Iri’ty smiled, and answered in Coptic, “We will.” He turned to Sieur Horembaud and relayed this very basic information. “I will leave you once I am ashore. My wives and children will be eager to have me home, and I don’t want to keep them waiting; they have been waiting for my return since the end of the last Inundation,” he said in hesitant Arabic, and waited while Frater Anteus translated for Sieur Horembaud, then Iri’ty added, “I want the last of my money now, Sieur.”
“I’ll give it to you tomorrow,” Sieur Horembaud said through Frater Anteus.
“Now,”’ Iri’ty insisted. “My family is depending on it.”
Sieur Horembaud steadied himself as the boat turned into the quiet water between the piers. “My strong-case is on the second barge. I won’t be able to get your money until that barge is unloaded.”
Iri’ty glowered at this information, and said to Frater Anteus, “Tell the Sieur that I will wait. Or I will come to the travelers’ quarter later tonight. I will be paid.”
“You’ll have to pay him before you retire,” Frater Anteus told Sieur Horembaud in Greek. “He won’t be willing to wait until tomorrow. Let me tell him you will expect him when you have finished your evening meal.”
“I was afraid he might make such a demand,” said Sieur Horembaud in an undervoice. “We don’t know what the good people of Edfu will charge us for the use of their landing, or our lodging and food. And we still have to buy camels when we cross the desert. Still, you’re right. I gave him my Word, and I must pay him.”
The prow of the boat nudged into the pier as the large latine sails were furled, the lines creaking as they ran through their block-and-tackles. The activity on the landing intensified as each vessel pushed toward the stanchions to which they were directed. Boarding-planks were set in place, and the pilgrims began to leave the boats, most of them moving stiffly from their long hours of inactivity, and were pointed in the direction of Edfu, a bit more than a hundred paces away. From what they could see from the landing-piers, in the town itself, many of the buildings glittered with light, and the travelers’ quarter had a galleried market-square that still sizzled with activity. A slave was dispatched to lead them into the town.
The barge on which Sandjer’min rode was the first of the three allowed to tie up, and as soon as it did, Sieur Horembaud jumped aboard, saying without greeting, “I need you to talk to the landing-master. We have to arrange for our animals and goods as well as a safe place for Torquil—how is he doing, by the way?—and the nun.”
Sandjer’min stretched, easing the ache in his muscles that running water brought him. “Torquil is not doing as well as I hoped. It has proven more difficult than I anticipated to keep him watered, and he suffers because of it; his skin that should be healing is cracking instead. His unburned skin is loose and dry. Where his blisters have burst, the skin weeps, and I have much to do to keep him from thrashing about and tearing those ruptures. He needs to sleep in a cool and sheltered room, and given water through the night. I have added a little syrup of poppies to what water he will drink so that he can rest without dreadful pain.” He came to the edge of the barge as the boarding-plank was set in place; he did not look down into the water, for he knew it would make him more light-headed than he already was. “The nun is at her prayers. She wants to see her sister-in-law and her half-brother as soon as possible.”
“I can understand that,” said Sieur Horembaud and raised his voice. “Sorer Imogen, if you will come with me, I’ll take you to Bondame Margrethe and Heneri.” Then he addressed Sandjer’min again. “Go and speak to the landing-master. I’ll join you there directly.”
“I’ll fetch my case of medicaments first, if you don’t mind,” he said, turning back before Sieur Horembaud could give him permission.
“The slaves will bring it,” Sieur Horembaud shouted, annoyed.
“They do not know how to handle this case, and I haven’t the facilities to make more of these medicaments if any of these should be spilled or broken,” Sandjer’min said with unflustered calm as he slung the case’s broad leather strap over his shoulder and went back to the boarding-plank, where Sorer Imogen now stood, ready to go ashore.
Sieur Horembaud’s glance flickered in Sandjer’min’s direction. “The landing-master is at the end of this pier. He’s a Copt; you can tell by the crucifix he wears. I’ll send Frater Anteus to join you, and I’ll be along when I have attended to Sorer Imogen.”
