"Yarbro,.Chelsea.Quinn.-.Olivia.02.-.Crusader's.Torch.(V1.0)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yarbro Chelsea Quinn)

Niklos Aulirios
By my own hand on the eve of the Passion, in the 1189th Christian year.
Х 3 Х
This chapel, huddled against the south wall of Tyre, was smaller than most; hardly larger than a box stall. The altar was little more than a polished wooden table, and the crucifix hanging above it had been hewn by unskilled hands. In so close a place, the odor of incense mixed with that of the unwashed monk who tended the chapel, making a living presence in the air.
"You were right to seek aid," said the Cistercian monk who knelt on the stone floor beside Olivia. "A woman of quality, a Roman woman, must not undertake so arduous a journey without proper escort."
"But I have none," Olivia said, wishing for an excuse to rise; it felt to her that she was demonstrating simple letters to a wayward child. "I explained that when I arrived."
"Pray you, tell me again. I do not entirely understand."
Inwardly Olivia reminded herself that she needed the monk's good will and assistance if she were to arrange passage for Roma. She kept her tone quiet and stilled the sharp retort that she longed to utter. "My husband's family has been important in Roma, but I do not think that I, as his widow, could request help from his relatives at this time." She had chosen her most restrained and Norman clothesЧfor this occasion, none of the wide embroidered sleeves of Antioch and Damascus silks; her bliaud was of saffron-rinsed linen, dyed the color of sand. Her fawn-brown hair was braided and covered with a tied veil of cotton, all of which was held in place with a widow's black wreath.
"There is always an obligationЧ" the Cistercian monk began.
"Pardon me, but I doubt any of my husband's relatives would be able to make a voyage to escort me," she said, her head lowered. She stared at the seashell embedded in a splendor of gold that hung from a flat gold chain around her neck. "Not many of them are inclined to be pilgrims on my behalf."
"There is estrangement?" the monk asked neutrally.
Olivia nodded. "I have not been in Roma for many, many years. There was never such closeness that their duty could survive so long a separation." She did not add that the separation could be counted in centuries, or that her husband had met his end while the elder Titus Flavius Vespasianus wore the purple.
"These developments are always lamentable," said the monk. "I can petition my Order forЧ"
Once more Olivia held up her hand to stop him. "Again, your pardon, Fraire Herchambaut. Do forgive me for this second interruption." She saw the monk nod acceptance. "My travels are not as simple as for some pilgrims. I have many household goods which must also be sent to Roma. Because I know how little concern religious men have for such concerns, I would rather not burden them with such responsibilities. Also, if I were to be set upon because of the goods I carry, I would never feel at peace if any harm came to any monk of any Order because of my possessions." She joined her slender hands.
"A very pious thought," said Fraire Herchambaut with approval.
"There is another factor as well," added Olivia thoughtfully. "I doЕ poorlyЕ in the sun. I am one of those who cannot endure its rays. And worse"Чshe managed a faint, self-deprecatory smileЧ"I am ill when sailing."
"Many well-born women are similarly delicate," Fraire Herchambaut said as if impressed. "All the more to your credit that you undertook the pilgrimage you have made."
"I did not feel that I had much choice in the matter. For many widows, the loss of their husbands entails special burdens beyond their grief. Circumstances being what they were, I realized I must come here." She did not add that she had arrived in Tyre not from Roma but from Alexandria.
"You have lived here for some time, or so I am informed." He was clearly curious about her, but had learned to treat all but the poorest pilgrims with circumspection.
"I have lived here more than twelve years," said Olivia with a gesture indicating that she had little concern with the time involved. "I sought a haven."
"A long time." Fraire Herchambaut lowered his head, more in thought than in prayer. "You say you have a servant in Roma already?"
"My major domo. He is my bondsman, a Greek. He has served me faithfully a long time." This time her smile was more apparent but still secretive.
"Faithful servants are one of the greatest of God's blessings," Fraire Herchambaut declared. He rocked back on his heels. "I pray you, do not be alarmed. At my age my bones grow tired quickly."
"That is unfortunate for you," said Olivia, trying to guess the monk's age. Was he forty, forty-five? The desert aged many people fiercely, and it had been centuries since Olivia had met a physician worthy of the name.
He rubbed his hands on the front of his habit. The rough woolen garment was grimy and stained, the fabric almost stiff in places. Only the narrow scapular was relatively clean. "I was thirty-one when I left Languedoc for the Holy Land. There were seventeen of us, and we walked the distance, through Germany and Hungary. Four died on the way. I do not know what became of the rest of us, for each of us has a chapel like this one, and each in a separate town or fort. Two of my Fraires remained at Caesarea, and two at Castel Montforte. From time to time I hear of the others."
"You must miss them," said Olivia, as always puzzled by the monkish urge to withdraw from all familiar society.
"We are together in God," said Fraire Herchambaut automatically. "When we pray, we are not alone or lonely." He regarded Olivia. "Surely you have learned that peace?"
