Night Pilgrims

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “God wills this!” Sieur Horembaud shouted as the pilgrims moved off into the morning breeze.

  Their progress southward was steady, the wind not as high as most of the pilgrims would have liked. Waterbirds rose in noisy flocks as the vessels approached, and crocodiles swam nearer to inspect the boats and the barges, increasing the anxiety among the rowers, whose benches kept them uncomfortably near the water.

  “Will the barge keep constant against the river? With those monsters coming near, shouldn’t we move to avoid them?” Margrethe spoke up as the boats and barges reached the mid-stream of the Nile, where the current was steady. The sails on the boats were set to catch the wind from the north, and the rowers established a rhythm that provided progress against the current and could be maintained throughout the morning.

  “You needn’t worry. The rowers are strong and they know the Nile.”

  “Will they be with us all the way? I’ve never seen them come so close to our crafts.” She crossed herself, still following the movements of the crocodiles. “They are like water-dragons; the Devil is in them.”

  “We’ll have them for company until the First Cataract, where we will leave the river for the land. The boats and barges will be left behind, and when we reach the river once more, we will hire new boats and barges. We will purchase Dromedaries for crossing the desert.” He paused, wondering how much Sieur Horembaud had told the pilgrims, then went on, “Haven’t you noticed the nature of the river during your travel south?”

  “Yes, but the boats are not the same as the barges.” She dribbled a little water onto the cloth over Torquil’s mouth. “How long will it take him to mend?”

  “At least two months, perhaps three. If he were at home, he would recover more quickly. He could rest if he were at home.” It was an optimistic estimate, including no further complications than the ones already addressed.

  “Those burns are a great burden for him to carry,” she said.

  “They are,” he agreed, and removed another small vial from the red chest. “There is an emulsion in this that can slow the burning of the sun if you will rub it on your face and arms. It will not stop the burn entirely but it will spare you the worst.” He gave the vial to her. “Use it to protect yourself.”

  She hesitated as she took the vial. “If you give it to me, will you offer it to the others as well? What of the rowers and oarsmen? Are they not at greater risk than I am?”

  “The rowers and oarsmen are born to this place, and they have their own ways of lessening the hurt from too much light and heat. I want to save this salve for those whose skins redden and peel. If the rowers and oarsmen are injured, I have an ointment that will aid their skin to mend.” He stopped to listen to the shouts from the shore. “There is something in the river ahead.”

  “Do you know what it is?” Margrethe asked as she dripped a bit more water onto the fine linen. “He’s swallowing.”

  “No. I don’t think it’s a boy or a man.” He shielded his eyes. “It appears to be a young goat.”

  Two of the crocodiles increased their speed, closing in on the thrashing creature, now in full panic. One of the crocodiles seized the kid by the lower spine, and in the next instant, the second crocodile had the kid’s front leg in its jaws. The kid gave a single, high shriek, then was pulled under the water by the crocodiles that were already starting to roll. A trickle of red in the water became a gush, and the crocodiles let the current carry them and their meal down-stream as the pilgrims and their vessels continued southward. On the horses’ and asses’ barge the animals shifted and made low sounds of distress.

  “That was quite horrid,” Margrethe said after a long moment of silence.

  “At least it was over quickly,” said Sandjer’min.

  Margrethe shuddered. “Poor wight,” she said, and reached for the ewer. “I will use the emulsion when I have made sure he has swallowed the water.”

  “See that you do,” said Sandjer’min. “It would help no one if you should become burned, as well.”

  She stared at him, startled at his concern. “Truly. It would help no one.” Then she continued to drip water onto the linen over Torquil’s mouth, and would not look in his direction again for half the morning.

  * * *

  Text of a letter from Frater Anteus at Syene Philae to Bishop Heracletus of the Cathedral Church of the Resurrection in Alexandria, written in Greek on papyrus and entrusted to Maricopos Pentablion, a Greek Orthodox monk, for delivery which did not occur.