Recognizing this rebuke for what it was, Sandjer’min only said, “I look forward to it.” He waited until Sieur Horembaud and Sorer Imogen were on the landing before he left the barge; he signaled to the leader of the slaves, and speaking in the Coptic dialect of Upper Egypt, he said to the man when he came up to him, “There is a man lying in the tent.” He pointed to it. “The man is badly burned and not fully conscious. You must bear him into the town, without adding to his injuries in any way. He needs to be in a protected location, and you will need four men to carry him on a pallet if he is not to be in danger of further hurts.”
The slave-leader nodded, and answered, “It shall be as you say, Sidi.”
Sandjer’min blinked at the slave-leader, surprised to hear that title used; to cover his confusion. “When he is bestowed safely, find me and tell me how he is faring. If he should bleed from any of his wounds, fetch me at once.”
“Yes, Sidi.” The slave almost smiled. “We, too, have heard of the foreign Sidi at the Monastery of the Visitation, and we know you have saved many lives. We are honored to have you here. We will do as you request, Sidi.”
“Thank you,” Sandjer’min said simply, reminding himself that these slaves expected no commoda, as Roman ones had done throughout the Empire, because these slaves, unlike the Roman ones, were not entitled to purchase their own freedom or the freedom of their families.
The slave called to three of his fellows as Sandjer’min moved away to seek out the landing-master. As he stepped off the stone pier onto dry land, the first easing of his muscles gave him an instant of weakness that made his legs wobble.
“Stand still a moment, my master,” said Ruthier in Imperial Latin, appearing at his side. “Let me take your case until you are accustomed to earth under your feet again.”
Sandjer’min handed his case to Ruthier. “I am most grateful.”
“I thought you might find your first few steps on solid ground a bit tiring; you’re overcompensating in balancing your steps,” Ruthier went on, recalling the number of times he had seen Sandjer’min struggling to keep his footing after a prolonged journey by water. He moved a bit ahead of the Sidi, working to find a place among the pilgrims bound for the town.
“Sieur Horembaud instructed me to find the landing-master,” Sandjer’min said suddenly. “He desires information from the landing-master, and seems convinced that I must gain it for him, because of my grasp of the language.”
“The landing-master is over there,” Ruthier said, pointing to a tall, gangly, middle-aged man with an aquiline nose and a receding chin, seated at a table three or four paces off the road into Edfu. “Frater Anteus described him to me as we were disembarking.”
“Let me speak to him. I don’t want to find myself in Sieur Horembaud’s bad graces.” There was a sardonic glint in his dark eyes. “We have so much farther to go in his company.”
“That we have,” said Ruthier, and moved out of the stream of pilgrims, slaves, and animals, making sure that Sandjer’min followed him.
As the riverbank fell into twilight, Sandjer’min felt much of his strength return, and by the time he reached the landing-master, his step was brisk and he was deciding how best to approach the man. He went to the front of the table where two torches had been stood in deep storage jars filled with sand, and made a formal gesture of greeting. “I am Sandjer’min, called Sidi by some. I am serving the leader of the pilgrims who have just landed as a translator, since he has no knowledge of the Coptic tongue. If you will provide me—”
“You are the physician,”
said the landing-master. “A monk known as Dinat told us you would be coming with the pilgrims, not two days ago. We had known of you before, but did not think to see you here.” He scrutinized Sandjer’min’s face, then, satisfied with what he had seen, he remarked, “Your eyes are dark but with sparks of blue. It identifies you as much as your European skin.”
“So I have been told,” said Sandjer’min, who had not seen his reflection in more than thirty-two centuries.
“Most unusual.” He looked over at the pilgrims, his eyes narrowed in speculation. “Only one who is ill. Also most unusual.”
“Why is it unusual?” Sandjer’min asked, as he knew he was expected to.
“Most pilgrims have those with them who are seeking healing. At the end of the last Inundation, there was one group of pilgrims numbering about fifty who came through on their way to the old Axum Empire, though it is now little more than a large oasis in a trade-route town. There are many churches there and pilgrims want to see them. These pilgrims want to seek out the holy sites there. One in four of the pilgrims had an injury or ailment they hoped to have cured by God.”
