“Not fully, no, but I suspect she will be in a little while. She wants to talk to Cristofo d’Urbineau.”
“Why? The man is defrocked. It would be heresy to—”
“Do not fret, Bondame,” Sandjer’min said as gently as he could.
“But how can I not? She is here for the purpose of restoring my husband—”
“Her brother,” he reminded her.
“Whatever the matter, she would not be here but with me. She is suffering because I have brought her here.” She wiped away her tears, not willing to sob. “Were she still in her convent, she would be spared all this.”
“You don’t know this, Margrethe. Bad dreams know no limits, neither in place, nor in persons.” He took her chin in his hand and turned her head so that she would have to look directly at him; he could sense her yearning for succor and the solace of his kindness, and something more she refused to contemplate. “Whatever has happened to her, you are in no way to blame for it: believe this.”
“If it were not for me, she would not be here. How can this not be my fault?” Now she pressed her lips together to keep from sobbing.
“If it were not for your husband’s injuries, she would not be here, nor would you, nor would Heneri,” he reminded her with as little harshness as he could. “You three came for the same intent.”
She gave him a look of tentative hope. “Then perhaps God is testing us? Perhaps this is for the good of our souls.”
“Perhaps,” he said, keeping his doubt from his tone. “I have to fetch d’Urbineau. Give her the water if you will while I find him.”
“Shall I dress her? It would not be right for her to receive d’Urbineau in her night-rail.”
Sandjer’min shook his head. “You might try to gather her coverlet around her, but she might fight you about clothes, and she has bitten you once already.” He took her free hand and kissed it. “I will be back as quickly as I can.”
Margrethe did her best to smile, wanting him to stay near her and knowing he should not. “Thank you, Sidi. I knew you would help us.”
Outside the women’s tent, Sandjer’min paused long enough to scan the group of pilgrims gathered in the middle of the tents. A few of them milled about, but most just stood still in whatever shade they had found; only Sieur Horembaud spoke, his voice uncharacteristically low. Sandjer’min saw d’Urbineau standing with Frater Anteus, not far from Nicholas Howe, and he made for him, trying not to be distracted by the questions called out to him.
“I said, is she going to improve?” Sieur Horembaud bawled.
Sandjer’min stopped walking. “I don’t know. She is quiet for now, and that’s all to the good.”
Sieur Horembaud came toward him. “If she is going to continue to shriek about devils, I must know.”
“I don’t know that, not yet. Right now she wants to talk to d’Urbineau. I think it best that she be allowed to do so, although the Church would not approve,” Sandjer’min said quickly, hoping to forestall any on-going disputes about d’Urbineau’s defrocked status. “It may teach both of them humility.”
Sieur Horembaud scratched the stubble of his beard. “Do you think she would object if Frater Anteus goes with d’Urbineau? Then we could say he ministered to her, not d’Urbineau, and he could be a witness.”
“She won’t have Frater Anteus, and, before you ask, I have no idea why. In her present state I doubt she could explain it to anyone,” Sandjer’min said. “For now, I think it best that she see only d’Urbineau, as she requested. When she is more herself, she may agree to seeing Frater Anteus.”
“Is she possessed? Is that why she’s asked for a defrocked priest?” Sieur Horembaud asked, and nearly held his breath for the answer.
“No, I don’t think so; I think she feels safer with him than with Frater Anteus. She is overwrought and it will be better for her if we accommodate her. I believe she will abandon her terrors sooner if we provide what she asks for,” Sandjer’min said quickly. “Furthermore, I think she has practiced too many austerities—she has fasted too long and slept too little—and it has left her prey to her worst fears; in her weakened state she has become prey to unwholesome dreams.” He could see that Sieur Horembaud was not convinced, so he added, “She is also taken with a fever, so that may also account for her unhappy condition.”
“A fever? What manner of fever?” Sieur Horembaud was now seriously alarmed. “What of the rest of us?”
“I doubt any of you will take the fever from her,” said Sandjer’min. “I have an unguent your company may use to keep from taking the fever. I will see that all the company has some when I have finished with Sorer Imogen.”
