Burning Shadows (33 page)

Over the last month, more than two hundred thirty of the refugees have left the monastery, diminishing the number of men available to fight and to help the fighters. More have plans to leave, including the ones who will bear this to you. The mercenaries are still willing to defend this place, some say because Dom Sanctu-Germainios has pledged to pay them if they survive. None of the soldiers have fled, though many of them are not happy to stay here. Antoninu Neves, their leader, has told Priam Corydon that his men will not desert the monks. Tribune Bernardius of Ulpia Traiana has said his soldiers will stay until an evacuation is ordered, but the others, the refugees, from Ulpia Traiana must do as they think best. He cannot force them to stay, or to go. The leaders of men, not the soldiers, from Ulpia Traiana have gone already, all but two, and one is planning to leave shortly.

Those refugees who remain here do so more because they fear to encounter the Huns in the open more than they wish to stay. All the refugees are awaiting the return of the Huns, and all are afraid. The monks say they would welcome the departure of the refugees and soldiers, but I think most of them are secretly glad to have help. Monks do not often make good fighters, and the Huns would defeat them with little effort if the refugees and soldiers and mercenaries left them without the protection they have given the monastery so far.

Presently there are eight hundred twenty-one men, women, children, and monks within these walls. The party leaving that will carry this to you will reduce that to seven hundred seventy-four. There are roughly thirty residents of the monastery who are ill or impaired and therefore unable to fight.

Only one merchant has stopped here since I have arrived, a man known to Priam Corydon from previous visits; he remained only two days before continuing his journey to Aquincum. He came from Thessalonika, crossed the Danuvius at Oescus, and came to the monastery by secondary roads, for he says the Roman ones are haunted by outlaws of all sorts; he said that this spring he has met with fewer merchants on this trip than in previous years. He had an escort of three men-at-arms, and nine well-laden mules, bearing not only the man and his escort, but all his wares. They travel at a rate of fifteen to twenty thousand paces a day on good roads, and between ten and twelve thousand paces a day on poor roads. They have three times had to fight off attacks of various robbers, but they have not yet seen any Huns. If this journey goes badly, he told the Priam that he would not come north of the Danuvius again.

If it is your intention to dispatch troops to add to the defenders’ numbers, then I recommend that you do so as soon as may be. The summer will quickly be upon us, and the monastery could shortly be attacked. The Huns will not wait for much longer, I fear, if they intend to raid this place again, though they may hold off until the fields are nearer harvest, so they will have rewards for their efforts. They can use the grain in the fields before the lake, and the fruit in the orchards as well as items of value they can take from the refugees. I, for one, do not want to have to fight them if they come in their numbers as they are said to do.

The monastery is also being visited by the hermit Monachos Anatolios, who has declared that the defenses must be taken down, or God will not protect the monks and the other residents. He says that to build stockades shows a lack of faith, and that only those who will have utter faith in God will be worthy of His Mercy. By building defenses, Monachos Anatolios says, the monks expose themselves to the fires of Hell for apostasy, as well as to the fury of the Huns. He has four followers among the other hermits, and some of the monks here are inclined to agree with him. Because of that, stress between the monks and the refugees is getting worse, and it is likely that it will continue and worsen. Since I came here, four men have been exiled from the monastery for repeated fighting with those monks who think that the monastery should not be defended, to show their faith. No doubt more men will be turned off until the Huns come. The monks who fight are sent to penitential cells in the main building of the monastery.

There are rumors that the Huns have a spy in the monastery, but such rumors are always rife in circumstances like these, and I do not give the idea much credit. In so confined a place as this, it would be difficult for a spy to work without exposing himself. Not that the Huns would hesitate to employ spies, but I doubt that there is such a man in this place: the advantages appear to be few and the hazards many. Roman taxes may be high and arbitrary in former provinces, but they are not as destructive as the Huns can be.

From my view, from all I have seen and heard, this region would need a full Legion at least to defend it, the country being so mountainous that foot soldiers may have a good chance against cavalry, not that the Gepidae would welcome a Legion on this side of the Danuvius. The Gepidae and Goths have negotiated with the Hunnic King Attila, and pay him tribute to avoid fighting his men. Some of the Goths have gone over to the Huns, accepting their promise of safety in place of protecting their territory and kin. If anyone is to stop Attila’s advance it will have to be the Roman Empire, East or West. The people in this region are growing weary of fighting, and many have already gone over to the Huns. If no action is taken now, in these mountains, then there will be no stopping Attila from attacking within the Empire, perhaps as far as Roma itself, or Constantinople. I do not say this to alarm you, but in warning.

I have fulfilled the first condition of my mission, so in accordance with your pledge, prepare a writ of manumission for my sister and procure a loom for her. I will leave here within the month, and will expect word of your compliance from my sister before I depart; should I have nothing from her, I will seek you out to discover the reason.

In all devotion to you and the Roman cause,

Hredus

  Freedman of Drobetae

1

“With the death of the farrier’s baby, we are down to seven hundred fifty-four souls within our walls,” Monachos Niccolae of Sinu said as he presented his weekly census to Priam Corydon; he was weary, his hair and beard were grayer, and his face was more worn than it had been a month ago. “We have lost six weavers and a fuller, and are now reduced to two smiths. The refugees from Apulum Inferior have lost the greatest number, and they are still leaving in higher count than the others.” Early Mass had been over for a quarter of the morning, half the monks were at private devotions in their cells, and it was almost time for the mid-day meal.

The monastery’s office was dim although it was late morning; the shutters were closed against the weather. A warm summer rain was falling, the fine drops more of a mist than a proper downpour; this meant that the usual sentries were not posted on the peaks around the valley, which made many of the residents uneasy, for in conditions like this, the Huns could be upon them without any warning, so they went about their tasks quietly, talking in hushed voices when they had to speak, but generally saying very little.

