Come Twilight
"Why are gardens always so much sweeter at night?"
The sound of the young woman's voice caught Germanno's attention and he turned to face Lailie as she emerged from the women's quarters into the cool of the walled garden of Al Catraz. "I did not mean to intrude," he said, bowing to her.
"I am the intruder," she said, smiling at him. "I am a guest in my father's house. Because my father is no longer master here." Her clothes were loose and pale, made of sheer cotton and suited for house-wear; they provided contrast to her dark hair and fine olive skin.
"Perhaps I should leave the garden to you," he suggested. "If you think it would be advisable."
She shook her head. "I am a Jew, not a Moslem. My father's other wives would not come out here if they even suspected you were here." She shrugged. "My mother was a Jew, but not my father's wife." Her stare was hard, as if she expected condemnation from him. "I should be more conciliating, shouldn't I?"
"I am sorry you have had so...so difficult a time," said Germanno, trying to read her mood, for she was at once sweet and angry.
"Why? It is not your fault that my father decided to leave us here. Or that he made no real provision for us beyond the most minimal. He said the sale of Al Catraz would give us money to live." She picked up a pebble from the carefully groomed pathway and tossed it into the nearest of three fountains that sang their liquid songs to the warm spring night. "He could not afford to do more, he said. And then he left."
"I know very little of his circumstances," said Germanno. "I met him only once, to pay him for this house." The darkness did not obscure her features to his eyes, and he sensed a deep sorrow within her, disguised as wrath. "He told me very little about Al Catraz."
"Then why did you buy it?" This challenge was made without apology; she waited for his answer.
"It was available and it suited my needs," he replied, knowing he was not to speak of Idelfonzuz's involvement in the transaction.
"He said nothing about his wives, did he? He took his first wife and her children, but left us here." She picked up another pebble and shied it into the largest of the fountains. "He should have said something."
"Perhaps he was afraid of what the Church would say," Germanno suggested gently.
"He is a Jew. What does it matter what the Church says?" she asked as she paused to pick a flower and pull it to bits.
"In the Christian kingdoms, the Church is as strong as the rule of Islam is here," he said, resuming his ambling pace. "As the tribunal is tied to the mosque, so the law is tied to the Church." While he spoke, he picked a five-petaled rose and held it out to her. "I am sorry that you should have to bear the brunt of this."
"Why should you be sorry? What does it mean to you? You knew nothing about it, from what I have been told." There were tears in her eyes; she dashed them away with the back of her hand. She ignored the rose.
"It means that I have been made party to a fraud, and I dislike being in such a position." He stared out over the garden, following the flight of a night bird.
She studied him for a moment, and then, as if making up her mind, she said, "My father did not deal well with you, either, keeping us unknown to you."
"No, he did not," Germanno said.
Lailie chuckled sadly. "He educated me. I can read Hebrew and Arabic and Greek. I can do sums and figures. If I had been a son, he would have taken me with him, even though I am illegitimate. Wouldn't he?"
"It is possible," said Germanno, who agreed that it was likely. Capable sons were not as hampered by bastardy as daughters were.
"He would have had to take me if he and my mother ever married," she said, more sorrowfully than resentfully. "He thought that if my mother were pregnant, they would be allowed to marry. It had happened before. But this time they were refused. So, I am what I am and my father has left me behind."
Germanno considered her, wishing he knew how to comfort her. "Your mother? What happened to her?"
"She died, oh, nine years ago now. She became listless and lost flesh, and no one could treat her." Lailie walked on in silence for a bit; finally she said, "I had my studies to console me."
"Did you also learn Latin?" Germanno asked, thinking that Lailie was not the only person who found succor in learning; it had sustained him many, many times in the past. Her knowledge would also stand her in good stead now: she might find acceptable employment knowing languages.
"No," she said, downcast. "He said it might corrupt my faith if I knew Latin."
"Now, why is that?" Germanno was truly perplexed.
"He said I would read Christian writings and lose my Jewishness," she told him, ending on a hard, short sigh.
"That seems...unlikely," he said. They had reached the third fountain and they stopped there to consider the night. "Would you like to learn? to read Latin?"
