“Is this truly so?” they said. “We do not believe you.”
I was pleased at this, and I admitted I had merely been testing them, and that, in truth, I had never plotted to overthrow the church.
“Let us take you down now,” said the priests. “There is blood dripping from your heels, and we cannot bear to watch it.”
But I told them to continue, for I was suffering only as much as any other prisoner. So they asked me whether I sought to make men suffer. I said no. Then they asked me whether I taught heresies to the gullible. I said no. Then they asked me whether I had ever committed a sin.
“Yes,” I said. “But what sins I have committed, I have repented of.”
By now, I was well satisfied that the wire did not produce lies, and besides I was growing uncomfortable up there, so I commanded them to let me down, which they did. Then the wire was carefully removed, and surgeons were called to place soothing unguents upon my wounds.
I told the surgeons and the priests not to tell anyone of what had happened, but they disobeyed me, and soon the whole town knew of my virtuous act. Then the townspeople came to love me dearly, for they saw I would not inflict on others any punishment which I had not first tested upon myself. And you may be sure that when the bishopa heard of my act, her admiration for me was heightened still further, and she gave me rewards in private which only a woman can give, and only to a man.
The bishops and the monks, though, now hated me more than ever, for they were jealous of my excellence and my rectitude, as well as of my intimacy with the bishopa.
The bishops continued to look for ways to bring about my downfall, hoping I would perform some shameful act, bringing disgrace upon my position. So they laid traps for me, sending whoreboys to my room, or giving me gifts of strong wine. But I kept my honour: I gave arrans to the whoreboys, then sent them away without accepting their services; the wine I gave to the beggars of Quebec, who love such drinks. Then the whores and the beggars came to love me, and so, once again, in setting out to degrade me, my enemies merely made my virtue still more famous.
Their next trap took a different direction. As an archbishop, it fell upon me to be present at certain religious assemblies, and here I learned much of the One Religion, as I sat at the back behind the pulpit of the cathedral dressed in my archbishop’s robes. These garments—for suddenly I realize I have not yet described them, yet they were extraordinarily beautiful—were made of a strong, yet delicate purple fabric, lined at the cuff and collars with ermine. The lining was not so wide, however, as that upon the bishopa’s robes, nor was the stuff so thick, for her garb comprised numerous layers, giving the impression of tremendous bulk and solidity, although the bishopa was actually a very thin woman, and her ribs and hips jutted out against her skin.
Now, a part of every service was the recitation, in which a bishop would say a part of the Holy Code, speaking from memory. One day, on the Festival of the Eight Saints, the bishop responsible for the recitation said:
“This worthy festival reminds us that holy men, of great learning and worth, may come to us not only from our own land, but also from overseas. With this in mind, I would like to withdraw from the recitation, which is from the Book of Exodus, inviting that great archbishop who came to us from overseas to take my place.” And he gestured to me.
I realized at once that this was an attempt to trap me, for if I refused, it would appear I was incapable of giving the recitation, and therefore was not so worthy and learned as the bishop had said. Yet if I accepted his invitation, everyone would see I was unable to recite any lengthy passage from the Book of Exodus, for, although I had read the tales in that book, which is to be found in the First Testament, I preferred to study the meaning and general content of the stories, rather than committing their words to memory and mindlessly reciting them.
Still, it was one thing or the other, and since I had great faith, and was not one to shrink from a challenge, I immediately stood and replaced the bishop behind the pulpit, while he retreated to the back. There were a great many people in the congregation—at least a thousand and a half, I should say, for the cathedral was very large, and it was at least three-quarters full—and they looked upon me, waiting, for some moments, while I tried to recall the story of Exodus. I remembered there was talk in it of the prophet Moses, who had a great staff which could turn to a snake, and this prophet led the Hebrews, and was a prisoner of the Egyptians.
