Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Vampires, #Transylvania (Romania), #Krakatoa (Indonesia), #Volcanic Eruptions
Dark of the Sun (38 page)
“I am taking the cart to the stable,” said Chtavo to Rojeh. “I’ll bring in their cases later.”
“Just so they have them tonight,” said Rojeh, knowing the Volgaman rarely bothered with the convenience of others. “I will tell you which rooms they are assigned when you come in for your evening meal.”
Chtavo shrugged. “As you like.” He hefted the double handles of the cart and lugged it away.
Dasur was just climbing the steps from the kitchen as Rojeh came into the vestibule to direct the new arrivals to the reception room. After Dasur set his burden down on the table there, he reached for the spouted pot, saying, “Mint tea with honey,” before he selected a cup and poured the steaming liquid into it. “I have fare for your servants in the kitchen.”
Thetis had risen to greet her children, but now she regarded Dasur with anticipation. “This is wonderful. So much better than the millet-cakes we have been eating of late.” She looked toward Rojeh. “Will your master mind that you have given us so much?”
“If he does, it will be most unlike him,” Rojeh said.
Thetis took up her cup of tea, letting the heat warm her hands. “This smells wonderful,” she said to Rojeh.
“Then it is Dasur you should thank. All I did was tell him to prepare it.” He nodded toward the Persian cook.
Dasur was busy filling cups for the three children, but he stopped his efforts to say, “I am glad it pleases you.”
“And the cakes look delicious,” Thetis added, this time speaking directly to Dasur, who nodded, suddenly speechless, and went back to pouring tea.
As she carried Hrisoula into the reception room, Sinu was embarrassed to have intruded so far into the house. She muttered something to Thetis as she set the frightened little girl down on the upholstered bench, then said to Dasur, “Where shall I go?”
“To the kitchen,” said Dasur. “Wait a moment and I’ll show you the way.” He took a last look around the room, and satisfied with what he had done, he spoke to Rojeh. “I will feed these two with the rest of us.” His gesture took in both Sinu and Herakles.
“Very good,” said Rojeh. “I will call upon you later, but for now, give yourself a little rest.”
Dasur motioned to Herakles and Sinu to follow him; they trooped off toward the lower level of the house and the kitchen.
The two older children had taken cups of tea and wedges of cakes and were settling down to eat, Pentefilia near the fireplace, Aristion near the central table. Only Hrisoula remained huddled where Sinu had put her, her eyes enormous, her face pale; Rojeh went to the youngest child and sat down at the other end of the bench. “Don’t you like oil-loaf? I could bring you a bit of it, if you like.”
Hrisoula stared at him in silence, then slowly nodded her head once.
In response to this sign, Rojeh got up and went to the table and broke off a small portion of oil-loaf, then picked up the last unclaimed cup of tea. “Here you are,” he said, offering the child the oil-loaf. “And some tea to wash it down.” He went back to his place at the far end of the bench. “Storms like this don’t happen very often.” He had intended this to reassure Hrisoula, but it was Pentefilia who spoke.
“I know. I’m fourteen, and I can’t remember anything like this for as long as I’ve been alive.” She took a large, defiant bite of her wedge of sesame-cake.
“Things like this didn’t happen when my father was alive. There was no cold, there was enough food, and the town was busy,” said Aristion suddenly. He had got up and gone to sit beside his mother, his full attention on the fire as he picked at his food.
“It must surely seem so,” Rojeh agreed. He looked at the simple food on the table. “In the past, my master would have been ashamed to have so little to offer you; he has long made a habit of having the best fare for his guests.”
“I am sure this is the best he has,” said Thetis, shooting a warning glance at her children.
“It’s better than what we’ve been eating,” Pentefilia muttered.
“Pentefilia. Mind your tongue.” Thetis turned to Rojeh. “You said your master went to the Jou’an-Jou’an camp?” she asked, then chewed a little of the oil-loaf.
“Yes. When we reached the Silk Road last year, we covered some of the distance with that clan. Since chance had brought us together again, my master is inclined to do his utmost to help these people. They have borne much travail—their leader was killed in a fall, along with his most senior men. The clan has been near starvation, and there has been illness among their numbers.”
“What kind of thing does he do?” Pentefilia asked, an imperious tilt to her chin.
“Pentefilia!” her mother admonished her more sharply than before.
