by Susan Wright
I turned to Bene. "How far away is Veneto?"
"It’s on the Azure Sea, south of here."
"Is it near Ditalia?" I asked.
"It’s just beyond the Holy Empire."
I considered that. "So it would be quicker to sail there?"
Bene nodded, and I considered our options. To get to the river where we could find passage to the sea beyond, we would have to avoid the dedicated freemen who were searching for us. Or we could continue on foot to Ditalia with the peregrini, getting free food and lodging along the way. And no matter what else could be said of Kristna followers, their men had not tried to ravish us.
"We’re going to become peregrini," I decided.
"You’re not a follower of Kristna," Bene protested. "And neither am I."
"There’s no need to tell them that." I didn’t want to explain my plan in case we were recaptured by Canille. "Trust me, Bene. You said you wanted to travel. This is as good a start as any."
Bene looked around at our companions. "’Tis true, it’s better than being a farmer. And perhaps the food will improve."
So our decision was made. The peregrini were curious about us—especially when they realized I was a woman, not a boy as my clothing indicated. They believed I dressed that way to protect myself on the road, and were vehement in their insistence that no one would dare trouble peregrini and bring Kristna’s sentinels down on themselves.
When they asked why we had become peregrini, I replied honestly. "We were compelled to walk this path." They nodded approvingly.
The affluent peregrini rode mules, so it was easy for us to overhear their conversation as we helped with their mounts. The young bride had a nervous temperament, and she made fervent prayers in every sanctuary for a child, having lost her babe with the harvest. I thought she and her older husband simply needed to rut for another year or two, but he was eager to get an heir for his vast holdings.
The other couple had a no-nonsense way about their devotions, belying their decision to leave their comfortable home and go vast distances to pay homage to Kristna. The matronly woman lolled on her mule, with her husband astride next to her. She chattered happily about her large brood of children left behind to anyone who would listen. I wondered if they had become peregrini simply as an excuse for a journey.
When her husband asked why we had no staffs, I admitted we hadn’t a coin to buy them. The man was kind enough to pay a farthing for two of the stout staffs by which peregrini were known.
While the couples welcomed us, the squat Frankish clerics were all seriousness. They marched stoically through the rain, and set to begging before every sanctuary door. I suspected they had reserves of coins in their pouches because they often bought foodstuff in the markets we passed through. In contrast, there were three Danelaw clerics who maintained an austerity that was disquieting. They refused to wash themselves and ate only what the sanctuaries gave without begging for more. They rose at each bell to pray to their god, spending too much time on their knees before walking all day.
Because we were lodged close to sanctuaries, the bells woke me all through the night. I never truly slept, and it left me in a daze during the day. I longed to be able to commune with the olfs for rejuvenation, but all the otherworldly creatures avoided the peregrini because of the strong presence of Kristna among them.
Bene was thriving, always interested and exclaiming over something—an intricately carved bridge or a shining river snaking through a flat open valley. He wasn’t suited to service, being much too mischievous and impulsive. He was happier flitting from place to place like an olf. So despite the hardships, he didn’t really regret leaving Montplaire.
On one particularly harsh day, the rain turned to sleet and there was no convenient sanctuary nearby, forcing us to plod through the icy mud. That day Bene complained, but everyone did, including the Danelaw clerics who prayed loudly for Kristna to relieve their suffering.
When it became clear that Canille’s freemen wouldn’t find us, I began to confide in Bene. I told him about my homeland and that my mam was a native Skraeling. I explained that my own master had freed me, and that I was determined to free other pleasure slaves. Yet I never mentioned Lexander’s name or that he was bent on destroying the houses.
The peregrini moved at a leisurely pace, pausing at each sanctuary and the various shrines to Kristna erected by natural springs and crossroads. Some of the sanctuaries held reliquaries that were said to cause miracles. At the sanctuary marking the entrance to the Holy Empire, the land of Kristna, there was a jewel-encrusted case that was said to hold the foot of a man who had walked with Kristna himself.
