“The necessarium?” asked Anna.
This question stirred the first faint smile Anna had seen on any of the slaves’ faces, even on Otto’s. “Pits. Holes dug in the ground where such creatures relieve themselves, for even such as they are slaves to their bodies. As are all of us bound to mortal matter. Now hush, child. Though it was a fair question, you must listen carefully to my words. Once each day all Eika leave the cathedral, with their dogs and the few slaves who attend them there. They go to the river to perform their nightly ablutions—” She raised a hand to forestall Anna’s question. “Their bath. At this time, which is the time Vespers would be sung each evening, the cathedral is empty.”
“Except for the daimone,” said Otto.
“If such a creature truly exists. So say the slaves who clean there, but it may be that their minds are disordered by their proximity to the savages, for none has been allowed close to this creature, which is said to be chained with iron to the holy altar. By their description it seems to be more of a dog than a man. One man said it has human speech, but another said it can only yip and howl and bark. To this plan, if the saint grants us a miracle, we must trust. Now do you understand?” She asked this of Matthias and studied him carefully in the moon’s waning light as he nodded, once, to show he understood. Anna nodded also and took Matthias’ hand because she was so frightened.
rsquo;s eyes widened, for even by the moonlight the knife’s quality was evident. “That is a handsome piece,” he said. “And a worthy gift, if you can get so far.”
“But how will we get into the cathedral?” asked Matthias. “The Eika chieftain lives there, doesn’t he? Does he ever come out?”
The slow quiet brush of summer’s wind, the night breeze off the river, stirred Otto’s hair as he considered. Anna smelled on its wings the distant tang of iron and the forge, a bare taste under the stench of the tanning pits so near at hand. The man sighed at last, coming to some conclusion.
“It is time to trust others. This information I cannot gain on my own. Let us pray, children, to Our Lady and Lord. Let us pray that we weak mortal folk can join together against our heathen enemies, for now we must trust to others who are no kin of ours except that we are humankind standing together against the savages.”
With this he left them.
The next night he brought a woman, stooped, scarred, and weary. She stared for a long time at the children and said at last, “It is a miracle they could have survived the slaughter. It is a sign from St. Kristine.” She went away again, and he gave them their nightly ration of food.
The next night he brought a young man who had broad shoulders but such a weight on them that he looked as bent with age as a man twice his years. But seeing the children, he lifted up and became a man proud of his youth and strength again. “We’ll show those damned savages,” he said in a low voice. “We’ll never let them have these. We’ll beat them in this. That will lend us strength in the days ahead.”
The next night Otto brought a robust woman who still wore her deacon’s robes though they were now stained, torn, and dirty. But she nodded, seeing the children—not surprised, for surely she had by now heard tell of them. She bent her head over clasped hands.
“Let us pray,” she murmured.
It had been a long time since Anna had prayed. She had forgotten the responses, but she traced around the smooth wood of her Circle of Unity carefully with a finger as the deacon murmured the holy words of God, for that was the prayer she knew best. Otto watched her, as he always watched her: with tears in his eyes.
“This is a sign from God,” the deacon said after her prayer. “So will They judge our worthiness to escape this blight, if we can save these children who are no kin of ours and yet are indeed our children, given into our hands, just as all who live within the Circle of Unity are the children of Our Lady and Lord.”
Otto nodded solemnly.
The deacon rested a hand on Matthias’ shoulder, as if giving a blessing. “Those who get water from the river and bring it here have spoken now with those who get water for the smithies, and of those in the smithies some carry weapons to the cathedral, where the chieftain sits in his chair and oversees all. Other slaves who sweep and clean the cathedral meet at times with those who carry weapons from the smithies, and this information they have given us.”
She paused at a noise, but it was only the wind banging a loose shutter. “The chieftain leaves the cathedral four times each day to take his dogs to the necessarium—”
“The necessarium?” asked Anna.
This question stirred the first faint smile Anna had seen on any of the slaves’ faces, even on Otto’s. “Pits. Holes dug in the ground where such creatures relieve themselves, for even such as they are slaves to their bodies. As are all of us bound to mortal matter. Now hush, child. Though it was a fair question, you must listen carefully to my words. Once each day all Eika leave the cathedral, with their dogs and the few slaves who attend them there. They go to the river to perform their nightly ablutions—” She raised a hand to forestall Anna’s question. “Their bath. At this time, which is the time Vespers would be sung each evening, the cathedral is empty.”
“Except for the daimone,” said Otto.
“If such a creature truly exists. So say the slaves who clean there, but it may be that their minds are disordered by their proximity to the savages, for none has been allowed close to this creature, which is said to be chained with iron to the holy altar. By their description it seems to be more of a dog than a man. One man said it has human speech, but another said it can only yip and howl and bark. To this plan, if the saint grants us a miracle, we must trust. Now do you understand?” She asked this of Matthias and studied him carefully in the moon’s waning light as he nodded, once, to show he understood. Anna nodded also and took Matthias’ hand because she was so frightened.
“Tonight,” said the deacon. She looked at Otto and he nodded, though his hands clenched.
“Tonight?” asked Anna in a whisper. “So soon—?” Impulsively she darted forward and clasped her arms round Otto’s body. His clothes hung on him, a once stout man made thin by privation and grief, yet still he felt sturdy to her. He held her tightly against him, and she felt his tears on her cheeks.
“We must move immediately,” said the deacon. “You might be discovered any day. It is indeed a miracle you have not been found before this.” She frowned, and the moonlight painted her face in stark, suffering lines. “We know not if some fool will betray us all, thinking to gain favor in the eyes of the Eika. But there is no favor to be gained with the savages. They are no kin to us. They have no mercy for their own kind, and less than that for us, and so shall we have no mercy for them. Now. Make your farewells, children. You will not see Otto again.”
Anna wept. It was too hard to leave him behind, the only person besides Matthias who had shown her kindness since her parents died.
“Take news,” said Otto. He still held Anna, but she knew he spoke to Matthias. “Take news to others that some are yet alive in this city, that we are made slaves. Tell them the Eika are massing and building their strength, that they are using us to forge weapons and craft armor for them.”
“We’ll come back for you,” said Matthias, his own voice choked with tears. Anna could not speak, could only cling. Otto stank of the puering pits, but they all of them stank of the tannery; it was a good scent to her now, a familiar one that promised safety. Out beyond the tanning pits lay the great wide world which she no longer knew or trusted.
“Ai, Lady,” whispered Otto. He kissed Anna’s hair a final time. “Perhaps it is worse this way: that you have given me hope. I will wait for you, as well as I can. If you live, if I survive, if we are reunited, then I will be as your father.”
“Come, children,” said the deacon, taking their hands after gently prying Anna free from Otto’s grasp.