  To the revered Bishop Heracletus of the Cathedral Church of the Resurrection at Alexandria, the greetings of your most devoted servant, Frater Anteus, with Sieur Horembaud and his pilgrims at the ancient town of Syene Philae, which the agents of the Sultan sometimes call Aswan, on this, the morning of Christ’s Rising in Glory, in the 1225th year of Man’s Salvation,

  Most excellent Bishop Heracletus, we have arrived here with only minor problems, and tomorrow morning will visit the markets to buy camels for our journey across the Nubian Desert, which we will begin in four days’ time if all goes well. Sieur Horembaud has appointed some of the pilgrims to tend to the purchase of supplies so that we will not be delayed by the necessity of securing them, but that presupposes that the pilgrims will know how to conduct business here, and on that point, I am not sanguine. I, myself, have been instructed to speak with the various guides, if I can understand them, to learn what we will need for this phase of our travels. Gudjei, our current guide, has made his recommendations already, but Sieur Horembaud has admitted his doubts on these to me, and wishes to have other opinions before he commits himself to a course that may lead to dangers once we pass into the desert. Sieur Horembaud, to ensure his most complete understanding, has ordered Sidi Sandjer’min—I mentioned him to you, as you may recall; the physician who joined us at Sese’metkra—to come with me, for he has a broader knowledge of the tongues of this region and will be able to assist me. We will have to report our findings tomorrow night, and then set about purchasing what we need. I applaud Sieur Horembaud’s circumspection, but I am far from certain that it will bring about the degree of safety he seeks.

  Torquil, our excommunicated Templar, continues to ail in spite of Sandjer’min’s best efforts and the help of Bondame Margrethe of Rutland. I suggested to Sieur Horembaud that we might leave him here in Syene Philae, but without success. Sieur Horembaud insists that Torquil be given every chance for redemption, and has declared that were he in Torquil’s place, he would want to go on, and offer up his pain as proof of penance; Sieur Horembaud believes that we would none of us consider abandoning him if he were a legitimate son and not the favored bastard he is, a policy that makes the Templars much more vulnerable than the Hospitallers are, admitting only legitimate sons to their numbers. Some of the pilgrims have said that they are worried that Torquil’s presence will bring the Devil upon us, in that the Devil goes where he is welcome. I have tried to explain how the very act of pilgrimage provided protection from the Devil, for it is God’s work for God’s purpose and therefore is proof against evil. Cristofo d’Urbineau, the defrocked priest from Genova, has claimed that this is incorrect; he has been the most adamant in maintaining that we must leave Torquil behind, but thus far has only three supporters: Agnolus Raffaele dei Causi, the Genovese merchant; Noreberht lo Avocat from the Aquitaine; and Perrin Bonnefiles, the Vidame whose credentials seem questionable. I believe Torquil will be with us all the way to the land of the Holy Grail, assuming God gives him life enough to get there, which is far from certain. If he dies, I hope he can lie in consecrated ground, as Templars permit excommunicants to do, for the pilgrimage should lift his excommunication by the holiness of his journey.

  On the day before we leave here, we will purchase casks of water, there being none to be had until we reach the region of gold mines in the mountains to the southeast. There are springs there, which give pure water in great quantity, or so we have been assured by three guides, including our own. The assurance that we will not die of t
hirst has inclined the pilgrims to welcome this shorter route to the land of the Holy Grail. Sieur Horembaud has also required that we have tents large enough to hold our animals in case we encounter a storm or require protection from thieves and raiders. There are four tent-makers in the town market, where I will go as soon as I complete this report to you.

  The days are growing steadily hotter, though I have thought it impossible that they could. Resting through the heat of the day is not a self-indulgent opportunity for the sin of sloth, but a necessity to keep from becoming wholly exhausted by the heat, which is why we will travel the desert at night. The traders who cross the desert have warned of sandstorms, and I am persuaded that we must take all precautions against them, as we will do to guard against attack, since we carry only hunting weapons, and they will not suffice to hold off more than a few outlaws. Beyond sandstorms, we have been told that it will rain in the mountains during the summer, and that that will refresh the Nile, but it will not make our time crossing the sands any less demanding. Once the Nile begins to flood it will be nearly impossible to navigate safely, and none of us want to be food for crocodiles and hippopotami, assuming we could stay afloat in the torrents. As you value your soul, I implore you to pray for us, since we have come so far already, and are sworn to complete the pilgrimage. In traveling such a great distance, I trust we will all gain what we seek in this journey. If we do not, then there will be trouble on our return. May God and His Angels keep us safe from robbers and slavers, and may we all come to Grace.

