Burning Shadows (6 page)

“A very good notion. All it can poison there is rats.” Flautens sighed. “You’ll have to hide him for now.”

“I know. I can’t dispose of him permanently until after dark,” said the slave. “But he has to be hidden until nightfall.”

“Where can we conceal him?” Flautens asked furtively.

“In the rear of the creamery, in the drainage ditch,” the slave reminded him. “But he’ll have to be moved soon—the heat will add to the stink, and even if I wrapped him in a hide, he could be discovered.”

Flautens nodded. “True enough. And his escort will want to know what has become of him, come evening.”

The slave went and closed the door leading into the atrium, putting the brace into position so that it could not be opened. “Yes, I will say he has been feeling unwell. By morning he will have vanished.”

“Is there any way to put him into the midden?” Flautens asked suddenly, the idea only now occurring to him. “No one will notice the smell, not with the two dead pigs in it. And they won’t want to poke into it.”

“It might be more difficult than the original plan, at least until nightfall. The barnyard is active all day.”

“If you can arrange it, that would be a good solution,” said Flautens. “Better than the potters’ kiln, which I had thought of before.” 

“The potters are keeping near the kiln, and they might notice the odor of burning flesh,” the slave reminded him. “But the midden will be unattended after the convivium. I will double him over in the ditch so that when he stiffens, he will fit into the midden when I move him into it.” He went to the far corner of the room and pulled a rolled blanket from under the serving-ware chest, and brought it back to Sergios’ corpse, where he laid it down clear of the effluvia.

“Hredus,” Flautens said as he watched the slave maneuver the body onto the blanket, “when this venture is finished, you will have your freedom. You have my word on that.”

“Then what can I do but thank you?” He touched his iron slave’s collar in a kind of acknowledgment, then lowered his head and did his best not to look at Sergios’ body as he folded the blanket around it, then tugged the blanket away from the center of the room, sliding it into the small hallway that connected to the vomitorium and led out into the farm. He was back in a short while, his face impassive.

“No one saw you?” Flautens asked. He had spent the time wiping down the floor, and now he held two filthy cloths away from his linen pallium.

“The goose-boy saw me rinsing the plate in the sheeps’ trough, but he’s simple,” Hredus said. “He was carrying a basket of eggs toward the kitchen.”

“A basket of eggs?” Flautens wondered aloud.

“For the cooks,” said Hredus. “A very good sign. It means he won’t be looking for eggs again until tomorrow morning, and won’t stumble on the remains before I move them into the midden.”

“Oh. Yes.” Flautens reached for the wine and drank the last of what was in his cup. “Have Chrodi come to my records-room after we dine tonight; he is to leave for Viminacium before dawn.”

“I will.” He took the two cloths from Flautens. “Let me dispose of these for you.”

“Fine. Then send in a pair of house-slaves to wash the floor.” He shook his hand as if to rid it of any lingering taint. “I will go bathe and then repair to my records-room to compose a report for Gnaccus Tortulla.” He went toward the small door that led out to the vomitorium, adding over his shoulder, “And a writ of manumission for you. You may claim it after the convivium.”

“I will ask the local priest to say a month of Vespers for your kindness,” said Hredus.

“The smith will strike your collar off tonight,” Flautens added, then left the reception-room.

Hredus looked around the reception-room, trying to see if any tell-tale sign remained of Sergios’ death, but there was only a patch of slimy moisture, which would not cause any suspicions once he explained that Sergios had been unwell and was resting. He went and opened the door to the atrium, looking to see if the footman were at his post. Satisfied that Ayard was dozing, Hredus went down the corridor in the direction of the slaves’-room, where he found nine of them working at small tasks while the heat of the day passed.

Nomrid, Hredus’ older sister, who was the webster for the household, was setting up the loom in the corner, her long fingers moving with rapid ease. She stopped as she saw her brother coming toward her. “What brings you to this room?”

“Thaeta and Urius are needed to wash the floor in the reception- room. The guest became sick and has gone to rest. He has asked not to be disturbed. If he is still unwell, he’ll remain in his room until morning.”

Thaeta and Urius rose from their places at the long table where they had been sorting mushrooms and bundling herbs for drying. They said nothing as they trudged off toward the kitchen to get pails of water and brushes.

Had they been alone, Hredus might have told his sister about his coming freedom, but with others of the household still tending to their chores, he said nothing but, “I will see you at dinner, after the convivium is served.” As the household custodian, he would supervise the serving of the meal.

“Certainly,” she said, and went back to stringing the loom. “Have you seen Chrodi?” he asked as he made for the door.

“He said he was going to the stable. The roan foal cut his pastern, and he is going to treat it with honey and pepper.” It was Vache who answered while he continued to braid a new driving-whip.

“I’ll find him,” Hredus said, and left, continuing on toward the barnyard and across it to the stable, calling for Chrodi as he went.

Flautens’ courier answered from the stall. “What is it?”

Hredus made his way down the broad aisle toward the sound of Chrodi’s voice. “Dom Flautens wants to see you in his records-room when he has finished the convivium. He has a message for you.”

Chrodi came out of the stall, frowning. “The colt-foal is in a bad way. I don’t like leaving while he’s doing so poorly. He’s going to need constant care for several days, or we may lose him.”

“Have your apprentice care for him. The message you are to carry is an important one.”

“The colt-foal is well-bred. The Dom would not like to lose him.” Chrodi lifted his jaw stubbornly.

“Ask him about that when you report to him tonight,” said Hredus.

Chrodi shrugged, but said nothing more; he went back into the stall and knelt down on the hay next to the miserable four-month-old.

