barrel and went to gather an armload of hay for the mule. He lowered his head in a sign of respect as the Primor came down the central aisle toward him. “Thank you again, Primor, for letting us stay here for the night, for giving my escort a bed, and for providing for my animals.”
“It is as God commands us,” said the Primor, not quite able to conceal his satisfaction at this expression of gratitude.
“I will shortly finish with feeding the mules. The horses are already attended to—brushed, watered, and fed—and the mules will be shortly.”
“Do you actually brush your mules?” Primor Ioanus exclaimed.
“Yes. I do not want them hindered by the saddles riding badly on their coats.” He went to the mound of hay that had been forked down from the loft, gathered an armload of it, and went back to the mule in the stall. “Here you are,” he said to the animal as he put the hay in the long trough that served as a manger.
Primor Ioanus watched with mild astonishment, shaking his head in disbelief. “You do this yourself when you have a servant to attend to it.”
“My servant manages the tack, I care for the animals,” said Sanct’ Germain as if this were the most ordinary arrangement in the world. “This way if my horses or mules come to grief, I have only myself to blame.”
“Ah,” said Primor Ioanus in comprehension. “You do not trust anyone but yourself. In that case, I can understand why you might decide to do these things.” He sighed. “Would that others were as vigilant.”
Knowing it was expected of him, Sanct’ Germain asked, “Why do you say that?”
“Oh,” Primor Ioanus said in an off-handed way, “that there are unscrupulous men who prey on travelers, pretending to provide aid and actually preparing the unsuspecting man for disaster. They are active in many places in the mountains, where the steep valleys and deep forests give them protection. They are cruel to their victims. We see many such at this place, men who have been robbed, often beaten, and left to live or die as God pleases.”
Curious to know where this was leading, Sanct’ Germain responded, “My manservant and I are no strangers to the hazards of travel, but I am obliged for the timely warning.”
“A man abroad with as many goods as you carry would be well-advised to exercise care in all you do: robbers long for the opportunity you provide. You have men-at-arms, but they are not always proof against the bandits. There may be other means to guard what you carry.” He put his hands together in silent prayer. “If it is not overbold of me, may I recommend another precaution to you?”
“I would welcome it,” said Sanct’ Germain as he picked up the stiff brush and began to go over the mule’s coat.
“I am half-brother to Gardingio Witteric, whose estates are east of here. If you would avoid the perils of the road, may I recommend you go to him and ask for hospitality until the thaw? You might find the road too hard if you try to get through the mountain passes.” He indicated the mules. “These are fine animals, but even they would not be proof against the cold. My half-brother is a most worthy man; his donations have supported this monastery for many years.”
Sanct’ Germain studied the Primor for a long moment, then said, “I had thought to pass the winter with the Gardingio Theudis, although that may not be possible now. I have an introduction to him from Episcus Luitegild of Toletum.” He watched to see what response this information would evoke.
“Aqua Alba in Iberus,” said Primor Ioanus, nodding. “A most worthy man, but one much burdened by a visitation of the Great Pox. He is receiving no travelers until the miasma has lifted from Aqua Alba.”
“The Great Pox,” Sanct’ Germain said studiously. “I had not heard that it was abroad.”
“The Exarchs have decided not to bruit it about, for fear of making the Pox worse.” He crossed himself, and waited until Sanct’ Germain
“It is as God commands us,” said the Primor, not quite able to conceal his satisfaction at this expression of gratitude.
“I will shortly finish with feeding the mules. The horses are already attended to—brushed, watered, and fed—and the mules will be shortly.”
“Do you actually brush your mules?” Primor Ioanus exclaimed.
“Yes. I do not want them hindered by the saddles riding badly on their coats.” He went to the mound of hay that had been forked down from the loft, gathered an armload of it, and went back to the mule in the stall. “Here you are,” he said to the animal as he put the hay in the long trough that served as a manger.
Primor Ioanus watched with mild astonishment, shaking his head in disbelief. “You do this yourself when you have a servant to attend to it.”
“My servant manages the tack, I care for the animals,” said Sanct’ Germain as if this were the most ordinary arrangement in the world. “This way if my horses or mules come to grief, I have only myself to blame.”
“Ah,” said Primor Ioanus in comprehension. “You do not trust anyone but yourself. In that case, I can understand why you might decide to do these things.” He sighed. “Would that others were as vigilant.”
Knowing it was expected of him, Sanct’ Germain asked, “Why do you say that?”
“Oh,” Primor Ioanus said in an off-handed way, “that there are unscrupulous men who prey on travelers, pretending to provide aid and actually preparing the unsuspecting man for disaster. They are active in many places in the mountains, where the steep valleys and deep forests give them protection. They are cruel to their victims. We see many such at this place, men who have been robbed, often beaten, and left to live or die as God pleases.”
Curious to know where this was leading, Sanct’ Germain responded, “My manservant and I are no strangers to the hazards of travel, but I am obliged for the timely warning.”
“A man abroad with as many goods as you carry would be well-advised to exercise care in all you do: robbers long for the opportunity you provide. You have men-at-arms, but they are not always proof against the bandits. There may be other means to guard what you carry.” He put his hands together in silent prayer. “If it is not overbold of me, may I recommend another precaution to you?”
“I would welcome it,” said Sanct’ Germain as he picked up the stiff brush and began to go over the mule’s coat.
“I am half-brother to Gardingio Witteric, whose estates are east of here. If you would avoid the perils of the road, may I recommend you go to him and ask for hospitality until the thaw? You might find the road too hard if you try to get through the mountain passes.” He indicated the mules. “These are fine animals, but even they would not be proof against the cold. My half-brother is a most worthy man; his donations have supported this monastery for many years.”
Sanct’ Germain studied the Primor for a long moment, then said, “I had thought to pass the winter with the Gardingio Theudis, although that may not be possible now. I have an introduction to him from Episcus Luitegild of Toletum.” He watched to see what response this information would evoke.
“Aqua Alba in Iberus,” said Primor Ioanus, nodding. “A most worthy man, but one much burdened by a visitation of the Great Pox. He is receiving no travelers until the miasma has lifted from Aqua Alba.”
“The Great Pox,” Sanct’ Germain said studiously. “I had not heard that it was abroad.”
“The Exarchs have decided not to bruit it about, for fear of making the Pox worse.” He crossed himself, and waited until Sanct’ Germain
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