Dante and Radovan both pulled their horses to one side to get between her and the crowd, which gave way before them. Both men also drew their swords. “What is wrong with you?” Radovan shouted at them. “This isn’t the time for such foolishness.”
“There’s never a time for acting like beasts, but that won’t stop them,” Dante muttered.
The crowd backed up at the threat of harm. “Easy, strangers,” said the man who had first spoken. “No need to spoil our fun, is there? Like I said, no harm in some fun before we all die. Isn’t that what the Good Book tells us? ‘Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.’ We were just offering to make merry with this fine lady.” The crowd chuckled, though much more restrained than before. “And it’s not very Christian of you not to share, I’m thinking.” The crowd grumbled some agreement, but despite their numbers, the way they tottered and laughed and retched, Dante hardly felt threatened by them, just disgusted.
Adam still seemed to think common sense and self-interest would work, though Dante doubted it would have any more effect than trying to argue biblical interpretation or Christian morality with such men. “Friends,” Adam began. “The dead have obviously been here. Perhaps you fought them off the first time, but there will be more, and the army right behind them, to destroy you all. Surely you can see that. Please, flee – either to escape the army or to beg their mercy.. Please do it and give up this madness.”
The crowd was already losing interest in them, going back to the barrels and bottles and platters that held more reliable and less contentious distractions. “Ah, some bookish, churchly, old fop and a couple of loons with pig stickers. Begone!” Black beard waved them off as he turned away. “Not worth getting my nose bloodied for a knocked up skirt like her anyway. Better just to drink away the memory of skirts, and children, and work, and dead people walking around. Right boys?” The crowd cheered at this. Black beard raised a tankard. “Here’s to dulling the pain. The only thing fit for a day like today! Or any other!” The crowd roared even louder, then Dante heard a flute from somewhere in the crowd, and they broke out into song again. This time Dante was close enough to make out the words:
Oh Fiddler’s Green is a lovely place,
Where no scolds stop you from stuffing your face!
The weather’s always fine, there’s never a storm.
And everything’s beautiful – no rust and no worm!
And work? What work? There’s nothing to do!
Except eat fine dainties and drink the best brew!
There’s a river of wine, and trees that drip brandy.
And under each tree – a wench with a fig sweet as candy!
So if I’ve been laid low by Jehovah or some spirit unclean,
Then just look for me, friends, on Fiddler’s Green!
The song degenerated into random laughter and shouted obscenities, accompanied by the sound of smashing tables and glasses, as the newcomers were forgotten completely and the men returned to what they did best and most cheerfully with their lives.
As Dante pulled the reins to the left to get his horse moving forward, he looked over to Bogdana. He was aghast to see her off her horse, leading it by the reins and making her way toward the crowd.
“What the hell are you doing?” he said, pulling his horse back the other way to get closer to her.
She’d taken another step. Now Dante noticed an unconscious man on the ground not far from her, a generous shank of roasted pig held across his chest. Bogdana nimbly lunged for the food, snatched it out of the man’s hands, then turned and swung herself back on to her horse, before any of the semi-conscious members of the crowd took a renewed interest in her. She turned her horse and came up next to Dante, biting into the meat as she went, pink juices welling up out of it and on to her lips.
“What were you thinking?” he scolded her. Seeing her ripping off the glistening, greasy meat with her teeth nearly made him gag. “How the hell can you eat now?”
She chewed as she eyed him, tilting her head down a little and cocking an eyebrow. “You are an exceptionally kind man,” she said. “And I think a very smart one, too. But I know for certain you have never been pregnant, and you can have no idea what roasting meat smells like to me right now, and how it makes me feel. So please, just look away if it bothers you, and let me eat.”
Dante looked at her eyes, which were as stern and as beautiful as Beatrice’s, but much more simple and direct. They filled him with a different kind of strength. Not the strength of wonder and awe, but of appreciation and a kind of freedom, so long as he could look into them without noticing the animal leg, which she was so savagely tearing into. He could just manage this trick, if he held his head up and squinted a bit, which he gladly did, so as not to retch or lose courage.
Over to Dante’s left, Radovan said, “Let’s go,” just before several long, high-pitched screams of fear and pain assailed them from the far side of the crowd.
Chapter 16
Cerberus, monster cruel and uncouth,
With his three gullets like a dog is barking
Over the people that are there submerged.
Dante, Inferno, 6.13-15
At first Dante couldn’t tell what was happening. Then he looked where the crowd was parting, men running and screaming in all directions, and he could see the enormous dog they had been using for sport had broken free from its tether and was now running amok. The animal bit and tore at the men, and when it caught one and took him down with a crippling bite, it didn’t stay on him, but immediately got up to attack another man. Its rampage was doing the most damage to the greatest number of men. Dante thought if several of the men stood together, they might be able to get the animal back under control. Instead, every man scurried randomly around the area, crashing into others, sometimes knocking one another down, where they were even more helpless against the dog’s attacks. Some dashed into the buildings nearby, or ran down the streets. Then Dante heard another roar and looked to where the two bears were. The mother bear had also torn free from her bonds. The cub was still attached to her by the rope, and they were tearing a swath through the crowd, driving some of the drunken, panicked men back toward the dog.
