Burning Shadows (21 page)

Bernardius pointed to the inner walls ahead. “My men are on watch until mid-day, then those of Apulum Inferior replace them. That should serve to occupy their afternoon, at least.” He swung around. “You are fortunate to have so many men with you.”

Brevios hesitated. “It would be better if we hadn’t lost nine of them coming here, and that none of them had taken an inflammation of the lungs.”

“Better yet if we hadn’t left,” grumbled Denerac.

Neves heard this and came to a halt. “Don’t say that,” he recommended. “I know what the Huns do, I’ve fought them, so has Tribune Bernardius. You have spared your families horrible suffering by abandoning your village.”

“The Huns came to Tsapousso,” said Denerac, visibly bristling; his thick, white mustaches quivered and his shoulders rose.

“And sensibly, you departed,” said Neves, unimpressed by his display.

“Yes. We left behind everything, including the dying.”

Neves nodded. “Just as the rest of us would have done in your situation. Not an easy decision, of course, but something that you had to do. Any leader must be called upon to deal with unpleasant things from time to time. You chose the most sensible action, though it was difficult.”

Before the two men became furious, Priam Corydon intervened. “No doubt each of you has had his own horrendous experience with these barbarians, and shares the desire never to have to engage with them again. Since we can’t be the ones to decide that, it behooves us to prepare for the worst they can do. We do this by improving our defenses and our housing. Don’t you agree?”

Neves and Denerac exchanged vitriolic looks, then Neves moved on. “You are fortunate that the spring is inside the inner walls; they will not be able to drive us out by thirst. We will have to lay in more meat—smoked or salted—so that we can’t be starved out, either. We will have to try to hunt in the meadows. There must be boar and deer about. Are there fish in the lake?” He reached the stairs up to the new battlement, and leaned forward to steady himself for the climb.

“A few. We could chop a hole in the ice, I suppose; we have done so before,” said Priam Corydon, setting his foot on the tread after Neves, heading upward.

The rampart-walkways were no more than eighteen hands above the ground, but high enough to raise them above the level of men on horseback, and the logs that made the walls were notched to allow for more effective use of weapons. Each upright log was bound to its neighbor by wide iron straps, making the wall especially sturdy. The heavy planks of the walkway were a hand thick and fifteen hands wide, supported by upended-log pillars and braces to the wall that added to its strength. A dozen men could stand upon this section and not fear a collapse.

Leaning forward to support himself on the steps above as Neves had done, Priam Corydon soon reached the platform, where he asked, “What of the monks living in caves around the valley?” pointing to the ridge beyond the lake, its crags towering over it. “Do you see that spur? Three of them have cells there. The rest are lower down, above the scree.”

Neves and Bernardius looked shocked; Brevios and Denarac were not surprised at anything monks might do.

“How many are there?” Neves asked, recovering himself slightly.

“Nine, if they’re all still alive,” Priam Corydon answered. “They come here on major feast days.”

Bernardius scowled out at the face of the mountain. “Nunc non fassi est,” he muttered in mangled Latin.

“It isn’t safe for them to try to reach this place, not with snow so deep,” Brevios remarked, stepping out on the walkway and squinting out at the sawtooth tor in front of them.

“Try to tell them, if you like; you need only walk half a league through deep snow,” said Priam Corydon. “They have been there for years, and only two have died in the last six years. Monachos Vlasos makes them meat, cheese, and bread on Sundays and the novices carry the food to them; in addition they’re provided meals on feast days, when they come here. They are always welcome at our table, of course, but they usually avail themselves of the welcome on feast days alone.”

“When is the next feast day?” Neves asked.

“In three days’ time,” said Priam Corydon. “It commemorates our founder, Sanctu Eustachios, who came here forty years ago.” Warming to his topic, he continued, “He had been a disciple of Sanctu Ioannos Chrysostom, and when that holy man was sent into exile, he dispersed his followers so that none would have to suffer on his account. Sanctu Eustachios, faithful to his vows to uphold traditional Christian worship, came here from Byzantiu—”

“In winter?” Denarac marveled. “Why would he come in winter?” 

