Night Pilgrims

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  The boy kicked at a low stool. “Why should I?”

  “Because I have told you,” said Ruia with strong purpose in her voice. She closed the door and slid the bolt into place, then followed after Sandjer’min. Her chamber was surprisingly large, with a bed of ample proportions, two small tables, one with a ewer of water on it, the other with a jug of wine, an upholstered chair, two sconces with bound papyrus-stalk torches burning for light, and pegs for clothes. Coming into the room, she said, “You may put your clothes there, on the wall, on the end pegs. You need not fear darkness and treachery. One of the torches will keep burning.”

  “I won’t be taking off more than my peri,” he said, dropping into the chair and unlacing first his right pero, then his left.

  She paused in closing the door. “Are you seeking to disguise some ill?”

  “No. Would you like me to raise my hem to show you?” He made the offer calmly.

  Nonplussed, Ruia shook her head. “Not for now. Do you want me to undress?”

  “It would be more pleasant for the both of us,” he said.

  She stretched languidly and unfastened her deshba, letting it slither off her onto the floor, leaving her naked but for her veil, which she cast aside as she turned one of the torches upside down in its sconce, extinguishing it. Her body was lissom, and she moved smoothly, sliding onto her bed as if entering the river to swim. “It’s warm enough not to use the coverlet,” she said, and ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.

  Sandjer’min held up his hands. “No need for so much display, Ruia, not for me. Let me rouse you.”

  Ruia stopped moving, then slowly pouted. “I don’t please you?”

  “You do, and because of that, I would rather please you, if you are willing,” he said, coming to the side of the bed and looking down into her lovely, bored eyes. “You are everything a man could want, but you—”

  She interrupted him with an exasperated sigh. “But you’ve changed your mind about the ducat.”

  His laughter was sad. “No.” He reached into the sleeve of his cotehardie and drew out a small leather purse, removing a golden ducat from it before restoring the purse to its place. He held out the ducat. “Here.”

  “Gold,” she said, a little surprised, after she bit it.

  “That it is.” He sat down on the side of her bed, resting his right hand on her hip. “Will you lie back and let me seek out those pleasures you may have missed? Haven’t you a taste for pleasure?”

  “So you’re one of those,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “One who has to believe that this is something more than a simple transaction.”

  A millennium ago, Sandjer’min might have given in to disappointment, but Srau’s treachery had taught him a vital lesson. “For a ducat, indulge me in my illusion, then,” he suggested gently.

  Ruia considered this. “If you must have it, then I’ll comply—but remember that it is an illusion, not your knightly vision of passion.”

  It was not a very promising beginning, but Sandjer’min nodded. “If you will lie back, and let me do what I can to give you pleasure.”

  Her sigh offered no encouragement, but she did as he asked, and closed her eyes. “If I fall asleep, I will apologize when you wake me.”

  For a short while, Sandjer’min did nothing, but then he began to massage Ruia’s calves and feet, not seeking to stimulate her, but to provide relaxation; if this surprised her, she gave no sign of it, but allowed herself to ease into the pleasant sensations he was able to impart. Gradually, his ministrations became more sensual. “If you will turn over, I will massage your back,” he said, his voice low and musical. “If you fall asleep, I will not be troubled.” He waited while she rolled onto her stomach, squirmed a little to adjust the coverlet beneath her. “I’ll start at your shoulders.” His small hands kneaded and loosened her muscles until she was limp with satisfaction. Then he bent and very lightly kissed the nape of her neck.

  “That’s nice,” she murmured.

  He kissed her neck again, and as she arched into the delectation he gave her, his arms went around her and he cupped her breasts in his hands, lying lightly atop her, bolstered by his arms so as not to hamper any movement she might make. When she started to turn, he whispered, “Not yet.”