“From my lands,” I said, “comes much learning that is lost or forgotten here. You have all heard, and perhaps memorized, the book of Exodus. Yet the tales I tell now, as divinely inspired as the Code you all know, are not told in your version of this great book. Hear the Holy Code, and be terrified.”
I then waited a few seconds, and in my mind I prayed the knowledge I needed would be given to me. Sure enough, my faith was rewarded, for God placed in my head a mysterious missing part of the Book of Exodus. Many present, misinterpreting my introduction, believed this came from a version of Exodus used in my own land, but it did not, for although the story was divinely inspired, it was given to me at that very moment, and placed into my head, piece by piece, even as I spoke. Yet, it was God’s will that they believed about the story what they did, and it was not my place to contradict God.
I do not remember the exact wording of the tale, for as I have said, I am not a believer in rote learning. Yet I will share with you now the essence of the holy yarn.
While he was in Egypt, Moses had a magical staff, which could be transformed into a serpent by speaking a certain holy word. This serpent was more than fifty feet long, and its mouth could swallow a man whole. In colour it was a sickly yellow, and it smelled of vomit and dung.
Now, the Pharaoh spoke to Moses, saying: “If you wish to be free, show me some magic.” Then Moses threw his staff to the ground and said the secret word, and the staff turned into the deadly snake. But then all the Pharaoh’s magicians, and there were more than a thousand of them, threw down their staffs also, and these also turned into snakes. But the snake of Moses attacked the other snakes, and though there were a thousand of them, it killed them all, and, with its powerful head, tossed their bodies this way and that, ripping them open, and sending their poisonous blood in all directions.
The blood from the dead snakes landed on the magicians, and where it touched them, their skin began to blister and bubble, then it formed a hideous black scab, which quickly spread over their bodies, until each magician had turned into a writhing mass, covered with a single giant scab, and in the middle of the scab was a human mouth, which screamed in horror and pain, spitting blood and bile, until at last it fell silent in death.
(On hearing this, the congregation gasped, and twisted in their seats, for the holy words struck at their very souls.)
When the Pharaoh saw what had happened to his magicians, he was afraid, and he ran off, telling his soldiers to stay behind and kill the snake. But when the soldiers approached the snake, it bit their heads, crushing their skulls between its strong jaws, then it slithered off after the Pharaoh, and Moses ran after the snake to watch what would happen.
The Pharaoh’s palace was made of seven jewelled towers, each made with a thousand Sheet Walls, and a million cross-bindings, and each was more than twelve thousand feet in height. In the centre of these towers stood a great statue-city in the shape of a golden calf. Beneath this statue was a huge labyrinth, and the Pharaoh ran there, hoping to escape the snake. But the snake’s tongue tasted the ground where the Pharaoh’s footsteps had been, and it followed those footsteps, step by step. Moses, in his turn, followed the snake’s slimy trail, hoping now to save the life of the Pharaoh, for Moses was a virtuous man.
Suddenly, as Moses turned a corner of the labyrinth, he came across a terrible sight. It was the body of the Pharaoh, whom the snake had caught. There was a hole in the top of the Pharaoh’s head and a hole in the bottom of the right foot, for the terrible
snake, on capturing the Pharaoh, had chewed into his head then burrowed through his body, emerging at his foot. The snake itself was nowhere to be seen though.
Then Moses heard a loud hissing behind him. He turned and he saw the snake, which had climbed the walls of the labyrinth and was ready to jump on Moses, for, having eaten the flesh of the evil Pharaoh, the snake itself had become evil and now wanted to kill Moses.
Moses knew he must say the secret word, for this would turn the snake back to a staff once more. But he realized with horror he had forgotten the word, and he would instead have to fight the snake with his bare hands!
Then the snake jumped on Moses, but Moses smote it with his fist, striking it in the belly. The snake was stunned for a moment, and fell back, but then it regained its strength once more and jumped at Moses’ leg. Moses kicked the snake with his other leg, and the snake gave a hiss of pain. Then, as Moses prepared another kick, the crafty snake moved aside, so Moses kicked his own leg, and he fell to the ground in pain.
