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They walked swiftly through the slumbering streets of Bari, almost at the water when a clatter of hooves startled them. Tyun pulled Nicephorus into a shadowed portico, taking the opportunity of proximity and the wall at the monk’s back to press their bodies together, and then their lips.
“At least I’ve found a way to keep you silent,” Tyun told him, as they stepped out of the shadows. “Come.” He took Nicephorus’ hand and only dropped it when they had to climb aboard the Epiphany.
“We should cast off immediately,” Tyun told Reprobus, who met them at the railing.
Reprobus did not answer at first. His spherical nostrils opened and closed as he sniffed the air. “Umar is not aboard,” he said.
“He can’t be farther than the nearest whorehouse. Send someone to go and fetch him,” Tyun answered. “Or leave him behind. The order was to return by moonrise.”
The Cynocephale strode to the gunwale where Nicephorus was gazing out at the harbor. The moon was a crescent reflected and fractured by the ripples on the water’s surface.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” Nicephorus said to Reprobus.
“I smelled that you were with him long before I laid eyes on you.”
“Ah. Were you surprised to smell me?”
“No.”
Not surprised to see him, nor did he seem pleased. “I was just telling Tyun about the three mages who visited the newborn Christ. They lived out their days in brotherhood in India, where the star that led them to Bethlehem was first sighted. A place called the Hill of–”
“If you’ll be accompanying us for this voyage, Benedictine,” Reprobus cut him off, “you might take up the habit of washing more regularly.”
*
Once again they sailed east. They were blessed by fair weather, as if Nicholas the Wonderworker were continuing to smile upon them. The sea and the sky were a matching boundless azure. A steady breeze blew them to Corfu. The men rarely needed to take up the oars, but one calm afternoon Nicephorus coaxed the younger brother from Merv, Alp, into giving him instruction on rowing.
Tyun frowned when he saw them.
“He’s always asking,” said Alp, a mixture of apology and defiance in his tone and expression. His brother muttered at him from the next bench. Although he spoke in their native tongue, the cadence of “I told you so” was unmistakable.
Tyun leaned back against the mast. “You should come to the bow,” he told Nicephorus. “There are porpoises racing the ship.”
Nicephorus had been disappointed not to see dolphins on their first journey and was eager to see them now, but he didn’t want the men to think he had tired so quickly of rowing.
“Pliny the Younger told of a dolphin who fell in love with a boy,” said Nicephorus. His breath was a bit short, but he saw Tyun was paying attention, so he continued. “Every day, the beast would carry the youth on his back far out to sea and then return him to shore by evening. Every morning, the dolphin would come looking for his friend, even leaving the ocean to come onto shore to wait for him. Or, on rare occasion, if the boy reached the beach, and the beast was not already there awaiting him, he only needed to call out, and the dolphin would fly to him from out of the deep.
“They made such a beautiful pair leaping through the waves, people began coming from miles around to watch. The town became choked and crowded, and the visiting dignitaries had to be hosted at great expense to the local magistrates. No work was getting done as everyone was always leaving their labors to enjoy the spectacle. Eventually the elders of the town got tired of the ruckus and quietly had the dolphin killed.”
Tyun cocked his head to one side. “Do you know any love stories with happy endings, Dreamer?” he asked. He was wearing only his sirwal; the sea spray was damp on his skin which shone in the sun, not unlike the silvery fins of the dolphins. “The boy and the dolphin should have run away long before the authorities came after them. He could have carried the boy out to sea and never returned.”
Their eyes caught, and Nicephorus — who had at last begun to find the rhythm — forgot to row and was jerked forward as a wave came up and slapped his oar.
As he regained his balance, Reprobus crossed between them, obscuring his view of Tyun. He spat over the rail. “Porpoises before the ship mean a storm is coming. We need to reach Preveza before it hits. Alp, get back to your bench.”
*
The portent of the porpoises proved true. By the time they reached the harbor at Preveza, the sky had turned the color of slate, and the rain made it impossible to see the town. The sailors of the Epiphany huddled on their benches under a sail that had been rigged to create an awning, but it did nothing to shelter them from the driving rain. Even anchored within the protection of the harbor, the ship pitched and lurched like a drunken man on cobbled streets.