“He followed God’s promptings. The spring and its chapel and the walls and the warehouses and barns were here, and the dormitory; there was a small company of nine soldiers left manning it, and they were glad to have Sanctu Eustachios with them; they became his first monks. As he gained followers, the monastery itself was built. Not all pious men drawn here seek to live among others; they prefer their remote cells.”

“Why would they do that?” Bernardius asked. “This valley is isolated already. Why not accept the safety and companionship of other monks?”

“Some of them are afraid of soldiers, and of strangers, some have secrets they want to preserve, one of them is troubled in his mind and unwilling to live among others, or so they have told the novices; only four of them attended the Nativity Feast. They will join us again before many more days go by, when you may ask them for yourself.” After a moment, Priam Corydon continued, “And some of them disapprove of what we’re doing here.”

“Disapprove?” Bernardius blurted, much shocked. “Why on earth should they disapprove?”

“They believe that to do anything to interfere with the unfolding of events is to go against God’s Will, and therefore anyone who doesn’t surrender to the fate of the world falls from Grace. If they strive to save themselves in this world, they damn themselves in the next,” said Priam Corydon. “They say that if God wants us to be saved, He will save us: we disrespect Him if we seek to defend ourselves. It is for us to acquiesce in the Will of God, not to defy Him.”

“Then they’re fools!” Bernardius flapped his arms to show his indignation. “The Huns don’t care about God.”

“Do you think the hermits could be a problem for us?” Neves asked the Priam. “Would they aid the Huns?”

“Actively aid them, no,” said Priam Corydon. “But they would do nothing to stop them.”

Brevios shuddered. “Would they be willing to warn us of anything they see that might endanger the monastery?”

Priam Corydon considered this. “I doubt it,” he told them at last. “It is likely that they would pray for God to use them according to His Will if they saw trouble coming.”

“All the better then, that I’ve posted men on the mountains,” said Neves, being as practical as he could.

“Very likely,” said Brevios. “If you need more men to stand guard, I will provide some of our Watchmen. Ours is the largest delegation here: it is fitting that we shoulder the greater part of the care of this place.”

Last onto the platform was Denerac, who brushed off the front of his wolfskin byrrus, then glowered out at the rising crags and said, “We had a monk who came to Tsapousso and preached the same nonsense. A few of our people believed him and would not evacuate with us: they remained behind and that was the last we heard of them.” He shook his head slowly. “What God would ask that of His worshippers? Martyrdom ought to have its limits.”

“Monachos Anatolios would approve of what they did,” said Priam Corydon dryly. “He says it is what he will do.”

“Then I hope the Huns will be merciful and make short work of him,” said Neves. “Since his God will not spare him.”

Priam Corydon made the sign of the cross toward the mountains. “May he enter Heaven singing.”

“Screaming, more likely,” said Denerac, his glare daring Priam Corydon to contradict him. “If the Huns take him, he’ll have a proper foretaste of Hell, and no mistaking.”

“Preco ni Dei me induxerunt in multos erroris,” Bernardius whispered in his chaotic Latin.

“Praying won’t save you,” Denerac grumbled. “Tell those monks that they may help us, or they may keep to their cells, but it must be one or the other.”

Brevios cleared his throat. “There are two families with our group who have declared their intention to leave as soon as travel is possible. I cannot compel them to remain. If they feel they must depart, I will be unable to stop them.”

“If they feel that way when the snows begin to melt, then let them go, so that they will not interfere with our efforts,” said Neves. “The same with Bernardius’ group. No one should have to stay here if the roads are passable if they would prefer not to.” He sighed. “We may have still more wanting to depart, come spring.”

“All of us may have to leave,” said Bernardius dispiritedly. “There are certain enemies we may have to flee rather than fight.”