“Will you use it before you return to the women’s tent?” There was an accusation of sorts in the question.
“It’s more important that the rest of the company have the unguent than that I do,” he said, and realized he had put it badly.
“But you will not use it?” Sieur Horembaud asked, his suspicions fully roused. “Why is that?”
“Because I am convinced the fever is not dangerous to me; those of my blood are rarely ill; you pilgrims have more use for it than I,” said Sandjer’min in utter candor; since he had wakened from his unsuccessful death more than thirty-two centuries ago, no disease, no matter how deadly to the living, had the power to touch him.
“God will protect you?” Sieur Horembaud persisted.
Sandjer’min met his eyes. “We can discuss this later, if you insist. For now, Sorer Imogen will need to speak with Cristofo d’Urbineau before we can travel on; night is coming, and we must make the most of it: this camp must be packed, the evening meal prepared and eaten, and all the animals watered before we—”
“Yes, yes,” Sieur Horembaud agreed impatiently. “Have d’Urbineau attend to the nun. I’ll get the servants to build the fire we will need to cook our supper, and then I’ll have them start to break up the camp. You’re right: we need to be ready to move out at dusk.” He all but shoved Sandjer’min away from him. “Get d’Urbineau. I’ll explain to Frater Anteus.”
Sandjer’min nodded and went to find the former priest, trying to decide how best to present Sorer Imogen’s requirement. He wished he knew how d’Urbineau had come to break the seal of Confession when he had explained the reason for his defrocking and this pilgrimage, for that would provide him with the means to approach the penitent priest.
“How did you get the woman to quit screeching?” d’Urbineau asked as he stopped rubbing sand out of the saddles set up atop their water-casks.
“I gave her my Word I would bring you to her,” Sandjer’min said.
“What does she want with me?” d’Urbineau asked in patent disbelief.
“I can’t tell you; she is still not recovered. Yet it seems that she wants you to be with her.” He shrugged, not in indifference but to show his helplessness.
“All right, I’ll come,” d’Urbineau said, setting down the saddle he had been cleaning. “If she Confesses, I can say nothing of what I hear,” he added. “I know the perils that attend on such lapses.”
“So I understand,” said Sandjer’min, taking the saddle from him and putting it with the others, tipped onto the front end on a wide cotton ground-cloth where all the tack was laid. “You will know how best to deal with her.”
D’Urbineau crossed himself. “If she starts to scream again, I will not remain.”
“I should think not,” said Sandjer’min, and led the way back to the two women’s tent, telling d’Urbineau what Sorer Imogen had said to him.
“Visions. Hah!” d’Urbineau exclaimed as they reached the tent. “Well, I’ll do what I can, but it may not help.”
“It is better to make the attempt, though,” said Sandjer’min, and lifted the flap so they could enter.
Margrethe had dressed herself, and was just securing her simple belt around her waist when she saw Sandjer’min return, closely followed by Cristofo d’Urbineau. She smoothed the front of her blue habit and lowered her eyes. “Thank yo
u for coming,” she said to the defrocked priest.
“It is what a man of my calling is expected to do,” said d’Urbineau with a sigh. “She has become quiet—that’s something.”
“Sandjer’min calmed her.” Margrethe glanced at him as she said this, then quickly looked away. “I have said I will leave you alone with her: she has asked that.”
“Does she also wish I leave?” Sandjer’min asked.
“Yes,” she said, and began to apologize.
“There is no need to find excuses for her, Bondame,” Sandjer’min said to her. “Come. I will give you a task to do so that the rest of the company will not pepper you with questions. We will not disturb Ruthier, who has laid down to rest.” He lifted the tent-flap for her. “Keep to the shade for now.”
“Where will you take me?” She sounded breathless.
“To the animals and their tack. Since d’Urbineau was cleaning it, and it must be finished, it would be fitting that you and I attend to it. The rest of the company is busy with their tasks already.” He stepped out into the sunlight, and winced at the force of it; the hand he offered to Margrethe was steady enough.
