Night Pilgrims

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “If you insist, I’ll p-pray, but I won’t change my mind; if I do not go with you, I will still leave this place,” said Zekri, his hands clenching, punctuating his determination. He studied the few remaining dried herbs on the hooks behind the work-table. “You will bring your medicaments, won’t you?”

  “I will,” he said.

  “G-good.” Zekri stood awkwardly, trying to summon up something more to say, then muttered a few disjointed words of thanks before he turned abruptly and left.

  A bit later in the afternoon, Ruthier returned, a skinned rabbit hanging from a cord around his wrist. He stepped through the door, pausing as he crossed the threshold. “What did Zekri want?” He spoke in Imperial Latin.

  “He wants to join the pilgrimage,” said Sandjer’min in the same language, pausing in his loading a wooden chest with his clothes.

  Ruthier cocked his head. “Interesting. Did he say why?”

  “He knows the river for a considerable distance to the south, and thinks he can be useful,” Sandjer’min said with supreme neutrality.

  “Then there is more than that,” said Ruthier, taking the cord from around his wrist and slipping it over a peg, the rabbit hanging against the wall.

  “It would seem so,” said Sandjer’min, then changed the subject. “How are things in the village?”

  Ruthier knew Sandjer’min would not discuss Zekri again for a while, so he said, “There’s much concern about the Sultan’s messengers. The villagers are afraid they’ll lose all their young men to the Sultan’s army. A few are planning to enter this monastery to keep from having to serve the Sultan.” He hesitated. “Would you want to take any of them with us? It would remove them from the Sultan’s grasp without having them resort to entering the religious life.”

  “To go south with the pilgrims? That would be for Sieur Horembaud to decide, not I.” Sandjer’min was aware that Ruthier’s dismay came from something more than the plight of the local villagers, but said nothing.

  “What if you were to recommend a few of them? They’re Christians, and there would be merit in helping them, would there not?”

  Sandjer’min shook his head. “No, not as things stand. It could cause problems for the villagers and the monastery if we did.”

  “What do you think it would lead to?” Ruthier asked, not as convinced as Sandjer’min was that there could be trouble. “The village is small. The Copts are important to the village, but not much beyond its limits. Sese’metkra would seem hardly worth the effort to conscript its young men. At most there would be twenty young men who could be taken for soldiers, leaving the village without the means to plant and harvest as they have done.”

  “I agree. This is the sort of place where an example can be made, where opposition can be cut short with little effort on the Sultan’s part,” Sandjer’min said. “There aren’t enough villagers to stand against the Sultan’s men, so it is comply or be crushed, which would serve as a warning to other Coptic villages to do as the Sultan commands. It would also mean that many of the people would be pressured to convert, so they would be allowed to keep one son at home.”

  Ruthier took a deep breath. “And that would imperil the monastery and the village, having such conversions.”

  “Very likely,” said Sandjer’min.

  “To lose children or to lose one’s faith,” Ruthier mused. “Not an easy choice for these people.”

  Sandjer’min nodded. “And our presence makes it more complicated, for if the town turns away from the monastery, we will have to leave quickly.”

  “I agree. But do you think that would spare the young men of the village?”

  “I don’t know, but I would guess not.” The world-weary tone of Sandjer’min’s answer reminded Ruthier of their days on Cyprus and in Spain.

  “You’re probably right.” Ruthier took a short while to think. “I was thinking of my children, my master. Had this happened in Gades when I was still alive, I would have wanted the chance to keep them out of the hands of those who fought against us, and that wouldn’t be possible if I joined with those enemies.” It had been almost twelve centuries since Ruthier had been restored to life by Sandjer’min, and longer since he had been separated from his family, but the poignance of the loss had never left him.

  “You understand the impasse here,” Sandjer’min said.

  “And I sympathize with every villager family with boys between fifteen and twenty.”

  Sandjer’min nodded slowly. “I have no doubt of that, old friend.”

