The Ravens of Falkenau & Other Stories (20 page)

At the end of the row, a change in the stone parquetry of the floor was our signal, and as one we all sunk into the prostration. I could not see the girls, but from the corner of my eye I could see Artontes, graceful and handsome in his crimson silks, the prostration an act of beauty to behold. I, of course, did not go all the way to the floor.

"Rise, dear sister," the Great King said, and I looked up to see his mouth quirk at me. "All may know that you are welcome to Our court whenever you desire to make the journey."

"It is a pleasure, Majesty, to make the journey for such a happy event," I replied as we all got to our feet.

"Indeed," he said, and his eyes were on the girls behind me. "It gives me great joy to celebrate the marriage of my niece Epyaxa, and to wish for her the blessings of a long and fruitful life."

"My thanks, Great King," Epyaxa said behind me.

His gaze shifted. "Captain Artontes, you are just come from Our Ionian fleet?"

"I am, Your Majesty," he replied. "From Naxos, where I am stationed aboard the warship Avenger."

"We thank you for your service," he said. "And may that service be as long and valiant as that of your late father."

"I only aspire to my father's achievements, Your Majesty," Artontes said. "I do not hope to duplicate them." It was his stock answer, I thought, polished to perfection. After all, had he heard anything else since he joined the fleet other than will you be your father again?

My brother's eyes fell on Stateira. "And this must be my youngest niece. When I last saw you, you were a child, not a beauty."

He meant to be kind, but Stateira gulped. "It's nice of you to say so, Your Majesty," she almost whispered.

He glanced at me, and I gave him the look which said, no, nothing is wrong, only shy.

"You are welcome to Our court," he said, falling back on the formula. She would be easier, I thought, once she was away from this great crowd. In truth, this exchange did not mean so much.

Afterwards, in the private hall behind, my brother came and embraced me. "You're looking well," he said.

"So are you," I said, and I thought that it was true. Yes, he had gained some weight, but it gave him dignity. There were a few threads of gray at his temples, but he looked fit and somehow more settled, as though he slept at night without ill dreams. Which would be a trick in this palace.

Only perhaps not. While he greeted Artontes again I looked about. It was an inner hall with no windows, so it could not possibly be actually lighter than it had been. It was instead the air of the place, as though sadness no longer pooled in corners, darkness lying under the furniture waiting to leap. It felt clean. It felt new. Somehow it was different.

I had tried before, but this palace had defeated me, too much weight of pain and misery still lying here, too many miserable people in too small a space, drowning all in sorrow. Too much had happened here.

Miletus was nothing like this, nor Ecbatana where Anahita watched over us. Even Babylon was not like this, even the new palace in Persepolis was not quite this bad. Pasargadae was the heart of it, the place all the bad spread from. And yet something was different.

I was trying to feel what, to trace the walls of this place with my mind as I so often had as a child, and did not hear my brother when he spoke until he touched my arm.

"Artazostre? I want you to meet my new wife. I told you I remarried, but I know you haven't met her yet."

I turned, a polished smile on my face, though my mind was still half wandering.

She was tiny, almost a head shorter than I, with long dark hair worn up in intricate pins and combs ornamented with sapphires, a great star sapphire set in silver resting across her brow. Her eyes were dark too, warm and limpid, and her flawless complexion was alabaster touched with gold. "I hope you will let me call you sister too," she said, and embraced me to give me the kiss of peace.

It is her
, I thought as she touched me
. It is her. This warmth, this light, they emanate from her.
I thought it, and my lips touched her cheek in greeting.

He had promised it, the winged messenger Mikhael. He had promised I was not the only one who labored, though I might not see the other workmen. He had said they were there, that the peace of our empire was a great task, for all our subjects in all their lands were uncountable, and when the Great King spoke thousands might suffer or be instead redeemed. Do you think, he had said, that all such rests only on you? You labor alone, but you are not the only workman.

I squeezed her hand a little too tightly, but she smiled as she stepped back, a beautiful, mild smile that had steel beneath it. "I am so glad to meet you," I said. "It is clear that you do my brother good."

My brother beamed at her, his arm around her proudly. "I have no need of any other, concubine or wife, while I have her with me. She is my Esther, my Morning Star."

Not all treasure is gold and jewels.
 
For centuries people have speculated on what the mysterious treasure of the Knights Templar was.
 
Jauffre de Vallombreuse, who was once an oracle named Gull, discovered it for himself.

"Jauffre de Vallombreuse?"

I raised my head. I was keeping the morning vigil in the chapel with two others, and there was no reason to interrupt me, unless upon high authority. The vigil schedules were set by the Knight Commander.

The squire who had called me was seventeen or so, nearly on the verge of knighting, but I did not know him well. He served Master Raimond de Genlis, who was more than a Knight Commander indeed. He was the Seneschal of Beirut, and I had only spoken to him twice. "My master would like to see you, sir."

With a quick genuflection to the altar I got up and followed him through the garden and along the rampart.

Master Raimond stood looking out at the sea, the curve of the cornice slicing like a crescent through the deep blue. I bowed as proper.

"Jauffre de Vallombreuse," he said, and it seemed to me that his voice was thready. He was, after all, quite old. "You have presented an interesting conundrum to the Order."

"I have?" I had certainly tried to do no such thing.

"You are a fine horseman and a dogged fighter, with some good tactical sense, they tell me. As such, you would go far commanding one of our outposts, or leading an advance force against the Saracens." He looked at me keenly. "But unfortunately you also have a mind. I am given to understand that your Latin is passable?"

