Andre stood calmly, surveying the dreadful scene, holding his plain crucifix loosely in his hand. His mouth moving silently in the telling of the beads, his face showed only sadness and pity. He looked at Christian with that same pity now. “If the only good we can do here is lay them to rest, then that is our duty. Look about you for something with which to dig.”
“But, but the ……” He could not say it and only pointed. Andre looked up toward the hanged man. “Yes, I know my son. This wretch must have been insane with grief to do such a thing. Let us hope that the Lord will forgive him his humanity.”
They buried them in the soft meadow beside their lowly home, side by side, the children with their poppets, the baby between his mother and father. Andre felt it would have been better to burn the cottage with the family inside; to prevent the spread of the disease, but it would have left them without hope when the last trumpets sound and all are resurrected in the light of the Lord, for in Corinthians he knew, was written, ‘The trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.’
He began his prayer for their souls as Christian stood nearby, lost in thought. Not of this unfortunate family, taken from the world in such anguish, but of the man beside him, gently intoning ‘Grant them eternal rest, Oh Lord and may everlasting light shine upon them…’ He’d removed his habit to carry them to their grave, in a practical gesture to cleanliness, and then bathed in the stream before speaking the words for the burying of the dead.
It was the first time Christian had seen him undressed, and his disinterest turned to curiosity as Andre turned from him to wash. His broad back was a vivid mesh of old scars, some fine, like hair, others deep and puckered. He’d never spoken of his life before coming to the abbey, excepting childhood tales that Christian recognised as lessons. He wondered what could have happened to leave such terrible wounds.
And for the first time wondered why Andre had exchanged a comfortable life at the abbey for a perilous journey to the Holy Land.
*
It was late when they made their way into the forest, neither feeling the need to talk, the sadness of the day drawing their thoughts inward.
Andre noticed Christian’s sombre mood and as the afternoon turned from a dismal setting of the sun to peaceful night he looked for a place amid the trees to rest.
They lit a small fire and ate the last of their dumplings in silence, the promise of winter crackling in the air. He hoped they could make their way through the mountains before the passes became impenetrable with snow. He could see them above the tops of the trees, sheer and white in the gloaming.
The boy sat huddled in his cloak, all excitement dissipated by the dreadful toil of the morning. Andre rose and came to sit beside him. “You have had much to think on this day, Christian. Not all men could have kept a cool head. Many would have taken flight in the face of such horror.”
Christian studied Andre’s calm face, as if measuring and weighing his own reply and the response to it. “There was no sign of disease in the infant, Brother. And rigor had only just begun in the limbs.”
He nodded for Christian to go on, understanding now the reason for his quietness. “Yes, the poor child likely did not have the strength to cry out.”
“Why did the Lord not spare him such suffering? Why, when help was so close?”
Andre smiled sadly. How many times had he asked himself the same question? How many blameless children had he seen lying dead, their bloodied corpses piled up like firewood, all for the crime of being born into a nation at war, or a faith at odds with another’s. Both Christian and Saracen alike had been guilty of crimes against the innocent. “I know not, my boy. It’s not given us to question, although I believe there is a time in all men’s lives when we do. He made us in His image after all, and gave us intelligence to think.
To see such a thing is the stuff of nightmares, but a necessary nightmare, one that instructs. How can you feel compassion if you have not known grief? How can you know beauty if you have seen no ugliness to compare it with?” And as Andre looked into blue eyes full of innocence, he decided once again, that only the truth will suffice. “This is the world the Lord has chosen for you Christian. It has always been filled with sorrow.
But every day we can learn and become wise.
Have you forgotten that there is much in our world that is splendid also? Do you not recall your magnificent wonders of nature? I recall very well the spiders you housed on the infirmary shelves. Mistress Berthilda nearly died of apoplexy when she took down some linen to air in the sun and a whole nest of spiders scuttled out.”
They both laughed softly, Christian remembering now the pale, silky cocoons he’d hidden behind the sheets, promising their dead mother, trampled underfoot in the chapel, to keep them safe till they hatched.
“You will see many magnificent wonders on our journey Christian. Have I not told you of the dervishes of Constantinople, who swirl round and round in their skirts till they plunge into ecstasy and see visions of God? Or the tigers that the fine ladies of Baghdad lead about in jewelled collars like tame dogs, or the wonderful stone pyramids of Egypt and the sphinx that guards them? “
Christian rubbed his eyes with the coarse wool of his sleeve and listened as Andre wove a bright tapestry of hope in the autumn night.
“Or the scorching desert of Arabia, nothing but sky and sand for a hundred miles then, just as you think you will die for the want of a drink and your eyes are so crusted with flies you are nearly blind, an oasis, shaded by swaying palms, with deep wells filled with icy water and dates as soft and juicy as plums.”
Christian closed his eyes and began to drift into sleep “My father told me about animals with humps on their backs and how they carried him across the desert to safety.”
“Yes Christian, a camel. You will certainly see many camels; the Arabs call them the ships of the desert. Let us rest now and leave to the past this day of sorrow. Look, the clouds have cleared away and the stars are shining. We are truly blessed, for tomorrow the road may end and we will have need of your fine astrolabe to find our way.”