Dante thought perhaps they should do something to help, or at least make a move to get away from there, but the whole scene of pandemonium held him mesmerized. It didn’t include just the vicarious, indulgent cruelty of a public execution or flogging. What they were watching now was even more enjoyable, because there was more going on, like some terrible, violent, random dance put on for them. It was, for Dante, a consciously guilty pleasure, but he nonetheless sat there with the others, dumbstruck and enthralled. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Bogdana kept on eating, steadily gnawing the shank down to the bone as the men dispersed or fell screaming and bleeding to the ground.
After just a few seconds of furious animal violence, the three marauding creatures cleared the area and now stood before Dante and his friends. Oddly, the bears and the dog barely seemed to notice one another now, but stood there with all their attention focused on the four people on horseback. Dante’s attention moved between the three wild animals, even more captivating now in their still and savage beauty than they had been in their frantic orgy of destruction. The cub was the least bloodied of the trio, its mother the most injured. So many teeth and claws must have raked her flesh for the sake of her young. Both of them seemed more bent and diminished from the ordeal than the dog, but all three animals looked powerfully in control, their large knots of muscle tensing slightly as they shifted their weight, their fur sleek and surprisingly clean. They did not growl or roar, nor did they blink. Their eyes were tranquil in their blankness, like polished obsidian. For what seemed to Dante a very long time, the only sounds were the moans of the wounded men, the ragged, wet panting of the three beasts, and the occasional neighing of their horses, nervous to be so near such wild, dangerous animals.
“They’re only animals,” Adam observed. “They know how to beha
ve.”
“Well, I’d still like them to get out of the way, so we can move on,” Radovan said.
“Hey, doggie,” Bogdana said, leaning to the right and dangling the bone she had cleaned of most all its flesh. Dante’s eyes went wide at the sight of her small hand holding the greasy bone. He thought despite how nimble she was, the giant dog could probably lunge and bite through her wrist before she could pull it back. She was smiling and making clicking sounds, however, as she shook the bone at it. The dog crouched, still not growling, but coiled, ready to spring, its eyes now fixed on the prize she held. “No trick, just treat! Now find the way out of this mess! Hyah!”
Bogdana flung the bone back down the street they had come in on, and the dog tore after it, the two bears following right behind. It only took the dog a second to snatch the morsel up, and when it did, it looked back at them, though it made no move to return to them. The bears went shambling by the dog as it gnawed on its prize, then it too followed them down the street, back toward the town gate.
The three men stared at Bogdana, eyebrows raised, mouths slightly open.
“What?” she said, looking from the fleeing animals back to the men. “It was only a dog. You yourself said it behaved well.”
Adam smiled and shook his head. “I didn’t know you trusted my judgments so completely.”
She shrugged. “Well, not really, but I’ve seen a lot of dogs before. It wasn’t acting like it was going to attack. Bears are harder to judge, of course, especially a mother with its young, but they didn’t look like they’d harm us, either. They just needed an excuse to run away, a prize, something to make them think they were choosing to do so and not just being told to – sort of a way to save face.” She moved her gaze between the three of them. “What, you don’t think animals need to save face too, feel proud of themselves and not ashamed?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. They’re not so hard to understand, if you’d just pay attention. Now, let’s get out of here.” She nudged her horse’s flanks with her heels. Dante and the others followed her away from there. Dante constantly looked over his shoulder, though he saw nothing other than the empty buildings, the overturned tables, the spilled food, and the moaning, writhing bodies scattered on the corrupted ground.
Chapter 17
“For all the gold that is beneath the moon,
Or ever has been, of these weary souls
Could never make a single one repose.”
Dante, Inferno, 7.64-66
They kept moving further into the town, past more deserted buildings. As before, there were no signs of the living or dead. Dante looked up and saw the sky remained featureless and still, the clouds unmoving and oddly dry looking, like a dusty shroud over them. He thought how refreshing some rain would feel on his face, but also thought it might impede their progress, muddying the roads and making it harder to see. For the time being they were moving ahead steadily, making for the other side of the town, where he hoped they could exit through another gate and continue on their way, perhaps making better time once they were out in the wilderness again.
From somewhere up ahead, they heard a commotion. It wasn’t as loud as the drunken party had been, but it also didn’t sound as cheerful, consisting of the sound of breaking glass, some crashes--like the sound of boxes being dropped and smashed--and men cursing.
They came around a bend in the street to find the source of the noise – four men trying to load a large cart, which was attached to two sturdy looking horses. One of the men was well-dressed, as was a woman who sat atop the cart, holding the reins to the horses. The other men were dressed in coarser, simpler clothes. The cart was already loaded to the point where it was difficult to imagine how the men intended to climb aboard it themselves, yet they continued to cram crates and bundles on to it, tying them to the other contents in an attempt to keep them from falling off. Two crates lay broken on the street next to the cart, and one man was scooping up their contents – clothes and some metal objects, like candlesticks and pots and pans – and tossing them into the nooks and crannies between other packages on the cart.
