Night Blooming

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Not if you tell the King nothing,” said Vulfoald, his voice heavy with meaning. “You could leave here and say nothing. Or you could not leave here.”

  Rakoczy heard him out without a qualm. “It’s bad enough that you have killed a criminal, but now you propose to kill me and my manservant—you do realize you would have to kill him, too, don’t you?—and then whom?”

  Vulfoald gave a lupine smile. “We would know nothing of it—you would simply disappear. There are outlaws in these woods, and who is to say that they wouldn’t kill you? Waifar was an outlaw who preyed upon travelers, as you know. Other outlaws could attack you. We wouldn’t have to know anything about it.” He looked around at the men behind him, one or two were faltering, the others seemed belligerent. “We’ve dealt with one man who wanted to bring disgrace upon us—what is to stop us doing the same with the two of you?”

  “My mansionarii know where we are and they have heard rumors about our errand; so have the soldiers who guard my villa. The Abbott of Sant’ Cyricus knows what you have done, and he would report it to the missi dominici. Think,” Rakoczy implored Vulfoald. “You have already put yourself in danger, and now you compound your error.”

  “Only if it is discovered,” Vulfoald insisted, but with less impetus than before. “Men disappear from time to time, and no one but God knows why.”

  “I wouldn’t be one of those.” Rakoczy held up his hand. “I have a sworn duty to the Emperor, just as you do. But I have no desire to see all of this place razed and the people scattered. Give me the opportunity to act on your behalf. It is better to lose four or five men than to be completely dispersed.”

  “You cannot do that,” Vulfoald challenged him. “You are a foreigner, no matter what privileges the King gives you, and you have little say in what becomes of us.”

  “Without your help, I can do nothing about what becomes of you,” said Rakoczy. “Believe this: if you will not give me an account of Waifar’s trespasses, then you will have to take the brunt of the Emperor’s Law.”

  “And if we tell you all he did, how can we know that you will report it aright?” Vulfoald demanded, his hands on his hips.

  “You have my Word,” said Rakoczy simply.

  “Is that all?” Vulfoald asked.

  “Do you need anything more?” Rakoczy countered, watching the villagers narrowly.

  Vulfoald lowered his head in thought. “How would you present our actions?” he asked at last.

  “I have parchment, water, nibs, and an ink-cake with me. I will write down what you say as you say it, and that will be included with the report I am obligated to prepare.” Rakoczy saw the villagers staring at him. “I am no cleric, but I can read and write.”

  “So you say,” Vulfoald repeated. “You might do anything and call it writing, and who are we to question you?”

  “Fetch a monk from Sant’ Cyricus if you doubt me,” said Rakoczy, beginning to lose patience with these stiff-necked men.

  “What monk would question a Magnatus?” Gottmar asked, looking to Vulfoald for support.

  “An honest one,” said Rakoczy, and waited with such a calm demeanor that the villagers began to back off from him, unnerved by his composure. “If you need to have the assurance of the Church, choose any monk or priest you prefer to witness what I write. I will wait until the monk can be brought, if you insist upon it, and I will permit the monk to write down all he hears.”

  Vulfoald shook his head. “Fetch Fratre Larius from Sant’ Cyricus. He will watch all you write and attest to its accuracy.”

  “That is satisfactory to me,” said Rakoczy, and motioned to his companion. “If you will carry one of the villagers to the monastery, we can begin to take down the account of Waifar’s activities and the manner in which you addressed it.”

  Vulfoald shook his head. “Our man will ride one of our ponies.” If he recalled that the ponies originally came from Rakoczy, he gave no indication. “It will be better for him to ride separately, in case they should be pursued.”

  “As you wish. But if the Fratre is to be fetched tonight, it would be wise for my man and yours to leave shortly.” Rakoczy was growing weary of the resistance he found in this small village. “Rorthger, help them to saddle a pony.”

  “I will have Gohewin ride with you,” said Vulfoald, and pointed to the young man with a scraggly beginning of a beard. “He is my cousin and he will act for me.”

