Sorer Imogen crossed herself, her face paling to the color of her gorget and wimple. “Saints and Martyrs,” she whispered, staring, appalled at what she saw. “I was told he was … But I did not think he…”
“Not all the blisters have broken yet, and when they do, they must be medicated promptly or it is possible that he will develop putrescences, and those could endanger his life.” Sandjer’min spoke levelly and with a great deal of attention on the nun, hoping to see her understanding. “He must be given water regularly; in this heat, he will have—”
“I will pray, and be sure that the water is blessed to his use,” she told him, and went to kneel at his side, unaware of Sandjer’min’s brief frown. “Poor young man,” she whispered before she crossed herself again, pressed her hands together, lifted her rosary from her belt, and began to recite her beads.
On the third boat, Ruthier helped Margrethe of Rutland onto a low bench, then held out his hand to the young man who accompanied her. “There’s room enough for both of you on the bench,” he said in careful Anglo-French, hoping she would understand him, and moving to occupy the bench opposite them; Zekri and Olu’we took their seats on the bench at the rear, flanking the steering oar.
The young man regarded Ruthier with the arrogance of one born to privilege, but also revealing astonishment that this foreigner’s servant could understand his language. “We will do as Sieur Horembaud tells us.”
“As will we all,” said Margrethe quietly. “Sit down, Heneri. The manservant is right.” She pulled her veil around her face, the fine, gray linen dulling her pale-blue eyes.
“A fine day for our travels,” said the next arrival at the boat: unlike the rest of the pilgrims, he wore the same garments that the Egyptians did, a loose djellaba of pilgrims’ blue cotton, belted in leather; instead of boots, he wore sandals. His close-trimmed beard was brassy, and his hair was carrot-red. He looked directly at Ruthier. “I am Nicholas Howe. Frater Giulianus, who travels with me, will join us directly. You’re with the foreign physicians, aren’t you?”
“Ruthier,” he said, ducking his head politely. “I am Sandjer’min’s servant.”
“The physician they brought along for Torquil des Lichiens.” Howe sat down.
“Yes.” Ruthier inclined his head.
“Why does Sieur Horembaud bother? Clearly Torquil cannot live, so why prolong his suffering?” Howe directed his stare at the river. “I hope you have something interesting to tell us,” he went on, his Anglo-French more strongly English than French. “We’ve almost worn out what we have to relate to one another.”
“I will do what I can,” said Ruthier, moving a bit farther down the bench to provide room for Howe and his comrade, Frater Guilianus.
Three boatmen came aboard, and immediately behind them, Frater Giulianus scrambled aboard, the wide sleeves of his habit exposing his hirsute arms. He was about to look for a seat when Sieur Horembaud came up to them. “Howe, you and Frater Giulianus, get into the second boat. You’ll be overloaded otherwise.”
Howe scowled briefly, then rose. “Of course, Sieur Horembaud. It wouldn’t do to sink, would it? Come on, Frater.”
Frater Giulianus coughed once. “Certainly.”
The two climbed out of the boat; Ruthier noticed that Margrethe gave a little sigh of relief. “Now we will have a little peace,” she murmured.
“Are you troubled by him?” Ruthier asked, revealing only a faint interest, although he was most curious.
“He is inclined to speak at length about his many adventures, most of which are difficult to believe. And he has a rough way about many things.” She put her hand to her lips. “I should not speak so of him; he is on a pilgrimage for his faith.”
“As are you all,” said Ruthier, hoping to learn more.
She looked at him, her eyes growing wide. “And you are not? For a man living at a monastery, how can you say—”
Ruthier shrugged. “My master has decided to travel, and it is my duty to go with him. We have gone many places during the time I have been in his service.” It was a simple explanation, and had the advantage of truth, but the reality was vastly more complicated, something he kept to himself. He studied her briefly. “If you would be willing to tell me, why are you on this pilgrimage? A well-born Englishwoman like you I would expect to go to the cathedrals of Europe if you wished to see holy places.”
