Come Twilight

"Look how many cups are offered," Aulutiz said exultantly. "There must be ten more than yesterday." He strode from one cup to the next, counting them off for the tribe that stood around Chimenae's stone house; his pride was obvious and he made no apology for the gratification he felt at this show of devotion. "This is better than when they brought us all their dogs as sacrifices."

Achona approached him, her smile fixed as if by rigor. "You have every reason to be honored; all of us are under obligation to you," she said before she gave her whole attention to Chimenae. "He has done more than anyone else for this clan."

"He has done what I ordered him to do," said Chimenae, unimpressed by Achona's enthusiasm. "He very nearly exceeded his mission, which none of you would have liked. If he had not had you and the others, three of the soldiers would have escaped, and then we would not have offerings but enemies to deal with. Fortunately, you arrived in good time, and you with your five companions saved my son from calamity. You are due as much a debt as he is." She approached her son, staring hard at Achona. "You do us no good, treating him as if he had no fault to correct."

"And what fault would that be?" Achona asked as she boldly put her hand on Aulutiz's arm while she met Chimenae's steady gaze.

"The sin of vanity," said Chimenae. "The Christian monks are correct in saying that it is a very great fault, because it blinds you to all others, and keeps you from learning. Be ware of your vanity, that it does not lead you to recklessness." She removed Achona's hand from her son's arm. "You did very well, but a good portion of that was luck. You cannot rely upon it."

From his place at the edge of the loosely defined circle, San-Ragoz could sense the discomfiture that was developing in the group, stronger than the night before, and more pervasive, for now it was apparent to him that the vampires were taking sides, and that it would not be long before loyalties were tested. He stared up at the stars emerging on the dark canopy of night, and wished he could leave without arousing suspicion in the tribe, escalating the tensions that roiled among them.

"All right," said Aulutiz. "I agree we were lucky. But we made the most of our luck; you cannot say we did not." He took Achona's hand in his. "Without her arrival, a few of the Moors would have got away from us. But she saw to it they did not."

"Most commendable," said Chimenae drily. "You have done what was expected of you, and you had the pick of the Moors for your efforts. You and those with you drank before any of the rest did."

"As you promised we would," said Achona.

"You seem astonished that I kept my promise." Chimena smiled at her son. "Yet I cannot deny it: you have shown your worth again, Aulutiz. I am grateful to you for all you have done. The clan should be as grateful as I."

Aulutiz grinned at this praise. "My companions are worthy, too," he said, with a quick glance at Achona. "It is a pity that two of our blows killed Moors outright, for it was a shame to waste such bounty, but in the excitement, it was not surprising that one or two of us should strike too hard." He ducked his head, as if acknowledging this error would spare him the recriminations of the others.

"It could not be helped, from what Edic says. The Moors were attempting to flee and only a sharp blow would be enough to stop them." Chimenae directed her nod at Edic. "You chose well in the Moor you brought to me. A fine, strong man, not so injured that he is wholly senseless. He is worthy to nourish me, to die for me. There is passion in him, to match his blood. He will last another night before he is drained, if I drink again tonight. Perhaps I will wait a night-let him enjoy another day." She indicated her stone house. "If he were not a Moor, I would be tempted to bring him to our number. He is the sort of man who would be a credit to our clan." She heard the quick muttering from those standing near her and shook her head. "Do not be shocked. And do not pretend it did not occur to you as well. You all had Moorish blood to drink, and relished it. To number one of them with us could provide us with information and other advantages. Surely you can see it would." She forestalled any objections from her tribe by executing a graceful turn and a light caress to Edic's arm; her brows arched roguishly, and she looked back at San-Ragoz with playful intention. "Do you not agree, Sanct' Germain?"

"I have nothing to say that would move you, one way or the other," said San-Ragoz, his expression unreadable.

But Chimenae was not daunted. "You could have a taste of him, and then you would know," she offered.