The peregrini knelt before the altar where the reliquary rested. I joined them, but instead of bowing my head, I stared up at the sparkling green and blue jewels, and the golden embroidery on the draperies of the altar. The cloth was so fine that the light shone through it. Two leather-bound books were embossed and dotted with pearls and rubies. The bronze candlesticks rose high, holding fat yellow candles that would take days to burn out.
At the rear of the altar was a carved ivory plaque hinged in three sections. It showed the tiny figures of men, some on horses, and the distinct outline of a Kristna sanctuary. A fancy bucket sat on a pedestal to one side. The peregrini were allowed to dip their hands into the water that had been blessed if they gave an oblation to the sanctuary. Even the clerics from Danelaw dug into their purses to hand over a coin.
Bene and I hung back. He was looking up at the stone carvings on the arches and columns—vines, leaves, and faces. Fat babies floated in the air on tiny wings, and I wondered if they were meant to depict olfs.
But no olf passed through the great bronze doors, cast in coffers like the arched ceiling. I was sorry because I thought they would like the wall paintings that showed Kristna followers, their mantles of bright color slung over their shoulders and hanging to their feet.
That day we passed by an edifice that was under construction. The flimsy-looking scaffolding and pulleys rose higher than the unfinished wall. I heard one of the peregrini say it had once been a great sanctuary that had burned to the ground. It was being rebuilt taller and finer than before.
The Holy Empire surely belonged to Kristna. The spires of sanctuaries dotted the countryside, rising higher than the villages around them. The olfs were relegated to the kitchen hearths of the cottars or the wooded glades. It wasn’t just because I was with the peregrini—there were decidedly far fewer spirits in the Holy Empire.
After too many days of walking without reprieve, I hoped we were nearing the end of our journey. But the peregrini settled into a rhythm that offered no hope of relief. As we arrived at a hospice, the last of the sun’s rays shone under the blanket of clouds.
The wide valley was illuminated before me. It seemed to go on forever. At the other side was a line of mountains, with the undulating peaks shining white with snow. They extended far beyond sight.
"That must be the summits," Bene said in awe. He joined me on the slope near the hospice. "Etien said they’re the tallest mountains in the Auldland."
"We’re not going up there!" I protested.
"We’ll have to cross them to get to Ditalia. From the other side we can head east to Veneto."
I stared at the mountains. "Is it possible?"
"So they say. At the rate we’re going," Bene said thoughtfully, "it may take another moon to get there."
My expression must have been pure dismay. Bene began bouncing up and down on his toes. He wanted constant assurances from me. He had been trained to be subservient, and that was a hard habit to break.
There was no going back now, so I accepted the inevitable. I had misjudged the distance based on my travels at home.
When we stopped the next evening and the mountains appeared larger though not much closer, I realized we were truly in for a difficult time. What were these people thinking, crossing peaks like that in the heart of winter? The peregrini seemed confident that it could be done. But I also
discovered the couples had left detailed instructions for the distribution of their property if they died along the way, which did not comfort me.
When we finally began the gradual ascent into the outlying foothills, we came upon a village of stone in the midst of the trees. The sanctuary and tower belonged to a compound of Kristna followers. The village clung to its side like a burr.
The mountains rose up abruptly behind us. I’d seen mountains before, but never like this. The mass of rock loomed menacingly.
It was cold inside the hospice in the sanctuary compound. I hurried to the bed, but as soon as I touched it, tiny bugs sprang out. I tentatively pushed my hand into the blanket, and the black specks swarmed toward me, attracted by my warmth.
"I can’t sleep here," I declared. My flesh had already been eaten raw.
Bene simply scratched and didn’t seem to care. It made me wonder about his life before Montplaire. My family in Jarnby may have been poor, but we drank milk every morning and had our share of meat in the stew— and we had no biting bugs living in our furs.
