"Did she say so?" Sanctu-Germainios asked.

"She . . . implied it."

"And you agree?"

Niklos set his long-handled brush aside. "Yes. I do."

Sanctu-Germainios stood very still; the sound of the monks' chanting reached them, disturbingly serene. "If that is what she truly wants, then she shall stay with us. But I suspect she will not."

Text of a letter from Atta Olivia Clemens in Aquileia to Sanct' Germain Franciscus at Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit monastery in the former Province of Dacia, written with fixed ink in Imperial Latin on split leather, never delivered.

To my oldest, dearest friend currently calling himself Dom Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios, the greetings of Atta Olivia Clemens in Aquileia, although not for much longer: Sanct' Germain, I have just sustained a most annoying visit from our Praetor Custodis, informing me that as I live beyond the walls of Aquileia, I and my estate are not included in the city's protection, although I pay taxes that are supposed to ensure me security from all threats that are a.s.sociated with the city. The Praetor Custodis also informed me that nine of my horses are being requisitioned now with another nine to follow in four days, for the city Guards to increase their patrols beyond the gates. It was all I could do to keep from railing at him. But I was mindful of the jeopardy of my position, and kept my words and manner civil-you would have laughed to see me so placating. I very nearly simpered. He puffed out his chest and gave orders like a sea captain in a wealthy port. Magna Mater, I am glad he has finally left, though I am rancorous about the horses! I am irritated by that officious, greedy fool, for it is a reminder of my situation here; this region has enough pettiness among its officials without the efforts of Sixtus Gratian Fulvius Draco.

As you should know by now, Rogerian is with me. I find it curiously amusing that I have your bondsman and you have mine. I trust that Niklos Aulirios is proving useful as well as providing you understanding company. I have to admit that I am uneasy on your behalf-not about the Huns-what with you being at a monastery at present, for Christians are becoming increasingly inflexible in regard to what and whom they deem deviant, such as vampires and ghouls.

In acknowledgment of hazards here, I am about to leave Aquileia for the villa at Lecco on Lago Comus; I expect to arrive there on the twenty-third or -fourth day of September. It will mean giving up more than half my harvest to local farmers, but it may be that they will need it more than I. Everyone here is afraid that the Huns will soon be upon us, thanks to the Praetor Custodis, and that has brought about serious disagreements among the more important personages in the city. Some want to reinforce the walls and prepare for battle, while others want to hire more mercenaries to keep the Huns away from Aquileia entirely, and others think that we should treat with the Huns to arrange tribute so that we may lose only our money, not our lives and property. Since all those stances seem to me to be short-sighted, I believe it is time I found a more congenial place to stay until the danger is over. Whether or not any Huns will attack us, or when, disputes, such as the current ones, are not beneficial to those of our blood; when the living are afraid they turn first upon those unlike them, which bodes ill for me, and for Rogerian, or Rugierus, or whatever you wish to call him. Following your good advice of four centuries past, I am removing myself from the fray.

Which is what I hope you will do. That monastery may be protected in its valley, but once the Huns have a taste of gain to be had from a location, they will make every effort to obtain all that they can. For my sake if not your own, do not remain there any longer than you must. As soon as it is practicable, leave the place and get beyond the region controlled by the Huns. I have no doubt that you will conduct yourself honorably, for you have done so for all the years I have known you, and I have no expectation that you would change now, much as I might wish that you would. But please, ask no more of yourself than you would of any living man in that valley. As I read this over, I wonder why I bother to ask this of you; you will do what you decide is necessary, the peril of little consequence to you. Yet I know my warnings will go unheeded, though I give them because of my love for you, which has never wavered from the first time we lay together, when Nero wore the purple and my loathsome husband was still alive.

And now, before I become maudlin, I will commend myself to your good opinion in spite of my hectoring, and look forward to the day when we can exchange bondsmen and enjoy as much time together as will be prudent.

Your most allegiant Olivia on the tenth day before the end of August in the 1192nd Year of the City, or the 439th year of the Christians

8.

A gelid mist hung over Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit, not substantial enough to be called even a drizzle but more than fog; buildings were shrouded in clammy wraiths as if they were the artifacts of a ghostly dream. The little daylight that penetrated the obscuring haze was so diffuse, it was impossible to tell what time of day it was. The whole valley was silent, for the last of the monks had gone and there was no more chanting or ringing of the Ma.s.s bell to help mark the canonical Hours; no refugees called, no soldier shouted orders, no women supervised playing children. Emptiness haunted the place as much as the murkiness did.

"Do you think the straw-men are too damp to burn?" Niklos asked Sanctu-Germainios in the Greek of his youth as they made their way around the broad s.p.a.ce between the two walls, carrying large jugs of oil; they would ladle the oil over each of the dummies. In the hush, his voice sounded unnaturally loud.