  “Why would the Sultan not spare a few of the—”

  “—villagers’ sons? It would be a false delivery, I fear.” Sandjer’min stared thoughtfully into the middle distance. “Who would decide which boys were to be exempt and which were to be taken? There would be dissension and the village would face reprisals if there were any kind of refusal.”

  “Arbitrary selection of young men would not gain the villagers’ approval,” said Ruthier.

  “I don’t believe Malik-al-Kamil is worried about the approval of a few Copts,” said Sandjer’min. “He needs to strengthen his army.”

  “A pity he won’t spare a few Copts from the war,” said Ruthier, more sharply than was his habit.

  “But where would it stop? He would end up having to excuse all Copts from his conscription, and that would compromise his forces. I am not defending him,” he added, seeing Ruthier’s glower. “I am only describing the Sultan’s predicament. If he does not take all the young men he can, he will lose before the first battle occurs. That does not mean that I am in favor of what he believes he must do, but my opinion means little here.”

  “Then you think Jenghiz Khan will get this far?” Ruthier asked.

  “No, but I didn’t think he’d get so far into China, or the west,” said Sandjer’min.

  Ruthier took a long moment to think this over. “You’re right: it is time we were gone,” he said at last, and went to take his dinner into the second room.

  * * *

  Text of a letter from Paulos Aristadese, Superior at the Orthodox Christian Church of the Holy Redeemer in Tyre, to Eukratos Kirieki at the Orthodox Church of the Eucharist in Alexandria, written in Greek on vellum and delivered by two monks nine days after it was written.

  To my most dear brother in Christ, the blessings and greetings of Paulos Aristadese, Superior of the Church of the Holy Redeemer in Tyre, on this, the Feast of Saint Porphyry of Gaza,

  Most reverend Eukratos Kirieki,

  I can make no promise about the amount of protection we can provide the European Christians who are now required to depart Egypt, for the ban upon their presence is expected to be extended beyond Egypt itself and into other lands where the might of Islam holds sway, Tyre being one of the places where such bans are considered a possibility. I have asked the priests and monks serving here to vote on what we should do, but have not yet achieved a full counting of the ballots cast. I have not been able to determine which way the votes will go, for the monks and priests here are reluctant to discuss their positions in this matter.

  As we approach the Paschal Season, we do so with more trepidation than we should, but as things stand, it is unlikely that we will be able to protect our Christian community here, let alone add more to those to whom we already minister, for much longer; the followers of Islam grow ever more determined to assert their strength in our affairs, and God has not seen fit to instill tolerance in their hearts. We have had to inform other churches that our resources are at their limit, and God has also not seen fit to extend His Mercy to us. I have recommended to many priests and monks in your situation that you apply to Venezian merchant ships for space on their decks for those Europeans required to leave; it is difficult travel on the open decks of a galley, but it will serve as a means of getting away from Egypt without the dangers of attempting to reach Constantinople along the trade roads. If enough of our faith arrive in Constantinople, an appeal may be made to the Patriarchs and Metropolitans there on behalf of those unable
to leave in the allotted time, and in turn, it is possible that some action may be taken to assist your flock, but Roberth de Courtenay rarely sets foot out of Constantinople except to ask the Roman Pope and the Christian rulers of Europe to come to his aid, and therefore he may be ill-disposed to your cause.

  We are finding our circumstances straitened: in the last few weeks we have seen a number of pilgrims returning from the distant south, and they, too, are seeking the means to get home; many are tired from their travels, and a few of them are ill. A small number of them have fared well: one pilgrim had procured a jar of ochre-colored dust which he claimed was Our Lord’s blood spilled by the spear in His side. He has pledged to carry it to Saint-Peter’s Basilica in Roma to demonstrate his faith and to prove that his pilgrimage has earned him the absolution of his sins. He is adamant about his need to reach that city as quickly as possible, and we have put his name about to many of the European traders who might carry him to Neapolis or Ostia. Most of the Venezian traders avoid those ports, so it will have to be the Genovese who carry them. You may find some among them who will take pilgrims back to France, for those bound to that kingdom. There are some English among the pilgrims who may have to return to their island in stages; in that case, either Venezian or Genovese ships should be able to get them on their way.

