Come Twilight

There were nine people at the gates: two men, a woman, two boys-one with the mark of the Great Pox on his cheeks-two girls, a toddler and a babe-in-arms. All were thin and pale enough to make it apparent that they had not fared well in the last months; their garments were worn and fraying, and two of them were barefoot. They came, empty-handed, up the narrow, rutted road to Mont Calcius, all seeming to be at the end of their strength.

"This is our place," said the older of the two men as he reached the gate and faced Sanct' Germain, who waited just inside the newly repaired gates. "We are trying to return to our homes."

"Perhaps," Sanct' Germain replied steadily in Latin, as the man had addressed him. He knew his black hippogaudion and dark-red Persian leggings of Damascus silk marked him as a stranger as much as his accent, the silver eclipse ornamenting the fibula that held the shoulder of his clothing, and the Byzantine dagger through his belt. He kept his expression cordial as he regarded the nine over the top of the gates.

"It is," the man insisted, his hand on the hilt of a short, wide-bladed sword that had seen better days. "We have lived here for generations."

"You left it," said Sanct' Germain in a level voice; out of the corner of his eye he saw Csimenae hurrying toward him.

"But we have returned," the man said, desperation making his tone sharp. "It is our home. We have come a long way. We want to...There are others, too. They will come here before summer is done."

The afternoon sun was bright, shining like brass in the sky; beneath its rays, the land hummed with heat so that even the dust drowsed.

"Will they?" Csimenae laughed aloud as she reached the gate. "Rogerian told me," she said to Sanct' Germain, then, without waiting for anything he might say, she addressed the people outside the gates. "Let them come. They will face what you face. They will have to kneel to my son."

The younger man stared at Csimenae. "Your son?"

"Aulutis. He is named for my father," she said defiantly in a mixture of Latin and the ancient tongue of her people. "You will have to promise him your fealty if you are to be allowed to return here."

The younger man laughed. "How can you keep us out?"

"I have weapons and men to use them," Csimenae announced, smiling.

At this Sanct' Germain intervened. "You did not come all this way to fight, surely. You wish to come back to your village, as what man does not?" He glanced at Csimenae. "You must be willing to have your neighbors back without making a contest of their presence. They should have no reason to refuse giving loyalty to your son for the sake of the village, and you will need their help to keep the place going."

"They left. They left me to die." She pointed to the younger man. "You. Tacanti. I remember what you did. You took the last of my meat when you left."

The younger man looked away. "It would have been wasted. Your husband was dying, and you...You could make no use of it, not with a husband to bury. How could I know you would find robbers to help you?"

"Robbers?" Csimenae laughed, merriment mixing with spite. "This man is many things, but he is no robber. He has taken nothing from the village; he has brought good things. He has kept me and my son alive through his skills as a hunter, and has made the walls stout again, so that beggars like you, yes, and robbers, cannot come here without my leave." She glanced at Sanct' Germain. "You will not let them harm me, will you?"

"No," he said. "But I have no wish to harm them, either," he added, anticipating her displeasure.

He was not disappointed. "You will do as I tell you, or you will leave this village; no one comes here now, but on my sufferance," she said sharply. "I will allow no one to diminish my position, for that will harm my son. He is master here now, and you will have to acknowledge him so." She pointed out through the planks of the gates at the returning villagers. "I will have water brought out to you, and you may think about what you wish to do." She turned and called out to Rogerian to fill two buckets at the well. "These will be yours," she said, addressing the nine once more.

"But," the older man said, "we have nothing to eat. We have gone two days without food." He held out his hands. "Surely you will not deny us something?"

"You were ready to deny me food. You left me almost nothing to sustain me-a few cheeses, a half-dozen barrels of flour, a few strings of onions. You took everything else and you knew I was pregnant, so you were willing to condemn my child, too." She leaned against the gates. "Weren't you?"

The older man shook his head unhappily. "You proved us wrong. You lived and your child is alive. You understand, then, how we feel."

"I certainly do. All the more reason to consider my terms," said Csimenae, her black eyes shining. "You say you want to come back inside the village, yet you bring nothing but your appetites with you. Is your fealty so much to ask, when you offer so little?"

The older man lowered his head. "It is our home, woman, just as it is yours. Can you find nothing useful in our presence?"

Sanct' Germain wanted to speak up, but held his tongue; Csimenae would not welcome any interjection he might make during this bargaining.