"NotЕ not to the degree I would like," said Olivia.
"No," agreed the Cistercian, "it is the burden of women, the heritage of Eve." He blessed himself. "Well, tell me what you require and I will do what I may to assist you. Little as I wish to say so, I think that it is wise for you to leave Tyre. If the demonic Islamites attack here as they have in Jerusalem, who can tell what would happen to you?"
"Precisely," said Olivia brusquely, which she modified at once. "What frightens me is what could happen if we fall into the hands of the Islamites." For all her years in Alexandria she had never been abused, but that had been before the Shi'ites came. Now she doubted she could rely on the protection of her household or the assistance of the scholars she had known there.
"All Christians must pray that time will never come," said Fraire Herchambaut. "It is not only a defeat for the honor of Christians, it is a defeat for the Holy Spirit as well."
"To say nothing of the body of the Christian," added Olivia.
"The body is not the concern of Christians, only the soul." He blessed himself. "You are a pilgrim. You know this."
This time Olivia made herself give the answer that the monk wanted to hear. "I care little for my body, but I despair of what would happen to it, and to my soul on its account, should I be taken by the Islamites."
"You are a woman of excellent sense," approved Fraire Herchambaut. "And a prudent one." He rose. "Do not rise on my account," he went on. "I have to prepare the Mass." He bowed to the altar and stepped into an alcove. "I will have to be silent while I prepare."
"Of course," said Olivia, trying to find a good reason to leave before the Mass began.
"Also, because only you are present, and you are a woman, I must ask you to leave. When women pilgrims attend Mass, there must be more than one present or we are not allowedЕ it is part of the new Rule, the same one that forbids priests to marry." He coughed. "I will offer prayers for you, and if you permit, I will visit you this evening. I am allowed to carry out the tasks of my calling after the streets have been closed."
"What of robbers?" Olivia asked, knowing better than most what desperate men roamed Tyre once curfew began.
"Robbers do not trouble themselves with monks," Fraire Herchambaut said with a laugh. "Saints and Angels, why should they? What we carry has little use in this world." He indicated his simple monstrance and a small silver pyx. "Neither is worth more than a few coins, if that is how you measure the value of such objects."
"Men have been killed for far less, Fraire." Olivia blessed herself and got to her feet. "You need take no risks on my account. And you will be welcome in my house whenever you come there." She bowed to the altar and backed the few steps to the chapel door. "God give you wise counsel, and aid you in all your deeds."
"And you, Bondama," replied the Cistercian, his attention more on his religion than on her.
Two of Olivia's slaves waited for her, sheltered against the wall out of the sun. The older, a square-bodied eunuch from Ascalon, indicated Olivia's small palinquin. "Mistress," he said as he drew back the curtains to help her into it.
"I suppose I must," she said. "Alfaze, the monk of this chapel has said he will visit me. I wish him to be announced and admitted at once." She adjusted one of the cushions so that she was more comfortable, then slowly pulled the curtains closed. As she felt the palinquin lifted by her two slaves, she cursed the laws that limited her. It was not so long ago, she thoughtЧhardly more than a centuryЧthat she would put on Arab's robes and ride with Niklos through the countryside behind Alexandria. She had not dared to do that more than twice in the last five years, and with the Templars increasing their patrols, the joy had gone out of such escapades. How she missed those few, reckless hours of freedom! Had someone told her in her youth that she would have to live this way, she would not have believed them. But then, she added to herself, if she had been told at the same time the kind of husband she would have, she would not have believed that, either. "It's just as well I'm going back to Roma," she muttered, and then, in answer to her slaves' questions, said, "Nothing, nothing. I pray for our deliverance." In a sense it was true enough.
By the time Fraire Herchambaut arrived at Olivia's house, the streets had been closed for some time, and the Cistercian apologized for the lateness of his visit.
"You are welcome at any hour," Olivia assured him when he had been shown to her reception room. "My household has been told to admit you whenever you call, as I said they would. My footmenЧthere are three slaves who take that dutyЧwill open the door to you at any hour."
"You have a slave at the door at all times?" Fraire Herchambaut asked, startled at such irregular courtesy.
"A Roman habit. My father always had such a footman at the door, day and night," Olivia said, refraining from adding how long ago that had been. She recalled, fleetingly, the few slaves who had been left to care for her mother, before Justus sent her away from Roma and Olivia. In those days, it was a footman's duty to be sure every person entering the house stepped over the threshold with the right foot, to avert bad luck for everyone.
"Romans have their own traditions," said Fraire Herchambaut vaguely, unwilling to admit that he was unfamiliar with them. "As do others."
"Yes," Olivia said, clapping her hands to summon one of the household slaves still up. "I'm afraid the fare here is very simple, but you are welcome to shareЧ"
"A little bread and wine will be very welcome, and God will bless you for your charity," said Fraire Herchambaut. "I eat no flesh at night. Bread and wine are food enough for any true Christian."