“It’s all right,” said Rojeh. He gazed at Thetis’ oldest child, speaking calmly and with no indication of disrespect for her inquiry. “My master has some skill with medicaments. The Jou’an-Jou’an have their own traditional treatments, but it seems these have failed. So my master has gone to see if he has any information gleaned in his travels that might serve to help the Desert Cats—for so the clan is called—treat their ponies.”
Pentefilia considered this and nodded slowly “He is not above working in the rain and mud. That says he has humility. Patriarch Stavros says we all must strive for humility.”
“He is the Patriarch of the Most Holy Dormition,” Thetis explained. “He advises the other two Byzantine churches here.” She colored slightly. “He is truly a godly man. I asked him if we might have shelter at the Most Holy Dormition, before I came here. Patriarch Stavros said he would have to refuse me because my husband is dead and I have no brother or father to vouch for me and my family, and Aristion is still too young to serve in that capacity.” She reached out and put her hand on her son’s head; Aristion winced. “So you see, I didn’t simply fling myself on you without thought.”
“It would be all right if you had,” said Rojeh.
“I will have to tell Patriarch Stavros where we are. I don’t think he will entirely approve, particularly since you and your employer are not Orthodox Christians.” This last made her uncomfortable to admit, and as soon as she had spoken, she turned away from him, ostensibly to straighten Aristion’s paragaudion, but in fact to avoid Rojeh’s scrutiny.
“It may be best to wait until the storm is over.” He put his hand on the side of the spouted pot. “The tea is still warm. Shall I pour you another cup?”
Flustered, she hesitated, then extended the cup. “I would like that.”
As he poured the tea, Rojeh said, “I gather you have had a difficult time since you were widowed.”
She shrugged impatiently. “I have sent word to my brother, so that he will send for us, but conditions have been so harsh that I begin to fear that my message may not have arrived.”
“It may be a wise precaution to send a second,” said Rojeh, and began to explain the allocation of private rooms he had decided upon for their use. By the time Sinu reappeared with Aethalric to escort them to the upper floor, the tea was gone and all that was left of the oil-loaf and sesame cake were crumbs. Rojeh rose and reverenced Thetis. “You may go to settle yourselves into your quarters. Aethalric, see that there are lamps in their rooms and provide them any bedding they may lack.”
“Of course,” said Aethalric, as if Ragoczy Franciscus entertained guests every day. “If you will allow me to show you the way?” he offered, and led the way toward the steep, narrow stairs.
Rojeh went off to the pantry to determine how much more food he would need while Thetis, her children, and her servants were in the household. He found the cook finishing the last of his cleaning up following the evening meal. “Tomorrow, if the storm is over, I want you to go to the butcher and secure meat for all the household for four days.”
Dasur laughed. “That will be a very costly purchase.”
“I realize that. I have sixteen silver pieces for you to spend.” He held up the small leather purse.
“A goodly amount,” said Dasur, recovering from his surprise.
“At least the butcher has some meat to sell,” said Rojeh. “There are many places—so I hear—where no sum could buy meat for there is none to be had.”
“True enough,” said Dasur, going somber. “All right. Sixteen pieces of silver for meat.” He thought about the amount. “You know, for a few pieces more, you could buy a boat and fish.”
“If my employer were planning to remain here, he might want to do that,” said Rojeh, privately amused. “But the Master of Foreigners has said he will extend our residency only once more, for three months, and then we must go on.”
“That’s unfortunate, for all of us,” said Dasur.
“He will not leave you wholly without means,” said Rojeh.
“How can you be sure of that?” Dasur asked sharply.
“Because he has never done so in the past,” said Rojeh, and left Dasur to his duties.
Text of a letter from Eimonthoris of Hydros, Captain of the merchant-ship
Demeter
at Trebizond to Lucius Valentius Gnaeo at Brundisium; carried by the Byzantine courier ship
Archangel Rafael
and delivered in January of 537.
Demeter
at Trebizond to Lucius Valentius Gnaeo at Brundisium; carried by the Byzantine courier ship
Archangel Rafael
and delivered in January of 537.
Greetings to Lucius Valentius Gnaeo, factor at Brundisium, from Eimonthoris of Hydros, now, by Grace of God, lying in port at Trebizond. I have news that may make up for the delay in my sailing from this place, which I think now must have been the Will of God, for the one extra day we had to wait for repair of the rudder was enough to spare us the perils of the processions of wind and rain that have been visited upon us.
