Come Twilight (44 page)

Recognizing this as an order instead of a recommendation, Ragoczy Germainus said, “Comites Egnacius expects me to travel through Roncesvalles Pass.”

“He expects you to reach Asturica,” said the Capito.

“Yes. But—” He did not go on; it was clearly useless to bother. “Are you certain the Septimania Pass is open?”

“Travelers have used it recently,” said the Capito in what was not quite an answer.

“Isn’t there fighting on the southern slope of the mountains?” Ragoczy Germainus persisted in a tone that implied he knew something of the matter.

“It is not enough to stop travelers,” said the Capito, becoming less cordial.

“That you know of,” Ragoczy Germainus pointed out.

The Capito said nothing; the tip of his lance swung in Ragoczy Germainus’ general direction. “A wise man would go back to the fork at the bridge and take the eastern path.”

Ragoczy Germainus closed his eyes briefly, his thoughts tumbling. “Are there other patrols in this part of the forest with the same errand as you have?”

“The Dux of Garomma has companies of men like this one on all the roads leading to Roncesvalles Pass. He has the plight of many travelers to consider, and has ordered out patrols to warn those on the road. Eight men and a Capito in each company. All travelers are told the same thing. It is the Dux’s intention that all travelers be protected from harm.” Under his helmet, his eyes were stern. “Any man of honor must bear the responsibility that has fallen to him.”

“No doubt,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “And no doubt you have good reason to keep watch for him.”

“It is his order that we do.” The Capito was staring straight ahead now.

“And sending travelers through Moorish territory will serve the Dux’s purpose, will it not.” He turned his open hand up. “Since there is no choice, I suppose I must, perforce, do as you require.”

“The Dux of Garomma,” the Capito corrected, and kept his men behind him as he watched Ragocz Germainus turn around, his manservant and mules following after; he and his men followed them down the trail for four or five thousand paces.

“Do you really think that there are more companies patrolling the forest roads?” Rotiger asked when the soldiers were no longer behind them.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there are a few,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “Perhaps not as many as he claims, but three or four.”

“Is that why you did not challenge him?” Rotiger asked, unable to conceal his disappointment.

“No. I did not challenge him because I did not like the odds, and there was little to be gained from fighting.”

“And who is this Dux of Garomma? I have never heard of him.” Rotiger had come up beside Ragoczy Germainus, for the road was wide enough to accommodate them both if they rode close together.

“Nor I. He has probably bestowed the title on himself.” He shook his head. “I am surprised we do not see more of that.”

“But Dux of Garomma? Is he claiming the river for himself?” Rotiger was too indignant to be amused, but he did his best to diminish his anger. “How can he claim a river?”

“I suspect he has carved himself out a fiefdom with the river for a border, and has struck some sort of bargain with the Moors to send travelers through their territory so high taxes can be levied in exchange for the Moors respecting the Dux’s boundaries,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “It will save him from having to fight on two fronts, which I reckon he has insufficient men to manage, or supplies. If he can keep his lands and his claim intact, his sons will make the family’s reputation, and the title will be accepted. In four generations, the family will be honored by all. If he fails to hold it, the family will be disgraced.” He pointed ahead to the old stone bridge that straddled the river they were approaching. “There it is.”

“We can still turn westward,” Rotiger suggested.

“We can, but it would not be wise,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “I assume we are still being watched. If we fail to cross, the soldiers will return.”

Rotiger cursed in Greek, adding, “Could we not elude them?”

“Yes, but it would bring more attention to us, which I would like to avoid.” He set his horse toward the bridge. “Well, old friend, come on. We have a long way yet to go, and the day is far advanced already.”

At last Rotiger voiced the one concern that weighed most heavily upon him. “The Septimania Pass will take us into the region of Holy Blood.” He had to raise his voice to be heard as Ragoczy Germainus led his mule across the bridge. “Directly into it.”

Ragoczy Germainus turned in the saddle. “Yes,” he called back. “I know.”

Text of a letter from Habib ibn Rayhan ibn Timuz in Karmona to Akil ibn Dawud ibn Timuz in Valenzia.

