked surprised. "When did that happen?" And why, he added inwardly, did no one tell him about it?

"Yesterday morning, while his men were bringing in more wood for all the fires," said Isalind. "They were accused of chastising the monks for praying instead of working at a time when labor was more necessary."

"How unwise of them," said Isalind.

"I must suppose it did no good," said Sanctu-Germainios.

"Since the soldiers were cast out, it's a double loss. There are two fewer men to cut and saw wood, and no monks are willing to take their place," said Nicoris. "Neves has said that such losses are damaging to all of us."

"And Monachos Anatolios says it is G.o.d's punishment for our lack of submission to His Will," said Isalind.

Sanctu-Germainios bit back the remark he wanted to make, and said instead, "As soon as the water is warm, I will wash your leg and then you can prepare for your bath. When I am done, I will leave so you may get into the tub."

"I'll remain with you when you come to bathe, in case you need any help," Nicoris said to Isalind. "You might have difficulty getting out of the tub."

"So I might," said Isalind, staring at her puffy ankle.

"Thank you for that," said Sanctu-Germainios, once again struck by her beneficent pragmatism and her unusual directness. If only, he thought, she would tell him the truth about herself, for after their second love-making, he knew beyond all doubt that she had not been veracious with him.

Isalind tried to flex her foot and let out a small mew of dismayed pain. "How long will it take before my ankle is well?"

"That will depend on how you treat it," said Sanctu-Germainios. "If you will follow my instructions, you may hope to be significantly improved in a month. You will feel better before then, but your ankle will not yet be strong." He saw her wince at his remark. "There are things you can do that do not require carrying heavy items. Devote yourself to making clothes and mending those that need it. That is as useful as carrying slops."

"My man won't like it," she said with foreboding.

"If you would like, I will explain your situation to him. But whatever he may think, you will only delay your recovery if you try to resume your duties too quickly."

Isalind looked troubled. "I have my tasks to do."

"Not while your ankle is injured." He regarded her steadily. "Neglect it now and it will never be fully strong again."

She shuddered. "The monks have told me I should pray."

Sanctu-Germainios gave a single shake of his head. "Pray if you like, but do not stress your ankle."

Although Nicoris had said nothing, she was clearly listening to everything. She used a poking-stick on the logs to get them to burn more fiercely. "Pay attention to the Dom," she advised. "He has great skill."

"All of us from Apulum Inferior know that," Isalind said brusquely, going on with a bit more cordiality, "All of us have seen what he can do."

"Then do as he tells you," Nicoris said, bringing a stool to the side of the wooden tub.

Isalind sighed. "It isn't that simple."

Nicoris clicked her tongue impatiently. "Then don't fault him when your ankle twists on you again."