The Road to Damietta by Scott O'Dell

Author:Scott O'Dell [ODell, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

I sealed the message with wax, marked it with a finger ring that showed a circlet of hearts, and before the house was awake, sent it off by messenger to Porziuncola.

20

Rains, followed by weeks of black fog that crept up from the lowlands and shrouded the city so that day was turned into night, delayed our journey. A rash of robberies on the road to Venice delayed it further.

During this month and more I continued work on the Old Testament. I also wrote three missives to Francis, none of which I sent, for the reason that not a word in all those long days came back in answer to the last message I had sent him.

My father owned a large warehouse in Venice, which gathered paintings, manuscripts, and tapestries from various countries around the Mediterranean Sea, even those with whom the Church was at war, and from places as far off as Mongolia. These things were sold in cities to the north—such as Milan, Florence, Bologna—and to princes and kings, including the pope in Rome. The most profitable part of the enterprise, however, was comestibles that only the very rich could afford.

The merchandise was distributed by a caravan that made the trip between these various cities three times during the year. Since it passed through Assisi on the way to Venice, my father changed his mind about sending me north in fashionable style and decided that I should accompany the caravan. He then had to change his mind once more when the caravan was lost while crossing the river Arno.

At last, after more than a month of delays, Raul brought word that we were to leave the next morning. He would lead the group.

It was toward evening when he came to the scriptorium. I was working on the fourteenth chapter of Exodus, drawing decorations for the twenty-sixth verse, where the Lord commands Moses to stretch out his hands over the sea, that the water may come back upon the Egyptians. He stood looking over my shoulder at the decorations, complimenting me on how real the sea waves looked.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked.

"I've been ready for weeks. All packed, except for my brushes," I said.

"You seem anxious to go, which surprises me, considering that you're going to a strange city, far from home, for a year at least, perhaps longer."

"Not anxious. I just want to put all of it, everything that's happened, behind me."

"You are not religious, though you do have stray Christian thoughts now and again and when in trouble you call upon God or Christ. But you don't realize how rigorous life in the monastery may be. The prioress is a relative, but your father has given her instructions to treat you like the rest of her flock."

The copyists had left for the day and we were alone in the scriptorium. I was baffled by his words. He was advising me to disobey my father, to not go to Venice. Why? Suddenly, as he put a warm hand on my shoulder, I sensed the answer.

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