Once the rain and wind began, I could not set out, and we have had three weeks of tempests. I am grateful to Saint Luke and Saint Spyridion for preserving us, for if we had sailed when we intended, surely we would have been lost. During this time of forced idleness, I have gone amongst the various warehouses and stalls of other merchants, and I believe I may have hit upon an opportunity that you will want to seize; with that in mind, I am giving you the first opportunity to hid on what I have purchased from the heirs of a Silk Road merchant who succumbed to Marsh Fever a month ago, shortly after his return from a three-year journey. Their rejoicing upon his triumphant return was soon turned to lamentation, for he became ill and died within a month of his reaching Trebizond. The family of Vermakrides has allowed me to purchase what must surely be the strangest item of trade I have ever seen. It has been displayed here, and for a modest charge, the people of the town could view it.
I must tell you I have never seen the like of this item, not in all my travels. Nothing out of Africa can equal it but the tusks of elephants, and this is more remarkable than any of those: it is a huge bone, made of stone, and unlike anything I have found before. I am told Vermakrides had it from a merchant from Cathay, and that it was reputed to come from the body of a dragon, for what other creature could have a skeleton of stone? The bone is easily recognized as belonging to a leg that was longer than a man is tall, for this bone, stood on end, reaches almost to my shoulder and it is from the thigh of the monster It provides much occasion for speculation, as well as being a reminder that Creation has taken many forms.
The supply of silk has diminished sadly, since fewer caravans are setting out from the distant East. There is so little food to be found along the way that most merchants are unwilling to take the risk of venturing into the wastes of the Silk Road. One report spoke of a walled town where more than half the inhahitants starved, and where foreigners were slaughtered for meals. Such desperation is present in this region, and if it is so widespread as these accounts would suggest, it is not surprising that no one is willing to undertake the hazards of such journeys. I have little more to offer you than this dragon bone, but I believe it may prove to be the most valuable thing I have ever encountered.
I await your answer when I come to Brundisium. Pray that God gives us a safe passage and that no further harm comes to me or my crew.
Eimonthoris of Hydros
Captain of the Demeter
Captain of the Demeter
On the fifteenth day after the Autumnal Equinox, at Trebizond
“Another storm,” Pentefilia said in obvious disgust as she turned away from the shuttered window; it was chilly in the reception room in spite of the fire, and the rising whine of wind served only to chafe at the nerves of the three children, who had been confined to the house for the whole day.
“Not so bad as the last one; it is dying down, the Mercy of God be thanked,” said Thetis, looking up from her sewing. She was nursing the last of a cold, and although she was relieved that it had become nothing worse, she had reached the peevish stage, where small annoyances nettled her. A cup of honey with wine and ginger stood at her elbow, still steaming, and she was trying to drink it all while it was still hot. Dutifully she picked it up now and drank a third of the contents, then said, “I’m sorry you’ve had to stay in so much.”
“What is wrong with God, doing this to us?” Pentefilia burst out. “It’s boring, and it doesn’t stop, even though the Patriarch is coming.”
Thetis raised her hand. “Don’t say such things, Pentefilia. People might not understand.” She looked about the room as if she expected to discover eavesdroppers. “God has His reasons, as the Patriarch has said.”
“God may be seeking our deaths, and everyone’s,” muttered Aristion.
Pentefilia folded her arms. “I wish you hadn’t asked the Patriarch to come here: if he does, all he’ll do is tell us that we have to pray and suffer, suffer and pray.”
“Don’t say that,” Thetis warned. “It is an honor when the Patriarch accepts an invitation to visit.”
“He isn’t here yet,” Pentefilia said as if preparing to do battle on the point.
“Rojeh said I could go help in the stable,” said Aristion, breaking in to stop the argument. “I don’t have to stay here with you.”
Ordinarily Thetis would have been glad of a reason to let the fretful boy go, but now she pursed her lips in displeasure. “He has said nothing of it to me, and the Patriarch is coming.”
“I want to go to the stable,” Aristion announced in a dangerous tone.
“Keep this up and you’ll go to your room,” said Thetis, and turned as she saw Sinu in the doorway. “Oh, thank goodness. Please tell me you have a visitor to announce.”
“Patriarch Stavros has come,” said the Hunnic woman. “Shall I tell him you will receive him?”
“Is Ragoczy Franciscus in the house?” Thetis asked suddenly; as host, he would be likely to want to receive this newcomer.
“He is in his study, or so Rojeh says, and would dislike being disturbed,” said Sinu.
“Then I suppose the welcome is mine?” Thetis said uncertainly; she was not used to the degree of liberty her host allowed her, and she took a long moment to think what the Patriarch would prefer.
