Dark of the Sun (Saint-Germain #17)

Dark of the Sun (Saint-Germain #17) Page 4

At Jun-Chau, at the edge of the foothills of the well-worn range of picturesque mountains, the travelers were warned of fighting to the immediate west; Zangi-Ragozh spent a day in the market-place, doing his best to ignore the blustery rain, asking as many questions as he could of merchants who had arrived in the city by various routes; he was glad now that he had taken the time that morning to put an extra layer of his native earth in the soles of his boots. In the evening he returned to the Inn of the Immortal Peach, which catered to wealthy and influential travelers, where he informed the rest of his party that they would turn north. "We'll see what the reports tell us in a day or two," he said to the others.

"It delays our arrival," said Yao. "We've already been on the road nine days-two days longer than we would have been in summer. The weather will slow us still more."

"Better a few days' delay than getting caught in a battle," Zangi-Ragozh pointed out.

"Are you certain there is a battle, then?" Jong asked, looking up from his cup of hot rice-wine.

"No, I am not," said Zangi-Ragozh. "The rumors are very consistent, however, and that gives me pause."

"Then we go north, and that adds at least a week to our time on the road," said Yao, spitting into the fire at the center of the dining room of the Inn of the Immortal Peach. He had been sullen for the last two days, inclined to brood and to give abrupt answers to anyone foolish enough to talk to him.

"What is the matter with you, Yao?" Jong demanded, completely exasperated. "Are you ill?"

Yao hitched up his shoulders. "I know I'm out of sorts. I don't know why. My grandmother was like this, too, always irritated before a blizzard."

"A blizzard!" Jong exclaimed. "Not here in the lowlands, certainly."

"No, in the mountains. It would probably bring sleet here." Yao put his hands together.

"A blizzard would be inconvenient," Jong declared.

"No doubt it would," said Zangi-Ragozh. "And yet, I would rather have some warning than be caught in the open when it strikes."

"Far better to be safe indoors," Ro-shei agreed with a knowing nod. "For all of us."

Jong rounded on Zangi-Ragozh. "Do you believe this nonsense?"

Zangi-Ragozh considered his answer. "Blizzards are not uncommon at this part of the season, at least not in the mountains, and although Jun-Chau is a bit southerly for one, his saying such a storm is coming is not so astonishing as hearing something of the sort in high summer would be. I propose to put up here for another day, to see if the weather gets better or worse. Rain makes the road a muddy morass, and snow would render it impassable." He pulled off his gloves and held his small hands out toward the fire.

"A waste of time," Jong grumbled. "I think this is an absurd-"

"Absurd it may be," Zangi-Ragozh interrupted him, "but it is my decision to make, and I have made it." He took two steps back from the fire and went to pay for the men's supper.

"Will you want your own meal served in your room?" the landlord asked with an obsequious smile; he recognized all the trappings of a wealthy merchant, foreign or Chinese, and knew such rich patrons were rare in winter; a little extra attention now could pay off handsomely in the future, so he laced his plump fingers together and strove to appear as helpful as possible.

"I think not. I would rather be told where I might find a dancing girl-very accomplished, at a first-class establishment," said Zangi-Ragozh.

The landlord considered, weighing various possibilities in his thoughts. "There is La-Che at The Silver Fan," he said at last. "Very desirable, very temperamental, fiery, but accomplished in every amorous art; there's some barbarian blood in her, and you know how they can be. She's considered expensive but a real prize."

Zangi-Ragozh shook his head. "That was not the accomplishment I meant," he said smoothly. "I would like to see a truly skilled dancer, and, if she is willing, I would like to spend the evening in her company."

"Ah, a connoisseur; a different matter entirely," said the landlord, revising his opinion of his foreign guest a little. "How remarkable, that a foreigner should seek such a dancer."

"If concern for art is so remarkable," said Zangi-Ragozh.

The landlord heard an implacable note in his voice and decided not to make the jest that had sprung to mind. "Artistry. Yes. Then you would be best-pleased with Jo-Hsu at the Heavenly Flute. I could send a messenger to bespeak her for you for the evening."

