“But will it be useful again?”
“You are asking, ‘will I wield a sword in this hand with the same strength and skill I did previously?’” He nodded.
“That I cannot tell. I do not know everything. Give it time. Stop worrying,” she urged.
She saw his eyes narrow. His chest rose and fell several times before he began moving the fingers one by one. The fingers seemed to move fairly well. The thumb waggled a bit from the base joint. Montrose sucked in his breath and met her eyes, questioning.
“You are rushing things,” she said quickly. “Let me wrap it for you.” Nadira moved closer without waiting for permission. She picked up the pieces of the dressing he had discarded and began to carefully reassemble them on his hand. He did not protest, and she avoided looking at him while she wrapped. Tenderly she smoothed the linen strips in place, hoping her touch would comfort him, for his breathing was labored and told her much about his thoughts. She tried to think of the best way to speak to him on this matter, but was loathe to provoke him. She had not spoken of the torture since that first night in the byre.
He spoke to her softly, almost absently. “After the thumbscrew they hung me from the wall of a cistern. I do not know how long. I daresay I was not conscious of time. When the cistern began to fill with water from the storm, I was brought out to the byre.”
“How can this be?” Nadira shook her head as she finished the wrap. “These are men of God.” She despaired. “I was told God loved the world.”
Montrose murmured, “You told me you had no god.”
“I do not. Not anymore. But the Black Friars do, and it is of their beliefs that I speak. It is their own words that are twisted, not mine. I marvel only at the hypocrisy.”
“Marvel on, then, my little one. You have been fortunate to belong to an honest man. It is only because you did not see the wickedness around you that you marvel at all. I tell you now that there is more wickedness than good in this world.”
“If that is so, then surely the world will destroy itself,” she said.
“Some say it is happening now as we speak. Whole villages have been wiped clean by the Black Death. Lately an earthquake toppled a whole city south of Rome and I heard tell of a town in Bavaria swept away in a great flood.”
“Yes,” Nadira admitted. “These stories and more like them have been preached from the street corners for years.”
“And you do not fear the end of the world? Why are you not running to the priests for the safety of your soul?” He whispered into her hair as he pulled her into his lap.
“My lord, something tells me that there is more to the story of the world.”
“And you are here to read the rest of it, is that it?”
“I am, and I will.”
“Be sure to tell me when you do, for it has weighed heavily on my mind.”
“What has?”
He turned his face away from her. Nadira smoothed the lank hair from his face. Ever since the murder she had not resisted the urge to touch him whenever he was close. It comforted her, feeling his returning strength beneath her fingers. He no longer flinched at her caresses.
“I do not know what to do.” He actually sounded forlorn. Nadira sat back so she could see his face. The blue eyes were troubled.
“What do you mean ‘do’? Do what?” she asked, incredulous. “You are to stay here. Remember?”
He flicked a glance at her and then looked away. She sighed.
That evening for the first time since the visit from the Dominicans, the four of them sat around the large table in the solar. Montrose had put away as much food as Nadira permitted; even so, she had to push platters of beef away from his reaching knife.
“You will regret it later, my lord, if you eat any more than you have already,” she told him. Grimly he tore bread and sopped it in the juices. He glared at her between bites. She knew he was waiting for a time when she might be distracted by the conversation and he would be able to snag another joint from the platter in the center of the table.
In contrast, William had barely stopped talking to eat. His meal lay cold in front of him.
“My lord, Montrose, you have seen the great library at Toledo?”
Montrose nodded, chewing.
“Ah, what a glorious sight,” William sighed. “I have many times tried to persuade monsieur to allow me to return there and copy for him.”
Conti laughed lightly. “I would never see you again, my friend. Do I not have enough work for you here?”
William smiled. “Plenty of work, monsieur.”
“And what do you have planned for me, monsieur?” Montrose wiped his knife on the edge of the tablecloth before very deliberately setting it down in the center of the table. Conti’s eyes followed the glint of metal to its resting place.
“You are not free to go, of course.” Conti reached for the knife and placed it carefully next to his own.
“I plan to go as soon as I can. I will take Nadira with me. She is mine.”
“Lord Montrose. I find that highly extraordinary. Any claim you may have on her, no matter how sincere, has no legal binding. Not here, not anywhere.” It seemed as though the light from the lamps dimmed in the heavy atmosphere. Montrose scowled, his blue eyes darkening in the dim light. Nadira recognized that look and quickly attempted to disarm his gathering rage.
“Please, monsieur,” she interrupted. “I have sworn to serve you. Lord Montrose is understandably of two minds. I have urged him to be patient.”
Conti was as upset as Nadira had ever seen him. He stood and began pacing, his boots echoing in the empty hall. Montrose’s left arm moved to pull her toward him. Clearly, something of great consequence was churning monsieur’s mind. Puzzled, Nadira looked to William for an indication of what it was, but the young priest was watching his patron with stricken eyes. She felt a chill. This trouble was not about her legal status.
Conti stopped his long strides and leaned forward on the table addressing Montrose intently. “I will not allow her to leave. I understand your desire for her. You do not understand my need for her. We can come to an agreement, however.”
