The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series) (5 page)

Alisdair continued, “We all sat around for the good part of the day staring at the bloody hilt before Rob worked up enough courage to pull the damned thing out. Bled like the dickens, too. It took out a big chunk of his tongue, but he’s too big and too stubborn to let a little cut like that take him down.” Garreth grunted and flexed his great arms for Nadira to see the bulging muscles. He was half again taller than she and three times as broad. His ruddy face was rough and weather-beaten, his fair hair thin and unkempt. He had bright pale blue eyes and an easy smile made irregular by the absence of a few teeth here and there. He was grinning at her now.

Nadira decided she liked him. She laughed softly. “He is a great beast.”

The other men returned carrying skins of water and ale and the bag containing the bread. Montrose was missing.

John looked around. “Where is my lord?”

Nadira was relieved someone asked. She had been wondering herself, scanning the copse that surrounded the camp as well as the road before and behind them.

“He will bring us some real food, God willing,” Marcus said as he dropped a load of deadfall on the ground beside him.

“Aye,” Alisdair said, “He’s gone to see what’s in that small wood there.” He gestured off the road where Nadira could see a line of trees. “I’ll be startin’ a fire maybe we can warm up whatever he brings, eh?” John brought another armload of firewood to the circle and dumped it in front of Alisdair.

“Here you are, Alisdair, I’ll start a good fire. It’ll be cold tonight.” He looked around as Nadira had done. “I don’t see that this place is too dangerous for a fire. You?”

Alisdair rubbed his chin, then pulled off his helm so he could rub his head as well. “Rob said to build a fire, so I don’t think he’s worrit. We are protected from the road by this hillock,” he gestured toward a rise in the landscape between the camp and the road. “We can post watch from that boulder there,” he turned around “and that one by the woods.” He tossed the helm toward his saddle where it landed with a metallic clink. To Nadira he said, “I doubt verra serious your master will be sending his men fer us.” The blue eyes were amused. “He seemed fairly pleased wit’ the purse Rob left for you.”

Nadira looked away.

At sunset, Montrose rode up to the fire and dumped something heavy on the ground, then moved away to picket his horse with the others. Alisdair stood and lifted up the carcass of a yearling deer by its hind legs, admiring it in the light of the campfire. Garreth and John moved quickly to help Alisdair dress it.

Nadira watched as they cut the hide from its body, and then chopped it into manageable pieces with an axe. By the time Montrose returned to the circle of firelight, they had great chunks of venison roasting on sticks by the fire. The aroma made her middle twist in anticipation. Finally she was handed a piece and she devoured it.

A leather bag was passed around. Nadira took her drink in turn, eyes wide to find it full of something she had never tasted before. Not quite wine, but not beer either. Frowning, she passed the skin to Garreth. He smiled at her shyly as he took it.

Alisdair cuffed him, laughing, “Quit makin’ eyes at the lass, you big oaf.”

Nadira wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What was that?” she asked him.

“Mead. From Toledo. We have a goodly supply, thanks be to God. It’s fine stuff.” Alisdair took the skin from Garreth and took a drink for himself.

Nadira lay down facing the fire. She ached from her neck to her feet and the ground was hard. Perhaps another nip of that mead would be called for. She watched the skin as it made its way back to her. Montrose and Alisdair sat opposite each other. For a long time they just stared into the fire. Nadira felt herself drowsing when she was brought back to the present by Alisdair’s gentle voice.

“There was nothin’ you could do, Rob.” She heard him murmur. Nadira opened her eyes just a little. “There was no way you could have made it there in time.”

Nadira watched them from across the fire. Montrose poked the fire with a long stick, sending sparks up with the smoke. He did not reply, but Nadira saw him grimace.

Alisdair continued, “There was no way to hurry that ship, and overland would have delayed us still further. Richard knew the risk.”

“Do not speak to me of his risks,” Montrose growled, “none know them better than I.”