The wind cut into Nicephorus, who shivered and hunched his shoulders, but Tyun appeared not to feel it. He paced and lectured, “My old master loved this weather. It’s perfect for some quick muggings. The streets empty out, and anyone who is about is rushing to find shelter, not paying attention to their surroundings. The noise of the storm swallows up cries for help. Wait under a convenient overhang, and they’ll come right to you. One good storm could keep us fed for a month.”
Nicephorus was torn. He wanted to hear more of Tyun’s past, but he knew these stories of thievery and violence were meant to place distance between them rather than increase their intimacy.
He wanted to ask Tyun to come and sit beside him. They could share body heat, at least.
“We will need to pass through Khurassan on our way to India, won’t we?” Nicephorus ventured. “Perhaps you can show me some of the attractions of the region.”
Tyun at last came and squatted down, but in front of Nicephorus.
“Perhaps, perhaps.” He patted Nicephorus’ cheek twice, and then left his hand there, palm pressed to Nicephorus’ face. Tyun’s hand felt so warm against Nicephorus’ chilled skin. There had been far too few touches like this in the days since they’d left Bari. Nicephorus thought of the moment among the sheep when he’d turned his head to bring Tyun’s hand from his scalp to his cheek. Now he wanted to turn his face so that he could move the calloused palm from his cheek to his lips. He drew the courage to do it, but at that moment Tyun stood and resumed his pacing.
Reprobus, whom Nicephorus had not noticed drawing near, said, “You haven’t told him?”
“Told me what?”
A look heavy with meaning passed between the captain and his first mate.
“Are you familiar with Saint Thecla of Iconium?” Tyun asked.
“Of course. I hadn’t thought of it when we were there, but she passed through Myra as well. And like us, she traveled there in disguise.” Nicephorus smiled for a moment, enjoying this commonality. “Although,” he felt obligated to admit, “her disguise was to prevent men from trying to force themselves upon her, and so that she could teach the word of Christ.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure she was very holy,” said Tyun. “The point is, we have a commission.”
Nicephorus’ heart fell. “We’re stealing another saint?”
“No, no,” said Tyun, placing a reassuring hand on Nicephorus’ shoulder. “She’s already been stolen. We’ll be stealing her back.”
*
Thecla was born to a noble family in Iconium around the time of the Lord’s crucifixion. By all accounts, she was a sober and virtuous child, pretty and obedient. In the year she came of age, the official name of the city was changed to Claudiconium, but the people of the city, who had seen many kings come and go, paid it no mind.
Her family had no difficulty finding Thecla a suitable match. She was betrothed to Thamyris, the first son of a prosperous grain merchant, an arrangement to which she made no objection as Thamyris was young, handsome, and good at harpastum.
Shortly before the couple were to be married, a visitor arrived in the city. Paul of Tarsus came to the home of Thecla’s neighbor, Onesiphorus, where he was feasted and treated as an honored guest. People came from near and far to hear Paul speak on the wonders of the birth and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Paul’s sermons were wide-ranging, but he was at the height of his eloquence when he spoke on the virtues of denying the mortal flesh through abstinence and asceticism. Thecla overheard his teachings from her window where she sat transfixed for three days and nights, never rising, neither to eat, nor drink, nor sleep.
Thecla’s mother, alarmed by her daughter’s entrancement, sent for Thamyris, telling him, “Thamyris, this man will overturn the city of the Iconians and your Thecla too; for all the women and the young men go to him to be taught by him. He says one must fear only one God and live in chastity.” She urged Thamyris to go to Thecla and remind her of her duty to him and to her family.
When Thamyris entered Thecla’s rooms she allowed him to kiss her in greeting, but he could sense she was in the grips of some overpowering emotion, and he was frightened by it. Though Thamyris and her mother and all the servants of the house pleaded with her to leave her window and come back to them, Thecla ignored them. She had eyes and ears only for the Apostle Paul.
*
The storm was followed by a stretch of intense heat and variable breezes.
Nicephorus had not been allowed to row again. He suspected the captain had posed threats out of his hearing. Instead, he began taking over more of the cooking duties from Musarat, adding innovations like salt, which he gathered by evaporating seawater in a basin and then added to the biscuits.
He remembered his early childhood spent on the white sands of Monopoli, and fashioned up a net which he cast whenever possible. Tyun expressed approval at his skill with the knife, gutting and scaling his catch.
At night Nicephorus and Tyun lay beside one another on the reed mat in their accustomed position: Nicephorus’ back to Tyun’s chest, Tyun’s arm encircling him at the waist.