All eyes were on Montrose’s dark face. “You do not plan to take her by force, then,” he said flatly. “And I have been impressed with your ability to come to agreement. But in this case, I will not relinquish her. She is not for sale to you or to anyone. Not anymore.”
“She would be little use to me if I held her against her will.”
“What ‘use’ do you plan to make of her?” Montrose pulled Nadira closer. She was squeezed uncomfortably against his left side, but did not protest.
Conti paused, then straightened and continued his pacing without answering.
“Monsieur?” Montrose insisted.
William had been watching the conversation disintegrate with unusual self-control, but now he spoke up. “Monsieur, why do you not answer? Surely Nadira’s tasks here are no secret.” He turned to Montrose earnestly. “Believe me, my lord, Nadira has been well-treated and has been aiding me in copying the manuscripts monsieur procured over this spring and summer. There is no…”
“Be silent, William.” Conti returned to his seat on the bench across from Montrose and Nadira. He placed both hands palm up in front of Montrose. “William does not know what you and I know about this book, my friend.” He stared meaningfully into Montrose’s eyes, as he wiggled his right thumb. Nadira watched Montrose’s expression change. He seemed to turn inward, his eyes lowered to the table and the flush of anger that had settled on his face now faded to pallor. The arm around her waist tightened. Alarmed, she looked from man to man but there were no answers in either of the faces.
Without looking up from the table, Montrose intoned slowly. “Do you still have the book, monsieur?”
Conti pulled his hands back and placed them in his lap. He spoke so low Nadira had to strain to hear. “You might instead ask how I could have permitted Septimus to interview you knowing what I know.”
�
�Interview?” Montrose moved so swiftly his tunic generated a breeze that extinguished one of the candles on the table. He leaped up and had Conti by the throat with his good hand. Conti fell backwards onto the stones with a grunt, the bench falling to the floor with a solid thump. His cries were cut short when his air ran out. Montrose straddled him on the floor, his bandaged hand thrust into Conti’s face. “This was no ‘interview’ you son of a whore!”
Conti’s hands went to his throat, digging at Montrose’s grip. William and Nadira pulled them apart with difficulty. Montrose stood doubled over, panting with the effort as William pulled Conti to his feet. Nadira stood between them, one hand on each man’s chest.
Conti coughed, held up a hand to stop William who moved to support him. “I regret your encounter with the Inquisition, Lord Montrose.”
Montrose growled and lunged again for Conti. Nadira pushed him back with all her strength. Any more aggression from Montrose would bring in Juan and the guards. She was amazed they had not already been summoned. “My lord, please.” He staggered against the table, trembling with repressed rage. William righted the overturned bench. Nadira helped Montrose down, and then sat on his thigh, more to keep him seated than to comfort him. William led Conti, rubbing his neck, to the other end of the same bench.
After he sat Conti down William relit with a shaking hand the candles that had been disturbed. “I have had enough!” William was wild. “Right now, right now in this room at this time! I want to know the truth of this matter.” He turned to Conti. “Do you hold me against my will? Do your plans depend upon my good will as well?” He thumped his chest to punctuate his words.
“Why such secrecy?” He pointed a slender finger at Montrose. “And you my lord, there will be no more murders, attempted murders, assaults or any other kind of violence!” His golden eyes flashed.
Conti nodded as he reached for the wine on the table and poured himself a cup. “My friends, please be patient.”
“Do not plead for time, monsieur. None here have the stomach for it.” Montrose said wearily as he took the cup Conti poured for him.
“I plead not for time, but for understanding. I find it difficult, if not impossible to convey, even to you, William, what needs to be said.”
“It is time to try.” William took a long pull on his own cup and stared defiantly at his master.
Conti looked at each of them before beginning. “I first learned of this infernal book when I was in Wittenberg. The scholars there were speaking of a book brought back from the last Crusade that contained the answers to all questions. Such a thing was hard to believe, but it is harder for a man to call a priest a liar. I asked at every stop I made that summer. Many had heard of this book, though none had seen it or read it. There were many different stories as to who possessed it and how it came into their hands. By the time my season’s journeys were over, I was convinced the book existed and I was determined to find it.” Conti took another drink of his wine, rubbing his throat. He made a wry face at Montrose.
“I had to be careful, as I was met with suspicion for my questions. As the next summer progressed, I was able to determine the book had traveled to Toledo or Granada. I hurried to reach those cities before winter put a stop to my travels. The prince was kind enough to permit me to reside here in his tower until the book could be located. Of course, there is a price for his hospitality. His Highness expects a copy of this book when it is found.”
“William was procured from Father Bertram at Coix to aid in my work. He has been an exemplary scholar and copyist.” Conti gazed at him with real affection.
“But I must say,” Conti continued, “I was not prepared for Brother Valentine’s visit this spring. He carried with him what I was sure was the book. He said he had come from Coix and that he had removed the book from Brother Henry against Henry’s wishes. He said he must flee for Rome, as the book was an item greatly desired by the Holy Father. Of course, Valentine’s departure from the tower was delayed by an onset of some kind of bowel trouble…” Conti’s lips stretched into a wicked smile. “A bout just lengthy enough for William to copy as much as possible.”
