Chapter 15

Howl the rain maketh them like unto dogs;

One side they make a shelter for the other;

Oft turn themselves the wretched reprobates.

Dante, Inferno, 6.19-21

As they approached the town walls, they could see that the gates were open. Not only open, they also seemed to be abandoned. The entrance to the town was as desolate as the fields through which they had been riding. They stopped just outside the gates to survey the situation.

“Go through?” Radovan asked.

“It’d save us time,” Adam said. “Perhaps the people have left already.” Just then, from somewhere inside the town they heard a cheer, followed by what sounded like singing, though it was too far away to make out clearly. “Well, then there are still people here. We need to warn them. Clearly if they’re singing, with their gate open and unguarded, they must not know what’s going on.”

They proceeded through the gate, past deserted houses and shops. Everything was in a violent disarray, with carts spilled over in the street, and various items – tools, implements, broken pottery, and glass – scattered on the ground. There were some dark brown splotches and burn marks on the ground and on many of the walls. Some of the windows were smashed, but most were boarded up. Dante caught the metallic scent of blood, and the heavy, stinging, malignant smell of smoldering embers that had been left to fester. He saw nothing move, however, and no fires raging or blood flowing, so they kept moving forward.

The cheering sound returned, followed by laughter, then the indistinct murmuring of a crowd. All of them flinched and bristled at the sound of an animal roaring in pain or rage, but this was drowned out by laughter, so they kept going.

They came out into a more open area, where they finally saw the crowd they had heard. Several dozen men were there, gathered around long tables. There were no women or children in sight. Most of the men were standing, though several were lolling on the ground; some of the prone figures appeared immobile. There were many barrels on the tables, along with various foods, and nearby three boars were spitted over low fires. Here the smells were slightly more savory than what had greeted Dante so far in this town. Although it was still impossible for him to consider food after what he’d just seen, even he could appreciate the sweet but heavy aroma coming from the roasting meat. It was an irresistible kind of pull to anyone’s senses, even if their minds rebelled unnaturally against it.

But the pleasant smell was more than offset by the other, animalistic scents that came with several days of debauchery – spilled beer and wine, wasted food left to rot, and even men’s urine and vomit. Such animal detritus lay all over the ground, pounded into the dark, wet mud by hundreds of feet until all of it was mixed together into a sickening, grey slop. Those men still conscious waded through such filth carelessly, as they grabbed up more food or guzzled down more drink, while those who were groggy or passed out wallowed in it without shame.

Beyond the men and tables, the ground sloped down into a large indentation, like a pit. In it there were two poles erected. They were much thicker than the stake Dante had seen the woman tied to the other day. Two bears were tied to one of these. Both of them were fairly small, but one was obviously still a cub. The other was probably its mother, judging by how it stayed close to the smaller animal and seemed to be shielding it. The rope holding the cub was tied to the one holding the mother, and the mother’s rope was tied to the pole. To the other pole a large dog was tied; it strained against its bonds, sometimes moving close to the bears to bark at them, sometimes running to the other side to menace those of the crowd who stood close to the bear pit, shouting and laughing at the tormented animals. All three animals were bloodied, with gashes on the faces and sides, and patches of fur torn from their abused bodies. The bodies of several dead dogs were scattered around the pit as well, some bent in such a way that their backs were clearly broken, some with their throats ripped out, some with their entrails hanging out, victims of the cruelty of man and the savage power of beasts.

Some of the men closer to Dante and his companions had now noticed them. “Eh, what have we here?” one drawled, as the group of drunks staggered toward them. He was bigger than the others, with a thick, black beard and hair, and perhaps slightly less drunk than most of his companions. He leered at Bogdana. “Oooh, you brought us a lovely little mother bird, I see. I like the way you wrap your legs around that horse, darling. Care to spread them for me, before we all die? Can’t do any harm.”

“She’s so big, I’m afraid something would grab me if I stuck it to her!” shouted another drunk, causing the crowd to roar with laughter.

The laughter died down as Bogdana pulled back on the reins and her horse reared up, then it took two steps back. “Pigs!” she shouted. “Why do you have no sense?”