"Thank you; no," he replied, hating the sudden pang of need that shot through him.

"You would rather creep into the bed of a sleeping woman, and take no more than what fills a small cup, while wooing her with pretty dreams: that is what you do, isn't it?" Her contempt gave a venom to her courtesy that held the gathered vampires fascinated. "Well? Would you not prefer that to what I do?"

"If I had such an opportunity, if such a woman were accessible, yes, I would," San-Ragoz said without raising his voice; his expression was stern but without anger.

Chimenae laughed her scorn. "You hold yourself above us because you are not willing to hunt down your prey as we do. You have no appetite for the chase."

"Do you call your two-legged goats prey?" San-Ragoz inquired gently. "I would not hunt men as you do, but then, as you say, I am not like you."

"The two-legged goats are not the same at all. Everyone understands that. They are our tribute, for the game-prey we share with the villagers," Chimenae said, her temper flaring. She came up to him, her fury making her eyes shine. "The villagers love us. They know they are cared for. They have nothing to fear from marauders or bandits. We have rid the valleys and mountains of such vermin, and they show their appreciation with two-legged goats. Occasionally I honor their gift by making the goat a vampire. That is how most of my clan came into being. You cannot claim your way is better." She poked at San-Ragoz's chest. "You are too much a coward to accept such homage."

"It must seem so to you," said San-Ragoz, unwilling to be dragged into another fruitless wrangle.

"It is so," Chimenae insisted. "Let the living do what they will to change the day: come twilight the world will always belong to vampires."

San-Ragoz said nothing; he was caught up in memories of Nicoris, and how very different her response had been when she came to his life-she had been prepared for the change, and yet she could not bear it: Chimenae, who had changed with no readiness for the vampiric life had accommodated its demands with lamentable success in her own view, and in a manner that chilled San-Ragoz to the marrow. He became aware that Aulutiz had spoken to him and blinked. "Your pardon, Aulutiz. My thoughts were otherwhere."

"I asked if you have your own clan? My mother says nothing of it." He gave a swift, defiant stare at Chimenae.

"A clan?" San-Ragoz shook his head. "No. Those of my blood are few, and scattered over the world-except for what your mother has done."

"How can you know?" Aulutiz asked, and took Achona's hand as he waited for an answer. "Some of the others might also have made clans of their own, as she has."

San-Ragoz fixed Aulutiz with his enigmatic gaze. "I know."

"What else would he tell you?" Chimenae demanded, stepping between her son and San-Ragoz. "He did not know about you."

"No, I did not," San-Ragoz conceded. "But we have not shared blood, you and I: you have kept yourself to yourself."

"And that is the reason you did not know about my clan?" Chimenae was incredulous. "How can you make such a claim?" She rounded on Aulutiz. "He lies."

Before Aulutiz could speak, San-Ragoz interjected, "How can she know?" He let the question hang as he took a step back, noticing as he did that Edic was watching him carefully.

"I can know because I know how I have had to make my way in the world. You cannot expect me to believe that it is different for any of the others, wherever they may live." Chimenae pointed at him. "You have lied and lied and lied. We should take your head and leave you as carrion for the kites and vultures."

"And if I have not lied, what then?" San-Ragoz asked, not responding to her threat.

She lifted her chin. "You lie." With that, she turned her back on him and deliberately walked away from him. "No vampire can survive without a clan and a leader. Left alone, a vampire is helpless. Everyone knows that."

"Because you have told them so?" San-Ragoz suggested gently.

Not understanding his intent, Chimenae said, "Why else-how else should they know it?" She looked back at her tribe and nodded emphatically.

A few of those gathered gave a ragged half-cheer; Aulutiz did not join in.

Finally Edic spoke up. "There are more Moors. In the mountains. At least one more company of them." As the tribe rounded on him as one, he said, "I have been searching for others, thinking that the group we attacked might not be alone in this region."

"What made you think to look for them?" asked Aulutiz, watching Edic closely.