“She’s doing it for her husband,” said Heneri, in a tone that did not encourage discussion. “The Bishop said she had to.”
“Heneri,” Margrethe chided him gently. “As one of our company, he has every right to know.”
“He’s a servant. All he needs to know is his master’s wants; he said as much just now.” The young man pointed to the shelter on the barge. “Why aren’t you with him?”
“It is Sieur Horembaud’s wish that we travel in separate vessels for now.” Ruthier retreated behind his habitual reserve.
“And he has ordered my sister—my half-sister,” he corrected himself, “to assist your master, so that she may discover more about him. I heard Sieur Horembaud tell her to do this,” Heneri declared.
Ruthier refused to be lured into a squabble. “As well he might. We have a great distance to go, and it is to Sieur Horembaud’s advantage to know as much about his companions as he can learn.” Then, indulging himself in a moment of retaliation, he added, “It is what my master would do in his place.”
There was a silence among the pilgrims in boat three, and then Heneri folded his arms and said, “I don’t think you should talk to one so far beneath you, Bondame Margrethe.”
“We are all one in the eyes of God, and while we are on this journey, we will be humble,” she said.
“Your husband would not like it,” said Heneri.
“If my husband could like or dislike anything, I would not be here,” she responded more sharply.
“Don’t!” Heneri snapped, rounding on Margrethe.
Ruthier was about to move from his place on the bench to the opposite one Howe and Frater Giulianus had vacated when Sieur Horembaud came to the edge of the landing. “Heneri! Mind how you speak to this man. Bondame Margrethe is right. You will be entering the Templars when you return home, boy, and you will need to be more reconciling in your behavior when you do.” He pointed to Ruthier. “Stay where you are. The other bench is for Viviano Loredan and his servant.”
“He’s moving us around a lot,” said Heneri quietly.
“He is our leader,” Margrethe reminded him. “If my husband’s sister is with this man’s master, other adjustments should be expected.” She smiled as she turned to Ruthier. “Forgive my husband’s half-brother, good man.”
“My name is Ruthier,” he said.
“You are French?” She sounded surprised.
“I was born in Spain,” he said, “but I left it long ago,” when Nero was Caesar, he added to himself.
“And your master? Is he also from Spain?” Margrethe asked, striving to smooth over the discord.
“No; he is from lands ruled by Hungary,” said Ruthier, and volunteered nothing more.
A man of twenty-seven came aboard, his blue surcote with the Lion of San Marco on his sleeve identifying him as a Venezian, as did his accent even in Anglo-French. He made a casual greeting to all on board and sat down on the bench that faced Ruthier. “My man will be along shortly. He is procuring some jars of wine.”
“Excellent,” said Heneri, his sullenness fading. “Something to make the river less boring.”
“You’ll give me two coppers for every cup you drink,” the Venezian said genially.
“Why should I?” Heneri challenged.
“Because it’s my wine,” said the Venezian. He glanced at Ruthier. “You’re one of the new ones, aren’t you? I’ll ask the same of you as I do of the lad.”
Ruthier took a little time to collect his thoughts. “That’s most kind.”
A flurry of activity on the landing served to warn all the travelers that the rowers on the ba
rges were getting ready to cast off; Sieur Horembaud shouted, “All slaves and rowers, make ready to leave!” while he climbed aboard the first boat.
A wiry man in a pilgrim’s habit rushed aboard the third boat, wine jars in both hands. “I’ve got five of them, Signor’ Loredan,” he said, panting, as he plopped down on the bench beside the Venezian.
The oarsman came on board behind him, and two boatmen followed him, each taking his place with the ease of habit, paying little attention to their passengers. On the landing slaves were unfastening the lines that held the boats in place. Sails were raised quickly, and the wind shouldered into the sails; the oarsman took hold of his broad steering oar and set out for the center of the Nile, the third boat to move away from Sese’metkra. The last two boats set their sails and moved up the river, with the rowers on the barges coming after, their oars moving at a steady, regular beat under the ruddy sun.