  Rakoczy nodded. “As you wish.” He finally dismounted and walked up to Vulfoald; the Magnatus was half-a-head taller than the Majore, and he lifted the well-bucket. “My horse is thirsty.”

  “Let him drink,” said Vulfoald, aware his permission was not needed.

  “Thank you,” said Rakoczy, and dropped the bucket, listening to it splash into the water.

  “If you would like to drink, there is beer and some new wine,” said Vulfoald angrily.

  “It is very generous of you,” said Rakoczy. “But it is unnecessary. I would rather you give some of the wine and beer to your people.” He began to draw up the bucket.

  Vulfoald was torn between feeling insulted that the Magnatus would not accept his hospitality and satisfaction that the people of the village would be allowed more celebration. “What can we do to show you honor?”

  “Give me a full account of your dealing with Waifar and I will be satisfied. I would like that better than food or drink.” Rakoczy also thought that if the men were slightly tipsy they might be more candid in their reports than if they were wholly sober and resentful.

  Vulfoald glared at him, suspecting subterfuge. “We have work yet to do before sundown,” he said.

  “Then do it. While my man and yours go to Sant’ Cyricus, you may complete your daily labors. I will accompany you into the forest to see how your clearing of trees is coming, that I may include your industry in my report to the Emperor.” Rakoczy hoped that this would serve to put the villagers more at ease; he put the bucket under his grey’s nose and held it while the horse drank.

  Vulfoald frowned. “If it is your wish, it is our duty to accommodate you.”

  Gohewin reverenced Rakoczy. “Magnatus. I must go fetch one of the ponies.”

  “Yes. Do it,” Rakoczy said, and watched the young peasant hasten away.

  “You are determined to stay here until the Fratre is brought,” said Vulfoald, making it an accusation.

  “Yes. The Emperor requires it of me when I have discovered a possible crime. I must remain where it was said to occur to make sure any of those who could have participated do not flee.” He met Vulfoald’s irate gaze with a look that bordered on sympathy. “As you have your duty to me, so I have mine to the Emperor. I wish you could comprehend that.”

  Vulfoald laughed angrily. “A fine excuse. What does the King know of us, and why should he care what happens here, particularly to a man who rapes and murders?”

  “Great Karl has set rules for his empire, and if any portion of his rule fails, it all fails,” said Rakoczy.

  “You sound like the Abbott and all his high-flown praises of the Bishop.” Vulfoald made a sudden gesture of frustration. “You pretend that what we do is watched by the great ones, the Potenti and Optime himself, but they do not care what we do so long as they have their revenue.”

  Rakoczy agreed with Vulfoald but he said, “It has been thus, but Great Karl is trying to return to the ways of the Romans, putting law above men.” He set the bucket back on the rim of the well.

  “No man does that, so long as he has relatives and obligations to his family.” Vulfoald turned as the clop of hooves heralded Gohewin’s return, a small speckled mare on a lead. “The saddle is in the barn.”

  “I’ll attend to it Majore.” He handed the lead to Vulfoald and rushed off to get the one riding saddle the village owned.

  “When he brings the Fratre, we’ll be ready to tell you all we know,” said Vulfoald. He held up the lead to Rorthger and walked away without waiting for Rakoczy to give him permission. “Everyone return to your
work. Don’t be lax because the Magnatus is waiting here. Be back at sundown. We will eat and drink to the King’s honor, and the Magnatus’ good fortune.” The villagers hurried to obey him, moving out of the square quickly, as if ashamed to be seen there now.

  Rorthger, still mounted on his copper-dun, looked down at Rakoczy. “What do you think will happen to these people?” he asked in Greek.

  Rakoczy answered in the same language. “You know as well as I do: at best the men will be made slaves; at the worst, all of them will. Nothing I say can stop that. The Emperor will declare that justice has been done, and this land will be given to peasants from other parts of Franksland.”

  “Then why must you—” Rorthger began, then stopped. “Of course. They will Confess it, and the monks will report the incident, and then their punishment will be worse.”

  “Exactly,” said Rakoczy. “This way, I should be able to persuade Karl-lo-Magne to be lenient on the women. It will be hard for them to manage without their men, but at least they will have their children and a place to support them. It isn’t much, but I cannot do more.”