"My years as a solider," was Edic's blunt answer. "When I led men into battle, I did not put all my men into the field at once, unless the enemy had done the same. These Moors were searching the mountains, not preparing to fight. Therefore I have assumed there must be other small companies in this region."

"And have you found any?" Chimenae's voice was sharp.

"I found traces to the south of Mont Calcius, Chimenae," said Edic. "They made camp there no more than two nights ago."

Suddenly Chimenae took hold of his short dalmatica at the center of his chest. "And why did you say nothing until now?"

Edic seemed shaken by her change of demeanor. "I...I did not know how to tell you."

Her grip tightened. "Why should I believe you? Have any of the clan-other than you-noticed the Moors you speak of?"

"I do not know," Edic admitted.

Chimenae released him. "Well?" She regarded the whole group gathered around her. "Have any of you seen Moors? Or heard about them?"

After a short silence, Wembo spoke up. "I have seen Moors on the old monastery road." He giggled; the road was little more than a goat-track. "A dozen of them, perhaps more."

"And when was this?" Chimenae was keeping her fury in check with difficulty.

"It was just after sunset last night." He pointed to Dorioz. "He saw them, too."

Dorioz held up his hands. "I saw them, but I saw they were going toward the high pass. I thought they were looking for a crossing into Toloz." He glared at Wembo.

"You saw them," said Chimenae in a dangerous tone, "and you did not tell me?"

"They were going out of our region," he said with a shrug. "Who knows, by now they may be at the monastery."

"We owe nothing to the monks," said Aulutiz hotly. "They leave no cups for us."

"And if they did, what then? They would give no two-legged goats to us, and the cup of blood is nothing more than a sign of respect." Edic held out his hand. "The monks have much to do to survive now that the remaining Christians no longer send them food and wine."

"Forget the monks," Chimenae ordered abruptly. "Edic is right. They are of no interest to us. The Moors are what we must think of now. The Moors can provide for us yet again, if we plan carefully. If they remain within reach, we will make the most of it." She stared hard at Wembo. "You will lead us-all of us-to where you saw the Moors. We will track them."

"When? Tonight?" Achona was avid, grinning hectically.

"Tonight, tomorrow, what difference so long as we all hunt?" Chimenae said with feigned indifference.

"Including you?" Wembo was caught off-guard by this announcement. "You never hunt with us."

"You are young among us," said Chimenae, her tone slightly less stringent. "While we were few, I led every hunt. Ask your elders if you doubt this. They will tell you that I hunted every night. When the villagers began to offer two-legged goats, then I ceased my hunting, so that you could have more."

"Was that the reason?" Achona kept Wembo from speaking. "Or did you grow afraid?"

Chimenae drew back as if struck. "I am not afraid," she stated, her mouth ugly. "Look what I have made of you. How can you say I am afraid?"

"I can and I do," Achona cried, taking hold of Aulutiz's hand.

This was too much for Aulutiz, who pulled himself free of Achona's grip and went to his mother's side. "You must not say such things. Have you no gratitude?"

Aware that she was suddenly in trouble, Achona did her best to brazen it out. "If any other of us refused to hunt, what would we think? Why is it any different for her?"

"Because she is the First," said Edic, settling the matter. "We are all beholden to her for our lives. Let none of you forget that." He stared at Achona. "You are troublesome."

"No more." Chimenae's voice was not loud but it carried her full authority.

There was a long silence this time, during which Aulutiz put more distance between him and Achona. The rest of the tribe was growing restless, and a few were looking angry. At last Chimenae lifted her arms. "Tonight you hunt as you will. Tomorrow night, if the Moors may be found, we hunt them. If they leave the region, well and good. If they do not, they are ours." She remained in her position of dismissal as the group broke up and scattered into the night. San-Ragoz withdrew a short distance so that he could observe what Chimenae would do when all her vampires were gone. Only Aulutiz lingered, looking as awkwardly young as his features would suggest he was. "What is it?" his mother asked of him as she made her way toward the stone house. "The Moor is waiting."

