Night Blooming (42 page)

The village was in the middle of a ring of fields, woods flanking the fences defining the two tilled plantations just now beginning to bristle with new growth of barley and rye, and the fallow land that for this year would be pasture where sheep, goats, and cattle grazed. Smaller fields contained the last of the winter cabbages, and the rest of the meadow was kept for hay. There were sounds of trees being felled, and nearer to the cluster of houses, a chorus of children’s voices was raised in determined protest. As Rakoczy and Rorthger rode into the center of the village a large, thick-coated dog began to bawl. Almost at once a number of people came stumbling and running from all directions; young, old, and in-between, the peasants turned out to hail their Magnatus into their midsts. Most of the peasants were glad to see him, but a few had the sullen, reserved stares that indicated discontent, and not one of them would have welcomed the Magnatus inside his house; generous and just Rakoczy might be, but foreign he certainly was, and that outweighed all other considerations.

Nirold, the Majore of Monasten, came in from his work on repairing the creamery roof; he was covered in flakes of sawdust, and he was sweating freely. He managed to appear welcoming in spite of his obvious and immediate labors. “Magnatus,” he said, ducking his head. “It is a pleasure to look upon you.”

“Thank you, Nirold,” said Rakoczy, stopping his grey near the well. “It is a pleasure to be here. If someone will draw up a bucket for my horse, I will be grateful.”

Nirold snapped his fingers and gestured to a pair of lads about nine years of age. “This is not the usual time for your inspection. What brings you to our village, Magnatus? You aren’t bringing us another pony, are you?”

“Not if you don’t need one,” said Rakoczy with enough of a smile to indicate that he found the request amusing. “I should hope you will make do with the one you already have.”

“No, we don’t need another, not so long as we have mares enough for your gift,” said Nirold. “The stallion you brought to us has done his work with a will. We will have two more ponies by the end of spring. In time we may be able to sell our ponies at market. That will be a great day for all of us.” He stood with his chest thrust out, knowing that it would be a real distinction for the village.

“That means the breeder gave good value,” said Rakoczy. “See you treat his get well, and make sure you keep the best of the mares to be your dams.”

“We will do,” said Nirold. He looked about, unprepared to report and trying to find some other sign of their improvement. Finally he declared, “And we will have more goats this spring. There are fourteen lambs so far, and we will only use eight of them for food before the first market.” He stared up at Rakoczy. “Will you be here, to attend our first market of the year?”

One of the nine-year-olds brought a pail of water to Rakoczy’s horse; the other child did the same for Rothger’s bay gelding.

“A very good number,” said Rakoczy, doing his best to sound approving. “May all your nannies and ewes bring forth healthy young, and may you have a good summer. And may you have a rich harvest.” He waited a moment, knowing they would not like what he had to tell them. “I regret that I will be gone from my fiscs for some months and won’t be able to—”

There was a mutter of protest, and Nirold barked an order to quiet his people. “Why are you going?”

“I go on the order of Great Karl himself, and I will see the Pope in Roma,” said Rakoczy, knowing this would quiet most of the villagers. “While I am gone, Rorthger will assume my rights and authority, as he has done in the past. You will address your complaints and requests to him and I will uphold his decisions.”

“Do you plan to become a monk?” one of the men asked.

“No; I won’t do that,” said Rakoczy. “The King wouldn’t like it, and, as I am a foreigner, most Orders would probably not be willing to accept me.” He dismissed the idea with a gesture of his beautiful, gloved hand. “The fiscs will still be mine, and while they are, you will be treated as I have done from the first. Let Rorthger hear you, and it will be as if I had.”

The sound of a falling tree held the attention of them all, and then, when the cracking moan had been replaced by a scraping slap, one man burst out, “How can he? He is only a servant. He cannot do more than servants are permitted to do.”

“And I am only a Magnatus, the King is only a King, the Pope only a Pope,” said Rakoczy. “It is not the position, but the man, that matters. His service includes being my deputy, a duty he has discharged excellently in the past.” That past stretched back more than a thousand years, but Rakoczy did not mention that He reached into the pouch that hung from his girdle and brought a handful of silver coins. “This is so that you may rebuild the houses that burned last year. If any is left over, build another house.” He handed the coins to Nirold.