"I am a builder," Tacanti reminded her. "You have building to be done, haven't you? You have need of me. And my nephew, Blada, he has tended flocks before. You will want to have a herdsman for your flocks, won't you? You cannot keep your flocks penned all through the summer; they will sicken if you do. They must be let out to graze and to run. We are willing to do what needs to be done." He held his hands out to her. "It was wrong to take food from you, I will say so. But if you hold me in contempt for doing it, how can you refuse to take us in?"

"So you have studied the village," Sanct' Germain remarked, and saw the quick look the two men exchanged.

"We feared robbers," muttered the older of the two.

Csimenae's temper flared. "You mean you decided to see if you could sneak back. You thought I would be dead along with the rest." Her accusation was so stern that all but the infant looked abashed.

"Then you will not let us in," said the woman, hopelessness showing in every line of her body. "You refuse to let us return to our home."

"But I do not refuse," said Csimenae directly to the woman. "Ione, I cannot let you displace me and mine from our station, though you have drunk the blood of horses. You left and my son and I remained. I found a defender for the village and I have kept it safe with that defender. You cannot discount what I have done." She looked at each of the people standing before her on the far side of the gates. "If you swear allegiance to my son, and kiss his foot in token, you may come into the village at once. I will assign you a house and see that you have food. But you must swear allegiance to Aulutis or you may not enter."

Tacanti sighed as he wiped his brow. "I had a house of my own in the village-"

"You will take the one I give you, or you will have nothing," Csimenae said, cutting him off. "This is my village now; I hold it for my son."

The older man nodded. "She has the right. She has the right. We cannot deny it. When we left, she stayed here-"

"Did she?" Tacanti interrupted. "Or did she flee and then return?"

"I was pregnant," Csimenae reminded him. "How could I flee? It took all my strength to bury my man when he died. How could I have gone away, then come back before you, with sheep and goats?"

"As you said, you had that man"-he pointed to Sanct' Germain-"to help you."

"He came to this village with his servant," Csimenae said, her head coming up. She cocked her chin in the direction of the well where Rogerian had just begun to fill the first of two buckets. "You know how I was. You, Tacanti, have no right to say I did not remain."

Ione laid her hand on Tacanti's arm. "It is for her son that she holds the village. We cannot deny her his authority."

"Perhaps not," said Tacanti, his features sullen and his voice truculent. "If she has truly not left the village."

"If you would take my Word," Sanct' Germain interrupted, "I will swear that she has not left the village since my servant and I got here, and that was very soon after you left."

"Ha. An easy thing to say, when you hold the village," Tacanti countered.

Sanct' Germain smiled faintly. "Why should that concern me? This village means little to me. I have no reason to lie to you."

"You have a woman to lie for," Tacanti accused.

In answer, Sanct' Germain laughed. "Not I," he said. "Nor would Csimenae do anything that would compromise her son. She still grieves for her man, who died after you left." He folded his arms. "I am not some proud Gardingio, to claim women as a ram claims ewes. My servant and I came upon Mont Calcius by chance, and stayed for...convenience. You impugn Csimenae's devotion if you say otherwise."

Tacanti was about to speak again; his demeanor crackled with indignation; but the older man put his hand on Tacanti's shoulder. "For now we will accept what this stranger says, Csimenae. Later we will talk again."

"Oh, no. You are not through the gates yet," Csimenae reminded him. "Rogerian, give them the water. We will return after we have tended to the animals. You may say then what you have decided to do. And if you are allowed in, that will be the end of it. There will be no discussion, only your oath to my son." She stepped back from the gates to allow Rogerian to open them sufficiently to hand out the two buckets of water. As Sanct' Germain closed and bolted the gates again, she leaned back against the heavy planking, saying, "Nine of them. We can keep them off if we must."

"Yes, for a time." He nodded to a place along the wall where the stones were higher and thicker than near the gates. "They will not be able to overhear us as readily."

"Oh," she said, glancing uneasily at the gate. "Yes; they could listen."

Sanct' Germain motioned to Rogerian, indicating he should go along to the barns. "You know what has to be done."

"That I do," said Rogerian, and strode away from the gates.

Csimenae had not paid much attention to this exchange; she took hold of Sanct' Germain's wide sleeve. "We can hold them off, keep them out, can we not?"

