by Eric Flint
“Ask him!” she said angrily. Damn Benito. He always did this to her. It had all seemed a good thing for everyone. Aidoneus had agreed! Well, if she found him another bride. Sort of agreed.
“Very well,” said Benito. He turned his head. “Aidoneus, did you agree to this change in the bargain between the three of us?”
The god of the Halls of the Dead took misty form in the candlelight. Then gradually he became the man she’d spent four months as the bride of. He bowed slightly in greeting. “In my own way.”
“Which, if I remember rightly, isn’t straightforward,” said Benito grimly. “What is the catch? I didn’t agree to any changes and this is my bargain as much as Maria’s.”
“I would insist on your being party to the new bargain,” said Aidoneus. “Maria offered to find a new bride, a bride who would remain with me all year around. Actually, she offered to find me many. Of course, that cannot be, but one, a suitable one, might be acceptable, although I was…hurt, yes, a mortal feeling, but accurate. So I agreed that, if by the appointed time she had done so, we could make a new bargain. I did not tell her what my terms would be.”
“You testa di Cazzo!” yelled Maria. “You…you…”
“She’ll throw things any minute,” said Benito, which immediately stopped her doing so.
“It makes no matter, Benito,” said Aidoneus. “She has found me more worshippers…but not another bride to replace her.”
Maria felt her mouth fall open. “What! There’s that girl who is doing her best to clean herself up and live up to you. All she wants is a bit of comfort…”
“That may be what she wants. It is not what I need.”
“Ah,” said Benito. “So just what do you need? Or what don’t you need?”
“Both fit together,” said Aidoneus. “Until recently, I had only had what Maria seems to think I need again: women seeking escape. Women who fill my empty halls with endless ‘I am not worthy’ and averting their eyes, and telling me how they adore my mother, who is also a goddess they worship. She is my mother. I love her, I lend her my strength. But I know her, and they don’t. I know I am a god. I know my need. I need their help to also be a man, bound to humanity.”
“Oh,” said Maria, thinking she’d encouraged the woman to worship.
Aidoneus nodded, understanding. “Yes. Not quite what I sought. Benito Valdosta, Maria was like a breath of fresh air for me. She did not worship me at all, she lost her temper often, she cared about all sorts of things that had nothing to do with the dead—and spent very little time in the rituals they’ve made up in the pursuit of fertility. You and I know what gets women pregnant, and it isn’t just offerings and dances and prayers. The rituals help the mind, and that helps the body, but bodies have also gotten pregnant without it always, and will go on doing so. That’s what women do, with the ones they desire, with the ones they love. What I got was the women who in your world become nuns. Very devout, and ready to give up the world. That’s what Maria has ‘arranged’ for me to have more of.”
“That was what I thought you needed—willing, eager devotees,” said Maria, “instead of desperate sad women, who took the almond as a last resort. That’s what I tried to do, to arrange for you.”
“Willing, yes; eager, yes. Devotees? No,” said Aidoneus. “You were very different from what I’d had for…millennia, now. Can you imagine, an endless stream of devout women ready to leave the world and live alone as a bride with the Lord of the Dead?”
“Enough to make a fellow wish he were dead,” said Benito with a wry smile. “I know what you mean. Women who say ‘Oh, my husband would not like that.’ They never ask him, or really know much about him. They play doormat, and put the fellow on a pedestal and treat him like some minor god. Some men like it. The weak and the insecure, particularly. The ones who are master of nothing, with no skill and no place, outside of their marriage. Such woman are good brides for weaklings. But not for me—and not for you.”
Aidoneus didn’t see the humor of it, he just nodded in agreement. “I thought they were all like that. Endless dripping wells who tried to worship me in between their crying. What the Halls of Dead need is life, striving, full of desires and laughter and determination, and not women training to be dead. Women who are people, not just a shadow of their husband. I have, since Maria, been studying them, among humans. There are many who add little but worship of their partners. I have no need of that from my wife. I have been looking into the threads of the lives of men. A man wants someone he can worship, too, and who can stand at his back and fight when things are desperate.”
