Night was falling when they reached the walls of Sevallis; the hills around them loomed over the city, blotting out the swaths of stars that spread over the sky above the last embers of twilight. After a short search, they found a place to make camp, about two leagues from the city, at the edge of a large stand of oak trees. Here they were far enough away from the other travelers waiting for admission, and could make use of the time they spent without attracting unwelcome attention. Around them the green, fecund smell of spring gave the night air a presence that was profoundly tempting.

"Will the gates open at dawn, do you think?" Ruthor asked as he prepared a sleeping place for himself.

"Immediately after the first call to prayer," said Germanno, finishing up rigging a tie-line for their four horses and nine mules where the animals contentedly ate the grain in their nose bags.

"I prefer the cries to the clanging of bells," Ruthor said, only half-jesting.

"No night hours to ring, as well," Germanno agreed. "That is something to be thankful for." He took a long reel of twine and stepped out of the range of their firelight and began to set up a trip-line around them.

"You do not think we will have to fend off thieves so close to Sevallis, do you?" Ruthor was mildly disgusted at the notion. "No thief would be so bold: it would be too great a risk."

"Perhaps," came the Comide's voice from the darkness. "But thieves may not be the only danger in the night."

"Oh, no." Ruthor shook his head vigorously. "None of Chimena's tribe could have spread this far, not with all the fighting that has gone on these last thirty years."

"You may be right," said Germanno just loudly enough to be heard. "But neither of us would like to be wrong in that estimate." He was now almost half-way around the camp. "I am suspending the double-chime Greek bells. They are not loud, but they cannot be mistaken for anything but what they are."

In their journey from Toledom to Sevallis, Germanno had made use of a trip-line from time to time, but never so close to a city; Ruthor wondered why Germanno should be so careful now, then shrugged and went on with his work, only saying when the Comide came back into the light of their campfire, "I hope you will rest well tonight, my master."

"So do I," said Germanno, taking his bed-roll from its canvass wrapping, and spreading it out on the other side of the fire. "I'll stand the first watch; and I'll remove the nose bags so the animals can graze a little. You need sleep more than I do tonight."

"Wake me at midnight," Ruthor told Germanno. "I do not need to be coddled with extra hours of slumber."

"Of course," said Germanno, so readily that Ruthor could not hide his doubts of this. It was after midnight when Ruthor felt Germanno shake him slightly, whispering, "To the east," as he did.

Ruthor came awake at once, reaching for his dagger that he kept under his husk-filled pillow. "What is it?"

"There is someone circling our camp," said Germanno in an undervoice; as if in confirmation, one of the horses chuffed and a mule gave a nervous half-bray. "He's moving."

"But where is he?" Ruthor asked, trying to see into the dense darkness of the trees.

"Over there," said Germanno, cocking his head instead of pointing. "I think he may be a leper. He has a clapper with him."

Shaking his head in sympathy, Ruthor listened attentively. "He's going around."

"To the south," Germanno agreed. "There," he said a moment later. "Did you hear the clapper?"

"I heard something," said Ruthor. "I cannot be certain it was a clapper."

Germanno stood up slowly, his hands empty, and called out, "You. Out in the darkness. You!"

There was a sudden stillness, as if not only the person beyond the firelight but all of the animals of the forest had come to a halt. Then there came the sound of the clapper, this time loud and deliberate. "I mean you no harm." The voice was hoarse but far from weak. "I hoped you had some food I could...take."

"Do you mean steal?" Ruthor asked bluntly.

"You would not starve because of it," said the voice; the accent was that of a learned man from Barzelunya, the timbre suggested age, but that could as well have been the result of the disease. "I might, if I cannot find something to eat today or tomorrow."

Germanno took a step toward the voice, ignoring Ruthor's signal for caution. "How long has it been since you've eaten?"

"Three days," the voice answered. "I took a handful of almonds from a sack day before yesterday. I have had nothing since then."

"I fear we have little to offer you," said Germanno. "Sevallis is the end of our journey, and our food is almost gone." It was a plausible enough explanation for their lack of provender. "I can offer you some gruel, but it will take time to prepare."

"I am patient," said the voice, less urgently now. "God has left me that, at least."