  Baffled, she lay still, and felt his languid, sensual caresses moving down her body between her flesh and the coverlet. Nothing she had anticipated prepared her for the intensity of her response, for the elation that rioted through her body, evoking ever more rapturous transports. She had neither the capacity nor the will to stop the ecstasy that claimed her as his hands slipped between her legs, into the sea-scented folds and the access to the core of her body. He did not hurry her, but tantalized and teased the bud there, until it tightened and quivered; his hands moved deeper. She had pushed herself up on her elbows, her head thrown back as her body prepared for release. For what seemed half the night, she held back the gratification that every fiber of her being sought, then, when she could contain herself no longer, she let out a little cry as her body spasmed, spasmed, and spasmed again, until she fell back onto the bed, her body replete. She lay for a short while, relishing her fading rapture, and only then was she aware of his lips on her neck. As she struggled to contain her thoughts, she felt him move away, which filled her with such unexpected desolation of spirit that she challenged him. “Why didn’t you face me?”

  He touched the edge of her cheek. “I didn’t face you because you wanted your fulfillment for yourself.”

  She drew up her knees and turned to confront him, her mouth square with anger. “And you know what I want?”

  “I have touched the soul of you,” he said simply. “I want to give you what you sought, for myself as much as for you.”

  This was more than anything she was prepared to accept: she reached for the ewer of water and threw it at him, determined to make him pay for the pain of his leaving after he had so utterly exposed her.

  Sandjer’min got off the bed as the ewer smashed into the wall. He picked up his peri and gave her a long, thoughtful look. “You probably won’t believe me, but I am deeply grateful to you, Ruia.”

  Her glare seemed to have the power to set fires. “Get out. Get out!” she ordered, her voice rising. “And never come here again.”

  He knew better than to thank her again; he left her alone, wishing she had been willing to accept his gratitude for the nourishment she had provided to him. Why was it, he wondered, that she resented her apolaustic passion? Was it because of its brevity? Was it because she had abandoned herself to him? Whatever the cause, he knew that her delectation and her turmoil would be with him all across the Nubian Desert.

  * * *

  Text of a letter from Ernost of Briarie, notary of Norfolk, to Hassan-al-Yaasim in Alexandria, written on vellum and carried by Templar courier overland and by ship, delivered thirty-nine days after it was written.

  To the merchant of cotton cloth, Hassan-al-Yaasim, the greetings of Ernost of Briarie, notary of Norfolk, on behalf of the Sailmakers’ and Drapers’ Guilds of Norfolk:

  This is to confirm the transfer of one hundred-fifty Venetian ducats to the treasury of the Poor Knights of the Temple in London, which amount will be held in credit by the Templars in Egypt, against which you may draw such payment as has been agreed in our contract of November 29th, 1224, and which has been received here on January 18th of this year. All parties now being signatory to the contract and the authorization of payment, I am pleased to inform you of the same and to ask that you provide an acknowledgment to the Templars of Alexandria. A bona fides copy of the contract itself is included with this confirmation.

  It is agreed that the Sailmakers’ Guild will receive the first bales of cotton canvass from you, that the cloth will be free from flaws and of uniform width, that any inferior bales of cloth will be returned and any monies collected for it returned to the Templars, and that the Drapers’ Guild will receive your basic cotton cloth, undyed, in the second shipment, that it, too, will
have been inspected for flaws, that notification of the departure of the ordered cloth will be made through the Templars, which will have both the name of the ship, its owner, and the name of the Captain, which information is to be transferred to the Templars in England with all due haste. The percent of the Templars’ service fee will be borne by all parties equally, and to that end, the Sailmakers’ Guild and the Drapers’ Guild have provided their portion of that payment along with the deposit specified. When we receive your confirmation of the deposit monies being available to you, the Guilds will also expect to receive notification from the Templars that they have your portion of the service fee in hand, so that we may commence our most beneficial exchange.

  We, signers and witnesses, are all known to one another, all are men of good character, and have all consented without coercion to sign, seal, and witness this codicil to our existent contract.

  Ernost of Briarie

  Notary

  (his seal)

  The Great Seal of the Sailmakers’ Guild

  The Great Seal of the Drapers’ Guild

  Jeremy Sudcliffe, Master

  Thomas Boyes, Master

  sworn to and witnessed as shown

  on this, the Monday after Easter

  in the Lord’s Year 1225

  Matthias Rochiver

  Joiner of Saint-Clement’s

  Andrew Creighton

  Apothecary of Norfolk

  Edmund Loche

  Upholsterer of Norfolk

  PART II

  SIEUR HOREMBAUD DU LANGNOR

  BARON DU CREISSE-EN-AQUITAINE

  SIEUR OF THE FIEF SAUNT-DIDIER

  Text of a letter from Frater Misericorde, physician, at Creisse in the Aquitaine, to Margrethe of Rutland, wife of Sieur Dagoberht Gosland, on pilgrimage in Egypt, written on linen with dye and carried by Hospitaller couriers as far as Alexandria, given to pilgrim monks to carry up-river, but never delivered.

