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Chapter 7


Davit’s prediction of their route proved accurate. The weather was mild, with no torrential rain storms to turn the roads to bogs. Other than morning dew and an occasional mild mist, the conditions were good. The wagon didn’t break, and neither did the horses, so they made their travel marks as Davit had laid them out: three days to Verona, another two long days to Trento, and another two days to Bolzen.

It was in Bolzen when their plans went awry. The day had gone well: they had traveled with no problems, made their way into the city with no problems, and had settled into the inn that night with no problems. Gregorio was glad to hear the familiar sound of German language in his ears again.

Gregorio went to sleep early that night. Sometime in the night, a seemingly dreamless night, Gregorio became aware that someone was looking at him. He seemed to open his eyes, to find Saint Jerome once more smiling at him, floating in a field of dark.

“There you are, my boy.”

“Saint…Saint Jerome? Is it you?”

“Of course it’s me, boy. Who else would be visiting your visions, now?”

“I…I don’t know. I mean, no one. I mean…oh, I don’t know what I mean. But is it really you?”

There was the sound of a chuckle. “Yes, O doubting Gregorio, it is me.”

Gregorio felt a tear on his cheek, and it made him wonder if this was a vision or reality. “I…I am so glad you’re here. I am so afraid I have made a mess of things…that I’ve made wrong decisions and choices…that the Spaniard’s minions will hunt me down and take the Great Book back.” He thought about the book that way, he realized—a singular special book, cherished by God himself.

The vision of Saint Jerome shook its head. “No, my boy. You have done nothing wrong, and the false pope’s minions have not yet discovered that the Great Book, as you call it, is missing. Although I think they are about to. You’ve done well.”

“Even though I consort with Jews?”

Gregorio almost laughed when the saint snorted in the vision. “I knew a number of Jews when I walked on the earth and worked on my great translation. Most of them were good men—brave, ethical, and filled with wisdom. And I knew of a few rogues as well. They were men just like other men. Their rejection of the Gospel lies between them and God. I sorrow for it, yet despite the teachings of Father Augustine, I also believe that God is not done with the Jews yet.”

Gregorio felt his mouth drop open, then closed it again. This was the weirdest vision he’d ever had—not that he had that much experience with visions, he admitted.

“So if I’m doing all right,” Gregorio said with a bit of temper, “why are you just now telling me that? It would have helped if you could have given me that assurance earlier.”

The image of the saint frowned. “Do not be presumptuous, boy. I am not your father, to paddle your rump when you need it—as it seems you might need it now—nor am I your mother to cosset you. You have already had one vision, which puts you one step above most of the world. Why do you think you are entitled to more than that? God is not your servant, boy. You would do well to remember that.”

Gregorio shrank back, and bowed his head. He could feel the saint’s gaze almost like the burning of the sun’s rays. At length, he heard the saint sigh. “Look up, Gregorio.” He raised his eyes slowly, and saw the saint looking at him with a hint of sadness on his face. “You are a good boy, and you love God. Sometimes I forget that God’s servants come in all shapes and sizes and talents. You are young, but not everyone can be a Samuel or a David. Just be faithful. That will be enough.”

Another moment went by, and Gregorio nodded diffidently.

“Good!” the saint’s image said. “Now, for what I am sent to actually tell you. Your plans are, for the most part, acceptable to God. But you will not be going to Innsbruck.”

“Not Innsbruck?”

“No.”

“Then where…”

“Patience, my boy.” Gregorio could hear a hint of humor in the saint’s voice. “Patience. Instead of following the valley north to the Brenner Pass, you will instead follow the Adige River northwest to Meran, and from there you will go to the Reschen Pass. After that, you will go to Füssen. There you will wait for God to provide. You will know the time and the person.”

“I…don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to understand,” the saint said. “Only obey, and be faithful.”

With that, the image of the saint began to shrink, quickly reducing to a single point of light, which after a moment winked out.

Gregorio descended to deep slumber, and knew nothing more until the light of dawn flooded through the small window in the wall above him.

***

Gregorio awoke to the sound and odor of piss splashing in the chamberpot. He groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Davit looked over at him after buttoning up his culottes. “Good morning to you. Are you ready for the ride to Brenner Pass?”

“Ummm…” Gregorio slowly rose, joints stiff. He shook his head. “Umm, I don’t know about that.”