"So we can," said Sanct' Germain, "if that is what you truly want."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her frown as startling as it was intense. "Why would I not want to keep this village for my son?"

"I only mean that it seems wise, at least to me, to admit these nine. They will make their vow and they will then have to defend the village against others who may return. If you do not admit them, then they might make common cause with the rest. I agree it would not be hard to keep those nine from coming in, but double that number, or triple? If more should come, I would not want them to add to our opponents." He gave her a long moment to think over what he had said. "And if they should attack as a group, they would surely kill Aulutis and you when they break through the walls."

This last held her attention as his other observations had not. "They would not dare," she said with more bravado than conviction.

"Do you think so," he said. "They were willing to let you die with your man. What would stop them from killing your son? Or you?" He waited while she began to pace. "It would be useful to have a herdsman, to look after the sheep and goats. Then these people will want to defend the village."

"That Tacanti will try to hurt my son. He is too proud. I do not trust him." She held up her hands in a gesture of frustration. "He is despicable."

"He may be." Sanct' Germain took a step away from the wall. "Yet it might be most prudent to have him where you can watch him than leave him to work against you where you cannot touch him." He took a step closer to Csimenae. "If he gives his vow to Aulutis and then breaks it, the other villagers will see that he pays the price. If he gives no oath, then he will be able to do away with you and your son without disgrace."

She studied him in silence for some time. "You do not know how he is."

"I have some experience of treachery," Sanct' Germain said, a sardonic edge to his voice as he recalled the assassins in the Temple of Imhotep, the uncle of the Farsi warlord, Led Arashnur in Rome, Nicoris' half-brother at the Hodiopolae... "Tacanti may be unknown to me, but perfidy is not."

"Then why should I not refuse to let him in?" She was growing petulant, seeming very young. "You see for yourself that he is-"

"I see that he must be watched. I see that he may well prove unreliable. But I see also that it is better to have him where you can see him than where you cannot. If you exclude him, then he becomes your declared enemy and those who are of his blood may side with him against you," Sanct' Germain said, keeping his tone low and steady. "If he gives his vow of allegiance, his family will be bound by that even if he is not."

Slowly she nodded. "Yes. I see that; I had not thought of it," she said, condemning herself for her lack of foresight. She straightened her shoulders. "Very well. If he will swear fealty to my son, I will allow him to be in this village again. But he must be housed as far from me and mine as he can be."

"That would put him near the gates," Sanct' Germain pointed out. "That could prove unwise if he should decide to admit your foes."

Csimenae stamped her foot. "Very well! What do you suggest?"

Sanct' Germain paused before he answered. "Where was his house before he left?"

"Near the market square, the one with the grinding stone beside it." She caught her lower lip in her teeth.

"Let him return there. Rogerian and I can keep watch on him there without seeming to." He shrugged. "He may be satisfied with having his house again."

"Do you think so?" She watched him out of the corner of her eye.

"No," he admitted. "But it will give him less opportunity to complain, and his complaints will not be as much heeded." He was not entirely convinced, nor was Csimenae, but they were both satisfied for the time being.

"Then, if he says he will give his oath to Aulutis, he will have his house back again. Otherwise I will bestow it on one of those who is willing to kiss my son's foot, to show how loyalty is rewarded." She almost clapped with satisfaction, then her brow darkened once more. "If he will not swear, then I will send him down the mountain. Let him eat berries and mushroom and bark as the wild pigs do."

"You do not want him to have good reason to act against you, for that would persuade others that he was right in his opposition," Sanct' Germain said, still doing nothing that would appear argumentative. "Think of the long years before Aulutis is grown and what you will need to do to keep him safe. The more of your villagers you may draw to his cause, the better his chance of ruling here for many years to come."

She stared at him resentfully. "You have no reason to help him. You are not of this village. You have told me you will not remain here. So what use is your advice?"

Sanct' Germain was ready to answer her. "It is useful because I will not linger here. I have nothing to lose and nothing to gain from his success. This is your home, not mine, and so I have no ties to this village that might color my thoughts." He managed a smile. "You may doubt me, but I give you my Word that I wish nothing but success to you and your son."

"You helped him into the world," Csimenae allowed. "That should bind you to him as his protector."

"If you like," Sanct' Germain said, his memories stirring. "He has nothing to fear from me: nor have you."