“If he does not see you now, he will probably come again,” said Pentefilia, surprising her mother by this sign of her attention.
“Certainly I shall, then,” Thetis said, smoothing the front of her talaris and touching her hair. “Ask him to enter.” As soon as Sinu left, she fixed her children with quelling gazes. “Remember what I told you: I want you all to conduct yourselves properly for the Patriarch.”
“Oh, Mother,” said Pentefilia with an impatient sigh.
“See you keep your place there,” Thetis warned. “I want nothing to upset the Patriarch.” She settled herself on the upholstered bench and tried to look at ease as she heard the approach of Sinu with Patriarch Stavros.
Hrisoula gave a little shriek as the Patriarch came into the reception room; her mother quelled any greater outburst with a single glance.
The Patriarch was tall and bearded, in a paragaudion of dark dullblue damask edged in bands of rusty red embroidered with Orthodox crosses. His hair was steel gray and his face was dominated by a large, hooked nose and prominent, fleshy ears. He paused in the doorway and made a general blessing on the occupants of the room at the same time subjecting the chamber to intense, critical scrutiny. “No iconostasis,” he said at last. “It is bad enough that you are widowed without a brother or a father to care for you, but that you should have to be in the household of unbelievers in so perilous a time—no wonder you have need of my instruction.”
“No, there is no iconostasis,” said Thetis uneasily. “You are correct: Ragoczy Franciscus is not one of our faith. But he is a man of good conduct.” She rose so that she could kneel for his blessing. “He has permitted me to have an iconostasis in my own chamber, and he has provided a covered chariot to carry me to services.”
Patriarch Stavros sniffed. “Concessions, at least, which are to his credit. There are those in Sarai who would not be so willing to—” He frowned at a place in the empty air about an arm’s length in front of him. “It is a pity that you had to appeal to him for his charity.”
This annoyed Thetis, who looked up at the Patriarch with an air of barely concealed indignation. “If you had taken us in, it would not have been necessary for us to come to this house at all. Emrach Sarai’af would not let us take rooms at an inn, and none of our other neighbors would welcome us. What were we to do? live in a hut?” She lowered her head to lessen the impact of her defiance. “It is most fortunate that Ragoczy Franciscus is willing to let us stay here.”
“Has he said why he has done this?” the Patriarch inquired.
“Not directly, nor have I inquired too closely, for as a guest it would ill become me to do so.” She stared directly at the Patriarch as if anticipating an argument. “He has said that he is willing to have us here until our house is repaired.”
“A very generous act. One has to wonder why he, a stranger and not a Christian, would do this?” His bushy eyebrow raised, punctuating his doubts.
“He has done what we most need,” said Thetis, getting to her feet and returning to her place on the bench. “If you would like to rest awhile, Patriarch?” She noticed her children were unabashedly staring at her, and color mounted in her face.
“I will do so,” he said grandly, and chose a fine wooden chair from Edessa, the largest in the room. “Have you been treated well?”
“As you see, we are shown the same courtesy as any guest would receive here, and without any let or hindrance in our hospitality.” She drank the last of her hot, honied wine.
“Yes, but it is also undesirable that a widow like you should remain in the house of an unmarried man who is no blood relation,” said the Patriarch. “If my wife were still alive, I would have been able to receive you, but as it is, no one would countenance having you in my compound.”
Aethalric appeared in the doorway and reverenced the Patriarch. “I have been asked what refreshment you might want, Patriarch.” He made no apology for interrupting, but his manner was servile enough to make his arrival acceptable.
“Does your master make this offer?” Patriarch Stavros asked.
“He does,” said Aethalric, as if the order was a specific one and not a general household policy.
“Then, if you have some good goat cheese and wine, I have my cup with me, and my knife.” He waved Aethalric away. “Has your host shown inappropriate interests in your children?”
This ungracious question ruffled Thetis’ temper, and she rose to Ragoczy Franciscus’ defense. “No, he has done nothing of the sort. Why do you persist in thinking the worst of him because he is not a Christian! May not a man do good in the world for more than reasons of faith?”
The Patriarch studied her for a long moment, then said, “It is commendable that you are grateful, but you do not need to be wholly suborned by him. It is your duty to bring him to the worship of Christ and redemption.” He laced his long, thick fingers together over his paunch; his expression was stern and his voice rumbled like wooden wheels on cobblestones. “Barring conversion, you have a grave obligation, woman, to uphold the virtue of this household. If you fail to do so, there may be serious consequences that I cannot mitigate.”