“And I wrote day and night for three interminable days,” William added.
“As did I. Fortunately, the book is not long, and we did not copy the parts we had acquired from other sources. Father Valentine recovered and set off with his prize for Rome none the wiser having spilled some of his treasure into our coffers.”
“So you have read the book,” Montrose said.
“Parts of it.”
“And you find your sanity intact?”
“Parts of it,” laughed Conti, trying to lighten the mood in the room. “It is like this, my lord. We men believe what we are told. Few of us bother to test these beliefs, especially when so much of what we are told is obvious in the world around us. Fire will burn you if you touch it. Ice will freeze you and water will wet you. These things we learned at our mothers’ knees, and tested in uncomfortable and uncompromising ways.”
“But how is it that some things we are told are not able to be tested? Where is God? Why does the rain fall? How does a bee fly? Why do some fall to plague while others are untouched? We are told the answers to these mysteries as well. Instead of our mothers’ skirts we turn to men in long cassocks, somberly intoning in obsolete languages. In our fear and ignorance, we turn to those who appear confident that they know the answers. And we believe them. And our minds become tarnished with their answers.” Conti took a deep breath and patted William’s hand, as the priest was visibly upset by what he was hearing.
“Other shining, untarnished minds have come before us, lighting this path to understanding. But the sword of fear and ignorance has cut down their mortal forms, dissolving them as time does to all of us, to dust. Yet, their minds remain on paper. Their thoughts come to us in ink and parchment, packaged in tiny receptacles of light and wisdom. These vessels of knowledge have encoded in them the only thing immortal to a man: his soul. I have collected the minds of many great men, and a few women,” Conti smiled at Nadira. “Perhaps later we shall read the poetry of some of them one evening. I find the minds of women to be particularly ethereal.“
He turned back to Montrose, “But now I will answer your question. When the great minds are encountered by the ignorant, a change takes place, a struggle in the minds of the men who read them. In that struggle lies the danger of madness, for should one idea take root where a conflicting one resides there can be no peace for that man. He will fall into a fear that ultimately leads to despair. This is what happened to Brother Henry. I went to Coix to interview him after Valentine’s departure. He was raving, as you remember, and violent. In his mind battled the two most terrifying thoughts for such a man: his complete reliance on God, The Father, and the direct experience of knowing that there is no god.”
“Surely you jest, monsieur,” William said quietly.
Conti leaned over to lay his arm across William’s shoulders. “William, you see why I appear to be secretive. This knowledge is no secret to the initiated, but to those still living in the ignorance of childhood it is a great evil. To admit there is no God is to damn the world to cycles of despair and destruction with no hope of ending. That is how it appears to the simple man. It is not the truth, however. Far from it.”
“I have heard these humanistic arguments before…”
“Yes, but not from me. And not in this context. I want you to know that had this confession not been forced on me by our passionate guest, I would have broken this to you gently, and in a more meaningful way.”
“I would still have resisted.”
“Perhaps. However…”
“Gentlemen. I do not mean to be rude.” Montrose interrupted with some sarcasm, “but I still demand to know to what use you plan to put this maiden.”
Conti sighed. He leaned forward and took Nadira’s hand. “Nadira, your mind is unfettered by any dogma. Only you can look into the phial of light that is this book and tell me what you see
without the danger of madness. I want your eyes and your heart to see what I cannot and bring it back to me, that I may understand more of what I desire.”
Montrose took her wrist and pulled her back from Conti’s touch. “I, too, have retained Nadira to read this book for me,” he said, “but not for any desire to see its truths, but to identify it so it may be destroyed. My brother told me it would be used to summon demons that will bring death and pestilence upon the world through the evils of its words. He told me the Holy Father would use the book as an instrument of his lust for power and bring suffering, not enlightenment, to all men.”
Conti spread his hands on the table. “As with all great instruments, there is good and evil in how it is played. A horn’s delicate tremuloso can be made to pierce the ear with pain by the inept player. So it is with this book. In the hands of the wrong man, the power of its liberation can cause great suffering. Even to an individual as Brother Henry. No demon sapped his mind. The book did not torch him. Brother Henry is a victim of his own ironclad beliefs. He could not open his awareness for the torrent and the waves that crashed through the barred doors of his mind, breaking it.”
Montrose thought about this, rubbing the short stubble of his beard. Nadira looked to William, but the priest was staring unseeing into his cup, which he held clasped tightly in both hands. Conti leaned back, stretching his arms. Nadira met his eyes and he smiled at her.
“I have heard from all but you, little one. Do you feel your mind stretching?”
Nadira smiled thinly. She pointed her chin toward William staring unmoving. “It is his mind that should worry you, monsieur.”
“This is naught but a philosophy lesson, taught by the ancient heathens, my friend,” he said with great compassion to the little friar.
The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series) Page 21