“If the winds stay down, you should be fine there,” Ynay said.
“There’s a shoulder a little higher up. It would provide a little protection, and surer footing,” said Sant-Germainus as he studied the rocky face. “You can see that part of the cliff fell in recently, and that ledge is close to the slip; it could also fall.”
“So might the whole cliff,” said Ynay. “Perhaps we should return to the boat.”
Sant-Germainus was not distressed by Ynay’s acerbic observation. “The cliff may not be as secure as it seems.”
Ynay scowled at him. “If that part of the cliff were going to fall, it would have done so during the storm.”
“Possibly,” said Sant-Germainus, remaining calm. “But the slope is sodden, and that can loosen the—”
“Very well!” Ynay cut in. “Phaon, you and Kai climb to the shoulder.” Having issued his orders to the two oarsmen, he rounded on Sant-Germainus. “There. They will go higher. Are you satisfied?”
“I am reassured,” said Sant-Germainus, standing and reaching into the boat to claim his oil-lantern. “Let me get my bearings, and I will start for the monastery. It will take me a good part of the night to get there.” This was not entirely accurate, but for most living men it was true.
“You must be here at dawn, or the captain will select who among your crew is to go into the sea. By noon the first will be drowned. He is entirely serious about this.” He looked abashed at this threat.
Sant-Germainus sighed. “What purpose does it serve to kill good men?”
“I told him it would be foolish to waste men, but he is determined not to let you get away from him. He is afraid of what you might bring down upon us.”
“I understand that; I will do all that I can to bring the monks by mid-morning. They have dawn rites to perform, and I doubt they would abandon them,” said Sant-Germainus, and began to walk toward the cliffs, which were not particularly high—no more than three times his height—but could prove difficult to climb. He found a narrow defile down which a storm-made stream splashed, providing a less precipitous access to the crest above. Little as he liked straddling running water, he began his ascent, sorry that he had not been able to line the soles of his Persian boots with his native earth. The climb was not very difficult and he made good progress upward. In spite of the slight dizziness the running water imparted. Every step on the aneling earth returned a little of his strength. The night would ease his discomfort somewhat, but he would be up the cliff before the sunlight faded, and would need to husband himself against the long walk he was about to make. Grimly he kept on, ignoring the shouts from the men beneath him.
By the time he reached the top of the cliff, he was aching, slightly dizzy, and feeling unusually weak. He coughed experimentally as if to assure himself he could breathe again, then lifted his oil-lantern and cast about for some kind of pathway that would lead him toward his goal. Almost at once he found a narrow goat-track leading northward along the ridge. As the last streamers of sunlight flashed through the clouds, Sant-Germainus began walking, his stamina gradually increasing, and with it, his hunger. On this, one of the longest nights of the year, he took comfort in the dark ahead. The moon would be half-full, he thought, but invisible behind the fading storm, so he would have only the light of the lamp, which for him was more than sufficient; his eyes were little impeded by night. With no one to see him, he moved quickly, covering the ground faster than the living could do. He held the oil-lantern aloft so that he would be readily visible to any shepherd or goatherd; he did not want to seem furtive or surreptitious. There as a great deal of low-lying brush but no tall trees; the few stunted cypress that grew in the clefts and gullies were bent from the constant force of the wind; they offered little shelter. As he walked he smelled thyme and rosemary, an odd perfume in the blowing night. He passed two large cisterns as he followed the path, and noticed both were full, an observation that gave him genuine satisfaction, and the assurance that his journey had not been in vain. He stopped once near a sheep-f0ld and considered using one of the animals to slake his tremendous thirst, but the sleepy bark of a dog kept him from acting on that impulse, and he went on, promising himself sustenance when he reached the monastery.
