Burdens of the Dead

by Mercedes Lackey

  And now—now he was leaving.

  She was Hekate. What did she care if one mortal moved away?

  Yet she did. And the dogs would miss him. She parted the shadow so that when she spoke, he would see her.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  He turned very cautiously. “I didn’t see you there, Lady. Just out.”

  She shook her head, denying his words. “You are leaving the crossroads. This place.”

  “I was trying to make that less than obvious. Yes. I have to go. You’ll take care of my friends here, will you?” He petted them, scratching behind their ears. Then, looking at the dogs. “I think you should leave here, if possible, as soon as is practical. There’s siege and war coming, probably sooner than they anticipate. That’s not kind to dogs or women.”

  She knew that. Oh, how well she knew that. “Will you be coming back?” she asked, remembering. Remembering far too much. This man was…kind. Unexpectedly kind. He was warning her.

  “It’s possible,” he said, cautiously. She sensed why. He did not want to lie, nor to promise what he could not do. “I go where I am sent. I may come back here to finalize things.”

  She was moved to a generosity of her own. She moved her power and set it lightly on his shoulders. “Hekate’s blessing goes with you. You will walk safe and silent in the darkness. It will cloak and hide you. And at the crossroads, the moon will light the right pathway for you, if you call on me.”

  He seemed taken aback, perhaps at the generosity. “I can help you to get out.”

  Now, she was touched. He did not need to do this thing, to offer safety to her, as he understood it. And he was not offering, thinking he would gain carnal favors of her. He did so because he—he liked her dogs. And thus, her. And he would do both of them a kindness.

  But of course, he still did not know to what he spoke. “I am Hekate,” she told him, gravely. “I choose my path.”

  * * *

  Antimo Bartelozzi did not know what insanity had overtaken him. He’d seen enough sad sights and victims, and indeed, beautiful women, for the lifetimes of ten men. He’d never let that impair his judgment or distract him from his task. Why was he telling her all this? And offering to get her out of here? Had he been poisoned and was he in some kind of hallucination? That might be why her image was so strange. She seemed for an instant, to be the night itself. He shook his head, desperate to clear it. He wanted a goblet of wine. Badly and right now. But she wasn’t going away. She wasn’t, somehow, the kind of woman you could brush past, or merely excuse yourself, saying you had to get on with things. “Um. Can I offer you a glass of wine?” he said, awkwardly.

  She nodded regally. “That would be acceptable.”

  * * *

  Libations and sacrifice at the crossroads were her due. It had been many years since anyone had done so much for her.

  “We could go to the taverna on the corner I suppose. Just…ignore anything they say to you. It’s not really a place for…ladies.”

  * * *

  It was at a cross-roads. It also reminded her why she had always had the sky as her temple. Darkness was not something that She of the Night disliked. The stale smoky dimness of this place was less appealing. No one saw her, or her dogs. There were other women in the place. One of them even attempted to come and sit in the alcove near the back of the smoky room that this Antimo had led her to. Ripper growled, and she backed off, looking a little confused. “Two goblets. Of the good mavrodaphne,” said the celebrant to the servitor who came to ask what he’d have. He must be a celebrant, who had come to enact the ancient sacrifice and act of making a libation. That strengthened her, slightly. It had been many years since she last had had any true worship from humans.

  “Two? You want some company, mister?” asked the servitor.

  “No,” he said, his voice seeming harsh, almost angry for a second. The servitor looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. It was possible, considering the magic Antimo wove about himself, that this was true. He did not see Hekate at all, but that was how she desired it.

  He brought the two goblets, and set them in front of Antimo. Wooden goblets, as appropriate. Antimo pushed one across the table to her.

  Was that it, nowadays? No prayers? No songs? No respects?

  “It’s surprisingly good wine,” said Antimo, reassuringly. “Taste it. I know it seems hard to believe coming from a place like this.”