Nirold took the coins and counted them carefully, staring in astonishment. “So many? Magnatus, there is a coin for every soul in the village.”

“Not quite that,” said Rakoczy. “But there are fifty of them, which should serve you in good stead; your village has seventy-nine people in it, if no one has been born or died in the last ten days. These fifty coins are yours. See that you spend them wisely. This is not the time to hoard them against a later need you have houses that must be repaired or their families will spend another winter jammed into the houses of others. And you need to expand the village a little.”

“We can exchange labor for that,” said Nirold, his manner cautious.

“Perhaps you can, but you will need coins to buy iron for the cooking pots and spits in the fireplace, and you will have to purchase certain other supplies, such as iron for the smithy and clay for the potters. All the village will benefit from such purchases. And, of course, you will have donations to make to the monks and nuns.” Rakoczy held up his hand. “Do as I bid you, Nirold. It will bring you no harm, and you will find that it is most useful to your purposes.”

Nirold sighed. “As you say, Magnatus.”

“Take your harvest to market and earn coins for yourselves; you will not need many of them to improve the lot of your village,” he recommended. “You should have enough of a surplus to do that.”

“We like to keep our surplus,” said Nirold.

“For those things you can store, a very good idea,” said Rakoczy, and paused before going on. “But for those things you cannot store, that will only rot if you try, those you should carry to market to make the most of them so that if you have a shortfall, you can purchase what you need. That would make you better prepared for hard times than trying to keep things that decay.” Knowing that he could persuade this group of villagers with this, he added, “It is what the Romans of old did.”

Nirold folded his arms. “Then we shall do it. If your servant will not take our earnings as his own.”

“He will not,” Rakoczy said.

“So you say. But while you are in Roma, he may decide that he can add to his own wealth while you are gone—for who is to say you will ever return? If Roma itself does not hold you, there are dangers on the road that could prevent your coming back. You might be held for ransom, or killed by brigands, or be maimed in an avalanche.” Nirold made a gesture against bad fortune, and many of the men did the same. “You plan to return, but who is to say what will happen once you are gone?”

“No one knows what lies ahead,” Rakoczy agreed. “But we must plan as best we may, and trust to God to guide us aright.”

“So the Abbott says.” Nirold did not quite sneer, but he showed his uncertainty by pinching his left shoulder, to rid himself of sinister influences..

“You should listen to your Abbott,” said Rakoczy, and prepared to swing his grey around. “I am giving Rorthger the right to hold Court if it becomes necessary. I am giving him the authority to collect the revenues of the fisc at the same rate of last year, and not a jot more. I am ordering him to do all repairs and improvements that I have begun, and to maintain the schedule I established. All this is done according to the Rule of Karl-lo-Magne, King of the Franks and ruler of all Franksland.”

Nirold frowned. “We shall abide by the Rule, unless it is found to be in error,” he said grudgingly, and motioned to his people to stand back.

“That is all I can ask,” said Rakoczy.

One of the boys holding pails shouted, “God favor our Magnatus!”

A few of the villagers echoed this sentiment, but Nirold glared at the child. “That’s not suitable, Roewion.”

Rakoczy leaned down in his saddle. “Still, it was high tribute, and I thank you for it,” he said, and slipped a copper coin into the boy’s hand. As he straightened up, he pulled his grey around and started toward the edge of the village; the peasants fell back opening the way for him.

When they reached the outer-limits of the village, Rorthger said, “His father will take that coin from him. And he may be beaten.”

“He may be beaten in any case,” Rakoczy said. “This way, he has something of his own the whole village knows—my gratitude.”

Rorthger nodded. “In a week, all this will have been changed in retelling, in any case.” He indicated the narrow path leading into the trees. “The woodmen went that way. Do you wish to speak with them?”

“I suppose the others in the village will tell them what transpired,” Rakoczy said. “I think it is best to visit the Abbott of Sant’ Cyricus next; he will want that courtesy, and he is in a position to make things awkward for Monasten if he feels slighted.”

“As you say, my master,” Rorthger affirmed, and set his bay trotting behind Rakoczy’s grey.