Thereupon, the snake reared up above him, preparing to strike with its poison fangs. But Moses used the same trick the snake had just used, and he moved aside at the last moment, just as the snake’s great head was darting towards him. The snake hit the ground with tremendous force, and its fangs broke off.
Moses quickly grabbed these fangs and tried to stick the snake with them, but the snake whipped at his wrists with its tail, binding his hands together and forcing him to drop the fangs.
Then Moses bit the snake’s tail and freed his hands, but as he did so, the rest of the snake, writhing this way and that as if in agony, placed itself in ten great loops around Moses, one loop for each commandment. Then suddenly it pulled tight, wrapping itself around him, squeezing with all its power.
The snake opened its great mouth, and Moses could see far down its throat, where lay the rotting bones and flesh of dead people. Slowly, inch by inch, the snake squeezed Moses towards its mouth. Moses struggled, but he could not break free, and soon he could feel the snake’s foul breath over him and could feel its cold lips brushing against his head.
(When I told them of this, the congregation were most distressed, and many cried out words of encouragement to Moses, saying, “Quickly, Moses—place your thumbs into the serpent’s eyes!” or “Hold its mouth closed with your strong arms, Moses!” as though the story I was telling was real before their eyes, which, thanks to God, it was.)
But then Moses had an idea, and he prayed to God for help. The next instant a shining figure appeared nearby, and Moses recognized the man as Christ. Then Christ said to the snake, “O, snake, which God has created, stop what you are doing!” Then Christ spoke the magic word, and the snake once more became a harmless staff, which fell upon the ground.
Moses then took the staff and escaped from Israel and from the Egyptians, because the Pharaoh was dead, and for this Moses gave thanks to God in the highest degree.
Amen.
Now, this was the story as I told it before the congregation, except the fight between Moses and the snake was very much longer, and so was the fight between the snake and the soldiers, and the fight between the snake and the other snakes. The whole tale ran for nearly an hour, and I used all my storytelling skills, producing the terrible hisses of the snake, and the sound of the punches, and making faces which showed the expressions of terror on the victims of the snake.
When I had finished the story, the congregation rose up, cheering and clapping their hands together in joy and appreciation, for they knew this was indeed an inspired story from God. But the bishops were angry, for they thought the story was too violent for the common person (as if the stories of the First and Fifth Testaments are not violent!), and some dared accuse it of being heretical, saying Christ could not have appeared to Moses because Moses lived before Christ was born. To this I replied, in the first place, I did not care for years, only for truth; and in the second place, since Christ is immortal, He must have lived not only after his physical death but also before his physical birth, and therefore, in denying my story, they were denying Christ’s immortality. And so those who had accused me of heresy found the charge suddenly upon their own heads, and those who did not retract their words paid dearly for it, you may be certain!
One very pleasurable task which fell upon me as archbishop was to hear the confessions of sinners. It was the custom, you see, for all the members of the assembly to come, one by one, to me, and to admit all the evil acts which they had committed. You would be astonished to hear the scandalous deeds which were performed in that small town. I found the admissions so fascinating that, after a time, I began to keep detailed notes, which I still show to my friends and acquaintances for their edification and amusement.
But do not think I approached my duties frivolously, for, having been made an archbishop, I determined to become a master of the craft and spent much time in study, learning all I could about the Holy Code, and memorizing two long passages, so the bishops would not be able to trap me a second time. One passage, which is from the First Testament, describes the symptoms of a terrible skin disease. The other, which is in the Fourth Testament, is the entertaining praise-poem The Six Thieves and the Four Whores. This poem I know by heart even to this day, for my memory is very retentive. If you do not know the poem, you must seek it out and read it, for it is a diverting piece; and yet it also tells us much of God’s grace, for, at the very end, after the thieves and the whores have committed many shameful and sinful acts, they repent, and are forgiven by God, and surely, if they can be forgiven for such outrageous conduct, so can we all.