“It’s killin’ you, I know,” Alisdair pulled his blanket around his shoulders and shifted his position on the ground. “There’s naught to be done now, Rob. He’s gone. We’ll go back and find those bloody sailors. Massey is known at the docks. We can kill them slowly, peelin’ their skin back as one pares an apple.” Alisdair’s face twisted in the orange flicker of the firelight.

Montrose tossed the stick into the fire, scaring up more sparks. “There is no time. I must get it from Henry before he gives it to anyone else. Then there will be time for vengeance. I have the whole of my life.” Their eyes met across the fire.

“What think you of the lass?” Alisdair changed the subject quickly. “Do you think she can read so many tongues? I never thought a woman could learn that much,” he finished doubtfully.

“My mother could read,” Montrose answered him. He picked up a piece of saddle harness and leaned closer to the fire to examine the stitching.

“Aye, and a fine lady she was,” Alisdair said. “She could sing fair well, too. Oft I listened under her window.”

Montrose looked up. “Did you now? Did my father ever catch you in such idleness?”

Alisdair laughed quietly. “Oh aye. He did and flogged me for it, but it did not stop me. I just developed better ears so I could hear him coming.”

There was no verbal response from Montrose. Something in the fire popped. She jumped to her feet, heart pounding. The others sprang up in response, reaching for their swords. After moment of silence, Alisdair broke the tension with a chuckle.

“We have the girl here on guard for us. Will you stand first watch, lassie?” he laughed. Nadira was mortified. She sat down again and apologized.

“I am sorry. I …”

“No harm, do not fret yourself about it,” Montrose said quietly. “I’m not easy here either.” The men sat down again. There was the rasp of swords sliding back into their scabbards.

“Nor I. There are eyes watching us even now, I gather,” Marcus looked about as he chewed.

“This reminds me of the time we were with the duke at Nancy. You remember that night, John? Rob was on watch while we were all sleeping with bellies full of ale. He had his sword drawn the whole night. Kept hearing things in the woods. Eyes watchin’ him from the dark.” The men laughed. “Naught but owls.” Garreth slapped Montrose on the shoulder.

“I was fourteen years old.” Montrose shook his head making his hair swing back and forth. “You will never let me forget that.”

Uneasy laughter rippled around the circle. Alisdair took another drink. “Can’t let you forget somethin’ like that. How about the time Richard put a wee snake in yer jerkin while you slept? I like that story too.”

At the mention of Richard, the mirth took on a more somber tone.

“’Tis true.” John said, “Richard put a snake in my tunic once. Put a toad in my cup, too.”

“He was always teasin’ someone, that lad.” Alisdair tapped his knee with a thick finger.

“Aye,” John added, “and he never meant any meanness. Not a mean bone in his body.”

“Always looking out for us, too. He brought me my Brigit to me when he knew I was needin’ a wife. He said he thought she looked ‘up to the job’.” This brought guffaws from all and even a small smile to Montrose’s lips.

“He taught me to write my name.” Marcus said quietly, twisting his cup.

“Aye,” Alisdair said, “and you past yer thirtieth year. This lass here not twenty and can write ten languages.”

“Six,” Nadira blurted out before she thought better of it. Correcting one’s master is not polite in any language. But the fair stranger merely echoed her response.

“Six, then,” he said with a nod in her direction.

Montrose said to her, “How did you come by this skill?”

Nadira twisted her hands in her blanket. She looked at each one in turn, deciding how much to say.

“When I was seven years old my father lost an important battle.” Nadira began slowly. “My mother and I, sisters, brothers, my father’s other wives and their children were taken to the courtyard and lined up like horses before a race. Men drew lots and took us away. I was permitted to go with my mother,” she paused to test the response from her audience. “She was an educated woman. A poet.” Nadira looked at each of the men in turn, daring them to challenge her, but there was no sound but the crackling of the fire.

“She taught me to read and write in her language and that of our new master, and when we came to Barcelona, she taught me Latin. Hebrew and Greek I learned from my master after she died. English I learned only last year. I cannot write English well,” she added with a grimace, remembering her struggles with that language. “But I can read an English manifest.”

