Come Twilight (67 page)
From his place at the high table, Radulphuz of Sant Palampito watched his guests with bored, lascivious eyes; he was dawdling over his meal, keeping a handsome young page by his side to serve him. A man of middle years—perhaps as old as thirty-five—Radulphuz had the grizzled hair and scarred features of a field commander; his left hand lacked three fingers and there was a cicatrix along his shoulder where a Moorish scimitar had missed his neck by less than a hands-breadth. His surcote was of berry-colored velvet and he wore no cote beneath, allowing it to hang open from his neck to his knees. He looked up as the maior domuz escorted Germanno into the hall. Lazily he motioned the two to approach.
Germanno did as he was required to do: he made a deep reverence to Radulphuz, holding his courier’s staff out to him. “In the name of Idelfonzuz of Aragon and Navarre, and guardian of Castile and León, I am Germanno, Comide Ragoczy.”
The foreign name caught Radulphuz’s attention. “A mercenary?” he asked in surprise.
“An exile,” Germanno corrected courteously.
“I suppose there is a difference,” said Radulphuz, whooping and pointing as two of his men began competitive masturbation; a few of the others stopped their various amusements to watch. Radulphuz waited a moment before looking back at Germanno. “And what am I to do for Idelfonzuz?”
“You are to provide me with all your latest information on the territory to the east of you currently in dispute,” Germanno said.
“Ah,” Radulphuz said, pulling his lower lip between his remaining thumb and finger. “So you are the one he is sending into that godforsaken region.”
“I am the one,” said Germanno, a hint of wry humor in his voice.
“I do not envy you that mission; I would not authorize any of my men to undertake it. I cannot afford to lose any of them,” said Radulphuz as he reached for his goblet and drank, signaling his page to refill it.
“It will be less hazardous if you will provide me with the information I will need when I am there,” Germanno suggested firmly.
“Naturally,” said Radulphuz. “I have no doubt that you are correct.”
“Then you are minded to give me what I need?” Germanno asked, ignoring the howls and cries below him.
Radulphuz was staring at his men; he ran his tongue over his lips. Wholly preoccupied with what he was watching he said, “Yes. Yes. Come to me in the morning and I will provide you with all the information I can. I have a letter that you should see. If you cannot read, my clerk will read it for you.”
Germanno was not surprised at this order. “I can read,” he said. “Where will I find you in the morning?”
“My maior domuz will know,” said Radulphuz, his gaze devouring the debauchery that was increasing; the naked men had begun plundering one another’s bodies in a variety of ways, most of which would have got them burned at the stake if any Churchman had seen them.
“I will seek him out,” said Germanno, preparing to rise and leave.
Abruptly Radulphuz turned and stared at him. “You are taking a great chance, going into those mountains.”
“The Moors have many soldiers there, I know,” said Germanno as if he were aware of no other danger.
“Moors are nothing. They say the Viexa Armoza lives there, with all her brood.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Rather a hundred Moors than Ximene.”
“Ximene?” Germanno said, fully alert now. He could not convince himself that the name was coincidental.
“They say the Viexa Armoza is called Ximene. Whatever her name, she is very dangerous,” Radulphuz said, and glanced back at his men. “If one is to believe peasants, she, and her children, are vampires. The Moors call them night-demons.” He laughed, but whether at the antics of his men or the notion of vampires or the Moors’ name for them was impossible to discern.
Germanno considered his next question carefully. “How many of them are there: do you know?”
“Vampires?” Radulphuz shrugged, irritated at having to listen to Germanno any longer. “If the peasants are to be believed, there are hundreds of them.” Saying that, he waved Germanno away and went back to staring at the orgy he had created.
Text of a letter from Gildoz, Knight of Usxa to Radulphuz of Sant Palampito at Zaraguza.
To the most excellent Radulphuz of Sant Palampito, commander of troops in Zaraguza and champion of Christians throughout Spain, the
most respectful and devoted greetings of Gildaz, Knight of Usxa, with the heartfelt prayer that you may heed my words for the sake of our King and the Christ Who has bought our Salvation with His Blood.
