To the most august merchant, Virgilio Ca’Sole on the Campo Santa Fior of the Serenissima Reppublica, the greetings of Viviano Loredan in the Egyptian city of Arsenoe, on this, the 2nd day of September in the 1225th Year of Grace,
Most accomplished Signore Ca’Sole,
After long months of travel, I have reached a small Orthodox church here in this ancient place, and I am assured that the monks here will see to it that this letter is put in the hands of the Hospitallers or the Venezian legate of Alexandria for delivery to you. Until now, although I have often availed myself of the virtuous reception offered by the Copts, I have not been persuaded that any message could be safely entrusted to them, if for no other reason than there is much conflict now between the Sultan’s officers and the Coptic bishops. These Orthodox monks know more of the Christian world than the Copts do. I concede that the Coptic faith reaches farther than I thought, but it is isolated as Roman and Orthodox are not and that creates its own problems. I apologize for the long time it has taken me to be able to write to you, but that, too, has been unavoidable. I had to wait until the Inundation began to subside to make any progress moving down-river.
I am now at Arsenoe, and I will shortly go to Alexandria on one of the travelers’ barges. I have paid for my passage, and need only find a boatman willing to carry me down-river. My servant Salvatore is with me, as he has been since we left the Gold Camp. He has suffered from a fever that he has not been able to entirely banish from his flesh. There was a translator with the company of pilgrims who was something of a potion-maker, and I have wished that we had him with us now. If Salvatore continues to ail, then it will be difficult for me to get him aboard one of our galleys; passengers with illness are not usually welcome aboard ship, for fear the sailors and oarsmen will take any disease he may carry. If that is the case, I must linger at Alexandria until there is a Captain who will take Salvatore as well as me to the Bascino di San Marco. You have my apology if that is what God Wills, but you will agree it is necessary for me to attend to a servant who has been loyal.
About the Gold Camp: it does produce a goodly amount of the metal, and the quality of it is most excellent. I have no doubt that in time an arrangement can be made with the men who run the camp, supplying us ore for our ducats and the ornamentation of our glass. From what I was told, by those ordering in quantity, there are many advantages that I am sure the Signoria will find most acceptable. I urge you to select a delegation to come prepared to bargain. A few presents to the Masters of the Camp would be wise to bring with you, for they will gain the good opinion of those who are in charge of the mines if the gifts are fine enough. The journey is demanding but it can be made. We reached it at the beginning of summer, when the desert is at its most savage, but I am told that in winter it can be far more mild, and the Inundation would be over, so the river would provide a swift journey upstream and down. There are more travelers at that time of year, and there are more robbers and kidnapers about, but guards can be hired. With a sufficiently large donation, the Templars will lend us a few of their men-at-arms for such journeys.
We should be in Alexandria in ten days, or so I am told by our host in this inn. If that is so, then it should be an easy thing to take passage to Venezia within the month. I would hope to be back with my family by the Nativity; if the winter storms are as ferocious as the Nile’s Inundation has been this year, I will remain in Alexandria until spring, though I pray this will not be necessary.
If the Console still wishes to dispatch merchant-adventurers to the Christians of Ethiopia, let me recommend that they mount a larger group of them so that they need not have to ally themselves with pilgrim companies, and are in a better position to commandeer a place aboard north-bound craft. A dozen young men, used to the rigors of travel, would be more likely to accomplish the Console’s will than another like me. Yes, I have been twice to the Stone Tower, but I was a decade younger when I made the second trip, and I find the years tell upon me. So I recommend all those sent on such a trek be under thirty and capable of enduring privation. I will enlarge on all these matters when I am once again hearing Mass in San Ezzichiele.
May God bless the Serenissima Reppublica, and all who dwell on her islands.
