The Road to Damietta (25 page)

I hadn't looked at Francis. I did so now as I started the next circle. His eyes shone forth from their caverns. He was watching. It meant nothing at the moment, this shining. His eyes always shone.

I made two circles of the carpet before I writhed out of the sixth veil and dropped it at his feet. He did not touch it. He did not move. The torch flames, shifting in the wind, gave off an uncertain light, yet I was sure that his gaze moved away from me and sought the sky, as if he were asking for God's help.

"Good," Malik-al-Kamil said again. "The statue crumbles. It totters. It casts about for a rescuing hand. Excellent."

But at that moment, as I stood close to Francis, I saw his gaze leave the sky and fix itself upon me. It was penetrating, steady, and cold. I dropped my arms and stood still. In panic, I remembered a story that Brother Illuminato, in one of his worshipful moods, bragging about Francis, had told me.

Years ago, soon after the pope had given Francis permission to speak, the two men were in Syria. It was a cold day so they stopped at a house to warm themselves. There lying in bed was a naked woman who asked Francis, he being the more handsome, to join her.

Francis was surprised but not shocked, Brother Illuminato said. He looked at the woman in pity, troubled that she was so brazen. But when she rose from the bed to grasp him in her arms, he drew back, saying that already a more comfortable bed awaited them in a different room.

In this room, where a large brazier burned, he stripped off his clothes and threw himself upon the coals, asking her to come join him on the sumptuous bed. The woman clutched her throat in horror and did not move, but watched him lying there happily, untouched by the flames. So appalled was she by the sight that she repented of her sins and through the help of Francis became holy in grace and thereafter did much good.

I had not believed this story then and I did not believe it now. Francis talked to the birds and beasts because he loved them. And they talked to Francis because they loved him. But I didn't believe that he could lie unharmed on a bed of burning coals.

I danced away from the gaze he had leveled upon me, thinking of the tale of the Syrian woman. Fearful that he would build a fire there on the deck, take me by the hand, and bid me lie there with him, I danced in front of the sultan.

At my distress, Malik-al-Kamil said, "I hear a crumbling sound in Jericho. Do not grow faint."

I circled back to where Francis sat, so close to him that I could feel his breath upon my flesh, and took off the mask that hid my face. Brother Illuminato gasped. He reached out a hand, then withdrew it as though scorched and began to weep.

Francis did not move. He looked away, raised his gaze to the heavens, started to speak, and stopped. Hidden among the palm trees, the musicians paused. From far off toward the city of Damietta came the call of trumpets. The dark waters of the lake
held a net of swarming stars. The drums began to beat once more, louder now, and the wild tambouri joined them.

"The eyes of the statue," Malik-al-Kamil said, "waver between heaven and earth. And since they do waver, please continue. Rid yourself of the last, the seventh veil, which hides the supreme mystery, life's beckoning secrets, the very fountain of life."

The veil made whispering sounds as it fell. Lowering his gaze from the heavens, Francis glanced at it, then at me. His eyes had changed. They were no longer cold. For some reason, a gentle light shone in them.

"Before the Lord," he said in his gentlest voice, the voice he used with birds in the meadow, "you are committing a sinful act."

Was he again in Syria, admonishing the Syrian woman, about to command her to forsake her lustful ways, to find happiness not in his arms but in the arms of Christ?

"The statue speaks," Malik-al-Kamil said. "What does it say? The words have a promising sound."

"That I am a sinner before the Lord."

"Before the Lord? Allah be praised! Tell him why you are dancing. Tell him you are dancing for him. Not the Lord."

Straightening myself, in a voice to match the gentle voice Francis had used, I said, "I am dancing for you, Francis Bernardone. And not as a sinner, but as a woman who loves you."

He looked away into the night, at the waning moon. There was a long silence, so deep that my ears clamored with a host of deafening sounds. Francis looked at me again. It was a terrible moment. Before he uttered a word I saw the answer in his eyes.

Malik-al-Kamil saw it too. A half-smile parted his lips. "This one," he said, "as I have feared, is not a man but a holy man. How clever of me, don't you think, to discover this? And how fortunate for you that I have done so. Holy men should be worshiped from afar. They make poor lovers and impossible mates."

