Night Blooming

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “But it is a crime to sell them to brothels,” Eutado said, daring to speak.

  Karl-lo-Magne fixed the old man with a stare. “Do you know this is what they did? How do you know? What report did you receive?”

  “Patre Drasius, who serves our village and three others, said he was told that one of the women had gone to a brothel in Arles,” said Nonateo. “He could not accompany us to speak to you: he has many other duties and his wife is about to give him another child.”

  “You have a monastery and a priest?” Karl-lo-Magne exclaimed. “How does this happen?”

  “Bishop Ambrosius does not often come to Sant’ Yrieix. He prefers Solignac and so appointed a priest for us and Sant’ Ianuarius the village and the nunnery, Cometou Gudi, Lacosasse, and the hermitage of Sant’ Damasus.” Eutado folded his arms and avoided the King’s gaze.

  Karl-lo-Magne cocked his head. “This is not satisfactory. The Pope cannot have approved it.”

  “I am told the Archbishop at Arles permitted it,” said Nonateo. “Fratre Cuvhild said something of it the last time he and Irmold were in Sant’ Yrieix, or so the brewer informed me. The missi dominici stay at his house when they are in our village.”

  “Is the brewer with you?” Karl-lo-Magne asked, his tone higher and sharper than before.

  “No. He is serving as Majore in my absence,” said Eutado.

  “It could be that more than my missi dominici have been lax,” the King said as he considered the problem. “I may have to appoint a more diligent Bishop.”

  “I ask you to do that,” said Eutado at once, holding up clasped hands in the gesture of petition.

  “I will look into it,” said Karl-lo-Magne. “You, in the meantime, will go to the room just beyond this and you will dine at my table, on food from my kitchens. You will have beer from my barrels and my own mansionarii and slaves will wait upon you.” He rose. “I will send for you in the morning. Do not go far from the main gate.”

  “No, Optime,” said Eutado for them all.

  Karl-lo-Magne signaled to his two Guards. “Escort them to their comestus and be sure all their wants are satisfied.”

  The Guards gave their Frankish salute and moved to the Burgundians, indicating with a motion of their spears that the men from Sant’ Yrieix were to proceed to the dining chamber.

  “This is a troubling report, if it is true,” Karl-lo-Magne said to Bishop Agobard, who waited just outside the King’s private door to the reception room. “They have complaint against my missi dominici and Bishop Ambrosius as well.” He then summarized what the Burgundians had told him.

  “A bad business, if it is true,” said Bishop Agobard, his attention on Karl-lo-Magne.

  “So I think. My missi have many privileges, but it is not fitting that they should exceed their authority, for it smirches me and mine if they do. I do not like to think that they would carry out executions without confirming them with me.” He was strolling down the corridor, keeping his pace slow so that the Bishop would not have to rush. “What do you think? Should I summon Archbishop Heuges from Arles to tell me why he made such an arrangement with Bishop Ambrosius?”

  “If he knew anything of this. It is an easy thing to say that the Archbishop has agreed when he may know nothing of it.” Bishop Agobard shrugged. “On the other hand, he may have done so for excellent reason. It might be better to summon Bishop Ambrosius and Potente Ansegisus to discover what they have done. I will decide what is best before comestus tomorrow.”

  “And while you are considering summons, do not forget Irmold of Chur and Fratre Cuvhild—I have not. It is not fitting for men of my household to act against my wishes, if, indeed, they have done. I will not condemn them out of hand. They must have some explanation for their actions. They should present them to my face.” Karl-lo-Magne paused at the head of a flight of stairs leading up toward the cubicula where most of the Court not closely related to the King were housed. “In the meantime, I want you to consider which man might serve Sant’ Yrieix better than Bishop Ambrosius has done. I will take your recommendation as soon as you decide upon a candidate. I do not want to leave the Burgundians in disorder.”

  “You will take the bishopric from Ambrosius?” Bishop Agobard cried, appalled at such a notion.