Viviano Loredan
agent and adventurer
7
“She says she must remain here, at the monastery, in one of the penitents’ cells; anything else would be Hell for her,” said Margrethe as she came into Sandjer’min’s tent, her demeanor flustered, her gestures nervous. She lingered two steps from the flap as if she were too close to him, for he sat on the chest that was obviously his bed, awakening all manner of dangerous fantasies within her; her cheeks grew ruddy, and she took hold of the support pole at her elbow. Since their arrival at the monastery six days ago they had seen each other infrequently, and always in the company of monks and pilgrims. It was now four days after Sieur Horembaud had been buried in the little cemetery outside the massive cave that was reserved for Roman Christians; there were over forty crosses marking Catholics’ resting places, and a crude statue of an angel holding a crucifix kept silent watch from the center of the graves.
It was almost sundown, and the two companies of pilgrims were camped on a broad expanse below the monastery’s cave, sharing it with three other companies; all three were northward bound, having completed their visits to a number of holy places in the Ethiopian Highlands. Set aside for Roman pilgrims, it currently had over eighty tents erected within its borders; the space half a league away was reserved for Orthodox Christians and currently boasted six tents. With evening came a breeze out of the north that was strong enough to flutter the heavy canvass of the tents, and set the cooking-fires throughout the cluster of pilgrims’ camps to flapping like flags.
“Pendibe and Pater Venformir say we must go on, and shortly, and most of the rest agree,” said Sandjer’min, both apprehensive and pleased that they were alone together; Ruthier had gone off toward the stream to catch one of the water-birds for his evening meal and would not return for some time; if the tent-flap were tied closed, Ruthier would not attempt to get in. Sandjer’min wondered if Margrethe knew this, and waited nearby until she could find him alone; it had happened before, in the Khazar Empire. He smoothed the front of his black silk paragaudion and inclined his head to her.
“Pendibe knows the country and Pater Venformir knows the way of pilgrimages; they have been meeting today, to decide how they will continue. I understand that Tsega has said that we should try to stay ahead of the weather: there are storms coming and we want to have reached the high plateau before such tempests burst upon us.” She paused, pressing her lips together as if to keep her words from tumbling out, without success. The air prickled between them.
“Do you want to go on?” he asked her gently. “Into Ethiopia?”
“I fear I must: I can’t remain here. Aba’yam Emerta Hodilleilo has said I cannot stay in this camp unless I take monastic vows, which I cannot do, not having my husband’s permission to abandon him. And I have no vocation, had Sieur Dagoberht given me leave to do so. So I must think of something else.” Margrethe stared at him; Sandjer’min felt her like a magnet, attracting and repelling him with equal force. She rubbed her face and started to pace in a small oval. “Lalagia and Temi will leave shortly, going down-river. They have already arranged for a boat. They will take the Pilgrims Road to the Nile in a few days.” This was the principal road that pilgrims traveled to reach the Monastery of the Redeemer after they left the Nile at the once-thriving market-town of Dofunj.
“Do you want to go with them, down the Nile? Or leave with another company of pilgrims?” If she went with north-bound pilgrims, it would mean she would be gone in three days, if the pilgrimage leader allowed her to accompany the monks from Carinthia—seven if she waited to travel with the pilgrims from Ravenna. He rose from his place on the chest filled with his native earth.
“I don’t think they want my company, though Lalagia expressed it very nicely,” she sa
id reluctantly. “And I would be foolish if I were to travel with returning pilgrims I do not know. I would have to rely on the leader in a craven way, and be beholden to him for everything from shelter to food to chastity.” She saw him raise his brows. “Oh, most pilgrims may be relied upon to keep their vows of virtue, but not all will, the more so because their pilgrimage is ending, their penance complete.” She stopped pacing, licked her lips, and resumed her restless walking. “Who knows what might become of me?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “That would be foolish, putting yourself among strangers.”
There came chanting from the interior of the cave, droning on two notes, unlike the chants of the Roman monks, announcing the beginning of evening Mass.
“Strangers,” she repeated as if the word itself were frightening.
“Does Sorer Imogen attend services in the monastery’s church?” Sandjer’min asked, as much to provide Margrethe the opportunity to consider her situation with less dread as to gain any useful information.
