The Wanderer

by Mika Waltari

  I believe my intentions were of the best, but the girl misunderstood me, and catching Andy by the arm with both hands she cried in a fright, “Dear Master Andrew, I beg you not to leave me alone with your brother, for he glares at me like a wolf and I trust no one any more.”

  Andy reddened, shook his fist at me, and then lifting the girl gently on to his knee he put his forefinger under her chin and said, “Have no fear, noble Mistress Eva. Trust me, and if Allah wills it I will take you safely back to your homeland. I should tell you that my brother and I are in the Turkish service and we too are trying to get away from this vile city.”

  The girl did not struggle in his embrace, but looked straight into his round gray eyes and said, “Though you were kalmucks, devils, or sorcerers I would go with you rather than stay here. The Turks have treated me more mercifully than the Christians, and in these few days I’ve conceived such a loathing of Christendom that I can well understand how a brave man might rather serve the Sultan than King Ferdinand. I’ve admired you since I first saw you among the prisoners, for your strength and chivalry and kind heart. You’re no doubt of noble German birth, since you speak that hateful language so well.”

  Drops of sweat stood on Andy’s brow as he replied, “I learned the language on my campaigns, and only your kindness could call my camp talk good German. I was born in the wilds, in a land of fir trees and wolves and bears, and no prince ever had the wit to bestow on me the spurs of knighthood. Yet in the Sultan’s army I wear the heron’s feather plume of the master gunner, which surely more than equals a pair of gilded spurs.”

  Mistress Eva, gladdened by these words, leaned her dark head trustfully on Andy’s shoulder. Presently he lifted her from his knee and laid her gently on the edge of the bed, where he stood for a time bending over her and sighing.

  “Ah, how warm you were in my arms, Mistress Eva! Your rosy cheeks are smooth and downy as peaches and to me you’re fairer than the moon.”

  Mistress Eva lowered her eyes and said in deprecation, “No, I’m not beautiful. I’m but a helpless orphan, and not even at King Zapolya’s court have I any protector to win back for me my father’s estates.”

  Andy pressed both hands to his chest and quivered like a tree about to fall.

  “Allah be gracious to me!” he whispered. “This must have been written in the book of fate long before my birth. Tell me, how big are your estates? How many horses and cattle have you? Are the buildings in good repair? And what is the soil?”

  Horrified at the turn things were taking I prepared to leave them, beseeching Andy in our own language to have his way with her at once rather than commit himself with such rash talk. But he implored me to remain, saying that he had known nothing like this before and was at a loss what to say to her, and that I must be his spokesman. Mistress Eva looked at us in bewilderment, but meekly replied to Andy’s questions. “My father told me little of his affairs, but our estates were big enough for modest landed gentry like ourselves to live upon. We had wet and dry soil, clay and sand. We had forests, and game in plenty. It took a day and a night to travel from end to end of our land, though my father was constantly going to law with his neighbors whom he accused of shifting the boundary stones and allowing their flocks to graze on his pastures. I suppose we had some hundred thousand sheep, a thousand horses, and a few cattle. At any rate my father’s Jewish intendant gave him money whenever he asked for it.”

  Andy sighed, cleared his throat, and said pleadingly, “Michael, I may be possessed of the devil, but I really am deeply in love with this girl and want to marry her, so that I may watch over her interests and restore to her her father’s property. Speak for me, Michael, for you can choose your words better than I. If you won’t, I must-but then if I fail and she refuses me I’ll break every bone in your body!”

  Deeply though I deplored his conduct I had no choice but to address the girl in well-chosen words and say, “I think my brother may be out of his mind, but he wants to marry you. As a wedding gift he offers to speak to King Zapolya and regain your estates. He has a chance of succeeding, being in favor with the Grand Vizier, whose best friend is King Zapolya’s adviser, Master Gritti. My brother is of undistinguished birth, though with a good conscience he may call himself a von Wolfenland zu Fichtenbaum, or a de Wolf of Spruce, and he swears his heart has been on fire from the moment he first saw you.”