She studied his face, shading her eyes with her hand, the better to read his expression. "I will think about what you have said," she announced before she turned away from him and walked back toward the gates.

For a short while Sanct' Germain remained where he stood, his thoughts far away; the sun bore down on him as relentless as an invisible flood, sapping his strength and making him tired. Recollections of the desert outside Baghdad-only thirty-five years ago-drove him into the shelter of the creamery as much as the brightness did. He busied himself with tending the ripening cheeses until he heard Csimenae calling his name. He set aside a clothful of new curds and stepped out into the blazing afternoon where he found her waiting, Aulutis in her arms, a clean cloth wrapped loosely around him.

"I have told those outside the gates that they have until sundown to make their decision. Two of them want to come in now." She squinted against the light. "I want to know what you think is best. I may not agree with your recommendation, but I want to hear what it is."

"Well enough," Sanct' Germain said. "I would allow any to enter as soon as they say they are willing to swear fealty to your son. It is often such concessions that wear down the most obdurate will."

Csimenae made a single nod. "So I think. Henabo has said he is willing to kiss Aulutis' foot this instant."

"Henabo?" Sanct' Germain asked.

"The older man. He and his daughter Pordinae have asked to be admitted. So has Blada, but Tacanti says he will not permit it." She laughed aloud. "It shook his pride, to have his nephew speak so."

"You would be wise not to gloat. That would turn some of the others against you. Particularly Tacanti-he will hold such satisfaction against you." Sanct' Germain saw her glower. "You said yourself that he is a proud man. Why make him angrier than he is? You will only put Aulutis in danger if you do."

"Why do you say so?" Csimenae demanded, her voice so sharp that Aulutis wakened and began to fret. "There? You see what you have done?" She bent over the baby, rocking and whispering consolations to him until he dozed again. Then she addressed Sanct' Germain, her tone a threatening murmur. "If you cause any ill to my son, you will regret it."

"I mean him no harm, Csimenae," Sanct' Germain said gently. "I mean none to you."

She watched him narrowly; when her scrutiny was over, she said, "Come with me. I need to have you at my side when I hear what those outside the gates have to say to me. They must see that I am not alone." Without looking to see if he obeyed, she set off down the street, holding her child as if he were a talisman of profound power that commanded her devotion; her determination was apparent in every movement.

By the time Sanct' Germain reached the gates, Ione, Pordinae, and Henabo were pressing against them, calling to Csimenae. He took up his place next to Csimenae, saying in an undervoice, "Have you made your decision?"

"I have," she told him as quietly. "I will let Henabo come in first. He is the oldest and his oath will mean the most. Then Blada, if he wishes to be admitted. That will sway the others, I think."

"Perhaps not Tacanti," Sanct' Germain warned.

"Perhaps not," Csimenae said coolly, "but the rest will heed his swearing, and they will remember." She indicated the horse-skulls over the gates. "And they will know who has sworn."

"What do you want me to do?" Sanct' Germain asked.

"Be sure they come through one by one. They are not to be allowed to pass in greater number. I will not be rushed by these people. They will do as I demand or they will remain outside." She took a deep breath. "Very well. Open the gates enough to admit one." Raising her voice, she called out, "Henabo, you may come through. My son is waiting to receive you."

Sanct' Germain drew back the heavy bolt and eased the right side of the gates open far enough to admit the older man, then swung them closed again behind him, keeping the rest outside.

"I will vow fealty to your son, Csimenae," Henabo declared as soon as he was inside the gates. "I will kiss his foot to seal my oath."

"That you will," said Csimenae as she held out her baby to the old man; in response to this disturbance, Aulutis began to squall.

"He is a lusty boy, and you have shown yourself able to defend him," Henabo approved as he bent and touched his lips to the infant's right foot. "Very well, I will accept the terms. I am his until death."

"It is witnessed," said Csimenae, unable to keep the triumph from her voice. "Blada, you may come next."

There was a fierce, whispered squabble the other side of the gates, and then Blada shouted out to be let in. "I will swear!"

"You fool!" Tacanti bellowed, the pitch of his voice rising half an octave in choler. "The boy is still at his mother's teats. She is only a woman. He is not yet walking. What use to swear to him?"

"I will be back in my village," said Blada as Sanct' Germain eased the gate open for him.

"You are being foolish!" Tacanti shouted. "All of you are."

In response to this, Aulutis made more noise, and his face turned an astonishing shade of plum.