Sanctu-Germainios shifted his pluvial of waxed wool more tightly around his shoulders and scrutinized the moist air. "If the rain does not grow heavier, and the Huns arrive before mid-day we ought to-"

"And how do we know when it's mid-day?" Niklos spoke sharply. "I don't like this weather, and I don't like having to wait for the Huns to try to kill us."

"Before the last of the men left at the end of the night, the guards in the gate-tower saw a large company of mounted men moving up the Roman road. Making allowances for the weather-as you mentioned-they should be here about mid-day, since they will not risk coming too rapidly, with visibility so poor," said Sanctu-Germainios as calmly as he could. "You heard the guards." He climbed up the ladder onto the battlement walkway, carrying the jug of oil carefully so as not to spill any of its contents.

"How do we know that the men they saw were Huns? They could be Goths, or Gepidae, or Daci, or Carpi. Or any number of other refugees." Niklos followed him up.

"They could be," Sanctu-Germainios allowed. "But it is unlikely; most refugees are trying to cross into Roman territory, not go to ground here." He poured a ladle of oil over the nearest straw-man. "There is an advantage to the damp: it will tend to keep the fire from spreading."

"That is most worthwhile," said Niklos with heavy sarcasm, "considering."

"Dying in fire would be the True Death for us both," Sanctu-Germainios observed.

"I'm aware of it," said Niklos brusquely. "That's what I mean. What good is it to escape the Huns if we are killed by fire?" He straightened the next straw-man before emptying his ladle over the shoulders of the figure. "I reckon that's why Nicoris changed her mind about staying; you told her what we were planning to do."

"Not all of it, but enough," said Sanctu-Germainios. "She knows that you and I may not . . . be able to leave here."

"She might be attacked on the road, or have to fight the Huns in another place," said Niklos.

"That is why I asked her to go with Neves and his men. She would have a greater chance with a company of armed men than with just the two of us. She saw the advantages of that."

"Don't you want her here, with you?" Niklos dared to ask.

"If everything were settled and the monastery still a haven, then yes. But as matters stand, this is not her risk to take; she deserves protection, and here I cannot give it to her." He paused. "I hope I have done what will spare her from harm."

"And I suppose you paid Neves and his men to guard her?" Niklos guessed aloud.

"She is safer with Neves and his men than she would be here," Sanctu-Germainios reiterated, no emotion in his voice; he told himself again, as he had told her, that he did not want to be the cause of the death that would bring her to his life.

"I guess that means you did pay them, and knowing you, very well," said Niklos, saying nothing more as he continued on until he reached the next ladder. "Do we do the figures on the outer wall as well?"

"As many of them as we have time to; oil will keep them burning in spite of the damp," Sanctu-Germainios replied, wondering if Niklos would be willing not to remind him of Nicoris; his anxiety for her had been growing since she had left with Neves and his mercenaries. He concentrated on his immediate situation, trying not to fret for Nicoris. "Once the Huns break through the outer wall we-"

"-set these on the inner wall alight, and then the dormitories, and under cover of the flames, we make our way toward the lake, setting fire to the straw-men on the outer wall, trapping the Huns between the two blazes-that is, if the Huns cooperate. If they fight from outside the walls, we will have to think of another way." He coughed to express his discomfort at that notion. To keep from dwelling on their chance of failure, he said, "I trust our horses are well enough concealed to escape the notice of the Huns, otherwise we'll be in a worse situation than we are now. I don't wish to try to get out of the mountains on foot, not with the Huns about."

"One of the hermits has them in his cave. I gave him feed and water for the five animals: three horses and two mules; they are saddled, bridled, haltered, and laden: we can ride as soon as we reach the cave. For his service, I offered Monachos Guilielmos the last wheel of cheese from the larder-the one Monachos Vlasos left for us-and the gold crucifix from the wall of the refectory. Money would have insulted him." He followed Niklos down the ladder.

"Do you think the hermit is reliable? Does he have any idea of what could happen here if he fails us?" Niklos' nervousness was becoming more apparent; he fidgeted with the tails of his belt.

"He used to be a merchants' factor before his family died of pustulant fever: he may be a little mad, but he knows the importance of this duty."

Niklos nodded, going on an instant later, "Do you think we'll be able to get out of this place unnoticed?"

"I hope we can. The weather favors us." His hand slid around the hilt of the Byzantine long-sword hanging from his belt in a scabbard. "I have a dozen caltrops as well, and a dagger." He tapped the satchel slung across his shoulder.

"Then you antic.i.p.ate a fight," said Niklos.

"Not necessarily, but I am prepared for one, just as you are," Sanctu-Germainios said as they crossed the narrowest part of the s.p.a.ce between the two stockades.