"You are not going to make a vampire of him, are you?" Aulutiz asked.

"Perhaps. It would be useful and he, at least, understands loyalty." She gestured as if to shoo him away, but he stood his ground.

"I think that would be very foolish. So do many of the clan. You could see that, couldn't you?" He attempted to keep her from entering her stone house without actually touching her. "You push them too far."

"You mean I push you too far," she said, more amused than annoyed.

"They will not always do as you order them. They are growing restive." Aulutiz shook his head. "If you make the Moor one of us, it will cause hard feelings."

"Is that so?" Chimenae challenged. "You would have no part of it, of course, would you?"

"I would not be happy, but I would do nothing against you," he said with subdued emotion.

"No; you cannot forget you are my child." She touched his face softly, seductively, and smiled at Aulutiz.

San-Ragoz wanted to speak but did not; Chimenae and Aulutiz had forgot he was still watching them and he knew it would be indiscreet to remind them of his presence. He kept his thoughts to himself even as he felt a twinge of dismay deep within. He was appalled at what he saw, and more appalled because he had made it possible. Little as he wanted to admit it, he also recognized an antagonistic fascination in this mother and son, who were of his blood but alien to him.

"No, I cannot," said Aulutiz, and kissed his mother's mouth.

Chimenae smiled and turned to face San-Ragoz. "I told you he is loyal to me." Then she laughed and said, "Go away. You have seen what you have come to see. But do not try to leave this region while the Moors are searching for you. I will not put my clan at risk so that you can reach Frankish lands. I will allow you to remain here for a time because of what you did for me, but do not ask for more, and do not fly. If you make such an attempt my clan will hunt you down and leave you staked on a midden. I will tell you when you may depart." With a flick of her fingers she dismissed him. "Be here tomorrow night, or be my foe."

San Ragoz made his way back toward Mont Calcius, to the place he had put his native earth. He had no wish to find food that night; he would regain as much of his strength as he could before daylight: with the powers of his native earth and darkness working together, he realized he would be almost as restored as if he had found living nourishment. What he lacked was solace, and now that troubled him, for he could not resign himself to what Chimenae had done, or his role in it. Living as a wild beast must had no satisfaction for him, and the ravenous offspring Chimenae had created sickened him. As he followed the game trails through the forest, he began to grieve.

The next night Chimenae sent her tribe off through the forest, searching for the Moors. "Bring me any stragglers you may find-alive," she said before she dismissed them. "They will sustain us for a while. We must learn what has brought them into the mountains."

"But you know that already," said Edic, puzzled.

"No. I know what Sanct' Germain has told me. The Moor who left this world last night said nothing of use to me, or any of us." She began to pace. "I think there is a larger purpose here-that the reason we have been given is only an excuse, a means to conceal far more dangerous intentions."

Wembo pointed to San-Ragoz, standing apart from the circle around Chimenae and her stone house. "Why do you discuss this in front of him?"

"I want to know where he is, and what he has heard." She made another of her flirtatious turns. "You may guard him, if you wish."

Wembo shook his head. "You indulge him."

"If I do, or if I do not, it is of no matter to you," said Chimenae, staring him down. "It is not for you to choose for me."

Into this uncomfortable silence, one of the other female vampires spoke. "The Moors are more dangerous than this one wandering creature, are they not, at least to us?"

"Folma is right," said Edic, with a covert glance at Chimenae.

Taking this as a kind of truce, Chimenae allowed, "Yes; these Moors can bring us trouble if they ever recognize our existence."

"If we find the Moors are still in our region, will we attack them?" Dorioz asked, his eyes alight.

"If we may do it entirely," said Chimenae. "If we may not, then we must permit most of them to depart."

"Most of them?" Edic repeated suspiciously.