“You’re descended from Legionaries, and you say that?” Neves asked, rounding on him.

“My grandfather said only a fool fights a futile battle,” Bernardius declared. “Prudenti caveat barbaram.”

Once again Priam Corydon intervened. “Let’s deal with the evils we have before us rather than argue about those that may not befall us. We are agreed that we will not seek out a battle, or pursue a bellicose course. We have more than enough to contend with as things stand now.” He shaded his eyes as he looked toward the mountain again. “I want those hermits to be safe, for their safety benefits us all. I’ll talk to them in three days, when they will be here.”

“And you will pray that they will listen,” said Bernardius. “You are a good man, from what I’ve seen. You will try to save them.” 

“And I pray they will allow me to do so, in the name of Sanctu Eustachios. The monks are my flock; it is my duty to care for them.” Priam Corydon stepped under the roof at the angle in the wall, rubbing his hands together. “You told me we need more weapons,” he said to Neves.

“We do,” he said. “There should be time enough to make spears, bows, and arrows, possibly even a ballista.”

“That wouldn’t be much use against cavalry,” said Bernardius. “It might be,” said Neves. “If we put it in the right place.” He looked out toward the lake. “They’ll have to muster somewhere, and the likeliest place is out there.”

Priam Corydon shook his head. “In the spring a good portion of that land becomes a bog from the melting snows running into the lake. No. It would be too much trouble to climb the back side of that ridge: the drop is a steep one. There are too many hazards in that direction. They’ll probably come in from the east, on the same road those from Apulum Inferior used, and that would give them the triangular foot of the pass to marshal their men.”

“And the advantage of higher ground,” said Neves.

“Could we force them onto the swale? Make them try to fight on boggy footing?” Bernardius asked. “It would slow any attack they made, and it might ruin their horses.”

Denerac raised his voice. “Better to take down the buildings outside the walls. The Huns usually set out-buildings on fire.”

“Do they?” Priam Corydon inquired. “Then the skinning shed and the quarantine-house will be taken down as soon as possible. The lumber can be used elsewhere in our defenses, and it will spare us the danger of out-buildings that can be set afire.” The men all nodded their agreement, a little good-will spreading among them. In this more cordial atmosphere, Priam Corydon turned to Brevios. “Can you tell me how Patras Anso is doing?”

“He’s improving,” said Brevios.

“It is no small thing to have putrid lungs; he is fortunate to survive.” He intended this remark sympathetically, but saw Brevios bristle. “If you will convey my wishes for his recovery to him and assure him of my prayers?”

Brevios stared at him. “I will do that,” he said flatly.

Priam Corydon could not imagine what he had said that offended Brevios, for he had not wanted to slight the priest. “Thank you,” he said properly.

“What plans have you made for evacuation? Has a route been chosen?” Denerac asked purposefully, forestalling any protests by adding, “It is a possibility we must consider.”

“I haven’t thought much about it,” said Priam Corydon, “since there is no chance of evacuating now. When the snows are gone, it will be otherwise.” He flipped his hand toward the edge of the valley. “If we must leave this place, it will be later in the spring. Between then and now, if we shore up the walls and the outer fortifications, we will at least have security enough to keep us safe from all but the most concerted assaults the Huns can make. With so many stalwart men to fight, surely we can sustain ourselves until one of the garrisons relieves us.”

Neves chuckled mirthlessly. “More hope of Legions, Priam?” 

“Like you, I am the descendant of the Legionaries posted here in the time of Imperial glory,” he said.

Denerac moaned. “Another fool.”

“Hardly a fool. My grandfather served as a quartermaster in one army; I do the same in another, and for a grander master.” Priam Corydon inclined his head toward Neves, then Bernardius. “We have been taught to uphold Roman rule, and each of us, in his way, does what he can to vindicate our purpose, though I cleave to the Second Roma, not the First.”