"Do you think we're being watched now?" Niklos asked, hesitating a little as they reached the outer wall.

"In this?" Sanctu-Germainios waved his free hand through the air. "They are welcome to try: I can barely make out the stable from here."

Niklos made a sound between a laugh and a sigh. "Why have they waited so long? They must suspect the monastery is empty."

"Very likely they do. They want to strike when the monastery is most exposed and its defenses are at their weakest." He stopped at the foot of the ladder and looked closely at Niklos. "You know this. Why do you continue to-"

"Pester you? For rea.s.surance. I don't know you well, but I realize that you're not like Olivia. You are a self-contained man, you don't reveal yourself as readily as she does. You keep your own counsel. If you are hopeful or discouraged, you make no show of either. You don't dissemble, but you aren't forthcoming, either. Olivia is much more open; she opines on everything. You puzzle me often, she never. I've tried to discern your purpose, and half the time I'm unable to figure it out. So I tell you what I understand and hope you'll confirm it for me." He turned away, shocked at his own outburst. "I intend no disrespect, Dom."

Sanctu-Germainios contemplated Niklos' restless movements, saying at last, "I did not think you did." He began to climb toward the battlement walkway. "We will be through here shortly. Then we can take our place on the battlements to watch for the arrival of the Huns."

"What if they don't come?" Niklos asked. "What do we do then?"

"If the Huns are not here by nightfall, we will set fire to the walls, collect our horses and mules, and take the southern hunters' track leading toward Drobetae."

"In the dark?" Niklos climbed up behind Sanctu-Germainios. "Why don't we just set fire to the place and leave now?"

"Because the Huns would know that the fire had been set, and they would search for us. Given their numbers, they would find us." He reached the walkway, turned, and offered his hand to Niklos, pulling him up the last few rungs with no apparent effort.

Niklos swallowed once, hard, then scowled. "I'll try not to keep badgering you, Dom."

"And I will try to explain myself," Sanctu-Germainios promised him as they began their work of applying oil to as many of the straw-men as possible. They had completed half of their task when the sound of hoof-beats reached them, at a distance, but moving at a trot.

"Huns," said Niklos.

"Down the ladder. Leave the jugs. We need our torches." Sanctu-Germainios had already dropped his and was making for the ladder, his satchel swinging along his side.

"At the gate-tower?"

"Yes. Hurry." He was on the ground, prepared to run. "Hurry," he repeated, starting away from the outer wall with amazing speed.

Niklos rushed after him, but could not keep pace with Sanctu-Germainios' uncanny speed. He continued to run with dogged purpose, reaching the gate-tower as Sanctu-Germainios emerged from the tower onto the battlement walkway, a burning torch in his hand. "Are you going to light them now?"

"No; as soon as they break through the outer wall; we need as many of them in the s.p.a.ce between the walls as possible," Sanctu-Germainios answered. "For now, will you go to the monks' church and ring the bell twice?"

"Why?"

"So that it may seem that there are more men here than is actually the case; the longer they are confused, the better it is for us," came his answer. "Then go to the alarm and sound it loudly, so that it might seem that there are soldiers still here to defend this place."

"All right," said Niklos, and ran off to the monks' church. He found the bell-rope quickly, rang it twice, then rushed on to the courtyard between the dormitories where the alarm hung. He struck the hanging bra.s.s tube four times with the mallet beside it, and for a moment he could no longer hear the sounds of hors.e.m.e.n approaching. "They're coming up the river track," he said to himself, troubled by the ease with which the Huns were advancing. With the main approach still blocked by the rock-fall, the river track was the most well-marked and the easiest of all the hunters' trails. He heard the abrupt orders shouted to the hors.e.m.e.n; the sound goaded him into speeding back to the gate-tower and up the ladder. "Do you see them?" he asked as he came up to Sanctu-Germainios on the platform.

"Not clearly. They are too far away from us for me to determine what-" He stared intently. "They are gathering at the top of the lake, and that should bring them to the makeshift gate in the outer wall." His night-seeing eyes were less hampered by the dark, but the mist blurred all that moved in the distance.

"Do you think they know about the stockade getting burned by Monachos Anatolios?" Niklos looked directly at the torch flaming near them in its iron sconce.

"If the spy inside the monastery did not tell them, their scouts must have done so," Sanctu-Germainios said.

"Doesn't that worry you?" Niklos demanded, finding comfort in talking more than in any response he was given.

"Yes, it does, but for now, I must put my attention on the problems actually confronting us here, not on what I speculate could happen. We have antic.i.p.ated as much as we could, and done what we can to prepare for any contingency." He thought back to the many battles he had fought, in his native land, in Anatolia, in Egypt, in Greece, in Gaul, and as quickly as he recalled them he wished them away, knowing he needed to center his vigilance on the Huns and the stratagem he hoped would succeed. He realized that Niklos wanted to hear more from him, so he said, "You know what our plans are; you can carry them out whether I am able to or not. Use your good sense and you will win free of this place."