“Curious,” Montrose said, “Curious that a Jew would permit this kind of scholarship in a female servant.” The challenge had come.

“Senor Sofir is no longer a Jew, my lord. He told you himself.”

“Yes.” Lord Montrose made it sound like ‘no’.

Nadira bristled. “The master had his use for me.”

Someone beyond the fire snorted. Montrose pointed his finger into the darkness and the laughter stopped. He turned to Nadira, who was now pink with embarrassment.

“I am very interested in his ‘use’ as you put it. Please continue.”

Sofir had been like another father to her. Perhaps a better one than her own. She resented the insinuation. Nadira struggled to keep her voice even. “I wrote his letters, his bills of lading, his inventories.” There was more, but this small list seemed to be enough for now. Nadira did not want to tell them everything.

“Still, it is not the norm.”

“No, that is true, my lord. These are not normal times.”

Alisdair spat. “Normal times? What is ‘normal times’?” He grunted. “Yer quite daft if you think there is such a thing.”

Nadira opened her mouth to disagree, but thought better of it. Montrose asked her, “How long after your master was baptized did he begin to teach you Hebrew?”

Nadira blinked in surprise. “How did you know? It was the very day.”

Montrose did not answer; his eyes were on the fire. Instead he said quietly, “We have some letters and documents we picked up in Barcelona. Perhaps you can read them to us now. It’s time I heard them.”

Alisdair brought one of the large saddlebags from the baggage pile and set it down delicately beside her. He pulled a brand from the fire and lit a candle he pulled from another bag. Lord Montrose opened the bag and took out a handful of folded velum sheets, two scrolls, and three packages wrapped in parchment. He pulled the largest from the pile, opening the wooden skippet and held it to Alisdair’s candle to see the impression on the wax inside.

“This one is from the university in Wittenburg,” he said, handing the crisp vellum to Nadira.

She took it, broke the wax that bound the edges together and unfolded the folio, spreading it out over her knees and smoothing it down. Alisdair arranged himself behind her, holding the candle over her shoulder. The letter was densely scribed in Latin in a precise hand. Two columns of writing filled the page from end to end. The first paragraph was a greeting.

“My dear friend and colleague, Hon. Richard Longmoor, I send greetings. Below is the catalogue from Count Braslow’s library, both sacred and profane. It is with great
pleasure I extend my lord’s invitation to visit and
copy with a free hand anything you desire. Of course, your own collected treasures are welcome here for the pleasure
of my lord’s copyists.”

Nadira drew a finger down the lists of manuscripts and codices that followed. “Do you wish for me to read them all?” she asked in wonder.

“Nay. We just need to know what these are. Long lists of books no longer matter,” Alisdair sighed. Montrose nodded in agreement, his eyes low and focused on his boots.

“Here’s another one, lass.”

Nadira took this one, broke the seal and read it to them. This one was a letter thanking Richard for his help in cataloguing a collection of manuscripts and serving as letter of introduction to a nobleman in Verona.

The next was another catalog, this time from a merchant’s house in Istanbul. One by one she went through each letter, some with catalogs of manuscripts, others with invitations, until there was but one remaining. Alisdair put his hand on hers after she reached for it. “I don’t know about this one, lass.” He turned to look at Montrose. They waited for him; no one made a sound. Finally Montrose nodded once. His mouth drew into a firm line as he took the letter himself, broke the seal and passed it silently to Nadira.

She read the Latin to herself, translating out loud into halting English.
“Richard, greetings to my beloved son. It is with the grace of God that I am
able to put these words to paper and I pray
they reach you…
” Nadira paused, whispering the rest of the sentence, “
and find you safe and well
.” She looked up, unsure whether to continue. She could not see Lord Montrose, for he had moved back away from the fire when she took the letter from his hand, but she heard him groan softly in the darkness behind her. The other men sat around the fire, waiting for her to continue. The flickering light gave the illusion of movement, but they sat still as stone.