  Amen,

  Frater Anteus, Ambrosian

  7

  “Who would have thought a camel could cost so much! And we have only hired them, not bought them!” Richere Enzo exclaimed as the pilgrims sat at their low dining table at the rear of the pilgrims’ hostel they had discovered in the foreigners’ quarter near the market-square in Syene Philae, a place the Sultan called Aswan. The sun was hanging at the edge of the steep hills across the river, its disk golden in a lavender sky. In front of the pilgrims was laid out a meal of broiled goat, fish-cakes, flatbread, dates, shredded duck-meat, a wheel of hard Italian cheese, peas and beans with onions and olive oil, peppers, wine and beer, and spiced figs in honey. At the next table over, the pilgrims’ servants and slaves were enjoying a simpler but satisfying meal of broiled ducks, chick-peas with garlic, flatbread, and beer. “Could we not have paid for the use of thirteen instead of fourteen? And why did we have to engage the owner along with the camels?”

  “Because the owner knows his animals, and he has charged us a fair price for his service. It is a sensible thing for him to do. He will escort more pilgrims back the way we came, and make his money that way, instead of having to rob us or betray us to slavers to gain his fee, or leave us with having to find a buyer for the animals before we move on,” said Sieur Horembaud. “Gudjei told me so.”

  “And who is to say the two haven’t colluded on this?” Noreberht lo Avocat demanded. “We should expect that among these people.”

  “Why are you complaining?” Nicholas Howe asked with a wide, insincere smile. “You didn’t pay for any of them, did you? not so much as a groat. Sandjer’min covered the cost, and he isn’t even one of us.”

  “We’re on a holy mission,” Noreberht declared.

  “And Firouz is a follower of Islam, not a Christian, nor a pilgrim,” said Sandjer’min at his most reasonable. “Why should he show you favor for your faith?” He had found a cushion in the corner next to the table and had taken his place there so that he could listen to what the pilgrims had to say without having to make it obvious that he would not eat with them.

  Enzo coughed and muttered.

  “If you would rather walk or ride an ass, or carry a tent on your back, I’ll take one of the beasts back in the morning, before we’re taught how to saddle and bridle them,” Sieur Horembaud offered; he was weary of listening to complaints, and wanted to end the carping that had blighted their meal. “The day after tomorrow we set off at sunset. You will each have an animal to ride, and you will be responsible for that animal. No one is to walk once we’re on the sands. Those who ride asses will have tack issued to you for the journey, and those of us riding horses will use our own tack for them. Firouz has saddles for all his camels. Each of you will be given a hunting spear, in case we have to fend off dangerous creatures, and, of course, we will use them to bring down food.”

  Viviano Loredan laughed. “Be most careful of the ones with two legs; they are the most treacherous of all,” he advised, and was rewarded with a faint, sinister chuckle from Micheu de Saunte-Foi.

  “Well-said,” Noreberht lo Avocat declared as if appearing in court.

  “And they’re hard to clean and cook,” said Agnolus dei Causi, his feeble attempt at a joke.

  “Quiet,” said Sieur Horembaud. “Let us meditate on this meal God has given us.”

  “The cooks certainly helped,” said Howe.

  “Remember: we will have to feed the camelman as well as the rest of our party,” said Lalagia, daring to speak up. “If we give him short shrift, he may abandon us, with no one to care for the camels, or to show us the way to the Gold Camp.” She sat between Methodus Temi and Frater Anteus, who made a point of leaning away from her.

  “What about Gudjei? Doesn’t he know about camels?” Richere Enzo asked. “Why do we have to rely on a Muslim?”

  “He’s a guide, not a drover,” said dei Causi. “We need Firouz to manage the beasts. Best to accommodate him.”

  “I think Firouz has been good to us,” said Heneri staunchly, and was immediately shushed by Sorer Imogen. “He has helped us so far.”

  “We’re still at the Nile. Once we’re on the desert, things may change,” said Cristofo d’Urbineau.