Germanno motioned to Ruthor. "Two handfuls of oats in a pot of water. Boil it up so that our visitor need not be hungry on our account."

"That I will," said Ruthor, wondering what Germanno was up to now. He got out of his bed-roll and went to their piled up goods to take out a metal pan in which to cook the gruel. "Two handfuls of grain, you say?"

"Two. Our guest is hungry," said Germanno, and glanced toward the darkness.

Ruthor shrugged, and did as Germanno had requested, all the while keeping an eye on the place from which the leper's voice came, for such miserable unfortunates were also desperate men who might lash out.

"Would you like to share our campfire?" Germanno asked while Ruthor tended to the cooking.

"I am not permitted to approach," said the leper.

"Who is here to forbid it?" Germanno's voice was gentle and his manner persuasive.

"The disease-"

"I have no fear of it. I have some knowledge of medicines and although I can offer only a little succor to you, I am willing to extend what benefit I can to you." He paused to allow the leper to think about this. "We are strangers here, my man and I, and you must know a great deal about the region."

"I know the land from Pyrenees to Gadiz, from Burgos to Valenzia," said the leper with a combination of pride and contempt.

"The very man to instruct us," said Germanno without a trace of hesitation. "Come, man. We will not tell anyone of this meeting."

"They will exile you with the rest of us if anyone learns you have spoken to me," the leper warned, and moved forward to the edge of the firelight. He was tall-almost half a head taller than Germanno-and lean under his dusty rags; the cowl of what had been a shortened habit was raised to conceal his face. He held the staff and clapper that were required of him, his water-gourd depended from his rope-belt, and his hands and feet were wrapped in bandages.

"We will say nothing," Germanno told him, "and as to exile, I am that already."

"But you have possessions beyond a staff, a gourd, and a clapper," said the leper, and faltered. "I may still turn away."

"There is no reason to. Your gruel will soon be cooked, and I have no wish to waste it." Germanno moved one of his chests near to the fire. "You may sit here."

"May God bless you for this charity," said the leper, but not in the formalistic recitation that was usual for this traditional acknowledgment; he spoke with genuine feeling as he came to sit on the chest.

Germanno made a reverence to the leper. "I thank you for your willingness to speak to me."

The leper sat very straight, with no trace of shame, as he watched Ruthor tend the mixture in the pail over the fire. "I have not had much to eat, these last few days. People are more generous around the Holy Days, but afterward they forget." There was more resignation than anger in his words. "Many of us starve."

Ruthor went to a large bale and pulled from its protective wrappings a bowl of shiny metal which he gave to the leper, noticing as he handed it over that the leper had only three fingers under the bandages.

As the leper studied the metal bowl, he said, "More than twenty years ago, Ruy Diaz-the Cid himself-founded a haven for us. Cruel and treacherous he may have been to many, but he was kind to lepers." His voice dropped and he sagged a bit where he sat. "The haven is not what it was since he died."

"You have been there," said Germanno.

"Oh, yes. I sometimes go that way for the winter, to stay out of the Bloody Mountains. No one wants to go there in winter. Not even lepers are safe there." He laughed a bit wildly. "It is not just the fighting that kills there. No."

Germanno and Ruthor exchanged a quick glance; Germanno said, "The Bloody Mountains-I do not think I know them."

"They are north and east, near Aragon and Barzelunya, in the mountains between Usxa and the sea. They say it is renegade soldiers who prey on travelers, but it is not." He pointed to Germanno. "Do not go there unless you have a company of armed knights to guide you and a goodly supply of weapons."

"Surely merchants travel there," Germanno suggested.

The leper nodded. "That they do. Those who go without escort do not always reach their destination."

"What of the rest of Spain?" Germanno asked.

"There you need only fear soldiers and monks and bandits." The leper shivered suddenly, as if a cold wind had gone over him. "From time to time a few of the creatures are caught and burned. Nothing is so sure of killing them as burning."

Germanno nodded in slow agreement. "Burning kills almost everything." He studied the leper for a long moment, then said, "Have you seen such burning?"

The leper nodded eagerly. "Yes, I have. Twice I have seen it." In the shadow of his cowl, his eyes glittered.

