On yet another bend in the road, the donkey’s legs went off to the right, he fell on his side, and ludicrously began to slip, taking Brother Hugo along behind him. The donkey was slipping downward and slowly rolling, as everyone stood motionless, watching: his rather-too-large white stomach, onto which the travel bags had fallen, was shaking, and his legs were helplessly twitching, which only sped the downward motion, all as Brother Hugo slipped along with him, powerless to let go of the rope...
The Franciscan let go of the rope when Ambrogio grabbed him by the scruff of the neck at the very last moment, but the animal continued slipping, making a horrible whooshing sound on the iced rocks, and sliding all the way to the edge of the precipice. The donkey hung in the air. He fell into the stream, his bellow diminishing.
Brother Hugo rose to his feet. He silently cast his gaze over everyone. He took a few steps toward the precipice, and those standing nearby were already prepared to grab him, thinking he had lost his senses. But Brother Hugo fell to his knees. It was unclear if he was praying or if his legs simply could not hold him. And when he stood, there was a clump of donkey fur in his hand. He held the clump in front of everyone and tears flowed from his eyes.
Brother Hugo wept for the rest of the descent from the mountain pass. He held onto one of the wagons along with everyone else, so it would not roll too fast, and tears streamed down his face. He kept taking out the clump of fur he had picked up and pressing it to his eyes. In a flat area, two Kiev merchants sat Brother Hugo in a cart with furs because he was short of breath from the fast walking. In mourning his dead comrade, he unexpectedly noticed that nothing was biting him any longer. That could not reconcile him with the loss, though it did ease his pain to some degree.
The way out of the final Alpine gorge was narrow. It was reminiscent of an archway, with its upper part formed by young saplings that had grown along both sides of the road on the cliffs and bent toward one another. It was in that archway that a group of horsemen appeared, blocking the caravan’s way. The caravan’s tail end was still continuing to make its way through the ravine, though the guards at its head were no longer moving. They stood some distance from the horsemen, making no attempt to near them, for their appearance presaged nothing good.
They are highwaymen, said Brother Hugo, sitting on the furs; those around him could not help but agree.
The highwaymen spoke amongst themselves in Italian. After brief deliberations, Ambrogio was entrusted to negotiate with them. Several guardians offered to go with him but Ambrogio refused. He pointed to Arseny, who was riding toward him, and said:
The two of us are enough.
Three, Brother Hugo intervened. Three. I speak Italian, too, after all. Besides, as of today I have nothing to lose.
They then gave Brother Hugo a horse so he would be on the same level as the highwaymen rather than speaking to them from a lower position. Those in the caravan thought the monk’s appearance was capable of softening even the hardest hearts. The three riders slowly headed toward the highwaymen.
Peace be with you, shouted Brother Hugo, still far away.
No answer followed, and the brother repeated his greeting from closer range.
You don’t speak our language so well, stranger, said a highwayman on a white horse. You must pay for that.
The other highwaymen began laughing. The speaker seemed to be the ringleader. He was heavyset and not young. His face was as crimson as a glass of Piemonte wine and a sable scar was engraved into his skull on his deeply receding hairline. His horse was pawing at the ground, clearly expressing the horseman’s impatience.
To the Lord, there are no strangers, objected Brother Hugo.
Then we will send you to Him, the ringleader said, and you can be among your own people there. And your stuff will be left for us.
The highwaymen laughed again, this time with more restraint. They themselves still did not know to what extent that was a joke.
We have good guards and they will not run away, said Ambrogio. This has been proven.
Proven but not by us.
The ringleader pulled the reins and his horse neighed.
Ambrogio shrugged.
You will have losses, no matter how this all ends.
Without answering anything, the ringleader and several of the highwaymen rode off to the edge of the path. They deliberated for a fairly long time. These people were not the type to fight for the sake of fighting, so they understood the outcome of the battle was not foregone. After steering his horse toward Ambrogio, the ringleader said:
You bring us ten ducats per person, including guards, and no blood will be shed.
Ambrogio became pensive.
One ducat per person, said Brother Hugo. Infidels charge two ducats for the opportunity to go to the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, which is a total rip-off. In this case, it is the Christians who are robbing us, so I believe it ought to be possible to limit it to one ducat.
We appear to be bargaining, said the surprised ringleader.
I am trying to ease your conscience as much as I can, said Brother Hugo.
After an extensive discussion, they reached a sum acceptable to alclass="underline" five ducats from each in the caravan. When Brother Hugo rode off to the caravan to announce the result of the negotiations, Arseny said to Ambrogio:
The person who was speaking with you is in danger. There is a loud noise in his head. Blood is pressing on the vessels in his head and they are ready to burst. I see, Ambrogio, that they are swollen from too much blood. They look like fat, coiled-up worms. Blood circulation can still be improved in that head, but believe me: nothing will work out unless there is a change of thought in there.
After hearing what Arseny had to say, Ambrogio addressed the ringleader:
The noise you hear in your head is the consequence of thoughts that have settled in there. The noise is life-threatening but my comrade could still help you.
The highwaymen, who knew nothing about the noise in the ringleader’s head, began laughing again. But the ringleader remained serious. He asked:
And what does your comrade ask for that?
He is a person of the Greek-Russian belief and asks that you alter your thinking; put another way: that you repent, for repentance in Greek is metanoia, which literally means a change in thoughts.
You are bargaining again, smirked the ringleader. But only money can be the object of bargaining.
This is not bargaining, it is a condition, said Ambrogio, shaking his head. A necessary condition, so that my comrade could help you.
Carrying the money, Brother Hugo rode up to the men as they conversed. The ringleader took the small bag with the gold coins from his hands and tossed it to one of the highwaymen to be counted. He turned to Arseny and Ambrogio as they were riding away:
You know, I have not yet accepted anyone’s conditions. He pointed at a piece of sky closed off by the cliffs. Not even His.
The caravan silently watched as the highwaymen left the gorge. The caravan began moving, too, after the last highwayman had disappeared behind the cliff. Everyone understood they had gotten off easy this time, though that gave them no joy.
There are so many different kinds of people in the world, sighed one of the Kiev merchants.
What did he say? Brother Hugo asked Ambrogio.
He said that people are very dissimilar.
What is true is true, confirmed Brother Hugo.