Ordinarily Zangi-Ragozh would have turned down this offered service, but he suspected it would not be a good notion in this instance, so he drew a string of copper cash from his sleeve and took four coins off the cord. "Two for you, two for your messenger," he said, handing over the money. "I will visit the Heavenly Flute in a short while." His slight smile was polite enough, and his respectful manner gained him another notch of approval in the landlord's estimate.

"It will be done at once," the landlord assured Zangi-Ragozh, and clapped his hand for one of his servants, his round features set in a professional, meaningless smile. "My lad will go on the instant."

"I thank you. And where is this establishment?" He rested his hand on the high counter as he waited for an answer.

"It is three streets away from here. You cross the market-square and bear left at the first street beyond the square. The mouth of the street faces the Temple of the War Gods, and it runs south for four blocks. The Heavenly Flute is in the second block on the right. You will see the sign."

"Very clear and concise. You are an asset to your profession," said Zangi-Ragozh, and returned to the fire to draw Ro-shei aside for a few private words.

"You're going out," said Ro-shei in Byzantine Greek. "For the evening, or all night?"

"I hardly know yet, not having seen what is out there," said Zangi-Ragozh in the same language. "That will depend upon what I find, will it not?"

Ro-shei shook his head. "I hope you will not abandon your search too readily or assume you cannot obtain what you require. We have a long way to go yet."

"We do," Zangi-Ragozh admitted. He looked directly at Ro-shei, continuing purposefully, "If the dancing girl is unwilling, then I will try to find a widow to visit in her sleep."

"So long as you have nourishment," said Ro-shei with feeling. "Ever since you freed Dei-Na, I have noticed that you deny yourself what you most truly need, and this causes me concern."

"I am in no danger," said Zangi-Ragozh.

"It is going to be a demanding journey; you said so yourself. You need to maintain your strength. Days are beginning to lengthen, and the increasing sunlight will make greater exactions upon you, and that, too, will deplete your stamina. If you do not feed your hunger, how are you to maintain the discretion you have been so determined to preserve?" Ro-shei glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "This is not Yang-Chau. You are not known here; anything you do will be noted and considered. Your true nature would not be welcomed by anyone in this town."

"Do you suppose Jong or Yao or Gien is likely to take advantage of me if they knew?" Zangi-Ragozh asked.

"Probably not. But highwaymen often have agents at inns such as this and are not above setting ambushes."

"I know," said Zangi-Ragozh. He went on in Chinese, "I have arranged for the men's supper. Do you want me to send a request to the kitchen, or do you want to fend for yourself?"

"I have a duck I bought in the market-place. It will more than suffice," said Ro-shei, also in Chinese.

"Then I wish you a pleasant evening," he said, fitting one hand into the other.

"And I wish a pleasant evening to you, my master," said Ro-shei, moving aside so that Zangi-Ragozh could draw on his oiled-leather cloak and leave the inn.

The evening was turning raw, the wind more penetrating, the rain colder. Zangi-Ragozh drew up the hood of his cloak and lifted his shoulder to the wind as he made his way along the side of the nearly empty market-square toward the Temple of the War Gods. He stopped for a moment to look into the elaborate interior of the building and heard the drums sounding to summon the gods to receive their worship, which asked for protection from the dangers of battle. The odor of incense was strong, and the shine of lamps and tapers made the tall windows of the temple glow. When the chanting began, Zangi-Ragozh moved away, knowing that as a foreigner he would not be welcome at the celebration. He made his way down to the Heavenly Flute, which had the look of an exclusive dining establishment. Ducking in through the hanging over the door, Zangi-Ragozh approached a tall desk and identified himself, presenting a business card and saying, "The landlord of the Inn of the Immortal Peach sent a messenger a little while ago, bespeaking the talents of Jo-Hsu."

"Indeed he did. Are you the man who asked for her?" The landlord looked Zangi-Ragozh over carefully; he was as tall and angular as the landlord of the Inn of the Immortal Peach was rotund. "I was told you are a foreign merchant. Beng's boy described you."

"Yes, I am a foreign merchant," Zangi-Ragozh agreed at once. "And I am presently here on my way to Chang'an."