She looked up at him. "Are you mocking me?"
He answered softly. "No; not I. I want to know if you would like me to teach you Latin."
It took her a long while to reply. "Yes. Please."
His smile was quick and one-sided. "Very good," he approved. "Shall we begin tomorrow? After the mid-day rest?"
Lailie thought about her answer. "Tomorrow? Can it not be the day after? I should explain this to my father's wives, so they will not be too appalled." She sensed his puzzlement, and went on, "I am an unmarried woman being given instruction by a man who is not a blood relation. They will be shocked. I will have to ease their minds. They are very frightened, for they are certain you are going to make them your concubines."
"You may tell them they have nothing to fear from me." He said it in a level tone and with no hint of duplicity.
"Then they will be afraid that you will turn them out to be beggars." She held up her hands to show how useless it all seemed to her. "They are both without fathers and only Rabiah has a brother alive, and he is across the sea, with a household of his own and no place for her in it. Neither of them has uncles willing to take them in, or sisters' husbands with room in their households."
"No wonder they are frightened," said Germanno.
"They fear they will have to become prostitutes in order to live," said Lailie. "It is not a fate I would wish on anyone." She looked at Germanno, as if expecting him to respond to her doubts.
"Though they are known to be without means, they will not suffer if I can prevent it," said Germanno. "Abandoned wives are at the mercy of the city and that often makes them beggars. You may tell your father's wives they need not turn to such a life, not while I am here. That would be a trifle...impractical, would you not agree?"
"Do you mean this? I know that you are in a position to mitigate their compromised position: I also know nothing compels you to do so." She looked up at the stars. "If you would extend your protection, they would not fear you as they do, nor worry that they will be cast off."
He reached out and took her hand, kissing it in form, as if she were a Frankish woman of high degree. "That will be attended to. All I ask is that you try to reduce their anxieties. Use your influence on them."
"I? How could I influence them?" Lailie asked, not quite shocked by the suggestion. "I am no different than many other women in Sevallis."
"No, they do not," she interrupted with mild petulance. "You know what I mean."
"I have some inkling," he said, his demeanor conciliating. "But I think you may find the women will listen to you more than they would listen to me. I am a stranger, I am not of their country or religion, and it is known I will not remain here for very long. I do not blame them for distrusting me."
"It isn't as bad as all that," said Lailie. "But they...they have good reason to worry, and they have not trusted anyone but my father in the past, for that was what they were taught. And you see what has come to pass on his account." She let her fingers dangle in the cool water of the fountain.
"I see you are annoyed, and that you feel helpless now that your situation has changed." He studied her for a long moment, then said, "Do consider coming with me when I leave to Toledom. It is not as elegant a place as this-war has made it rough and stalwart, not graceful-but there would be work for you."
"Translating?" She tasted the word carefully.
"Yes," he replied. "There are not many in Toledom who can read and write their own vulgate, let alone any other language. If you will learn Latin, you will never want for occupation there."
"Toledom," she said as if it were the farthest point in the world.
"Or other cities in the north." He saw her doubt, and added, "You might go as far as Toulouza and find work, but you might also find your father."
"I should probably do as you suggest," said Lailie, her doubt making her remark a question.
"But?" he prompted.
"But I am worried that you will be unable to do as you say you will, and then I, too, will be a stranger in an unfamiliar place, away from my religion and my family, and who knows what will happen to me." She met his dark eyes steadily. "This is too much to think about at once. Yet I have been waiting all day, gathering the courage to talk to you. I thought you would not listen to me."
"Why should I not," he responded.
She hesitated as if trying to sharpen her thoughts to answer him. "You are a stranger, and you were deceived by my father."
"Yes," he said, and let her go on.
"Many another would think that because you had been deceived, you had no reason to do anything for me, or my father's wives," Lailie declared.
"Yes," Germanno said.
"Then why are you so ready to assume responsibility for us? We are obligations you did not have to accept, but you have." Her voice rose with exasperation. "You have no reason to do anything for us."