In fact, all the books of the Holy Code are well worth the reading, and I recommend them to everyone. Within their pages I learned of the one all-powerful God, the God With No Name, who is an indomitable ally and a fearsome and terrifying enemy. Those who befriend this great God may call upon him at any time to give them wealth or to destroy those of whom they disapprove.
There is much practical wisdom in these writings too. For example, they teach the warrior to love his enemies. And this is perceptive, for in loving his enemies, the warrior will be able to understand them; and in understanding them, he will be able to predict them; and in predicting them he will be able to conquer them and win their lands for his own.
In any event, I have now told you of the way in which I became very virtuous, and how my virtue engendered hatred in those jealous bishops. Next I will tell you of how their hatred at last resolved itself against me.
The Fifth Part
In Which I Tell Of How I Left Quebec, Leaving Two Griefs Behind
By the spring I had selected two stonemages who were to work with me on the Grief. One of these was an East American named Quebble Steech, and the other had come from Germany and was named Asken Hote. They had originally been employed by the bishopa to carry out repairs to the old cathedral and to other buildings around the town of Quebec. They worked very diligently, I will confess, but they did me a grave disservice, which I will describe in due course, so I have nothing good to say of them here.
I will tell now of the building of the Grief.
The first stage was setting the wall roots or foundation. For this, I had my myrmidons and slaves dig a great pit, fifty feet deep, delving out the area which the building would occupy. I then encapsulated the floor of the pit in Sheet Walls, shored with Seizure Lines, and heated it so it was fused into solid rock. I carried out the same procedure upon the walls of the pit—after installing pipes for the drainage of rainwater, of course, for I did not wish to create a reservoir!
Upon the floor of this pit, I set out a pattern for the interior and exterior walls, which corresponded to the shape which might be seen if the finished building were sliced horizontally in the middle of the lowest level of cellar chambers. The myrmidons brought rocks and earth, placing them upon the outlines, whereupon either I or one of my assistants would encase the rocks in Sheet Walls and fuse them at a grea
t temperature with various incantations of fire and furnace, as I had done with the floor and walls of the foundation. An endless stream of carts and wagons from the alchemical merchants brought supplies for the enchantments—waxes and sepia inks and jay feathers and reticule leaves and horse chestnuts, all in such great abundance that the land was stripped of these resources for miles around.
All this, of course, is standard stonemage technique. What was more remarkable is that we used no winches or pulleys during the construction. Instead, the building proceeded slowly upwards, in two-foot segments, with each segment forming a cross-section of the entire building. I had made the walls very thick, so they might not only add strength to the Grief, but also provide a suitable surface for walking during the construction—so, if you can picture it, each cross-section of the building formed a maze of pathways, these being the tops of the partially completed walls. In a similar fashion, the great central ramp, which spiralled up through the tower, gave us access to the higher floors as we proceeded slowly upwards.
Now you will wonder how, using this method, it was possible to create the ceiling of a level—which, of course, served also as the floor of the subsequent level. The answer is very simple. When the walls were of a sufficient height, I would place a large and powerful Sheet Wall across the surface to be covered, save only for the central ramp, through which we gained access to each level. Then the myrmidons brought large quantities of rocks, evenly covering the area. I covered the rocks with a second Sheet Wall, applied more spells of fire and furnace, and fused them into a solid surface. The bindings were removed, and—piffeta!—the finished surface would drop a fraction of an inch onto the supporting walls.
Although I was anxious to complete the building, I was determined it should be perfect in every regard and the task should not be rushed. Therefore, after completing each floor, I spent several days decorating it, carving beautiful sculptures in the rock. I also added a fine carpet made from mashena, very like that which I had placed in the towers at Luthen but crafted in purple rather than red. Only when a level was as perfect as the abilities of mortals would allow did I permit myself to move upwards to the next stage.
The Ultimate Stonemage: A Modest Autobiography Page 8