"A foolhardy thing to do, but still, I suppose, someone must begin, or the disputes will spread farther." The landlord waved his hand toward the central corridor of his establishment. "Take the door on the left, the one standing open. Two bars of silver buys Jo-Hsu and a musician for the night. Food is extra."

Zangi-Ragozh handed over the two silver bars from the wallet on his belt. "There will be a third bar in the morning if we are undisturbed. In the meantime, send in whichever tea Jo-Hsu most prefers."

Scowling, the landlord put the money away. "If Jo-Hsu calls for help, I will send my men in to protect her, silver or no silver."

"Of course, of course," Zangi-Ragozh said. "A wise precaution, especially with someone unknown to you." He removed his hat, pulled off his cloak, and draped it over his arm before proceeding down the corridor as the landlord had indicated, entering a good-sized room with two broad couches, three chairs, a table, a small folding screen, and a slightly raised platform on which Jo-Hsu would dance. A fire had been laid and only recently kindled, so there was a little smoke in the room, and a persistent odor of charring sap. He draped his cloak over the back of the longer couch and closed the door through which he had entered.

A maid came in from the far end of the room bearing the tea-tray. She set this down and withdrew in silence with no acknowledgment of Zangi-Ragozh's presence.

Zangi-Ragozh walked around the handsome chamber, seeming to be looking at its decoration, in actuality trying to locate the peepholes he was certain were hidden in various parts of the walls. He had counted three of them when a middle-aged woman in a nondescript gray sen-mo and carrying a two-stringed instrument came into the room, nodded to Zangi-Ragozh, and sat down on a small stool, where she began to tune up.

A wooden gong sounded, and the side door was opened to admit a slender young woman in a long-sleeved sen-lai of jade-green silk embroidered with golden peonies. She turned to Zangi-Ragozh and fitted her hands together. "This person is Jo-Hsu," she said.

"I am Zangi-Ragozh," he replied as he acknowledged her greeting.

"You have requested me to dance for you," she said a bit doubtfully.

"Yes. I have heard you are a true artist," he said, and made himself comfortable on his chair.

"Shall I start now with a dance of my choosing or is there something you would rather begin with?" Jo-Hsu asked, and as Zangi-Ragozh nodded his permission to start, she took her place on the raised floor, shook out her sleeves, and signaled to the musician. Apparently they had agreed upon what to perform, for the music began without any discussion. The first few notes were jarring, but then the melody became plain, and the dancer began to move, following the traditional movements of the Spring Dawn dance with precision and elegance. She had the gift of seeming to float, so that every step and gesture appeared to be suspended, ethereal; even the rapid passages were unhurried, graceful, and effortless. When she was done, she bowed to Zangi-Ragozh.

"Truly excellent," he said, and put a gold coin on the tray with the tea things.

"Would you like to see another?" Jo-Hsu asked, still panting a little.

"Yes, I would," Zangi-Ragozh told her. "But take a little while to recover your breath."

She ducked her head. "Thank you." Straightening up, she looked about her. "What would you like me to dance next?"

"You know your preferences better than I," said Zangi-Ragozh. "Choose whichever you would like most to do."

"Would The Last Petal please you?" she suggested.

"I have never seen it," Zangi-Ragozh told her. "It would enlarge my understanding if you would dance it for me."

Jo-Hsu nodded. "Then I will do it. Some people think it's too sad, but I like it." She took a position in the center of her stage and said, "Play, Weh-Bin."

The musician complied at once, striking up the plaintive tune with more sensitivity than she had shown in the previous dance; the melody twined around three central notes, and the dance used this device, for it consisted of turns and twirls that recalled petals dropping on the wind. When the dance was finished, Jo-Hsu was on her knees, bent forward, hands extended.

"Lovely," said Zangi-Ragozh, looking over at the musician. "Perhaps Weh-Bin would like to retire for a short while, to reinvigorate herself, and you, Jo-Hsu, have some tea for refreshment."

Rising easily, Jo-Hsu spoke softly to Weh-Bin, saying to Zangi-Ragozh, "She will return directly."