Some time later, he topped slight a rise and saw below him a closely locked compound of two long rows of L-shaped cells angled toward a square chapel topped with a drum-cupola and a large crucifix; there were three other buildings, one for poultry and livestock, one that appeared to be a kitchen or bakery, one that was probably a communal hall, and four large cisterns, all within a high rectangular stone wall surmounted at each corner with a Greek crucifix. He nearly smiled. “The monastery,” he said aloud, and started down the trail toward the southern gate, the nearest to him; the path was steep, and he went slowly so as not to take a misstep. He was almost at the wall when a bell began to chime its single, monotonous note, and shortly after it began to sound, the drone of chanting arose. Sant-Germainus stopped on a bend in the path, watching intently.
Gradually a number of men formed a line from their cells and walked slowly toward the low building in which the bell was kept. A few of the monks carried oil-lamps, providing light for their slow advance. They continued their three-note chant as they walked, reciting the words of ancient psalms in Anatolian Greek. At the front of the chapel, all of them knelt, prayed aloud in ragged unison, prostrated themselves, then rose. As they entered the chapel, they fell silent.
After a short while, Sant-Germainus approached the gate again, searching for some means of summoning the monks to admit him. He had almost decided to knock when he heard a shout from inside the walls.
“Glory to God! Glory to God! The Angels proclaim the Birth of the Savior!” followed by a clamoring of the single bell, accompanied by shouts of “Glory! Glory!”
“On this night, God pledges His Love!” cried one bass voice. “In the darkest hour we are redeemed.”
“God have mercy on us. Christ have mercy on us,” the others clamored.
Sant-Germainus hovered at the gate, his oil-lantern still in his hand. He waited until the exclamations died down and the chanting resumed. Then he used the flat of his hand to pound upon the thick wooden gate in four strong blows. He waited, and when nothing happened, he pounded again, this time shouting, “Help! We need help!”
The chanting broke off, and there was a guarded, listening quiet.
“Brothers!” Sant-Germainus shouted as he bludgeoned the gate more emphatically, using the dialect of Constantinople. “Brothers, lives are in danger! Without your help, men will die!”
This time a deep, rough voice answered. “We are at worship.”
Sant-Germainus waited a long moment. “There are sailors and oarsmen in need of food and water and shelter, Brothers. They will perish if they receive none. The storm has deprived them of their food and water.”
“Is that what you want us to give?” the gravely voice asked, as if he had not heard.
“Yes: water and food. There is almost none of either left aboard the ship. With your help, we can return to the home port. The men are worn out and they suffer from the cold and two days of heavy weather. On this night of all nights, have mercy upon them, as your god has mercy upon you.” He paused, giving the monks time to speak; when they remained silent, he continued. “The ship needs repairs, and there is not much wood on this island to use, so we may ask for your help in—”
“We have no lumber to spare,” said the monk who had spoken for the rest. “This island has few trees.”
“Then the oarsmen will improvise, if you will let us have a few empty barrels,” said Sant-Germainus. “If they have food and water, they will be able to work, and the staves may be enough to hold the hull together.” He had to stop himself from thinking what it would be like to return to the boat, and the relentless enervation of the sea.
“It is the Nativity. We cannot stop our worship for such things.” The voice had a finality to it that boded ill for Sant-Germainus and the
crew of Captain Argourus’ ship. “I ask you to leave us to our rites.”
Sant-Germainus took a chance. “How can you say this and maintain your faith?” He recalled the many Christians he had encountered in the last five centuries and knew that each group had its own interpretation of the religion, but he persisted. “Charity is a duty for Christians, is it not?”
“We are true to our faith: this is a sacred time for us. This is the time we devote to the birth of the Christ, not to the misfortunes of this world.” His tone was becoming testy. “We will be thankful to God for what He has provided to us.”
“Yet how better to show your devotion, than to give succor to those in need?” Sant-Germainus countered. “It is what your founder bade you do, is it not? It is what your god did for you in your Christ’s birth.”
There was a short silence, and then the harsh voice said, “How many men are there on this ship?”
“Thirty-four, counting the captain,” said Sant-Germainus quickly. “Five are suffering badly from cold, and all are hungry.”
The speaker hesitated, then said, “Where is this ship?”