  “Not all of his bishoprics, just the one he is not willing to administer,” said Karl-lo-Magne. “Your conclave may review my decision, as soon as all the Bishops arrive. This early snow will not bring them any faster.” He held up his hand. “The men from Sant’ Yrieix deserve our attention, for whatever else may have troubled the people of the village, if the Bishop has appointed a priest for the village and four others, he is not doing his duty. Another man will be willing to serve the Church—and me—in that place.” He wanted no argument and held up his hand to forestall one.

  “What about your sons? Couldn’t one of them be sent there as your deputy, to—” Bishop Agobard got no farther.

  “I have had one son rebel already. I will not provide incentive for another to do so.” Karl-lo-Magne shot a hard look at the Bishop. “If my missi dominici have failed me, that is for me to redress, not one of those ungrateful whelps of mine.” He stalked off up the stairs, his mind on the Burgundians and their disturbing accounts; he wanted to put his mind on other matters, and decided where he could manage that. He found Magnatus Rakoczy alone in his cubiculum, busy reading a leather-bound tome by the low light of an oil-lamp.

  At the sound of his door opening, Rakoczy rose. “Optime. You should have sent for me.”

  “And been waylaid by courtiers at every step?” Karl-lo-Magne said bluntly. “No, I would prefer not. This suits me very well.”

  “As you choose,” said Rakoczy, and indicated the single chair. “If you would like?”

  “Walk with me. There are not many in the gallery just now. We will not be disturbed.” As genially as he said this, it was an order, and Rakoczy complied at once, setting his book aside and pinching out his oil-lamp.

  “I am at your disposal, Optime.” He pulled his door closed behind him as they stepped out into the gallery.

  Karl-lo-Magne walked a short distance in silence. “You did not join us swimming,” he said finally.

  “Alas, no. I swim very poorly,” said Rakoczy with simple honesty. “You would not enjoy my company if I should get into your pool.” Had it been lined with his native earth he would have been wholly comfortable, but that was impossible at Aachen.

  “Still,” said Karl-lo-Magne. “If you made an effort, you would improve, and that would please me.”

  Rakoczy considered his answer carefully. “Optime, I have a dread of drowning, as intense as any living man’s fear of death. The thought of dying in the water is unbearable to me.” This was less than the truth, for he could not drown, though he could lie immobilized by water and continue in his un-dead state until creatures of the water devoured him; the speculation alone made him queasy—what the reality would do was too horrendous to contemplate.

  Seeing his expression, Karl-lo-Magne said, “I see you do. Well.” He clapped his hands together. “I shall not subject you to such terrors, then. Have you dreamed of drowning, or have you come close to drowning in your youth?”

  “I would say drowning is more of a nightmare to me,” said Rakoczy, knowing it was as reasonable an explanation as any.

  “I understand you, and I know what it is to have such dread that it sickens. After my second marriage, I had just such a horror of closed rooms; it lasted for more than a year, and only the holy seals I wore alleviated it. So. I will not ask you swimming again,” said Karl-lo-Magne. He continued to walk, his head lowered in thought, clearly preoccupied; Rakoczy kept half-a-step behind him, content to wait until the King spoke. They went the length of the gallery together; at the end of the gallery, Karl-lo-Magne turned and went back the way he had come. “I am told, Magnatus,” he said suddenly, “that you have particularly strong iron in your weapons and horseshoes.”

  “I use a method I learned in Damasc
us,” said Rakoczy.

  “From the impious followers of the False Prophet,” said Karl-lo-Magne, affronted. “Who among them would teach a foreigner like you?”

  “I learned from master metal-workers, whose blades are truer than any I have found in other places,” Rakoczy replied candidly.

  The King considered this answer, his back stiff and his shoulders rigid. “How could you go among such Godless men?”

  “I wished to learn from them—not their religion, their methods with metal,” said Rakoczy, and again waited while Karl-lo-Magne thought this over.

  “Why would you do that?” he demanded of the black-clad foreigner.

  Rakoczy was ready with an answer. “Do you know, Optime, I thought that if I might have to face the Prophet’s men in battle, I should have swords and spears to equal theirs. I see no reason to give them an advantage because their faith is not mine.” He did not add that he was no more a follower of Christ than he was of Mohammed.