“That sounds like my…our wife,” said Benito.
“Yes,” said Maria, still angry, partly with herself, partly with Benito, and partly with Aidoneus. “That’s all very well, Benito, but Aidoneus needs a worshipper to do this. Going to live with the dead is not easy. They need some reason. They’re afraid of the dead, and there’s not much there for a woman. No company, no children, no shops…”
Aidoneus looked thoughtful, as if these were things his kingdom lacked which had never occurred to him. “But yet many is the woman—or man—who forsook all those to be with someone, who went out into wild lands and built and dreamed and…were alive. Yes, there is a kind of worship there. A kind of wishing to be worthy. But it’s not that given to a god. I have seen that.”
“It’s called love, and you can’t get it made for you,” said Benito. “You want what I found.”
“I suspect you are right. Unfortunately, that is what I would consider a better bargain. One I would be willing to unmake my old bargain for, without traps or conditions.”
Benito scratched his head. “Look. I can help you. But I can’t do it for you. And I’m an expert on this, which you aren’t, because I’m human and you’re not. You see, you’ll have to go out and find it, Aidoneus. And I promise you, it’s not always easy or smooth. It’s worth it when you do find it, though.”
There was a silence from the god. And then he said slowly: “Go…and find a bride?”
“That’s generally what men do,” said Benito. “Unless it is an arranged marriage. And if you think about it, maybe that’s what has been wrong for you all these years. Why don’t you try it?”
There was a longer silence. And then the god of the Halls of the Dead nodded. “I accept your help, Benito Valdosta. And your advice. If I can find a bride…”
“Then you can invite us to the wedding,” said Maria. “And I’ll try to introduce you to some candidates…”
“But they must not know I am a god, or what power I wield, who my mother is, or what a terrible task I must do.”
“If they love you and accept you and all of that, you’ll have found someone worth having. It’s not impossible. Maria accepts me, and I’m not all joy.”
“You can say that again,” grumbled Maria, but deep inside she felt like getting up and dancing. She hadn’t realized that this had been what was troubling her, or why or how. “But I love him anyway, Aidoneus.”
Benito decided it was time to change the subject, now that a resolution seemed to have been reached. “I gather my father is here and sitting at death’s door. I don’t know whether to be upset or pleased. He isn’t quite what I thought he was.”
“What did you think he was?” asked Aidoneus.
“When I was a little kid, a god. And after Mama and he fought, a monster out to kill us all. And now I find out that he was just a man.”
“Marco wanted me ask you, Aidoneus, about the rose garden of Laurin,” said Maria, glad now to escape the conflict of emotions and, she had to admit to herself, a little guilt.
“The dwarf. In a way, Laurin is a vassal. It is a matter of appearances really. He is his own master, and the master of any man—as long as he has his belt of strength on.”
“Well, apparently the petals from this rose garden are supposed to be a cure.”
“They could be. Do you know what the rose petals are? They are the virtues of the too-soon dead. The dead n
eed their full bloom to go beyond. And yet some would gladly give that bloom to the living.”
“Probably to the living that they loved,” she said.
“Yes. Considering the matter makes me think you are right, Maria. But Laurin does not allow that choice to happen easily. I will speak with him, but I think it unlikely he will agree.”
* * *
The next morning brought the triumphal return of the fleet. And if anyone thought the hero Benito Valdosta looked half asleep, no one mentioned it. Well, no one bar the Doge and that in a private interview, later. Benito smiled and blamed it on anticipation of seeing Venice and his darlings.
Chapter 43
The Duchy of Milan
Francisco Turner was a very worried man, riding away from the dying city of Terdona. Nothing could be done to save it, he knew—which was just rendered all the more horrible by the fact that, once you got a short distance away, the countryside of the Po Valley was as verdant as it always was in late spring and early summer. Farmlands alternated with mixed stands of oak and hornbeam, with elderberries scattered here and there.