"Very well," he said, and indicated the couch near his chair. "Please. Be comfortable." He poured out a cup of tea for Jo-Hsu and held it out to her. "Drink this, if you would."

She took the cup as she sat and tasted the tea. "My favorite. Thank you.

"You dance very well," Zangi-Ragozh told her. "Your reputation is richly deserved."

"You are good to say so." She drank more of the tea and lay back on the couch, watching him covertly.

"How long have you studied?"

The question surprised her, and so she answered more truthfully and directly than she usually did when patrons asked her about herself. "Since I was a little child. My mother was a dancer, very famous, with many rich patrons, and she taught me all she knew." She drank the last of the tea in her cup. "She died when I was twelve. I began to dance professionally two years later."

"So young," Zangi-Ragozh said as he rose to refill her cup.

"Many dancers begin their careers younger than I was," she said a bit brusquely.

"That was not what I meant," Zangi-Ragozh responded; he poured the tea.

Jo-Hsu was taken aback by his courtesy. "You need not ... I will tend to the tea myself."

"There is no reason that you should," said Zangi-Ragozh, sitting down again. "It is the least I can do for you."

She stared at him, her face revealing the many emotions that welled in her, from gratitude to affronted indignation. Finally she said, "You are not my servant."

"No, I am not," he responded, his dark eyes on hers. "But you deserve my service."

"Because I dance well?" She was startled at the notion. "Surely-"

"Because you dance well," he confirmed.

"And is that all?"

He studied her for a long moment. "If it is all you want, then yes. If it is not, then no."

Into the potent silence looming between them, Weh-Bin returned. Taking in Jo-Hsu and Zangi-Ragozh in a single glance, she swiftly withdrew again and informed the servants that Jo-Hsu should be left alone until she sent for help.

Jo-Hsu's eyes flickered as she heard the side-door snick closed. She gave a long, languorous sigh and made herself more comfortable on the couch. "It is always pleasant to have a man demonstrate his admiration."

Zangi-Ragozh watched her performance, a bit saddened that she had decided to treat him as she would any patron; it was the life she knew, he reminded himself as he said, "If it is truly what you desire, then what am I but flattered."

"It is how these things are done. You've paid for my time, and you've liked my dancing." She drank her tea and held out her arm to him. "Come. You will be happier at my side."

He got to his feet and walked the three steps to the couch. "I am not what you expect," he said as he took her hand and bent to kiss it. "You have nothing to fear from me; believe this."

Jo-Hsu stared at him. "What did you do?"

"It is a custom among my people," he said, sitting beside her.

"Foreigners are so strange," she said, shaking her head.

"Yes. We are." He touched her cheek, his fingers so light that she gasped in astonishment. "Some more than others."

"How do you come to-" He leaned forward and touched her lips with his, so softly that she was only startled, not afraid. As he drew back, she did her best to laugh and only partially succeeded, for she was becoming breathless. "Another foreign custom."

"The same custom," said Zangi-Ragozh. "It expresses a different regard when done to the mouth instead of the hand."

"It is like you tasted me." She looked up into his face. "Are you hungry for me?"

"Yes, Jo-Hsu, I am," he said with utter sincerity as he moved his hands over her sen-lai, so gently that he hardly disturbed the sheer fabric.

She grabbed his wrist and regarded him somberly. "Shan will make you pay more if you-you know. Pregnancy isn't good for dancers."

"I won't do anything that would endanger you in that way," Zangi-Ragozh said. He did not add that he was certain they were being watched through at least one of the peepholes in the wall.

Jo-Hsu had heard that before. "If you do, if you forget your intentions, Shan will demand you pay for the loss of my time, and my dancing."

Zangi-Ragozh fixed his dark eyes on hers, this time with such attention that she was taken aback. "I gave you my Word, Jo-Hsu," he told her quietly.

She felt her pulse grow strong in her neck, and she took another deep breath to restore her self-possession. "All right. But I'll have to tell him what happened, in the morning."

"You will have nothing to tell him," said Zangi-Ragozh, straightening up. "I will leave something for you on the tea-tray and pay the balance of the evening to your landlord before I leave."