  To the good, pious, and devoted Bondame Margrethe of Rutland, wife to Sieur Dagoberht Gosland; knight and courtier to His Grace, King Henry, of that name the Third; Counselor to the Regent; Baron du Creisse-en-Aquitaine; and Sieur of the fief of Saunt-Didier, also in the Aquitaine, on this, the 27th day of April, in the Year of Our Lord, 1225:

  Most illustrious Bondame,

  It is my sad duty to inform you that your dearest, revered husband Sieur Dagoberht, Baron du Creisse, etc. has been called to the Right Hand of God, his bodily suffering finally at an end, his earthly burdens passed to others, his place in this world given over to his successor, and his soul ascended in glory. It was on Good Friday that Sieur Dagoberht was overcome by a fit during which he saw a vision of the New Jerusalem, as fine and golden as any painting has shown, and he remained in a rapt state from mid-day until near sunset, at which time, he fell to weeping for a goodly stretch of time, and could not be succored. The tears stopped as soon as the Angelus began, and so there were supplemental prayers offered for his recovery at the conclusion of the sunset service. He slept peacefully enough, but was distracted for most of the next day. On Resurrection Sunday, he was much improved, almost to a state of giddiness, and he sang and danced after the Paschal Mass, which everyone agreed was a sign of God’s favor. By late afternoon, he grew tired, and seemed to fall into a lethargy that lasted until the afternoon the next day, when he wakened and said he would have to leave soon. He was able to swear it was his wish that his title and lands should pass to his half-brother, Sieur Heneri, who is presently in your company as you journey to the distant holy sites at the headwaters of the River Nile. Then he was taken with a great fit, in which his back bent like a bow and he shook and twitched as a stag will when brought down of a sudden by arrows; when it was over, Sieur Dagoberht’s soul had departed his flesh. To spare you the necessity of explaining this to Sieur Heneri, I will send him a letter, as well, so that he will have his own proof of the change in his position in life. Because he is as young as he is, a regent is needed to be appointed in his place, and Sieur Dagoberht appointed you to fulfill that office until such time as Sieur Heneri is fully twenty-one years of age and deemed ready to assume the dignities of his heritage. Until your return, I will hold the estate in trust for you and your half-brother-in-law, and will submit my discharging of that office to annual inspection by the Bishop and the King’s appointed officer who supervises these situations. King Henry, young as he is, is a minor still, as is Sieur Heneri, and will tend to regard his present situation with understanding, making allowances for Sieur Heneri’s pilgrimage and the disorder to which his absence contributes. I have written to the London chapter of the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon to inform them that Sieur Heneri will not be joining them on his return from Egypt as had been arranged, since he will accede to his half-brother’s duties and honors as soon as he is once again in Europe.

  As to Sorer Imogen, Sieur Dagoberht has endowed her Order with an annual sum of ten pounds, a most generous amount, and one that is intended to be given in perpetuity. If you will impart this sad news to her and offer what comfort you can to her in this time of sorrow, it will demonstrate once again that magnanimity of character that has ever been your watchword. It is hard to lose a brother, especially for a nun, for it severs yet another link to the world outside the cloister, leaving her more completely in the care of Our Lady and the Sorer’s Good Angel. All things happen as God wills, and say we all Amen, but it is hard for us to see His plan in this: dying while his wife and his heir were away, and in the company of his sister. With faith, there is hope, and with hope there is salvation, and in the prayers of holy virgins is there more Grace than in a mumbled Ave Maria in the dead of night. You, Bondame Margrethe, would be well-advised to seek Sorer Imogen out for the sanctity of her vocation, to preserve your reputation during your travels; one hears such tales of the conduct of pilgrims that, if all were true, the Holy Father in Rome must forbid women to venture beyond the limits of Christendom for the sake of their good names. It is fortunate that you have Sorer Imogen in your company, especially now that you must make your way back to English France in haste, without the protection of monks or knights. As a nun, Sorer Imogen will have the discipline of Hours and liturgy to lend her fortitude while you make your return to the Aquitaine, and certainly your good council will ease her grief, as well. Women know best what will bring surcease of suffering to other women; may God show you Mercy in these hard days.

