Night Blooming

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  To begin: shortly after your departure there were a number of robberies on the roads in this region. There are those who believe it is Waifar’s doing, for the robbers appear to be well-informed as to the activities of villagers and travelers. I cannot say if this is so, but I must warn you that the villagers of your fiscs fully intend to kill Waifar if ever he should be caught. I have engaged two men-at-arms to provide escorts to villagers bound to market, and travelers on the roads with valuable goods and stock.

  The mariscalcus, Hradbert, has succumbed to the Bending Fever, which came upon him after he cut his leg on a harrow, and has been buried by the monks at Sant’ Cyricus; I have promoted Grandefus to his position. If you are willing, I will make this a permanent post for the young man. I have also provided housing for Hradbert’s family, and I will continue to see them fed and housed unless you tell me that I must not, or the missi dominici bring such orders from the King.

  I have paid the taxes to the Grav and the King, and I will tithe to Sant’ Cyricus and Santa Julitta when the harvest is in. I have also provided a small stipend to both the monks and nuns for their maintenance and I have paid for masons to provide stones for stouter walls. The nunnery is also in need of a new barn, which I will authorize men to build unless you tell me this is not acceptable.

  The orchards are coming into heavy fruit, although it is a little late for this; the late spring rains slowed the development of the fruit, and this has led to worry among the peasants, who are apprehensive that this may mean a hard winter. I see no signs of this, but nothing I say is given any credence, for I am a foreigner. I believe there will be a fine harvest and that the yield of the orchards will be bountiful, and so I shall plan. I will preserve as much of the surplus as I can, through drying or sealing in honey, and store this against leaner times.

  One colt-foal died soon after birth, and his dam with him, but otherwise all mares have delivered sound foals-six fillies and five colts. Livius has another nine mares in foal and I will still breed him to mares until high summer. Incidentally, that catch-colt is showing promise, and I would recommend not gelding him quite yet; he may still be a good sire for smallish, strenghty horses suitable for travelers if not soldiers. I will select the most promising yearling colts and send three of them to Aachen to the Royal Stables, as you told me to do. I think the dark bay and the tall sorrel would be welcome additions to Karl-lo-Magne’s stud. For the third, I am inclined to send the chestnut, although he isn’t as broad as the other two, he is tallest of the three, and that should make him useful to the King’s enduring search for bigger horses.

  I am going to authorize the villagers of Sant’ Trinitas to cut more trees; that will allow them to till more land as well as undertake to provide their own barrels. I have already given permission to Vulfoald to establish a cooperage, so that his village may prosper more than it has done. I hope you will concur with this decision, for Vulfoald is suspicious enough of all we do without reason—if you give him one, he will be truculent beyond anything he has been thus far.

  My next report will be at the end of July, unless there is some disruption that demands a more immediate decision.

  Rorthger

  Post Scriptum to Atta Olivia Clemens,

  I rely upon you to give this to my master when he arrives in Roma. I hope you are thriving and that Niklos Aulirios is well. And I thank you for your enduring friendship, both for me and the Magnatus, which has never wavered through so many, many years.

  Chapter Six

  FIVE DAYS AFTER THEY LEFT LECCO, the travelers reached Bobbio; the monastery was a hive of activity, and the town that stood around it also thrummed with industry, all this in spite of sodden July heat that made for an enervating atmosphere. Rakoczy, astride his grey, was at the head of their train as they entered the town shortly after the end of None, when the town would ordinarily be resting; preparations for the coming festival kept the workers busy through the heat of the day and the Little Hour of Sext, striving to be ready by sundown. Beside the Magnatus, Einshere rode in preoccupied silence, his attention on some inner disturbance that had increasingly demanded his concentration. In the plausterum, Gynethe Mehaut was caught up in private thoughts as well; since her first evening in the bath with Rakoczy, she had been aware of a fascination that was more than gratitude or respect. She peeked out of the cloth covering, hoping to see Bobbio as a town before they reached their destination; she wanted something new to think about.