One night Tyun traced the edges of Nicephorus’ tonsure with his finger. The stubble was thick. Another week, and it would no longer be distinguishable.
“Will you keep this up?” Tyun asked softly.
“Maybe. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” Tyun whispered right against his ear. The hot, moist current of his breath seemed to enter Nicephorus’ body and suffuse it with heat. He thought of Saint Ansanus in his pot of boiling oil.
*
We are told that after three more days of this strange behavior from her daughter, Thecla’s mother, Theoclia, had had enough. She went weeping before the governor. Her beautiful Thecla, she told him, who had never before given her parents a moment’s trouble, was now refusing her betrothed and insisting that she would remain a virgin for all her days. She had been corrupted by a foreigner who was staying at the home of Onesiphorus. The governor had better go and arrest him before any other young women fell under his spell.
The governor, who himself had two young daughters, ordered that Paul be brought before him, and upon hearing Paul declare that he had been sent by God to preach the gospel he ordered him bound and sent to prison.
When Thecla learned of Paul’s arrest she took the bracelets that Thamyris had given her as a betrothal gift and gave them to the guards, who let her into Paul’s cell. Thecla knelt beside him and kissed the bonds at his wrists and at his feet.
She was found the next morning there still kneeling beside Paul, and those who tried to move her found they could not, for it was as if she were chained to him by affection.
The pair were brought before the governor, and Thecla felt great joy in her heart to stay by his side and to be given this opportunity to declare her devotion to the Lord.
“Why will you not follow your oath and your duty to marry Thamyris as dictated by the laws of Iconium?” the governor asked Thecla.
Thecla answered that she had found a higher law that dictated that she would never marry. She told the governor that she intended to follow Paul and join him in spreading the gospel.
When Theoclia heard Thecla speak, she knew that her daughter was truly lost. “Burn the wicked one!” she urged the governor. “Burn this maid who refuses to marry in the theater, so that all the young women who have been taught by this man will be warned against his evil teachings.”
*
Early morning. The pale dawn light illuminated a tiny island off the southern coast of the Peloponnese. A few walls of crumbling stone spoke of where there had once been houses, perhaps even enough people to call it a village, but there was no sign of any habitation more recent than the lifetime of Thucydides.
The crew rolled their water barrels along the beach, guided by verdure to the mouth of a spring. Tyun drew Nicephorus by the arm in the other direction. They followed the rocky shore until they went around a point and came to a place where the cliff wall was hollowed out like the apse of a church. They lay down in the spot where the altar would be.
Fully disrobed, Tyun’s flesh had the appearance of sculpted marble, but it was hot and yielding under Nicephorus’ hands. Tyun whispered words that Nicephorus couldn’t understand and clasped him more tightly than he had in previous couplings.
Nicephorus’ own hunger was greatly roused as well, and he met Tyun with equal urgency. As he reached his crisis, he had the inexplicable urge to call out to God. Was it possible, Nicephorus wondered, that under the correct conditions this too could be a form of worship? To feel the exhalation of another into his own mouth was to experience the very moment of creation when God first breathed life into Adam. In the moments afterward he felt as Adam must have upon awakening in Eden, his mind empty of all thought except for the wonder of God’s great creation.
Walking back to the ship, Tyun took Nicephorus by the hand or the elbow, navigating him around the jagged rocks in their path.
In the eastern sky, shafts of light the color of fresh honey streamed down from the clouds like staircases connecting the Earth and the Heavens.
*
They stopped at Samos to reprovision. Nicephorus had a half-formed idea that he and Tyun might find a hidden spot somewhere, perhaps some disused baths. He had ideas for how they could spend an hour or two away from the sight of their shipmates.
However, before he could propose such a thing, Tyun pressed a purse into his hands and directed him to accompany Musarat to the market.
“You choose the wares, but let her do all the haggling,” he instructed.
Although it was morning, the sun was already hot, and the narrow streets of the town felt choked and dry after so many days on the open sea. Sweat tickled down Nicephorus’ back. Dust from the road got into his throat, making him cough.
“Where will you be?” he asked Tyun, some of his irritation creeping into the question.
Tyun pointed toward a wooden structure, barely more than a shack. The sign on the door was painted with an image of a wine jug; around its border were grape vines, heavy with fruit.
