men, they might well turn on me as much as you.” It was true as far as it went; he took a deep breath, and added, “I have money enough to pay the amounts I have mentioned. Any ship of mine wintering on Paros or Naxos will be able to give you a first payment. You needn’t release any of us until the full sum is paid.” He would need to find a way to feed discreetly during the time they waited, but he had endured far worse in times past; he would be able to manage.
“Brother Theron might agree, but he might not: it is his decision.”
“Then swear to me you will speak with him,” said Sant-Germainus, “so that he may decide.”
“If you lie, you will roast on a spit,” said Brother Hylas.
“If I lie, I will deserve such a fate. A lie at the dark of the year is a double lie.”
Brother Hylas was satisfied with this answer. “Very well. I will tell him.” He hesitated. “You cannot escape. Even if you broke out of that hall, you cannot get out of the gate, and if you do, you are still on this island.”
“I am aware of that,” said Sant-Germainus drily.
“Then you will know that any falsehood will bring retribution, and quickly.” Brother Hylas coughed importantly.
“I have more lives than mine to consider; I will not endanger us all,” said Sant-Germainus. “I will do what I must to keep every one of my men from harm.”
“And the pirates? Will you protect them, as well?”
“The pirates must make their own terms with Brother Theron,” Sant-Germainus answered, grimness in his voice.
This time Brother Hylas took longer to speak. “If that is what you wish,” he said, drawing his words out, “then Brother Hylas may agree.”
“A mercy upon all of us,” said Sant-Germainus with only a hint of sardonic intent.
“We are Christians here. We revere mercy, for love of God. We are thankful for Him and all He provides us,” said Brother Hylas, apparently sincerely, going on, “I will now fetch a lamb to slaughter, so there will be food when my Brothers and the men from your ship return. If I bring you wood, will you build up the fire?”
“Will you allow me to slaughter the lamb?” Sant-Germainus asked quickly, a surge of energy running through him at the prospect of blood, even lamb’s blood. “To give thanks for my deliverance from the storm?”
Brother Hylas laughed again. “You want to slaughter the lamb? I should warn you, it is nearly grown; one of the last from spring.”
“No matter,” said Sant-Germainus, adding with deliberate obfuscation, “It will suffice.”
“I shouldn’t give you a knife. Brother Hylas will have me whipped if I do.”
“Do not fret,” said Sant-Germainus, as if improvising a plan. “I will break the neck and hang it to bleed. I’ll use a nail to open its throat.” A nail would account for the nip of his teeth in the animal’s neck. “There are nails in your benches. I will work a loose one out.” He had not checked for loose nails but was confident he could find one or two.
Again Brother Hylas thought over his answer. “I don’t see any danger in it. If you make the meat useless, I will tell Brother Theron and he will give you cause to regret it.”
“When it is blooded, I will give it to you to gut,” said Sant-Germainus, thinking back to the Year of Yellow Snow, when he had lived on less savory blood than lamb’s. “The meat will be untainted.”
Brother Hylas pondered the possibilities. “I will let you blood the lamb,” he said, and was unaware of the sense of relief that washed through Sant-Germainus. “After that, you may turn the spit while I prepare the fish. Bread, fish, and lamb is a fitting meal for any Christian, particularly at the Nativity.” So saying, he trudged away from the door, humming as he went.
Sant-Germainus returned to the long table and sat on its edge, his mind intent on the many things he would have to arrange in the next day or so if he, Rutgeros, his oarsmen and crew were to survive until their ransom could be brought. He did his best to ignore the hunger pangs that flared in him at the thought of lamb’s blood; he had more urgent plans to make before Brother Theron returned. For an instant he recalled himself as a living youth, going at the dark of the year—the anniversary of his birth—to the sacred grove of his people, to drink the blood of his god so that he would become one of them upon his death, twenty-five centuries ago. With an impatient gesture, he banished that recollection from his mind. With an oath in a language only he remembered, he rose and began to look for a nail he could pull out of the table or bench to account for the holes that he would make in the throat of the lamb.
In a short while, Brother Hylas opened the door. “Come. I’ve got the lamb for you.”
“Very good,” said Sant-Germainus, and followed him to the barn at the edge of the monastery wall.
“I should watch you kill him, to be sure you keep your word.”
Little as he wanted this to happen, Sant-Germainus feigned indifference. “If you think I have any way to harm the meat, then watch.”
“I have work to do in the larder,” said Brother Hylas, and shoved Sant-Germainus toward the pen where a small sheep bleated. He pulled the gate open and shoved Sant-Germainus inside. “I’ll be back in a while. If the lamb isn’t dead and blooded, you will answer for it.”
“I will,” agreed Sant-Germainus, and set about alleviating his ravening esurience. Only when the sheep was hanging from a rope did Sant-Germainus call out for Brother Hylas to finish the task of butchering the animal. While he waited, he thought again of the irony that had brought him to this place, at this time of year: among the centuries that had passed since his death at the hands of his enemies, few of them had marked the anniversary of his birth so pointedly as this one. No matter how he might end up leaving the island, this first night on Dhenoussa would remain unique and vivid in his memory until the end of his undead life.
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