Come Twilight by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Read Free Book Online Page B

will refuse you shelter if you do.” He had the satisfaction of seeing Leovigild nod in approval. “You want hot food and a bed tonight, do you not?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on. “If you ride in like the robbers you are ready to fight, will the monks not turn you away?”
    Childric said nothing, but drew his horse down to a fast walk. “You may be right. Monks are as easily frightened as women.”
    Egica patted his sword. “If I need it, I can draw it,” he said, paying little or no heed to the sharp look Childric shot him.
    In the wake of sunset the sky was dulling in the west as night closed in; the travelers’ light was now more readily seen against the darkness.
    “Should someone ride ahead?” Leovigild asked after they had gone on a bit further. “The turn-off is not far, and it might be wise, there being so many of us, to alert the monks before we arrive.”
    “A prudent notion,” said Sanct’ Germain, and gave his attention to Rogerian. “Will you do that for me, old friend? Will you ride ahead? I’ll take the lead you hold.”
    Rogerian nodded once. “Of course I will,” he said, holding out the lead to Sanct’ Germain. “I will not race, but I will go as quickly as this horse can trot as long as the road is smooth.” He tightened his hold on the horse’s body and wiggled his heels against the animal’s sides; in response the gelding extended his trot, quickly pushing to the front of the group, then pulling ahead of the rest; Rogerian’s garments flapped around him like winged shadows. The sound of the hoofbeats carried back to the others even as Rogerian and his bay horse became indistinct in the gathering night.
    “Watch where he goes,” Sanct’ Germain said. “He is showing us the way.”
    “If the monks will admit us, then well and good,” said Egica gloomily.
    “They dare not refuse.” said Childric. “We are their champions.” He put his hand on his sword again, as if to assure himself he could pull it from the scabbard at the first whiff of trouble.
    The men-at-arms were growing more restive; the mules, laden as they were with crates, chests, bags, and sacks, grew fretful at having to keep up this pace. One brayed in protest and was struck across the nose with a whip.
    “Don’t do that,” said Sanct’ Germain quietly, but with authority that stilled Recared’s hand as he prepared to lash out again.
    “The animal is impertinent,” said Recared. “He must be submissive to—”
    “If he is to be struck, I will do it,” said Sanct’ Germain levelly. “But I have heard far worse from you and your companions than I have from that mule, and no one has wanted to whip you.”
    “If you want disobedient animals, what is it to me?” Recared asked the air, lowering his whip. “He is your mule.”
    “That he is,” said Sanct’ Germain, thinking of how many mules he had left behind at his villa just outside Toletum. He had sustained many losses over his long, long life, but each loss had a poignance of its own, and the mules and horses he had been forced to leave were no exception.
    “The turn’s coming up,” said Leovigild, this observation more convincing to the men-at-arms coming from him than from Sanct’ Germain. “There look to be ruts on the side-road.”
    “Then we will have to walk the beasts,” said Childric, sighing with disgust. “If it starts to rain, I will curse Heaven for it, and the monks will not stop me.”
    Sanct’ Germain kept a steady hand on the lead as he pulled his handsome Lusitanian gray onto the road to the monastery; he listened to the wind in the trees and had a long moment of discomfiture as he imagined what he and these men would do if they had to fight on the churned-up road in the middle of the grove. He tried not to be uneasy, though the speculation was worrisome; he reminded himself that this was Hispania and not the Greek mountains, that no enemy forces waited ahead. Taking a firmer hold on the lead, he tugged