In the name of Allah, the All-Merciful, and by His Prophet Mohammed, may I have no sons to live after me if I report to you, my kinsman, in error, or in any particular fail to give an accurate account to you of the recent demise of our most illustrious cousin, Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa, who died at the new moon immediately before the Spring Equinox, in the fifty-seventh year of his age. May Allah show him the glories of Paradise, and rejoice in his coming.

Our cousin took ill at his palace in Karmona shortly before the Winter Solstice. He had been hale enough before then, and it did not appear that age had laid too heavy a hand upon him—thanks be to Allah—or that he had lost any of his reason or memory. The first appearance of the illness that felled him was deceptive, hardly more than what any man might expect in winter. But what had begun as an occasional cough soon became a profound weakening of the lungs, which left Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa in a debilitated state. His physicians treated him with lemons and wasps, but he did not rally, and at last sank into a stupor that lasted for four nights, and ended shortly before dawn on the day described. It was a cold, blustery morning and turned later to rain, as if the heavens mourned his loss with us. His body was prepared with honors and his burial was held with all the men who served him in life attending him to his grave. Even a Christian priest blessed his body so that Christians might not show disrespect to his grave.

In his accounts of his service to Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa, our grandfather says that in his youth he was given to sensuality and the pleasures of the harem, but that certain disappointments hardened him and made him a leader of fighting men who was renowned for his relentlessness in battle. It is shown that once Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa had a taste of battle, he fought valiantly at the head of his own soldiers for twenty years—a most distinguished career. Timuz ibn Musa ibn Maliq served Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa for nearly twenty years, and his records show that once Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa discovered the joy of battle, that he never flagged in his devotion to the spread of our people and our Faith. The campaigns in which these two participated bring fame and esteem to all our family, distinctions for which we must show ourselves worthy.

It may be that you and I will be summoned to fill the office left open by the death of Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa, and if that is the outcome—may Allah show favor to us in our lives—we must thoroughly acquaint ourselves with all our cousin has done, so that we may more truly fulfill the goals to which he dedicated his life. There have been many who depended upon Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa’s good-will, and who would continue their support of our family and ourselves if we are well-informed. To that end I propose to go to the palace here in Karmona and spend many days learning all that I can, so that if the Caliph should decide to have our family continue in this office, I will be ready to assume the responsibilities promptly. If you agree to join me in this
enterprise, I believe we may expand the good work we have done and add to the high repute our kinsmen have already gained.

There are many officials to whom I must apply for endorsement, a task that might as easily fall to you as to me if you were here with me, my cousin. Working together, we can accomplish far more than either one of us can do working alone. I ask you to consider how we may mutually benefit ourselves in this time, and I beg you to take the plunge and come to Karmona.

It is true that Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa had many sons, and three of them have spoken out for his post, but they are highly placed men in the army, and they have not the time or the learning to undertake the administration of his post as he carried it out the last decade of his life. They do not understand the demands of commerce, for they have given their lives to war. We, on the other hand, are well-schooled in commerce and have traveled for reasons other than war, which make us particularly useful in the position that is being left empty. Let his sons continue his battles for him, as they did while he lived, and let us undertake his other tasks. My heart is willing. I pray yours may be, too.

There are accommodations for you and your wives in the palace, as there are for me and mine. If we neither of us add too many concubines, it is possible that the palace will suit us both for many years to come. Think of the advantages of working closely together, and consider how our shared efforts will improve all our fortunes. I am acutely aware that I am no fighting man, and I know you are not, either; our strengths lie in other abilities. Therefore, let us make the best of our situation and accept the advantage that is presently available to us. Our talents are complementary, and if we do not become too greedy, we may yet control the fortunes of Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa. You cannot deny that our interests are better served in concert than at cross-purposes. Our grandfather benefitted from his long association with Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa, and why should we not do as he did?

Send me your answer by messenger as quickly as you may. I tell you it is folly for you to remain in Valenzia when there is so much to gain here in Karmona. This at the first full moon after the Spring Equinox.