There were simply too many people in the Auldland. The sheer number of villages, towns, and more villages was astonishing. Even our band of peregrini was growing as we picked up more clerics and followers. Most of the clerics avoided the women, but there were a few who watched us too closely, making me doubt their proclaimed celibacy.
I left the hospice to return to the barn. Bene followed me, as always. I couldn’t go behind a tree to relieve myself without having him at my heels.
In the barn, we nestled into the clean straw stored for a fine herd of cattle. The sanctuary was prosperous, and it was said the clerics owned much of the surrounding land.
I snuggled up to Bene, lying on his mantle and wrapping mine over us. We were both shivering.
Since we were at last alone, I ventured to ask, "Why don’t you ever speak of your family, Bene?"
"There’s nothing to say," Bene mumbled. "I’m not from a distant land like you, where everything is different."
"Not so very different." I knew Bene was the son of a simple Frankish cottar. We had passed by hundreds of poor families living in shacks and eking out life from a muddy strip of land. "My family was poor, too. But I was never . . . raped."
He shifted uneasily.
"What happened, Bene?" I asked.
He had been trained to respond, though he didn’t want to. "My older brothers used to take turns sleeping next to me and . . ."
Bene’s arms loosened from around me as he began to draw away.
I held him tightly. "Don’t. We’re just starting to warm up."
When he hugged me again, it was with a different intent. "Good idea to get away from the others," he murmured.
Bene rubbed his body against mine. It wasn’t the first time, but I had discouraged his advances while we were in the midst of the Kristna clerics. They rejected sensual pleasure. The couples had refrained from rutting except for one or two notable occasions that had aggravated the clerics mightily.
Now, starting to feel warm and drowsy, I let Bene press his tarse into my hip. He grew turgid with excitement, and his hands pushed under my tunic to my bare skin.
It felt good, but somehow I could not enjoy it. Bene’s urgency was born from more than a need to rut. It wasn’t lust like we’d shared in Montplaire. Now there was something more he needed from me, just like Porter had briefly hoped that I would satisfy his unfulfilled longings for a wife.
I pushed at Bene’s hands, trying to stop him from touching me. He was distracting me from my questions about his family. And even more, he wanted to be safe. For him, that meant pleasing whoever held the reins. He must have learned that from his brothers, and Canille and Etien had reinforced it.
"No, Bene, don’t," I told him. "We can’t."
He persisted, expecting me to give in. But I could feel no pleasure now, not when I knew what he was doing.
"Bene, stop it." I pulled away slightly, pushing on his shoulders and letting a blast of cold air under the mantle.
"Please, it feels so good," he urged, trying to pull me back.
"Bene, I’m not your mistress!" I snapped.
That penetrated his fog. He lay there breathing heavily. "We’ve rutted before, Marja. I don’t understand why you don’t want to."
"You can’t rely on other people, Bene. I had to learn the hard way."
Stung, he asked, "What does that have to do with a harmless rut?"
I sighed. "You’re trying to stay safe by pleasing me. But I’m helping you because I want you to be free, not because it serves me."
He lay there stiffly, unsure of what to do. I don’t think he fully understood, but his silence was encouraging. Perhaps he was considering it.
I pulled him closer, wrapping our mantles around us again and pressing my face against his shoulder. This time we melded together without any sensual sparks. That convinced me I was right. I had to give Bene the chance to become his own man.
We climbed into the mountains. The summits were not merely a line of peaks; beyond the first pass were even taller mountains with more ahead. I could only focus on the slippery path, beaten into packed snow. After we went into the summits, the blue sky disappeared for good, leaving only white clouds above. I couldn’t stop staring at the vistas of conifers and snow-covered meadows before us.
The wind whipped against us, snaking through my mantle until I begged two thick blankets from a hospice so Bene and I wouldn’t freeze. The young bride had a fur muff and a fur-lined cloak that looked very enticing. The clerics wore many robes of felted wool that kept out the frigid blasts.