Nicephorus’ shoulders drooped as he watched Tyun link arms with Reprobus and saunter toward the tavern. As the door closed behind them, he felt a tug on his sleeve.
“Come,” said Musarat. “No need drunk.” She made a rude gesture in the direction of the shack and shuffled off in the other direction toward the market stalls.
*
When Nicephorus opened the creaking door a few hours later, the air of the tavern was even hotter than the air outside and smelled of sour sweat and gamey, overcooked meat. Although the room was dark with only sparse, slitted windows letting in a few shafts of sunlight, Nicephorus immediately spied his shipmates. Tyun faced the door, but he did not immediately notice Nicephorus’ entrance. He was listening to a serving girl whose wide hips and ample bosom were in no way obscured by her apron. Nicephorus disliked the mischievous tilt of Tyun’s grin as he nodded along to whatever she was saying. He disliked even more the placement of the girl’s hand on Tyun’s arm halfway between his elbow and his shoulder, just where Nicephorus knew the muscle swelled into a curve that was extremely firm and pleasing against a palm.
He considered turning to leave, but some unknown whim caused Tyun to scan the room, and his eyes alighted on the monk.
“Dreamer!” Tyun called out. “There you are!” He gestured expansively, with the arm holding his wine jug, sloshing some over the side and dislodging the serving girl’s hand. “Well don’t just stand there, come on, come on. You must try this wine.”
When Nicephorus didn’t move into the room, Tyun stood and came to him, shooing him toward their table.
“Another jug of wine, and a bowl of the stew for my friend here,” Tyun said to the girl.
The local wine was excellent. The stew was thin, more bones than meat. The conversation was stilted. Reprobus kept cocking his head as if listening to something beyond the tavern’s walls. Several times he broke off mid-sentence to sniff the air.
“How do you know that Saint Thecla’s relic has been stolen?” Nicephorus asked Tyun.
“The abbess of the monastery attached to her church sent me a letter.”
Knowing even as he spoke that he might prefer not to hear the answer, Nicephorus asked, “How are you acquainted with the abbess?”
“Many years ago, I performed a small service for her,” Tyun said with a self-deprecating smile.
“Yes, I’ll say you serviced her,” Reprobus muttered into his wine cup, concealing a wolfish grin.
Tyun made a dismissive gesture, a flick of his finger in his friend’s direction. “There was a priest being difficult with some of the younger nuns. I convinced him to go find another church.”
“Many of the young nuns found that their tastes ran in a more heretical direction,” Reprobus added sardonically.
Nicephorus stood and walked out.
*
As they neared Lycia, they were wary of being recognized. They stayed as far from land as possible and stopped only on uninhabited shores to refill their water. During the day, Nicephorus resumed telling stories to Musarat, joined by Tornik when he wasn’t at his oar.
While she still rarely looked up from whatever task she had at hand, since becoming a bride, Musarat seemed more engaged with the world around her. She would even venture the occasional comment on Nicephorus’ tales, usually in Turkish, and always to remark that the subjects of the story were stupid, or crazy, or both. Nicephorus soon came to recognize the words well enough to no longer require Tornik’s translation.
During the day, Tyun stayed at the far end of the ship, conspicuously not looking in their direction.
Yet at night they would come together again beside one another on the reed mat. The sleeping forms of other crew members scattered around them.
Nicephorus found sleep elusive. Tyun’s nearness caused his blood to quicken; desire settled in his bones like an ache.
Tyun shifted behind him. Nicephorus felt a brush against the small of his back. He was not the only one affected by their proximity.
There was only the lightest of breezes, but Nicephorus could feel each current of air against his fevered skin. A man barely more than an armspan distant tossed and muttered in his sleep.
Tyun’s thumb traced circles on the smooth skin of Nicephorus’ tonsure. He placed his nose at the juncture of neck and shoulder and inhaled deeply.
“Do you still dream of saints?” he muttered against Nicephorus’ skin.
Nicephorus didn’t answer.
*
Nicephorus still dreamed of the men alight with Greek fire. Sometimes he saw them as if from above, running bright across the decks, plunging into the sea where they struggled and drowned. Other times he was beside them, close enough that the flames would pierce his eyes and make him squint, and yet he did not feel any heat.
One night Nicephorus dreamed that he ran and jumped into the waves himself, struggling and flailing as the waters came over his head. He looked up to discover the athlete of Christ, Saint Nicholas himself, floating above the waves looking down upon him.