“And did they receive their cures?” Sandjer’min inquired.
“I don’t know. We have not yet seen them return.” The landing-master paused again. “Why are you going across the desert now? The sun is growing stronger, and by the time you reach the Highlands of Ethiopia, the rains will have started, and travel will not be safe until the arrival of the planting season.”
“It is Sieur Horembaud, the leader of this pilgrimage, who wishes it. I told him much the same thing, as have others, but he is determined.” He paused. “Sieur Horembaud wants to know where these pilgrims are to find lodgings, where we are to stable our horses and asses, and where our belongings may be safely stored. In addition, we have an injured man among our numbers who needs special care and a place where he may lie undisturbed.”
“There are inns and hostels in the travelers’ quarter that will accommodate you and your animals, and the injured man. There are also storage cells in the town’s counting-house. It is directly across from the main gates to the travelers’ quarter.” The landing-master gave a little cry of surprise as Frater Anteus came up to the table. “This man is one of the pilgrims?”
“He is Frater Anteus from Alexandria,” said Sandjer’min, taking care not to sound troubled by the friar’s arrival. “He has assisted Sieur Horembaud in many ways, and brings the comfort of religion to the pilgrims.”
The landing-master subjected Frater Anteus to the same brief but intense perusal he had given Sandjer’min, then rubbed his chin. “Very well. If you need their assistance, I will authorize your company of travelers the use of four of our slaves to speed your settling for your stay. That should make your location of beds and meals less difficult. How many days will you be here?”
“Two, perhaps three,” said Sandjer’min in Coptic and repeated it in Greek for Frater Anteus.
“That’s what Sieur Horembaud has decided.” Frater Anteus spoke with easy authority. “When we reach the First Cataract, we will travel overland. Tell him that.”
Sandjer’min did as Frater Anteus ordered, then added, “There are slaves with us. What arrangements can you offer for them?”
“You may give them sleeping mats and post them with your animals and your goods; if anything is missing, you will know they are to blame for it. I will inform the town’s guards to allow your slaves to be in those places. I assume they are from Egypt.” The landing-master waited for Sandjer’min to relay this to Frater Anteus. “If you need more slaves than you have, then we can come to terms on allowing you to buy a day or two of our civic slaves to watch your animals and property.”
Listening to Sandjer’min’s translation, Frater Anteus began to frown. “We should have slaves enough, and we ought to be able to protect our property without needing to apply for help,” he said. “It may be foolish of us, but we have good reason to be careful while traveling—I am sure the landing-master will concur.” He motioned to Sandjer’min to translate while doing his best to make his expression more genial.
Sandjer’min softened Frater Anteus’ remarks so that his refusal of the offered service would not be abruptly dismissed; so direct a response would be sufficient to make the landing-master look upon these pilgrims as rude and arrogant, which could lead to acrimony. He ended by adding, “We have been long on the river, and many of us are tired.”
“And you must have your burned man moved,” said the landing-master as if Torquil had escaped the official notice he deserved. “I will see it done at once. Why don’t you and your man accompany your patient into the town?” Then he looked at Frater Anteus. “I wish you a pleasant meal and a good night’s sleep. You may meet with the master of the foreign quarter in the morning, given that the hour is late.”
Sandjer’min passed this on to the friar, adding, “It would be well to take him up on his offer, Frater. He still has to report on our arrival, and no doubt he wants to eat before he retires.”
Frater Anteus bowed his head to the landing-master. “Thank him for us, and tell him we will meet with the master of the foreign quarter in the morning. Then let’s walk into Edfu. There are things we must discuss.”
“Not tonight, Frater Anteus,” said Sandjer’min. “I am to see Torquil settled in the town, and dress his wounds. He will need water and as much food as he can be persuaded to eat.” He inclined his head. “In the morning, I will wait upon you when I have completed taking care of Torquil, and will then attempt to conjure up a dream.” He said nothing to explain his intention of seeking sustenance from a sleeping woman during the darkest hours, when everyone should be asleep.