  “Do you think the Emperor will take your advice in this matter?” Rorthger inquired. “How can you be sure he will listen to your plea?”

  “I hope he will. He has declared himself beholden to me for my service to him. I will make my request for mercy contingent upon my past service, and he may decide to honor my recommendation.” A slight frown flicked over his face. “This is a hard thing to do—asking Great Karl to show these villagers the same considerations that he grants to the hobu.”

  “Do you think you will succeed?” Rorthger asked, then said, in the Frankish of the region, “So, you are ready to depart?”

  Gohewin put the saddle on the mare’s back and tightened the girth in a quick jerk. “I am, almost.” He had a bridle hanging from his shoulder, and he put this on over the rope halter the mare wore. “Now. I am ready,” he announced, and climbed into the saddle, pulling the reins in and reaching out to claim the lead from Rorthger.

  “We will return as quickly as possible,” said Rorthger to Rakoczy.

  “I will be waiting for you,” said Rakoczy.

  “Are you certain you stand in no danger?” Rorthger asked in Greek.

  “No; but it is not so great that I am afraid,” said Rakoczy in the same language, then added in Frankish, “The Emperor will welcome anything I can tell him about the nature of this place, and how the villagers have done so much to make the most of the land.”

  Rorthger turned his gelding’s head toward the narrow track that led to Sant’ Cyricus. He signaled to Gohewin, saying, “Walk out.” As the two of them moved off, Rorthger drew his sword, holding it at the ready.

  From across the square Vulfoald spoke up loudly. “Your man has nothing to fear from Gohewin.”

  “But you, yourself, reminded him that the woods are dangerous,” Rakoczy said, and swung up onto his grey. “Let me see how your men are faring in the forest. The more I can tell the Emperor that is to your credit, the more likely he is to be willing to issue a lenient decision.”

  Vulfoald sighed. “If you insist.”

  “It is in your best interest,” Rakoczy told him.

  “So you say,” Vulfoald responded. “Well, come this way,” he went on, dropping his voice. “The King forbade us to use our language and put us under the authority of the monks, and hobu like you, and he expects we will accept his dictates without question?”

  Rakoczy could not dispute any of this, so he said, “He is the one whose decision will leave its mark on your village for generations to come. It is fitting that you do everything you can to show your worth to the Emperor.” He could tell from the set of Vulfoald’s shoulders that he believed none of this, and as he followed him toward the edge of the trees, he wondered if anything he said would prevail with the determined Majore.

  TEXT OF A LETTER FROM FRATRE LOTHAR IN ROMA TO CARDINAL ARCHBISHOP BRUNEHAUT OF MARMOUTIER CURRENTLY RESIDING IN ROMA, DELIVERED BY HAND TO THE CARDINAL ARCHBISHOP BY FRATRE LOTHAR.

  To the most illustrious Primore, the Cardinal Archbishop Brunehaut of Marmoutier at the Basilica of Santi Sergius and Bacchus the Martyrs at the Viminalis Gate at Roma, the most submissive greetings of Fratre Lothar, monk and pilgrim currently residing at the monastery of Sant’ Ioannes the Frank, on the first day of May in the Pope’s year 801.

  Primore, I send this to you with the full and certain belief that it is my duty to serve you and the Church before the Emperor as it was my duty to serve the Emperor before the Church when I was still a soldier. It is fitting that I should address you, for you are the most powerful Churchman I have had the honor of meeting. I kneel at your feet and trust you will make use of everything I impart to you for the glory of God and His Church.

  It happened fourteen nights ago that I went to Mass at Santa Maria Gloriosa and there encountered a number of Frankish monks who reside here in Roma. As men will do, we repaired to the refectory after Mass and drank new wine from Compline until Vigil, for at Santa Maria Gloriosa Vigil is kept in addition to Nocturnes. As wine loosened our tongues, many of us spoke of what our lives had been before we entered the Church. Most of the accounts were not unusual—much the same for many of us. One had been a butcher and still slaughtered for his Fratri, one had been a merchant, one had been a fisherman, one had been a notary, one a farrier, one a cooper, another a smith, and other such trades.

