The Arabs that the pilgrims had hired to protect the caravan wordlessly observed Ambrogio’s work. They had demanded half a ducat from each traveler for their services, which seemed too expensive to the pilgrims because the journey to Jerusalem was not really that long.
The journey is not long but it is dangerous, retorted the Arabs. Death lurks everywhere here. And life has its costs.
Getting on a camel is not the same as getting on a horse. The Arab made the camel drop to its knees as he helped Arseny get on. Arseny was surprised at the animal’s ability to kneel; he took a seat between the two humps. Arseny nearly fell to the ground when the camel stood. A camel’s hind legs are the first to straighten, which tosses the rider forward. The camel looked at Arseny with sadness after it stood. What made it sad and what premonitions did it have?
The caravan set off at dawn. Contrary to the Arabs’ promises, it moved unhurriedly. The pilgrims’ faces reflected all the colors of the brightening desert. The sun rose improbably fast and coolness gave way to heat at the same rate. The pilgrims’ faces were covered with sweat and dust from the hooves of the Arabian horses that preceded the caravan.
Two hours into the journey, the Arabs demanded each person add another ducat. They explained this by saying they had seen a band of Mamluks off in the distance and protection from Mamluks cost extra. As they were bargaining, one of the Arabs galloped off ahead, saying he would check the road. They each added another ducat for the Arabs.
From time to time, the Arabs lagged behind the caravan and conferred about something. Their behavior, along with the band of Mamluks they had sighted, troubled the Brandenburg pilgrims, so they began insisting on returning to Jaffa. The Arabs refused to return and, as far as the Mamluks were concerned, they hastened to admit they were a mirage that quite often pursues travelers in the desert. Then the Brandenburg pilgrims, followed by the others, began demanding that the additional ducats they had paid to their escorts be returned, but the Arabs also refused to refund them.
I have this burdensome feeling, said Ambrogio, but I cannot say anything definite about our future, for these events lie too close. There was no reason to expect an easy journey, nobody promised us that anyway, and things were not easy before, either. We are approaching the holy city and the opposition to our approach is tripling.
It would be a shame not to enter the city when we are only a half-day’s journey away, said the pilgrim Friedrich.
Moses was fated to see the Promised Land from a distance, but he was not fated to enter it, retorted the pilgrim Wilhelm.
Do any of us really resemble Moses? asked the pilgrim Friedrich.
Everyone who seeks the Promised Land resembles Moses, said Ambrogio. Is that not so, brother Arseny?
Arseny looked silently at Ambrogio and it seemed that Ambrogio’s head had risen above his body. The head was still speaking but it obviously no longer belonged to the body. A hazy shroud had enveloped Ambrogio’s body; it first became translucent and then dissolved completely. The others’ bodies were still showing through the haze but their futures were not obvious. They began wavering, too, revealing their transparent properties, as Ambrogio’s body had. Arseny feared he would lose consciousness. But he retained it.
The caravan’s movement grew even slower. Gusts of hot wind flung sand into the riders’ eyes. The camels kept stopping to munch on camel thorn and the donkeys stopped for no apparent reason. The sky was now as yellow as the earth because the sun had filled the sky’s entire expanse. Their eyes watered from the sand and sun but their tears dried on their lashes, before they had a chance to fall on their cheeks. This is why the pilgrims took the band of Mamluks for a clump of sun and sand.
At first, the clump truly was indistinguishable from a patch of sunlight or a sandy whirlwind, and it seemed to move just as irregularly. But it only seemed that way: the whirlwind was being carried right to the caravan. This band of Palestine’s Egyptian masters rode at full gallop and it looked as if they knew what they were seeking. Once the Mamluks had come closer, the pilgrims noticed among them the Arab who had gone off to check the road. The riders surrounded the caravan.
The Mamluks were dressed in padded red robes; yellow turbans towered on their heads. This saved the Mamluks from the sun’s rays, but obviously did not save them from the heat. The stale smell of their robes could be sensed even in the open air. The pilgrims, surrounded by Mamluks, inhaled the stench. The Arabs huddled at a distance, following the proceedings and smiling. They did not make even the slightest attempt to interfere.
The Mamluks’ chieftain—his gold-embroidered sash distinguished him—ordered all the pilgrims to dismount. Only those riding donkeys could do this immediately: it turned out not to be so simple for the rest. Brother Jean from Besançon, who was sitting on a camel, attempted to climb down to the ground but could not. He hung, holding onto the camel’s hump. Brother Jean was afraid to jump and his legs swung helplessly in the air. The Mamluks and Arabs laughed loudly. One of the Mamluks struck the monk on the hands with a whip and he flopped to the ground. The camel began roaring from the unexpectedness. It began stamping its front feet, landing a hoof on the head of Brother Jean, who was lying on the ground. This evoked another outburst of laughter. Only the Mamluks’ chieftain barely cracked a smile. Perhaps his rank did not allow him to laugh using his entire mouth. Brother Jean fumbled in the dust with his hands, as if he were drunk. His gray hair quickly soaked with blood.
The camels’ masters approached. The camels dropped to their knees when their legs were rapped with sticks. The pilgrims climbed down from the camels, not without some difficulty, and stretched their numbed legs. Arseny began approaching Brother Jean but was sent reeling by a punch. Arseny felt his nose begin bleeding. The stunned monk continued his strange motions. When he tried to get up, he looked like a beetle that had fallen on his back. He genuinely did amuse the prancing horsemen, so nobody was allowed to stop the entertainment.
Arseny grew frightened when he looked at the chief Mamluk. The Mamluk’s smile had transformed to a grimace. This grimace expressed neither laughter, nor hatred, nor even disdain. A hunter’s unbridled passion for his victim pulsed in time with a swelled vein on his temple. Even when sated, a cat will pounce on a bird with a broken wing because that is how the cat and all her ancestors were made: the bird acts like a victim and the sweetness of harsh punishment for the victim is, for the hunter, stronger than hunger and more demanding than lust.
The chief Mamluk flicked his arm with a sultry wail and then a spear shuddered in Brother Jean’s chest. Brother Jean gripped the spear so it would not shudder and would not break his ribs, then he turned on his side along with the spear. He began screaming, too, and that scream drove the Mamluk to ecstasy. The Mamluk extended his hand and was given a new spear; he hurled it with a new scream, landing it in Brother Jean’s side. The monk began screaming and pounding in the dust and the Mamluk again extended his hand and again hurled a spear, landing it in Brother Jean’s back. Brother Jean did not scream this time. He jolted and breathed his last. And it seemed to Arseny that the slain man’s face was Ambrogio’s face.