  She did. It was indeed good wine. Rich and full of fruit, full of the summer. It was the first thing that she had tasted for many generations and it brought back a flood of memory. She had always been associated with the fruits of fertility. With harvest and the birthing. There had been feasts under the harvest moon, and the best wine offered…

  * * *

  It wasn’t really a whine. Just a sort of well, what about us? comment from Ripper, accompanied by a nose against his elbow.

  “Gently hound. I could have spilled that,” said Antimo. “I wouldn’t eat here myself, but dogs have a tougher digestion than most people. I suppose it is unfair at least from your point of view, eh?” He called the servitor over again. “I’ll have two bowls of stew.”

  “Two. To keep the other goblet of wine company, mister,” said the fellow. “Well, you’re paying.” He brought two shallow bowls of meat and vegetables from the black pot hanging on a chain at the fireside. Antimo set them down. Hekate’s dogs didn’t even wait for them to get to the floor. Hekate did not say she wouldn’t have said no to the food herself. She did not, strictly speaking, need it. But this was the closest she had come to being part of the mortal world for a long time. Antimo seemed content to sip his wine, however. So she did likewise, working her magic on it.

  “You will take some of this wine with you on your travels. Pour some out at the crossroads and call on me.” And then feeling a little odd—perhaps it was the wine after so many years, she stood up. “You must come back. My dogs and I will wait for you.”

  This time, he made the pledge. “I will.”

  She swept the night around her like a cloak and called Ripper and Ravener to her, and went out, to the third way. To her place.

  * * *

  Antimo sat looking into the gloom at the empty seat. What was all of this about? Why was he doing this? Was it all some kind of hallucination? But the bowls, when he picked them up, were empty and so—when he reached across and took it—was the crude wooden goblet. Only…it was no longer just a crude wooden goblet. Someone had carved into it, with artistry that was plain even in this poor light, a frieze around the body of it. A complicated scene of the chase, by the looks of it. Antimo quietly slipped it into his cotte, put a copper down to pay for it—or for the servitor’s pleasure, and left. Someone was complaining about how dim the taverna was.

  He was a little afraid. He’d often been scared and in real danger, and he was used to controlling that fear. But this, this was something different and alien. He remembered the silky softness of the dogs ears and was somehow comforted.

  He left town the next day as planned. But he had a wineskin filled with the wine from the taverna.

  * * *

  Two days later, at dusk, he left the group of cattle-buyers and struck out on the back roads. He was seeking a port to find a ship to take him back to Ferrara or, as his master had instructed, at least as far as Corfu, that he came to the crossroads.

  The other three travelers had all stopped a little further back and were eating a simple supper. Antimo was a little wary about them. They were chance-met companions of the road…apparently. But two of them were even more vague about where they came from and where they were going. The other man was a farmer heading for the coast to buy a horse. He’d had a good harvest, and never owned a horse before. There were bargains to be had down at Echinos. He spoke of it as if it was the big city and not just a coastal village.

  Antimo told them he was going to relieve himself. When he got to the crossroads, on the spur of the moment he pulled out the wineski
n and spilled some out onto the ground “Hekate.”

  The moon peered over the lip of cloud and seemed to brighten the left hand path.

  “What did you say?” It was the young farmer.

  He’d plainly overheard exactly. “Hekate. It’s…its an appeal for good luck and wise choices on a journey. An old superstition from my village.”

  “Oh. I thought she was the witch-goddess of the underworld.”

  The last thing he needed was a witch-hunt. “No. Just an old superstition about crossroads. I’m going to walk on a bit.”

  “Oh. Yes. I don’t like those fellows. I’ll be getting along too. We can’t be that far from Echinos.”

  Antimo noticed that he lingered a moment behind and spilled a little out of his wineskin onto the ground too. And that the other two had also got to their feet and were hastening to gather up their things and go after them through a dusk that was thickening, and shadows that seemed darker than usual. He and his companion quickened their pace; the road ahead seemed brighter, lit by moonlight that made the shadows behind all the darker.