“At a cove on the south side of this island. There are two boats left undamaged aboard to bring the men ashore.” He faltered, trying to discern the impact his words were having, then said, “If you are willing to help them, some lives will be saved. It will bring glory to your faith. Their prayers of gratitude will be heard in Heaven.” He listened closely, trying to be aware of their response.
This time there was a low murmur of conversation before the speaker said, “We will open the gate for you. You and I will speak while the Brothers continue with their prayers. Ordinarily we would not consider dealing with seamen tonight, but, as you say, God provides. Whatever I decide then will be final.”
“Thank you,” said Sant-Germainus, holding the oil-lantern so that it cast some light on his features.
The gate groaned open, revealing a narrow courtyard and the two rows of cells lined up back from the chapel. A group of about forty monks in rough-spun habits with raised cowl-hoods stood just beyond the swing of the gate. A few carried oil-lamps, but most were nothing more than dark spaces in the night. As Sant-Germainus entered the monastery, one man stepped forward, a thick-bodied man not quite so tall as Sant-Germainus, his features hidden by his hood. “I give you welcome on this holy night,” he said, his voice still rough. “Enter and be welcome, if you are unarmed.”
“I thank you, good Brother, for your kindness to me and the men of the ship.” He held out his right hand, showing it empty. “My mission is peaceful.”
“So you have said,” the blocky man said. “I am Brother Theron, named for my patron saint, the senior of the monastery. I am leader of these monks. Come with me to our dining hall. There is a fire burning and you can warm yourself while we prepare to fetch your shipmates.” His smile was not very convincing, but it might have been because the man had a long scar through the corner of his lip and down to the jaw, which was as much of his face as Sant-Germainus could see. “We will do what God gives us to do.”
“Thank you, Brother Theron,” he said, going toward the building the monk had indicated. “You are most gracious.” Even as he spoke, he thought the name—meaning hunter—an odd one for a monk, but he kept his reflection to himself; this region was filled with all manner of legends and tales of old demi-gods transformed by piety into stories of saints—undoubtedly Theron was one such.
“It is, as you said, the time of the Christ, and we should emulate Him to His glory.” He pointed to another of the Brothers. “This is Brother Hylas. He will help you, and stay with you.”
“That is kind, but unnecessary,” said Sant-Germainus. “I will take you back to the ship. I can show you the way.”
“Nevertheless, he will do it. Together you can offer up prayers for our success. There is no need for you to accompany us.” Brother Theron motioned to the others. “You say they need food and water, and that the ship requires repair?”
“I do.” Sant-Germainus hesitated. “Some of the oarsmen are captives, others are part of the original crew.”
“Ah. Then you must be one of the captives,” said Brother Theron.
“What makes you believe that?” Sant-Germainus asked, startled by the observation.
“It is what I would do,” said Brother Theron obscurely. “The Captain needs his men to contain you captives, doesn’t he?”
A cold knot formed itself under Sant-Germainus’ ribs and he strove to keep steady. “Yes, he does.”
“We will keep the plight of the captives in mind. We may even turn it to our advantage.” He signalled to the monks. “We will take as much as we can carry—food and water, and make for the south coast on our mission. We will leave as quickly as we can. Brother Hylas, guard the gate and the monastery while we are gone. Admit no other stranger. You must not mind the care we take,” he went on to Sant-Germainus, “but sometimes desperate men have sought to seize this haven through arms or stealth, and to turn it to their own uses. We have become cautious. But, as you reminded us, God provides for those who have faith in Him. Tonight you have brought us a gift from God.”
“Caution is wise—guile is often the nature of men,” said Sant-Germainus, thinking that Brother Theron was guileful in his own way.
Brother Hyals, who did not resemble the handsome young Argonaut for whom he was named, set a meaty paw on Sant-Germainus’ shoulder and prodded him in the direction of the dining hall. “Come. First you will get warm, and I will prepare food for you.” There was enough pressure in his grip that Sant-Germainus realized he was under guard; he held his oil-lantern more tightly. These monks, he thought, must have had more than a few encounters with pirates in the past, and had come by their distrustful posture through those conflicts.
