Night Blooming (35 page)

As soon as he was sure that the other men had gone, Rakoczy swung out of his saddle and knelt to examine his mare’s leg. His night-seeing eyes could clearly discern the ruin of her leg, and he knew she could not be saved; he patted her shoulder, his heart heavy. Getting to his feet, he began to unbuckle the girth of the grey’s saddle while Rorthger dismounted and used the dropped cudgel to end the wounded pony’s suffering; the man pinned beneath was unconscious.

“I’ll carry the tack,” said Rakoczy as he set the saddle on its pommel-end and prepared to swing his long-sword.

“Is it necessary?” Rorthger asked.

“Her leg is broken. She can die quickly or slowly, but she cannot survive,” said Rakoczy flatly. In the next moment he had severed her neck cleanly and moved back as the mare collapsed. “The wolves will feed well tonight.”

“A pity,” said Rorthger, knowing that it was difficult for Rakoczy to perform this kind of duty, no matter how merciful it was. “The pony is dead, too.”

“Just as well, with such a wound. He would never get to his feet again, not with such a loss of blood.” Rakoczy went over and looked down. “The rider’s still alive.”

There was a long silence. “Are you going to remove him?”

“I suppose I must,” said Rakoczy, and bent to shift the pony’s body in order to lift the injured attacker. “I’m going to sling him across the back of your horse,” he said to Rorthger just before he did.

“And what about you?” Rorthger asked as he prepared to remount. “Do you want to ride my horse?”

“I can walk. The villa is less than two Roman leagues away. No one will see us at this hour, so I’ll carry my saddle. Where are your lashes? He’ll have to be tied on.” Rakoczy helped to secure the unconscious man to the cantle of Rorthger’s saddle, then swung the saddle he had taken off his grey up to his shoulder. “This is an inconvenient shape,” he remarked as he tried to settle it comfortably. “We’d best get out of here: the three may well make a second attempt on us.”

“Two of them, possibly,” Rorthger agreed. “The third is too badly injured.”

“If blood loss doesn’t exhaust him, he is likely to take an infection,” Rakoczy said, setting out in the direction of his villa. “Who were they, do you think?”

Rorthger considered the question. “There are stories about Comes Udofrid’s Guards; they shared his disgrace but had no kinsmen to protect them from penury, and so they … they had to fend for themselves.”

Shaking his head, Rakoczy remarked, “Those were not soldiers. They didn’t fight like soldiers; if they had we would have found it much more difficult to get free of them. Remember the Avars at Pityus.” Although they had fought the Avars there more than 250 years ago, the event remained sharp in their memories.

“They were desperate,” Rorthger reminded him as he glanced back toward the line of trees.

“So were these men, I should think,” said Rakoczy, lengthening his stride. “But though the Avars were near to starvation, they fought more effectively than these four.”

“Then do you have a suspicion about them?” He let Rakoczy take the lead, keeping his mouse-dun to a steady walk.

“Hardly so much as a suspicion, more of a sense,” said Rakoczy. “Say rather that I cannot reconcile these attackers with the skill and behavior of trained soldiers. Four trained fighters would not make the mistakes these men did.” He thought a moment. “And the ponies were more like those used by the peasants than the horses soldiers ride.”

“A man must use what he can find,” said Rorthger. They topped a rise and could just make out the torches burning at the front gate of Rakoczy’s villa on the brow of the next low hill.

“So he must,” said Rakoczy. “I fear we will arrive later than the villagers of Monasten would like.” He nodded in the direction of the lume of a great fire off to their right.

“If you are there before they are all too drunk to notice, all will be well,” said Rorthger, echoing the light irony in Rakoczy’s voice.

“Then perhaps we should hasten,” said Rakoczy. He continued to walk at a brisk clip, covering ground at a speed that would have alarmed anyone but Rorthger, had he been seen. Maintaining his celerity until they had almost reached the outer wall of the villa, Rakoczy was reasonably satisfied when he came up to the squat, massive wooden doors that were the entrance to the villa’s grounds. He used the bell-chain to summon the warder and looked up at Rorthger. “How is your charge doing?”

“He is clammy to the touch and his breathing is shallow,” said Rorthger. “He will have to be helped soon, or he may die in spite of anything you do.”

“Then take him to my study and I will come shortly to tend to him.” He put down his saddle and said to the warder as the gate opened, “Take the saddle to the stable if you would. And summon Amolon for me. He may find me in my study.”

The warder ducked his head. “I will, Magnatus.”