  “So,” Rakoczy said as he turned off the road leading to the monastery onto a broad street paved with stones in the old Roman fashion, although the houses showed fine fronts and new construction. “It is just as well that I have secured a house for the night. The monks are in the midst of celebrating the Feast of Santa Maria Fructens; we would not be welcome inside their walls.”

  “You mean they would be drunk,” said Sulpicius, doing his best to sound worldly.

  “Among other things,” said Rakoczy, and pointed to a street where a number of tall houses stood, their fronts blank but for wooden plaques that indicated their function.

  “Do you mean there might be fighting?” asked Anshelm, as if he would welcome a brawl.

  “It’s possible,” said Rakoczy. “It’s happened before.”

  “Where are we going?” Notrold was surly and spoiling for an argument.

  “To a house I mentioned.” Rakoczy pointed ahead. “I sent a messenger ahead, ten days ago, to make arrangements. It is the House of Tullius.”

  “Just after we arrived at Lake Como?” Anshelm sounded surprised. “Did you know then when we would be here? Did you send your messenger with such certainty?”

  “I have traveled much in my life,” said Rakoczy. “I thought it prudent to leave nothing to chance.”

  “Do you truly expect the house to he waiting for you?’ asked Theubert, staring around him skeptically. “These houses are fine.”

  “I am a Magnatus and I am traveling at the behest of Great Karl,” Rakoczy reminded him. “Who can deny me with such bona fides?”

  “As if that matters in Bobbio,” said Notrold.

  “I have paid for the house already,” Rakoczy said, keeping his voice level, “and received a letter of accommodation. It will be sufficient.”

  “More fool you, then,” said Notrold.

  They drew in as a group of tanners went by, carts laden with hides stinking in the heat. There were two young children amid the tanners, apprentices most likely, their hands already darkened with the work for which they were being trained.

  “They’re as rank as a battlefield,” said Einshere, the stench penetrating his reverie. “What kind of man is content to tan hides all his life?”

  “The man born to it,” said Usuard, and added, “Without patronage, all men follow their fathers, or God.” He looked at Rakoczy. “How many of those tanners could find a patron?”

  “Some may become religious,” said Rakoczy quietly, and started his grey forward. “The house we seek has brass shutters and a Virgin over the door.”

  “I’ll watch,” said Sulpicius, making a show of watching for the house.

  At the next curve of the street they came upon the house they were seeking. Rakoczy dismounted and pulled the bell-chain, waiting for the mansionarius to answer his summons; the man who came to the side-door was an angular man in a dull-green tunica with a border of keys in brown. He folded his arms. “My master is not here.”

  “I am Magnatus Hiernom Rakoczy, bound from Franksland to Roma on the business of Karl-lo-Magne. I have a letter from your master Tullius, with his sigil, that will permit me and those with me to enter this house as his guests. I will produce the letter if you require it.” He indicated the collar he wore. “This should be recognizable to you. You will have a copy of it so that it may be identified.”

  The mansionarius scowled. “You weren’t expected for two more days—after the Feast of Santa Maria Fructens. How is it you come today?” His accent was comprehensible, but just odd enough to be difficult t
o follow, a more liquid version of the Franks’ tongue, and pronounced more softly, with emphases on syllables that sounded wrong to the soldiers.

  “We made good time through the mountains, with the weather so fine and our horses rested. It is good to be in so fine a town as Bobbio,” said Rakoczy, shifting his speech to match the cadences of the mansionarius; he took a step back. “Are our chambers ready?”

  “I think most of them are, for which you can thank the buticularius,” said the mansionarius. “The others can be made ready by Vespers, the chambers for the soldiers.” He moved to lift the bolt from the main door. “The stables are at the rear of the courtyard.”

  “Is there someone who will arrange for the paddock? Before Vespers?” Rakoczy asked as the big, metal-fronted doors swung open. “Go in, Einshere.”

  “Very well,” said Einshere, and signaled to the others to follow him.

  The courtyard was similar to those of Franksland, but with more flowering plants and a fountain splashing into a marble pool that had been part of the original Roman building seven hundred years ago. The second story had been added when the fortifications were put in place, and the third floor on the east and south side of the house was less than a century old.