"So Sir Hugh tells me, sir," I said. Most knights could not read or write when they were received, no more had I. And why should we? Our business was the horse and sword, and an area no more than a day's ride from the place of our births. We should never see the sea, nor anything but the peaks and valleys of Haute Savoie.

But I had been gone from there six years, quite a lot of time to learn, even through some battles. And Latin was incredibly easy.

"And I am given to understand you speak Arabic?"

"I have picked up a bit, sir," I said, "For the marketplace and the like."

"Because Knights Templar spend a deal of time in the marketplace." His eyes twinkled. "No Greek?"

"Just a few words with this Byzantine or that, sir," I said. "No more."

"I see," he said, and this time the amusement in his voice was unmistakable. "Which is the conundrum. Were you intended for the field, your path would now be clear — a transfer to some fortress more likely to see action than Beirut. And were you feeble in body but keen in wits, it would be best for you to retire to the copyist's work. On top of which I am given to understand that you have a damnable sense of curiosity. What is this business of you wandering about the stones of the old Roman baths?"

I swallowed. That, at least, I knew I should not have been doing. "I wanted to see how they were constructed, sir. The arches seem too long for the weight they must have borne, and I wanted to see how it was done."

"And did you discover it?"

"No, sir," I said.

"I suspect you have not the mathematics," Master Raimond said, and met my eyes when they sought his. "There is a gentleman named Euclid who might prove of assistance to you, were you to meet him."

"I should be delighted to meet any friend of yours," I said courteously.

Master Raimond laughed. "Come then, Jauffre, and I will introduce you to another friend! I think he may prove more to your liking than Euclid!"

Slowly, he led me into the seaward tower, where I had never been as the first floor was the province of the copyists who did not like soldiers stomping through. He led me up the long spiral stair, stopping often to catch his breath, until at last we came to the uppermost chamber.

The room was octagonal, with windows in four faces to catch the light. Each window was set with dozens of panes of glass, worth a king's ransom. One window was open, and the breeze from the ocean blew through, teasing a piece of paper on a table, the tassels of a scroll on the shelf. Four walls had windows. The others had books. There must have been a hundred books in that room, some of them locked in covers of leather and precious jewels, others only scrolls, cased in white linen. There was nothing else in the room, save a copyist's table and chair and lead weights for holding paper flat.

The room and its contents were worth more than every horse in the stable, every sword in Beirut, every ring and chain. I caught my breath. "A hundred books…"

"A hundred and eleven," Master Raimond said. "Most of them discovered here, or in various places nearby, some quite literally dug out of the ground." He looked at me keenly. "You have doubtless heard that we guard a priceless treasure."

I nodded.

"This is part of it. This is a granary, Jauffre. The things contained within these books are precious seeds, and if you read them they will change you. You will no longer be the man you have been. Think upon that before you open them."

I nodded again sharply. "I am not afraid, Master Raimond." In truth, my hands were itching.

"They will challenge your faith, your beliefs about the world, your sense of all that is right and proper. They will open windows into a different earth just as surely as if you went over to the Saracens and dwelled in Babylon."

I met his eyes. "But if the things I believe are right and true, then what fear have I of challenge, for will those things I learn not simply prove what is? And if the things I believe are not right and true, would it not be better for me to know that and face it like a man?"

Master Raimond laughed. "I see that you will enjoy this. Yes, joy, Jauffre. There is something to be said for
joying
in work well done. Spend the morning with my friend, here. And come and find me in the afternoon that we may discuss it." He took down a carefully wrapped bundle, opening its linen case and stretching it gently on the table, the paper darkened with age but still readable. "We will talk about copying later. Today you can just read."

He put the weights on the corners, and I sat down, bending over the spidery Latin. "Read for me, Jauffre."

The Latin was not hard. I cleared my throat. "The Anabasis of Flavius
Arrianus
. Wherever Ptolemy and
Aristobulus
in their histories of Alexander the son of Phillip have given the same account, I have followed it on the assumption of its accuracy…"

Sometimes a character who is only peripheral in one book wants a story of their own, one that gives a different perspective on the main characters.
 
This is not a story of our main character, Gull etc, who doesn't appear until almost the end, though the events of this story were in many ways set in motion by her.
 
This is the story of her granddaughter, a very brave little girl, growing up in the funeral games of the wars of revolution.
 

I wrote this one for my friends Kathryn
McCulley
and Anna
Kiwiel
, who have both contributed so much to the Numinous World over the years.

The first thing Natia remembers is cold, cold and her mother’s arms around her, almost as cold as the rest of the world. In her childhood she was always cold and it was always winter. Now that she is a grown girl eight years old, she knows it’s not always winter. She can remember last summer. It was warm some of those days, and she helped in the gardens at the abbey. Some of the sisters were kind to her and wanted to teach her about plants. Weeding and tending the herbs in the abbey’s garden was a chore, but it seemed like a game to her.

She was out in the garden when her mother died. She was working among the stones, carefully rearranging the edging of the beds where the birds had disarranged it, when it seemed that suddenly a huge hush came over the world. The birds stopped singing. The soft rustles in the grass were stilled. Even the clouds stopped moving. Natia knew. She knew in that moment that everything was different, that a strange peace turned on a still point.

One of the sisters came to get her. She washed her hands and they took her in. Her mother lay still and silent in the only occupied bed in the infirmary, her hands clasped around the rosary on her breast, her pale blond hair loose around her shoulders like a girl’s, the oil still glistening on her forehead. Natia knelt beside her. It was all still quiet. She had known her mother was dying for years. She was seven and a bit, and entirely alone in the world.