"We can pick off one or two of them" said Chimenae, taking full charge of the situation. "You may have one, and I will want one for my own use. Then we shall see what we shall see."

"This has no purpose." Achona complained as she came and put her hand on Aulutiz's sleeve. "We know where to hunt."

Chimenae's commanding tone stopped Achona. "You will leave when I give you permission, and not before." She waited while Achona glared and stepped back. "You do not comprehend what may be happening here. We must learn all that we can, and be ready to face what is coming." There was genuine apprehension in her eyes, and her voice shook.

"And what then?" Aulutiz demanded, hands belligerently on his hips. He had added a Moorish bangle to his trophy-laden clothing, one that had inscribed on it one of the many sacred names of Allah, intended to protect the wearer from enemies; Aulutiz's edgy movements revealed his hunger.

"Once we have gained information, I will decide how to deal with these interlopers." She regained her majestic composure. "You will do as I say. Tonight find them. If there are stragglers, seize them, and bring them to me before dawn." She raised her arms and waited until all her tribe had left and only San-Ragoz remained. "You see?"

"That they do as you order them?" San-Ragoz said as she came up to him. "Yes, I see that. I see also that many of them resent doing as you order them."

"But they do not defy me. Remember that," she advised him. "They will kill you if I tell them to. You are clever, but you cannot escape them."

"Very likely," he agreed with a slight, sardonic smile. "Do you want to kill me?"

It took her a moment to answer. "Of course not."

"Because," he went on in a level tone, "it appears to me that you want either my adulation or my death."

This time she coughed before she answered. "That's preposterous."

"Is it." He waited for her answer; when she did not deign to give one, he continued. "It seems to me that you want me on jesses so that you may show your authority to the vampires you have made; if I do not admire you, at least I obey you. If you are willing to kill me, they will know you are capable of killing them."

"You are a fine one to condemn me. You traveled with your servant-he was a vampire, and you both managed to live; you would sacrifice him if you had to." She made this an accusation, as if she thought such a sacrifice had already happened.

"Ruges-Rogerian is not a vampire; he was once truly dead, but he lives again. He is a ghoul. His needs are not mine." His enigmatic gaze rested on her face. "You want to keep me at your beck and call, until you can make the most of my True Death. Have I erred, Csimenae?" His use of the old version of her name startled neither of them.

"I will not dignify such drivel with an answer," she said. "Go find a sheep or a deer to feed on. I am not hungry tonight." She went toward the door of her stone house.

"Where are you planning to leave the body? The soldiers might find it if you do not conceal it well," San-Ragoz asked before she could enter. "The more Moors you kill, the more they will send to search for the missing. You cannot continue to attack them all. They will not cease their efforts until they discover what has become of their men." He knew she was listening although she did not turn. "Think, Csimenae: you must know that the Moors will come to find their own."

"And what is that to me?" she inquired with profound indifference.

"They will find the bodies, and they will hold the people of this region responsible." He took one step toward her. "The villagers will answer for your acts."

She shrugged. "Why should that happen? The villagers are cowards and the Moors will recognize their cowardice when they see it."

San-Ragoz considered her a moment. "Do you recall when the bandits attacked Mont Calcius?"

"You made me a vampire because of it," she said sharply. "Of course I remember."

"Those villagers fought well, even though they were cowards. Why should they not fight the Moors with the same determination? If they do, they will be taken as slaves, and you will lose...fodder."

"Fight the Moors?" She laughed. "How? It is more likely they will flee into the woods if the Moors come, where they will be ours." Opening the door to her house, she paused long enough to add, "You may want to think otherwise, but that would be foolish."

