Night Blooming (60 page)

“As you wish,” said Rakoczy. “If you change your mind, I will be delighted.”

Gynethe Mehaut broke away from him, and trying her best not to weep, she almost ran toward the dining hall, wanting time to herself. She hoped there were no other guests in the house, for she doubted she could endure meeting anyone else. The dining hall proved to be a beautiful chamber with fresco murals and a single couch set out for her, a carved rosewood table set before it. A chalice of wine waited for her, and a ewer of water with a filled cup beside it.

“You’ll be served directly, Bonna Dama,” said Niklos Aulirios, coming from the far end of the dining hall. As he reached her, he spoke more softly. “Don’t let it bother you; there is nothing to worry you. They see each other so rarely that they become a little giddy when they do.” He reverenced her and put a silken pillow on the couch. “Please. Recline. I’ll have figs stuffed with soft cheese brought to you, and other tidbits to tempt your appetite.”

To her consternation, Gynethe Mehaut burst into tears. She kept trying to speak but could not stop crying. Finally she sank onto the couch and dropped her head into her hands, using her bandages to wipe away her tears. “I … this is … how can you…”

Niklos put his hand on her shoulder; Gynethe Mehaut went rigid at this unanticipated familiarity. “Listen to me, Bonna Dama. You have no reason to think ill of them. They don’t mean to offend you, or to cause you pain. You have no reason to fret. Yes, they are very close—exiles of the same blood often are. They have endured long separation, and will again. You can understand loneliness: then think how they are—they’re each alone in the world, and their bond is often all they have.”

Gynethe Mehaut tried to smile and failed dreadfully. “I should … understand.”

“In time, you may,” said Niklos. He stepped back and summoned the mansionarii. “This Bonna Dama is the guest of our mistress. See that she is given all that she wants. Attend to her as you would to one of the Papal Court.”

This was more than Gynethe Mehaut could bear. She started to rise, wanting to get away, but was stopped by the appearance of a scullion bearing a platter on which artichoke hearts chopped with walnuts in olive oil in a Moorish bowl lay next to a dish of grated lettuce and a plate of figs stuffed with cheese. Very slowly she sat down again, licking her lips without being aware of it.

“You’ll be glad of a meal,” said Niklos, and offered the chalice of wine to her. “You’re worn out from traveling, as who would not be?”

Gynethe Mehaut took a long sip of wine. “I
am
a bit fatigued,” she said. “And I am hungry.”

“Then let us feed you.” He took the platter and set it down on the rosewood table. “I think you will like the artichokes. They are a bit past their best, but they are still quite good.” He offered her a moistened linen cloth. “For your hands,” he said without thinking, managed an abashed smile, and added, “Well, perhaps your fingers. You will find it useful.”

She took it and wiped her mouth. “The wine is very good.” It was beyond question the best she had ever had, superior even to the wine she had drunk in the courtyard, but she was reluctant to be too lavish in her praise. “I’ll enjoy it.”

“Splendid,” said Niklos. “When you have had as much of that as you like, summon a scullion or a mansionarius, and ask for your next dish, or let me do it for you, as you prefer.”

“Is there bread?” She was surprised not to have seen any.

“Yes, but it hasn’t finished baking.” Niklos ducked his head. “The household had prandium at mid-afternoon and our comestus will not be ready until after Compline. This is for your reception; you may decide how you will savor it.”

Now Gynethe Mehaut was more distressed than before. “I didn’t think … Should I wait?”

“Not at all. You’re a guest in this house and you may command anything within our power to provide.” He pressed his lips together. “My mistress is a Roman of the old school, and you will find that she—”

“You said she is an exile,” Gynethe Mehaut exclaimed, suddenly suspicious.

“Yes, she is, although this is where she was born and where her family is buried—and her husband. But for her, to be a widow is to be an exile, even here in Roma.” Niklos poured more wine into her chalice. “Drink. It invigorates the palate.”

“But Rakoczy isn’t Roman, is he?” Gynethe Mehaut persisted as she drank another generous sip. “He told me he came from mountains in the east.”

“No, he isn’t Roman, but that changes nothing,” said Niklos smoothly. “Please.” He pointed to her chalice.

Not wishing to appear ungrateful, Gynethe Mehaut drank down almost half the chalice of wine; it really was delicious. She began to feel restored. “Thank you.”