"You! Tacanti!" Csimenae cried out. "Be silent or I will never open the gates to you, no matter what vows you offer. You are offending my son!" She began urgently to soothe her distraught infant.

"How can you swear fealty to that?" Tacanti scoffed. "I would be ashamed to do it."

"You do not have to," Csimenae yelled back. "You may remain outside the gates until you starve." She held Aulutis close to her, making hectic efforts to quiet him.

During this exchange, Sanct' Germain eased Blada through the gates and nodded in the direction of Csimenae. "Make your vow before her. She will tell you where to live once you kiss the child's foot."

Blada made a sign to show he understood. As he approached Csimenae, he lowered his head. "I swear fealty to your son, from this day until I draw my last breath," he said before he kissed Aulutis' foot, then went to stand beside Henabo; he looked relieved as he smoothed his dusty tunica.

"That is two," said Csimenae. "Who else wishes to come? Ione? Do you want to enter the gates? Does Pordinae?" She waited for an answer, and smiled when Ione conceded. "Admit her, Sanct' Germain."

Ione brought the toddler, Gratio, in through the gate with her, and carried the baby who was not yet a year old. "His parents are dead, and his two sisters are married away from Mont Calcius. They cannot take him, and he has no others to claim him. I will care for him, and I will see that he honors his vow. Gratio will stay with me as well, if you will permit it."

"Poor child," said Csimenae in a tone that was in earnest. "It is good of you to take him in hand, Ione," she went on as if conferring great honor on the two. She went on, "As you have no man with you, your vow will bind you."

After that, Pordinae came inside the gates, and finally Rilsilin, the pockmarked youth, came to kiss Aulutis' foot.

"What do you think, Tacanti?" Csimenae called out, and was mildly surprised to hear nothing in answer.

"I think he has gone into the woods," said Rilsilin, sounding embarrassed. "He said he was disgusted with...with having to honor an infant." His face flushed, and the scars stood out on his skin.

"Gone into the woods," Csimenae repeated as if slapped. "How can he have done that?"

"He did not want to come here," said Rilsilin, his face almost purple from his intense embarrassment.

"May he die of hunger," Csimenae said loudly enough for everyone to hear her. "May bears and wolves fight over his bones."

There was a long silence after that, and then Rogerian came from the alley that led toward the sheepfold. "I have finished putting out the evening feed," he reported to Csimenae as if he were wholly unaware of this discomfort around him.

"Very good," said Csimenae. "We will now assign houses to my son's new allies." She smiled at the eight who had gathered around her.

"As you wish," said Pordinae for all of them.

"Yes; as I wish on behalf of Aulutis." With that, she started toward the market square, the others tagging along behind her.

The assigning of houses took very little time, even though Csimenae did her best to make the occasion a momentous one. Walking along the street, she offered her assessment on each of the buildings she passed, letting the others chafe with impatience. Her confidence increased as she went on, and she became less critical. She promised that no one but Aulutis could evict them from their houses now, and added that their chores would be assigned to them tomorrow.

"And for tonight?" Henabo asked, making a point of screwing up his courage so that the others would pay close attention.

"There is smoked goat-flesh and new cheese. I will order a fire made in the center of the square and we can all gather there." Csimenae beamed at them. "You will be glad you have returned here."

Watching this from the edge of the market square, Sanct' Germain was troubled by the way in which Csimenae reveled in her position. "Her character has force," he said to Rogerian in the language of his own, lost people, "but I fear she lacks the ability to stand alone."

Rogerian shrugged. "Why would she stand alone? She managed with the two of us."

"That is what troubles me. We will not always be here, and if she is ever at odds with these people-and oath or no oath, it is possible-then she may be swayed by her own loneliness."

"Is that so great a failing?" Rogerian asked, his face revealing little of his thoughts.

"If it betrays you, yes," Sanct' Germain responded, his dark eyes distant.

"Do you think it would?" Rogerian's faded-blue eyes were perplexed.

"I do not know; that is why I am troubled." He looked north-east, to the mountains rising behind them. "Perhaps I am seeing the anxiety of an abandoned woman-and one with child-and that is what makes her so vulnerable."

Rogerian considered this. "Is it the vulnerability that worries you, then?"

Sanct' Germain shook his head for an answer, and resumed speaking in the admixture of Latin and the local tongue. "This village could be hard to defend, if it came to that, with only the people she has admitted so far."

