Three Arched Bridge Read Free Page B

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.
    â€œForbid 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,
    â€œWe 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,
    â€œOr 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.
    â€œBesides, is the noble count aware of the nature of the business conducted by the man who wants to build this bridge?” asked Pointed Beard.
    â€œThat is of little interest to me,” the count said, shrugging.
    â€œThen 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.
    â€œOf course,” our liege lord said, “the bitumen he extracts is black.”
    â€œAs 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