Quarantino

Ragusa, 1358

Quarantino

It was the fortieth day, of been held up in the ship that conveyed us from Kaffa, to Ragusa. I was among the six that barely survived the quarantinio. We were eighty persons in number that left kaffa six months before. It was the most horrifying voyage ever. Half of the crew and passengers had died on board and their bodies hurled into the ocean on the instructions of the priest. Only a dozen of us made it to Ragusa that rainy morning. Old ships and Cabins were also used to hold a number of us in and our food was given to us by slaves of the plague doctors, for this slaves were never allowed inside the city. The food was dropped a distance from the ship and then we came out singly to pick our ration. Sometimes, the bread had molds on them, and the berries were too dry. I rose to my feet after hearing the approaching footsteps of the plague doctor. His footsteps were loud owing to the metal boots worn which were a knee long. The first appearance of the plague doctor would put even the black death to a fright. He was dressed in a heavy black cloak and his hands were adorned with black gloves which covered the entirety of his elbow. Metal strings were attached to the tip of his fingers, and a thick cloth was worn across his face save for his eyes and nose. He wore huge spectacles strapped to his head, and for a moment he looked like a misplaced 'kamelon'. On his nose was a long tube with little holes allowing just enough air in. The tubes on his nose reminded me of the scarecrow we had in our little village in Tartar among the people of Mongol. Father was a merchant who brought wool, flax and dried nuts from Ragusa to kaffa—which was then slowly turning to a center of commerce given it's proximity to the seaports. Foreigners moved into Tartar and the city thrived. I could still remember it's ancient walls, fortified by two concentric stone walls. The city itself was an enigma to behold. There was always something new in Kaffa, be it a tunic or some new kind of food. Father had met mother in Kaffa, she was the daughter of a local influential pea-farmer and they had moved out of Kaffa to settle in a pea farm on the outskirt of the city; It was what mother had wanted. Father would go on for months and then return with goods from Ragusa, a place he promised he'd take us, A placed he never did. I was there when the artra mors started. It started with the Mogol soldiers who were besieging the walls of Kaffa. Trouble had broken between the local Mogols and the foreign settlers in kaffa. The Mongols didn’t want to trade no more with the foreigners, Janniberg, the Khan of the golden Horde waged war against the foreigners. Father was spared given his affiliations with the most influential pea farmer’s daughter, he was considered a Mogol. Every fortnight, Father would deliver dried out peas for the soldiers at the garrison, and in turn we got paid in lands that were used to plant more peas. Sometimes I followed him, and other times I stayed home to till the land with my two brothers. Mother had eight children, with five dying before they celebrated their second birthday. I had followed father to supply the dried peas. Four fortnights had passed without the Mogol soldiers asking for their regular supply. It took us ten days to travel to kaffa , the place I first witnessed the black death itself—Artra mors. The garrison was almost deserted with bodies littered all about. Only a single camp fire was left burning. Putrefying stench filled the garrison—’ Maisma' father had called it. In the tents were bloodied men covered with dark sports all over, swellings could be seen on their skins which further burst open to produce yellow bloodied liquid. It was revolting. 

“Don’t touch anything, “ Father had commanded. “The men are cursed ‘ father concluded in a fright. I still remember the huge rats that scurried along the camp, eating the decaying flesh of Mogol soldiers. Just across the wall were a dozen of soldiers, I recognized Jannibeg immediately, he was with a handful of his men, they seemed to be loading the body of a dead soldier on a catapult, and with all the strength they had, they hurled it over the magnificent wall into the besieged city of Kaffa. 

“Vengeance “ the men had chorused. Father’s breath was jagged at this moment, even my knees were weak. In anxiety, I steeped on a dried twig which cause a soldier to turn. 

“Who’s there? “ one soldier had asked peering into the darkness. It was the last I heard as I and father took to flight in the woods. 

“This one is clean” the plague doctor said to the priest who had now entered into the room. His announcement pushed me out of my reverie .

I watched the priest has he sprinkled holy water on my skin after the plague doctor had examined me. I was to be moved to another cabin for a two-day examination before I could enter the city of Ragusa. It was Constantino’s order. While I fell in step with the plague doctor, who ensured I was far away from him as possible. I watched the priest instruct some slaves to place a body on the crematorium. The body was dragged by pikes, making sure the slaves had no contact with it. One of the slaves tripped against a pile of dried white stones, tilting a side of the unceremoniously wrapped body, it was then I saw the face of the dead man and realized that Padua had not made it. 

Padua was a friend I made in the woods after we both fled from our dying families. Father later went back to the garrison after another fortnight and he never returned. It was rumored that a dark spirit had killed the Mogol soldiers for treating the foreigners badly. Days later people began falling sick, first was the Noracia household, and then the households next to them. Soon all who attended the funeral or visited, were also struck and soon died. The next were the town’s physician and our local priest. The black death had visited our village. I fled the night mother began to develop a high fever , it was a sign that the black death had visited the house. I took what was left of the Holy water and ran. Leaving mother and my brothers behind. For days I had wandered in the woods until I met Padua. We travelled together wandering further into the woods, and in months we gradually reconnected with runaways who had escaped the black death. No one returned to kaffa until 1356 , eight years from the plaque. The ancient ships were rebuilt and a number of us wanted to return to Ragusa. I wanted to, I wanted to see father’s homeland.

We had barely stayed onshore for a day did I notice the notorious rats. I had seen these rats in my dreams severally. Now they scurried along in the cabins. Weeks later, a crew member died in his cabin, he hadn’t been out for three days, and when his door was forcibly opened, dark spots were seen over a lifeless body. Then panic filed the ship. The black death had returned. Our dreaded horror— Artra mors.

A couple of people began to die, with the same symptoms ,and a clergy amongst us had suggested the bodies be thrown overboard same with everything that belonged to the diseased. Still the deaths continued though at a slower pace. But each night I slept and dreamt, I saw the rats, laughing hysterically at me. It was then I concluded that the rats were cursed and the death was with them. I had told Pauda, and we stayed clear of the rats and the rest of the crew. Some passengers imitated us, and assuming us to be clergy men, believed our report. The rats were killed and thrown off board also, the deaths decreased and I was praised. But still some persons died. It was concluded that the ships and the rats were cursed. And we purified ourselves daily hoping to get to Ragusa before we all perished. 

We were twelve that made it to Ragusa that raining morning, the captain died the evening of that day. I and Padua were among the twelve. Constatntino had declared a quarantino for any ship that came through its borders. We were confined in an old ship at the seaport for forty days. The slaves dropped the food ration, and those still alive came out to pick the meal. From afar, the plague doctors and the priest would observe us keeping their distance. Not a tear escaped my eye lids as Padua's body was set on fire. The plague had claimed over half of the earth’s population, I had seen so many deaths than years. 

I sat in the room on the second day waiting for the priest to pronounce me clean. 

“You must have lived a holy life “ he said. 

“Yes, I replied. “I stayed away from rats, rats that could corrupt my soul”

He smiled as he let me go out the door, the air was fresh, the city scarcely populated, and food was plenteous . Although the black death, caused by those who sinned with the rats was gradually coming to an end, but to the few which survived; it was a second chance to enjoy the bountifulness of the land… ..with a little holiness. 

(Fiction story inspiration from the 14th century plague: The black death)