“Very good,” said Rakoczy, and strode across the courtyard to the main house, leaving Rorthger to provide an account of their difficulties to the warder. He went directly to his private apartments, peeling off his gonelle as he went and loosening the ties on his black linen camisa. Once in his outer room, he paused to strike steel to flint to light the lamp hanging from the center beam; the light did not penetrate the gloom very well, but it was sufficient for Rakoczy to find the tunica he sought in one of his three chests of clothing. He pulled this on quickly, then went to the basin of water that he always ordered kept in his chambers. Washing his hands, he made sure his fingernails were clean before he left his apartments and headed for his study. There he found Amolon and Rorthger waiting for him, the semi-conscious attacker laid out on the trestle table, a stained cloth over him. Three branched lamps had been lit, giving the room enough light to treat the man.

“Magnatus,” said Amolon, reverencing him.

“Amolon,” Rakoczy responded. “I thank you for coming here promptly.”

“I am here to serve you,” said the buticularius.

“Very good,” Rakoczy said as he pulled back the cloth over the supine man. “I am going to hold Court on the Feast of the Dead. Can you tell me what I must do?” He bent over the man, inspecting his wounds. “Rorthger, I will need two splints and many strips of linen; and syrup of poppies for the pain. Also a vial of my sovereign remedy, against fever from his hurts.”

“I’ll fetch them,” said Rorthger, and left the study at once.

Puzzled and a bit nonplussed, Amolon could not think what to answer. Finally he said, “The Court is to be here.”

“Yes.” Rakoczy pulled his knife from the sheath at his knee and cut open the man’s clothing. “His arm is broken in two places. He’s fortunate it’s no worse than that.”

“A broken arm can be a man’s death,” said Amolon.

“So it can,” said Rakoczy. “But I will do my utmost to be sure this man isn’t among them.”

Curious now, Amolon took a step closer. “Rorthger says that this man attacked you, with three others. Why are you caring for him?”

“Because otherwise he would die, very likely in agony, and I would learn nothing from him,” said Rakoczy.

Amolon nodded. “Then you intend to torture him.”

Rakoczy straightened up. “No. I intend to set his bones and treat him with remedies so that he can recover. Then he will tell me what he knows.”

“From gratitude?” Amolon scoffed. “He will lie and work against you.”

Rakoczy went back to his task. “Do you think so?”

“He was one of four who tried to kill you. You know nothing of him, or of his kin. They are your enemies, and you are reckless to—You might as well bring a wolf into the villa and let it run wild.” Amolon shook his head violently. “You are being foolish, Magnatus.”

“Well, perhaps I am,” said Rakoczy. “But still, I must do it.”

Amolon stood still, shocked disbelief making it impossible for him to move. “If he tries to kill you again, Magnatus—”

“I will remember you warned me,” said Rakoczy.

With a cough, Amolon went on. “You said you intend to hold Court on the Feast of the Dead. You will have to feed all who come, and feed them well. Also they must have drink, and in quantity. You must have soldiers to maintain order, and monks to be clerks for the Court.”

“All of which I expected. Shall all this be indoors or in the courtyard?” Rakoczy continued to study the bruises, swellings, and discoloration of the man on the table. “He has been badly beaten in the past; you can see scars on his shoulders and chest. Four of his ribs have been broken, and healed badly. It is a wonder he could ride at all, let alone fight.”

Amolon ignored Rakoczy’s remarks about the man he was treating. “Late in the year, it would be best to have Court indoors, for who knows what the weather may be? If you require the peasants to stand in the rain, they will become ill and unable to work.”

“Indoors it shall be, then. Do I speak to the monks at Sant’ Cyricus for clerks?” He stood up again. “This is going to be a bit disagreeable; you may want to wait in the corridor.” As he spoke, he was positioning himself to set the man’s broken arm.

After a single scratch on the door, Rorthger came in with a basket in his hands. “Everything you asked for, my master.”

“Excellent,” Rakoczy approved. “Perhaps we should begin with syrup of poppies—if you would hand me the jar?” He held out his hand for it.

“The man may need more than one dose,” Rorthger said, giving Rakoczy the jar.

“Yes; I agree,” said Rakoczy; he removed the seal on the mouth of the jar and tipped a dollop of the thick, amber-colored syrup between the man’s lips. “It should begin to take effect shortly.”

Amolon rushed to the door. “I will come back directly,” he assured Rakoczy as he stepped outside.