  “We must remember to collect the camels’ dung so we will have something to burn once we start across the desert,” Methodus Temi reminded the company.

  “Trust a smith to think about fires,” muttered Vidame Perrin Bonnefiles, and was rewarded with a giggle from Heneri.

  “We can offer it up as humility,” Heneri remarked with a grin.

  Sorer Imogen crossed herself. “It is unfortunate that we lack charcoal for that purpose. To use dung is to make fire unclean.”

  Heneri sighed impatiently, looking up at his half-sister. “Imogen, think. Charcoal would have to be carried; dung only has to be picked up. The Templars are not above fueling their fires with dry camel dung.”

  “Can we talk about something else?” d’Urbineau demanded. “We have many things to consider before we leave here.”

  Jiochim Menines held up his hands. “True enough, Pater, and we will soon be out of time. We have tomorrow and most of the day after. We must look to the south in the next two days. This time, two nights from now, we will be departing to the southeast and we will leave the Nile behind for many days. We will be at the mercy of the desert, and that should warn us all to prepare while we can. What do you think we have neglected, that you believe we must consider?” When d’Urbineau said nothing, he leaned forward. “I advise all of you to go to the market in the morning and purchase whatever you do not have that you will need in the next thirty days. You have seen what we have bought thus far: is there anything you feel must be included that is not on our list?” He folded his hands. “God may lend us His help, but we would do well to prepare, in case God has other things on His mind.”

  Cristofo d’Urbineau shook his head. “If I weren’t defrocked, I would have to accuse you of heresy.”

  There was a spurt of skittish laughter from the pilgrims; Sorer Imogen got up silently and left the rest of the pilgrims to their food; Margrethe motioned Heneri to come to her, and after an undecided moment, he did, squeezing in between his half-sister-in-law and Viviano Loredan, who was busy refilling cups with wine.

  Sieur Horembaud got to his feet and waited to speak until he had everyone’s attention. “Our order of march has been determined: when we leave, we will leave at sunset, as you know. Sandjer’min and I will b
e at the lead of our party, on horseback, and Vidame Bonnefiles will bring up the rear on a horse, with Jiochim Menines to accompany him on the fourth horse. The camels and the asses will be between us, you pilgrims will ride camels, your servants and slaves will be on asses, and our goods will also be carried by asses. Our guide Firouz has selected the camel he wishes to ride, and will have his choice of our numbers to ride with him, in the lead of the rest of this company.”

  To the general surprise, Heneri spoke up. “Firouz asked me to ride with him.”

  Sorer Imogen shook her head. “You must not. It is not fitting that one of your position should have such company.”

  “I’ve already said yes,” said Heneri with a smug little smile.

  Before this could turn into an argument, “What of Torquil des Lichiens?” asked Cristofo d’Urbineau. “How is he to get across the sands?”

  “Lalagia is helping us to make a sling that will bear him between two camels—those set aside to carry chests, so that the pack-saddles can be used. She has seen this done before, and she says she will tend to him while we are on the move. During the day, when most of the company is resting, Sandjer’min will take care of him. This has been arranged. Lalagia and Bondame Margrethe will look after him at night, while we’re traveling.” Sieur Horembaud gave a disgusted huff. “Don’t any of you speak against Lalagia. There are few nurses as good as camp followers. You may disdain her for her way of life, but any soldier who has fought in the Holy Land knows the value of the women who are with them.”

  Vidame Perrin Bonnefiles was less convinced than most. “We are devout Christians, yet we have a loose woman in our number, which speaks ill for our piety.”

  “Been on campaign often, have you? You know how to carry a wounded man between two camels?” Lalagia inquired with an edge in her tone; when Bonnefiles said nothing, she went on. “I thought so. You hear all the songs and stories, and you think you know what it is like, fighting for God in this hellish place. You see the knights as glorious beings needing only angels to assist them. My knight, like all knights, had sergeants and foot-soldiers and squires to support him, far greater in number than the knights. Slaves care for their comfort in their castles, and those like me do the same in the field. The knights could accomplish little without us. Look down on me and those like me if it suits you: but if you do, pray that you will never need my attention while we travel.”