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Text of a letter from Esteven del Aquafuere in the Kingdom of Portugal in Oporto to Jiochim Menines in care of the Hieronymite monk Frater Duro, bound for Egypt to join a pilgrim company; written on parchment, and returned to Portugal without being delivered.
To the distinguished traveler Jiochim Menines, the respectful greetings of Esteven del Aquafuere, on this, the 19th day of May in the 1225th year of Salvation,
Most enterprising Jiochim Menines,
It is my duty to inform you that word has come from the Kingdom of Navarre that you are on a mission in the distant Christian lands beyond Egypt, where you have been posted for Portuguese interests for eight years. The purpose of your residence there is to ascertain the extent of trade that exists in that part of the world. Given the difficult situation King Sancho II has with the clergy and the nobility here, I must ask you to abandon that Navarrese mission for the sake of your homeland, and to uphold the worth of all you have accomplished. Navarre is not as extensive in its range of trading as Portugal is, and therefore, we of the Council of Merchants and Traders appeal to you to put our interests before those of Navarre; Portugal has supported you and your family since you went on the mission, and for this you pledged us fealty. We are aware that you have been in Egypt for eight years, and may believe that you need not honor the country of your birth in such affairs as you now conduct on our behalf, but I urge you to consider your situation: you have gained advancement in Egypt, it is true, but only because you deal with Portuguese merchants and traders. The contracts and other dealings you have done on Navarre’s behalf in the last few years have compromised some of the negotiations of our Council, and this is not acceptable to us. If you do not mend your ways, you may find yourself banished to Egypt, living a life vastly different than the one our Guild has made possible for you. Should you attempt to return with this matter unresolved, you know that Navarre would not offer you a place within their borders for fear that you would act clandestinely for Portugal, and most other Kingdoms would share Navarre’s doubts. Therefore, if you fail to give up this mission for Navarre, and do not return to Alexandria and your old post within three months, you will become an exile, one whom no Portuguese trader or merchant will call upon to assist in bargaining, or will rely upon for information. Surely you do not wish to place yourself in such an untenable position. As you value your homeland and the well-being of your kinsmen, and the repute of those who have served you, abjure your service to Navarre at once, or declare yourself a traitor to your people.
Esteven del Aquafuere
for the Council of Merchants and Traders
by the hand of Frater Duro, Hieronymite
4
“We must leave here tomorrow night,” Sieur Horembaud declared, facing the pilgrims as they sat around a long table waiting for their supper to be served. Evening was closing in, and the travelers’ inn had set braziers of camel dung alight to ward off the darkness. “Five days is sufficient rest. It is time we were underway once again. Our animals are getting fat and lazy.” He gestured to take in the dining room. “It is easy to grow accustomed to this place, but we have vows to fulfill.” This inn, located in the central part of the travelers’ quarter, was still busy although the approaching summer would soon stop most of those on the road from continuing until autumn brought the end of the Inundation and the lessening of heat. Those who would spend the summer in the Gold Camp would retire to cabins located at the far edge of the travelers’ quarter. This inn would soon close its doors until travel resumed when the worst of the heat was over.
The room they occupied was set up for diners of all sorts, some tables being low and having cushions, some, like the one where most of the pilgrims were sitting, was high and had benches; the women were relegated to a small, round table in the far corner of the room, and partially concealed by a carved screen. Six of the other tables were occupied with companies of merchants and pilgrims, about half of whom were foreigners to the Nubian Desert. A large open-pit fire at the other side of the room held a collection of various-sized spits, a few of which had animal carcases turning on them slowly, worked by slaves of skin colors ranging from olive to black, and ages from six to ten. The landlord, a lanky fellow with tawny-dark skin and amber eyes, showed a heritage that was both Egyptian and African; he treated all his patrons with the same, slightly unctuous courtesy, and posted two slaves near the door to keep out roughians and beggars.