Davit turned and looked at him full on. “What do you mean?”

“About that…I may have had a vision last night.”

Davit’s eyebrows rose and he put his hands on his hips. “Truly? You may have had a vision? You aren’t sure?”

Gregorio stepped over to the chamberpot as Davit moved out of his way. He unbuttoned his culottes and proceeded to empty his own bladder into the chamberpot. The pungent odor of fresh piss increased. He finished, buttoned his culottes, straightened his shirt and jacket, and turned to face Davit, who hadn’t moved.

“What I saw…it wasn’t like the visions described in the stories of the saints. It might have been a vision…it might have been a dream…I don’t know.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t the garlic from last night’s sausage?” Davit sounded skeptical.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t remember my dreams, much. It was Saint Jerome again, and I remember most of it. I think. I don’t think it was a dream.”

“You sure it wasn’t a fever? Your marsh fever coming back?”

“No.” Gregorio frowned, as he pushed away the thought that it might have been a fever. “I think it was a vision.” He wished he sounded surer of it to himself.

“Fine,” Davit said. “So since you’re telling me about it, does it change our plans?”

Gregorio nodded. “The saint told me that I’m not to go to Innsbruck.”

After a moment, Davit simply responded with, “And?”

“I’m supposed to go north to Meran, and then more north to go through and over the Reschen Pass and keep going until I get to Füssen.”

Davit tilted his head. “Hmm. All right, I didn’t expect that, but actually, that’s not a bad idea. Since you’re from the Innsbruck area originally, if they came looking for you, they would probably come to Innsbruck first. To avoid that, the Reschen route would be the one to take, and it would certainly get you into the Protestant territories faster.”

Gregorio rocked back on his heels. “Protestant territories? I wasn’t thinking about…” His voice faded away as Davit shook his head.

“As long as you’re carrying what you’re carrying, and as long as you are afraid of the Spaniard, you need to get north of the Alps and out of Catholic dominated Austria or Tyrol. Füssen is in Bavaria, which is also Catholic, but that land is in such turmoil right now you can probably sneak through with little trouble.” He nodded. “That should work, but it does mean we won’t be able to take you any farther than Meran. You will be on your own after that.”

Gregorio swallowed at the thought of traveling alone again, but he nodded his head. “I understand. You’ve done more for me than I had any right to expect.”

Davit’s mouth quirked, and he shrugged. “Eh, when Father says do something I’ve learned to do it, even if I don’t think it’s a good idea. He’s almost always right. Besides, as he said, if we can put a stick in Borja’s eye without causing ourselves trouble, it’s worth doing. Now,” he clapped Gregorio on the shoulder, “let’s go find some food and figure out how to get to Meran.”

***

In the end, it took most of the day to make the trip to Meran. The road was no worse than the roads they had driven from Verona to Bolzen, and it was only about twenty miles distance between the two cities. If the way had been on flat ground, they would have been there in early afternoon. But there was enough of an uphill grade to the road to cause the horses to have to work harder, so the drovers had to stop more frequently to water the horses and allow them to rest. So the sun was close to the western horizon when they entered Meran.

It was a smaller city than most that Gregorio had gone through on this trip. It looked a bit shabbier, as well.

“Have you been to Meran before?” Gregorio asked Sansone, who was riding in the back of the wagon with him.

“I haven’t. Bartolomeo hasn’t. I don’t know about Messer Davit.”

“Nor have I,” Davit said over his shoulder. “But my father has, so I know a few names and places to try.” Gregorio drew some comfort from that as they approached the city gates.

The first inn they tried had room for them, which was a relief for Gregorio. He was tired of riding in the wagon.

Dinner was cheap barley bread and cheap red wine. Gregorio didn’t mind. His chapterhouse in Roma hadn’t done much better many nights.

Gregorio ended up sharing a room with Davit, while Sansone and Bartolomeo shared another. He was a little nervous about falling asleep after the events of the previous night, but once his eyes closed he remembered nothing until they opened the next morning.

Breakfast the next morning was more barley bread and cheap wine. Davit had a word with the host before he sat down, and immediately afterward the host sent his son running out the door. About the time they finished their bread, the boy was back leading an older man with a short grizzled beard. The host brought him to their table. “This is Rudolph, the guide I mentioned to you.”