  He expected at any moment to hear the footsteps of the other two catching up with them. And, truth be told, felt for his knife, expecting he might have to use it. The farmer had been a little too open about the money he carried with him, and Antimo had a pack that might contain, well, anything. He didn’t want a fight; the farmer would certainly be useless, and two against one were never odds he liked.

  But somehow, they must have taken the other track.

  Chapter 22

  Corfu

  The Venetian fleet sailed on the first day of November. Not a good season for sailing, but Benito had his weather information. All he had to do was persuade the nervous sailors, and particularly the ship’s officers, that he was right. The sailors…well, word had got around that he had help. The sailors of Venice had a rather ambivalent relationship with the mer-people. There was a fair amount of fear. But a grudging respect too. There were stories of those who been helped, or struck deals or friendships with the dwellers in the deeps. There were a few interesting sexual fantasies too. At least, Benito hoped they were fantasies. You never could tell with the nonhumans.

  The sea was cold, wet, and tossed with small whitecaps. But there were, so far, no winter storms.

  Still Benito was grateful to see Pantocrator looming on the horizon. At the same time it cut him to the quick to know that Maria and ‘Lessi were not there, waiting in a world that had become his.

  Neither was the other thing he had been hoping for: word out of the lands of the Golden Horde. “Your kinsman send word that Prince Manfred and Erik arrived safely, and left under a Mongol escort. With the envoy flags a-flying,” said Guiliano Lozza. “But nothing has come back out.”

  Benito swore colorfully. Lozza shook his head. “It’s consorting with sailors, Benito. Now, a man dealing with olives and grapes has to learn to moderate his tongue. By the way, I was told by my dear wife to give you this invitation to come and dine with us, to celebrate our harvest. She wrote it herself,” he said proudly, handing Benito a small roll of parchment.

  Thalia had been illiterate, a peasant woman, and had felt her station precluded her marriage to the swordsman landowner. So she was taking steps, was she? Well and good. Being able to read and write broke a lot of other chains. He’d seen it with Maria. One day, perhaps, all children could be taught.

  He unrolled the parchment. The care—and a slight unsteadiness still in one or two of the letters shone out of the script—a simply worded invitation in a childlike round hand. With the seal of the house Lozza and two thin strands of silk in the colors of the tassels on Benito’s sword scabbard. The colors of Ferrara.

  “Thank you,” said Benito, looking at the script again. “I will be there. And I will treasure this,” he said, touching the invitation.

  “And so you should, “said Lozza gruffly. “She only did it fifteen times.”

  “You must be proud.”

  “More than you can imagine, my friend. And more than grateful to you for pushing us to take that last step.” He paused. “We’ll name that first boy for you. And we have reason to believe,” he said, beaming, “that that may happen as soon as the springtime.”

  Benito clapped him on the shoulder. And then embraced him. Lozza had been scarred by the murder of his wife and babe. Thalia had started the healing process. This, he hoped, would continue it. Some men are naturally suited to leadership and deeds of war. Guiliano Lozza was naturally suited to growing olives, and raising children. He also happened to be good at leading men and using a sword, but those skills were irrelevant asides so far as he was concerned.

  “You do realize that my name may lead him into trouble and fighting?” said Benito, grinning and flattered.

  Guiliano nodded and tried—and failed—to assume a serious expression. “Ah, but not as badly as the second boy. It will be hard for a good Corfiote boy to be called Erik. We will see you tonight, then M’Lord.”

  That left Benito several hours at his desk to try and catch up on the work that had accumulated in his absence, and to wonder about the message in those threads of silk. It was not the expected place or a suspected place. Therefore…

  He was hardly surprised that evening to be taken to the family chapel to meet a non-descript monk praying there. A man who had a passing resemblance to the House of Ferrara’s chief agent, Antimo Bartelozzi. The one who dealt with Family matters. “Convey my respects to Duke Enrico. I thought it would create undue suspicion to meet both him and you. I had heard you speak of Lozza, and I knew his father well. I have news from Constantinople.”