  Mistress Eva’s cherry lips parted in mute astonishment and her face was suffused with a blush. It was now her turn to tremble and wring her hands. Then she abandoned all womanly hesitation, and throwing herself on the floor at Andy’s feet she clasped his knees and sobbed, “With all my heart I will be your wife, noble Master Andrew, and could dream of nothing better. For I’m a poor orphan, robbed of goods and virtue. If you’ll have me for your wedded wife I will share both good and ill fortune with you, and submit to you in all things. All I ask is that you will let me keep my Christian faith and pay some good priest to unite us in the sacrament of marriage.”

  With the sweat pouring down his face, Andy turned to me and said, “Do me one last service, Michael, and find me a priest. If you haven’t brought one within the hour I shall take this girl under my arm and fly with her from Vienna, leaving you to shift for yourself.”

  He spoke so desperately that I feared he might do as he threatened. I set my teeth grimly, therefore, and went in search of our hostess. This vigilant woman was still up, selling wine to her customers and emptying the purses of those who slept. She told me of a trustworthy priest who was ready at any hour of the day or night to perform his sacred office without indiscreet questions, so long as he was liberally paid. It was not the first time he had been summoned to the house, and twice that week he had administered the Viaticum and Extreme Unction to customers who had come to blows over questions of religion. I gave her a gold piece and she sent a pot boy for the priest, in the belief that somehow or other I had got the better of Andy in a struggle for the girl and that he now lay at the point of death. When I returned to our room Andy snatched his hand from Eva’s neck with a scowl at me. But he quickly regained his good humor and said, “Forgive me for speaking to you so sharply just now, my dear Michael. This is the happiest moment of my life, and I could never have dared to hope that such a lovely and well-born girl could grow fond of me.”

  Just then we heard the ringing of the priest’s bell outside. What was my amazement when I opened the door to admit him to find that I knew that bluish, puffy face with its crimson beak of a nose. There in a cassock, tonsured and with a stubble of beard, stood the man who during my student years in Paris had given me my first dearly bought lesson in the falsehood and treachery of the world.

  “In the name of the Compassionate!” I cried. “May all the saints protect us, Reverend Father, but are you not Master Julien d’Avril, the blackguard from Paris? Where did you steal that cassock and how comes it that you were never hanged? Surely there is some justice in the world?”

  It was indeed Julien d’Avril, though greatly aged and more drink sodden than ever. At first he turned ashy pale. Then, like the fox he was, he quickly recovered himself, enfolded me in his malodorous embrace and with tears of emotion exclaimed, “Ah, my dear boy, my dear Michael de Finlandia! What happiness to see again your open, honest face. Blessed be the hour that unites us once more. How is it with you, and why do you need the services of Holy Church so urgently as to drag an old man out of bed?”

  With this unlooked-for meeting I may fitly end the story of the siege of Vienna, and having conscientiously told all and hidden nothing of my share in this unhappy campaign, I will begin a new book about my subsequent adventures.

  BOOK 6.

  The Light of Islam Returns

  ANDY too was much shaken when he recognized Julien d’Avril, but he soon recovered and showed him the reverence due to his cloth.

  “The past is forgotten,” he said, “and I bear you no grudge, Master Julien, although at one time I would gladly have flayed you alive and hung your hide to
dry on the branch of a tree. But no one is free from guilt and who am I to cast the first stone? Tell me one thing-are you a properly ordained priest, empowered to administer the Sacraments?”

  Julien looked at him reproachfully and replied, “Can you doubt it? Forget my former sin-polluted name and call me Father Julianus, for so I am known to all Vienna as a pious army chaplain. I have brought with me the Host and the holy oil, and wait to serve you, though I can see no one here at the point of death.”

  Andy said, “Reverend Father Julianus, produce your sacrament of marriage and read the necessary words over me and this Hungarian orphan girl; she must tell you her own name, as my stiff tongue can’t get round it.”

  Father Julianus showed no surprise, and his eyes wandered abstractedly over the bare shoulders of the bride as he remarked, “Your purpose is praiseworthy, but what has the mistress of the house to say to it? Have you paid her for the girl? She incurs much trouble and expense in her profession and I should be loath to do her an injury, for we’re good customers to one another.”

