The letters Sidi Rakoczy Sandjer’min carries with him are not to be opened or removed from his care, for it is his sworn duty to see them safely into the hands of the Aba’yams for whom they are intended, and those who interfere with his mission stand in the way of sinners and will answer for their insolence. For those who assist him in his duty, praise and glory to them.
Sidi Rakoczy Sandjer’min’s two companions are to be shown the same regard as he and are not to be used to bargain with or influence him in the accomplishment of his tasks, for that will be the same as if Sidi Rakoczy Sandjer’min were treated in like kind. Any breach of honor will not be absolved, nor will deliberate encumbrance receive the blessing that is repentance.
By the hand of Aba’yam Emerta Hodilleilo
The Church and Monastery of the Redeemer
The Feast of the Holy Sepulchre
8
Along the docks at the base of the Pilgrims’ Trail there was a great deal of activity. With the Inundation finally coming to an end for the year, the water level had begun to drop and the current was less tempestuous than it had been a month ago; the reflection of lightning in the southern clouds still flashed in the night sky, but not as furiously, nor as often. Pilgrims were once again arriving at Dofunj to begin their overland journey into the Ethiopian Highlands, or to depart from having been there. Two large barge-boats had just arrived from down-stream, both with large companies of pilgrims in them. On the far side of the most up-stream dock, a double-hulled barge-boat waited, its elevated fenced deck with raised platform at the rear was fixed to the two long, narrow paddled boats that were manned by six oarsmen each. Amidship was a structure that could provide shelter from the inexorable sun and housing for animals traveling on the Nile. A steering-oar attached to the rear of the elevated deck, and it was in the hands of a tall, lean man who stood on the raised platform in clothes Sandjer’min had come to recognize as Ethiopian. Drawing in the reins of his horse—an older gray gelding with a mottled coat and dark-gray mane and tail—Sandjer’min pointed to the barge-boat. Behind him, Margrethe pulled her mare to a halt. Ruthier, bringing up the rear, led their other horses and their pack-asses bearing all they were carrying down-river.
The man holding the steering-oar had been scanning the confusion on the docks, one hand lifted to block out the burnished afternoon sun from his eyes; the air was a babble of languages and the rush of the Nile. He caught sight of the three travelers, two in pilgrims’ blue, one in black, with horses and laden asses. He shouted in Coptic, “You in black! On the light-gray horse. Are you Sidi Sandjer’min?”
“I am,” he called back in the same language, then indicated Margrethe and Ruthier and their animals. “The two with me are my company. The horses and asses are our beasts. We are here to set out to the north at your convenience, if you are Nohe BetreMussie.”
“I am. You are here in good time. My slaves are in the market getting food and water for our journey, and the oarsmen are finishing their meal,” he said, waving his hand to indicate the empty elevated deck. “They should return shortly.”
“Then we should be away before sunset?” Sandjer’min inquired.
“That is what you requested and what you shall have since you are generous; the oarsmen are willing to travel by night because you are paying them handsomely, but if there is trouble, we must go by daylight,” said BetreMussie. “Aba’yam Hodilleilo’s courier was quite specific. I purchased more lanthorns and oil for them with the money you provided.”
“Very good,” Sandjer’min approved. “I have the payment you require for the journey to the Third Cataract, in gold as stipulated, when the balance for the voyage to Alexandria will be paid to you, and we will use other craft to reach the sea. If you will lower a gangplank, we will come aboard before your crew returns from their meal; we will try to be stowed and settled by day’s end.” He was more fatigued than he wanted to admit, for he, Ruthier, and Margrethe had left the Monastery of the Redeemer six days ago and traveled through all but the mid-day, when they took time to rest, to feed and water their animals, and to provide Margrethe with a proper meal. The strain of this demanding pace had taken a toll on them all.
BetreMussie laughed as if this were a great joke, but unfastened the ropes that held a gangplank with low cross-bars to make loading and unloading easier out of its housing on the deck and put it in place, connecting the dock to the barge-boat. “I will string the arm-pulls, if you will give me a little time.”