  This seemed to satisfy Karl-lo-Magne, for he gave a single snort of laughter and declared, “I like you, Magnatus. You’re no fool. You do not let yourself stray from the purpose.” He walked more quickly to the end of the gallery, then turned and went back the other way.

  “And what is that purpose, Optime?” Rakoczy asked, keeping up with the much taller man without effort.

  “I have a few items that would be improved by superior iron.” He looked over his shoulder as if he expected to be over-heard.

  “And what might these items be?” Rakoczy asked. “I cannot produce Damascus steel in large quantities, nor can I make it without special equipment. I have some ingots of the metal with me, but I cannot produce more than three swords or four sets of horseshoes with them. You are welcome to them, of course. It will honor me to use them in your service.” He gave the King an opportunity to speak; when he did not, Rakoczy went on, “I have begun making a proper hearth at the villa you granted me, and I can produce more ingots there, if I can secure iron and a few other components.”

  “I have one thing I want, as a kind of trial. I will show you what is required and you will execute a pair in your iron.” This was not open to question, or to any negotiation.

  “What is it you seek?” Rakoczy asked, hoping he had enough metal to fulfill the commission.

  “Ice skates,” said Karl-lo-Magne, grinning at Rakoczy’s startled expression. “So that my couriers may use the frozen rivers to carry messages. It is much faster than trying to get over the roads in heavy snow. But in the cold, the skates often snap, and my smiths tell me that a stronger iron is needed. As you have such iron, I order you to make ice skates for my couriers.” He grinned, anticipating success already.

  Rakoczy was surprised, although he grasped at once the usefulness of ice skates for couriers in winter, when frozen rivers were far more reliable than snow-clogged roads. “If you will procure me a pair of the skates you have used before, I will strive to produce what you ask.” He showed more caution than the King did, aware that he might not be able to do what Karl-lo-Magne wanted; it was never wise to disappoint such a man as the King of the Franks.

  “I shall give you until the day after Holy Sabbath,” said Karl-lo-Magne. “You may use any smithy that suits your purpose, so long as it is here at Aachen. If you do well, then, in spring, you may return to your villa until I have need of you again.”

  “As you wish, Optime,” said Rakoczy, and dared to make one request. “But I ask that I be allowed to keep to myself in my labors: I would rather work alone, and not only to preserve my methods, which require great concentration—I do not want to have a dozen smiths gathered about me, or slaves attendant upon me, who may or may not understand what I do and why, and may interfere with the accomplishment of the task. You know how demanding work with hot metal can be.” He paused, letting the King assess the problems he faced. “If you are pleased with the result of my efforts, I will teach two of your master smiths how to do the work. If what I do does not please you, then you will not have to turn your own smiths away from what they have seen.”

  Karl-lo-Magne nodded slowly. “It is a prudent thing. I will do as you suggest” He laid his big hand on Rakoczy’s shoulder. “I am right to like you, Magnatus, foreign though you are.” He chuckled. “You’re a canny one, and also uncanny.”

  “I will regard your comments as high praise, Optime,” said Rakoczy, keeping a wary eye on Karl-lo-Magne, for he could not anticipate his response.

  “It is good of you to do so,” said the King, unaware of any ironic note in Rakoczy’s voice. “I depend upon you to do your utmost for me.”

  “I will certainly try,” said Rakoczy. “God alone will decide if I am to succeed.” He reverenced the King.

  “That is so, but I know God favors my efforts, and so He must give you the strength you need, and the will, to fulfill my order. I have no doubt that you will do as I ask you.” Behind his genial demeanor, Karl-lo-Magne was utterly determined, and both he and Rakoczy knew it; the two men looked steadily at each other. “I will extend every assistance you require, but I must tell you that I do not look kindly on those who disappoint me in such important matters.”

  “I understand that, Optime,” said Rakoczy. “I will do all I am capable of doing to bring your desires to fruition.”

  Again Karl-lo-Magne laughed, this time a bit more forcedly than before. “Good, good,” he approved. “I will send word to the smithy that you will commence tomorrow—”

  Rakoczy interrupted him. “Optime, if you do not object, I would prefer to work at night. Not only will it lessen the chance of being observed, it will allow me to work alone without giving rise to the speculation neither of us would like.” He saw that this notion sat well with the King, and so only added, “I am often awake long into the night. Those of my blood have great affinity with the night.”