  Andy stared at him uncomprehendingly, but Father Julianus raised his hand and went on, “Don’t think I doubt your sincerity or mean to slight your bride in any way. Many a marriage embarked upon in the heat of the moment or in a fit of drunkenness turns out well, and a prostitute often makes the best wife for a professional soldier. She gathers firewood for him, carries his cooking pot, and washes his clothes. Nevertheless allow me as an experienced curer of souls to suggest that you would be wise to sleep on the idea.”

  When at last Andy grasped the chaplain’s meaning he flew into a passion, drew his sword, and would certainly have stabbed Father Julianus to death had I not sprung between them. I reproached our guest very volubly for his suspicions, and explained that Andy’s sweetheart was of noble birth and the heiress to a great Hungarian estate. The wedding must necessarily be a quiet one, I said, because of the unhappy conditions prevailing in her own country. Father Julianus should have three ducats for uniting them and an extra ducat for the poor box.

  But Father Julianus only half believed me; peering at all three of us suspiciously, he said, “There’s something fishy about this affair. You wouldn’t have summoned me at this time of night and to a brothel if you had nothing to hide. I won’t risk my neck by being a party to it-at any rate not for four ducats.”

  Andy in his madness made no attempt to bargain, but offered the blackguard twenty Hungarian ducats, which only made him the more suspicious. Nevertheless he opened his book, read the necessary benedictions, and joined the pair in matrimony without further remark. Even in his impious mouth the ancient Latin words had a solemn sound.

  Finally he asked Andy for the ring, that he might set it upon the bride’s finger and declare them man and wife. In his extremity Andy asked me for Grand Vizier Ibrahim’s valuable diamond ring-a request so outrageous as to do more than anything to convince me that his mind was unhinged. Storm and swear as I would, he snatched it from my purse by force and handed it to Father Julianus, who slipped it on the girl’s finger. So it left our possession for ever.

  At the sight of this magnificent stone Father Julianus looked much disconcerted and seemed to wonder what sort of men we really were. He brought the ceremony speedily to a close, pronounced the benediction with all the power and authority of Holy Church, swept the coins rapidly into his greasy purse, and prepared to leave. He said, “I have talked myself dry and will gladly drink to your welfare and success if you wish it. No doubt you will stay here for the rest of the night to fulfill the first obligations of matrimony, and I will visit you again to bestow the blessing of the Lord upon you both.”

  I suspected that we had walked into a trap, but Andy caught Father Julianus by the ear, poured wine down his throat, and said hospitably, “Drink, dear Father. For once at least swallow enough to know that you have drunk. Tonight I care not what it costs. Michael can fetch us another couple of flagons of this nectar.”

  Father Julianus struggled violently, spluttered and protested, but Andy forced his swollen nose into the stoup and bade me fetch more wine. When he released him for a moment the pious Father at once began accusing us of treachery and cursing us for renegades, and swore that the first time he saw us in Paris he could smell the sulphurous fumes of heresy about us. Andy soothed him, saying, “This is for your own good, dear Father Julianus, but if you’d rather have your throat cut I’ve nothing against it. Don’t tempt me too far, for I can’t forget your dastardly desertion of us at the inn outside Paris, when you left us a curt letter as sole memento of all our cares and troubles.”

  He drew his knife, spat into his palm, and began to whet the blade. Father Julianus at once fell silent and his face turned gray. The villain had known every twist and turn of fortune, and saw that he would be wise to submit to the inevitable. In a faint voice he asked for more wine, and I went at once to fetch it.

  It was not long before he began assuring us that he had always regarded Mohammed as a most eminent prophet, and that the Church had taken up a very narrow-minded attitude to polygamy, notwithstanding the good example set by the patriarchs. He went on to lament the harshness of the provost marshal to a poor army chaplain in begrudging him his modest earnings. But when he began to stammer and hiccup and prop himself against the edge of the table Andy told me to go, and to take Father Julianus with me. After many vain protests I staggered with the chaplain down the steep stairs and our kind hostess helped me to carry him into another room. She then offered me the services of her establishment, but I was in too dejected a mood to avail myself of them and crept into bed beside the snoring Father Julianus, where for greater safety I tied his left leg to my right. I then fell asleep, with a clear conscience as my only pillow.