“Help me!” called Nicephorus.
“There can be no salvation for a sarabaite,” the saint replied and flew away.
*
After she escaped Iconium, Thecla sought out Paul in Antioch. She was not there long before her troubles began anew. A local bigwig, a Syrian named Alexander, saw Thecla in the street and fell immediately in violent love with her due to her beauty. He tried to bribe Paul with money and other gifts to give Thecla to him, but Paul said, “I know not the woman of whom you speak, nor is she mine.”
Alexander did not let this deter him. Being a man of great power in the city, he waylaid Thecla and embraced her against her will. Thecla struggled and cried out to Paul to save her, but he did not come. Thecla realized that her oath to stay pure was in grave danger. She found new strength. Taking hold of Alexander, she tore his cloak and knocked his crown from his head. She freed her right arm and slapped him across the face, and all who saw what occurred laughed, making Alexander feel ashamed.
Like most men of power, Alexander was not one to take a public humiliation lightly. He brought a case against Thecla for assault, using his connections with the local magistrate to see that she was sentenced to death.
On the day of her execution, a large crowd gathered at the arena with many clamoring for Thecla’s execution. But many others, especially the women, cried out against it, saying this act would bring God’s wrath upon their city.
Thecla was stripped naked and thrown into the ring. A ferocious lioness and a bear were let loose upon her. And Thecla, feeling certain that she would be killed by the beasts, did not wish to die without receiving baptism. She turned and saw a pit of water, frothing and churning with the fins of ravenous seals. And although she knew it would mean her death, she threw herself into the water, saying, “In the name of Jesus Christ I baptize myself on my last day.”
And all the women and even the governor wept to see such bravery and beauty devoured before them.
But God sent a flash of lightning and all the seals floated dead on the surface of the water, and a cloud of fire encircled the saint so that the other wild beasts of the arena could not touch her, nor could the spectators observe her nakedness.
When the governor saw that none of the beasts would touch her he called Thecla to him asking her who she was and how she had such power.
She answered, “I am the servant of the living God and have believed in His son. For He alone is the path to immortal life.”
And Thecla demanded her release, and the governor agreed to her demand, for he was frightened of what punishment might befall the city if they continued to persecute her.
This story teaches us that even those who follow a great leader often must take matters into their own hands.
*
At last they neared Seleucia. A narrow, sandy inlet marked the entrance to the Saleph River, which would lead them to the city where Saint Thecla founded the church where she lived and preached for 72 years.
They rowed against the current. It was slow going. They passed a group of sleeping flamingos, one pink, knobby leg extending into the water and their heads under their wings. A fisherman with a naked child clinging to each leg called out a greeting from among the tall reeds. Nicephorus called back.
At noon Tyun declared a halt to the rowing. The anchor was dropped and prayer mats were unfurled.
Some trick of the wind carried the conversation between captain and first mate from the spot where they stood by the mast to Nicephorus who was chopping wild parsley in the stern.
“You’ll get there faster by walking from here,” said Reprobus.
Tyun agreed. “The dreamer and I will go to the church and learn the details of our quest.”
“Is that wise? The monk is not known for his–” Reprobus paused as if choosing a word other than the one he was inclined to use. “Discretion,” he finished finally.
Tyun shrugged. “We were called here by the abbess. We have no secrets to conceal. And he adds a certain authenticity to our mission.”
“If you say so.”
Tyun spoke more quietly, but the words still carried. “I thought you liked him,” he said to his friend.
Nicephorus paused mid-chop, looking up at the pair facing each other on either side of the mast. Realizing this could call attention to the fact they had been overheard, he quickly looked back down and resumed his work, but angled his head slightly to keep them in view out of the corner of his eye.
“I like that he’s improved our rations,” Reprobus said.
“Should we leave him on the doorstep of the nearest monastery, then?”
The question had the air of a joke, but Reprobus expressed no amusement. “Would you?” he asked.
Nicephorus’ heart beat a painful rhythm in his chest as he awaited Tyun’s answer. He dared to raise his head a bit more. The two friends were staring each other down in silence. Tyun, the first to look away, turned his face toward the mast. He rubbed his hand up and down the smooth wood, then rapped it a few times with his knuckles.
“We should pay a visit to the shipyard at Famagosta,” he said. “This mast will not withstand another long voyage.”