“If you think I would make myself a harlot in order to keep my family from penury, you have no cognizance of how I have lived, or how I was instructed by my mother. Do you think I came here expecting to make myself a whore?” This blunt word so shocked those in the room that the resulting silence lasted for several heartbeats. Then Thetis said, “I do not mean to offend you, Patriarch, but what you have said has cast aspersions on my honor and I cannot permit such allegations to go unchallenged.”
“I understand that,” the Patriarch said, his brow beetled. “It is worthy in you that you have such a high regard for your reputation. For that reason alone I would recommend that you find another dwelling to occupy as soon as possible. I will put in a word on your behalf with the Master of Foreigners, and that should incline him to aid you.”
“How kind of you,” she said, an edge in her humility that took the subservience from her words.
“It should ease your mind to know that I will defend you against any gossip or accusations,” Patriarch Stavros said magnanimously.
Thetis had recovered herself enough to say, “Yes, I would appreciate your efforts to put an end to any defamation my character may suffer because of this current difficulty.”
“If your husband had not been so devout, there would be less perusal as to what you experience, and fewer of the congregation would see your present situation in such a troublesome light. But as Eleutherios Panayiotos was as devoted as any in the congregation, you and his children are held to standards he established, and for that reason even the appearance of a lapse would seem an error of vast significance. You must not allow your husband’s memory to be tarnished by your actions, Thetis.” He lifted his hand and sketched a blessing in her direction. “And, in these sad days, you must always be ready to appear before the Throne of God to answer for your life.”
“I will keep all you say in mind,” Thetis mumbled, and tried to come up with an excuse to send her children out of the room.
“God is often revealed in privation and the offering we make in the name of Christ,” said Patriarch Stavros. “You know that sin brings its own price, and that it is paid in suffering, either in this world or the next. A virtuous life promises glory in Paradise.”
“I understand that,” said Thetis, “and I thank God for His Compassion every day that my children and I remain safe in this world.”
“It is right that you should do so,” approved the Patriarch. “We are being put through the fire, my daughter. It is the obligations of Christians to find solace in our faith when God shows His love of us in the burdens He expects us to carry. You have had much to contend with, but so have almost all others. Daily I am asked to condole with those whose belief is faltering, and I help restore their courage by showing that through the ordeals God has imposed upon us, we gain strength and our place at His Throne,” said the Patriarch. “All those who have been touched by these days must see the Hand of God in what is happening.”
“I trust that God will not impose the end of the world upon us,” said Thetis with a protective motion toward her children.
“It is not for you or me to say when God may summon us to Him,” Patriarch Stavros said with conviction, then softened his observation, adding, “And remember that God does not make demands upon His worshipers but that He also provides some relief. For all the severity of the weather, He has given us the most refulgent sunsets that have ever graced the world.”
“When we can see them,” said Pentefilia, and ducked away from the pointed glance her mother sent her.
“That is also a reminder of the sorrow of earthly existence,” said the Patriarch. “You must be aware that in this realm of tears and lamentation, God gives joy to those who trust in Him. And you, my daughter, by striving to live in grace in spite of the exigencies of your life: many women have not had the fortitude to preserve themselves as you have done. I would like to thank God now for all he has spared you.” He held out one hand as if to direct Thetis in formal prayer.
She was spared the trouble of complying with the Patriarch by the arrival of Ragoczy Franciscus, who came to the door of the room. He was resplendent in a kandys of heavy black silk edged in red and embroidered with silver eclipses; his dark hair had been cut short in the old Roman style, and he wore a ruby ring on the first finger of his left hand. With no sign of distress, he addressed the newcomer cordially, “Good day to you, Patriarch. It is a pleasure to welcome you to my house.” He reverenced the Patriarch and turned to Thetis. “You have done well, permitting me to extend my hospitality to this worthy man.”
Thetis stared at him and finally managed to say, “I am sorry we have disturbed your studies.”
“I can study at any time. I do not often have the opportunity to converse with so distinguished a man as Patriarch Stavros.” He came a few steps into the room.
The three children remained silent, all of them attending to what was happening with fervent concentration.
The Patriarch started to bless him, then stopped. “Would you permit me to—”
“I have no objections to blessings,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, going down on one knee before the Patriarch. “I will esteem your office and your faith; do not be vexed that I do not share it, for that would insult my family and the gods of my people.”
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