He looked toward Christian, who had indeed gone to sleep, and smiled.
*
The forest teemed with life; crickets chirruping, robins singing sweet songs, rabbits bounding through the undergrowth. And with surprising regularity they encountered people going about their business, gathering kindling for their fires, setting snares.
Always they were greeted with friendliness. They looked as they were: pilgrims making for the Holy Land and salvation.
Often they would smell the inviting aroma of someone’s cooking pot nearby, or hear the high pitched whistle of a hunter calling back his hounds.
The path was wider here, edged with soft green fronds and shaded by a dazzling canopy of gold and russet leaves swaying gently overhead. It was a place of peace, and as they walked, the sadness of the day before fell from them like a light summer shower on new wool.
Christian gathered hazelnuts and late berries and with much good natured mockery from Andre, chased a hare till he cornered it in the tangled roots of a tree, its soft doe eyes wide with fright. He wrung its neck quickly, asking forgiveness. Then he used his flint and steel to make a small fire and roasted it slowly, savouring its rich earthy meaty smell. It was the first hot food they’d eaten since leaving the monastery and they relished it with grateful enjoyment and laughter.
At nightfall they made a bed of ferns at the foot of a spreading beech and slept under its sheltering branches, protected from the misty autumn rain.
It was a good day.
*
Christian woke before the first rays of the sun, but Andre’s place was already empty. He could see him through the dappled leaves, head bent in prayer, as always in the tranquil hours of the morning.
A light frost covered the mossy ground and Christian lay contentedly in his sweet smelling bed, contemplating the beauty of the icy crystalline forms. A rustle of leaves turne
d him sharply toward the sound but all was undisturbed. He watched as Andre straightened and moved toward him with his familiar upright stride.
The leaves rustled again.
This time Christian was ready and leapt to his feet. He reached for the small knife he kept in his jerkin, but suddenly a hand snaked out of the quivering branches and clutched at his wrist. Then the branch fell to the ground and a woman was standing beside him, leaves and twigs sticking in her long chestnut hair. He tried to wrench away but her strong hand held him still.
Her sleeveless shift of coarse sacking showed well formed shoulders and slender arms. One hand still gripped Christian’s wrist, but the other held a clutch of hen’s eggs, which she offered to him with solemn grace.
Andre returned and took in the scene with some amusement. “I see you have been captured. Are you not going to remember your manners and thank her for the eggs?”
Christian looked ashamed, seeing now what Andre was seeing, a woman offering food to travellers. He lowered his head and took the gift. “I thank you mistress.”
Her unlined face and clear skin showed her to be a woman of no great years but the pleasing features were disfigured by a mass of deep welts and burns around her mouth. She turned her attention to Andre, her gaze travelling upward from his broad feet and strong hands, his rough woollen habit and greying hair, to rest on his open face. He in turn studied her, and the terrible injuries that marred a face that once must have been very beautiful.
Then it seemed that the air had begun to ripple around them.
He’d heard many tales of wise women living in the woods, called on by the townsfolk to birth their babies and tend to the sick and then scuttling back to their hiding places to avoid accusations of witchcraft. He wondered if she were such a one.
She turned as if to leave, then changed her mind and beckoned for them to come. Andre raised his eyebrows and followed her off the path and through the undergrowth.
They walked side by side watching the woman’s straight back as she strode on ahead. Christian whispered “Why does she not speak?”
Andre answered softly, not wanting her to hear, “She has spittle on her chin, her teeth are broken and there are burns around her mouth. I believe she has had her tongue cut out.”
It wasn’t long before they came upon a clearing and a small wattle hut, covered in forest vines. Bright wildflowers were growing on either side of the well swept path and wisps of smoke drifted from the crooked chimney. She opened her door and gestured for them to enter and the enticing aroma of food drew them closer.
Andre watched Christian as he hesitated on the path. “What does your heart tell you about this, my boy? Should we enter the hag’s lair?”
“The cottage looks well kept and the woman seems harmless. I feel now that she was trying to set the eggs beside me undetected, perhaps to save my pride.” Andre was pleased that he had begun to evaluate and reason. It would help to keep him safe. They ducked their heads under the low doorway… and entered an Aladdin’s cave of riches.
Everywhere were wonderful smells. A pungent broth bubbled in a pot on the softly crackling fire, herbs hung in bunches from the low roof beams, rough made shelves held earthen bowls of fruit and nuts and everywhere were flowers. In this homely place were all the treasures of the forest.
She gestured for them to sit on a wooden bench close to the hearth and ladled out two bowls of steaming soup thick with wild turnips and onions. She took no nourishment herself but stood quietly by as Christian wolfed it down. Then she offered fresh made bread and more broth and cut some honeycomb from a larger piece and handed it to him.
Christian’s eyes were wide with wonder. He saw a pallet in the corner, sweet smelling bracken covered with rabbit pelts and felt he could curl up there and sleep forever in this safe, warm home.