Niklos waved the compliment away. “My mistress has an estate a short distance outside the city walls; it has been producing wines since—long before I became her major domo.” He took a turn around the beautiful room. “I should leave you to eat in peace.”

“No. No, stay,” said Gynethe Mehaut, realizing she was glad of new company, especially such a good-looking man as Niklos Aulirios was; he was also willing to overlook her white skin and red eyes and treat her as if she were as other women, and one worthy of regard. Another sin to Confess, she thought: Envy first and now Vanity, and very possibly Gluttony as well. She drank more wine to cover her disconcertion.

“That’s most courteous of you, Bonna Dama.” Niklos summoned the scullions again. “Bring bread and oil as soon as you may.”

Gynethe Mehaut was devouring the lettuce, noticing it had a tangy vinegar on it. She lay back, reminding herself that this was a Roman house, a very grand Roman house, and that those who lived here were not like the Franks. She had another sip of wine and decided to eat more in order to remain sober; the figs and cheese were an unfamiliar flavor, but she was taken with it. After she had chewed well enough to be able to speak, she remarked to Niklos, “I thought Roma would be different—grander.”

“It has been,” said Niklos.

“So the Magnatus told me,” she said. “I didn’t understand what he meant until we came through the gates.”

Niklos shook his head. “A pity you must see it this way. But it can’t be what it was.”

She shook her head vigorously. “But it can,” she told Niklos with a burst of passion. “Great Karl will make it better than it was. You’ll see: Roma will be restored to her place in the world. The King has said so. The Pope has agreed.”

“Not even those two men can repair four centuries of war and neglect,” Niklos said matter-of-factly. “But if the city is improved, it will benefit us all.”

A scullion brought a small pitcher of olive oil and a basket of bread still warm from the oven; the aroma was as exhilarating as the wine. He set these down on the rosewood table and withdrew; Gynethe Mehaut tore off a piece of bread, and said, “This is almost as white as I am.” She had not seen such pale bread before, not eaten any as fine. It was all she could do to swallow.

“The fields produce good wheat, and the millers know to grind well,” Niklos said. “I have seen Frankish bread in Neustria; it is darker and coarser than this Roman bread.”

“Yes,” said Gynethe Mehaut, drinking more of the wine as she ate another gobbet of bread. “At Sant’ Audoenus, we had bread that was as brown as ale, with soaked grains baked in the dough. It was supposed to be restorative, or so we were told.”

“Did you eat anything more substantial, or was that your food?” Niklos was curious and made no excuse for it.

“On the Lord’s Day, we had bread and fish, as the monks said was right Other days we had cheese and fowl when it was available. The Potente occasionally brought us deer or boar, but that was infrequent.” She finished the wine and drank water instead; Niklos refilled her chalice. “Our wine wasn’t like this, though some was brought up from the south, and was better than what we grew in our region.”

“The north makes better beer than wine; most agree this is so.” Niklos glanced up as another scullion arrived carrying a spit on which two hens smoked, smelling of herbs as well as fowl. “Both of these are suitable; choose which one you would like, and the portion that would please you.”

“So much!” Gynethe Mehaut marveled. “For not a Feast day.”

“My mistress keeps—”

“The Roman traditions; yes, you’ve said so,” Gynethe Mehaut finished for him. “But to have fowl and rabbit and all the rest. It is extravagant, perhaps too extravagant.”

“It is fitting,” said Niklos, and refilled the chalice.

“I am getting drunk,” Gynethe Mehaut announced, but took the chalice.

“Where is the harm in that?” Niklos asked. “You are in the house of a friend and we have no lack of bottles in the cellar. You have no reason to fear ill-will, and you are in need of repose. If you drink wine, it will come more fully and more quickly.”

“This is … unseemly for me,” she said, and put her hand to her mouth.

Niklos smiled a little. “Let the scullion know which hen you want.”

“I will,” said Gynethe Mehaut; she studied the two hens: both were plump and smelled of bacon-fat and garlic. “The one on the left is a bit browner. I believe that will be better.”

“Philetus, serve the one the Bonna Dama wishes.” Niklos watched while the scullion did what he was told, cutting the meat from the bone with a shiny, narrow knife that he wielded expertly.

This fascinated Gynethe Mehaut; she leaned forward, bracing herself on the couch with the silk-covered cushion Niklos had given her. “I haven’t seen anyone carve so well. We take the birds off the spit and pull them apart at the joints.”

“Many do; the Romans of old expected more art in their food than we do today.”