The pair locked eyes again. Reprobus gave a single nod of acknowledgment and walked away.
Nicephorus released the breath he’d been holding, uncertain what final communication had passed between the two friends.
Between the two voyages, he had now traveled on the Epiphany for the better part of six months. The ship had its own regimented set of daily routines that had slotted easily into his sense of order normally kept by the Benedictine hours. For the first time aboard, he felt homesick. He thought of the Abbot Helias a thousand miles away leading the monks in Sext.
He began reciting the prayer silently in his head.
“Dreamer,” Tyun called out. Nicephorus startled, thinking he was going to be exposed for his eavesdropping. “Prepare to go ashore.”
*
The church of Saint Thecla was on top of a rocky hill covered in sparse bushes with purple flowers. A suspicious guard with piggy eyes and a drooping mustache stopped them at the gate. Tyun withdrew the abbess’ letter from his vest, and the man’s attitude changed to one of obsequious welcome. They were brought through a stone archway into a series of dark tunnels which led them to an inner courtyard.
An idyllic scene. The abbess on a stone bench under a fig tree. A trio of nuns seated at her feet. Planters overflowing with lavender heavy with scent.
A smile played about her full lips as she rose to greet them. She was distressingly tall, with striking features and skin the color of ripe wheat, which was shown to great advantage by the white of her robes. Her eyes swept over Tyun with a rapacious air.
Nicephorus had never disliked someone so intensely on sight, not even the Venetian princeling.
“Welcome, Captain Tyun,” she said, opening her arms expansively. “It has been too long.” Her gaze shifted to Nicephorus with obvious curiosity.
“Abbess Crispina, I present to you the Benedictine Nicephorus of Bari, teller of heroic tales, and dreamer of prophetic dreams.”
Nicephorus couldn’t tell how much of this description of himself was meant to be a joke, nor how much of the joke he was meant to be in on.
The abbess in Bari was a sweet woman, older than Nicephorus’ mother. He tried to imagine speaking to her as he said, “Greetings, Holy Mother. You have a lovely garden here. I take it the lavender is meant to evoke Saint Thecla’s trials at Antioch and the bewilderment of the wild beasts.”
There was an awkward silence. Her gaze took him in from his toes to the crown of his head and back again. He wished he had not spent the last several hours perspiring.
Tyun cleared his throat.
“Or perhaps you simply enjoy the scent,” Nicephorus added, lamely.
“Yes. Thank you, Brother Nicephorus,” she said. Then, turning to one of the nuns, “Pelagia, we must offer our guests some refreshments. Bring them to us in the sanctuary.”
*
The icon of Saint Thecla gazed down upon their conference. She was framed by two mountains which were equal to her in height. Her hands were open in prayer. Her expression was stern.
The abbess related how some bones of the saint, as well as holy relics, including a staff which was known to have cured more than one person of leprosy and many other ailments, had been taken from them. She was certain the culprit was the abbess of a rival monastery in Mosfiloti.
“That Cypriot bitch,” griped the abbess. “She sent spies and thieves posing as pilgrims.”
Nicephorus frowned at the coarse language.
Tyun hummed as if expressing sympathy – Thieves posing as pilgrims. Can you imagine?
“They think because their monastery was founded by an empress that they’re better than us,” she said.
There was a man in the town whose wife was born in Mosfiloti. The hope was that she would have information on the situation of the monastery that could aid the saint hunter in his mission of reverse theft. She would be sent for the next morning.
Tyun indicated that they would return to hear her intelligence and make further preparations for their journey to Cyprus the next day.
“But of course you will rest here for the night,” said the abbess.
“Thank you, but we prefer to return to our ship.”
“Out of the question. In these difficult times the hills are crawling with brigands. You’ll be set upon before you lose sight of the gate.”
“We are not as defenseless as we look,” countered Tyun. “The monk once defeated an entire mob with only a slingshot.”
The abbess arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?” She looked between them and nodded, as if confirming a thought voiced within her own mind. “You know that your pretty friend is welcome to join us, captain. A trio can be even more pleasing than a duet.”
Nicephorus flushed with anger. Mostly anger. He started to rise, but Tyun reached out and gripped his arm.
“The trouble is, your holiness, my pretty friend would disagree with you.”
Her lush bow of a mouth formed into a pout. “But you came all this way.”
“You offered a generous fee.”
“I can offer more than mere gold.”
