Chapter 10

They entered Sardaford by the main gate, accompanying a farmer who was coming down from the northern hills with an early harvest. His wagon was pulled by two large horses, and the vegetables filled the wagon nearly to the top. The middle-aged man had skin burned to a deep, dark, tan that spoke of a life spent in the fields. His wife, as he introduced her, was rather young with a haunted look in her eyes; she barely said a word. Everything in her demeanor spoke of a world that had been radically changed from what she had expected. Her belly was showing, and Rayna guessed aloud she was at least six months pregnant.

Every time Stefan glanced at the pregnant wife, a slight alarm went off in the back of his head. He had headed out on the king's errand with no other thought in his head than to see the world and enjoy a pint or two. That the gods would conspire to bring him a devoted wife was still a strange and alien thought in his mind. Even more, the idea that he could be a father in less than year if precautions weren't taken, went beyond weird and wonderful, and into terror. Rayna had made it clear that she wanted more of her husband as soon as her period was done.

Stefan was reluctant to continue her reading lessons with others present, but the farmer had no desire to sleep near them. As they practiced letters and words in the dirt, the distinct sounds of copulation could be heard on the other side of the wagon. In a playful mood, Rayna fished Stefan's rigid member from his pants, and calmly stroked it as she read back her words in the firelight. Stefan tried to stay on task, but her nimble fingers drove him to distraction. Finally acquiescing to his hissed plea, she wrapped her hand firmly around his cock, and brought him to release.

So enamored was she with his member that she wanted to sleep with it in her hand, but Stefan demurred. The farmer caused him no discomfort, but the man's wife and her dread made him ill at ease. He rewarded her with a kiss instead.

Two days later, they emerged out of the forest and looked out upon the grey walls of Sardaford. Stefan pointed out the burial pits on the backside, and commented on how the number of full pits had grown. To the south beyond the city, he noticed the river Sarda, making its lazy way, with fishing boats bobbing in its flow.

The plague flag wasn't flying, and the governor's flag was raised above the eastern gate, which meant that Stefan had no excuse to bypass the city. The reasons to stop were many: their aborted stay in Marakand had left them with low provisions, the horses were worn out, and they were bone weary. However, their choice to march into the city came with great reluctance. If the dramatic events of Marakand had reached the governor, then they could face painful execution. Stefan never thought himself a coward and decided that he would rather face the possibility now rather than wait. Both Rayna and Stefan did their best to hide their trepidation as they passed under the thick walls of the gate, but they both felt a trembling deep within their guts.

With his stone face in place, Stefan greeted the guard and took directions to the Governor's garrison. The city guard didn't react in any awkward or revealing manner when Stefan drew close. The halberds remained against the wall and the guards went about their business harassing the common folk and trying to pinch a good or two from the merchants and farmers. Nothing out of the ordinary was said, which Stefan chose to accept as a good omen.

Stefan had been in the city before on different errands, but he had always relied on Gregor to lead them. The path to the Governor's garrison where a King's Guard reported was deliberately convoluted as a defensive measure, in case the enemy conquered the front gate. The hooves of their horses clacked on the paved streets and he strove to remember the turns he had just been told.

The captain of the garrison was a sad fellow, typical of the mood in the smelly streets of Sardaford. Stefan kept Rayna at his shoulder as he made his brief report minus their side trip to Marakand; however, the man only listened half-heartedly. The rumpled captain gazed upon the two of them as fresh ears upon which he could bewail his loss and detail his woe, an all too common need at the time. The soldier looked as if he needed someone to listen to his tale of anguish. Having lost his wife, his daughter-in-law, and his eldest grandson, he brought his son and surviving grandchildren to live with him in the Captain's House that came with his appointment.

As they responded with the appropriate noises, the captain offered the two travelers a drink of aqua ardens, which the two gladly accepted. The alcohol burned all the way down their gullets as advertised. A captain's salary permitted the purchase of such a luxury from the local alchemist, for which the Sardaford alchemist had a minor reputation. The man couldn't turn lead into gold yet, but he conjured a quenching drink that was rumored to stave off the pestilence.

As he concluded his soliloquy, the Captain announced that he expected to die alone, and prayed that his son would remarry soon. The man still carried himself with a straight back and clear eyes despite the personal pain. The man's heart and will were broken. It appeared that even if the ripest of widows (there seemed to be plenty of them) were to make up the sheets of his bed, the captain had no desire to join her. The world no longer held meaning. Stefan, having been through his own personal torment, figured that all of that would soon pass. A woman in search of a husband could be quite... aggressive and even a captain in the King's Guard would be forced to capitulate.

Still no mention of Marakand and the slaying of the priest: Stefan and Rayna drew a breath of relief.

