Come Twilight (43 page)

As the first wink of brightness took in the loose material, Rotiger came nearer to it, his hands held out to the promise of warmth. “Do you think we will attract trouble with the fire?” he asked uneasily as he saw the flames rise.

“I think it is better to have the fire than not,” Ragoczy Germainus said. Although cold did not bother him, he found the small blaze comforting, and he sank down on the ground between the fire and the stream, relieved to have a chance to rest.

“That may be,” said Rotiger dubiously as he flipped back his pluvial and smoothed the front of his blue-gray woollen dalamtica; he moved nearer to the fire. “You have been unusually quiet, my master, and it is not because of the weather. Something is troubling you, and has troubled you since before we left Touloza.” When Ragoczy Germainus did not speak, he added, “If you continue to tell me nothing, I will guess, and assume my guesses are correct.”

“You know Comites Egnacius made threats,” said Ragoczy Germainus as if to dismiss any concern Rotiger might have.

“He made certain all your household knew. His own servants told us that we might all be held accountable for any wrong you did.” Rotiger shook his head, showing his distaste at so obvious a ploy. “Do you think that Comites Egnacius would truly put Ambroisus and Ubertuz in jail if you do not present yourself at Asturica?”

Again Ragoczy Germainus hesitated, his manner remote; then he sighed. “Very well. We are far enough away from Touloza. You might as well know.” He sat up, his hands locked in front of his knees. “Egnacius needs money to pay for his fight with Perpontus, and vintners like Ambroisus and Ubertuz have money and land that would be very useful for him to have. I would be a poor friend to give Egnacius the excuse he is seeking to confiscate as much of their wealth as he can.” He stared into the fire. “What he would do to Lavetta would be much worse.”

“And she is the crux of the matter, isn’t she?” Rotiger said, comprehension dawning at last. “I have been puzzling about this since we left Touloza. I should have realized that Lavetta was part of the tangle, though you only visited her in dreams.” He nodded. “So we must at least go to Asturica.”

“Yes. If Manrigo has any use for us—which I doubt—we will serve his interests for a year or so, and then find good cause to leave.” Ragoczy Germainus got up and began to pace, his restlessness as eloquent of his apprehension as it was uncharacteristic of him; it was the first hint Rotiger had that more worried him than he admitted. “That will keep Ambroisus and Ubertuz from risk, and Lavetta out of the hands of Egnacius’ soldiers.”

“Would Egnacius do that?” Rotiger asked, doubtful that so ambitious a man would do such a reckless thing.

“It depends on what the Pope decides,” Ragoczy Germainus said. “If Egnacius has the Pope’s support, Perpontus may risk everything to keep his position. Egnacius may have to show his ruthlessness to maintain his claim.”

There was more to it than Ragoczy Germainus was saying; Rotiger tried another approach. “Perhaps we should be grateful that Valenzia is in Moorish hands, so that we do not have to cross the Pyrenees in the east. That could be very dangerous. It would be unfortunate to go from Egnacius’ clutches to Moorish ones.” Rotiger did his best to turn this to a jest, but he did not succeed; when he saw no response in Ragoczy Germainus’ face, he tried again. “Is there anything else? What haven’t you told me?” He had been with Ragoczy Germainus long enough to recognize his reticence for what it was. “No matter what Egnacius does, you need not answer for it.”

“But I must live with myself,” said Ragoczy Germainus.

Rotiger had no response for that, so he said, “What more? You might as well tell me, for I will discover it eventually.”

Ragoczy Germainus sighed again, this time drawing the air out slowly and looking away. “He sent men to imprison you while you were gathering herbs for me. I paid them in pearls and they left. But I knew they would be back. I have assumed that Egnacius was planning to torture information out of you that he would find useful in his drive to claim Touloza.” He shook his head. “I gave the men-at-arms that I would say nothing, so that if you were taken and tortured, you would know nothing to their discredit.”

“So
that
is why you decided we must leave quickly. I thought it was Egnacius’ preparations for departure that—” He stopped. “Am I still a hunted man, then?”

“Probably not, at least not until Egnacius comes back from Roma. Then we may both be in disfavor, if not with Egnacius, then with Perpontus. Those two will not cease their disputes any time soon, no matter what the Pope decides. I hope Ubertuz has the good sense to go back to Primuntiaco, and to take his cousins with him. He can put the vineyards in the hands of monks and neither Egnacius nor Perpontus will dare to touch them; it is not what any of them would want, but it is better than falling into Egnacius’ hands.” He was quiet for a short while. “I apologize for telling you so little.”