* * *
Text of a letter from Atta Olivia Clemens at Lecco on Lago Como, written in Imperial Latin on linen, delivered by the Eclipse Trading ship Fair Winds to Kerem-al-Gamil, factor of the Alexandrian office of Eclipse Trading Company, who sent it up-river to Sese’metkra and the Monastery of the Visitation; delivered there on March 19th, 1225, where Tsura’gar burned it.
To my most dear long-time and much-absent friend, the greeting of Olivia on this, the fourth day of the Christian year 1225.
My esteemed Sanct’ Germain,
Before I do anything else, I want to apologize for some of the things I said to you when last we met. It was inexcusable of me to be so ungracious and uncaring. My only excuse is my on-going concern for you; every time you visit me, I feel your compassion and I know how much you have endured because of it, including what you went through because of me and the accusations my wretch of a husband made against you, all those centuries ago. I hope you will not hold my deplorable tongue against me; I give you my Word as one of your blood that I will do my utmost not to take you to task next time we meet, although I cannot promise that I will not let you know why I am worried for your safety.
I am still at Lecco, in your wonderful villa, and it is ferociously cold this winter, unlike many of those before this year. Perhaps it is as you have told me, and the weather is constantly changing. Whatever the case, the snows are deep in the passes, and often our water-troughs have ice on them in the morning. The peasants working the land have all complained that many of the trees in the orchards and grapevines on the south slope are damaged and will need severe pruning before the end of winter if they are to bear fruit for the year. The livestock are being confined to barns and stables and pens and styes. But I must tell you that the house is sound, and your Roman bath has been repaired. I will send you a report on any problems brought about by the winter before the summer arrives, and I will hope to hear from you before then if you have any instructions you wish to pass on to me.
After what you went through in your travels in the East, I cannot entirely fault you for wanting to go to ground as you have done at that remote monastery, but I must tell you that I am looking forward to the day you return to Italy, or France, or even your native earth. I cannot help but worry while you are in such a distant place, and one where there has been so much unrest. You’ve assured me more than once that with so many Europeans in Egypt and other points of the Holy Land, few of the native people take notice of them except to sell them food, water, clothing, and such other items as these travelers will require. I know from my days in Tyre and my long journey back to Roma that while you are generally correct, it is still possible to be singled out as a foreigner and because of that, made a target for unfriendly actions. I myself know of Crusaders kidnaped and held for ransom, or worse, and servants, slaves, and camp-followers who, to preserve their own skins, betrayed their soldiers to the regional warlords, or went over to Islam and remained in the Holy Land when the Crusaders left. You have said this will not happen as long as you are within the monastery, but if that is true, you might as well be in prison as a monastery. Come back to Europe, Sanct’ Germain, and be as safe as the world will let such creatures as you and I be. Be persuaded by me for my sake if not your own.
Niklos Aulirios has come upon a breeder of horses some six leagues from here and has recommended that we bring a number of mares to be bred to his stallions. He has told me that these horses have great stamina, are light keepers, and have steadiness of temper, though they will not do for warhorses, because they are not big enough; most of the studs stand at little more than fifteen hands. Most of them are black or very, very dark bay. I am minded to see what kind of get they will produce in our strongest Spanish mares. The foals should grow up to be more active than those English palfreys that everyone praises, and for travel over distances, they will quickly show their worth.
I have taken many of your books and secured them in your strong-room under lock and key; the Church is having one of its spasms, banning and destroying books that are not in accord with the present teaching; much of your collection would be regarded as heretical, and so it seemed prudent to remove them from view. Niklos assisted me, and we moved the books late at night so that none of the servants at the villa can reveal where the books are, other than they are no longer in your library. If any of the Bishop’s men should come searching, you may be confident that they will find nothing objectionable on your shelves.
