As Mathile Malaterra rode off, Chlodvig sat down on the large rock by the stream. The crossbow bolt in his back hurt. If he were human, that shot would have killed him. The way things were, it did not even slow him down. It had been long indeed since regular injuries could stop his body from moving. But inhuman as his body had become, it still felt pain. And now that the excitement of battle was wearing off, he was reminded of that fact.

Wincing slightly, Chlodvig reached his hand to his back and grasped the wooden shaft was still sticking out. He gritted his teeth, counted to three in his head, and pulled out the missile. Blood gushed out as he did. Chlodvig closed his eyes and focused his mind on mending the wound. The muscles and skin tissue began regenerating instantly, fibers twisting around each other and melding into what they have been before the injury. The process was mildly painful. A different kind of pain, dull and far off. One he didn't really mind. 

Regenerating wounds was a basic ability. Even newly changed vampires could do it. Even weak-bloods, vampires so weak that they were more human than vampire, could. But while most vampires could only heal after a good day’s sleep, Chlodvig could usually do it in a matter of hours, sometimes even minutes, depending on the severity of the wound and how much effort he put into it. The only kinds of injury he couldn’t heal with such ease were damage to the eyes, damage from fire, from the sun, or from the claws or teeth of werewolves. Luckily the bolt hadn’t been on fire.

When the blood stopped trickling from his back, he got up and stretched. For all that the tissues were connected again, his back still hurt a bit. And he was sleepy and hungry. Healing always made him sleepy and hungry. He washed his face and hands in the stream near the rock to wake up.

Face dripping with water, he walked around the battle field, looking for the broken off blade of his sword. He found it lying in a pool of mud and blood. He pulled it out and wiped it thoroughly. It was a shame it broke. He liked that sword. He had it made special, to resemble the swords that were used back when he was still mortal. His men sometimes made fun of him for using such antiquated weapons. But he liked the lightness of it. It felt like a feather in his hand. The blade was  made out of layered, pattern welded steel. Chlodvig didn’t have much of an aesthetic sense. But he thought that the strange shapes and colors created by the pattern welding looked pretty.

With a sigh, he put the sawed off blade into the sheath at his hip. Then he looked at the sword-hilt he still held in his other hand. It was quite plain, but it had a nice knot work design on the guard and two loyalty rings attached to the pommel. He fingered the rings, trying to remember what they stood for. He had taken them from his first sword. Each time he got a fresh one, he’d get the loyalty rings transferred to the new one. Strange how he couldn’t remember what they stood for. Family maybe? His king? Yawning, he placed the broken hilt into the same belt bag where the chess piece was.

He looked up. On top of the rocky ledge, Rhode was peering out from the cave. He started his climb back to her, thoughts whirling now around the things Mathilde and Roger Malaterra had told him. Starting with Wilhelm the Iconoclast. Who the hell was that? He could have sworn he had heard the name before, but any recollection of who the name was attached to kept eluding him. Not for the first time, he cursed his deteriorating memory.

He stepped onto the rocky bluff and was greeted by the dogs, jumping at him and trying to lick his hands. Rhode was standing behind them.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded.

“You let them go? Won’t they come back to harry us?”

“Those two knights won’t be going anywhere on for quite some time. The woman won’t follow alone. Besides, she won’t be using her right arm anytime soon either.”

He stared at Rhode thoughtfully.

“Rhode, were there any Arabic books among the ones we took?”

“Yes. Four. Why?”

“They were looking for a specific book. In Arabic. Apparently you got your hands on something rather special!”

“They're all special. They’re very important works in mathematics and philosophy...”

“Yes, but one of them must involve something supernatural. I doubt someone would be ready to send his own children to likely death for regular books.”

Rhode eyed him skeptically. Clearly she didn’t agree with his definition of ‘special’ but she did not pursue the point.

“Your friend Loukos, apparently he was a half-blood.”

“What’s a half-blood?”

Chlodvig looked at her, surprised.

“Damn. I’m sorry, I keep forgetting you don’t know this stuff. It someohow seems like you would,” he ran his hand through his ash-colored hair awkwardly. “So, a half-blood is… a human with some powers of a vampire.”

Rhode raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

“They ingest vampire blood and that allows them to live forever. Well, as long as they regularly drink the blood. They have other powers too. The process for creating them is… rather revolting, and they are often in service to vampires. Did Loukos ever seem… unusual to you?”

Rhode twirled a loose strand of hair around her finger for a while. Then she began chewing on it.

“He walked around in the daylight and ate normal food… But he seemed to never sleep. It was strange, yes. Also, I remember he needed nothing more than moonlight to read…” she sat down, thinking. “Once we talked about Augustine’s discussion of whether monsters have souls and if they can be redeemed. He was very interested in what I think about that and seemed disappointed that I didn't find it particularly interesting," she bit her lip. Then her eyes lit up, "Also, there was a time when I laughed at Pliny’s encyclopedias for being full of ridiculous creatures, then Loukos said that I'm am too quick to rule out things which I find unlikely… which would fit I guess. And he had a… past. One he was loath to share, so I don’t know what it is. But I know it was something rather unusual.”

She looked away suddenly. It felt odd to think there might have been something so fundamental which Loukos never told her about himself. She understood that a supernatural nature is not something one would flaunt around everywhere… but she and Loukos had been friends since the year she arrived in Thessaloniki. They had spent many, many evenings together in conversation. She trusted him and believed he genuinely liked her. Realizing that there was an entire dimension of reality that he was aware of and she wasn’t, made her feel lonely. And betrayed. Rhode hated ignorance. And Loukos, her friend, her teacher, let her stay ignorant. 

“He probably felt you don’t need such knowledge…” Chlodvig said, as if guessing what she was thinking about. 

Rhode shrugged. 

“Knowledge isn’t only about what is needed," she said softly, somewhat bitterly, "if I learned only that which people consider useful for a woman, then I would have only learned to spin, weave, sing and pray. And ride horseback, I guess…”

Chlodvig smiled and gave her shoulder a slight squeeze. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sudden physical contact. 

“True enough,” he said lightly, “and that would be no good. But now that you mention riding, we should probably get going. Your family is probably waiting to rip my head off.”

Rhode bit her lip. To her surprise, the thought of rejoining her aunt and uncle did not make her particularly happy at all. 

_________________________

People, places and things.

Things

Pattern-welded steel: a technique for making strong but bendy steel which was done by putting together layers of metal of different composition. It created patterning on the metal. 

Loyalty Rings - rings attached to the hilts of swords by the Germanic peoples during and right after the migration period. It's not known what the meaning of these rings was...(Archaeology joke incoming: it probably had a religious function). 

People

Augustine: Philosopher and bishop from the 5th century. He wrote a number of important philosophical works which were at the core of much Christian theology in the Middle Ages.