With nearly half of the city dead, and more still dropping daily, albeit at a slower rate, finding a room for the two of them to stay was a matter of making a choice; entire houses were available for the energetic squatter. They examined a few, and chose one that had neither evidence of filth nor the taint of death. Both of them spent some time scrubbing the house. Much to Rayna's relief, her husband didn't leave the chores to her while he wandered off for a drink at the tavern. After a brief debate over the state of the bed, they tossed it out of the house and into the street. Stefan wondered if paranoia had taken an icy grip of his thoughts as the mattress hit the street with a smack. He took a cue from his wife though, who seemed to have no problem chucking out the chance of deluxe comfort.

They had no choice but to spend a day in the fortress city while their horses rested. The captain requisitioned supplies, which were not abundant. Fewer farmers were bringing their harvest to the market this year and prices were higher. Stefan, having wandered through the rural lands, knew all too well why there were fewer farmers making the trip. Even so, the long hard months of winter were not that far off, and the time was nearing for the storage of food against the cold months. Would the survivors of these first waves of plague live along enough only to succumb to the pangs of starvation in the deep of winter snows? Maybe the plague had killed enough to stave off the worst of the long hunger.

The course of his grim thoughts was banished by the crashing of drums and the deep tenor of tens of male voices belting out a melody of marching chorus. Rayna stuck her head out of the door, drawn by the same curious call. The two gazed at people emerging from other dwellings with great excitement as they made their way towards the center of town. With a shrug of incomprehension towards each other, they followed the growing crowd. A swell of bodies began as rivulets from the small side streets and grew into large rivers of bodies streaming towards the center square. The excitement was palpable, as the entire city seemed drawn to the main square.

Sardaford maintained a large square deep in the heart of its Byzantine lanes. The temple anchored the north end with flying buttresses and the governor's mansion with its ornate columns, representing the king, stood directly opposite. Between them, on the east side was the City Hall, and across the square from that building was the eastern headquarters of the king's army. Each side of the square balanced each other with the great political powers within the city. A grand statue of the king posing on a war stallion with his sword drawn, marked the center of the space, not that anyone could remember the king leading a charge in battle. The city guard didn't bother to chase of the lazy one who propped their posteriors on the statute's pedestal.

Throngs of people gathered along the sides and in the middle of the square, leaving broad avenues of cobblestone around the perimeter. The drums became louder as they weaved through the streets. With the procession drawing nearer to the heart of the city, the singing became lustier. Young boys rushed ahead into the open space, signaling that the parade was almost near. The square was brimming with people, residents and soldiers, merchants and peasants. One ambitious fellow was selling griddle cakes for a copper.

From the last turn, bright banners of blue and gold came into view, held up on poles two or three times a man's height. Their colors were vivid in the sunlight. Men in white penitential robes were walking four abreast, singing temple songs and carrying long sticks over their right shoulders. Their eyes were bright, and they raised their legs as they marched with exaggerated strides.

The crowd burst into loud cheers and shouts, as the men marched into the square with their banners, sticks, and finally their drums. As they drew near to Stefan, he realized that the sticks had knotted cords attached to the ends; some were rope and others were braided leather, but each of the three ropes ended in a large knot.

Twice the parade of about 100 men marched around the square until the leader stopped them at the entrance of the temple. The crowd split apart, and the left door of Brother Sun and the right door of Sister Moon opened outward with their great maw to welcome in the penitent marchers. The crowds followed after them, filling in the seats of the pews. The wealthy took the sturdy pews in the front of the hall and peasants scrambled for the rickety benches in the back. Soldiers and merchants took the old pews inbetween. The drums continued to beat, with their reverberations bouncing off of the walls again and again.

When everyone was seated and settled, the men standing up front whipped off their white robes and stood before the pews in their loincloths. A hush of anticipation fell over the towering room. The stone designs in the windows far above cast large shadows upon the walls and floors. The ribs of carved barrel vaults far above their heads echoed with the quiet sounds of breathing, and shoe leather rubbing on stone blocks under pews. Stefan was torn between staring at the architecture and at near naked penitents.

Their bodies were scarred and bruised. With a command from their leader, the men took up their sticks and began to beat their bodies with the great knots on the end of their sticks. They spread around the outside aisles of the room and marched. Together they chanted to the crowd:

"God of the sun, burn the sin from my skin;

Goddess of the moon, from my soul do wrest and rend.

Sear, tear, rip, and stripe:

Till my sin banish in the light."

As each beat of their chant fell from their lips, they whipped themselves. With each pass through the room, the men beat themselves harder, and sang louder. Rayna grasped at Stefan's hand in fear, as the flagellant rite began to pick up pace; their chanting became louder and the thuds of knots hitting flesh became harsher. The hall filled their rhythmic chants until Stefan wondered if the glass far above was shaking in its sills. Still they marched around, their white bodies in stark contrast to the now limp banners that rested on stands in front of the altar.