"Yes," said Germanno. "I have reasons of my own."
"Ah!" She pointed at him. "I knew it! You are making arrangements without consulting us."
Germanno shook his head. "I understand that you are worried: you need not be. I will do nothing that any of you dislikes." He wanted to touch her hand in reassurance but did not, aware that she would not be relieved of anxiety by such a gesture, "Nothing is settled yet but I am reasonably certain I have made suitable arrangements for your father's two wives. You are a bit more...difficult."
"Because of my birth," she said, and this time there was bitterness in her voice.
He chuckled softly. "No, Lailie, because of your learning." He saw her startled look, and explained. "I have found a very respectable family of considerable means in need of capable servants for the women's quarters. It struck me that your father's wives would be more comfortable there than left here on their own. It is what they have known all their lives, and what they expect. But you?" He shook his head. "No. I cannot see you living happily in such a setting, spending your days at sewing and bathing and tending to infants. That is why I suggested coming to Toledom with me, where you can put your education to use."
"You mean that none of the Jews in Sevallis want their sons to marry a bastard daughter of a man who has fled the country." She slapped the marble rim of the fountain.
"No one has told me so," he said gently.
"Of course," she said. "Do you think they will come right out and tell you that you have made an intolerable invitation, proposing any kind of match for me? My father tried to find me a husband and could not."
"He told you about this, did he?" Germanno asked.
"Oh, yes; tearfully." She began to pace away from the Comide. "He apologized more times than I care to recall, and always with such feeling that I would have believed him had I not listened to precisely the same apology so often. I could recite it along with him, had I wanted to." Turning back toward Germanno, she shook her head. "I should not be telling you any of this."
"I will keep your confidence," said Germanno, knowing she meant something else.
Lailie slammed her hands together in frustration and glowered at Germanno. "I was a fool to talk to you. I should have kept to myself."
"I do not think you foolish," Germanno told her. "I think you are a very brave young woman who has had to deal with more than she can manage for some time, and I think you are afraid of what lies ahead."
She walked directly up to him. "And you think it is wrong of me to fear this?"
"No. I hope it is unnecessary." He saw her wince. "You want to have the life you used to have-and who can blame you for that?-but with your father gone, that is not possible. With your father gone you cannot remain here on your own, because the law would not allow it. You have no relatives who have offered to take you into their households. You have not found a husband to your liking, and admit you are not likely to find one. So what else is available to you here? Very little that you would like."
"That is harsh," she said in a small voice.
"Is it wrong?" The question was suspended between them as if it were a filament in the air.
She shook her head. "No."
"Very well, then," he said. "You are an intelligent woman. What are you going to do instead?"
"I am going to think for tonight, and tomorrow, what might be best to do, and then I am going to let you teach me Latin," she said, squaring her shoulders and swallowing her grief. "There is no point to mourning what is lost."
At another time he might have argued that point with her, but he saw how fragile her self-possession was, and did nothing to reduce it. "I have books and writing implements with me."
"I have pens and vellum and ink," she said, somewhat defensively.
"Very good" he approved. "Since you already know Greek, you will learn quickly." His confidence in her capacity buoyed her spirits; she smiled and nodded. "You have something to look forward to."
"Far better that they hear it from you than from me," said Germanno. "I fear they would assume some deception if I told them; from what you have said tonight, they think me a monster."
"Not a monster, exactly," said Lailie, flushing a bit at the recollection of all she had told him. "A foreigner and a-"
"Man?" he suggested.
"Yes," she conceded, and, growing bolder, said, "and an interloper."
"Of course," Germanno said without shock or condemnation. "All the more reason for you to tell them. I would be most grateful to you if you will do this for me.
Color spread through her cheeks again. "Certainly."
"That is a kindness on your part and I thank you for it." He inclined his head to her.
"I do not do it to be kind," she admitted. "I wanted you to do something for all of us, and so I came to talk to you." She licked her lower lip with inexpert provocation. "I would have done...more."
"I realize that," said Germanno, his voice low.
"I still will, if you want." She looked at him hesitantly, expectation mingled with distress in her posture.