He watched her enter her stone house. When she did not reemerge again, he went away into the forest. He made his way to the outskirts of Mont Calcius, wondering if there was a night-guard at the gate. Although he doubted that there was, he kept within the shelter of the trees rather than move through the cleared land around the stone walls. The more he thought about Chimenae the more despondent he became; she had set herself on a path that could only lead to her destruction, and the destruction of the vampires she had made. If the villagers in the mountains did not turn against them, the Moors would track them down. There was nothing he could say to her to make her realize what danger she was in, and that was the most disheartening of all. She had made this part of the mountains her own and would believe in no will but hers. In the past, when he had had disagreements with others of his blood, he had been able to comprehend what they sought; he had no such understanding in regard to Chimenae, and as a result, no means of dealing with what seemed to him to be her head-long rush toward catastrophe. There was no question in his mind that she meant her threat: if he tried to leave before she released him, she would send her vampires after him to kill him. He was clever enough to evade them for a while, and he could foil them by traveling by day, but their numbers would make his escape more difficult, and more obvious, so for the time being, he was disposed to stay where he was, for Mont Calcius was one of the places Ruges would look for him. That consideration tipped the balance for him for the time being: in spite of the risk he assumed staying so close to Chimenae, he told himself it was more than a vain hope that he would be found, and together he and Ruges would be allowed to leave in peace. The last was cold comfort as he went to rest on his native earth with less apprehension than he had had for some time.

Shortly before dawn he was awakened by the sound of a mountain cat padding through the undergrowth. He sat up slowly so as not to alarm the animal, thinking as he did that this was the first of the kind he had seen since his return to the region. Cats and wolves were higher up the mountains now, and bear had retreated even further. He studied the cat with its tufted ears and short ruff, noticing it was thin, and that a half-healed wound on its flank suggested a recent battle. The cat caught sight of him; its head came up and it froze for an instant before sprinting away toward the deepest part of the forest. San-Ragoz watched the place where it had been, undefined sadness welling within him. Then the first birdcalls began, and he lay back to watch the sky brighten beyond the arch of trees.

By sunset that day, Chimenae had made her plans: she sent her tribe out to pick up any Moor still in their region. "If there are more than three together, leave them alone. But if you find one or two by themselves, secure them and bring them to me. We have much to learn." She paused. "The two-legged goat comes from Aqua Frates tonight. See that I have him before midnight."

The clan agreed automatically, but with an underlying tension that showed the clashes of the last days were unresolved. A few of their number did not depart on Chimenae's signal, preferring to choose companions before going into the forest. As they dispersed, Chimenae once again summoned San-Ragoz to her side. "You know the tongue of the Moors, do you not?"

"Yes," he said, uneasy as to why she asked.

"Then you will help me. I believe that hearing the Moorish tongue might cause any we capture to be more revealing." She almost touched him, but dropped her hand before she actually reached him. "If you will do this for me, I will look more kindly on your plight."

Ordinarily he would have challenged her choice of words: now he knew it was reckless to try. "I will do as you ask."

"Very good. Sanct' Germain." She sauntered away from him. "Then return after midnight. I have no use for you until then."

He left without saying another word. Tonight he would hunt, and by midnight he would feel no pangs when Chimenae received her two-legged goat.

Text of a letter from the Primos Blaziuz Gagin of Sancta Cruce in Usca to Timuz ibn Musa ibn Maliq in Zaraugusta.

To the most esteemed officer of the forces of the Caliph and of Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa who rules in Corduba but is presently in Zaraugusta, the respectful greetings of Primos Blaziuz Gagin of Sancta Cruce, the Christian monastery of Usca. Know that the prayers of the monks here will never be to your disadvantage.

In answer to your inquiry regarding the region east of this place, it is my duty to inform you that, I, too have heard the reports you mention and have pondered the meaning of the chalices of blood: I have concluded that although this means of showing devotion is rare, the people of that region are reputed to be obdurate in their zeal, and for that reason, cups in memory of the Sacrifice of Our Lord are placed in sacred niches, to give thanks to God for Man's salvation. These cups symbolize the covenant of the Christians with our God which was secured by the blood of Redemption. The practice you described is not widespread, but it shows the degree to which the people in that part of the mountains will go to keep their faith alive.