  I pray for the delivery of all Christians; for those called to martyrdom, I extol them and abjure them to hold fast to their faith that they may wear crowns in Paradise.

  In the name of God the Father, Christ the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen

  Paulos Aristadese

  Superior

  The Orthodox Church of the Holy Redeemer

  3

  Five sailing boats and three rowed barges swung in at the landing at the village below the Monastery of the Visitation as the residents came out of their houses and fields to see what and who had come to such an insignificant place as this. Half a dozen men ran onto the dock, shouting instructions to the boats while gesticulating where they might tie up. Most of the passengers had donned hoods against the sun, and could not easily be seen, though their blue garments marked them as foreigners on pilgrimage, as did the palm-fronds many of them held. Along with the waterman manning the steering oar, a European man with a short, ruddy beard, dressed in a pilgrim’s blue linen surcote blazoned with his family’s device—vert, a stag couchant proper, crowned or—with a Crusader’s cross sewn on the short sleeve, stood in the rear of the open boat, next to the man handling the oar. Six other foreigners were in the lead boat, with others in the remaining five boats, all in all about twenty pilgrims; the barges held all manner of chests and cases as well as a dozen white asses and five horses. It was not quite mid-day and the Nile shone as if it was made of shards of constantly shifting polished glass.

  Zekri was the first to make it to Sandjer’min’s little house with the news of the arrivals. “There are foreigners of every kind! There has never been such a day here!” he exclaimed with more excitement than truth. “Five boats and three barges, with asses and horses as well as many chests. Nothing like this has happened in many years. Boats that bring pilgrims go to Edfu or Elephantine, not Sese’metkra. The whole village is going to meet them.” His eyes were excited, and he moved as if all of him itched.

  Dreading the brilliance of the sun overhead, Sandjer’min tightened the lacings on his sandals and stepped out into the blazing day. “Quite a company,” he said, shading his eyes.

  “Such a number of them,” Zekri said, doing his best to count them all against the shine of the Nile.

  “Pilgrims do well to travel in large groups,” said Sandjer’min. “As do merchants.”

  “And armies,” Zekri interjected.

  “Yes, and robbers, for that matter.”

  “And I shall be one of the pilgrims,” Zekri declared, a look of happy disbelief making him look younger than his years.

  “I trust you have your garments packed; from what Sieur Horembaud told me in his letter, I believe he will want to set out in a day or two,” said Sandjer’min, feeling a hint of dismay at the thought of going so far over running water; the prospect troubled him now as it had for the last four days. “I will see to your other needs as Sieur Horembaud orders me, but clothing and footwear are your responsibility.” He watched the trapizoidal latine sails snap in the freshening wind, and wondered how long he would have to travel over water this time; the very thought filled him with vertigo so that he had to take a moment to steady himself. “I had better go down to the landing and speak with Sieur Horembaud before he brings all his companions and their belongings into the town.”

  “He’ll have slaves to tend to that,” said Zekri, not quite tagging after Sandjer’min as he started down the hill.

  “He will watch them in any case,” said Sandjer’min, lengthening his stride and moving through the crowd of monks making for the entry-gate of the monastery.

  “No doubt you are right,” said Zekri, a bit out of breath. “I have a pair each of Roman peri and sandals, another habit and a pluvial for when we reach the mountains. I have a bed-roll for sleeping, and a canvass sail, for when the winds blow hard.”

  “Very wise,” said Sandjer’min, pressing forward and slipping through the bottleneck of the gate with no sign of difficulty; moving relieved some of the discomfort of the running water as well as the inexorable sun. He went down the sandy street, passing the first stacks of newly mown wheat piled on the threshing floor behind the civic house of the village, where the council met and supervised the rules of market-day, took care of official transactions, received foreigners and the messengers sent from the Sultan, and held official feasts and celebrations. At the marketplace, he took the track to the river, catching up with two of the village’s three leaders; he took care not to get ahead of them.