“I’ll finish here, then find you,” said d’Urbineau, making for the sheet as the tent-flap closed between them.
* * *
Text of a letter from Pendibe of Dongola, a translator working Nilotic towns and villages from the Third to the Fifth Cataract, to Yemuti, Coptic priest at the Third Cataract, written on papyrus in Nubian Coptic, and carried by a series of boatmen; delivered seventeen days after it was written.
Pendibe of Dongola to Yemuti at the Third Cataract, my report on the river:
I and my comrades have gone all the way to the place where the River Atbara joins the Nile, and everywhere people of the river are saying that the Inundation will begin sooner this year than last. Already the clouds in the south at night are filled with soundless lightning, and that means that the Nile will soon be high on its banks and racing. I, myself, have seen birds that fish at the water’s edge make nests higher up the bank than is their habit, and so we must surmise that the Inundation is not only coming early, it will be a heavier Inundation than usual. Docks and landings may suffer if they are not properly cared-for, and those who hope to fish through the Inundation will be disappointed, for even nets may not be enough to catch anything. Boats may not be able to withstand the flood at its height, and should be pulled out of the water.
The Blue Nile is likely to be more flooded than the White, at least at the beginning, so passage into the highlands of Ethiopia will be more difficult than usual. Some say that the Burning Mountains are creating the storms that flood the river, and it may be so, but I have heard nothing of eruptions, and as those mountains smoke often, I put little store by that belief.
Traders in Nuri and in Baruta have declared that they will not venture into the mountains until the Inundation is over; they fear not only the floodwaters, but those things that often come with floods: landslides and collapsing roads. I take their concerns most seriously, for any trader who is willing to be slow to market must be certain that the risk of trying to go there is greater than the risk of lower prices for their goods, and disadvantages in trade. Once the traders decide to move on, then there will be opportunities again to venture into the highlands.
If I should learn more, I will dispatch another report to you, but otherwise, this will be my last message to you until the floods recede and it is safe for fishermen and merchants to take to the river again.
In the Name of the Most Holy, may you abide in His favor.
6
“When you reach the foothills, you will need to have horses and asses only; you will not require camels, so I will take them, as we agreed, and I will find horses and asses for you to go on,” said Firouz as he paced around the campfire, lit equally by the fading sunset and the flames, his attenuated shadow undulating over the rippled sands as he made his way from the fire-pit to the gathering company, and back again. “I will go to Nuri and wait for those seeking to cross the desert to the south.”
Sieur Horembaud glared thunderously at their guide and translator as he heard Sandjer’min repeat in Anglo-French what Firouz had said. “Yes. Yes. We had an agreement, and it didn’t include you leaving us,” he said at last. “Now that we’re a night’s journey out from Baruta, you have decided to amend our terms?” Baruta was the market-village on the bank of the Nile between the Fourth and Fifth Cataracts where the river bent from its southwestern running current to a north-northwestern one; from Baruta, the Nile stretched up to the foothills of the jagged, green peaks of the Ethiopian Highlands. “All of you, keep your distance,” he ordered the pilgrims.
“Circumstances change,” said Firouz, unmoved by the fury in Sieur Horembaud’s eyes. “The Inundation is coming.”
“I would listen to him, Sieur Horembaud,” Sandjer’min told him when he had translated what Firouz had said.
“You knew that when we started out; so did we, for the Inundation comes every year. There is nothing new in it,” Sieur Horembaud reminded Firouz.
“Not quite every year; there are variations that are known to those who live on the rise and fall of the Nile,” said Firouz and added to Sandjer’min, “Why not tell him what the monks at the Visitation Monastery in Sese’metkra recorded in their accounts? They go back centuries, or so I’m told by Olu’we.”
“Do you think he would believe me?” Sandjer’min asked in rapid Arabic.
“He would, if Olu’we also—”
Sieur Horembaud interrupted. “What are you nattering on about?”