  There was one monk, however, a Fratre Grimhold, who became quite drunk, and in that state, talked about his present labors here in Roma on behalf of a certain Frankish Bishop whose name he did not speak, but whose agent he has been for some years. I must report what he said, for if even half of it is true, he is doing things contrary to the conduct demanded of monks by Pope Leo. I shall give you all the information this monk imparted in his drunken state, and I pray that you may determine the truth of it.

  I have prayed about what I heard and I have asked my Abbott if I should do this, and I have followed his counsel in preparing this for your consideration. If you doubt any particular in what I say here, I will present myself to you to answer any questions you may have, and swear on the altar of God that I have told you what was said to me. It is my intention to say everything that I was told, to keep nothing back and to add nothing.

  The monk, Fratre Grimhold, said he had done much to advance the cause of the Church by ridding it of its enemies within. All of us in Orders are bound to do this, within the framework of our vows, and any monk failing to act in this manner is aiding our foes as much as if he foreswore his vocation in favor of advancement among our opponents. We are pledged to maintain the True Church at all costs. This is a laudable goal, and one that any devout Christian must support. But it is also true that there are acts that monks should eschew. From what Fratre Grimhold said that night, he has not allowed the Commandments to limit his zeal. The Frankish Bishop who has given orders to Fratre Grimhold has gone well beyond the restrictions monks should observe. I have taken some time to try to verify his claims, and I will include what I have learned in this account, so that you may decide for yourself how much credence to lend to these accounts.

  This Fratre Grimhold said he had killed Churchmen who were employed by the Greek Church and the Patriarch who are supposed to do their utmost to turn the Roman Church to serve Greek ends. He swore that the deaths were justified, and that he had refused to carry out one killing because he was uncertain about the man’s importance in the course of the Roman Church. And it is the killing he has done that troubles me. He has killed four men, three of them Churchmen, and he has not been apprehended for these acts, nor has he been called before any Court, Royal or Papal, to answer for what he has done. The first Churchman he killed was a priest from Neapolis who had sheltered many Greek religious who had come to that city to aid in keeping the Greek churches established during the time of Belisarius and Narses open and receiving souls into them. He said this killing was necessary, and one that anyone would support who put
his faith in the Pope. The second killing was of a courier who had accepted bribes from Greek prelates for showing them the texts of the messages he carried on behalf of the Pope and the Cardinal Archbishops. This was the most laudable killing, and one that I learned did take place in the manner he described. There was another Churchman killed, and he claimed to have killed a Carinthian Bishop who had gone over to the Patriarch. I cannot find confirmation for that death, but I believe it can be found. Fratre Grimhold said he had put the man into a well, where he could not escape and would vanish utterly; I cannot find any references to a missing Carinthian Bishop, but if the killing was so clandestine, there may be an account of one disappearing and it may provide an explanation for his being gone.

  The man he said he could not kill was a foreigner sent here with the White Woman, the one who is now an anchorite, because his Bishop thought the presence of this foreigner compromised her holiness, and it may be so, but Fratre Grimhold was not convinced that his death was required, and for that reason, if no other, he was certain that he could not, in good conscience, kill the foreigner. The foreigner has gone from Roma some months since and if his going has enhanced the White Woman’s reputation, there is no indication of it, so Fratre Grimhold may have been right in his hesitancy.

  I listened to all this monk said, and I cannot help but think that he is a dangerous man to have here in Roma. I implore you, Primore, to call this man before you and ascertain the true extent of his activities, and see he is properly disciplined for all he has done.

  This is submitted to you with a humble heart and the whole devotion of my soul. If I have erred in any way, I ask you to correct my faults and show me the means to contrition for my sins. May God and Christ show you Their Will and give you wisdom to judge this matter so that the Church is vindicated and the Emperor upheld. I am certain that God will reveal all things to His servants if He is satisfied that we have made ourselves worthy of His Mercy and the Glory of Heaven. I pray that the Church may be preserved from all evil, and the Pope be delivered from iniquity.