"Oh, no," Jo-Hsu protested, taking hold of his sleeve. "I don't want you to leave me. Not yet. Not until midnight, at least."

"I would rather remain," Zangi-Ragozh admitted.

"Then do so. I don't want it said that I would refuse a patron simply because he was foreign." She gave him her best smile.

What else had he expected? Zangi-Ragozh asked himself. He had sought out an available woman, a woman with something more than a functioning body to attract him, and he had found precisely that. She would not question how he took his pleasure so long as it did not include any risk to her of pregnancy or damage to her face. No matter how much he wanted more from her, given the reality of his circumstances, this arrangement was ultimately satisfactory, or so he attempted to convince himself as he bent over Jo-Hsu again. "Does my foreignness bother you, Jo-Hsu?"

"Not so much. You are not like many men, foreign and Chinese, for many of them are over-eager You do not rush upon me. Or you have not done so yet." She studied his face; apparently she approved of what she saw, for she moved a little to give him more room on the couch and held up her hand. "You may taste me again, if you like."

Obediently he kissed her hand, continuing to hold it as he lowered it from his lips. "I thank you, Jo-Hsu."

Her laughter was softer and less forced than before. "You say such strange things, foreigner." She touched the standing collar of his sen-hsien. "Not that I mind them."

Zangi-Ragozh slipped his arms around her and gathered her close to him. "Then I hope you will not mind the other foreign things about me."

She returned his embrace with practiced ease, pressing her body to his through the many layers of silk that separated them. "You have been most gratifying thus far."

He took the compliment with a nod that led into another kiss. This time their lips met less gently and remained together longer, drawing more than titillation from Jo-Hsu; Zangi-Ragozh felt a change in her flesh as the first quiver of authentic passion ignited deep within her. He nuzzled her neck and worked open her sen-lai, exposing the slight rise of her breasts. "What gives you most pleasure?" he whispered.

"Your touch is very nice," she answered, her pulse becoming a little faster.

"Then let me offer you more of it," he murmured as he unfastened the last of the closings on the sen-lai.

The soft jade silk slithered off her, spilling onto the couch like a waterfall. "Oh. I will be cold soon."

"I will keep you warm," Zangi-Ragozh promised her, turning her a little so that the warmth from the hearth could enhance what his hands did.

"That's ... wonderful." Jo-Hsu sighed once more, and opened her body to his eyes and hands with the practiced ease of her profession. She had done this many times before, but now there was a new sensation in her limbs that made her feel heavy and light at once. When he bent and touched his lips to her nipple, she gave a sharp little cry that turned to a quiet moan as he cupped her small breast in his hand and kissed her other nipple. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to her arousal.

"What would you like me to do next?" he asked, his voice low.

"I don't know," she said, not quite truthfully, but as she had been trained to respond. "Whatever seems best to you."

"It is what you want that suits me best," said Zangi-Ragozh.

She considered this for a long moment. "Then do as you like; I will tell you if I am not pleased."

"It will be as you wish." With a patience that was nearly reverence, Zangi-Ragozh sought out all the rapture her body contained. Hands and lips paid unhurried homage to her breasts, her flanks, her long, lithe torso, to her hips, to her legs, to the deep, warm recesses in the folds at the apex of her thighs. His touch was gentle and exciting at once, his nearness protecting her as well as fueling her ardor. With enchanting leisureliness, he ventured along the curves and hollows of her flesh, discovering the many ways in which she could be inspired with passion. So intent was he on learning the whole extent of her elation that he even devoted his attention to her feet and the backs of her knees. Every apolaustic response she possessed was awakened, so that as he continued his exploration, he brought her transports she had not realized she could attain, until every fiber in her was shivering with ecstasy. Only when she reached the culmination of her fervor did he fold her close to him, his mouth pressed to her throat while she trembled her fulfillment.

Gradually, as the wondrous riot in her flesh softened to a thrill, she opened her eyes and stared up at him. "How do you know such things?"

"My foreign nature," he said, and gently kissed the corner of her mouth.