“If you will help me,” said Rakoczy to Rorthger. “I’ll align the bones and if you will put the splints in place?”

“I’ll be ready as soon as you wish,” said Rorthger, taking the wooden batons from the basket. “He may struggle.”

“He may. I’m ready if he does,” said Rakoczy. “The syrup will take hold shortly.” He put his hand on the man’s forehead. “No fever yet. That isn’t necessarily a good sign, for his hurt-chill is as dangerous as fever.”

Rorthger studied the man’s face. “He’s not a peasant, is he?”

“I doubt it,” said Rakoczy. “Or if he is, he isn’t from Franksland.” He checked the man’s breathing. “The syrup of poppies has almost done its work.”

“I am ready. You have only to tell me,” said Rorthger, adding, “I trust you don’t expect gratitude from this miscreant.”

“No,” said Rakoczy. “But I would like some information from him.” He gave a fleeting, one-sided smile. “He may feel some obligation to me for his life—assuming he lives.”

“He may,” Rorthger said skeptically. “You may also earn his ire.”

Rakoczy shrugged. “If he dies, it will hardly matter,” he said. “The first thing is to bring him through this; the rest can be dealt with later.” He put himself in position to set the man’s broken bones. “Hold him.” Using his knee to keep the man from sliding on the table, Rakoczy took hold of the man’s hand and slowly tugged it out until the arm was straight; he exerted himself—the man began to moan—and carefully eased the bones into their proper position. “Splint the upper arm first,” he said to Rorthger.

“At once,” said Rorthger, putting the short batons into place on either side of his upper arm. He wrapped the batons into place with linen bands and tied them off. “The lower arm?”

“I will hold it. This one is trickier—only one of the two bones is broken, and it has to be maintained at an angle or it could slip again.” He moved his knee and used his hip to keep the man where he had to be. “Quickly.”

Rorthger did as he was told, and in very short order he had splinted and wrapped the lower arm as well. “There.”

“Find a cubiculum for him and set one of the mansionarii to watch him while I go to the bonfire. I will announce the Court there, and listen to the reports of the people.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Who could think that so much would be required?”

“No one would think it odd if all you did was hunt and accept your rents.” Rorthger knew most Potenti lived that way on their fiscs, and thought it somewhat odd that Rakoczy was so determined not to follow their example.

“The peasants would dislike it more than if I were a Frank,” said Rakoczy. “And the time may yet come when I will have need of their good-will.” He laid his hand on the injured man’s neck. “His pulse is strong. Be sure he has water frequently, and another portion of syrup of poppies by the end of Compline. He should be able to sleep through the night. I will examine him again at Matins.”

“You’ll be back before then?” Rorthger asked.

“Long before. I must begin to make gold and jewels again if I am to live as Karl-lo-Magne expects me.” He looked down at his patient one last time before he left the study. “I wonder who he is?”

T
EXT OF A LETTER FROM
P
OPE
L
EO
III
IN
R
OMA TO
K
ARL-LO-
M
AGNE AT
A
ACHEN, CARRIED BY CLANDESTINE MESSENGER.

To the most puissant Christian King, Karl-lo-Magne of the Franks, the greetings of Pope Leo III on this, the commencement of the Nativity Season, in Christ’s Year 798, with the prayers that God has continued to show you His Grace and made His Face to shine upon you.

As you must undoubtedly be aware, my enemies have struck at me upon many occasions in the last year, smirching my name with slanders and attempting to attack me as they would any criminal. Much of this originates with Empress Irene of Byzantium, who seeks to bring her power, and with it the Greek Church, here to Roma, with the purpose of supplanting the temporal powers bestowed by your father and continued by you, and, in addition, to bring down the Holy Catholic Church so that the Greek Church may become the one voice in Christendom. Well we know what disaster that could bring upon the souls of all who have faith in God’s Word.

I am sending this to you with Fratre Maurizius, who has my utmost trust and confidence. He will impart to you certain things I have learned that may have bearing upon your actions in the world. Some have said that you might consider an alliance with the Empress, taking her to wife for the purpose of securing power in the East by which you could protect the West. In another time this might succeed, but given that Irene has had her own son most cruelly killed, it may well be that she would not hesitate to undertake to have you murdered, or worse. It would be most dangerous to pursue any such arrangement with so treacherous a woman as she is known to be, for there is real danger that in spite of all your plans, Franksland could fall into her hands, and the Church would be destroyed along with your Kingdom. I advise you to cling to your present wife and think no more of undertaking any treaty with Empress Irene.