Three Arched Bridge

7

AT THE END OF MARCH, one bitter morning (it was one of the three days that mark the tail end of winter), they again summoned me urgently to the count, 1 was seized with trembling lest those crazy jabberers had come back, I would have found it easier to interpret for woodpeckers, 1 was ashamed of myself when, dozing in the cart, I found myself repeating to myself as if crazy the ancient ditty, “Oh March wind, oh brother mine, dry the loudmouths on the washing line,” However, this time it was not them but the people from “Boats and Rafts,” There were three men; one of whom, tall and pale and with a pointed beard, spoke little. Judging by the respect shown to him by the other two, he was one of the main directors of “Boats and Rafts,” and perhaps their great master’s deputy. All three spoke perfect Latin. They had brought with them some black leather bags, full of all kinds of documents,

This time the count brought us into his study. Heavy oak bookshelves occupied part of the walls, and I strained my eyes to read the titles of the books from a distance, in the hope of asking for one of them some time, should the opportunity arise,

“We fail to understand what complaint the noble count might have against us,” said Pointed Beard, not raising his eyes from his bag, “As far as I am aware, we have always fulfilled every item in our agreement,”

Our liege lord’s cheeks, pale since his daughter first fell ill, blushed above the cheekbones,

1 had acted as interpreter for several conversations between the count and “Boats and Rafts,” and I knew well that it was always “Boats and Rafts” that complained about our lord, and not the other way around. There had been continual complaints about the delayed repayment of sums borrowed by our liege lord from “Boats and Rafts” since the time of the unfortunate campaign against the duke of Tepelene. The bank of “Boats and Rafts” had twice reduced the interest rate, from fourteen to nine and then to six percent, and had finally agreed to postpone the repayment of the loans for five years without interest, They were forced into this against their will, because they did not want to create an open breach between themselves and the count, from which they would emerge the losers, since the count could profit from the quarrel and refuse to pay back a single penny, Most princes did this now and then, and everybody knew that there was no power that could force the count to honor an agreement with a bank, even with one of the largest in Dürres, such as the bank of “Boats and Rafts,”

So when Pointed Beard mentioned the question of a complaint, our liege lord blushed, because he thought this was subtle mockery.

“What complaint?” he cried, “Who has been complaining about you?”

His tone seemed to be sayings Have you grown so big-headed as to imagine 1 would make the effort to make complaints against endless moaners like yourselves?

The man from “Boats and Rafts” eyed him frostily,

“There is no question of a direct complaint, my noble count,” he said.

“Then speak clearly,” the count said.

The representative of “Boats and Rafts” stared at him fixedly. His beard, coating the lower portion of his jaw, appeared to carry the entire weight of his head.

“Sir, it is a question of a bridge,” he said finally.

“Ah,” the count said. The exclamation seemed to escape him involuntarily, and we all — who knows why? — gazed at one another.

“A bridge, no less,” Pointed Beard repeated, as if doubting we had understood correctly. His piercing eyes never left the count.

“So that’s the problem,” the count said. “And what concern of yours is it?”

The “Boats and Rafts” representative took a deep breath. It seemed that he needed something more than air to shape the required words of explanation. He began to speak slowly and, phrase by phrase, stated his opinion with increasing baldness. In the end he put it bluntly. “Boats and Rafts” was against the construction of the bridge, because it severely damaged the company’s interests. It was not just that the raft across the Ujana e Keqe would fall out of use. No, it was something extremely serious, which harmed the entire system of ferries, or what the Latins called water transportation, which had used rafts and barges since time immemorial and was now concentrated in the hands of “Boats and Rafts.”

Our liege lord listened with an expression of indifference. The “Boats and Rafts” emissary spoke in well-prepared phrases. I was able to translate his pure Latin with ease, and even had plenty of time left over to think about what I heard. The visitor claimed that this stone bridge would be the first injury (his exact words) ever brutally inflicted on the free spirit of the waters. Then others could be expected. Nothing but disaster would come of putting rivers in such horrible chains, as if they were convicts.

The count’s eyes became thoughtful, and he glanced at me for a moment. The men from “Boats and Rafts” appeared to notice this, because they leaned in my direction throughout the rest of the conversation. They began to talk about bridges not only with contempt but as if they were dangerous things.

Clearly the demon of the waters, in the person of “Boats and Rafts,” was in bitter enmity with the demon of the land, who built roads and bridges.

“Forbid them to set foot on our land,” Pointed Beard said, “and we will be ready to make a new agreement with you about the old loans.”

Our liege lord studied his hands.

The words “forbid them” were uttered by the man with the black beard with such rage and savagery that he seemed to be saying. Kill them, slaughter them, hack them to pieces, so that it will not occur to the mind of man to build a bridge on this earth for the next forty generations.

Some years previously, a Dutch monk coming from Africa had told me about a deadly struggle between a crocodile and a tiger, which he had seen with his own eyes from the branches of a tree,

“We may even consider the possibility of deferring all your debts, over a very long period,” Pointed Beard said.

Our liege lord continued to stare down at the ring glittering on his hand,

“Or indefinitely,” the other went on.

The Dutchman told me how for a long time the two beasts, the tiger and the crocodile, had circled each other, without being able to bite or strike a blow at all.

“Besides, is the noble count aware of the nature of the business conducted by the man who wants to build this bridge?” asked Pointed Beard.

“That is of little interest to me,” the count said, shrugging.

“Then allow me to tell you,” Pointed Beard continued. “He is involved in the black arts.”

Three times the tiger threw himself on the crocodile’s back, and three times his claws slipped on the monster’s hard scales. Yet the crocodile could not bite the tiger or lash him with his tail. It seemed that the contest would never end.

“Of course,” our liege lord said, “the bitumen he extracts is black.”

“As black as death,” Pointed Beard said.

They must have noticed again that shadow of gloom in our liege lord’s eyes, because they fell back again on evil premonitions. All three began to talk, interrupting each other to explain that one only had to see those barreis loaded with that horrible stuff to be sure that only wizards could take to such a trade, and alas for anyone who permitted carts to cross his land loaded with these barrels, that leak drops of tar in the heat, sprinkling the roads — no, what do I mean, sprinkling? — staining the roads with the devil’s black blood. And these drops of pitch always sow disaster. Now it has become a main raw material for war, and this great wizard is selling it everywhere, to the Turks and Byzantium on one hand, and to all the counts and dukes of Arberia on the other, fomenting quarrels on both sides.

“That’s what that tar does, and you are prepared to let it pass right through your lands. It brings death. Grief.”

But in one of the crocodile’s furious thrashes, the tiger, it seems, discerned his soft, exposed belly. He attacked his enemy again with a terrifying roar. The crocodile lunged to bite him, exposing his belly again. The tiger needed only an instant to tear it open with his claws. Burying his head in his enemy’s body and crazed by his blood, he tore through the bowels with amazing speed, until he reached the heart.

The three talked on, but I, who knew our liege lord, realized that he was not listening anymore. Perhaps because they had talked more than they should, they had lost. Although the count seemed to be in doubt for a moment, it was never easy to make him change his mind. The sum of money promised by the road company was greater than the entire profits of the water people. Besides, his daughter had shown signs of improvement since his decision to build the bridge.

“No,” he said at last, “We will talk no more about the bridge. It will be built,”

They were struck dumb. Two or three times they moved their hands and were about to speak, but they did nothing but close their bags.

The beast of the water was defeated.