“You still haven’t spoken to the Abyssinian merchants who arrived yesterday, and you must; everyone says they’re the last caravan to come from the south until the flood is over,” Noreberht lo Avocat protested in his native Anglo-French, which, with Church Latin and Greek, had become the most common languages for the pilgrims. “We are nearly into summer, and Firouz, and the Copts have said that it is in summer that the Nile floods, and the channel above the Second Cataract isn’t safe for any boat. If you still intend that we will follow the river again once we cross the desert, what would be the use of—”
At the women’s table, Sorer Imogen raised her voice in prayers of thanks for their coming meal; hearing her, the monks blessed themselves.
Viviano Loredan started to speak, but stopped as Methodus Temi interrupted. “They say that it isn’t safe to venture across the sands until the flooding is over.”
“What they is that?” Sieur Horembaud demanded.
“That party of Arabian slavers, bound for the coast of the Red Sea,” he said, pointing to a low table on the far side of the room. “I know enough Arabic to ask them about travel while I repaired one of their chains for them.”
“When did you do that?” Sieur Horembaud asked stiffly.
“Earlier today. I told you they had asked for my help. Two of the men stayed with me while I used the travelers’ forge.” He folded his arms and laid them on the table, making it clear that he would stand by what he had said.
Sieur Horembaud tapped his fingers, and an ominous silence fell over the company of pilgrims.
Into that silence Sandjer’min came, returning from his daily inspection of their animals. “The animals are bedded down for the night, but the ass with the bad ear is still having trouble and is off his feed.”
“Does it hamper him beyond use?” Sieur Horembaud asked. “Will the putrescence damage him? Is he safe to ride?”
“No, his ear will not damage him, not yet. But you may want to trade him for another when we move on, so that he can have a chance to recover.” Sandjer’min paused. “I’ll leave an unguent to treat his ear, if you arrange such a trade.” He did not mention that he had taken a cup of blood from the headstrong black Barb that Jiochim Menines had been riding, or that he was beginning to long for the nourishment only human touching could provide.
“I’ll consider it,” Sieur Horembaud said. The tension lessened at once, but did not entirely vanish. “We will go on land, keeping to the bank of the river once we reach it again,” he went on to the company in the tone of voice that did not encourage argument, paying no more attention to what Sandjer’min had said. “That way the river will guide us without harming us, and will provide some coolness.” He drank carefully from his cup holding his daily portion of wine, savoring it in spite of its increasingly sour taste.
“We must get there first, before the flooding begins,” Richere Enzo pointed out. “We have another twelve days at least until we reach the bend in the Nile between the Fourth and Fifth Cataracts; the village is called Baruta, isn’t it.”
“Where there are crocodiles and thieves of all sorts in equal portion, as well as jackals, scorpions, and serpents, each of which are not hampered by the heat, as we will be, and our animals,” said Ifar, speaking with lackadaisical certainty. “When pilgrims are many, at least the human killers keep their distance. But when they are few, and the thieves are hungry for loot—”
“How can you know? You have said that you have never been beyond the Second Cataract,” Agnolus dei Causi challenged; the tension was rising again.
/> Sandjer’min caught sight of Ruthier at a small table near the kitchen, and went to join him. “They are still bickering,” he said in Persian as he sat down.
Ruthier looked up from his haunch of young goat which he ate—as he ate everything—raw; he wagged his short knife. “They’ll have to settle something soon if they intend to move on tomorrow night.”
“Every day they wait, the crossing will grow harder; we are late into May, and by July the whole of the desert and the mountains will be furnaces,” Sandjer’min said, reaching for the end of the bench; he was about to sit down when Sieur Horembaud raised his hand and motioned Sandjer’min to join them.
“Besides,” Vidame Bonnefiles interjected loudly, interrupting Frater Anteus, “who is to say that the floods will come this summer? There were many boatmen who expressed fear of a dry season. What do you say to that?”