There has been fever among the peasants, one that brings a cough and putrid lungs to many, and in such a winter as we are having, what can one expect? I have authorized any ailing to rest at home until health returns, for as you have taught me, sending the ill to labor among the well is a sure way to spread sickness throughout the region and to increase its virulence. The priest at Santo-Andrea-in-Bosco has objected, saying that this will encourage sloth, but I will remain firm in my commitment to keeping the illness contained as much as I am able.
When summer comes, I may return to Roma, not only to revisit my native earth, but to make sure there have been no more encroachments on my title to Sanza Pari. I miss my breathing days, when I could own my land and estates without question or condition, and although I have that very useful Papal deed, I still find it necessary from time to time to make sure its conditions are being met. What folly to believe that women are incapable of maintaining their own property! But I will not indulge in a harangue. You know my sentiments, and I know you agree with my stance. And before I give way to another such outburst, I will send you my heartfelt hope that you will come to bear me company, wherever I am.
Your most devoted and loving,
Olivia
5
As they approached Edfu in the deepening shadows of evening, they passed a huge wall of carvings, showing a procession of figures with human bodies and the heads of birds and animals, all facing southward. The massive structure was cracked and weathered, revealing its age by the damage the elements had done over time as much as by the enigmatic figures carved on it in low relief. Nearly all the pilgrims stared at the wall, and began to speculate among themselves what the animal heads might mean.
Jiochim Menines, riding in the lead boat with Sieur Horembaud, dug his thumbs into his belt and prepared to expound; the stocky Spanish pilgrim had lived in Egypt longer than any of the other Europeans and so was credited with knowing the most about the place of all of them. “Many of the people of Egypt say these are the gods of those who built the pyramids, and that walls like this show the stories of their acts, and their powers over men. It is tempting to think that this is true. But with such heads, what can they be but demons and the monsters from the time before the Flood? A Greek priest I knew in Alexandria told me that he believed that these figures depict the sons of men who had turned away from God and were not saved. I found his explanation most convincing. These are the ones washed away when Noah saved the creatures of the world.”
“They’re big enough to be gods, or archangels,” said Sieur Horembaud, “or Emperors of Egypt.” He studied the strange beings, shading his eyes to make o
ut their shapes, for the wall was largely in shadow. “That one in the front? the one with the long head and the breasts? Is that male or female, or can you tell?”
“I think it is probably a eunuch,” said Menines. “The people in this part of the world have a liking for eunuchs and see no shame in the state.”
Sieur Horembaud nodded. “So we were told when we came here. Strange. I would guess that they have not been taught to see castration as an insult. I have been told that some of the Sultan’s military officers are eunuchs.” He looked away from the wall as the boat moved beyond it. “Perhaps I should ask Sandjer’min about them. He seems to know a great deal about these things.”
Stung, Menines shook his head. “I wouldn’t put too much faith in what he tells you: a foreigner like that isn’t beyond inventing tales to mislead us, relying on our ignorance to lend him false credibility.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” Sieur Horembaud looked ahead toward the landing at Edfu; it was larger and more substantial than the one at Sese’metkra, having three stone piers running a short distance out into the river, and better facilities for tying up. A net of heavy cord stretched from the end of the most up-stream of the four piers to a place some three-dozen paces south on the bank, where it was secured to a stout pillar of local stone. Torches lit the piers, and a number of slaves stood ready to help the boats and barges to places among the other vessels already secured to the landing.
“A fine evening,” Iri’ty called out to the gang of slaves waiting for them with ropes and boarding-planks. “Where are we to go?”
The leader of the slaves—distinguished by his copper pectoral—came to the end of the second pier and pointed to the upstream side and called out in Arabic, “The boats here. The barges on the other side. We have boards for disembarking. Let us bring them to you.”
Night Pilgrims Page 9