  “I cannot order you to do this,” said Karl-lo-Magne as he thought over what Rakoczy proposed, “but I will make the smithy available to you through the night.”

  “Thank you, Optime,” said Rakoczy.

  “You may thank me when your task is complete,” said Karl-lo-Magne. He looked away from Rakoczy toward the small, distant windows. “If you can have the ice skates ready by the time the Bishops all gather here, I will reward you doubly, for I must be prepared to send couriers to all missi dominici on the decisions of the Bishops.”

  “In winter,” Rakoczy observed.

  “Just so; I do not wish to have to wait until spring; the roads are too muddy for speed until the planting is almost complete,” said Karl-lo-Magne. “The Bishops will be here for fourteen nights, and their retinues must be housed here, servants, slaves, horses, mules, and oxen. The kitchens will be strained to bursting, and the haylofts will be depleted. I have ordered my provisioners to collect oats and hay from a day’s ride around Aachen. I have already commandeered all the eggs laid in all of Aachen. We will have to hunt every other day to keep the larder stocked for so great a company.”

  Rakoczy looked at the cubicula along the gallery. “You will have to put two or three in each chamber, I fear.”

  Karl-lo-Magne nodded. “To say nothing of slaves and camerarii.” He paused to bless himself. “Not that I hold anything against the Church and her sons. The Church has supported me as I have stood by her, and it is entirely fitting that the Bishops should meet under my roof. I own myself fortunate to be able to serve the Church in these turbulent times.”

  “And, of course, you do not despise the Church’s gratitude,” said Rakoczy lightly, and noticed the corners of Karl-lo-Magne’s mouth turn down. “For as devout a follower as you are, you are also a King with all of Franksland to consider.”

  The tightness went out of Karl-lo-Magne’s expression. “Yes. You have the sense of it, Magnatus.” He coughed and changed the subject abruptly. “So you will begin in the smithy tonight.”

  “If it is satisfactory to you,” said Rakoczy.

  “Most satisfactory.” He looked down at the man in the black woo
len gonelle. “What will you need?”

  “A forge, properly heated; an anvil; two good hammers to work the metal; farrier’s nippers; and the iron ice skates that have failed.” He ticked off the items on his extended fingers.

  “I will so inform Utto. He is master of the smithy, a most practiced craftsman.” He scrutinized Rakoczy for a long moment, then turned away. “Present yourself at the smithy at the beginning of Compline, Magnatus. The forge will be ready, and the ice skates will be waiting for you. I will want to have your first report as soon as I have broken my fast in the morning.” He had already begun to descend the stairs when he looked back over his shoulder. “I will have one of my slaves carry word to Odile that she will be alone tonight. It will save you having to deal with her discontent.”

  “Optime is gracious,” said Rakoczy, who had not planned to visit Odile that night.

  “I know how jealous women can be,” said Karl-lo-Magne, a reckless lift to one heavy eyebrow. “You do not need to waste an hour placating a petulant mistress.”

  “As you say,” Rakoczy agreed, watching the King as he continued on down the stairs. Then he went back to his cubiculum to gather the materials he would need and to change his clothes for the sooty night ahead. He set aside his gonelle and camisa and pulled on a sleeveless, old-fashioned tunica; he took a leather apron from his clothes-chest, and draped it over his arm; he would don it later, in the smithy.

  There was roistering in the main hall when Rakoczy made his way from his cubiculum to the courtyard and from there to the smithy behind the stables. There he found Utto, who regarded the foreigner with open skepticism.

  “Karl-lo-Magne has asked me—” Rakoczy began.

  “I know what the King wants,” said Utto, his accent indicating he came from the northwest part of Karl-lo-Magne’s empire. He regarded Rakoczy as if the foreigner were a minion of Hell, but he went on trying to do as the King required. “The skate is there, on the cooling table. I have set out nippers, as you asked, and I’ve provided two hammers and a mallet.” He pointed to the supplies as he described them, as if Rakoczy might not recognize them otherwise.