Davit hooked a stool over from another table with his foot. “Please, sit down. Have some wine.” The host put another cup on the table and Davit proceeded to pour wine into it and push it to Rudolph.

“Grazie,” Rudolph pronounced before lifting the cup, guzzling the wine, and thumping the empty cup back on the table with an “Ah,” of satisfaction. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then looked over at Davit. “Joseph says you need a guide. Where to and for how long?”

Davit pointed a finger at Gregorio. “My friend here needs to go to Füssen, so he needs someone to take him over Reschen Pass. I can’t take him. I need to be in Innsbruck in a couple of days. Joseph says you know the pass, and that you have riding mules. Are you available?” Gregorio noticed that Davit’s Hochdeutsch was as good as his own, even to having the same Tyrolean accent.

“Hmm…” Rudolph hummed as he scratched his beard. “Two days to get to the other side of the pass. I have a job next week that will take several days. Nothing right now, though.”

“How about leaving today?” Davit asked, refilling Rudolph’s cup.

Rudolph lifted the cup and took a gulp, wiped his mouth and mustache again, and shrugged. “I can go today if all I have to do is take him over the pass. I need to be back to Meran in four days, though, so that’s all I can do.”

Davit looked at Gregorio and raised an eyebrow. Gregorio took a deep breath, and nodded. The thought of being left on his own made him nervous, but he’d have to do it sooner or later anyway. He couldn’t expect Davit and Sansone and Bartolomeo to support him for much longer.

“How soon can you be ready?” Davit looked back at Rudolph.

“I’ll be outside the front door in an hour.”

“How much?”

They dickered on the price for a short time, but it wasn’t long before Rudolph announced, “Done,” and they shook hands.

“Half when Gregorio is on the mule, and half on the other side of the pass.”

“Done and done,” Rudolph stated. He grabbed his cup, gulped down the rest of his wine, let out an amazing belch, and stood. “I’ll be back by an hour’s time,” he said, then stumped out the door.

Davit looked over at Gregorio and switched to Italian. “I didn’t ask if you can ride. Can you?”

Gregorio shrugged. “I rode a horse all the way from Innsbruck to Roma three years ago. The first few days were hard, though. This shouldn’t be too bad, should it? Just a few hours to the other side of the pass?”

“You’ll be sore tomorrow,” Davit replied, “but it shouldn’t be too bad the day after.”

Gregorio shrugged again. “As God wills it.” The others nodded.

The host brought a sack over and set it and a small waterskin on the table. Gregorio looked up, puzzled. “Bread and water. You’ll need those in the next few days,” Davit said.

They spent the next little while talking about all the places that Davit had been to, working for his father. The list surprised Gregorio, both in its length and in its breadth, with stops from Spain to Turkey.

“Where have you not been that you would like to go to?” Gregorio asked.

Davit shrugged. “The Holy Land first, and then maybe Egypt. Other than that, maybe Grantville. I’d really like to see the things they say came back from the future.”

Gregorio thought about that. “I’d go with you to all three places,” he said. “But I doubt I’ll ever be able to.”

“Likewise,” Davit said, pouring the last drops of the wine into Gregorio’s cup as Rudolph entered the room. “Drink up. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

Gregorio stood, drained his cup, and shook hands with his three traveling companions. “Thank you for all your help. Go with God, all of you.”

Davit handed him three large silver coins. “This is for Rudolph once you get to the other side.”

“I can’t take this,” Gregorio protested.

“You will,” Davit said, his eyebrows lowering. “I’m going to tell my Father that you did, so don’t make a liar out of me.” He cracked a smile, clapped a hand on Gregorio’s shoulder, and said, “Now go on, get on that mule and up the mountain.”

Gregorio stuffed the coins in his jacket pocket, picked up his knapsack, and followed Rudolph out the door. Two large black and brown mules stood outside the door, both wearing saddles. Both turned their heads to look at him.

“Give me your bags.” Rudolph held out his hands, and Gregorio passed over the bread sack and the waterskin. Rudolph continued to hold out one hand, and after a moment of hesitation, Gregorio handed him the knapsack. The guide stepped over to the second mule, hung the bread sack and waterskin from hooks on each side of the front of the saddle, then tied the knapsack to a crupper ring on the back of the saddle. Then he beckoned to Gregorio, and he followed Rudolph around to the left side of the second mule. “Can you ride?”

