A caravan of forty merchants, two Novgorod envoys, and thirty guardians had formed. Money for the guards was gathered from all the travelers, including Arseny and Ambrogio, whom they charged four ducats, taking into consideration that they hardly had any cargo. Each of the merchants had brought several pack horses and many brought their cargo in wagons harnessed with oxen. When all assembled, the caravan filled the entire square in front of the Saint Sophia Cathedral. Sounds could be heard everywhere: the squeak of wagons, the neighing of horses, the bellows of oxen, and the cursing of the guardians protecting the caravan. They were angry people, as befits guardians.
The caravan set off after two hours of formation and monetary calculations. It narrowed after reaching the Golden Gates and began heavily seeping outward, as if it had come through the neck of a bottle. Those traveling with goods had to make payments to exit the city. Arseny and Ambrogio were not charged because they were traveling without goods. The only valuable object in their possession was the silver icon lamp, but nobody knew about that.
The merchants, though, were carrying furs, hats, belts, knives, swords, locks, plow iron, linen, saddles, lances, bows, arrows, and jewelry. From the perspective of the men standing at the Golden Gates, the merchants had something to pay for. Money was charged per wagon, not per individual good. They thus loaded each wagon with as much as it could hold, sometimes even more. In situations like that, if the wagons broke, their cargo, according to law, became the property of the Kiev commander. Items that fell (what might fall is windfall) were also ruthlessly taken away. The road through the gates was pitted with potholes. If the potholes smoothed over time, they were carefully gouged out again. In the Middle Ages, just as in later times, customs officers knew how to work with travelers.
The caravan stopped after traveling a considerable distance from the city walls. Ten wagons awaited them here, so they could transfer a portion of the cargo they’d brought from the city. The goods would not have made it to Venice the way they were arranged when they went through the gates, and the merchants understood that. Redistributing the goods required several hours. The sun was already low when the caravan got underway for good.
They spent the night not far from Kiev. The caravan was so large they needed to seek shelter in several villages at once. As they were being taken into the villages, the guardian Vlasy approached Ambrogio and Arseny. He held a flail in his hands and a battle ax hung from his belt.
Are you from Pskov? asked the guardian Vlasy.
We are from Pskov, the travelers replied.
I am also from there, I earn money as a guard. Let us go, I will give you good lodging.
Arseny and Ambrogio were housed in the same hut as the Polish merchant Vladislav, who was going to Krakow. He had seven bundles of sable pelts purchased in Novgorod. Vladislav piled all seven bundles by the bench where his bed had been made.
The pelts were fresh and gave off a pungent odor. The merchant held onto the lobes of his large ears, taking each in turn as he told about his goods. His ears burned from the warmth in the hut, making their unusual size even more noticeable. Several rings with gemstones shone on his fat fingers. From time to time he thrust his hands into the sable fur, as if into grass, and the precious stones twinkled from inside the bundle like hefty, inedible wild strawberries.
They are excellent pelts, summed up the merchant Vladislav.
Are there no pelts like this in Krakow? Ambrogio asked out of politeness.
But why not? There are, said the merchant, offended. Though at different prices. There is everything in the Kingdom of Poland.
He spoke with a noticeable accent, so it was difficult to make out certain words.
People’s speech is no longer as reliable as it was at the beginning of our journey, Arseny told Ustina as he lay down on a bench. Words are more and more shaky now. Some slip away without being identified. To be honest, my love, this disquiets me a little.
An instant later, Arseny was sleeping.
The caravan set off again at dawn. Its formation resembled the previous evening’s but did not repeat it precisely. The line-up finally took shape outside the furthest settlement where the travelers had stayed. The caravan’s movement was slow: the speed was determined by the oxen, animals that are unhurried by nature. The oxen had a contemplative look, though they were not actually contemplating anything. The caravan left no tracks as it moved because there had not been any rain in a long time. Only swirls of dust, floating in the dry air, were left behind.
Arseny and Ambrogio saw the guardian Vlasy a bit ahead. He had seemed older yesterday; now he looked almost like a boy. He had dark blond hair. Gray eyes. He waved to them and said something. They could not hear over the noise of the caravan. Ambrogio pointed to his ear.
I lived in Zapskovye, shouted the guardian Vlasy. In Za-pskov-ye. He smiled. Do you know that spot?
They knew and nodded: but of course they knew Zapskovye.
The road was narrow and Arseny’s horse lightly brushed against Ambrogio’s horse from time to time. Arseny took his traveling companion’s horse by the reins and said:
For many years, I have been attempting to devote myself to saving Ustina, whom I killed. And I still just cannot understand if my effort is beneficial. I keep waiting for some sort of sign that could show me I am going in the right direction, but I have not seen a single sign in all these years.
It is easy to follow signs, and that requires no courage, replied Ambrogio.
If this were about saving me, I would not be getting impatient. I would keep moving on and on, as long as my feet would walk, for I do not fear movement and exertion. I only fear I am not going in the right direction.
But I should think the main difficulty is not in the movement (Ambrogio met Arseny’s glance), but in choosing the path.
The caravan was riding through a forest. Arseny rocked silently in the saddle and it was unclear if he was nodding as a sign of agreement with Ambrogio or was shaking his head in time with the horse’s gait. When they rode onto a field, Arseny said:
I am just afraid, Ambrogio, that everything I am doing is not helping Ustina and my path is leading me away from her, not toward her. You have to understand that I have no right to go astray, what with the end of the world coming up. Because if I have gone down the incorrect path, I will not have time to return to the correct one.
Ambrogio unfastened the top buttons of his caftan.
I am going to tell you something strange. It seems ever more to me that there is no time. Everything on earth exists outside of time, otherwise how could I know about the future that has not occurred? I think time is given to us by the grace of God so we will not get mixed up, because a person’s consciousness cannot take in all events at once. We are locked up in time because of our weakness.
Does that mean you think the end of the world already exists, too? asked Arseny.
I am not ruling that out. Of course death of individual people exists, and is that not, really, a personal end of the world? In the long run, history over all is just a part of personal history.
You could say the opposite, too, noted Arseny, after thinking a bit.