You have dealt most fairly to us, as people of the Book, and surely you can understand the piety that spurs on these tributes. I myself would not encourage such extremes of worship for those not in Orders, but I admire the ardor of the people who remember their Savior in this way. You would be wise, I think, to respect their tributes and to make no attempt to stop their rites, for that could well bring about an uprising that would disgrace you and all Christians.

Many of the people in that part of the mountains cannot easily reach a church or monastery in which to worship, and these cups are signs of their worship in the absence of priests. I do not suppose you would hold these people in contempt if they prayed to Allah at the rising sun; so I beseech you not to stop them from making their offerings. These are humble people, esteemed Moor, most of them villagers, shepherds, and woodsmen; their religion is simple but powerful. If you succeed in putting an end to the leaving of these cups, you will not bring the people to your faith, you will only drive them to greater and more secret devotions, and perhaps fuel a rebellion that would not benefit anyone, Moor or Christian, in any way

You are in a position to honor what these people have done, and I beg you in the name of the God Whom we both revere, to spare the people from any act that would lessen their opportunity to venerate that sacred blood that was spilled for them. Do not impose restrictions on their demonstrations of fidelity to their religion, for that would do your own beliefs a disservice, as well as working against the just laws you have given to our people. If you truly intend to show a regard for the people of the Book, I ask you not to curtail this most conscientious of exercises. It is of the first importance for Christians that the blood of the Savior be honored. It is one of the central purposes of the Mass, so that Communion is achieved. To this end, we offer wine and bread as the blood and body of Christ. You must see that the people in the mountains are creating their own offering in their search for Communion.

As I have said, it is my belief that they do this in remembrance of the tale that says that after the crucifixion, the Apostle Sanct' Iago carried the cup of the Last Meal to the Iberian Peninsula, away from the strife in the Holy Land, and entrusted it to a company of warrior-monks, who have guarded it ever since. By leaving these cups of blood in sacred places, the people recall the story that has made them privy to the great mystery of Christians-transubstantiation. You cannot comprehend what power this gives to devout Christians, or the promise it secures them. These people of the mountains show us the depths of their faith in this way, for their homage makes them one with the warrior-monks, and gives them some hope of Heaven. You may force them to cease their humble celebration, but you will not silence the tale, for it is known that Sanct' Iago came to Hispania to preserve the Christian teachings and the way of Christ, and that he protects us even now.

Whether or not the tale of the warrior-monks is true, we of the old Roman provinces of Hispania know that there is much to gain from venerating the story as a means of preserving the faith which we, as Christians, know to be true. More than a tale recounted in every chapel and convent, church and monastery, it is recorded in our sacred chronicles that Sanct' Iago did indeed come here, with his treasures and his calendar-the one we use to this day. Our faith has survived thus far. I ask-out of respect for a great tradition-that you not deprive the mountain people of their offerings.

I pray that my accounts herein have moved you to show regard for our religion and opened your heart to the cause of the mountain folk, who have left cups of blood in tribute to Our Lord. Their simple demonstration of the promise of the Resurrection and the Life that is to Come is humbling to us all. May Our God bring understanding and compassion to your heart and move you to be merciful to the people of the region in question. It is important that you let it be known that you will not intrude in any way in this holy work, for otherwise my fellow Christians might well lose heart and, in the erroneous conviction that you would punish them for their piety, cease entirely their devotional offerings. They will gladly pay their double taxes for the surety that their religion will be allowed to continue unhindered.

May God open your heart. May you always know wisdom in your ruling. May God bestow high regard upon you, and bring you to grace. May your family always be thankful for you. May your children do you credit. May they speak of you from age to age as a worthy and compassionate judge.

With my personal approbation, and my prayers for your well-being in this life and the life that is to come,

Blaziuz Gagin

Primos, Sancta Cruce

At Usca, on the 16th day of June in the 722nd year of man's Salvation in the calendar of Sanct' Iago.