  I slept very heavily and was only awoken by Father Julianus tugging violently at my leg. He was sitting up beside me and having said a prayer he whispered, “Don’t move, for we’ve fallen into the hands of robbers. They have bound me so that I can’t get out of bed, and one of my legs is so numb that I haven’t a vestige of feeling in it, though I’ve done all I can to rub it back to life.”

  He pummeled my own leg in despair until in pity I untied it from his and showed him where his right leg lay safe under the blanket. Having regained his composure he remembered what had happened. His face darkened, and I had just time to catch him by the shirt before he sneaked through the door. I warned him that I was quicker on my feet than he, and could easily take his life if he tried to betray us. He heaved a sigh of resignation and proposed that we should taste a drop of mulled wine together.

  I had nothing against this proposal and in all harmony we crept downstairs, picked our way among sleeping soldiers and all the sordid confusion of the night’s orgies, and heated wine for ourselves over the glowing embers of the hearth. Remembering Andy and his bride I saved wine and bread for them, and being wishful to shake the dust of the city from my feet as quickly as might be I went at once to their room in company with the chaplain.

  Andy lay snoring on his back, while his young wife lay in a deep sleep with her face pressed to his hairy chest and her arms about his neck. I quickly covered their nakedness with a blanket, to spare Father Julianus’s feelings, but the sound of the hot iron hissing in the wine woke Andy as by magic. His eyes flew open, and hastily thrusting the naked girl away from him he drew the blanket up to his chin and cried, “What in the name of Allah has happened? Who is this shameless woman? Take her away!”

  I spoke soothingly to him as with hair on end and an expression of utter amazement on his face he swallowed a stoup of wine. Little by little memory returned to him and he sat muttering to himself, uncertain whether to be glad or sorry at his sudden marriage. So absurd did he look that I too hardly knew whether to laugh or cry.

  But a cup of scalding wine is the best remedy for perplexity. We forgot our worries and broke spontaneously into a French song, as an aubade to the young bride.

  But for all our din the girl never moved; indeed she scarcely see
med to breathe. She lay motionless, her lips parted and her clear skin looking even paler for the dark hair that lay in disorder over the pillow, and for the long lashes that shaded the rings beneath her eyes. Andy gazed at her fearfully and poked her with his forefinger, but she only stirred a little and went on sleeping. Tears rose to Andy’s eyes as he told us to be quiet, and with a shake of his head he said, “Let the poor child sleep. She’s a tender little foal and must be very tired, though I held her as gently as I could. I know already that this is one of the very few marriages that angels in heaven have arranged; but for all that I shall demand my legal rights and fight tooth and nail for my wife’s interests. We had better hasten at once to Hungary, to be there in time for the counting of the livestock.”

  The eyes of Father Julianus glistened as he said quickly, “What will you give me besides my freedom if I help you to pass through the city gates unscathed?”

  “No, no, dear Father Julianus,” said Andy with a wave of his hand. “Why should we part now that we have found one another again? If you’ll escort us out we can consider what return to make you afterward, at our leisure.”

  The wine had inspired me with a most excellent idea, and I put in quickly, “Be reasonable, good Father Julianus, and you shall not regret it. It’s possible that you may return to Christendom to devote yourself to very different tasks. Only trust me. But good counsel is now precious, and we won’t haggle if you can really get us out of this carefully guarded city.”

  After much argument we agreed, while cursing his rapacity, to pay him a hundred ducats for safe conduct, twenty-five to be handed over at once.

  “I don’t mean to go on foot,” he said. “You must get good horses for all of us and dress as richly as you can.”

  He refused to explain why this was necessary, and as we were forced to trust him we had no choice but to send the pot boy with a message to Aaron. Thanks to this honest Jew, four fairly good horses, ready saddled, stood at the door by noon, and Andy and I were able to don cuirasses inlaid with silver, though somewhat bloodstained. For the young woman Aaron provided a gown of silk and velvet and a veil of the kind women use to conceal their faces while traveling.