Habib ibn Rayhan ibn Timuz

“What has happened to all the trees?” Rotiger marveled aloud as they continued their descent from the Septimania Pass. They were well below the elevation where the forest had grown yet they found only empty slopes; where the snow ended there were patches of sparse grasses and low-growing weeds, but the trees were gone.

Ragoczy Germainus pointed off to the west, where in the far distance, many ridges off, they could just make out the dark green smudge of forest against the sky. “There,” he said, his tone as devastated as the mountainsides around them. “They are not completely gone.”

Rotiger could find no words to express his sorrow for the vanished forest. He rode on in silence, only once speaking up when he saw a vast flock of goats at the end of one of the narrow valleys. Immediately above the animals was a scar on the land where a section of the slope had slid away, exposing the bare, rocky soil beneath. “Is there more of this, do you think?”

“Oh, much more,” said Ragoczy Germainus, pointing to the goats. “And as they strip the land bare, there will be more.”

The next day revealed more of the same, and the toll it was taking, for a stretch of the road had dropped into the gorge on the east side of the track. Ragoczy Germainus and Rotiger had to dismount and lead their animals along a precarious, improvised path to where the road began again. There were signs that other travelers had reached this place and turned back.

“How many do you think have crossed?” Rotiger asked when they were safe.

“Very few,” said Ragoczy Germainus. “It is not surprising.”

“What is the point of this . . . this ruin?” Rotiger demanded as he got back onto his dun mare.

“The Moors need wood to build their ships,” said Ragoczy Germainus with quiet certainty. “And open land for their flocks.”

“And it is harder for enemies to hide on an open hillside than in a forest,” said Rotiger, nodding savagely. “No doubt it serves their purposes.”

Ragoczy Germainus said nothing; he was staring at the line of trees so far to the west, a minor frown forming between his brows. Finally he said, “We will not be able to travel at night, not with the road as it is.” He pointed ahead where the ruts in the road became rivulets, erasing the track for several hundred paces. “We will have to lead our animals awhile longer.”

Rotiger signaled his concurrence. “How much more damage will we find? Is it as bad further down?”

“It depends on how hard the winter was, and how many merchants want to use the Septimania Pass,” said Ragoczy Germainus, his dark eyes fixed on the far distance. “And how many goats have grazed here.”

“True enough,” said Rotiger, tugging on the rein and the lead as he continued after Ragoczy Germainus.

“There could be bandits, too,” Ragoczy Germainus called back to him as he picked his way ahead of his horse and mule.

“I should think not,” said Rotiger, keenly aware of the dangers they faced.

“What about villagers?” The question was deliberately provocative. “You expect trouble from them.”

“And you do not? Think of where we are.” Rotiger swept out his arm to indicate the desolation around him.

“I have thought of little else,” Ragoczy Germainus admitted.

“You are apprehensive about Chimenae’s tribe, aren’t you?” He halted his horse and two mules, then turned to face Ragoczy Germainus as he waited for his answer.

“I would be reckless not to be,” said Ragoczy Germainus with a tranquility that was little more than an urbane veneer. “I have also thought about Ubertez and Lavetta and Ambrosius. The longer our arrival is delayed, the more danger they will be in, I fear. So Csimenae or no Csimenae, we must pass through her territory, and quickly.”

“You think they are still abroad.” It was as blunt a statement as Rotiger could make.

“It seems likely.” Ragoczy Germainus’ manner now was diffident. “Unless there has been a campaign against them, we must assume there are more of them.”

“All still of her making and doing her bidding?” Rotiger asked, getting to the heart of the matter.

“That is what we cannot know,” Ragoczy Germainus replied, and fell silent as he crossed a small stream, wincing at the brief sensation of vertigo it gave him. At least, he thought, he had his native earth in the soles of his shoes to shield him from the greatest discomfort running water created. The hooves of his horse and mule splashed and slithered on the gravel bed, and they scrambled up the far bank with more efficiency than grace, but Ragoczy Germainus kept pace with them, glad to be away from the water.