“Wonderful,” said Gynethe Mehaut, drinking a little more wine. “How was he taught?”

“Carefully,” said Niklos, and smiled to show he intended this to be amusing. “The cooks here teach the most promising of the scullions how to carve along with all the other kitchen skills.”

Gynethe Mehaut heard him out, listening intently. “You apprentice scullions?”

“Yes,” said Niklos. “Our cooks are expected to do this. If they refuse, they leave the famiglia.”

“It’s not done that way in Franksland,” said Gynethe Mehaut; she had some difficulty speaking clearly, and that bothered her. She put the chalice down, gingerly picked up a wedge of hot thigh, and began to eat the sliced chicken.

Niklos dismissed the scullion and said quietly, “If you drink more water you won’t have a headache in the morning.”

Obediently Gynethe Mehaut reached for the water and drank eagerly, then picked up another slice of chicken. “This is very good,” she said, no longer surprised.

“It had better be,” said Niklos, more amused than autocratic. He summoned another scullion. “Prepare a bowl of the rabbit stew and bring another round of bread.”

“What else will you bring me?” She almost dropped the slice of chicken she was eating. “I didn’t mean that. I meant that I want to know if there is any more food planned for this meal. I don’t expect any more. Indeed, I don’t expect this much—”

Niklos cut her short with a raised hand. “If you want berries in honey, you have only to ask for it.”

Gynethe Mehaut shook her head. “No. I have indulged more than I—” She stopped herself for a moment. “It is the wine and the food and all the—”

“You’re worn out and in need of rest,” said Niklos. “Finish your meal and I will escort you to your apartments.”

“There was a dead horse lying just inside the gates,” she said suddenly.

This remark did not distress Niklos; he gave a single nod. “There has been much worse,” he admitted. “But I’m sorry you had to see that on your first day here.”

Feeling confused, Gynethe Mehaut ate hurriedly. She was grateful for a chance to gather her thoughts, but discovered that she could not hold them long enough to deal with them. “You’re right,” she said unsteadily. “I am tired.”

“As soon as you’re done eating, you can rest.” Niklos put more water in her cup.

“I wanted to bathe, but not tonight,” said Gynethe Mehaut. “Will it be possible tomorrow? At the nunnery we bathed before the Lord’s Day; oftener was called Vanity.”

“You may bathe when you wish, for as long as you wish,” said Niklos, and stood aside so that another scullion could offer Gynethe Mehaut a dish of stew.

She broke off the last of her bread and put it into the stew, then picked up a bit of the well-flavored meat. “This is very good, too.”

“Rabbit may be common, but there’s no reason it has to be plain,” said Niklos, and retired to a corner of the magnificent room to wait for Gynethe Mehaut to finish her meal.

“I am done,” she said a short while later, licking her fingers. “I’m going to need new wrappings for my palms.” Looking down at the floor, she saw there were more mosaics.

Niklos noticed how her attention had shifted. “There are mosaics everywhere on the ground floor,” he told her. “Tomorrow, when it is light, you may look at them as much as you like. The smaller reception room has the most interesting ones, I think; it shows the seasons of the year in fruit and flowers.”

She rose, swaying a bit, and put her hand to her pectoral crucifix. “I should probably sleep now,” she said, color suffusing her cheeks and neck. “I’m ready for my bed.”

Obediently Niklos led her out of the dining hall to the nearest stairs. “Your rooms are at the end of the corridor. The door is painted russet and there is a brazier just outside. I can send you a maid to attend you: my mistress has four of them and she has put one at your disposal.” He paused. “Would you rather I escort you?”

It was what she wanted, but she dared not ask for it. “No. I’ll find my way,” she said, and began to climb the stairs, her steps a little unsteady. “What is the name of the maid?” she remembered to ask when she was almost to the top.

“Dysis. She’s Greek,” said Niklos. “As I am.”

Gynethe Mehaut repeated the name twice to fix it in her mind, then resumed her climb; below her, Niklos watched until she was through the door to her rooms; then he went off in search of Sanct’ Germain and Olivia to tell them his impressions of their remarkable guest.

T
EXT OF A LETTER FROM
R
ORTHGER IN
F
RANKSLAND TO
H
IERNOM
R
AKOCZY IN
R
OMA, WRITTEN IN ARCHAIC
L
ATIN AND CARRIED BY HIRED MESSENGER AND DELIVERED IN MID-
S
EPTEMBER.