In my years in this city, I have fought the Moors with the singularity of purpose that only faith can provide, and although I have sought neither riches nor advancement for my dedication, I have hoped that I might, at some point, provide crucial support to one such as you, who has given so much hope to those of us who have fought so long in our shared cause.
To that end, I have gathered such intelligence as may aid you in your battles. I send it to you in the care of the monk, Fre Benedictuz, who will vouch for its accuracy and truth, for he, too, has seen many things that will make your work here more true to our goal than if you came here fully unprepared. Fre Benedictuz is known as a pious man, and one who may be relied upon not to lead you or your forces astray, as so many others might, for the good of their own community, but the disadvantage of the King.
It is his report that the Moors have been burning the forests again. They say it is to rid the region of night-demons who are reputed to inhabit the area, but there are those who are not convinced that this is their only motive, for wherever there is burning, soldiers are exposed to a terrible death, and they lose the protection the forest affords them. Whether or not the charred bodies found afterward are Moors or Christians or night-demons, no one can say, although the Moors contend only their enemies are hurt in these exercises. I cannot be as sanguine as the Moors claim to be, for I know that each death brings damnation and perpetual fire to those who have not embraced their Salvation, and have died without the blessing of Christ’s Church to protect them. Thus far the burnings have not been carried out in summer, for the heat of the day and the aridness of the mountains could well cause the fires to burn beyond the limits the Moors have set. It is hard enough when summer lightning sets the mountains ablaze, as has happened many times before. However, the Moors are increasingly desperate and therefore are not willing to show any caution for fear it will lead to greater losses among their numbers.
It is my own belief that the Moors would embrace any excuse to harm Christians, including martyring them with fire. I am certain that if they can claim fear of night-demons they will do so and they will scorch the earth from the Eberoz to the heart of Aragon, for the chance
to rid themselves of any centers of resistance that might have escaped their vengeance until now. I am fearful that there may be losses of an intolerable nature if the Moors are allowed to do as they wish. In Usxa we see every day the extent of the Moors’ determination not to release their hold on this region. I pray that they will not be so adamant in their efforts that all any of us will have in the end is burned forests and barren hills, but in spite of hours on my knees, I find all my hope is fading with every day that passes without the warriors of Christ driving back the Moors.
Nor is destroying the forests the end of their perfidy. In this city, we see young men taken as slaves every day; their fate is in the hands of our enemies, and all of us know that these young men will not return here. For this alone I ask that you bring your soldiers soon, so that these young men are not lost to Christ through the cruelty of His enemies. As I yearn for Christ, I beg you to come soon, while there is a city to rescue and lands to hold for more than a graveyard.
In the fullness of devotion, and with an esteem for you that is offered for no man on earth, save King Idelfonzuz, and with my continuing prayers for succor, I sign myself,
Gildaz, Knight of Usxa
Son of Bauthizta, cousin of Adelfonzuz of León and Castile
By the hand of Fre Patrizoz
At Usxa on the 1
st
day of July in the 1117
th
of Grace. Amen.
Everywhere the night smelled of burning; smuts carried on the capricious wind were a constant reminder that the fire was not yet wholly extinguished in spite of the rainstorm that had drenched the mountains in the middle of the afternoon. Charred carcases of small animals—mice, hapless birds, voles, toads—littered the smoking ground; here and there a larger creature—a badger, a fox, a goat—lay blackened amid the remains of the woods.
Germanno’s horses were nervous and the mules balky. They made their way through the early night, with the horizon behind them still tarnished with the last smudge of sunset. The animals moved in that precarious precision that was eloquent of fear; Germanno could feel their tension through the reins and the leads he held, and realized it would not be wise to force them to go much farther. “Just as well,” he remarked to the night. Dawn was coming, and it was time for him to find shelter—assuming there was any to find. His quick survey of his surroundings was far from promising, and he wondered if he would be better off improvising a shelter in this desolate place or pressing on toward the faint line of sparks that lit the edge of the surviving trees. Although they were dying, there was always the chance that the flames would rise again, and that was an unwelcome prospect that Germanno feared as keenly as any living thing.