Combining the facts in his head with what he knew of Carlo’s poisoner, and what the man he knew as Kazimierz had said, he knew they faced desperate times, which called for desperate measures. He rode with his escort first to Val di Castellazzo. There he was greeted by the ever grateful Emma, and taken to see Kazimierz, who was at his desk surrounded by books.
Francisco did not beat about the bush. “There has been an outbreak of plague in the town of Terdona, a town we had under siege. I’ve burned the sward around it, and put a guard on it that should see nothing leaves it alive.”
Kazimierz closed his eyes and sighed. Then, he put his hands to his head. “I knew it had happened. And her power and that of Orkise have grown as a result. The agony of death feeds them both, because she is being devoured by Orkise.”
“You said she was the only person who could control this monster. We need to capture her and force her to make it go away. I can bring all of Sforza’s troops to bear on this, if need be. We outnumber her little guards, and we’re real soldiers. I think we will need your help, though. You’re the only one who seems to know what we’re dealing with.”
Kazimierz pulled his hands down from his temples and steepled his fingers. “The Lion of Etruria—your friend Valdosta—knows. His strength within his demesne may suffice; yours—or mine—would not. What do you think I have been working at here? Traps. Ways to constrain, without us dying. I don’t think you understand, and possibly she does not either, but Orkise will soon be out of his lair. The serpent will stalk the countryside, driving its legions, who, if the text is correct, bear their legions, and those legions each carry legions. I don’t know quite what that means, but it suggests that Orkise will command enough force to overbear all of Sforza’s men. What I do know is that some form of compulsion is being laid on her minions. They will fight to the death for her, and cannot be reasoned with.”
“Then we need a clever trap, one that can separate her from her men. She’s just a woman—”
“I have heard slightly stupider statements, but not many,” interrupted Kazimierz crossly. “Elizabeth Bartholdy was also ‘just a woman’ and she could have killed fifty men on her own, before she called on the power at her command. This woman is, if anything, slightly worse in that she is already partly dead and cannot be saved. The poison of Orkise is in her veins. Not even black lotos could do much more to her mind. If she is hurt by a knife or an arrow or bullet, her body will be weakened and she could die. And if she dies, Orkise will be loose, without any leash. She is also not without the ability to kill or infect. Lucia carries in her bosom a snake. I know, because I have seen it. It must be a part of Orkise. It would be lightning fast to strike, and I believe it can call the serpent to her rescue.”
It was Francisco’s turn to sigh. “So then, what do you think we should do? We have to do something.”
“Burn Terdona. Burn it as hot as you can. Orkise, it seems, does not like fire. In the meanwhile, I am working on magical traps. There are many but there is little information as to what the power of Orkise can merely override.”
“There will still be some live people in Terdona. Possibly women or children. The plague doesn’t kill quite everyone.”
“I know. But wars kill women and children, and grandmothers, and people like me, who just happen to be passing through this one, without intent. The plague is worse. It does not even try to target soldiers, but kills indiscriminately.”
“I’ll call a council with Sforza’s senior officers…and send a message to Venice.”
“Do that. But give me a token of yourself. Something you have worn close to your skin. If I find an answer or a way to entrap her, I will summon you.”
“You are actually a very powerful magician, aren’t you? What are you doing here?”
Kazimierz grimaced. “Believe it or not, I came here looking for a place to grow old peacefully. I have been avoiding using magic so as not to call attention to myself. If it had been anything else—a new Elizabeth Bartholdy, even a new Jagiellon—I would just have moved on to some other place. But the plague will destroy too much. When there is no fuel, people burn books. When there is no food, they die or eat each other. There is no trade, and precious little your gold will buy. It affects everyone, everywhere. There really is no ‘other place’ when this disease ravages.”