  “What does Tullius do?” Notrold asked as he went through the gate. “He must be wealthy to live like a landed Potente in this town. This is as fine as any Illustre’s house in Franksland.” In spite of himself, he was impressed by what he saw.

  “He trades in spices and dyes; he supplies them to the monastery here and to the Pope, so he keeps a house in Roma, where he has gone just at present,” said the mansionarius still in the Bobbio dialect; the men accompanying Rakoczy barely understood him.

  “A good line of work for a merchant; there are always those who want spices and dyes, and they are costly,” said Usuard; he had been paying attention to the travelers on the road and had begun to understand about the success of the various merchants they had encountered.

  “That he is, a good trader,” said the mansionarius. He clapped his hands, and half-a-dozen slaves swarmed forward, some to take the horses, some to remove the crates and chests from the mules, some to offer cups of honied wine to the travelers.

  “Are you the buticularius?” Rakoczy asked as he handed his reins and his lead to the slave waiting for them.

  “No. He is out, arranging for our master’s donation to the evening’s celebration,” said the mansionarius. “I am his deputy while he is gone.”

  “Santa Maria Fructens,” Rakoczy said, remembering the old pagan celebrations in honor of Pomona and Ceres that used to be held at this time of year.

  “The monks will revel tonight,” said the mansionarius.

  “Just as well that we arrived when we did. I have seen this Feast in Pavia. After sunset we might not have been able to get through the streets,” said Anshelm, dropping down from his big-shouldered copper-dun. “You know what they say about the licentiousness of monks. Santa Maria Fructens is the worst of all the Feasts for wildness.” He grinned suddenly.

  “Do you want to attend it?” Einshere asked; he sounded worn to the bone, and he dismounted as if his bones were made of iron.

  Anshelm chuckled. “It’s been a long, hard ride, even with the days at Lecco. I would like to go out onto the street for a while, after dark.”

  “So would I,” said Theubert. “I’ve heard about these occasions, but I have never seen one for myself. The monks at Sant’ Cyricus didn’t have such celebrations.”

  “And I suppose the rest of you would like to, as well?” Einshere seemed faintly disgusted. “If you must go, go together, and return before Vigil is over, or face reprimands and a beating.” Belatedly he glanced at Rakoczy. “If you don’t mind, Magnatus.”

  “You are leader of these men. It is for you to decide,” Rakoczy answered as he prepared to help Gynethe Mehaut get out of the plausterum. “But I will not allow you to beat them—not for such an infraction.” Any response this might have aroused was stopped by Gynethe Mehaut’s emergence from the plausterum.

  The mansionarius gasped at the sight of her and made a sign of protection. He could not bring himself to speak, but the panic in his eyes was apparent. All the slaves in the courtyard had gone still, waiting to see what the mansionarius would do; two of them turned away and refused to look at her once they realized what she was; the others watched in amazement.

  “Yes,” said Rakoczy calmly. “Well may you stare. This is a most remarkable woman, summoned by the Pope himself to Roma.” He regarded the mansionarius with a steady gaze. “She must be taken to her rooms at once, and a woman sent to attend upon her. She is an honored lay-Sorra, known for her piety; you are fortunate to have her stop here.”

  The mansionarius goggled, nodded, and clapped his hands fussily to keep the slaves working. “On this day, of all days, to have a tertiary nun in this house,” he muttered, and reverenced Gynethe Mehaut. “If you, and the Magnatus, will come with me?”

  Gynethe Mehaut had donned a wide-brimmed hat made of straw that Rakoczy had given her at Lecco, and so the sunlight did not fall directly on her pale skin, but it could not stop the relentless heat; sweat stood out on her face, its shine making her look even paler than she was. “I would be glad of a glass of lemon-water,” she said, her voice low.

  “Lemon-water for the lady,” the mansionarius shouted, then said to Rakoczy in a lower voice, “Our master took his wife and her servants with him to Roma. I can ask only one attire-woman to look after her.”

  “That will suffice,” said Rakoczy. “So long as you quarter her as she deserves.”