Hredus remained in the barn for a short while, looking out into the large paddocks where most of the horses stood in the shade of trees, their tails moving constantly to keep off the flies. Finally he said, “You’ll have to depart at first light, for Viminacium,” and left the barn without expecting anything more from Chrodi. Crossing the stable-yard, he noticed that Patras Eldom’s mule was tied to the hitching-rail, meaning the priest had come early for the convivium so that he could hear the confessions of the household. He whispered an ironic prayer of thanks that the priest had not arrived while he and Flautens were disposing of Sergios of Drobetae. As he went into the house again, he resisted the urge to seek out his master, going instead to the solarium, where he assumed Flautens’ wife, Maryas, had gone to sew pearls on her new tablion.

“Hredus,” she said as he called through the door. “What news?” 

“Patras Eldom has come. Shall I send him up to you?”

“Would you please?” She waited a moment, then asked, “Has he seen my husband yet?”

“I don’t know,” Hredus answered, certain that Flautens would delay his confession as long as possible. “He may wait until tomorrow, so that he can fast.”

There was another brief hesitation. “He may want that,” she said in a troubled voice. “I will ask him.”

“Will you join the convivium or would you prefer to eat alone?”

“Since there are no other women to attend, Patras Eldom would not approve of having me among the company. I will dine in my withdrawing room. Tell Lysianna to arrange this for me.”

“Yes, Dama,” he said, trying to decide how best to inform Flautens of his wife’s intention.

“Be good enough to remind my husband that I have packing to supervise tonight and tomorrow, so I will have little time for entertainment were it appropriate. My husband will understand that, at least.”

“The Roman noblewoman is expected to come here tomorrow afternoon, isn’t she?” Hredus asked.

“She is staying at a travelers’ fortress two leagues from here. No doubt she will be here by sundown tomorrow.”

“Very good,” said Hredus, admitting to himself that he would miss Flautens’ soft-spoken, beautiful Byzantine wife; as soon as he realized this, he forced the knowledge from his mind. “God give you a good evening, Dama.”

“And you, Hredus.”

As he turned away from the solarium door, Hredus tried to decide how to avoid confessing, for Patras Eldom would condemn him not only for helping to kill Sergios of Drobetae, but for daring to hold his master’s wife in affection, and for betraying Flautens if he should admit to either sin.

Text of a letter from Dorus Teodoricos, garrison commander at Durostorum in Moesia Inferior, to Nestor Phinees, Praetor Custodis of Serdica, Moesia Superior, carried by garrison courier, delivered in nine days.

Ave to Nestor Phinees, Praetor Custodis of Serdica, Moesia Superior: may God and the saints show you favor, grant you long life, robust health, and good fortune, that will in some way recompense you for the pain I must impart to you now.

It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your son Kosmos has succumbed to the wounds he received in battle twenty-four days since, thirty-three days before the Autumnal Equinox. He had conducted himself with bravery, keeping his men on the main wall of the fortress at Troesmis from which point he held off the Huns, who attacked in great numbers. Unfortunately, our losses were high, your son being one of three hundred seventy-eight; there may yet be more who will not recover from their wounds.

Our hired soldiers acquitted themselves well, and our forces’ withdrawal to Durostorum was conducted in good form, and the men did all that they could to keep the Huns from harrying our retreat. We received them five days ago, and have added the soldiers of Troesmis to our own men, and we have every hope that our numbers are sufficient to hold off any renewed assault. If we do beat back the Huns, it will be to the credit of officers like your son, who remained steadfast and made his men proud to face so ruthless an enemy.

With prayers and thanksgiving to your family, who have had so admirable a son.

Dorus
Teodoricos

garrison commander at Durostorum Moesia Inferior

3

Rhea Penthekrassi was frowning as she watched Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios remove an elaborate wooden box from his iron-banded chest; she tugged at the ornamented and pleated sleeve of her palla of gauzy, violet silk; over this she had draped a trabea of gold-shot linen, both of which complemented her olive skin and russet-colored hair. “What is that?” she asked uneasily. Now that her time with him was coming to an end, she felt more and more separated from him; she glanced toward the glass-covered window, and beyond, the harvesters in the fields teased by a fain
é
ant wind.

“It is for you, so that you can fend for yourself if it comes to that,” he said as he gave it to her. “Look inside, if you like.” In his black pallium with the collar of silver links, he was unusually imposing, and that made her uncertain about the box, since it appeared to be part of his farewell to her.

She took hold of it, surprised at how heavy it was. Reluctantly she slid back the lid, and very nearly dropped it as she caught sight of the large variety of jewels it contained; her hold tightened and she stared at him in astonishment. “This is all for me?”

“Yes.”

“How many are there?” She wanted to count them herself, but knew it would be unacceptably rude to do so where he could see.

“Thirty-six; that should be enough to take care of you for many years, and they may provide you a dowry if you decide to marry. If you would prefer not to marry, you will not be reduced to beggary, but will be able to keep yourself in good comfort, unless the Emperor will not permit you to secure property.” His voice was even and reassuring; for the first time that afternoon she felt safe in his company.

“I believe you’re right; it will keep me a long time,” she said, thinking she could purchase a husband for half of what the box contained. “Unless I am reckless.”

“But you will not be,” he said with a kind of warning that left her determined to be worthy of his trust in her.

“No, I will not,” she confirmed. “You are incredibly generous.” 

“You will find a deed of gift on folded parchment in the lid. Keep it in case you have to prove your right to the jewels.” It had not been so long ago—less than three centuries—that such a precaution would not have been necessary, but as matters currently stood in the Byzantine half of the Roman Empire, without such a deed, Rhea was not entitled to control the jewels, nor benefit from their value.