Florence
Archimandrite von Stebbens received the message and the messengers from Rome two days after the thaumaturgic watch had been effectively destroyed. The glass orb they’d been using had melted abruptly, and gobbets of melted glass had hit the blessed water and exploded into daggerlike shards. The Knights doing the ritual would have been killed, but for the armor Von Stebbens had insisted they wear.
What they had seen—the vast bruise-purple serpent—had told them that Mindaug had succeeded in his purpose.
The riders from Rome were nearly exhausted. It was a very long way in a short time for clerics. But they, too, knew that something—something that had been killing eagerly—was on the loose in northern Italy. Now was not the time for bickering between factions in the Church…or anyone else.
“I am Father Thomas Lüber of Baden,” said the tired man, accepting an arm to help him stand, as he almost fell after dismounting. “I have with me a letter of authority from the Grand Metropolitan in Rome, responding to Duchess Lucia Sforza’s invitation. And in response to your request, you are to be my escort.”
“It will show unity in the Church, where she sought to sow discord—and will get us into striking distance of Count Mindaug.”
“That is the Grand Metropolitan’s intent, but I beg of you…well, have you anything for saddle sores?” asked the priest plaintively.
“That is an area in which we Knights tend to have more experience than most,” said the archimandrite, foregoing a smile. “Contrary to rumor, we are not born in the saddle, but the order does require long training in it. And we will be unable to leave for Milan until early tomorrow morning. Food and rest you must have, Father Thomas.”
* * *
The next day they set out for Milan.
The seal of the Duchess Lucia did indeed allow them to pass, escorted, into Milanese territory, and into the city itself.
Chapter 44
Venice
It was the evening after the fleet had returned, when feasts and celebrations were still the order of the day, and the worries and business of the next few days were yet to come, that the household at the Casa Montescue had an unusual visitor. They had all just returned from a sumptuous dinner at the Palazzo Ducale, and the various members of the family were going to bed, when Benito noticed there was someone else in the salon. Just standing there, watching them. Katerina and Lodovico had already left, and Marco was in the act of bidding them a good night.
Not part of the family or a retainer. A man who was dressed in clothes that were, in spy parlance, so ordinary that most peo
ple would not have noticed them—certainly in contrast to the men of the Case Vecchie dressed for the court of the Doge. A man so ordinary of feature it would be hard to describe him…except for his eyes.
Maria recognized him first, seconds before Benito. But then, she had seen much more of him. “Aidoneus?”
He bowed slightly. “My lady.”
“Why, um…”
“The appearance? I have certain powers.”
“Why are you here in the flesh?” asked Marco, in a voice that said there was more than Marco present. He was not entirely pleased.
Aidoneus bowed, far more deeply. “I ready myself to go courting. To search for a bride who will take me as a man. I would begin that quest here, in your demesne. A gesture, one hopes, of trust.”
“That is a great ambition. I grant you permission for your search.”
“I gather it is not easy,” said Aidoneus.
“No, but the rewards are great,” said Benito, a little amused by the appearance of the man.
“You are a lot more handsome than you’ve made yourself look,” said Maria critically, “and it’s rather late at night for me to introduce you to anyone.”
“I came, rather, to deal with another matter you asked me about, that of the petals from the rose garden of Laurin. I have spoken with the dwarf, and he will permit a mortal to wrestle with him.”
“To wrestle?”
“That is his traditional challenge to any who want to gather the petals that the roses let fall. It must be in Tyrol, in his mountain home, before this dawn, in the garden itself. I can guide you thence, through the paths not taken by mortal feet. There are terms, of course.”
“There always are,” said Benito. “Let’s hear about all the tricks and traps, Aidoneus.”
“The fight takes place in the rose garden itself. Damaging or breaking flowers, as Witege did, has a proportional cost. In limbs. Eyes. Ears…whatever Laurin can take off and yet leave you alive. And the garden itself is surrounded by a single thread. That thread is your life-thread. If you break it, you will die.”