It was not an answer to Rogerian's question, and he knew it, but he accepted it for the dismissal it was. "Could it come to that?"

"I suppose that depends on Tacanti," Sanct' Germain said after a brief silence. "If he decides to gather others around him to try to seize this place, it could lead to very real danger for everyone inside the gates."

"And do you intend to do anything about it?" Rogerian inquired, vaguely aware that Rilsilin was standing nearby and listening.

"I do not yet know what to do," Sanct' Germain confessed. "I suppose I will have to remain alert to more than prey when I hunt."

"Then you are planning to continue hunting?" Rogerian was not entirely surprised, but he was keenly aware of the greater risk this could entail now that Tacanti might be in the forest.

"I must," Sanct' Germain said. "We cannot feed these people without meat. If we kill the goats and sheep we have penned, most of these people will starve by the end of summer."

"Do you plan to try to find more goats and sheep for the flocks? That could ease the situation for the village." Rogerian was certain now that Rilsilin was paying close attention to everything they said.

"If I can. We must somehow find a village down the slopes where we may purchase grain, or trade for it. There are only two barrels of flour left, and they will not last long."

"Truly," Rogerian said.

"If not a village, perhaps a monastery or an estate," Sanct' Germain went on. "With the Great Pox on the wane, there will be markets again."

"Will there be a market here, do you think?" Rogerian asked, making a covert gesture to Sanct' Germain, indicating Rilsilin was eavesdropping.

"Possibly not this year, but if all goes well, perhaps next year," Sanct' Germain answered, his fine brows lowering.

Rogerian considered this response. "Will Mont Calcius be ready to open its gates to unknown visitors then, do you think? She cannot hold a market if she insists on letting in visitors one at a time."

"No," Sanct' Germain agreed. "And she will need more people in the village if it is to thrive."

"Is that likely to happen?" Rogerian scraped his thumb along the bristles of his cheek. "Tacanti might not be the only villager who is unwilling to give an oath of fealty to a baby."

"He might not be," Sanct' Germain seconded.

"And where does that leave Csimenae and her new allies?" He shot a quick look at Rilsilin, who had slid closer to them.

Sanct' Germain frowned, and responded obliquely. "I believe Csimenae is confident she will be secure now, that the people she had allowed to swear fealty will honor their oaths, but I am not as convinced as she is."

"Do you plan to warn her?" Rogerian doubted that Csimenae would welcome any such remonstrating as Sanct' Germain might offer, no matter how gently he phrased it.

"It would be expedient to do so," Sanct' Germain said. "When the opportunity presents itself, I will."

"And how soon do you think that will be?" Rogerian studied Sanct' Germain's face.

The answer came in the tongue of Baghdad. "Before that youth reports to Csimenae."

Rogerian managed to smile a little. "Yes," he said in the same language. "He may well do that."

Sanct' Germain gave a single chuckle, and said in the language of the village, "I am relying on it," as he carefully avoided looking in Rilsilin's direction. "In the meantime, I should prepare to hunt tonight."

"You will have to be more careful hunting, now," Rogerian said, more intent in his words than was apparent to anyone but Sanct' Germain.

"Yes," said Sanct' Germain with full understanding. "I suppose I will."

Text of a report to Episcus Salvius of Tarraco from Episcus Luitegild of Toletum.

To my most respected and worthy Brother in Christ, my greetings and prayers of thanksgiving that God has spared you from the Great Pox in this time of dreadful trial which must surely mark the beginning of the Last Days and the return of Our Lord to the world He saved.

I was grieved to learn of the death of Episcus Gerundol of Corduba, for it had seemed that God was inclined to spare that city from the Great Pox. When I received word of his Call to Glory, I realized that it was left to us to bear witness to this calamity and the truth of our great teaching that all is in the Hands of God. I have ordered the monks of Sanctissimus Resurrexionem to say Masses for the repose in Grace of Episcus Gerundol's soul, and the souls of all Christians who have perished. It is the one thing we may do for them now, and the one thing God requires of us at this time. No one can doubt the importance of worship in the face of such proof of Judgment Day approaching.