She reached up and fingered a dark strand of his wavy hair. "Like so much of you." Her face seemed suffused with light. "I didn't notice until now-your eyes are dark as mine, but they're blue. Are you a Celestial Turk?"

"No," he said. "My people come from far to the west, in mountains called the Carpathians. My father ruled there until his enemies overcame him." It was true as far as it went; he did not add that those events had taken place more than two and a half millennia ago.

"Like what is happening in China," she said a bit sadly. "So you are reduced to being a merchant."

"Among other things," he agreed, moving back to allow her to sit up and gather her jade-green sen-lai around her shoulders.

"It is always hard when one ruler is cast out in favor of another," she said. "I have entertained men from Chang'an who told me that they had lost all now that there will be a Wen Emperor in their city."

"Have you encountered many of them, these unfortunate men from Chang'an?" Zangi-Ragozh asked, wondering what else they had imparted.

"Five," she said. "One was very bitter, the others were more angry." She winced at the memory. "Shan had to send two of his boys in to stop them."

Zangi-Ragozh was silent, then said, "I am sorry to hear that you had to suffer on their account."

She shrugged. "It is the way of men."

"It may be, but it does not excuse them," he said.

She put her hand on his. "You aren't like most men. You told me, and it is true."

Zangi-Ragozh looked down at her hand and knew that the gesture was more revealing than she had intended. "You have been most kind to me, Jo-Hsu."

"If I am, it is because of you," she said, as if something in his words had struck an injury; she withdrew her hand.

"I doubt that," said Zangi-Ragozh as he touched her cheek. "If you had no kindness within you, not I, nor anyone else, could find it."

She tugged her sen-lai closed and stared into the middle distance. "If it satisfies you to think so, then I will not stop you."

He moved away from her, thinking that if there was any tea left, it would be cold. "Ah, Jo-Hsu, do not despair."

"It's not that," she said bluntly. "You imagine too much, foreigner."

Rather than argue the point, he asked, "Shall I send for more tea? Or would you like rice cakes and plum wine?"

She scowled in the direction of the hearth. "I would like another log or two on the fire."

He rose at once to attend to her request, saying as he did, "Would you like me to summon Weh-Bin?"

"Why are you being so polite? You have what you wanted. You need not linger." She pressed her lips together as if to stop saying worse things.

"If you would rather I leave, I will," he said, straightening up from tending to the fire. But-"

"-you have paid for the night. So you are entitled to remain. You may ask me to dance again, if you like." She stood and adjusted her sen-lai, three fingers brushing the little nicks on her neck. She frowned slightly but said nothing.

Zangi-Ragozh had seen reactions like Jo-Hsu's before, and so he answered her calmly, "I want to make no demands upon you, Jo-Hsu. If you want to dance, then I will enjoy watching you. If you would like to eat, by all means send for food. If you want to sleep, then go ahead. But I tell you now that you will not incite me to anger."

"Nothing passed between us," she said, her hand going to her neck as if to defend herself. "You have no hold on me."

He took another two gold coins from the string of gold cash in his sleeve. "This is yours; do with it as you wish."

"So generous," she said spitefully.

He studied her. "Jo-Hsu," he said at last. "Tell me what I have done to offend you?"

The question took her aback, and she answered without thinking, "You make me want things I know I cannot have again."

Zangi-Ragozh met her gaze steadily. "If that is so, I apologize most sincerely."

Her face crumpled as she fought back tears. "Don't." She flung the word at him as an accusation, then turned away from him. "And you pay me better than anyone."

This time there was a trace of ironic amusement in his response. "I hope I will not further offend you by not apologizing for that?"

"I'd like sweet rice-buns and some plum wine," she said by way of an answer.

"Certainly," said Zangi-Ragozh, clapping his hands to summon a servant. t.

"How courteous you are," Jo-Hsu said with all the spite of her nineteen years.

By the time he left the Heavenly Flute it was nearer sunrise than midnight; he had presented the landlord with two silver bars, with the assurance that one would be set aside for Jo-Hsu's future use, to the ill-concealed amusement of Shan and his assistant. The blizzard Yao had sensed was beginning in the mountains, and here, at the edge of the foothills, sleet fell relentlessly on the angling wind as Zangi-Ragozh hunched into his cloak and drew his hat down over his forehead to make his way back to the Inn of the Immortal Peach.

