'When the sun is there,' he said pointing to a midafternoon position, 'and you hear the bells, it will be none.' He left without mentioning Roman.
I said, 'Well, we have some time to kill. Shall we start with some food?'
'Some food would be welcome, Sir Conrad, but then I must leave you and search for a way to make a living. I compute that my week's wages will be gone by tomorrow morning.'
'I thought that we'd decided that you were going to work at the monastery.'
'We have decided, but Father Ignacy has not.'
The dock area was incredibly sleazy, with shabby wooden huts crowding an unpaved road. The road was ankle-deep in shit. Human shit, horse shit, dog shit, pig shit, cow shit, and doubtless other varieties that did not immediately impinge on my consciousness. I tried to maintain a stoic attitude as the foul, oily stuff squished and sucked at my boots,
'If we eat here, we'll likely pick up a new set of fleas,' I said. 'Let's go within the city walls to find our dinner; it must be cleaner there.'
'It won't be cleaner, Sir Conrad, but it might be drier.'
The city walls were brick. They were only four meters high and in poor repair. They could not be of any military use, but their purpose was evident when a sleepy guard demanded a toll of us.
After a few minutes of haggling, he let us both through for a penny.
It was no cleaner inside the city. People threw- their garbage directly into the streets, and pigs ran loose, scavenging through it. Dogs fought each other for scraps, and chickens picked at the leavings. How people determined the ownership of the animals was beyond me.
Yet in juxtaposition to this unbelievable filth, men and women in gorgeous finery rode tall horses through the fetid mire, ignoring the shit as they ignored those of us on foot. I soon found myself ignoring those haughty, velvet- covered visions right back.
We found an inn that looked fairly clean, or at least cleaner than the first four we had looked into. After more dickering with the innkeeper, during which time he insisted on seeing our money, we settled on a halfpenny each for all we wanted of pork stew, bread, and ale.
As we sat down at the table, a female voice asked, 'Would you like some company?'
She looked to be about twelve years old and underfed. Her dress was dirty and patched, and she was not clean. She was barefoot, and she was trying to smile and keep her eyes off the steaming bowl of stew in front of me.
'Why not?' I asked. 'You look hungry. Would you like some dinner?'
'Well...'
'Innkeeper, bring a third meal to our table!'
'Yes, Sir Conrad!' he shouted from a back room. But when he arrived with a tray of food and drink, he saw the girl and said, 'You again! How many times must I chase you out of here? Sir Conrad, surely you can't expect me to serve beggars and prostitutes.'
'Surely I can expect you to show a bit of Christian charity! This is a little girl who is hungry. Now, put the food on the table.'
'But you don't know what she is!'
'I know that she's hungry.'
'But the cost-'
'I ordered it, and I'll pay for it. Now do as I say.'
He left the tray on the table and walked off, grumbling. I stood and served the girl myself. 'All of this haggling and argument is beginning to spoil my disposition.'
'A thing to be guarded against,' Roman said. 'It spoils the digestion, and that can be ill afforded when good food is available in plenty.'
'Yes, Sir Conrad. Please, sit down,' the girl said.
So I sat. Introductions were made. Her name was Malenka. She was an orphan and had lived in Cracow for two years. Conversation drifted in the course of the meal, and it was soon obvious that she survived by renting her body to all comers.
'And what do you charge for this?' Roman asked.
She looked at me, trying to smile. 'I was hoping you'd ask. A day and a night for only a penny.'
I saw Roman fumbling among his dwindling supply of coins, and I thought it best to nip this in the bud. I took three pennies from my pocket and put them in front of her. 'Do you go to church?'
'Yes, my lord. Every morning.' Her eyes were downcast. 'It's a good place to find customers.'
'Well, next time I want you to do some praying.'
'Yes, my lord. But I am yours for the next three days. Where shall we go?'
I had been a long time without a woman, and I confess that I was tempted. But this brutal century had not yet deprived me of my morals, and Conrad Schwartz was not a molester of children.
'I shall go to the Franciscan monastery, and you shall stay right here. It seems that you have offended the innkeeper somehow. You will make it up to him by working for him for three days.'
'The innkeeper!' she cried.
'You will wash his dishes, sweep his floors, and sleep alone.'
'What?' Roman exploded. 'Sir Conrad, this is a foul jest! If you won't make use of her, then by the muse, I will!'
'By God, you will not! What will you tell Father Ignacy when you next confess to him? That you took an adolescent girl by force?'
'What force? She offered, and you paid!' Roman stood.
'She was forced by hunger and poverty, which are more persuasive than any sword or club. And a good deal more brutal! Now, sit down and finish your beer.'
The innkeeper came over. 'Forgive me, Sir Conrad, but I couldn't help overhearing much of what was said. What is it that you are planning?'
'I'm going to give you a servant for three days. Put her to honest work. If she's useful, you might consider some more permanent arrangement with her. Is this acceptable to you?'
'Well, yes. But why are you doing this?'
'Call it an act of faith. Look, here's the money for the meal. Come on, Roman. It's time to go.'
Once out on the street, Roman said, 'Sir Conrad, you are a very strange man.'
We wandered through the city's mixture of squalor and barbaric splendor for several hours, stopping to pray at Saint Andrew's Church.
Despite its missing the familiar baroque towers, the church seemed somehow bigger than when I had visited it in the twentieth century. Perhaps it was the lack of more imposing structures around it. I looked up wistfully at the round towers of Royal Wawel Castle and the cathedral. But Roman shook his head.
'That's not for the likes of us, Sir Conrad.'
'Surely they wouldn't turn away honest visitors,' I said. 'Anyway, I'm a knight.'
'You are a knight without a horse, or armor, or even a sword. Try if you like. I'll wait for you down here.'
'Perhaps you're right. Anyway, it's time we found the Franciscan monastery.'
The monastery was austere, but it was at least clean, gloriously clean by comparison to the festering slime that surrounded it. A brown-robed monk led us to a room where we could spruce up, and I began to understand all the biblical references to the washing of feet. A few hours of walking in shit does amazing things to them.
When we were presented to Father Ignacy, he welcomed me profusely and told me that my appointment as a copyist had been confirmed, at four pence a day. He showed us around and asked me if my cell was acceptable.
'It's better than some quarters I've had in the military.'
'Excellent. Supper is just after vespers, and I will see you then.' He turned to leave.
'Father, what about Roman?'
'I'm sorry, Sir Conrad, but I feel that his employment here would be ill advised.'
'But why not give him a chance, for a few days at least?'
'That would only give him time to spread his ungodly attitudes.'