  Antimo had more than news. He had a detailed report to send to Duke Enrico. Reports of troop numbers, of supplies, of amounts of gunpowder, and maps. Detailed measured maps. Most of the maps Benito had seen were little more than drawings from memory. These had been done to scale with a great deal of precision. Looking at them, Benito understood just how his Grandfather had acquired such a towering reputation for strategy. Good staff work was obviously a major part of it. There was also a sealed package. “For the duke’s eyes only, M’Lord Valdosta,” he said apologetically. “Money matters. And contacts. If you would pass on to the duke that I shall shortly be returning to Constantinople, overland. I will attempt to be outside the walls when you arrive.” He coughed—more clearing his throat than anything else. “M’Lord…” there was an odd tentativeness to his voice. “I have reason to believe you’ll…um, have a lot of influence with both the soldiery and the sailors. A sack is always a grim thing. I…I have a request to make. If you could advise…tell the troops there is a woman in the city, always accompanied by two large hunting dogs with red ears. She’s been of help to us. To me.”

  “There are lots of women in every city,” said Benito gently, thinking he understood, and being a little surprised. “I’d get her out, Antimo. Troops…well, they get out of hand.”

  “There are no other women who always have those two dogs with them. I tried to get her to leave, M’Lord. She’s…strange. She’s no leman of mine,” he said hastily. “Just a very strange woman, with very strange dogs. Her name is Hekate.”

  * * *

  Benito sat with his grandfather and then, once he was seated, and armed with a glass of wine, handed over the parcel from the duke’s spy. Considering just what the agent had told him, he was intensely curious about that flat little parcel.

  The Old Fox raised his eyebrows. “Antimo. Well, well.”

  “He was afraid you’d be watched.”

  “That’s not stopped him in the past,” said Duke Enrico, looking just like a wary fox for a moment. “He is…unusually good. He nearly killed me once, you know.”

  “You’ve mentioned that.” Normally Benito would have pressed for the story. He’d yet to get it out of his grandfather, but they had become closer with time spent together during the voyage and in Venice. “What’s in the parcel? He gave me a detailed report of the situation in Constantinople and of the areas
of Byzantium he crossed, and quite a few exceptional maps of the city and its surrounds.”

  The Old Fox smiled. “You don’t even want me to keep a few secrets, boy?”

  “No. My curiosity has been killing me for half the night. He was out at Lozza’s estate.”

  The duke laughed and opened the packet. It appeared to be nothing more than a tangle of string. The duke shook it out carefully. It now appeared to be a shawl of knotted strings, all hanging down from a single cord. “Now you know. And not a bit of use feeling it through the covering has been to you, young man. Usually he attaches it to a carpet.”

  “A code in string?”

  “The knots are numbers. It’ll take me a while to read it, but they correspond to letters, and the letters give us the names of the mercenaries within Constantinople we have reached an accommodation with.”

  “And?”

  His grandfather scowled. “And the amounts of course.”

  “Ah. Cheaper than a long campaign though.”

  “So, where is Antimo? I’d have preferred to talk this through with him.”

  “He said he was going back. He would see us there, hopefully outside the walls.” Benito hesitated for a moment. “I think he’s involved with some woman there.”

  “Antimo?” Enrico was plainly surprised and intrigued…and perhaps a little perturbed. “It would be the first time I’ve seen any signs of it. He pays more attention to dogs than to women.”

  Benito shrugged. “This woman, it appears, has the dogs. Two of them with red ears. The only other thing I know about her is that her name is Hekate, and he’s worried about her. Now, I’d better finish this wine and go and chase a few people down at the little Arsenal. They may not really believe we plan to sail within the week.”

  “They’ll change their minds about that. After you have done, come back. I’ll have had time to interpret this, and to look at the maps.”

  “He is an exceptional map-maker,” said Benito, mildly envious.

  The Old Fox nodded. “And an exemplary agent. He seldom fails. But he could not find you for some time.”