“You there,” Adam addressed them. “You’re preparing to escape? You know the dead are nearby?”
The well-dressed man stopped to answer, as the other men kept loading the impossibly-full cart. “Yes, of course.”
“Good,” Adam continued. “But really, shouldn’t you hurry? It’d be better just to leave all this stuff behind.”
The man waved him off, turning his attention back to directing the other men loading the cart, who took his orders as though they were his servants. “No, no, of course we can’t just leave everything! That’s ridiculous! Don’t be silly! It’s bad enough we have to leave all the furniture and big items, not to mention the house! We can’t leave all the smaller valuables as well!”
Adam looked to Dante and shook his head. “I see,” he said. “Well, could you tell us where the gate is on this side of town?”
The man gestured down the street they were on. “Just follow this street. It’s not far from here.”
“And is that gate open, would you happen to know?” Dante asked. The idea of having to backtrack through this town, with its strange, unpredictable inhabitants, was extremely unappealing to him right now. Not to mention all the time they’d lose if they had to double back. Indeed, he felt sure either the delay or the inhabitants could prove fatal to them at this point.
“How should I know?” the man said in a huff. “Now can you please just leave us alone? We need to finish here!” He was acting frustrated, probably because it was becoming clear even to him that all the bundles and crates they had piled up on the street were simply not going to go on the cart, no matter what they did, how hard they tried, or how much he wanted them to fit. Indeed, as he yelled at his servants to be careful with some package of goods, and gave directions on how better to stack the things, one of the ropes snapped and several more crates hit the pavement with the sound of splitting wood and shattering crockery.
“Really, perhaps you should go now,” Adam suggested. “We could go with you to the gate, and we’d all make it out of here.”
“Curse you!” the man yelled. “Stop distracting these useless dolts! Just begone! We can’t fit the cart through that gate anyway. It’s too small! We’ll go to the main gate!”
Adam still tried to reason. “But the army is coming that way. They’ll be here very soon.”
“Just leave, damn your hide!”
Dante watched, with the same sick fascination as he had watched the animals attacking the drunken men before, as the man began kicking at two of the servants, who were scrambling on the ground to pick up some of the unbroken items. Then Dante caught another motion out of the corner of his eye and heard a sickly groan, savage and unrestrained, but at the same time dry, hoarse, and pathetic. He turned to see a dead man clutching at Radovan, who reeled from the loathsome touch, lost his balance, and tumbled off his horse on the other side. Dante saw two more dead people, a man and a woman, slightly behind the first attacker.
Bogdana gave a shriek of surprise. She was off her horse before anyone else could react. She didn’t bother with an improvised weapon this time, but snatched a hatchet from her saddlebag. The way she had it in her hand so quickly, she must have deliberately packed it so it would be easy to bring forth as a weapon. Dante hadn’t noticed that particular precaution on her part, and although he thought how he should be used to it by now, he could not help again wondering at her preparedness and savagery.
Adam dismounted as well, while Dante stayed in the saddle and drew his sword as he wheeled his horse around. Fortunately for Radovan, falling as he did put his horse between himself and his attackers.
“God’s blood!” he cursed as he drew his own sword.
The dead man was clawing at the horse, still trying to get at Radovan, and that made the animal neigh and jump forward. As it did, Radovan raised his sword, and as soon as the animal was clear, he smashed the blade on to th
e dead man’s head. But this walking corpse was wearing a helmet. The blow threw him to the side and off balance, but it didn’t crush or penetrate his skull. His arms clawed out in front of himself as he came back to a standing posture and his groan rose in pitch to a howl of rage.
Radovan drew back his sword for a thrust, then shoved the point up through his attacker’s neck and on through to the back of his head. The dead man clutched at the blade, the sharp edges digging into his palms as he thrashed about, yanking the blade around, thereby widening the wound in his neck and further shredding the base of his brain with the sword tip. But this last spasm prevented Radovan from pulling back his sword, and the other two dead people were almost on him as well. Before they could attack, Bogdana had closed with the other dead man, drawing the hatchet back across her left shoulder as she ran, and then she brought it down diagonally on to his head. The blow buried the iron blade two inches into the dead man’s skull. She kicked him in the stomach as she pulled back on the hatchet, sending him to the ground, where he lay still.
At the same time, Dante had come up on the other side of Radovan and raised his sword against the dead woman. She turned her attention from Radovan to look at the blade raised above her head. Whatever had killed her, it had left her face uninjured, and she had clearly been a young and pretty woman, perhaps no older than Bogdana. Her hair was blonde and curly, her figure more voluptuous than Bogdana’s; her clothes were finely sewn, with lace around the neck, and she still had on some jewelry. She looked, in short, much more like the kind of woman Dante was used to – pampered, feminine, fragile, demure. At least until she bared her bloody teeth and snarled with all the rage and hunger a human mouth could spit forth at the uncaring world, and the cruel blade held above her. But even then, Dante held his hand, shaking slightly with a terrible fear at the perverted beauty in front of him, and with a sickly disgust at his own impotence and confusion.
Valley of the Dead (The Truth Behind Dante's Inferno) Page 9