"You do not need to bribe me, Lailie," he said, knowing how much he wanted her.
"I know how men are," she said, tossing her head. "You do not need to fear that I would demand more of you than you have already granted."
He sighed slowly. "You do not know me, Lailie," he said to her at last. "There are many things about me that would not...suit you. If you are to be my student, it would be just as well if you were not more than that."
"Why should I not be?" She turned to take hold of his arm.
"Because I am a foreigner and you are a bastard and neither of us are trusted." He was deliberately blunt, and had the dubious satisfaction of seeing her blink in reaction. Taking advantage of her shock, he continued, "You could find yourself condemned and imprisoned, which neither you nor I would like. You could be deprived of a place to live because the tribunal confiscates Al Catraz. You could be made to accuse me of assaulting you in order to protect yourself from harlotry. You could be stoned for seducing me. If I were a follower of the Prophet, or your father were here to give countenance to what passes between us, then I would be glad to consider your offer. But as things are..." He lifted his free hand to show how constrained he was. "I am constantly under scrutiny. You and I both know that. So you must be watched as well. If you took me as your lover, you might be held in error by more than the Jews of Sevallis: the tribunal could decide that you had committed a crime, and I have no power to save you."
"You could marry me," she said defiantly.
"No, Lailie," he said as gently as he was able, "I could not."
"You may have more than one wife here. My father had three," said Lailie, her attempts at seduction gone.
"That is not the issue." He lowered his voice. "Your father has used you ill, leaving you as he has, with no adequate provision for your maintenance."
"He had to do it," said Lailie urgently. "He did not mean to put us in danger. You are not to speak against him."
Germanno raised his hands in a sign of truce. "You misunderstand me; I do not question his decision; I know very little about the circumstances that led him to leave Sevallis," he said, choosing his words carefully so that Lailie would not feel compelled to defend Rachmal ben Abbas. "I only say that because of what he had to do, you and his wives have borne the brunt of his necessity."
"He wanted to handle our situation better, but he could not. He was not allowed to. Everything happened so quickly. The tribunal told our teachers that action had to be taken. There were questions being asked, and insinuations made." She averted her eyes as if her next admission were too shameful to voice while looking at the Comide. "He had to depart sooner than he planned, without time to do all that he wanted to for us." She caught her lower lip between her teeth, then said, "Sometimes I think he could have waited a day or two longer, just to put our situation right."
Knowing that agreeing would be precarious, Germanno ventured, "Perhaps he was afraid that if he lingered, you might be at a greater disadvantage than if he left." He doubted this was the case, but he could not deprive Lailie of the consolation of that possibility.
"Perhaps," she said, a forlorn note entering her voice. She hit her thigh with her fist. "This is nothing like I had planned."
"As is often the case in life," said Germanno quietly.
She rounded on him. "You have been reasonable, and courteous," she accused him. "You should be a barbarian, without conduct or compassion and you are not! You are not!"
In spite of himself, he laughed. "I must apologize for disappointing you, Lailie," he said. "You have much to endure from me."
"Well, I have," she said, pouting and trying not to share in his amusement.
"I am not disagreeing," he pointed out.
"If you would, I could remain angry," she said, and managed a single chuckle. "Oh. I didn't want to do that."
"Of course not," he said. "You need not cease being angry on my account."
"That makes it worse; if you do not mind my anger, what is the point of having it?" she complained without heat. For a long moment she said nothing, then she glanced at him. "You'll still teach me Latin?"
"I will," he promised. "Beginning the day after tomorrow."
"And you will take me to Toledom if you cannot find me a husband here?" She sounded a bit less confident now.
"Yes; I have said so," he told her.
"Well. Since you are reasonable and unseduceable. I will wish you a pleasant night and return to the women's quarters." She walked away from him, her pale garments wraith-like in the night.
When he was sure she was gone, Germanno turned to the back of the garden and called softly, "You can come out now."
The plants rustled, and then a thin man of middle height and middle-age stepped out of the cover of plants. "You knew I was there?"
"I knew someone was there. I did not know it was you, Antoninus," said Germanno at his most affable.