“No. She insists that she be allowed to pray in her cell, in isolation,” she answered, sounding disheartened. “She has no desire to leave it for any reason. She said that God has called her to be an anchorite nun, and Aba’yam Emerta Hodilleilo is willing to accept her as such.”
“Then it would seem to me that you are free to choose where you will go,” he said, feeling Margrethe’s consternation as if there were a dust-devil inside the tent. “You can do nothing useful for her; the monks will guard her now.”
She trembled. “But how can I abandon her? I promised to see she came to no harm.” She stepped a little nearer to him, as if she had just realized how close he stood to her.
“And that you have,” he assured her. “You say she wants to remain here?”
“She says it is fitting to pray in a cell carved out of the heart of the mountain, for it is a preparation for death, and one that readies the soul to leave this world.” She blinked, took a deep breath, and asked, “What is to become of me?”
“You will have to decide that for yourself,” he said, the directness of his observation offset by the kindness in his voice.
“What choices do I have? Everything that I might do is bound up in the decisions others make. I could ask among the pilgrim companies going north if I might join their companies, but whom shall I trust? I have some money, but it is not sufficient for me to pay guards and guides to take me to Alexandria—or even to Luxor—on my own, and what is to keep guards and guides from holding me for ransom or selling me to a slaver? Once I am traveling alone…” She gave a tired sigh. “Lalagia and Temi will want to travel as married partners, and will have no use for me to monitor them. I can be of little use to Lalagia in her delivery; I am no midwife. Pater Venformir has already told me he wants no woman in his company of pilgrims, for the presence of women leads to jealousy and lust. I cannot remain here, or so Aba’yam Hodilleilo has informed me, since I am not needed to tend Sorer Imogen any longer. I told you that, didn’t I?” She gazed at him, her yearning for him stark in her face. “I could send a letter to my husband, requesting an escort from him to see me back to Creisse-in-Aquitaine, but I would have to wait for the greater part of a year for an answer, and longer if he agrees to dispatch an escort for me, who will have to come from the Aquitaine.”
“What do you intend to do?” he asked in a voice that was both steadying and tranquil, though his thoughts were agitated.
“I should go home. It is what I want to do, it is what is expected of me though it will be a difficult return, since Heneri and Sorer Imogen will not be with me. Sieur Dagoberht will not approve of my failure to protect them, if he is aware at all. Without Heneri and Sorer Imogen with me, I have no reason to continue as a pilgrim, for I cannot achieve what I pledged to do. I have no oath to fulfill now that my sister-in-law and her half-brother are no longer with Sieur Horembaud’s company, since my primary oath was to them, and my secondary to Sieur Horembaud. What use is my supplication for Sieur Dagoberht to be healed if his heir and his sister do not join with me? The priest who attends to my husband was most firm on these points: that all of his family must seek his restoration to sense and health, and that anyone attempting to pray alone at the holy shrines would not suffice.” She stood still, pinching her nose to keep from weeping, but the tears came silently in spite of her efforts. “I want to appeal to you to give me escort north, but you have obligations here. They require a translator if they are to go on.”
“With Sieur Horembaud dead, I wonder if I am obliged,” he said. “Frater Anteus would be pleased to have me gone, and although Pater Venformir has said nothing directly, he is wary of me. There must be someone among the pilgrims camped here who would take on my task.”
She spoke as if she had not heard him. “I think and think, but I see no solution. God has shown me nothing, though I pray for wisdom morning and night, nor has the Devil,” she said in a rush of despair; she was hardly listening to him at all now, but railing at her own precarious circumstances. She resumed her pacing, as much to keep some distance from him as to relieve her anxiety. “I am alone here; I hadn’t understood what that meant until yesterday. It is not just the distance, though I am a hundred leagues from any Christian stronghold. Few people beyond these pilgrims speak my language, and I do not speak the languages of those around me. It would take me months to find a place where I would be among my own kind, and during all that time, I would be wholly at the mercy of foreigners, though I am the foreigner, not the people who live here, and this is their land, not mine.”