When we crossed passes that went over the tree line, where there was only ice and gray rock, our pace slowed to a crawl. We were covering far less ground each day. Here water was frozen in ways I’d never seen before— in bubbles around springs, and long icicles hanging from exposed cliff faces, and frozen layers on top of softer snow that broke with each step.
We stopped every day in a different village tucked in the deep, narrow valleys. There were no walls here to keep out attackers—the mountains served that function.
Then we came to a town larger than most, situated on the edge of a long lake that was smoother than any ice I had ever seen. The cobbled streets were remarkably clean, with people walking about wearing bulky caps and striped wool cloaks, leading cattle and goats with shaggy coats.
The band decided to stop early because of the threatening black clouds pouring over the next pass. There was a special service in the Kristna sanctuary, celebrating a saint’s day. Since it was too cold to explore the neat town, Bene and I went along.
The sanctuary was full of people, including a large number of peregrini. Bene and I stayed near the back so we would not be conscripted into their rites. Once I had accidentally let myself be pushed up to the altar, and I had to sip the sour wine from a large silver chalice. Bene partook from time to time, saying he wanted the wine, but the spirit of Kristna didn’t lodge inside of him. He was free to choose for himself, but I would be sorry to see him accept the "one, true" god, thereby rejecting all others.
When the ritual was completed, we were told that the clerics would be given the last berths and there was no more room in the sanctuary hospice. Bene and I, along with the two couples, would have to stay at an inn.
Bene and I followed the couples. I had discovered that the young bride had lost two babes, born before their time, and she dwelled on it overmuch, anxious to be perfectly correct in her worship. The matronly woman, on the other hand, was quite pragmatic except for the day we drank from an icy, Kristna-blessed spring and her ring broke off. She was delighted, claiming the ring had been stuck on her plump finger for years and had caused her no end of trouble. I thought the silver ring broke because she struck it against the rock basin, but she said it was an intervention from Kristna himself.
The inn was a large stone house with a few arched windows and a tidy slate roof. Smoke puffed from the chimney. With the dark clouds lowering
over our heads, I only hoped it was warm.
Inside the main room, lit by several lanterns and a large fire in the hearth, the other two couples bargained with the innkeeper in the Frankish tongue. Most people we had encountered in the Holy Empire spoke more than one dialect, perhaps because we were following the peregrini path to Ditalia.
There were several patrons seated at the trestle table eating a porridge of roasted oats. The central hearth was open to the kitchen beyond, where the iron pot hung near the flames. Two women saw us enter and began to gather more bowls.
"Two pfenigs," the bride told me. "For each couple."
"We have nothing to give," I said to the innkeeper. "We started this journey without any coins, as peregrini should."
The poorest clerics were disdainful of the wealth of the peregrini, who were supposed to give up everything in their journey to honor Kristna. Most of the clerics walked, refusing to ride the mules that carried their packs unless they were injured or sick. The bride’s husband was also on foot to further humble himself before his god. But he wasn’t above buying meat and vegetables in the markets to supplement the monotonous diet of hard cheese and bread.
The matron huffed as if ready to take offense at my words, but I held up a hand. "I make no boast, for we had no coins to start. Our journey would be easier if we did. But we don’t ask for it to be easy, only to reach our destination in good health."
I was repeating phrases I had overheard from the clerics, but it mollified the others. " ’Tis true," the bride’s husband said. "Charity is supposed to be given to peregrini to aid us on our way. We can afford to pay, but these two cannot. I’ve seen it for myself—they’ve left no oblations in the sanctuaries, for they had none to give."
The innkeeper motioned for another peregrine to come inside. The man immediately agreed to pay for a bed. My heart began to sink at the thought of sleeping with the mules again on this bitter-cold night.
"Let my friend share with this man," I said to the innkeeper. "Surely I can sleep here by the fire."