  “In the eldest daughter’s apartments,” said the mansionarius. “I didn’t understand who would use it, but the daughter married two years ago and the chambers are empty, but as suitable as any in the house.” His nervous chatter was louder as he led Rakoczy and Gynethe Mehaut into the main hall. “We will take the stairs, and I’ll show you the way. Your quarters are next to hers, if this is satisfactory?” He gave Rakoczy no opportunity to speak as he began his climb up the stairs. “I didn’t know what to expect, you see. I had your name and a copy of your sigil—well, Enzius, the buticularius, did, but he showed it to me—but I hadn’t been told about the lady. This can be hard, because of the festival.” He tried to keep his voice low, resorting to a dramatic whisper. “If anyone should find out about her…”

  “The slaves know, and so I will assume all of Bobbio will by sunset,” said Rakoczy, no ire in his tone. “It is, as you say, unfortunate that you keep festival today, but so long as we remain within doors, I can see no reason for her to encounter any—”

  “Misfortune,” said the mansionarius. “Yes. But many will be out, including your soldiers, and it may be difficult to keep—”

  Rakoczy reached up and laid his hand on the mansionarius’ shoulder. “It is an easy matter to have everyone come and go through the rear door, and keep the front bolted. Also, I will order one of the soldiers to remain here to stand guard.”

  “A sensible plan,” said the mansionarius in a skeptical voice. “It may be enough. If it isn’t, you cannot put the responsibility on me.”

  “No; the responsibility is mine,” Rakoczy soothed him. “You know your town better than I, but certainly a guard will help.”

  “I must ask Enzius when he returns,” said the mansionarius, babbling on in an effort to conceal his nervousness. “But if he is willing to have it so, I am content. It is fitting that your lady be kept safe.” He pointed across the corridor. “That door opens on the lady’s rooms. She will find all in order, I believe, and may repose her confidence in the slaves and servants; Tullius has us trained and maintains us handsomely, each with a cubiculum of our own and two new camisae a year, and brod-equins every two years. We are fed from his table, and we are allowed to take food to our families on Sunday. He even gives us coins at the Nativity, to put by for our families. I, myself, have three brothers and two sisters to—” He paused, abashed at having said so much. “Well. En
ough of that. Why should you want to know about Tullius’ household? I will send the attire-woman up to her shortly.” He moved quickly, as if to get beyond any influence that Gynethe Mehaut might have about her person. “Your door is the next one along, Magnatus. I am going down to supervise prandium. Your soldiers must surely be hungry, and you will want—”

  Rakoczy held up his hand. “Thank you, but I dine alone and will fend for myself; if you will send food up to Gynethe Mehaut, she need not disturb the household again, and those who are permitted to join the festivities may do so without a thought to our arrival.”

  The mansionarius nodded repeatedly. “Just as well. Yes. Just as well. They wouldn’t like having to remain indoors tonight, I will tell you.” He watched while she entered the apartments assigned to her, then pulled open the door to Rakoczy’s quarters. “There is a door between the … you understand it was assumed the woman with you … It can be locked.”

  “I will take care of it,” said Rakoczy. “She will keep to herself.”

  “Not that any man would try anything with such a … but it would be safer for her if she … Tell her to keep the bolt shot on her door,” he finally managed to get out before he bolted from the room, leaving Rakoczy to take stock of it.

  There was a small couch in the Moorish fashion, and next to it, a chest where a stand of oil-lamps was placed beneath a simple crucifix. An X-shaped chair completed the furnishings. In the bedchamber, a large, enclosed bed was opposite the shuttered windows, its hangings turning the bed into a closet. The only other item in the room was a night-stool with a chamber-pot set under it. Rakoczy flung back the bed-curtains, considering having a nap, but stopped almost as soon as he had considered it. If he could not find a sleeping woman to visit in dreams tonight, he would have to rest on a chest of his native earth or be exhausted in the morning. Next he made a careful inspection of the walls and finally discovered a peep-hole next to the bed; he would have to be careful what he did in that room, for it could all be reported to Tullius or the Abbott of Bobbio. He left the bedroom and went back to the withdrawing room, going to the inner door between his apartments and Gynethe Mehaut’s. For a long moment he leaned against the iron-strapped wood, wanting to sort out his complicated response to her, and decided he could not delay speaking with her. He tapped on the door.