“Nothing to our immediate circumstances, Sieur Horembaud,” said Sandjer’min, then added to Firouz, “Tell him what he wants to know. I’ll make it intelligible to him.”
“What difference does it make?” Firouz asked petulantly.
“Tell him, or we’ll be here all night.”
Firouz sighed profoundly. “Yes, I knew the Inundation was coming, but I thought we would have three weeks more to reach the separation of the Blue and the White Nile before the water rose, and it appears that we do not; the signs are for heavy rains, and early. As it is, you may have to delay going up the Blue Nile if the Inundation is increasing to full force in the next month, and will remain so through your July. This is not a matter of negotiated terms, it is a matter of nature. The route is perilous when the waters are rising.” The guide lifted his right hand to show it was impossible for him to change the Inundation.
“And why do you believe that the Inundation will change so much, coming early? Do you understand God’s Will, that you are certain? Well? What convinces you that the Inundation can—”
“Because I listened to the slavers we encountered yesterday, who told us what they had seen and heard at Khemra, ten days since; you didn’t want any of your pilgrims dealing with them,” said Firouz as if the answer were obvious. “But I will tell you now what I learned from them. They crossed the Nile at Nuri, and were warned there as well that the signs are for an early start to the flooding. They said they had decided to make for the coast at once and not wait for more trade on the river.”
“More fools they,” Sieur Horembaud muttered, which Sandjer’min did not translate. “And you believed them, did you?” he asked, fixing Firouz with a hard stare.
“Yes. I have seen them myself: there were lights in the southern sky for the last two weeks, in the clouds at night, at the edge of sight. You must have seen them, the flickers on the southern horizon?” Firouz stretched, craning his neck while he extended his arms. “So I will not risk my animals and my life to take you farther up-river. I will stop at Baruta.”
“But if the Inundation is truly coming soon, you will have no travelers going north for many weeks. If you remain with us, there will be money in it for you. Isn’t staying with my company a wiser course to take than staying at Baruta?” Sieur Horembaud protested.
Sandjer’min saw that Sieur Horembaud was more frightened than angry, but would never admit it; h
e realized he would have to proceed with care. He turned to Firouz, speaking before Sieur Horembaud could frame another question. “Is there no way a compromise can be reached? Surely you realize that you are putting the pilgrims in danger if you are not with this company. You will receive the full measure of pay that was agreed upon for your services. If you remain in Baruta, you will not be paid for the last part of the journey. No one but you knows the way into the mountains.”
“There is the river. Any fool can follow it,” Firouz said bluntly, then went on more reasonably. “You knew I would leave you at the division of the Blue and White Nile. I am going to do what is sensible and leave when we reach the trading station at Baruta,” said Firouz, sounding more stubborn than before.
“But this is intolerable,” Sieur Horembaud burst out when Sandjer’min translated for him. “You must go with us to that division of the Nile.”
“I’m afraid I cannot take such a risk, not with early floods. You are facing a delay in travel, and you cannot get into the mountains without following the river. The course of the Nile is narrower here than in Egypt, and narrower still in the mountains. Where the river is contained in steep banks, it flows very fast, and will do so in short order. Allah has provided a warning, and I must heed it.” He turned from Sandjer’min to Sieur Horembaud. “I have a family to support, and Allah does not require that I assume the hazards of others, especially not on behalf of infidel foreigners.” He waited while Sandjer’min translated this, then added, “I am willing to help you to try to find a guide, one who will not rob you, or sell you.”
Hearing this last from Sandjer’min, Sieur Horembaud had to struggle to contain his wrath. At last, when he could trust himself to speak, he said, “Gudjei told me you are an honorable man. Yet you are going to—”
Firouz nodded. “And so I am an honorable man. I have told you my plans, rather than simply desert you. I could take my camels and leave you during the day, while you sleep, but I haven’t done that. I am willing to assist you to continue your pilgrimage, as I agreed to do at the first. And do not think to set your servants and slaves to guard me: I will not be constrained by men of that order.”
Night Pilgrims Page 24