"I am not deaf to your words," Francis said to me. "But still they disguise a sinful act. In the name of our Lord, I beg you to repent. And do not wait. Repent now and the Lord will forgive you."

He watched, waiting patiently for me to fall upon my knees and ask forgiveness. I did not move. Years of devotion had come to this. An awful scene rose up before me. It was from a passage I had copied from the Bible long ago:

And when the daughter of the said Herodias came in and danced, and pleased Herod and them that sat with him, the king said unto the damsel, Ask of me whatsoever thou wilt and I will give it thee. And he sware unto her, Whatsoever thou shalt ask of me, I will give it thee, unto the half of my kingdom.

And she went forth and said unto her mother, What shall I ask? And she said, the head of John the Baptist. And she came in
straightway with haste unto the king, and asked, saying, I will that thou give me by and by in a charger the bead of John the Baptist.

And the king was exceedingly sorry; yet for his oath's sake and for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her. And immediately the king sent an executioner; and commanded his head to be brought; and he went and beheaded him in the prison. And brought his head in a charger, and gave it to the damsel...

I saw the head of John the Baptist on the bloodstained charger. For an awful moment I wished with all my soul that it was the head of Francis Bernardone.

I covered myelf and fled, though Francis called me back
and sent Brother Illuminato trailing my footsteps, pleading in his singsong voice, reminding me how the Syrian woman had repented of her sin and been forgiven. He followed along to my tent and stood outside, yammering away.

At last, when he saw that the talk of repentance failed to move me, he said, "Without you, the men cannot converse. And they have many important things to converse about."

"About the state of their souls?" I asked. "Which is greater, the Bible or the Koran, Moslems or Christians? And is the God they worship the same God or are there two different gods? Let them make signs to each other, jabber like monkeys in a tree. Francis has the power to talk to birds and beasts; perhaps God will give him the power to talk to Malik-al-Kamil."

I hid myself in the pillows, but he stuck his head through the curtains.

"Why did Brother Francis come to Damietta?" he asked.

"I don't have even one idea why Brother Francis came to Damietta."

"Oh yes, oh yes, you have. You know how the battle goes. You have seen corpses floating in the river. And the severed heads of Christian warriors lying outside the gates. You've heard the cries of the wounded and the moans of the dying. You told Brother Francis—I heard you tell him—that you could not sleep for the terrible sounds and the awful smells. And you know that he has come here to talk to the sultan about peace, because he told you not once but twice, and in my hearing. I beg you to come before you commit another sin."

"I'll come if you just quit talking about sin," I said, getting into my clothes.

Braziers were still aglow on the royal barge and the tambouri were whining sweetly and the two men still sat in the garden among the palm trees. They were making gestures, urgent noises, trying to say something to each other. And though nothing was being said that made sense to them or to me, somehow across the gulf of hatred between Christians and Moslems they had silently joined hands and become friends.

Francis welcomed me with one of his rare smiles and no sign of anger. Indeed, I believe that he had forgotten that I had danced unveiled, as he had forgotten the scene on the steps of the bishop's palace. He was thinking, no doubt, of the awful destruction Pelagius was determined to unloose upon the city of Damietta. As for myself, I greeted him with a smile, though I was still the sullen daughter of Herodias.

The sultan rose from his pillows and bowed. "You have come at a good time," he said. "The deaf are leading the deaf. We make strange sounds, like burros braying. Tell the holy man this: although my counselors think me foolish, I am prepared to strike a bargain. I offer Cardinal Pelagius a truce of thirty years. The cession of all Palestine to the Christians. Money for the cost of repairs to the walls of Jerusalem. A gift, a free gift, of a goodly piece of the True Cross, and twenty Moslem nobles as hostages besides."

Francis threw up his hands. He leaped to his feet and clapped his hands.

"I'll go now with the wonderful news," he shouted. "The Lord has sent Sister Moon to light our way. Come, Brother Illuminato, come, Ricca, we'll travel in the cool of the night and reach camp tomorrow. Praise the Lord and Sister Moon."