Rotiger nodded. “I supposed something had happened, but I did not—” He stopped and coughed. “Never mind. We are where we are and we are bound where we are going.” With this concession, he hunkered down by the fire. “Why did it have to be Asturica that asked for aid? Why not Aquileia? Or Paderborn?”

“Why not Tun-huang?” Ragoczy Germainus suggested, recalling that distant outpost on the Old Silk Road with mixed emotions. “The Moors are a threat all Franks understand. As you know.”

“But surely—” He broke off. “Of course. He wants to tell the Pope that he is defending the Christian cause.” He smiled with a touch of rancor. “In a way, it is clever. He had to compel you to do his bidding and this was one way.” He rocked back on his heels. “Must we go to Asturica? Can we not choose another place?”

“I have to suppose that Comites Egnacius has spies at Manrigo’s court, as Manrigo does at his. If we do not arrive and there is nothing to account for our absence, others will be made to pay. Hardly the recompense I would want for friendship.” He frowned, the firelight accentuating the angle of his fine brows. “It is not fitting that any of them should suffer on my behalf.”

“Lavetta most of all, but Ambroisus and Ubertuz as well,” said Rotiger. “And you find that unacceptable.”

“Do you not?” Ragoczy Germainus asked, surprised at Rotiger’s tone.

“Not in the way you do,” Rotiger conceded. He shook himself. “The poultice.”

“Oh, yes,” said Ragoczy Germainus in another tone of voice. “If you will fetch a pail and fill it with water, I will make my preparations.” He was relieved not to have to say anything more about anyone in Touloza, but he did not mention it.

Rotiger hastened to do as he had been told, and decided to postpone any further inquiries for a while. He had learned enough to know he would have to spend a little time mulling over what he had been told. Taking care of the jenny was more urgent, in any case. He took the pail from their supplies and went to the stream to fill it.

“A pity we have no hens’ eggs; mustard and boiled nettles will have to do,” said Ragoczy Germainus as he opened the chest of red Roman lacquer he used to hold his medicaments. “Do we have strips of linen?”

“A small roll of them,” said Rotiger. “Look in the middle drawer.”

“Ah. Of course.” He found the roll and took it out, peeling several of the long strips from it. “Will she try to eat this off?”

“If you have mustard in it, I should think not,” said Rotiger, then, wise in the ways of mules, added, “but she may try.”

“Then keep her on a close lead so she cannot,” Ragoczy Germainus said, and went back to the fire where the pail of water was heating.

The wind was much colder now, and keener, cutting through clothing to flesh as if made of tempered steel. Two steps from the fire and its warmth was entirely lost. Rotiger pulled his pluvial more securely around him, saying, “It is a hard night.”

Ragoczy Germainus squinted into the wind. “Yes. But tomorrow will be easier. I think the storm is blowing itself out.

“Not before time,” said Rotiger with an impatient shake of his head.

“No,” Ragoczy Germainus agreed as he put dried nettle-leaves into the pail. “This should be hot enough. I will make a mustard paste.” He retrieved a small metal cup from his red-lacquer chest, measured out a palmful of ground seeds and carried them back to the fire, where he added a little of the hot water to the mustard, stirring it with his finger until it was the consistency of carpenters’ glue. “This will draw out the heat from her hock. The nettles will help to keep the swelling down.” He wiped his finger on the linen strips so as not to waste any of the mustard and set the metal cup on one of the rocks rimming the fire.

“Very good,” said Rotiger as he finished giving grain to their animals. “I’ll shift her load to the others until the hock is improved. No sense in forcing her to carry a pack when it would only serve to slow us down.” He laughed once. “Such attention to a jenny-mule. What would Egnacius say?”

“He would consign the jenny to the stew-pot and call us simpletons for bothering with her.” Ragoczy Germainus’ voice was flat, but that did not conceal his disparagement of such attitudes.

“No doubt,” said Rotiger, and came back to the fireside.

Using a stick to stir the nettles in the pail, Ragoczy Germainus waited for a bit before he spoke again. “What would you have done, old friend, had it been your decision to make?”