There were many questions Germanno wished to ask, but he realized it would be unwise to press his guest. "The Church praises such efforts, does it not?"

"It does," said the leper. "It also praises giving alms to lepers and other beggars, but..." He stopped, continuing a moment later. "God has chosen this for me, and it is my duty to accept His Wisdom."

"Do you miss the life you had?" Ruthor asked as he stirred the thickening oat-gruel.

The leper nodded. "Who does not miss being one of the living?" He took up the bowl and held it.

"Who indeed," said Germanno, who had witnessed the Mass of the Dead celebrated for lepers as they were shut away from most of humanity.

Ruthor tested the gruel. "It is nearly ready."

"It smells as if it were baked meats in saffron," said the leper. He put the bowl out, cradled in his muffled hands. "I will remember you in my prayers."

"That is kind of you, but it is also unnecessary." Germanno went to another of their crates and tugged a stoneware jar from its contents. This he held out to the leper. "It is wine from the Rhosne Valley. I have a little of it, and I can spare this; the followers of the Prophet do not drink it. Take it with you."

The leper sat very still, listening intently as if he had misunderstood Germanno's words. "You will give me wine?" His astonishment was so total that for a long moment it seemed he was not breathing.

"Certainly," said Germanno, wondering why this gesture should be so remarked upon.

"It is nine years since I tasted wine," the leper said. "The last was the Communion the night before they sang the Mass of the Dead for me." He stared at the stoneware jar. "Is it sealed properly?"

"With wax," said Germanno, showing this to the leper. "You will have no reason to fear it has lost its savor."

"Wine," the leper crooned. "I pray it is as sweet as I remember." He lifted his head and the light struck his face enough to reveal a face ravaged as if by fire: his nose was almost gone and his mouth no longer had defined lips; his cheek was a mass of sloughing tissue and the lobe of his ear was in tatters. Aware that he had been seen, he ducked his head, hiding his visage in shadow once more.

"A terrible scourge, this leprosy," said Germanno as neutrally as he could.

"That it is," the leper agreed, and, after a short silence, asked tentatively, "Will you still give me the wine?"

"Of course," said Germanno. "I have seen more severe cases than yours."

"And you are still clean?" the leper asked incredulously. "How can that be?"

"I cannot explain it," said Germanno, knowing that being undead, he was proof against any sickness that could touch the living. "But as there are those who are untouched by the Great Pox, so there are those who cannot be lepers."

"I pray that is so," the leper agreed after a thoughtful silence. "It is as God Wills in all things." He crossed himself without putting down the bowl.

"Here," said Ruthor, lifting the pail from the spit over the fire, his hand wrapped in a scrap of leather. "Hold that out."

The leper did as Ruthor told him, and bent forward to smell the odor of cooked oats rising in the steam. Behind him, one of the horses whinnied, tempted by the fragrance. "How wonderful, to have this."

"Let it cool a bit before you eat it," Germanno recommended. "You do not want to burn your tongue."

"What difference would it make?" the leper asked with sudden bitterness. Then he set the bowl down beside him and said, "When I was whole and clean, I wanted nothing more than to be able to pass freely down the length and breadth of Spain. Now I am a leper and I may go wherever I like. No one stops me. I have my wish, I suppose."

"You were a man of some position, I take it," said Germanno as kindly as he could.

"I? Oh, yes. I had lands and a title, and I served with Adelfonzuz before he died. I had been the student of a learned man, and I made a journey to Roma when I was thirteen. My son has the title and lands now, and he fights with Idelfonzuz; his son will have the land and titles after him." He looked down at his swathed hands. "Who knows what they will know of me in another generation?"

"You are dead to them, are you not?" said Germanno. "They will remember only that." He knew this was most likely, for few families were willing to admit that any of their number had contracted leprosy. "You have fought in battle-very likely they will say you died from old wounds."

The leper laughed; it was a rusty, harsh sound. "You are probably right. God will cause them to forget." He stared into the fire. "It is just as well."

Germanno could think of nothing to say in response to this. He glanced at Ruthor and said to him, "Is there a blanket we can spare this man?" knowing full well that there was.