Nicephorus held his breath. Somewhere in the sanctuary a mouse darted from one hiding spot to another, tiny claws skittering across the stone floor.
“The gold is sufficient,” said Tyun, still holding Nicephorus by the forearm. “Thank you for the offer of hospitality, but we will sleep on our ship.”
*
The moon was not yet risen. Saint hunter and monk picked their way slowly down the hill, avoiding loose rocks and rabbit warrens that threatened to twist their ankles.
Nicephorus felt he should be happier. Tyun had left with him, but he hadn’t spoken since they walked through the monastery gate. More sure-footed in the dark, Tyun walked several paces ahead of him without waiting for Nicephorus to catch up.
At last Nicephorus called out, “Tyun, wait.”
Nicephorus experienced a moment of despair when Tyun took another few steps, but at last he halted and waited for Nicephorus to come alongside him.
They stood in silence. Nicephorus wanted to speak, but didn’t know where to begin. At last he ventured, “I realize that I came on this voyage without an invitation.”
Tyun made no response so Nicephorus continued, “I don’t wish to constrain you.” Possibly the first deliberate lie he’d ever told.
“And you do not,” said Tyun and resumed walking.
“Tyun, please tell me if you want me to go,” Nicephorus called out to him.
That seemed to bring Tyun up short. He stopped a few paces away and turned around. The dark made it hard to see his face, but he had an air of confusion as he asked, “Go? Go where?”
Nicephorus scarcely knew himself. “Back to Bari?” he ventured.
“Is that what you want?”
Frustrated, Nicephorus said, “I’m asking if it is what you want. You were planning to sail without me. You prepared your goodbyes.”
Tyun shook his head. He bent and picked up a pebble at his feet and threw it into the darkness. When he spoke, he sounded annoyed.
“Do you recall telling me, my beautiful dreamer, that your favorite love story was about two people who spend their whole lives staying away from each other?”
“No, I told you a story about a man whose respect for his beloved was so deep that he went against his own nature and followed her wishes.”
“Her wishes to spend her life praying in a cloister far away from the man she desired. Are you seeing how I might have taken a message from all that?”
Nicephorus felt dizzy, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. “Has anything I’ve ever done indicated that I want you to stay away from me?”
Tyun looked down at the ground and picked up another rock. He jiggled it in his palm. “I suppose not.”
“I should say not. I ran back into a murderous mob to be with you. I broke my vows to God.”
“Please don’t pick now to start being tedious about your vows.”
“You misunderstand me, perhaps deliberately.” Nicephorus’ heart hammered in his chest. His tongue which often tripped along without his express consent suddenly stumbled, turning leaden in his mouth as the words in his heart wrestled with his fear.
Tyun looked at him expectantly. He was still, except for the hand holding the rock, which tapped an erratic beat against his leg. This sign of nerves, an indication that perhaps Tyun also felt them to be standing upon a dangerous precipice, gave Nicephorus the courage to say, “Tyun, I will leave you in peace, if you wish it.”
“Leave me in peace? What does that mean?”
“I can find a ship heading west.”
Tyun’s eyes widened. “You want to negotiate passage on a ship? For yourself? You’d be robbed and thrown overboard before the first sunset. I’d have your blood on my hands. I won’t allow it.” His tone was almost angry.
“Do you want me to stay?”
“I want you alive.”
“And that’s all you want?”
“No.” Tyun stepped forward; waving his rock like a thurible, he traced the sign of the cross in front of Nicephorus’ face. “I want to get moving so that we reach the town before we are assaulted by bandits.” He tapped Nicephorus’ nose with the rock. “I want to find an inn, serving fresh bazlama hot off the griddle and rakiya strong enough to make my eyes water.” Another tap. “And then I want to pay for a room with a wide bed and a door with a lock.” Three more taps. “And then when I get into that bed, I want you to be in it as well. Does that meet with your approval, Brother Nicephorus?”
*
Two figures walk hand in hand on a hillside along a well-worn path which will lead them to the river, and then into a town next to a crumbling fortress. The moon has risen, illuminating the way forward, but they walk by faith and not by sight.
They are eager to arrive, but their progress is slow. They are easily distracted by the pleasant caress of a cool breeze, by the tumbled bricks of a wall that once was a home, by reflections of the stars in each other’s eyes. They are overcome often by the urge to embrace, clasping each other close in a deep kiss, breathing life into one another.