Abbott Hroccolf received Rakoczy and Rorthger in the central courtyard of the monastery. He leaned heavily on a stick and made no attempt to reverence the Magnatus. “How does it happen that you have come here just now?”

Rakoczy explained his reason for the visit, and ended by saying, “If it is possible, I will advance the name of this monastery with Pope Leo; I may not have the opportunity, but if I do, I will. I can promise nothing more than that, but that much I do assure you I will do.”

“As a man of your position should,” said Abbott Hroccolf. “We will pray for your safe journey.” He raised his head to meet Rakoczy’s steady gaze. “If you do not speak for us, we will curse you.”

“I understand,” said Rakoczy, a wry light in his dark eyes. “I will bear that in mind.”

“See that you do. Roma is a most seductive place; many men with high purpose have been undone there.”

“I have been there before,” said Rakoczy.

“Still,” said the Abbott. “Don’t forget that Roma is as dangerous as it is holy.”

“I will keep that in mind, good Abbott,” said Rakoczy, and signaled Rorthger that they should depart. He offered the Abbott a half-reverence from the saddle.

“One more thing, Magnatus,” said Abbott Hroccolf.

“Yes?” Rakoczy held his grey in place.

“If your servant should disgrace you, we will tell the peasants to disobey him, and we will offer them sanctuary from him.” The Abbott pointed to Rorthger. “We have seen the treacheries of servants before, and we will do all we must to contain it.”

“If I can repose perfect trust in Rorthger, Abbott, you should have no difficulty in doing so.” Rakoczy began to ride toward the gate.

“No one can have so much trust in a servant,” the Abbott insisted in a louder voice.

“Perhaps among the Franks,” said Rakoczy, stung to a sharp reply. “Among those of my blood, we have no such uncertainties.”

Beside him, Rorthger said quietly, “Don’t anger him, my master. He will not take it well.”

“Why is he so adamant in his distrust of servants, I wonder,” said Rakoczy as he urged his horse through the gates of Sant’ Cyricus and out into the road that led to Stavelot.

“He need have no reason; most of the Potenti and Magnati distrust their servants.” Rorthger pointed back at the gates of Sant’ Cyricus. “All of them. The Abbott is no different.”

“He’s a bitter man, that is a difference,” said Rakoczy. “Be careful of him.”

“I will do,” said Rorthger.

They had visited Santa Julitta and four villages by the time the sun dropped low in the west. “There is one more village on this road,” Rorthger told Rakoczy.

“Yes. I remember,” said Rakoczy. “Vulfoald’s village. Cnared Oert.”

“Sant’ Trinitas,” Rorthger added.

“Shall we go there? They will be about to eat.” Rakoczy checked his grey. “Well?”

“Do you want to leave them out? They might take it badly,” Rorthger warned.

“And they will take an interruption of their meal badly, too, so either way we may cause them distress,” Rakoczy observed, then shook his head once, “But best to inform them, or they will assume the worst: that they have lost favor and will be singled out for punishment” He started his gelding down the road.

Following him, Rorthger said, “They will remember your kindness to them.”

“Do you think so?” Rakoczy countered. They rode for some distance without speaking, watching the sunset arrive and fade from the sky, until they were guided by the large communal fire at the center of the village, and they could hear the buzz of conversation.

“Shall I ride ahead and announce you?” Rorthger asked.

“No; that would only alarm them,” said Rakoczy. “We’ll just ride in together.” In the nearest pasture, the sheep began to mill and baa nervously. “We’re announced, after all.”

Torches flared to life as four men lit them and hurried toward the track that led into the village. The people gathered around the fire moved back from it, seeking haven in the shadows.

“It is Magnatus Rakoczy,” Rorthger called out. “You have nothing to fear. He comes only with his servant. There are no soldiers.” He moved ahead of Rakoczy and into the circle of light. “You know me. And you know my master.”

Rakoczy pushed forward. “I am no stranger here.”

“Yet you are a foreigner,” Vulfoald reminded him as he came up to Rakoczy’s horse and ducked his head. “But you are welcome here.”

“Thank you,” said Rakoczy, and began to explain his coming absence. “It is an honor to do the work of the King,” he said as he saw the men exchanging uneasy glances.