It is altogether suitable that religious men put away their wives during this time of preparation, dismissing them to convents, or to the life of service that is the lot of women since the Fall of Eve. As we have been so wisely admonished by Sanct' Paulus, women are to be silent in their devotion, acquiescent to their husbands and fathers, who have dominion over them. Yet there are those, who, in their zeal to purify themselves, have put the females of their families to death, the better to cleanse themselves before being brought to answer before the Throne of God, for they believe that so long as they have women in their houses, they are stained by the Sin of Eve. Therefore, I have issued a tomus to the Christian men of Toletum not to kill their wives or their daughters, for although no punishment awaits them in this world, God is a strict Judge and there is no blood-money in Heaven. If God wishes to lay His Hand upon the women, then we must bow our heads in submission. But if He spares them, then so must we, and pray for the redemption of women through the Magna Virgo et Mater.

To honor those of Toletum who have died, I have authorized the donation of houses left empty by death to fellow-Christians who lack shelter. This is in accordance with the instruction of the Evangelists, and it has the approval of the Jews, who are most powerful in this city, and who have the position to see to the administration of its laws; they have done much the same for their own people, and I am assured they will not stand in the way of any such distribution among us. In anticipation of a favorable decision, I have submitted lists of available dwelling places which I am informed will be given approval for occupation at once, with one exception: the house of Sanct' Germain, which he entrusted to Viridia, has been left empty by her death, but as she was not the owner of the house, it must remain as it is until instructions from Sanct' Germain should reach us, or Ithidroel ben Matthias. It is a shame we can do nothing with the house, for it is handsome and well-fitted-out; had I some notion of where Sanct' Germain might be found, I would seek out a courier to take a message to him, wherever he may be, and ask that he let his wishes be known. But I have no means to find him: it may be that he, too, has been taken to Grace and if this is so, then his wishes are known only to God, and until they are revealed by vision or prophesy, there is nothing more I can do.

We have been able to provide shelter for over sixty Christian children left without parents or family to care for them. The boys will be apprenticed when masters can be found for them, but it is not fitting they be made slaves, for once sold, they could be made to serve those who are not Christians. This would not do honor to Our Lord. In finding a place for these orphan boys, we will serve God well in this sinful world. The girls will be married to Christians or taken in as nuns, to serve the monks and priests as handmaids and to provide for the comforts of those who have given their lives to Glory.

According to the few travelers who have arrived here since the Paschal season, the roads are more empty than usual, and many are in ill repair, so that those on the road take much longer to reach their destinations than was the case before the Great Pox came. Some of the Gardingi have set to mending the roads and charging tolls for their use. They enforce their claims with armed men, some of whom make demands beyond those of their masters. This displeases many travelers, who already have much to contend with as regards the rigors of travel: to risk all the goods they seek to trade in order to use a good road is a poor bargain for them. It may be necessary to appeal to the Gardingi who have levied the highest tolls to reconsider their actions, for if travelers are so preyed upon, few will hazard the journey to our cities. Those seeking to make a pilgrimage for the good of their souls will also be reluctant to risk being detained and pressed into service of a Gardingio who takes his tolls in vassalage.

I beseech you to consider making a similar stance on behalf of the Christian souls of Tarraco. You, too, are subject to the rule of Exarch and Gardingio. You, too, have long relied on trade to keep your city wealthy and safe. You, too, have a city that thrives on travelers and the goods they bring with them. To permit the Gardingi to do as they wish, taxing and detaining travelers as suits their whims is to grant them a power that could yet compromise our people and our faith. With God's Aid, we may set an example that will sustain our flock and our Church in these parlous times. I have urged my fellow-Christians to make a stand. If you do not believe that Tarraco, with its seaport, can come to harm because of these policies, I beg you to consider the fate of travelers who seek to bring their goods inland, and who depend on greater markets than the port cities can offer.

May God show you His Will in this and all things. May you always seek to do the Will of God. May your sons do you honor, and your wife be given a place to serve God in Heaven as she served you on earth. May your city be spared from war and want. May your flock never stray from the path God has set for them. May the examples of the Saints always inspire you and your Christians to the acts and thoughts that are most pleasing to God. May no worldly power hamper you in your devotion to God. May all you do bring Glory to God and favor to you and your flock. May you stand with the Sheep at the Final Day.

With my prayers and blessing,

Episcus Luitegild

Sanctissimus Resurrexionem

at Toletum, the summer Solstice and the Mass of the Redeemer, in the 622nd year of man's Salvation, as given in the calendar of Sanct' Iago