Priam Corydon sighed as he looked at the sheet of vellum. “The last lot went down the hunters’ road, didn’t they?”

“Yes. They believe it is safer,” said Monachos Niccolae. “There is another party from Tsapousso preparing to leave, a group of eighteen. That will leave fewer than two dozen from that village in the monastery.” He moved nervously, his face tight with worry.

“When do they plan to depart?” Priam Corydon asked, trying to conceal his worry.

“They plan to leave in four or five days, or so they have told Mangueinic. They believe it is no longer safe here. Mangueinic told me that he wants to dissuade them; he is concerned that they will be waylaid by outlaws if they escape the Huns, being so few in number.” He made the sign of the cross. “The Huns are still in the region; we know that. So anyone leaving here puts himself in danger if he goes, no matter which road he chooses.”

Priam Corydon stared at the report, seeing nothing of it. “If he must, I suppose it wouldn’t be wrong to attempt it.”

“It is his duty,” said Monachos Niccolae.

“How do you see that?” Priam Corydon asked.

“He is now once again leader of the Watchmen, and the man most responsible for the refugees from Apulum Inferior—” Monachos Niccolae began.

“What of Dom Sanctu-Germainios?” Priam Corydon interrupted.

“He is important to those dealing with Roma, but he is a foreigner, and that absolves him of responsibility.” Monachos Niccolae looked down. “Or so I believe is the case.”

Priam Corydon lapsed into contemplation, his gaze drifting. “Do you think the refugees who want to leave can be persuaded to remain?”

“It is in God’s hands, not in the words of men,” said Monachos Niccolae, and made the sign of the fish.

For some little time, neither man spoke, then he went on, “Monachos Anatolios told Ritt that he will come to the monastery before mid-day.”

Priam Corydon put down the vellum and rubbed his face, resisting the urge to pull on his beard. “Did he say why he is coming?”

“He might have, but Ritt didn’t mention what it was, if he did.”

“He’s going to preach,” said Priam Corydon with complete certainty and growing dismay. “He has been waiting for an opportunity, and now he has one.”

“He may only want to get dry,” suggested Monachos Niccolae.

“Not he,” said Priam Corydon. “Sitting in his cave, in the damp, is a wonderful opportunity to mortify the flesh. He would hardly deprive himself of it.” He knew he should do penance for so uncharitable a remark, but he found it difficult to admire the irascible hermit, whose zeal was so intense that he prayed daily for the apocalypse to occur, ending the world, and for the damnation of all Christians who did not share his vision.

“Mangueinic will not be glad to see him,” Monachos Niccolae remarked. “There is always trouble among the refugees when Monachos Anatolios preaches.”

Priam Corydon said nothing in response; he rose from his writing table and took a turn about the small chamber. “Can you tell me if any of the refugees have gone out hunting today?”

“Not that I know of,” said Monachos Niccolae. “They are working on the outer walls still, and some of them are inspecting the livestock; necessary tasks, all of them, and ones that have been neglected these last several days. The rain gives them a good reason to keep the animals in pens and paddocks.”

“So it does.” He could not shake the sense that he was not seeing a danger that was directly in front of him. He told himself it was the result of many weeks filled with anticipation of Hunnic attack.

There was a tap on the door; the two men turned toward it.

“Mangueinic here, with Dom Sanctu-Germainios,” the gruff voice announced. “Will you admit us?”

“Enter, enter,” Priam Corydon called out, and motioned to Monachos Niccolae to open the door; he resumed his place in his chair at his writing table, trying to compose himself, and reluctant to show any sign of misgivings. “God save you,” he said as the two men came into the room.

Making the sign of the fish, Mangueinic stumped across the room to the writing table. “God save you, too, Priam.” He steadied himself on his crutch and said, “We’ve stopped another fight, this one over a woman. The Dom has treated the loser, who has been stabbed.”

Sanctu-Germainios nodded. “He has two wounds, painful but not serious unless there is pus, and then he could be in danger.” He paused. “I am told there is malachite in these mountains: is that true?” He knew there were deposits all through the mountains from his breathing days, when it had been prized for providing copper for trade and warfare.

“There is,” said Priam Corydon. “Why do you ask?”

“I would like your permission to mine for it. If I can dig some out, I can make a poultice that will lessen the chance of infection in his wounds, and those of others.” The remedy was not as effective as his sovereign one, but without an athanor to create the sovereign remedy from moldy bread, powdered malachite in woolfat would be a good secondary treatment, as he had learned in Egypt many centuries before.

“Who has been fighting?” Priam Corydon asked. “Who is wounded?”

“Who is the woman?” Monachos Niccolae asked.

“Severac, Tribune Bernardius’ armorer, and Adrastos, the goatherd,” said Mangueinic. “It’s the second time for Severac.”

“Who is the woman?” Monachos Niccolae repeated.

“Dysis. Her man died—” Mangueinic began.

“During the battle with the Huns,” said Priam Corydon, and made the sign of the cross.

“The same,” said Mangueinic.

“Which of the men is wounded?” Priam Corydon asked.

“Severac,” said Sanctu-Germainios. “In the hand and along the hip. Adrastos is badly bruised, but his injuries will heal quickly. The cut on Severac’s hand may be a problem; I have not had a chance to dress it thoroughly yet; I have set Nicoris to soaking the injury in an anodyne solution, so what I say now is conjecture. He seems to have grabbed the knife-blade; his palm is deeply cut. The cut on his hip is painful but less troubling than the one in the palm of his hand.”