"Of course," said Ruthor, and went to take one from their goods.

"You are being most generous to a dead man," said the leper as he lifted the bowl with one hand and pulled a large wooden spoon from the back of his rope-belt with the other. "Whatever your reason, I will thank you in my prayers." He paused a moment in anticipation and then began to shovel the gruel into his ruined mouth.

Ruthor came back carrying a rolled blanket under his arm, a long braid of leather in his hand. "So you can tie it across your back," he said to the leper as he set the blanket down beside him.

The leper nodded and continued to eat in desperate haste as if he expected to have the bowl snatched from his hands.

"Where are you bound?" Germanno asked when the leper finished his gruel. "Do you have a destination in mind?"

"I think I would like to go to Gadiz," he said. "North and east there is fighting. Gadiz is peaceful, or so I have been told; I have not been there, and they say the ocean is good for lepers."

Ruthor looked up at the mention of his ancient home. "It is a fine place," he said adding, "I have not been there in many years, but it was splendid when I last saw it."

Germanno nodded his agreement. "You might like the ocean."

"So I think," said the leper, and touched the blanket he had been given. "At least no one will steal this. Once a leper has a thing, not even thieves will take it." He rose, putting the bowl down on the chest. "Do you want to keep this?"

"You may have it if you like," said Germanno.

"So you have respect for this disease after all," said the leper, and picked up the bowl. "It will be useful. Thank you." As he spoke, he rigged the blanket with the leather braid, then slung it over his back. "I will not stay. Dawn is coming, and you do not want it known that you gave hospitality to a leper, for they will not admit you to the city if they learn of it. That would be poor recompense for all you have done for me." He slipped the bowl into one threadbare sleeve and the wine-jar into his other, then began to move off into the woods. "May you travel in safety, foreigner."

"And you, leper," said Germanno.

"He is planning to drown himself," said Ruthor when he was sure the leper was out of earshot.

"Yes I know," said Germanno.

"Then why give-?" Ruthor began, and stopped at almost the same moment.

"Because he has lost so much. He is utterly alone. What is a blanket, a bowl, and a handful of oats, after all."

"And a jar of wine," Ruthor reminded him.

"A jar of wine," Germanno allowed. "It is all so little."

"He thought you were afraid of his leprosy, and gave him the bowl on that account." Ruthor shook his head.

"Why should he not?" Germanno looked into the forest. "It is probably just as well I did not hunt tonight."

Ruthor understood him. "Probably. Though few people listen to lepers' tales."

The stood together in silence for a short while, then Germanno stretched, saying, "I will sleep for a while. It is going to be a busy day."

"Very good," Ruthor said, and began to restore order to their chests and bales while Germanno went to his earth-lined bed-roll and stretched out supine upon it.

Birdcalls began as the sky started to lighten, and very soon after the wood was full of rustlings and murmurs as the creatures of the night gave over the forest to the creatures of the day. A light breeze sprang up, strumming the leaves of the oaks and bringing new scents from the camps down the road, closer to the city walls. On their tie-line, the horses and mules became restless, wanting their morning feed. From the river came the sounds of fishermen calling from boat to boat, and the first summons to prayer was carried on the wind from Sevallis.

Germanno woke abruptly, and rose at once, stowing his bed-roll so quickly that it surprised Ruthor, who was used to the Comide's rapid recovery from sleep. "I'll take care of the mules," he said to Ruthor who was readying pack-saddles for the last leg of their journey. He went to give them their nose bags again, with oats in each of them. When he had finished that chore, he went to take down the trip-line around their camp, rolling it carefully so it would be ready for use again.

"Do you expect trouble in Sevallis?" Ruthor asked, indicating the line.

"I have no idea what to expect in Sevallis," said Germanno. "Or what to expect on our return journey."

"That concerns you, does it?" Ruthor nodded. "There is a great deal of contested territory between here and Toledom."

"There is," said Germanno, and set about saddling the mules and loading their pack-saddles.

Some little while later, Ruthor gave voice to his thoughts. "Will you go to the great house first, or to the central tribunal?" He felt uncomfortable asking the question but he could not keep from wondering how Germanno would proceed.