Text of a letter written in Imperial Latin from Atta Olivia Clemens at Lago Comus in northern Italy to Ragoczy Sanct' Germain Franciscus in Yang-Chau; carried by caravan for two years, never delivered.

To the distinguished foreigner and my ancient, most honored friend, the greetings of Atta Olivia Clemens on this, the 20th day of June in the Year of the City 1286, or the 533rd Year of Salvation, according to the Pope, whoever the new one may be. Boniface II has been reported near death, so I must suppose he has departed this world for the next by now, and his successor, if one has been elected, is not known here at Lago Comus, nor is likely to be for a while yet, since news in these days travels very slowly.

You see, I have taken your advice at last and got out of Rome again. The distressing inclination of various barbarians to sack and loot the city is becoming inconvenient-not to say revolting in every sense of the word-and so I have come to your lovely villa here eat Lago Comus to avoid the rape and pillage that has beome all too frequent in the city of my birth. I cannot tell you how much devastation has been visited on Rome, nor the appalling failure to protect its walls and buildings that has been the most consistent nature of its defense. If only I could be indifferent to Rome, I would be off to travel the world, as you do, but since I have not yet learned how to journey so far from my native Roman earth, Lago Comus must suffice.

Niklos Aulirios is with me, of course, and I have begun assembling a household from the various villages in the area. I have also begun work expanding your stables here: I trust you will not object, or, if you do, you will come here to voice your disapproval in person, which would make any chiding a most welcome experience. He has proven to be the most capable of bondsmen, and I thank you from the very marrow of my bones for providing him to me.

I have brought forty-three horses with me from my estate, and I'll look for good stock in this region to breed with. I have only eight stallions-the rest are mares, and in good health. I might as well make the most of this opportunity and improve my stock while I avoid the continuing assaults on Rome. Next year I should have sixty to seventy in my herd, and that will be a satisfactory number. As you have remarked before, the barbarians may come down from the north to sack Rome, but they do not often attack such remote places as this one, having a number of towns and cities to attract their attention. The mountains here also provide a kind of protection, as well as providing a setting of impressive beauty. Not even Rome's seven hills are as beautiful as these mountains, though as a Roman, it galls me to say it.

Another reason for my coming to this place is that there has been a change in the laws again in Rome, and now, without a Papal dispensation allowing it, women are no longer allowed to inherit or possess property. What the Pope can do about it is limited, for, of course, the power of the Church is growing, but it is hardly sufficient to dictate to the rulers, but through their superstition. Not that such fancies cannot be useful, but they are far from reliable, and it is my understanding that what may work in one's favor on one occasion may be contrary the next time. Certainly the Church gained prestige when Pope Leo bought off Attila, not quite a century ago, for the Pope accomplished what no General could, at least as the event is being reported in these times. However, as one who witnessed the occasion, I must declare it was not only Papal gold but pestilence and famine that turned the Hun back at Rome. There was a great deal of bad air in Rome that year, and although it has largely been overlooked, I believe the mal aria, and not invisible Saints and Angels, kept the Huns at bay, and the Pope's gold provided a good reason to withdraw. They are calling Leo a Saint now for what he accomplished. I will grant that he was very clever to use his office in so political a way, for it created leverage for the Church that it had not had before.

Pardon me for railing at you-I rail when I am frightened, and I am frightened now, for I fear I will lose all that I have sought for myself and have no means to maintain my autonomy. There is almost nothing I can do about this, and my fear increases as I become lessened in the world. So I howl at the stars and complain to you, and hope that I fear in vain.

I left your villa in good heart, the fields bountiful and the orchards producing in abundance, and with a caretaker and staff who have been reliable before; they currently number twenty-nine, counting the day-laborers, and they are all under the caretaker's administration, who has your present location and has been instructed to send you annual reports until such time as you return to Rome or I appoint his successor. I have permitted him to reduce the size of your stable from ninety horses to thirty-five. There is less likelihood of them being seized at this smaller number than the larger, so you will still have a few horses left when you return, rather than none at all. Romulus Ursinus will keep you informed on the numbers and genders of the herd.