Ifar refused to be goaded into dispute. “True, we cannot know what is to come, but we do know what has come before. Egyptians always fear for a dry summer, for if the summer is dry they will starve by the end of winter. I have been as far as the Second Cataract, and I cannot believe that there is much of a change in the wildness of the flood until the Blue Nile is reached, and there are many leagues to go before we reach that branch of the river.” He waved around the room. “Ask any traveler coming north and hear what they have to say. The Abyssinians, for example, can inform you—the ones at that table near the window; a few of them speak some Arabic. They will know how the summer is coming in the mountains, where the rains fall.”
From the far end of the table where the servants and slaves sat, Olu’we spoke up. “The Inundation is not a time for boats to go against the current, if you were planning to travel by water again. You would need all the winds of the desert to blow against the raging of the Nile, and even then, you would not go far.”
Sandjer’min, drawing a stool up to the table, translated this into Sieur Horembaud’s Anglo-English and into the tongue of northern Italy, adding, “Regarding the Nile, I trust Olu’we to know more than anyone but Firouz.”
“Do we have anyone who can speak with the Abyssinians?” Frater Anteus suggested. “Once we know what they have seen, then—”
“Why should they tell us the truth?” Sieur Horembaud demanded. “What are we to them, that they should—”
Viviano Loredan sighed audibly. “Why should they not?”
Nicholas Howe offered his thoughts. “We have sworn to go to the Chapel of the Holy Grail, and if we fail, our travels this far have been for nought. Think of poor Torquil.”
“He’s probably little more than scattered bones now that the vultures have sure got at him,” said Micheu de Saunte-Foi.
Cristofo d’Urbineau coughed his disapproval and made the Sign of the Cross for all the pilgrims. “May God forgive him and bring him to Paradise.”
“You’re defrocked,” Frater Anteus scoffed.
“I still retain the chrism: that cannot be taken from me,” d’Urbineau reminded him. “And defrocked or not, we all could use God’s Grace on this journey.”
Firouz nodded. “Allah is Merciful,” he said in Greek.
Heneri shocked everyone by echoing “Allah is Merciful,” in Arabic. He smiled and added in Anglo-French, “Firouz has been teaching me.”
D’Urbineau glared at Firouz. “This is a Christian pilgrimage,” he declared in clumsy Greek.
“So it is,” said Firouz in the same language. “But it may be useful to have one of your own numbers speak more Arabic than most do. I will not be with you in the mountains; I will take my camels and a few of the asses and wait for another caravan to go back to the First Cataract, but you will travel on.” He took a sip of the strong mint tea he drank at meals. “You cannot always rely on the Sidi, can you? He speaks Arabic well enough, and Coptic, but the tongues of Abyssinia and Ethiopia he does not know. I have a little knowledge of a few of them, but you will find it useful if the young man learns enough Arabic to converse. I am told that many of the people in that region know Arabic. You should encourage Heneri to learn it, for your own sakes.”
“Not if he uses the language to dishonor the Savior,” said d’Urbineau.
Heneri stared at d’Urbineau. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Well, see that you don’t,” said Frater Anteus.
Heneri drank some of his wine. “See? Still Christian.”
Firouz wagged a finger at him. “Do not disrespect your people or your religion,” he said in Arabic. “Your Jesus is a prophet of Islam.”
“Yes, you told me,” Heneri answered in the same language.
D’Urbineau glowered at Firouz. “You are mocking me.”
“No,” he said in Greek. “Ask Heneri if you doubt me.”
“No mocking,” Heneri said before d’Urbineau could speak; the pilgrims went quiet.
Frater Anteus got to his feet, prepared to intone the blessing on their meal. He waited until he had full attention, then pronounced the prayer in Church Latin; he watched the pilgrims cross themselves, then sat down to unusual silence.
Several heartbeats later, Loredan cleared his throat and said in his best Anglo-French, “After speaking to some of the other travelers here who have come from the south, Salvatore and I have decided to leave with one of the caravans going north in two days. There are six pilgrims in their company already, and they are willing to have us join them. Do not stare about: the group that has agreed to take us on has already dined. All our arrangements are made, and we will not continue with you. We have been willing to come this far, but we have no reason to risk our lives by crossing the sands with summer coming. It will be harsh enough going back the way we came.”