“Of course,” said Sandjer’min, and repeated to Margrethe and Ruthier what his exchange with BetreMussie had been. “From what Aba’yam Emerta Hodilleilo’s messenger told me when we encountered him bound south on the trail four days ago, this craft is sturdy and you, the captain, are reliable.”
“Do you know what the messenger told him about you?” Margrethe asked, feeling uneasy with this unknown boat-captain.
“That there were three of us in this company, two pilgrims, one a woman, and me, your translator. The messenger informed BetreMussie that you and Ruthier would be in blue and I in black, and that I had served Sieur Horembaud’s company as a physician as well as a translator, and I have shown the notification of Sieur Horembaud’s death to BetreMussie. If there was more, he didn’t mention it to me.” He put his hand to the purse in the sleeve of his worn cotehardie. There was gold enough for their travels, but not so much more than that as he would have liked; he would not be able to make more until he reached his apartments in Alexandria, behind the offices of Eclipse Trading Company. “I will pay for the boat to which we transfer at the Third Cataract, and the one we will use after the First.”
“Understood,” said BetreMussie from his vantage point on the platform of the deck. Fixing round posts topped with near-circular iron cuffs into prepared holes at the sides of the gangplank, BetreMussie listened to the three of them converse in Anglo-French, taking care not to betray his knowledge of the language; he knew the advantage such information gave him was lost if his comprehension was discovered. Once the ropes had been strung through the cuffs on the posts, the captain stepped back and made the traditional Coptic gesture of welcome. “Come aboard, Sidi. You and your companions are welcome. My men will be here shortly, and when they and their belongings are aboard, we will leave.”
Sandjer’min made the gesture of thanks before he dismounted and, after a moment’s hesitation as he recalled Sieur Horembaud’s fall from the bridge over the Atbara, led his gelding up to the gangplank, feeling the vertigo that running water always awakened in him; he took hold of the ropes that served as railing and stepped aboard. On the deck he steadied himself and moved the horse toward the covered portion of the barge that would serve as a stable and sleeping quarters for their northward journey. As he came up to BetreMussie, Sandjer’min slipped the purse out of his sleeve and handed it to the captain. “Venezian ducats, as you asked.”
BetreMussie winkled the purse away from him, slipping it into a sack that hung from his braided-leather belt. “God give you good fortune and peace.”
“And make the voyage a safe one for all of us.” Sandjer’min led the gray gelding out of the sun, into the double row of stalls on the raised platform, where he traded his bridle for a halter, and secured the lead-rope to the side of the open manger. “We will have food for all the horses and asses; my companion will see to it.”
“Very good,” said BetreMussie, and went back to the top of the gangplank to direct Margrethe and Ruthier aboard the ship. They were soon on board, all but one of their chests piled and secured in place by nets fastened to cleats in the deck of the barge. Ruthier took over the task of caring for the animals while Sandjer’min set up his chest of his native earth on the rear of the stable, a heavy dark canvass tarpaulin rigged from the stable roof to make a partial tent. Margrethe came to see how he was progressing with this secondary structure, saying, “You were right: I’ll take one of the stalls and make it my sleeping place; it is the most private place on the deck. The horses and asses will be able to g
uard me.”
“That they will,” Sandjer’min agreed. “You can use straw to make a pallet to sleep on, and Ruthier will sleep at the other end of the stable.”
“Sleep in straw, like rushes at home? I liked to sleep in the rushes when I was a child, in Rutland.” She touched his hand, then took a step away. “Three oarsmen in each of the long boats, you said?”
“Yes. We will travel as much at night as we can, and rest during the heat of the day, or so BetreMussie promised Aba’yam Hodilleilo through his courier.” He looked around at the small open boats working among the barge-boats, their oarsmen crying their wares, their foods, their services. “Pilgrims and merchants. Dofunj has managed to survive because of them, though Funj itself has faded from a city to a village, or so Tsega told me.”
Margrethe stopped a sigh. “How long will it take us to reach the Fifth Cataract?”
“The current is still running fast,” said Sandjer’min. “Three, perhaps four days, with the oarsmen adding to the flow.”
“Coming up-river was slower.”