I realize one of the reasons you have gone so far away is to rid yourself of all the reminders of Nicoris, which I understand, having occasionally done something of the sort myself. But, my most enduring friend, you are not to blame for her decision to accept the True Death. As you told me, almost five hundred years ago now, not everyone can live as those of our blood must. That she discovered she was unable to seek out the living for the sustenance of intimacy is hardly your fault, for you showed her how those of our blood must live, and you were more than generous with her as she wakened to your life. I am unliving proof that you are the very soul of all that is honorable, for you took me from my tomb when I had no hope of restoration, and you have extended your protection and guidance in all kindness. That Nicoris found others lacking where you had not been is hardly a lack in you, but a failure for others, as well I know. Pardon yourself for your caring and return to Europe once again. It has little to recommend it at present, but I would be glad of your company.

As I have already intimated, Rome is no longer thriving, and it is not for military reasons alone that it is so fallen from its former glory, which is now most apparent in the ruins that are the most noticeable features of the old districts of Rome. It is truly unsafe to live there, and that saddens me as much as seeing the peacocks in Constantine's City proclaiming themselves to the new Rome, and more magnificent than the old. They have the pomp but not the law, the wealth but not the roads, the Church instead of the gods. Magna Mater! They have abolished the rights of slaves to purchase their freedom! Women are forbidden to inherit property without a man to serve as guardian for her legacy. What kind of Rome is that?

It has been a very wet winter here in the mountains, or perhaps it is more usual than I know. The summer has been marked with thunderstorms and strong winds. While this location is generally protected, it is also inclined to be flooded when there is a great deal of rain. A fortnight ago the streams were over their banks as the water from the peaks came down the mountains. This time not much damage was done, but I have ordered that the walls of the streams be set with stones to help contain the water. Such measures helped preserve my fields in Clusium on the Via Cassia and may do so here, as well. That holding is long-gone, but I have not forgot the lessons I learned there. The work will be done in a month or so, when the water is at its lowest. We will dam the stream for a month and do the lining at a time when the water behind the dam may be used to water livestock and provide a chance for fishing. That has made the more recalcitrant peasants willing at least to try this approach. Some of the farmers in the region have said that if this succeeds here, they may do the same with their streams. It is most apparent that they do not expect these measures to work, but they are not set against trying such methods, either.

The last letter I had from you-and it took almost four years to reach me, and I count myself fortunate to have received it at all-was eight years ago. You had just arrived in Yang-Chau and had begun your business. I suppose you have sent other letters that have not arrived and may never arrive. I wonder what I should ask you, since I have little or no information upon which to draw. Still, I am curious to know how you are, wherever you are, and however you have fared since you left Europe. Very well then: are you still in Yang-Chau? What manner of city is Yang-Chau? Is Rogerian with you? This should be inquiry enough to ensure an answer from you, my oldest, most exasperating friend.

I am giving this letter into the hands of a Longobard merchant bound for the Dalmatian Coast, who will pass it on to a merchant sailing for the Black Sea, who, the Longobard assures me, can be trusted, especially since I am providing gold to ensure his help. From there, it will have to go overland, I suppose, on the Silk Road, and be carried into China by other merchants. I find it difficult to be optimistic about this reaching you at all. It is something like shouting into the void of the night, and hoping to hear an echo from the stars. As uncertain as this journey may be, I will assume that you will read this one day in two or three years. Remember when you see it that I would be glad to see you again, and that you will always be welcome at my house, wherever I am.

Before I can become maudlin with missing you, I will sign and seal this, and start it on its way to you. It is my plan to remain here for at least ten years, so by the time you read this, you should be able to get one reply to me before I move on. I assure you I will be discreet, for it would not do for the people here to discover my true nature, any more than they would be pleased to know of yours. It is my intention to look for my sustenance elsewhere, and to pursue my desires with those who sleep, at least for now. And, my cherished one, I will dream of you.

Olivia