She held out the honeycomb to Andre, who refused it with a shake of his head and a smile, but she did not turn away. She reached up her hand and as her warm fingers touched his cheek, her eyes locked onto his. Once more he felt the ripple of the light around them. And the smile began to fade from his lips.
He felt a gentle pulling as his surroundings disappeared in a hazy dimness and all that remained were the two of them, their eyes locked together. He wanted to tear his head away, afraid that she might see the sins of his past imprinted on his soul. And then his body became as a feather floating in time, as his past reared up before him and his future followed in its wake.
Christian waited, watching the silent exchange between the two. Then she grunted loudly and pulled her head away, tears in her eyes. Andre sat motionless; saying nothing, his fair skin had turned ashen in the soft morning light.
He felt the sharp sting of tears also, for if he laid his soul bare to her, she had laid her soul bare to him. In the space of a breath he saw her, standing erect and defiant before the might of the Church, her husband tortured unto death beside her, and writhing in agony as white hot pincers were forced into her mouth to tear her tongue free of its roots. He felt the blinding pain and terror of that awful punishment and his head swam with the knowledge.
They spent the day chopping wood for the winter ahead and piling it neatly beside the cottage. She gave Christian a fur bonnet and mittens and they all laughed when he pulled them on and wagged his ears, the flaps making him look like a giant, long limbed rabbit. She covered her mouth with her hand but the smile remained in her eyes.
Then her kind face became solemn. She handed Christian a small earthen pot sealed with wax and put her other hand to her chest in a rubbing motion. She pointed to Andre.
Her instructions were clear. Andre stood quietly and nodded his thanks to her, their eyes meeting once again. This time he felt no anxiety. Both had seen and both understood.
And as the afternoon shadows lengthened they took their leave, humbled by her generosity. She stood at her door, watching as they set off down the path. Christian felt sad as they rounded a bend and she disappeared from view. “I would have liked to know her name.”
Andre smiled “And I too, but perhaps she has no need of it now.”
*
The sun was beginning to set but they decided to walk on, the full moon lighting their way. They saw no firelights as they travelled deeper into the woods, heard no hunter calling his dogs. At nightfall the wolves began howling and as Christian tuned his ears to the ominous sound, long buried memories rose to the surface. His voice dropped to a whisper “I do not like that noise.”
Andre laughed. “Ah, my boy. You can charm the birds out of the trees and the pigs from their swill. Of what concern is an overlarge dog? Do you not have as much right to walk here as he?”
“Yes, but I remember the tales I heard as a child.” Andre stopped suddenly and looked sternly at Christian, the first time he could recall doing so.
“Childish fears have no place in a man’s life. There will be many dangers on our journey; wolves the least of them. But they will smell your fear and attack if they perceive weakness. So, hold up your head. The moon is bright and our path is clear. Soon we will be out of these woods and there will be other concerns.”
Christian looked sheepish and lowered his head. “Forgive me sire, I have much to learn.’
Andre clasped his shoulder in a fatherly gesture. “You have much wisdom already my boy, far more than I at your age. Did I tell you I once stole a maiden’s petticoat as she bathed naked in the moonlight? Her father ran after me with his axe, swinging it above his head like a madman, but I stuffed my prize into my jerkin and hid until he gave up the chase.” And then he smiled his broad mischievous smile. “I still remember the smell of that wonderful garment.”
They walked on through the night and the baying wolves faded into the darkness as Andre recounted the exploits of his youth.
*
Two weeks later they emerged from the shadowed woods to find a vast rock- strewn plain and snow covered peaks sharply outlined against a slate grey sky.
They lit a fire and roasted the
rabbit Christian had snared earlier. These harmless creatures had blessed them with fresh meat for most of their journey but the desolate scene ahead held little promise of food.
Christian took out his astrolabe and sighted it at the sky, adjusting the rule and rete to calculate their position. Andre had taught him well how to use it and his intention now was to find a route toward the East, to the Quibla. As he made his reckoning, he saw that their direction lay between the ridges of the two highest peaks. They would have to climb but not ascend to the mountain tops. He looked to Andre who had fallen asleep with his back against a rock, wrapped in his cloak. His face was grey with fatigue, although not once had he made complaint or suggested they rest.
When they began their trek to the mountains, they bent into the icy wind that howled across the flat, barren land, snatching at their clothes, biting into their skin. Christian became very fond of his bonnet and mittens and although Andre seemed impervious to changes in the weather, Christian noticed that his pace had slowed and his usual steady gait was hampered by a limp.
Crags and ridges loomed up, dark and menacing, water tumbled over rocky outcrops and ledges, snow clothed the peaks in a ragged cape of white lace.
Now Christian understood what Andre meant about the wolves. They’d left them alone, stalking alongside but not approaching, intimidating with their growls but not attacking. They were of no consequence in comparison to this formidable barrier. He’d kept his fear tight inside and he kept it in now, sensing that he would need all his strength for this part of the journey.
They walked on without stopping until the light began to fade, then took shelter in the lea of a giant rock formation which stood like a sentinel at the foot of the mountain.
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