  “Pilgrims,” said the older of the two leaders to Sandjer’min. “You said they would be coming.”

  “Bound to the south,” Sandjer’min agreed, making a gesture of respect toward the man.

  “And you are going with them—Tsura’gar has told me.” There was a critical edge to this remark, and a sharp glance in Sandjer’min’s direction.

  “That is the plan,” Sandjer’min said with unruffled calm.

  “Just as well,” the leader said. “Though it will be a pity to lose your skills with your medicaments. My oldest boy would not be standing straight without you.”

  For an instant, Sandjer’min felt a sharp pang of loneliness that slid through him like a knife; he concealed this with an equivocal chuckle. “Those of us in exile have to be willing to go about the world. This is neither the first nor the last time that I shall have to seek out a new place where I can live in peace, and my manservant will not be suspected of nefarious doings.”

  The leader had the sensitivity to make a gesture of regret. “If the Sultan were not pressing us, perhaps it might have gone otherwise, but your very presence provides him an excuse to—”

  “I am aware of it, and I am sorry it has come to this,” said Sandjer’min, sorry to appear rude. “The first of the pilgrims is coming ashore.”

  The leader went forward along the broad stone landing, calling out greetings slowly and loudly in his Coptic tongue. “You are welcome here, in the name of the Christ and our God.”

  Sieur Horembaud answered in the dialect of the Aquitaine region of France where the English ruled. He, too, spoke loudly but not as slowly. “My pilgrims and I seek a place for a night or two, with pasturage for our stock. We will thank God for what you provide.”

  The two men went quiet, staring at one another. Then the village leader began again, this time in clumsy Arabic; his efforts were met with much the same perplexity and frustration as Coptic had. “I know little of Islam’s language,” the leader said in his limited Arabic.

  Sieur Horembaud frowned, and motioned to the rest of the pilgrims to stay where they were. “I must speak to this man,” he announced in Anglo-French. “Tell him that,” he added to Sandjer’min.

>   “Leader,” said Sandjer’min politely in Coptic, “if you will permit me to speak for you, I think this misunderstanding may be remedied.” Before the leader could answer, Sandjer’min moved a bit closer to the two men, and said in unpolished but very acceptable Aquitanian English, “You are Sieur Horembaud, I gather, and these are your pilgrim companions. I am Rakoczy, Sidi Sandjer’min. This is Aste’on, one of the village leaders here in Sese’metkra. He is in charge of greeting newcomers. You may address him for your wants.” He returned to Coptic. “Aste’on, this is a French knight called Sieur Horembaud du Langnor, who is to lead the expedition.” He looked directly at Sieur Horembaud. “This man, Aste’on, will see you and your comrades are made welcome. If you will hold up your hands, palms outward, and bow slightly…?”

  “To such a man as he?” Sieur Horembaud challenged.

  “Since he is the one who will decide if you or your animals will eat tonight, yes, it is as well that you show him courtesy.” He showed him how the thing was to be done.

  “Oh, very well,” said Sieur Horembaud, and copied Sandjer’min’s bow with neither grace nor much attention. “Tell him I and my companions thank him for receiving us.” There was no hint of gratitude in his manner.

  Sandjer’min turned to Aste’on. “He asks you to forgive him, but he is weary with travel, as are all those in his company. He thanks you for receiving him and the rest of the pilgrims.”

  “Long hours on the river can be tiring,” said Aste’on, losing some of the forbidding scowl that had been gathering like storm-clouds on his face.

  “He will appreciate your understanding.” Sandjer’min once again spoke to Sieur Horembaud in his own tongue. “You will have to allow the village to honor you with a feast, but if you want to bring your people and their animals and things ashore, you should be assigned places to sleep.”

  Sieur Horembaud scrutinized Sandjer’min for a long moment, then nodded. “I’ll take your word for it. What do I call you?”