“We were going against the current, and even in spring, it is powerful; it’s strongest at the height of the Inundation,” he told her.
“Which has passed, hasn’t it?” she asked him, staring out at the small crafts jostling at mid-stream. “I can feel it coil and twist.”
“As I can,” he said, fighting down the queasiness that was rising in him; he swayed as the craft rocked gently. “I … I fear I must lie down, the river is bothering me.”
“Does it bother you, being on water? They say Lionheart had the same malady.”
“Then he must have had a difficult journey to the Holy Land,” Sandjer’min remarked.
“Why not sit on the chests? You’d best wait to lie down until we are underway.” She pointed toward the gangplank and the first of the oarsmen coming onto the raised barge-deck, the first of them carrying a canvass bag filled with sand.
He nodded. “A good thought,” he said, and gritted his teeth against the incendiary presence of the sun.
The oarsmen were Nubians, although one had facial features that revealed a few Egyptian ancestors; most were dressed in smock-like chamises over loose, knee-length femoralie, and were barefoot. Two wore their hair clubbed at the back of the neck, and the rest confined their hair with broad bands around their heads above their eyes. They deposited the items they carried—casks of beer, more sacks of sand, a small barrel of olive oil—near the center of the deck, then went to their stations, adjusted their seat-planks, and prepared to go down the river. BetreMussie came to the edge of the deck and called out questions to the oarsmen, first on the right, then on the left side of the craft. The answers he was given were satisfactory, and he returned to the steering-oar at the back of the boat; he stood on the platform four steps above the deck to give himself an unimpaired view of the river. He watched as a larger barge-boat than this one, coming from up-river, slowed carefully and swung in to the dock below this last one.
There was a commotion at the foot of the gangplank: the slaves had arrived with provisions. They came aboard with crates and sacks which they disposed in low-lying trunks built into the foredeck, working efficiently. The most senior of the slaves—a man of perhaps thirty or thirty-two—bowed to BetreMussie, then to the three passengers. “There is food for tonight that is already cooked. Later we will have to prepare what we eat,” he said in Egyptian Coptic. “In the morning, the eggs we bought will still be fresh.”
“The oarsmen brought sand to line the pit for the fire, so we may cook safely. Will we have to go ashore to get more?” BetreMussie asked, more for Sandjer’min’s benefit than his own; he knew his ship’s routine better than anyone.
“Of course we will, if it is needed,” said the eldest slave. “We will attend to the cooking-fire night and day if it is necessary.”
“I know you will,” said BetreMussie, glancing in Sandjer’min’s direction.
The larger barge-boat had finally sidled into position, and was tying up to the wooden stanchions on the dock, the slaves on its high deck already preparing to unload the boat.
“We have a chance now,” said BetreMussie, raising his voice. “Prepare to leave.” The activity on the deck increased, and two of the oarsmen nearest the dock loosened the lines on the stanchions they used, gathering in the heavy ropes to the long, narrow boats that bore the platform of the deck. “Sidi, is your man going to stand guard on the bow this afternoon, or will he wait until tomorrow morning?”
“He will take up his place as soon as we are beyond Dofunj. I will take his place at night, after he hands the lanthorns over,” Sandjer’min replied. “For now, I will rest so that I will not doze tonight.”
“What about food? Shall we wake you?” BetreMussie asked.
“It won’t be necessary; I’ll dine later,” Sandjer’min answered, and prepared to lie down on his mattress-topped chest of his native earth. Before he pulled down the flap, he said to Margrethe, “You need rest as well as I do. Build your place in your stall. Ruthier will make sure you are not disturbed.”
She nodded and helped him to secure the flap, then stepped out of the sunlight into the shadow of the stable, where the smell of horses and asses was so strong it was a physical presence in the confined space. She noticed the two long slots at the edge of the lines of stalls and realized that it was an open trough with a baffle which allowed the ordure and sullied straw to be swept into the river without having to brush it across the deck. With a faint smile, she went into the unoccupied stall and used one of the rakes in the containers outside the stall doors; she began to heap up the straw, shaping it like a pallet, then went to claim the light-weight blanket she had slept under for their journey from the Monastery of the Redeemer,
“Would you like my help?” Ruthier asked her as she came back into the stable; he was tending to the animals, making sure each of them had grain and bundles of drying grasses.