The sultan sent men to have three of his Arabians saddled, but at the last moment Francis decided that he wished to travel on foot. There was much jabbering about this, the sultan distressed at the needless loss of time. A compromise was finally agreed upon. Sleepy burros were brought to the lake, one for Brother Illuminato and one for me. Francis and the sultan clasped each other and exchanged vows, so warm that I didn't need to translate.

As we started off, the sultan said to me, "Our Francis, with scarcely a change of countenance, has passed an awesome test. So be it! And you, dear friend, though trembling and a trifle pale, have also passed a test. Now at last you possess the key that unlocks the door to womanhood."

"Key?" I asked sullenly. "What key?"

"Tears are the key. Tears."

His words lifted my spirits but little.

Walking in the lead when we reached land, forcing the donkeys to move faster than they wished to, Francis was silent, wrapped in his dream of peace. I nursed my anger and said nothing to disturb him.

But at noon, when we neared the Christian camp, an argument occurred. The guardhouse where I had last seen Raul was within sight and I started off toward it, suddenly worried about what had happened to him.

"Wait!" Francis shouted. "I need you when I talk to Cardinal Pelagius. He will never believe me when I say that the sultan has made him a marvelous offer of peace. He will think I am lying. I need you as a witness. You were there and heard everything."

"Brother Illuminato was there also," I said.

"But he understood only what I said, not what Malik-al-Kamil said."

I held back, my worry about Raul increasing.

"Come," Francis urged me. "Whatever your present concerns may be, they can't outweigh the sultan's message. The lives of
thousands depend upon how Cardinal Pelagius receives the news."

Reluctantly I went along and we found the cardinal at his bath. A tent had been set on the riverbank for his convenience and he was just emerging from the water, pale as a flounder's belly except for his hands and face, which were burned red by wind and sun.

Francis went into the tent while Cardinal Pelagius was being dressed and at once hot words came tumbling out. The cardinal, despite the pope's acceptance, still thought of Francis as one not to be trusted, one who had somehow escaped the net but would be caught one fine day and exposed as a heretic.

"Preposterous!" the cardinal shouted.

"The truth," Francis said quietly.

"I've heard that the sultan is a slave to opium. Did you perchance acquire the habit while you were his guest?"

"I carry a true message and I'll prove it as soon as you're dressed."

The two were silent for a time. Francis paced up and down in his bare feet, while the cardinal, in a bad temper, upbraided the servant who was curling his locks. Still not speaking to each other, they came out, Pelagius shining in a brocaded gown.

He gave me a suspicious look. "You were present at these sessions. You were the means by which these two men talked. Did the sultan say that he was ready to lay down his arms, surrender
the whole of Jerusalem, and sign a thirty-year truce? Could there be confusion about this?"

"None."

"You heard him clearly?"

"Clearly."

Pelagius nodded, seemingly impressed by the truth of the sultan's offer. But that night at supper, when everyone in the camp had heard the news, he stood up and said:

"I have given close thought to the plea for peace which has come to me this day from the clever king of the Saracens. The very same king, when a baker demanded money from a beggar who had wandered into his kitchen to smell his baking bread, ruled that the baker should be paid by the sound of money. A subtle man and a perfidious foe."

"A scoundrel," said Anselmo di Luni, the provost of Sant'- Omaro and the leader of eighty knights. Brave Andrea da Pisa rose to his feet and shouted, "Sly fox!" Lord Viccari struck the table with his fist, saying, "But can we trust this Francis Bernardone and his acolyte? Do they bring the truth?"

Pelagius frowned. "They know full well that they dare not lie to me about such a serious matter. Furthermore, on the face of it, the sultan's offer is understandable. The great devil of the Saracens begs at our door now that he's at the brink of defeat. What else can he do except lay down his arms and sue for peace? But he shall not have peace. He shall have a knife instead."

By messengers on fast horses every warrior in the camp—
and there were more than thirty thousand—was called to arms that night. All of the hundreds without arms—men, women, and children—were likewise called upon. With other prisoners, Raul was freed from the guardhouse and stationed below the river gate, and I and all the women who had worked in the quarry were sent there to feed stones to the catapults.