“I am hungry,” Sant-Germainus admitted, and noticed that the monks were taking up spears. He felt a new certainty come over him: the monks were planning to do more than defend themselves. There had been pirates in these waters for as long as Sant-Germainus could remember, a period of more than twenty-five centuries, and as long as there had been pirates there had also been men who preyed on the pirates, benefitting from pirate misfortunes.
“You will be cared for,” said Brother Theron over his shoulder.
Sant-Germainus allowed himself to be ushered toward the squat building with narrow windows along the side facing the courtyard and a door at either end of its length. “Your Brothers are most…gracious.”
Brother Hylas said nothing, his hand weighing heavily as he increased the length of his stride. He lifted the outer latch and all but shoved Sant-Germainus into the dining hall, then closed the door and set the latch again. “I am going to the bakery,” said Brother Hylas through the door. “Stay where you are and you will soon be fed. You have nothing to fear if you are not unruly. But become fractious and I will lock you into the dining hall until my Brothers return and give you nothing to eat.”
This reassurance only increased Sant-Germainus’ certainty that he was a captive; how much experience the Brothers must have, to have developed such safeguards against attack. “So be it,” he said aloud in his native tongue. He decided to take stock of his prison until Brother Hylas returned; he lifted his oil-lantern to begin his exploration.
The dining hall was long and narrow with a single plank table flanked on both sides by benches. The open hearth at the back of the chamber showed only a few glowing embers, and nothing to replenish the fire. Near the door through which Sant-Germainus had come stood a statue, very old, of weathered wood. Studying it, Sant-Germainus recognized the statuary smirk of Etruscan portrait carvings, and the simple coronet offered to athletes and artists of high achievement. The figure held a cup in his right hand; his left hand had been broken off. As always, seeing this art from the descendants of his own people struck him with a profound loneliness, and he turned away. Distantly he wondered if he should expect food, and if any was offered, how he would explain his refusal; he felt more precariou
s, for if he stayed here, men of his crew would be killed, but if he attempted to leave, Brother Hylas might well do his best to stop him. He paced the length of the room, then returned to the door through which he had been shoved, and called out to Brother Hylas, who gave no answer. For the next while, Sant-Germainus remained by the door, listening intently, curious to know what was transpiring beyond the dining hall. He closed his eyes, hoping to concentrate more fully on listening. Finally he went back to the hearth to see if he might bring the few embers to life.
“I’ve fired up the bake-oven,” Brother Hylas announced from beyond the door. “The dough is rising. There will be loaves ready at the time of first devotions, three hours before dawn.” The monk chuckled. “We will have to delay our prayers, but we will say them in gratitude and thanksgiving.”
“The men will be grateful for any food you provide,” said Sant-Germainus.
“There will be meat, too, once I make the spit ready.”
“If you let me out, I might help you,” Sant-Germainus suggested.
“I am not permitted to do that, and well you know it,” said Brother Hylas. “I am required to keep you where you are.”
“Because I might be a diversion, or my story could be a ruse?” he guessed.
“Or you might warn your comrades: we won’t allow that,” said Brother Hylas; the last of this faded as he walked away from the door.
Sant-Germainus listened to the departing footsteps, his vexation increasing as he considered what he had stumbled into. At least he was on dry land, he reminded himself, and he would not have to deal with the pirates wholly on his own. But there was so much he needed to understand before the monks returned. Hoping to better understand his predicament, he took another turn about the long, narrow, dining hall, making note of the height and condition of the windows—too narrow to climb out of easily—as well as the layout of the room itself: dining hall it might be, but it also served as a prison. Finally he was satisfied that he had scrutinized the dining hall sufficiently—he understood how expertly he had been rendered ineffective. He sat on the end of the long bench and looked toward the far door. What on earth did these monk intend for the men of Captain Argourus’ ship? He sighed slowly, letting the possibilities play through his head. “Very well,” he said quietly. “Each of them are preparing an ambush, the monks and the pirates.”
The Vampire Megapack Page 5