Rotiger was well-aware that Ragoczy was not asking about the mule; he considered his answer carefully. “Eventually, I would do much the same as you; I admit it. But I would not so readily accept the necessity.” He lowered his eyes. “And I would resent being coerced.”

“Ah.” Ragoczy Germainus pulled a wad of nettles out of the water. “If it will console you, I do not like being coerced either.” He let the nettles drop back into the pail. “This will be ready soon.”

“You do not resent it,” Rotiger pointed out.

“It is all so petty, such resentment, and the rancor that causes it,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “I cannot demean the lives of those who have befriended me by resentment.” He folded his arms and settled back to wait.

Rotiger nodded slowly. “I understand, but I do not share your state of mind.” He expected no response, and so was somewhat startled when Ragoczy Germainus said. “That, old friend, is not necessary.”

By the time the jenny’s hock had been poulticed and bandaged there were cries of wolves from above them, and Ragoczy Germainus built up the fire to keep them at bay. The two companions sat by the fire, wrapped in their pluvials, drowsing away the first half of the night. When they resumed their traveling, it was by the bright light of a moonjust on the wane; the wind was dying, no longer fierce but brisk, touched with snow from higher up the range. The distant cry of wolves mixed with the cry of night birds and the steady clop of their horses and mules. When they stopped again to rest and water the animals, the sky was growing light in the east, promising a limpid spring day.

“How much longer to the pass?” Rotiger asked as he checked the jenny’s poultice. “I think she is improving.”

“Very good,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “She is young and her bloodline is strong.” He had long ago developed a high regard for mules, having bred them by the hundreds for the Roman Legions. He patted the jenny’s neck, saying, “Olivia will be pleased.” For the mules had been bred at Olivia’s stud farm near Fruttuaria, and had been one of a dozen she had presented to him on his last visit.

“Is she still at Roma, do you think?” Rotiger asked as he handed an angled pick to Ragoczy Germainus, watching as his master bent to lift the mule’s hoof for cleaning.

“For a while yet, I would guess. She is expanding her holdings there, and for that, she must be present.” Ragoczy Germainus moved to the next hoof—the on-side rear—holding the leg tightly so that the jenny could not kick him. “Make sure the girths are tight. We have a long ascent ahead of us.”

A short while later they were underway again, heading through the changing forest toward the snow-mantled peaks; before long they saw patches of the snow, and then whole meadows of it. Breath steamed out of the horses’ and mules’ nostrils and the light dazzled off the snow.

It was nearly mid-day when a small group of mounted, armed men headed toward Ragoczy Germainus and Rotiger, their scale armor glinting against the blazing snow. They held their lances peacefully, point up and flapping pennons to show their purpose was not bellicose. The man in the van of the company held up his hand to halt his men as well as Ragoczy Germainus and Rotiger.

“Draw rein,” Ragoczy Germainus said to Rotiger in vulgate Latin. “I want to hear what these men have to say.”

“They may not be as peaceful as they look,” said Rotiger in Greek.

“All the more reason to be cautious,” Ragoczy Germainus agreed in the same tongue.

The company head spoke a version of Latin, too, but it was much coarser and mixed with a number of Frankish words. “Good day to you, stranger,” he said.

“And to you, Capito,” said Ragoczy Germainus.

“Are you bound for the Roncesvalles Pass?” The Capito rapped out his question as if addressing men-at-arms.

“That is where this road leads, to Roncesvalles and the north of Hispania beyond,” said Ragoczy Germainus mildly. “We are bound for Asturica on behalf of Egnacius of Touloza.”

The Capito shook his head. “You may well have such a duty, but you will not get there by this road. The pass has been blocked by an avalanche, and it will not be open again until late in spring, when the worst of the snow has melted.” He indicated the crusty drifts around them. “It will be some months yet before you can complete your journey.”

Ragoczy Germainus took a long, steady breath. “And to the west? What of passage there?”

“You may try if you like, but it will lengthen your travel, and you may not be allowed to pass into Asturias. The people there are not kind to strangers, no matter who they are. If you want to reach Asturica, before the end of summer, go east and take the Septimania Pass. You will have to cross Moorish territory, but you are not soldiers. You should be permitted to reach your destination with only double tolls paid.” He made a sweeping gesture with his lance. “If I had to make such a choice, I would elect to go by the Septimania Pass.”