Sandjer’min translated this into the northern Italian dialect, and into Greek, all the while thinking that Loredan’s going was not a good sign for the pilgrims.
There was another silence at the table, this one of shock and dismay; Enzo muttered something that might have been a curse, Frater Anteus and Frater Giulianus crossed themselves, both looking away from Loredan. From the women’s table came louder praying as Sorer Imogen realized what had been said.
Then Sieur Horembaud glared at the Venezian. “What sort of traitor are you, that you would abjure your pilgrims’ oath and depart when faced with hardship?”
Loredan shook his head as if he were dealing with a temperamental child. “We’ve had hardship enough, and we are not sworn pilgrims as you are, we are observers, and we have seen as much as we need to; we swore to keep to your Rule while we traveled in your company, and we have done so, but we need not go on to the Chapel of the Holy Grail; we have learned all we need to know. We can now inform our Console, the Doge, and our Patriarch that this pilgrimage is too arduous for any but the most hardened sinners, and that the distances are greater than our merchants will want to travel.” He paused, letting what he said be taken in by all the pilgrims. “We will need two camels, two asses from among the animals you have; since we provided money for their food and upkeep, we are entitled to them. And the monk Zekri will be coming with us, to guide us once we part from the caravan.” His voice grew more confident as he spoke. “You knew that we reserved the right to turn back from the first. We do not ask any of the rest of you to do so; that would be contrary to our pledge to the pilgrimage. Now that you have been informed of our departure, Salvatore will move our goods out of our chamber and out of the stable tonight, and we will join the caravan bound for Edfu, and will claim our animals in the morning. We will pray for your pilgrimage.”
At the women’s table, Margrethe hissed Sorer Imogen to whisper; reluctantly the nun obeyed. “We need to listen,” Margrethe explained, and added, “Be sure you eat enough tonight, Sorer Imogen. This is no time to fast. Once we’re underway again, the food will be rationed.”
“As will the water and the wine, Sorer.” Lalagia shook her head. “It’s a bad business, having the Veneziani leave,” she said in Greek-accented Anglo-French, which she had learned from Sieur Arnoul during the years
they were together. “Some of the others are dissatisfied with our travels, and they may decide to forswear their vows and go back the way we came. Devout as they wish to be, they want to remain alive.”
“Why do that? After all the distance we have come, what is to be gained in turning back?” Margrethe asked. “Surely if they—who are not true pilgrims—have no desire to continue, it is our duty to release them from their … pledge.”
“They are experienced travelers, and they have a good supply of ducats with them, which we may need before we’re done, not only for food and shelter, but for bribes. Everyone says that pilgrims are expected to pay bribes.” Lalagia looked around as if she feared being overheard, then went on quietly, “Temi says that there are more slavers about than the ones here in the Gold Camp, and they would not hesitate to capture a company of pilgrims to add to their wares.”
“Mightn’t they keep the money and the pilgrims?” Margrethe’s tone was sharper, and she made no attempt to conceal the frisson of dread that the thought of capture and enslavement gave her.
“Those who trade with Veneziani know that any such chicanery could lead to warfare,” said Lalagia. “Sieur Arnoul told me that. Or are you thinking about Sandjer’min? I have seen your face when you catch sight of him, which shuts out the rest of the world as if you were alone in all of Africa and only he could find you. I felt that way about Sieur Arnoul, two years ago, so I know how a man can become a fire in the blood.”
Margrethe realized that challenging anything the missing Sieur Arnoul had said, or what Lalagia had confided in her, would be met with anger. “We’re a long way from any port where Venezia trades,” she said defensively, as if she had not heard what Lalagia had said. She tried to imagine where she might end up if she were captured and sold, but her mind balked at the notion. “It would take more than a year for a ransom to reach this place.”
“Knights held for ransom have often waited five years and more to be delivered from their captors,” said Lalagia, anxiety roughening her words. “I fear that Sieur Arnoul may be held captive, though there has been no demand for ransom.”
Night Pilgrims Page 21
