Chapter 17

“For all the gold that is beneath the moon,

Or ever has been, of these weary souls

Could never make a single one repose.”

Dante, Inferno, 7.64-66

They kept moving further into the town, past more deserted buildings. As before, there were no signs of the living or dead. Dante looked up and saw the sky remained featureless and still, the clouds unmoving and oddly dry looking, like a dusty shroud over them. He thought how refreshing some rain would feel on his face, but also thought it might impede their progress, muddying the roads and making it harder to see. For the time being they were moving ahead steadily, making for the other side of the town, where he hoped they could exit through another gate and continue on their way, perhaps making better time once they were out in the wilderness again.

From somewhere up ahead, they heard a commotion. It wasn’t as loud as the drunken party had been, but it also didn’t sound as cheerful, consisting of the sound of breaking glass, some crashes--like the sound of boxes being dropped and smashed--and men cursing.

They came around a bend in the street to find the source of the noise – four men trying to load a large cart, which was attached to two sturdy looking horses. One of the men was well-dressed, as was a woman who sat atop the cart, holding the reins to the horses. The other men were dressed in coarser, simpler clothes. The cart was already loaded to the point where it was difficult to imagine how the men intended to climb aboard it themselves, yet they continued to cram crates and bundles on to it, tying them to the other contents in an attempt to keep them from falling off. Two crates lay broken on the street next to the cart, and one man was scooping up their contents – clothes and some metal objects, like candlesticks and pots and pans – and tossing them into the nooks and crannies between other packages on the cart.

“You there,” Adam addressed them. “You’re preparing to escape? You know the dead are nearby?”

The well-dressed man stopped to answer, as the other men kept loading the impossibly-full cart. “Yes, of course.”

“Good,” Adam continued. “But really, shouldn’t you hurry? It’d be better just to leave all this stuff behind.”

The man waved him off, turning his attention back to directing the other men loading the cart, who took his orders as though they were his servants. “No, no, of course we can’t just leave everything! That’s ridiculous! Don’t be silly! It’s bad enough we have to leave all the furniture and big items, not to mention the house! We can’t leave all the smaller valuables as well!”

Adam looked to Dante and shook his head. “I see,” he said. “Well, could you tell us where the gate is on this side of town?”

The man gestured down the street they were on. “Just follow this street. It’s not far from here.”

“And is that gate open, would you happen to know?” Dante asked. The idea of having to backtrack through this town, with its strange, unpredictable inhabitants, was extremely unappealing to him right now. Not to mention all the time they’d lose if they had to double back. Indeed, he felt sure either the delay or the inhabitants could prove fatal to them at this point.

“How should I know?” the man said in a huff. “Now can you please just leave us alone? We need to finish here!” He was acting frustrated, probably because it was becoming clear even to him that all the bundles and crates they had piled up on the street were simply not going to go on the cart, no matter what they did, how hard they tried, or how much he wanted them to fit. Indeed, as he yelled at his servants to be careful with some package of goods, and gave directions on how better to stack the things, one of the ropes snapped and several more crates hit the pavement with the sound of splitting wood and shattering crockery.

“Really, perhaps you should go now,” Adam suggested. “We could go with you to the gate, and we’d all make it out of here.”

“Curse you!” the man yelled. “Stop distracting these useless dolts! Just begone! We can’t fit the cart through that gate anyway. It’s too small! We’ll go to the main gate!”

Adam still tried to reason. “But the army is coming that way. They’ll be here very soon.”

“Just leave, damn your hide!”

Dante watched, with the same sick fascination as he had watched the animals attacking the drunken men before, as the man began kicking at two of the servants, who were scrambling on the ground to pick up some of the unbroken items. Then Dante caught another motion out of the corner of his eye and heard a sickly groan, savage and unrestrained, but at the same time dry, hoarse, and pathetic. He turned to see a dead man clutching at Radovan, who reeled from the loathsome touch, lost his balance, and tumbled off his horse on the other side. Dante saw two more dead people, a man and a woman, slightly behind the first attacker.

Bogdana gave a shriek of surprise. She was off her horse before anyone else could react. She didn’t bother with an improvised weapon this time, but snatched a hatchet from her saddlebag. The way she had it in her hand so quickly, she must have deliberately packed it so it would be easy to bring forth as a weapon. Dante hadn’t noticed that particular precaution on her part, and although he thought how he should be used to it by now, he could not help again wondering at her preparedness and savagery.

Adam dismounted as well, while Dante stayed in the saddle and drew his sword as he wheeled his horse around. Fortunately for Radovan, falling as he did put his horse between himself and his attackers.

“God’s blood!” he cursed as he drew his own sword.