Niklos glowered. "You're not planning something rash, are you?-something I don't know about. Something Olivia wouldn't approve."

"I am planning to do the things we have agreed upon, but that does not mean that the Huns will permit us to best them." He went silent, listening to the shouts and war-cries of the Huns as they started up from the lake toward the damaged outer wall of the monastery.

"I wish this fog would lift," said Niklos, needing to keep conversing.

"I hope it will not," said Sanctu-Germainios. "The less the Huns see clearly the better for us." He drew his sword. "Get ready."

Niklos took hold of the battle-axe that had been slung across his back; he unfastened the hook and swung the weapon around. "Ready," he said, and started along the battlements, working his way toward the mid-section of the inner wall.

"At least it is damp enough to render their bows inefficient," Sanctu-Germainios said as he checked the straw-men along the wall.

"The damp softens their bow-strings, doesn't it," said Niklos to show he grasped Sanctu-Germainios' meaning.

"Yes. Just as it softens the skeins on the ballistas." He went into the small tower that stood at the half-way point along the inner wall; he climbed up to the platform and peered into the thickening fog. "I can see about thirty mounted men headed this way, but I hear many more than that."

Niklos listened. "Many more than thirty," he agreed, becoming restive. "A lot of men for the two of us to take on."

Sanctu-Germainios swung his sword, testing its heft. "Wait until most of them are inside-"

"-the outer wall. I remember," he said testily, although he knew he had been about to set the oil-soaked straw-men alight.

Sanctu-Germainios listened, his full attention on the sound of the company of Huns. "There are more arriving, I would guess another forty," he said a little bit later as he came down from the platform. "They are about to circle the outer wall, to decide where to break through."

"Do you think they'll set the wall on fire?" Niklos asked.

"You mean before we do?" Sanctu-Germainios shook his head. "No. They are not carrying torches. Take heed of everything you hear."

"Do you want to remain here, or shall we-"

"We should stay in position until we know where the Huns will break through. Keep in the cover of the tower if you can. The longer we can remain undetected, the more chance we have to get away. We do not want to draw their attention yet." Sanctu-Germainios motioned for Niklos to be silent. "They have started to move."

The noise of their horses' hooves grew louder, pulsing like the sea. There were occasional shouts as the van of the company followed around the outer wall toward the gate-tower, their mounts at the canter.

Niklos was still, as much from fear as in response to Sanctu-Germainios' order. "There're more than a hundred of them."

"At least a hundred," said Sanctu-Germainios. "I think there may be as many as one hundred fifty."

That total increased Niklos' dread. "So many." He lapsed into a brief silence. "Do you think we'll actually get away?"

"I hope we will," said Sanctu-Germainios, lifting his sword again. "The more we can avoid confrontation the greater our chances are."

A wailing cry arose from the Huns as they encircled the outer wall, a sound similar to the howls of wolves, but deeper and more menacing. There was very little echo, which made the sound yet more disconcerting.

"What if they don't come in the new gate? If they come in the gate-tower, how will we get to the outer wall to set the second straw-men afire?"

"I hope they will take the new gate; it is less formidable than the main gate. The new gate is better-placed for a raid, as well, since it allows the Huns to reach the river track without being exposed to defensive a.s.sault. It is the easiest to bring down, as well." Sanctu-Germainios moved quickly, rising in the archers' niche to look out on the enemy hors.e.m.e.n.

A sudden, shattering moan punctuated by axe-blows rent the air; the Huns not at the new gate went rushing back to it to help to break it down. A few of them were screaming encouragement to their comrades.

The battering continued for a short while, then the wood groaned and cracked.

"Be ready. They will get through quickly, now the gate is gone." Sanctu-Germainios seized his torch.

Niklos was shaken; the determined vehemence of the hors.e.m.e.n scared him badly; to rea.s.sure himself, he muttered, "Light these straw-men, then down to the dormitories and set them on fire. Then, using the smoke for cover, go to the outer wall and light the straw-men there before we go out through the open gate."

"Exactly," said Sanctu-Germainios. "You will need your torch."

"I have it," he said, trying not to listen to the new gate being pulled apart, the cheers of the Huns marking its destruction more than the sc.r.a.pe and thud of its collapse. The clamor of the Huns grew louder as they poured through the hole left in the wall, fanning out as they got into the s.p.a.ce between the two walls. Most of the men rode toward the small fields and the paddocks and pens, where their jubilant victory turned to wrath as they discovered that the livestock was gone and the fields were empty.