Chapter Text
Pernoctation
from Late Latin pernoctātiō, the act of spending of the night (doing something, particularly praying)
As a novice and later as a priest, Nicolò had kept many a vigil. Even as the Christian armies laid siege to Jerusalem, he found himself on his knees all night, praying. At first, for victory. Later, for the killing to stop. In the end, he could no longer pray. But he did not sleep.
Three days had passed since he and the other man had come to a truce of sorts. Why persist in killing each other if it did no good? They could not die. Not permanently anyway. From even the worst blows, they gasped back to life. And the pain of it was terrible. Knowing it would happen again only made it worse. They had left the besieged city and had begun to walk west, toward the sea.
Having lost their weapons to battlefield scavengers, they had stripped the bodies of civilians for clothing so they could at least cover their heads and shed their damaged armor and ruined clothes. Nicolò carried the empty waterskin he had found with the dead civilians.
Neither Nicolò nor the other man (Yusuf, he had said his name was Yusuf) had carried any food and Yusuf’s waterskin had lasted only one day between them. Earlier today, after the heat of the afternoon had passed and they had resumed walking, Yusuf had fallen to his knees, then to the ground. When Nicolò touched his wrist cautiously, he could feel no pulse, and Yusuf’s chest did not move. Nicolò was too tired to do more than slump beside Yusuf and pull his tattered cloak over his head.
When Nicolò woke, the sun was beginning to set. He did not know whether he had been asleep or dead, but Yusuf still lay unmoving. High in the sky, a large bird circled. Panic shot through Nicolò. Could Yusuf be truly dead? Might he be alone forever?
Nicolò sucked in a deep breath and tried to think. Regardless of whether the other man came back, he needed to eat. He had nothing with which to fashion a sling for the occasional rabbit they had seen. But next to Yusuf’s body, Nicolò saw a rock that would fit well in his hand. He lay down, closed his fingers around the rock, and waited.
Finally the carrion bird landed on the other side of Yusuf’s body. Nicolò did his best to remain limp until he heard the beak slash into Yusuf’s belly. He dived for the bird, one hand going for its neck and the other swinging the rock at its head. He got the neck but missed with the stone. The panicked bird, a vulture like the ones around Genoa, beat at him with its huge wings as he raised the rock again. This time he connected and stunned the vulture. Nicolò hit it twice more and then snapped its neck.
He sank back onto his heels, panting. He had nothing with which to start a fire.
It took Nicolò over an hour to pluck the feathers off the carcass, and by then all he could think was food! He bit into the vulture’s breast and tore off a mouthful of flesh.