The dead man was clawing at the horse, still trying to get at Radovan, and that made the animal neigh and jump forward. As it did, Radovan raised his sword, and as soon as the animal was clear, he smashed the blade on to the dead man’s head. But this walking corpse was wearing a helmet. The blow threw him to the side and off balance, but it didn’t crush or penetrate his skull. His arms clawed out in front of himself as he came back to a standing posture and his groan rose in pitch to a howl of rage.

Radovan drew back his sword for a thrust, then shoved the point up through his attacker’s neck and on through to the back of his head. The dead man clutched at the blade, the sharp edges digging into his palms as he thrashed about, yanking the blade around, thereby widening the wound in his neck and further shredding the base of his brain with the sword tip. But this last spasm prevented Radovan from pulling back his sword, and the other two dead people were almost on him as well. Before they could attack, Bogdana had closed with the other dead man, drawing the hatchet back across her left shoulder as she ran, and then she brought it down diagonally on to his head. The blow buried the iron blade two inches into the dead man’s skull. She kicked him in the stomach as she pulled back on the hatchet, sending him to the ground, where he lay still.

At the same time, Dante had come up on the other side of Radovan and raised his sword against the dead woman. She turned her attention from Radovan to look at the blade raised above her head. Whatever had killed her, it had left her face uninjured, and she had clearly been a young and pretty woman, perhaps no older than Bogdana. Her hair was blonde and curly, her figure more voluptuous than Bogdana’s; her clothes were finely sewn, with lace around the neck, and she still had on some jewelry. She looked, in short, much more like the kind of woman Dante was used to – pampered, feminine, fragile, demure. At least until she bared her bloody teeth and snarled with all the rage and hunger a human mouth could spit forth at the uncaring world, and the cruel blade held above her. But even then, Dante held his hand, shaking slightly with a terrible fear at the perverted beauty in front of him, and with a sickly disgust at his own impotence and confusion.

As he stayed there, the woman’s snarl turned to a wheeze, her jaw dropped more, and she fell to her knees, then on to her face. The back of her head was split, and some blood and brains slipped out on to her blonde locks. Bogdana stood over her, holding the bloody hatchet. She looked up at Dante as she bent down to clean the blade on the dead woman’s skirts.

“As much as I admire your kindness,” she said softly, “this is not the place for mercy.”

Dante could only nod and sheathe his sword. “I know,” he said. “Thank you.”

Dante now noticed how Bogdana held the hatchet close to the axe head. It would give her more control and keep her from being thrown off balance by a wild swing, even though it would bring her closer to her adversary and lose some of the force of the blow. He marveled at her controlled, calculated violence, and again could not understand how a woman knew such things or behaved in such ways. Everything she did was always so direct and practical, without subtlety or guile. Women in Florence were not like this.

Radovan finally disengaged his sword from the dead man, whose body fell on its side and continued to twitch. His useless, gutted head flopped around every which way, the way a fish did when it’s pulled out on a hook and dropped on to the ground. His paroxysms kept clanging the helmet into the cobblestones over and over, as his tongue lolled out and he gurgled in the most sickening way. Then his legs danced around, propelling his body around like a spoke on a wheel, with his shoulder as the center point of the axle.

“Oh, this is just the end,” Radovan muttered as he sheathed his sword and drew his dagger. “You two, hold his legs. Keep him from spinning around like that or he might knock me over.”

Bogdana and Adam grabbed the dead man’s feet as Radovan knelt down and sawed through the helmet’s chin strap with his dagger. He pulled the helmet off, raised it up, and smashed it back down into the side of the man’s head. The whole body finally went slack with a low, dry moan.

Radovan sent the helmet clattering across the paving stones as he stood up. They all looked to see the people by the cart had stayed right where they were, watching them, and now the four men returned to their futile attempts at loading the vehicle. Radovan pointed to them.

“You!” he shouted. “I was almost killed because we were busy arguing with you over your madness, and you keep loading your silly cart?”

The well dressed man shrugged and heaved a bundle up to one of his men who was perched atop the heap of possessions. “I didn’t ask you to argue. I didn’t ask you to stay. I wouldn’t have said anything to you, if it were up to me. So go.”

Radovan shook with anger as he stomped to his horse and pulled himself up. Adam helped Bogdana on to her horse, then he got on his. “Please,” he tried one last time, “you see the dead are already here. Won’t you come with us? Just leave these things and come with us.”

“I said we would not!” His voice had risen to a shriek. “Why can’t you just go? Are you crazy?”

“No,” Adam said as he pulled the reins and they started forward. “We are not.”

Dante heard cursing and crashing as they rode away, but he did not look back. He half-expected the sounds to turn to screams as more of the dead attacked the cart-fillers, but the sounds did not change until they were out of earshot. Dante felt some relief at this, though he could not help but feel that the blonde, dead woman, snarling like an animal in a trap, and the dead man spinning on the pavement like a bird with a broken wing, were both much fitter objects for his concern and pity.