He responded to her misery, to her aching loneliness, going to her and taking her in his arms, gathering her close to him. “You will not be left to wander the world, Margrethe. You have my Word on it.”
“But you wander the world.” She was a hand shorter than he, and that made it simplicity itself to kiss him, feeling him answer to her arousal, his passion ignited by hers. The depth of his response to her increased, made her venturesome, and her embrace became more amplectant.
As their kiss finally ended and she gradually pulled back from him, he said, “You humble me, Margrethe.”
Her laughter was quick and breathless. “And you me,” she said, holding his shoulders as if she were dizzy. “But I must not surrender,” she added more firmly. “I must not falter now.” She made herself release him. “I don’t know what you may think of me for what I have done, and said.”
“Nothing to your discredit,” he said, holding out his hand to her; she almost touched it, but not quite.
“Easily declared now, in the moment. But what will you think when you rise tomorrow?” She looked away from him. “You will not want to be burdened with me, will you?”
A much larger choir began to chant, the droning notes now loud enough to create a formidable echo within the cave that boomed out across the tents into the night.
“Tomorrow I will feel much the same as I do now, and have done for some time,” he assured her; he felt her conflict increase as she listened to him. “I hold you in high regard and great affection.” It was as effusive a statement as he could make without causing her to worry what he wanted of her. “I ask nothing of you that you do not choose to give me: believe this.” He could see she wanted to be persuaded; he waited for her to speak.
“You have assisted me and shown me particular attention: do you think that Frater Anteus has been unaware of those things? He has complained that you do not Confess, though you are not a Christian, for in Christian company, you are expected to follow the conduct of Christians.” Her pulse was beating more rapidly now, and her face was softening, lessening the sting of her sharp words.
“Frater Anteus is enjoying his authority,” said Sandjer’min.
“He tells me that he must be responsible for the company’s souls, including those who do not share our faith,” she said. “He guards us from the corruption that pursues all pilgrims, the temptations that the Devil sends us to test our resolution.” She hesitated, glancing in his direction.
“He has warned me against you. He says you’re a servant of the Devil.”
“That does not surprise me; he needs someone to show as dangerous, and I am not a pilgrim, nor a Christian,” he said, aware of the ambivalence that warred within her and not wanting to add to it. “He will warn you most of all. You are a lady of position, you are kind-hearted, and you are comely.”
This time her blush was bright and sudden. “How can you say that?”
“I mean you no disrespect, Bondame,” he said formally. “You are of a generous nature, and you have shown me courtesy when many another have not. D’Urbineau also thinks I am an agent of the Devil, and dei Causi agrees with him, and the Vidame. Jiochim Menines is curious but not from any kindness to me; he simply finds me unusual. You have more grace than they.”
The chanting stopped abruptly only to recommence after a moment of silence.
“Thank you,” she said in some confusion.
“There is no subterfuge in my admiration; in demonstration of my high regard for you, I will pledge to see you back to the Aquitaine, if that is what you want.” He spoke in his most courtly manner.
“How can you do that?”
“I have means, more than you would think,” he said, trying to relieve her worry. “I can arrange for passage in a merchant’s ship. You have but to tell me what will suit you and I will—”
“Don’t promise; you are as far from your home as I am from mine, and have no certainty of reaching your fiefdom safely. If you are willing to make an effort to deliver me safely to Alexandria, I will be deeply grateful,” she said, a bit startled to realize that what she told him was true. “I have dreamed about you for months.”
There was no light in the tent, but a glow from fires and lanthorns around and throughout the camp imparted enough luminosity for her to see him if they remained close together; he could see by starshine, so the crepuscular light in the tent did not hamper his vision, but he remained close to her for other reasons. “You say you have dreamed of me. What have you dreamed?” It was a blunt question, but he was sure she would prefer it to hints and teasing and troubadors’ lyrics. “If you will tell me, I will hold it in confidence, my Word on it.” Again he waited to let her frame her answer.
Night Pilgrims Page 41