“No. I can manage with what I have.” She unrolled the blanket and used it to keep the shape of the straw.
“There are knots of camphor leaves that will keep the pests away,” he suggested. “I have enough and to spare.”
“All right,” she said, recalling how effectively such knots had kept flies, fleas, and other biting insects away. “And thank you.”
“I’ll wake you when my master relieves my watch at the front of the boat,” he said. “If you want some figs, I’ll have some for you later.”
“That would be welcome,” she said, sinking down on the pile of straw and taking her place on it.
For the rest of the afternoon and into the luminous evening, the barge-boat slipped along the Nile, going at a fairly quick pace, passing some of the smaller vessels, held back by others. As the night deepened, the number of boats diminished, some to tie up at the shore, others to anchor in eddies, still others to gather in clusters around a central location, and to rotate slowly through the night.
“They’re like a clock,” Margrethe said as she came up to Sandjer’min, who was keeping watch at the bow of the deck; she stayed an arm’s-length away from him, aware that they were being watched.
“That they are,” he agreed, a bit surprised that this would occur to her.
“I saw a clock in Noirmoutier once, at the Abbey de Sant-Marc. It sounded the Hours for the Fratres.” She thought a long moment. “Sieur Dagoberht had wanted one for Saunt-Felicite, but then he had his fall and the fever, so nothing came of it.”
“You’ve had your food and you’re growing tired in spite of your nap,” he said as sensibly as he could, feeling her desire mounting again; the night they had spent an hour together on their journey to Dofunj had ended with kisses; now he felt his esurience flare again. “Perhaps we should talk tomorrow evening.”
“Do you plan to sleep all day?” she asked, curious as to why he might do so.
“No, only for the mid-day when the sun and water are omnipotent,” he said, “but in the afternoon, I’ll need to consult with BetreMus
sie about what lies ahead; I’ve never been here before.” Hearing himself admit so much startled him; he explained as much for himself as for her. “I want to find out what landmarks and villages lie between here and the First Cataract, so I will know what to look for when I stand my watch.”
“Then you’ll be keeping watch in the night all through our journey,” she said.
“Yes. Those of my blood see well at night, and sometimes can be blinded by bright sunlight if it is shining off water all day long.” Two decades since, he had experienced what was called sand-blindness on his journey to Karakhorum, and some centuries earlier he had another case of it, on the road to Damascus. “This way, I am being most useful with the least risk.” He reached out to take her hand and bowed over it. “I have pledged to see you back to your husband, and I’ll strive to fulfill my promise.”
She yawned. “I lack your diligence, Sidi,” she said, and turned away to return to her stall.
On the slopes down to the river, scrub and fine pebbles gave way to hardpan and dust, which became rock and sand as they moved northeastward on the last of the yearly Inundation. When they passed the Atbara, Sandjer’min was surprised to see how much its water was reduced from when Sieur Horembaud had attempted to cross it.
BetreMussie laughed. “In a month it will be only a stream; in two, it will be gone until next year.”
At the Fifth Cataract the river was still swift and high, so they took two days to pull the barge-boat to the shore, dismantle it, load it on the asses and spare horses to carry it down the zig-zag path beside the Nile for reassembly; they were among a dozen other crews doing the same thing with their boats. At the end of the narrow road there was a broad landing where boats could be reassembled and crews could camp for the night. From sundown to sunrise, groups of armed boatmen patrolled the edge of the camp, carrying lanthorns and torches to keep away the creatures of the night. In the morning, a number of crocodiles gathered at the edge of the landing, sometimes coming near to the men and animals waiting to return to the river. As BetreMussie’s men got the deck-platform into place, a crocodile rushed the slave nearest the water, rushing up onto the shore to bite his leg. The slave yelled, dropped the shim he was working into position, and tried to break free of the crocodile. The boat shifted and canted onto its side, half into the current.
Night Pilgrims Page 43