"I think it would be most prudent to present myself to the tribunal, so that it will not appear I am attempting anything underhanded." He shook his head. "I do not want to create any more suspicion than I must. If it seems I am unwilling to respect the tribunal, who knows what stumbling blocks they could put in my way."

"All right," said Ruthor, and pointed to the dusty clothes Germanno was wearing. "Then you may want to don a clean cote and surcote, to show the extent of your respect to the tribunal. Come before them in smirched clothes, and you may well make them think you are deliberately slighting them. It will not take long. You have not yet put the chest of clothing on the mule. Let me choose something for you."

Germanno sighed, nodding. "You are probably right, old friend. Very well. Find me something that will not be disreputable. If I am going to do this, I want to do it thoroughly. There is no point in trying to impress with half-measures." He chuckled, and unbuckled his belt so that he could remove the dusty black surcote and dark-red cote beneath. "I might as well have the pectoral, too."

"So I think," said Ruthor. "Hand me what you have on and I will give you clean garments."

"The Moors put great store by cleanliness," said Germanno thoughtfully as he tossed his surcote to Ruthor, and then the cote, "almost as much as the old Romans did."

"As the Christians abhor it, for glorifying the flesh," said Ruthor. "On the whole, I like the Moors' position better." He held out a cote of black damask silk from Antioch. "This should impress them."

"If anything would," Germanno said, and pulled the cote over his head. "I wonder how much I will have to pay in bribes to settle this purchase?"

"They will want a good amount," said Ruthor. "You have bought a great house and you have means. That will influence the officials." He gave Germanno his second-best surcote-a wide-shouldered garment with a high collar of black silk shot with silver thread and lined in a wine-red brushed satin that came from Constantinople. "It will be hot but there is no cure for that."

"Alas," said Germanno lightly as he shrugged into the surcote and secured his belt once again before accepting the eclipse pectoral from Ruthor. "There," he said as he put the pectoral in place. "If this will not gain me some respect, then nothing will." He took his black gloves from his wallet and pulled them on. "This should do it."

"That it should," said Ruthor, and motioned to the last two chests. "I'll manage these if you'll saddle the horses."

"Do you want to ride the chestnut or the bay?" Germanno asked as he picked up his brushes.

"The bay, I think. He's showier. And you would do best on the lighter gray." He shifted the chest to his shoulder and carried it to the mule. "This will be a short journey."

"Yes, it will," said Germanno. "I wish I knew how I am to find Antoninus the Greek."

"Did Idelfonzuz not tell you?" Ruthor set the chest on the pack-saddle and strapped it on.

"Not specifically, no." He finished his cursory brush-down of the bay and took up the saddle pad.

"Then perhaps Antoninus will find you," Ruthor suggested. "You cannot be the only man Idelfonzuz has ever sent to Sevallis."

"No; nor am I likely to be the only one of his spies here now," said Germanno, and remained silent until they were ready to mount up and leave their camp. Then, as he swung up into the saddle, he said, "I do not like being put in such a vulnerable position."

"Who would?" Ruthor remarked, and took up his lead lines as his bay moved out.

They entered the gates of Sevallis before the sun was a quarter way up the sky; the city-Hispalis to the Romans eight centuries ago, and showing a few remnants still of their occupation-was busy filling up for market-day. Vendors and buyers all crowded along the narrow streets toward the central square. Most of the people were in Moorish dress, but a few wore Byzantine garments, and fewer still were dressed in the style of Castile and Leon.

"What do you think?" Ruthor asked as they made their way to the central square where fountains cooled the air and provided drink for man and beast.

"I think it will be a long day," said Germanno as he pulled his second horse and the string of mules to order. He shouted suddenly as a youth attempted to pull one of the bales off the pack-saddle of the last mule; the youngster faltered, then bolted. "There will be more of that, I fear," he said as he watched the would-be thief vanish into the crowd.

"I will watch them all," said Ruthor.

"It would probably be better to pay a handful of coppers to one of the horse-minders to help you. He will know the real thieves by sight; we do not." Germanno smiled quickly as they finally reached the genial chaos of the market square. "Look about for horse-minders."

"There's a likely looking group over there," Ruthor said, pointing to a dozen young men, a few with horses already in their care. "What do you think?"