The Greek merchant stared at him in amazement. "How did you guess-?"
"Have you?" Antoninus said, raising his eyebrows to show his disbelief.
Germanno was not tempted to play at whatever Antoninus seemed to want to do. "Idelfonzuz said you would contact me. Why have you waited so long, and what possessed you to choose such a manner to make yourself known?"
"I was afraid we would be watched, and I knew if I approached you directly it might alert those whose business it is to know what foreigners like you and me do. This is the third night I have waited in your garden." He pursed his lips in disapproval. "I did this for your benefit, you know."
"Do you think so." Germanno shook his head once, and indicated the sprawl of the great house at the other end of the garden. "In which case, we would do well to stay away from there. Slaves watch everyone."
"They say you have sent away most of the slaves in the house and hired servants of your own," said Antoninus, probing awkwardly.
"I do not like having slaves. I prefer to employ servants," said Germanno. "Part of my foreign ways."
"Um. Yes." Antoninus coughed experimentally. "That is the sort of thing that sets tongues wagging, not having slaves."
"So be it," said Germanno. "Did you come to tell me gossip?"
"No, I did not. I came to tell you that word has come from Karmona that more soldiers are needed to defend the eastern front. This is urgent, not like the other summonses of the past. The fighting is getting worse there, and the Caliph's forces have taken heavy losses. The soldiers of Castile and Leon drive from the west and the soldiers of Aragon drive from the north-east and the Moors are caught in the wedge. There will be a summoning of men to fight, and everyone in the city will be given an extra tax to pay for the soldiers." He looked about in sudden apprehension, as if he expected officers of the tribunal to appear out of the garden.
"That is to be expected," said Germanno, who had been through many such taxations in the last three thousand years. "War is a costly business."
"Many of the soldiers do not want to fight there. That is why they want new men for the army." Antoninus flung up his hands in dismay. "These are sturdy men, but they dread those mountains east of Usxa."
A cold grue ran down Germanno's spine as his memories flooded in. "Why that place more than any other?" he made himself ask. "Is it the Aragonese?"
"No; or if they do, that is the least of it." Now Antoninus was in his element; he launched into the juiciest part of his news. "They say that a huge cache of human bones has been found in the mountains between the Caliph's forces and the soldiers of Aragon and Barzelunya. They say night-demons killed them and are killing still. In the place that is called Holy Blood."
The Comide closed his eyes as if to absorb a blow. "Holy Blood," he repeated. "Tell me more of this."
"It is just rumor, of course," said Antoninus hastily. "But the soldiers are troubled. There are more and more tales of these discoveries, each more incredible than the last. It is said there were two high canyons, very remote, where these skeletons were found. Some were very old and others still had enough clothes on them that it was plain they were Christians or Moors." He paused dramatically and went on, relishing his story. "A few of the bodies found were only recently dead, and their flesh still showed the marks of the demons. The few people who live in that region say that it is the work of a demon-woman and her demon-children. The people have sacrificed to them forever."
"And how do you come to know this?" Germanno asked, feeling very weary. He waited for the answer with reluctant curiosity.
"I told you. The soldiers are talking. I make a point of going to the same eating places the soldiers go, and I listen to what is said. That is why Idelfonzuz values me." He put his hand to his chest in pride. "I go about the market and I listen. I go to the eating places and I listen. I go to the houses where women and boys and pipes are offered and I listen."
"For which you are well-rewarded," said Germanno, regaining his inner composure.
"And for which rewards I am thankful," said Antoninus, ducking his head in a show of submission. "But I must tell you, Idelfonzuz will have to act swiftly if he is to take advantage of this disruption in the Caliph's army. You must transfer this great house to me and leave very shortly. No more than two weeks, or the advantage will be lost." He glanced a Al Catraz again, a greedy smile on his lips; the great house was half-hidden behind the splendid hulk of the fountains so that its graceful domes and spires seemed to float on the spray.
"What of the night-demons? Would they not be as dangerous to Idelfonzuz's army as the Caliph's?" Germanno asked, recalling Chimena's anger the last time he had seen her, more than three hundred fifty years ago; had it diminished, he wondered, or had it grown over time?