  I know you do not use titles of possessions on pilgrimages, so I will not address you or your husband’s half-brother by the titles and honors to which you are made recipients by this most unfortunate death, but it is fitting that the Templars and Hospitallers observe the dignities with which you will be invested. I must reiterate that your return upon receiving this is necessary. It will not do for the heir of the estate to be away too long, especially since he is not yet of age and there are members of his family who might make an acceptable claim upon the lands and titles should Heneri remain away too long. His seneschal, Guillaume des Grossierterres, and I will maintain the estates and fief until your return, provided it be by Christmas; after that, the law may demand proofs of your living or, if such are not provided within a year, dispose of the lands and titles to secondary heirs. There is already a submission to the judges to hear the case at the Nativity season, and the judges have no reason to deny such a request, since Sieur Heneri is not yet of age and has no living brother or uncle to speak for him. I do not say this as a threat, but as a warning, for you have undertaken so much that I know so swift a return may not be possible, but it must be begun as soon as this is in your hands, for time is pressing. If it is the case that you are too far to be able to ensure your arrival by Christmas, inform the Hospitallers that you are preparing to return—choose them over the Templars, who charge more for relaying messages than the Hospitallers do—and entrust them with such proofs of life that will ensure the judges that you are traveling toward Creisse, to present your claims in the law courts, which should buy you as much as another year to m
ake your way back to English France. No matter how great a distance you have gone, the assurance you give of your efforts to return will be met with delight here, and with concessions from the judges.

  I am grieved that God did not bless you and Sieur Dagoberht with children, for all these problems would not exist if you had produced an heir; it has pleased God that you have no issue of your husband’s body, and so you must face the demands made by your state. Your family must feel your failure most keenly, for if you had produced an heir, the line of succession would stay with the senior branch of the Gosland House, and not devolve to the junior, as it will; Sieur Heneri is a male heir, to be sure, but of his father’s second wife. Had you given Sieur Dagoberht a son, the title and lands would be safely in the senior line. Then Sieur Heneri could have become a Templar, as has been planned since his birth, and you would not have had to make the pilgrimage upon which you are engaged, and all the confusion with which we now must deal would not exist. You would have remained here, with your son, had Sieur Dagoberht suffered the addling of his wits; it would have been Sorer Imogen, for her deep piety, who would have gone with Sieur Heneri to pray for their brother’s restoration of health while you attended to him and his heir. But it is not for us to question what God sends us in this life; we are the sheep of His pastures, and He will shepherd us to His Glory.

  May God’s Angels guide and protect you and bring you safely back to the Aquitaine and Creisse, may your Saints guard you in the treacherous lands you travel, may you be consoled in your mourning by the knowledge that Sieur Dagoberht has come to the end of his earthly suffering and joined with his Gosland fathers at the Wedding Supper of Our Lord, and may your prayers be heard in Heaven with loving-kindness by your husband and the Hosts of God.

  In the Name of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

  Amen

  Frater Misericorde

  Cistercian

  1

  Sieur Horembaud was the first one through the gates of Syene Philae, as he had intended to be; his horse, a neat bay Barb mare with a star on her forehead, a snip on her lip, and two white feet, was fresh and eager to run, but Sieur Horembaud knew better than to let her; they had a long way to go before sunrise, and he needed his mare to husband her strength. He allowed her to scamper a little, then pulled her to order as Sandjer’min came up to him, his dove-colored gelding behaving himself. Sunset turned the sands to ruddy gold, and the wind skittered along the ground, carrying a fine spume of sand with it. Behind them came the camels and asses with their riders and packs, and last, Jiochim Menines and Vidame Perrin Bonnefiles on horses. Sieur Horembaud, determined to make a good beginning, raised his arm to signal them all to continue forward.