"I think it would be wise to speak to them," said Germanno, dismounting and leading his horses and mules toward the group. He called out to them in their Moorish tongue, his accent old-fashioned but understandable. "Good minders! What will you charge a stranger to watch four horses and nine mules?"

One of the group looked around, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the man in black, red, and silver. "Three silver Mercifuls," he said at once; they both knew it was an outrageous sum.

"Two, and a copper Wisdom for each animal at the end of the day if nothing has happened to them or their loads," Germanno countered, knowing it was a generous offer and one the young man was not likely to turn down.

"Done," said the young man, and spat in his hand to seal their bargain.

Germanno did the same. "Excellent. My manservant will remain with the animals; I trust you will not object."

This time the young man scowled but gestured agreement. "Very good," he said in a tone that meant the opposite.

Turning to Ruthor, who was still in the saddle. "You heard?"

"I did," said Ruthor in the language of Persia. "I will be alert for thieves."

"That would be appropriate," said Germanno in the same language. "If I have not done these young men a disservice, they probably augment their earnings by pilfering from chests and bales."

"So I thought," said Ruthor as he climbed down from the saddle. When he spoke again, it was in Castilian. "I will be sure they are watered and fed, my master."

"Thank you," said Germanno in Castilian. "I will return from the tribunal as soon as I am allowed to leave." He looked around and settled on the most impressive building next to the mosque as the likeliest place for the tribunal. "Let us hope this will not take all day." As he started to walk away through the thickening crowd, he called back to Ruthor. "You may want to buy a chicken or two, for your supper."

Ruthor waved to show he heard, and thought to himself that it was a far simpler matter to deal with an outcast leper than with a single city official.

Text of a letter from Antoninus the Greek at Sevallis to Idelfonzuz, King of Aragon and Navarre, son-in-law to Adelfonzuz of Castile and Leon; smuggled in the false bottom of a casket of saffron.

To the most excellent, most Christian King, Idelfonzuz of Aragon and Navarre and protector of Castile and Leon, the most devoted greetings from Antoninus, the Greek, trader in spices and oils, living in Sevallis.

Your man Germanno, Comide Ragoczy has arrived; I saw him myself on the last market-day. He spent most of the day closeted in the tribunal, but in the end, he was allowed to take up his residence at Al Catraz, with his servant and much property, carried here on mules; not so many that he roused envy, but enough to show he has substance. He went to Al Catraz at once, and made himself known to the household.

There is a difficulty in that regard that none of us had anticipated: Rachmael ben Abbas did not mention he left his second and third wife at Al Catraz, nor did he mention his irregular daughter, Lailie, a woman of sixteen, who is also living in the great house.

The tribunal has declared that Germanno must care for these women as if they were his own, and provide a living for them when he leaves the city. There was also a large bribe required of him. I have heard it said that it was supposed he would be unable to pay the whole of it, and there was surprise when he complied with the order.

I have not yet contacted him. I have much to report, but I do not want to draw attention to our dealings, for that would surely result in a scrutiny that would please none of us. In time, I will, as a spice merchant, visit him to learn of my old colleague, Rachmael ben Abbas. That will not be regarded as anything but good business.

When I call upon Germanno, I will try to find out what he intends to do with the two wives and the daughter. He must abide by the tribunal's order, but that does not mean he must do more than what is spelled out for him to do. It is most unfortunate that my colleague should have decided to leave without including all of his household, but as Christians frown on more than one wife, he might have been wise to leave these behind. As to the daughter, she is without a dowry, and that may be a problem for her. To be sixteen and yet unmarried is most unusual.

There seems to be trouble brewing among the Moors. Apparently some of their people in Africa are at odds with those in power. It may come to nothing, or it may be only a rumor, or it may lead to more civil unrest, which may well weaken the Moors in Spain. When I know more, I will send you word of it.

May God speed your cause, great King, and give you the victory we all pray for day and night. For the sake of us all, hasten to deliver us.

This at sunset, by my own hand,

Your most humble servant,

Antoninus of Sevallis

on the 3rd day of May in the blessed Christian calendar, in the 1117th year of Christ's Coming