“Yes,” Gregorio replied, “but it’s been a while.”

“Can you mount?”

Gregorio looked at the side of the mule. It was tall. He wasn’t sure he could get up on it by himself. “I…I’m not sure.”

Rudolph turned to face him, bent down a little, and laced his fingers together. “Grab the front of the saddle, put your left foot in my hands, and jump up with your right foot.”

It took two tries, but before long Gregorio was seated on the saddle, fumbling to put his feet in the stirrups. Rudolph checked the stirrup lengths and adjusted them, then looked over at Davit and held out his hand. Davit dropped coins in it, which Rudolph shoved in his pocked.

Rudolph looked up at Gregorio. “Since you haven’t ridden in a while, I’m going to tie your reins to my saddle on Lightning there.” He proceeded to do that. “Thunder—that’s your mule—will just follow Lightning up the trail to the pass. You just hold on to the saddle and lean forward a little bit. We’ve made this trip so often they could walk it in their sleep. You’ll be fine.” Gregorio gulped, nodded, and grabbed the front of the saddle as Rudolph stepped up to the lead mule and swung lithely into his saddle. He looked back over his shoulder. “You ready?”

Gregorio nodded, loosed one hand to give a quick wave to Davit and the others, then grabbed the saddle again as Rudolph gave a click with his tongue and nudged Lightning with his heels to get him into motion. Thunder belied his name, and followed after tamely.

***

The sun was past its zenith on the second day when Rudolph brought Lightning to a halt and Thunder stopped obligingly with his nose almost touching Lightning’s tail. The guide dismounted and walked back to look up at Gregorio.

“This is where I leave you, my friend.”

Gregorio looked back over his shoulder. They were about a quarter-mile or so past the north opening of the pass, so this was about what Davit had bargained for. He nodded, grabbed the front of the saddle, and tried to swing his right leg back over the mule’s rump to dismount. Thunder shifted position a bit just as Gregorio’s foot hit the ground, and he lost his balance and started to fall, only to stop as Rudolph grabbed his arm.

“Steady, there.” Rudolph supported Gregorio until he disengaged his left foot from its stirrup and placed it on the ground alongside the right.

Gregorio sighed. “Thank you. I guess I’m not a very good rider.”

“Oh, you did better than most,” Rudolph said with a grin. “Now wait just a moment while I gather your bags.” A moment later the bread sack, water skin, and knapsack were resting on the ground by his feet, and Rudolph was holding out his hand. “My pay, if you would.”

Gregorio pulled the coins out of his jacket pocket and dropped them in the guide’s palm. Rudolph closed his fingers over them and grinned before he shoved them into his own pocket. He gave a nod of his own, gathered Lightning’s reins in his hand, and swung up onto the mule’s saddle.

“How far to Füssen from here?” Gregorio asked, using his hand to shade his eyes as he looked up at Rudolph.

“You are basically in Bavaria now,” Rudolph replied. “If you follow this main road, Füssen will be about three day’s walk. There are villages every few miles, and you can make sure you’re on the right road by asking.” He looked up at the sky. “You may not make it to the first village by nightfall. Once you get to the bottom of the slope, about two or three hours along the road there’s a large copse of willow trees near the east side of the road by a stream. There’s a small shelter in the copse. You could sleep there tonight if you need to. Watch your step going down the slope, mind you. That would be a nasty fall. God go with you, my friend.”

“And with you,” Gregorio replied.

Rudolph reined Lightning around to face back up toward the pass, and nudged him in the flanks with his heels. The mule started moving, and his fellow followed along behind. Rudolph didn’t look back, but after a few steps he waved a hand up by his shoulder.

Gregorio waved back. He watched the guide and the mules until they entered the pass, then turned and faced down the mountain slope. The slope wasn’t horribly steep, but the road wavered back and forth across the face of it. “That’s got to be easier to walk, or to take wagons up,” he muttered. “And as stiff as my legs are from the riding, I’m not going to take the hard way. A mile or so to the bottom, maybe.” He sighed. “Ah, well, the sooner I get started, the sooner I’ll get to the bottom.”

He put his arms through the knapsack straps and hefted it up on his back, slung the bread sack from one shoulder and the waterskin from the other, thinking of Davit’s provision of both with thankfulness, and started walking.



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