Frater Anteus pressed his lips together to keep from making whatever remarks he had intended to make. “I will look forward to talking with you immediately after morning prayers,” he said, dashed off a blessing, nodded to the landing-master, and hastened after the rest of the pilgrims.
“That man, religious or not, does not like you, Sidi. You would do well to be wary of him.” The landing-master gave a signal to the slaves on the landing and called out orders to them. “Bring the ill man ashore on a pallet. Four of you should carry him as carefully as if he were fine perfume in delicate jars. If he utters one moan, you will all pay for his pain with your own.” He watched while the leader of the slaves selected men for the job, sent them to get the pallet for moving Torquil. He said to Sandjer’min, “As soon as we have the hurt man inside the walls we will bring your belongings to the counting-house. You may assign those of your slaves you like to guard your chests and cases for tonight, and in the morning you may ask the master of the foreign quarter to permit them to continue at their task.”
“I will inform Sieur Horembaud of this,” said Sandjer’min.
“How good of you to do it,” said the landing-master. “Wait here until the slaves bring your patient to you.” With that he rose, gestured his farewell, and strode off toward the town gates.
Ruthier watched the landing-master go. “He’s right about Frater Anteus,” he said thoughtfully in Imperial Latin. “Though I don’t know why.”
“And what have you discovered about the rest of the pilgrims? I haven’t had a chance to do more than exchange a few words with most of them,” Sandjer’min said. “Sorer Imogen speaks only of the care we need to provide to Torquil and to pray. She tells me little about herself: I know Bondame Margrethe is the nun’s sister-in-law and that Heneri is her half-brother, but that is the extent of it; she tells me that to speak of oneself is a sign of vanity. Her faith is zealous and she does not like to have it questioned or slighted.” He paused thoughtfully, trying to gather his impressions of the pilgrims, saying at last, “I have an impression of Sieur Horembaud, but the rest are something of a mystery to me. Occasionally I have wondered if he has decided to keep me apart from the rest, or if he is afraid that I may bring contagion, as if burns are contagious; he has certainly enforced his stricture that I keep to the barge.”
“Yes,” said Sandjer’min.
Ruthier ducked his head in agreement. “Sieur Horembaud has two servants with him, Florien, his squire, and Almeric, who serves the knight in much the same way that I serve you. Jiochim Menines is a Spanish knight, who has lived in Egypt since the start of the Fifth Crusade; he is a great gossip, and I think he’s on this pilgrimage for some reason other than an expression of piety. Noreberht lo Avocat is a lawyer from Aquitaine here to do penance for forging wills and deeds; the law courts ordered him to pay recompense and then to do this pilgrimage to expiate his sin. He has an Italian slave, a young man named Baccomeo. There is a fellow who wears Egyptian dress but is English, Nicholas Howe, who has made it clear that his first reason for being with us is that he is interested in acquiring relics; religion is his business, not his belief. His comrade is a Frater Giulianus, who shares his desire for relics, though for somewhat different reasons. Beyond that, I know very little about either of them. Cristofo d’Urbineau is a defrocked priest who claims to be from Genova, though his accent sounds Corsican. There is a woman from Constantinople, whose family came there with the Latins, as menials. Her name is Lalagia and she is twenty-four. She is looking for the knight who has kept her for seven years and fathered her children. I gather that Sieur Arnoul, a knight from Brabant and her protector, went on pilgrimage himself more than two years ago and has not been heard of since. She must find him so that her children by him may be made legitimate, which he vowed to do upon his return.”
“Do you believe her?” Sandjer’min asked.
“I do. I don’t know that I believe Perrin Bonnefiles, who has told everyone that he is a Vidame in Languedoc. There is something about him that doesn’t ring true. But whether it is his title or his story I find questionable, I can’t decide.” He coughed and resumed his descriptions of the pilgrims. “A Venezian joined the pilgrimage four days after they set out, who claims to be an observer, but to what purpose, and for whom, who can say? His name—if it is his—is one of great respect: Viviano Loredan. He must be twenty-five or -six. He has a servant he hired in Alexandria, called Salvatore, who looks to be part Moorish and part European.”
Night Pilgrims Page 10