Sheen on the Silk - Anne Perry [162]
They set out at midday, walking steadily. Anna did not want to grow close to any of the other pilgrims, since she must always guard her identity. She was in the strange position of being neither man nor woman, but she could not help looking at them with interest and now and then overhearing their conversation. Most of them had come by sea from Venice, which was the meeting place for pilgrims from other parts of Europe.
“Thousands of them,” Giuliano told her when they made a brief stop. “The money changers on the Rialto make a fortune. That’s mostly what they’re complaining about.” He indicated a group of the others a few yards away. “And the sea journey. It was rough, and they’re terribly cramped.”
“It takes a lot of faith to come,” she said with respect.
“Or nothing much to leave behind,” he added. Then he saw her face. “Sorry, but that’s the truth, too. If they survive and get home again, they can wear the palm in their hats for the rest of their lives. It’s a badge of honor. They’ll be forgiven all sins, and respected by family, neighbors, and friends. And they will have earned it.” He saw her puzzlement. “How do I know? I’m a Venetian. I’ve seen them all my life, coming and going, full of hope, piety, pride.” He bit his lip. “We let them all in, sell them real holy relics, and false ones, give them hospitality, guidance, advice, passage to Acre or Jaffa, and fleece them of most of their money.”
She pushed her hand through her hair, which was dusty already, and smiled at him. It was an admission he had made, describing the venal side of his city, as well as the clever and the beautiful. He did not say he was ashamed, but she knew it.
Anna was not used to walking all day. Her feet became blistered, and her back and legs ached until she was filled with an all-consuming weariness. She was bitterly aware that Giuliano had so much more strength than she, and she dared not allow him to help her, even when he offered with real concern.
By the first nightfall, they stopped at an inn. She was overwhelmingly relieved just to sit down, and it was only after they had all eaten, around one large wooden board, that she realized she was also glad of the warmth. It was far colder outside than she had expected, and the pilgrim’s gray cloak was not as warm as her own woolen dalmatica would have been.
• • •
Over the next days she forced herself to walk on, even when her feet bled. She found herself so weak that she staggered more, often losing her balance and stumbling, but always she rose again. She insisted on privacy for bodily functions, but as a eunuch that was granted her, even if for quite mistaken reasons. No one wished to embarrass her for the organs they rightly assumed she did not have.
They all suffered the same blisters, the cold from the wind and rain, the rough road under their feet, the ache in the bones from nights on hard boards and with too little sleep. The land was hard, built of rock and dust, and the few trees were wind-gnarled. There were long stretches where there was no water at all except what they carried with them. The rain was cold and made mud of the track underfoot, but it was still welcome on the parched skin.
She tried not to look at Giuliano. She knew exactly why the doge had sent someone not only to sail to Acre, but to walk this route, as the crusader army would have to walk it. He would be looking at the fortifications of Jerusalem also, with a soldier’s eyes, seeing their strengths and weaknesses, whatever had changed since Western knights and squires were last here. Venice