Dante and Radovan both pulled their horses to one side to get between her and the crowd, which gave way before them. Both men also drew their swords. “What is wrong with you?” Radovan shouted at them. “This isn’t the time for such foolishness.”

“There’s never a time for acting like beasts, but that won’t stop them,” Dante muttered.

The crowd backed up at the threat of harm. “Easy, strangers,” said the man who had first spoken. “No need to spoil our fun, is there? Like I said, no harm in some fun before we all die. Isn’t that what the Good Book tells us? ‘Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.’ We were just offering to make merry with this fine lady.” The crowd chuckled, though much more restrained than before. “And it’s not very Christian of you not to share, I’m thinking.” The crowd grumbled some agreement, but despite their numbers, the way they tottered and laughed and retched, Dante hardly felt threatened by them, just disgusted.

Adam still seemed to think common sense and self-interest would work, though Dante doubted it would have any more effect than trying to argue biblical interpretation or Christian morality with such men. “Friends,” Adam began. “The dead have obviously been here. Perhaps you fought them off the first time, but there will be more, and the army right behind them, to destroy you all. Surely you can see that. Please, flee – either to escape the army or to beg their mercy.. Please do it and give up this madness.”

The crowd was already losing interest in them, going back to the barrels and bottles and platters that held more reliable and less contentious distractions. “Ah, some bookish, churchly, old fop and a couple of loons with pig stickers. Begone!” Black beard waved them off as he turned away. “Not worth getting my nose bloodied for a knocked up skirt like her anyway. Better just to drink away the memory of skirts, and children, and work, and dead people walking around. Right boys?” The crowd cheered at this. Black beard raised a tankard. “Here’s to dulling the pain. The only thing fit for a day like today! Or any other!” The crowd roared even louder, then Dante heard a flute from somewhere in the crowd, and they broke out into song again. This time Dante was close enough to make out the words:

Oh Fiddler’s Green is a lovely place,

Where no scolds stop you from stuffing your face!

The weather’s always fine, there’s never a storm.

And everything’s beautiful – no rust and no worm!

And work? What work? There’s nothing to do!

Except eat fine dainties and drink the best brew!

There’s a river of wine, and trees that drip brandy.

And under each tree – a wench with a fig sweet as candy!

So if I’ve been laid low by Jehovah or some spirit unclean,

Then just look for me, friends, on Fiddler’s Green!

The song degenerated into random laughter and shouted obscenities, accompanied by the sound of smashing tables and glasses, as the newcomers were forgotten completely and the men returned to what they did best and most cheerfully with their lives.

As Dante pulled the reins to the left to get his horse moving forward, he looked over to Bogdana. He was aghast to see her off her horse, leading it by the reins and making her way toward the crowd.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said, pulling his horse back the other way to get closer to her.

She’d taken another step. Now Dante noticed an unconscious man on the ground not far from her, a generous shank of roasted pig held across his chest. Bogdana nimbly lunged for the food, snatched it out of the man’s hands, then turned and swung herself back on to her horse, before any of the semi-conscious members of the crowd took a renewed interest in her. She turned her horse and came up next to Dante, biting into the meat as she went, pink juices welling up out of it and on to her lips.

“What were you thinking?” he scolded her. Seeing her ripping off the glistening, greasy meat with her teeth nearly made him gag. “How the hell can you eat now?”

She chewed as she eyed him, tilting her head down a little and cocking an eyebrow. “You are an exceptionally kind man,” she said. “And I think a very smart one, too. But I know for certain you have never been pregnant, and you can have no idea what roasting meat smells like to me right now, and how it makes me feel. So please, just look away if it bothers you, and let me eat.”

Dante looked at her eyes, which were as stern and as beautiful as Beatrice’s, but much more simple and direct. They filled him with a different kind of strength. Not the strength of wonder and awe, but of appreciation and a kind of freedom, so long as he could look into them without noticing the animal leg, which she was so savagely tearing into. He could just manage this trick, if he held his head up and squinted a bit, which he gladly did, so as not to retch or lose courage.

Over to Dante’s left, Radovan said, “Let’s go,” just before several long, high-pitched screams of fear and pain assailed them from the far side of the crowd.