According to the rough map Radulphuz had provided him, Germanno should now be a short distance from the Usxa road that led up into the heart of Aragon and linked Idelfonzuz’s kingdom with Zaraguza and Castile beyond. In the burned landscape, the road was indistinguishable from any other fairly flat stretch of ground, and the map was not specific enough to make finding his way possible; distances were estimated and geographical features were placed as much for design as accuracy on the vellum sheet. He crested a small rise and peered into the slight depression beyond, where the fire had stopped short of a copse of oak and pine. No red ember eyes winked at him from the branches, and the gust of wind carried no new ash on it. This was the first encouraging sight he had had since mid-day, and he was absurdly glad to see it. He clucked his blue roan forward, and tugged the other three animals after him.
Immediately before the stand of trees there was a small summer-low brook, sliding along as if hoping to avoid notice, almost silent, and giving little shine from between its banks. Insignificant as this band of water might be, it appeared to have been enough to halt the fading fire. As uncomfortable as running water made him, Germanno was relieved as he crossed it, pausing on the wooded side to allow his horses and mules to drink while he listened to the sounds of the forest behind them. At first he noticed little more than the continuing sound of rustling leaves and branches, but then he became aware of the chitterings of those creatures that had survived the fire, and sensed their barely subdued panic.
Without any transition, the woods were still, only the wind making noise. Something had come into the stand of trees that had troubled the creatures within it; the jack-mule raised his head, long ears working to pick up the shift in sound. Germanno’s blue roan whuffled nervously.
Nothing happened for a long moment, and then a terrible scream, one that came from the deepest part of the man whose voice it was, cracked the silence. Immediately birds flew out of the safety of the trees and many animals rushed away from so mortal a sound. For a short while Germanno struggled with his horses and mules, all of which wanted to bolt. As the last of the cry shivered away, Germanno swung his horse around and went into the forest, drawing rein only when he heard shouting ahead of him.
“He is finally dead!” a voice crowed. “He can die!”
Another voice, less excited than the first, said, “You knew that. You chased him to kill him.” Their dialect was so unfamiliar that it took Germanno a long moment to comprehend what he heard. “Make sure he is dead. His kind are harder to kill than most of the living.”
“And we did not have to burn him,” the first exclaimed. “The lance was enough.”
“So it seems,” the second agreed, but with less conviction.
“We should chop off his head!” the first said, nervous and thrilled at once. “That will make sure.”
“We have nothing to do it with. I did not think to bring an axe, and neither did you.” The second sounded disappointed. “If we run him through with the lance a few more times, that should be enough.”
“I’ll do it!” The first rushed through the underbrush and began to wrestle with the body, thrashing noisily as he strove to do his self-appointed task. “Let the Viexa Armoza howl for this.”
“Make sure the backbone is broken. That keeps them from rising,” said the second, coming after the first in a less hectic pace.
“I will,” the first said, panting with his effort.
Germanno decided it was time to end this assault. He pulled his horse around and tugged the horse and mules after him as he rode into the wood, making sure to be loud enough to alert the two men to his coming, for by the sound of it they would not respond well to being surprised. The gloom of dusk deepened to enveloping darkness in the shelter of the trees, but Germanno continued on without much difficulty, using the urgent voices to guide him.
“Do we bury him?” The second voice was sharper now, and holding a hint of dread beneath its apparent control.
“No; he might recover if we do; they say the Viexa Armoza has been buried before, and risen,” the first said breathlessly; he grunted with effort, then said, “There!” This was followed at once by a bludgeoning sound. “Got his spine that time. I heard it break, and I felt the bones give.”
“And his hostel? What about his hostel? The fire did not reach more than its barn. Should we not destroy it before it is found empty?” the second asked, then stopped.