Antoninus stared at Germanno incredulously. "Idelfonzuz and his men are Christians," he said as if this explained everything. "God Himself defends them against all evil." He made the sign of the cross. "Christ gives them victory."
"Ah," said Germanno, and crossed himself.
"So you must make haste," said Antoninus, trying to recapture the momentum of his information. "The army will soon be raised and you must inform Idelfonzuz where to strike, and when, so that the new troops will not reinforce the Caliph's soldiers."
Germanno considered this. "The army will not be called in a day, nor a week, especially not if the older troops are reluctant to fight." He tilted his head back, watching the display of stars.
"But Idelfonzuz needs to know of this now. Now!" Antoninus insisted. "You cannot delay."
"That would leave you to pay the taxes," said Germanno sardonically. "But if what you say is right, I agree I must depart earlier than I had planned." He regarded Antoninus for a brief while, trying to weigh the report against what he knew already. "Do not worry; I will keep the title to this place, and leave money enough for the tribunal. Oh, you will occupy it, but it will remain mine."
"And you will leave soon?" Antoninus grinned expectantly.
"Come to me in two days and I will tell you what I have arranged." He started back toward the great house. "And, Antoninus, come to the main door, as a proper merchant."
"Of course. All right," said Antoninus, bobbing his head in deference.
"In two days," Germanno reminded him, and then the marble expanse of the main fountain rose between them and the Comide was again alone in the night with only his thoughts for company.
Text of a letter from Germanno, Comide Ragoczy to Atta Olivia Clemens at Oriaga on the Dalmatian Coast, written in the Latin of Imperial Rome.
To my most treasured Olivia, my greetings from Sevallis in Moorish Hispania-as you would no doubt call it-before I once again depart to the north and the Christians, as indeed, I must do in the next ten days, or risk the displeasure of Idelfonzuz of Aragon and Navarre.
This part of Hispania is not what it was when I was here last, and that saddens me, although I do not miss being the slave of the Emir's son. It is as if something has sapped the life from the place and the people: it may be the long years of strife, it may be the struggles among the Moors themselves, or it may be something I have not been able to recognize, yet whatever the cause, the vigor is gone and in its place is a kind of luxury that leaches purpose from the people and leads to pettiness and cruelty if it is not checked. When last I was here, there was an eagerness to embrace the new, to seek beyond the limits of knowledge, but now, such studies are frowned upon and can lead to ostracism and condemnation. Even the Jews, who have long been a bastion to learning have begun to close their doors to that which is dangerous, or may become dangerous.
And you, Olivia: how is it with you? Is the Dalmation Coast as you remember it, or has it, too, been touched by this strange debilitation? Your estate is remote enough that I hope you remain untouched by the troubles that have risen among the Byzantines, for you have already endured more at their hands than even one of our blood should have to face.
Which brings me to my other purpose for writing to you. Do you remember the young woman Csimenae? She became of our blood some five hundred or so years ago. It would appear that she has continued to add to her tribe, and now both Christians and Muslims know of her and her group and are determined to be rid of them at last. I am torn between a desire to warn her, and the conviction that she has put herself and all of her people in harm's way, against which my warning will be as nothing. Still, as I am to campaign with Idelfonzuz in her region of the mountains upon my return to the north, I suppose I must try to do what I can to guard her. When I last saw her she made it plain she wants no part of me, but in these circumstances, I hope she will relent sufficiently to hear me out. If not, then at least I will have made the attempt.
Once again you have helped me to clarify my thoughts, and for that I thank you. I will now imagine the acerbic response you would be likely to give me, and my missing you will be complete. I also thank you for your good sense and your unswerving loyalty over the centuries-it is more than a millennium now since you came to my life. Little though I may say so. I value it, and I value you as I value my soul.
To you, and to Niklos Aulirios, my wishes for joy and prosperity in these parlous times.
Sanct' Germain
(his sigil, the eclipse)
by my own hand on the 9th day of June in the Christian year 1117, at Al Catraz in Sevallis