The park opened out to reveal a manor house of alabaster, gleaming in the noon glare—and now Matt recognized that sun! It was the magical, clear light of Italy and Greece that he had read about. Whoever lived in that house really knew his subject.
As he came closer, Matt saw that the building wasn't really all that imposing. Oh, it was no cottage—but it wasn't a palace, either. In fact, unless he missed his guess, it was a Roman villa, but scaled down to be comfortable for one man. His respect for the owner went up—he had some humility and wasn't greedy. He could have anything he wanted, but what he wanted wasn't ostentatious or overdone—it was simple, but very elegant in its simplicity. The proportions were perfect, the colonnade behind it harmonizing beautifully with the house itself. The paved court in front was welcoming, as it led up to a portico that was the one element of the house not accurate historically, but blending so well with the Classical style that Matt found himself thinking he must have missed something major in his overview of Classical architecture. Of course, that had only been two weeks out of a survey course, but still...
Wait a minute! This wasn't part of the Classical style—it was something new, an innovation, but developed in perfect harmony with the spirit of the sunlit Golden Age of Greece, expressed in Roman style! Whoever this man was, he was eclectic, and not afraid to try something new.
Matt had to meet him. He walked up to the door and was surprised to find a huge brass knocker that could have come off a door in sixteenth century Florence, but somehow blended exquisitely with the Roman style. He lifted it, let it fall, waited a minute, then lifted it and let it fall again. He was mildly surprised that there were no reverberations echoing away into cavernous depths, then surprised at himself for being surprised. No, of course there wouldn't be, would there? Not in a sunny, airy, open house like this.
The door swung wide, and an old man stood there, bald, a little stooped, with a Roman nose, a thin-lipped smile, and a bright, inquisitive eye. "Good day, friend! You are a friend, I trust?"
"Not yet," Matt said, "but I think I'd like to be."
"Are you a philosopher, then?"
"I can't really claim that." After all, he hadn't even written his dissertation yet, let alone received his Ph.D. "I just enjoy learning."
"But not enough to claim you love knowledge, eh?" The man smiled, amused. "Perhaps you love women more? Or one woman?"
"One," Matt confirmed. "I suppose you might say I flirt with knowledge, but I wouldn't want to marry it."
"Ah!" The man laughed. "Whereas I, my friend, most exquisitely enjoy flirting with beautiful women, but have chosen to marry knowledge! Have you read the works of the Greeks?"
"Only some," Matt admitted, "and I studied modern languages, never did learn Latin or Greek."
"But you are a scholar!"
"No, only a professional student."
Finally, the man frowned. "You must explain the distinction to me—but first we must see to some refreshment for you. Come in, come in!"
As Matt stepped inside the door, the old man held out one hand as he closed the door with the other. "I am Arouetto. And you?"
Well, here it came. This was the chance of friendship, or the making of an enemy—but Matt didn't feel like lying to this guy; he instinctively liked him. "I'm Matthew Mantrell."
Arouetto stared. "The Lord Wizard of Merovence?"
Matt braced himself. "The same."
"I have heard of you, have heard of the breadth of your scholarship! Oh, do come in, seat yourself! We must talk, at length and of many matters! Come, come!"
Arouetto hurried away down a hall and through a doorway. Matt followed, bemused. Nice to know he wasn't counted as an enemy—but it was a bit of a surprise to hear this stranger sing his praises, especially for his scholarship. Maybe, by the standards of this world, he knew enough to be called a scholar—but Matt knew the truth.
On the other hand, he knew a mathematician who had walked through the commencement line, taken a proud look at his Ph.D. diploma, and said, "Well, now I know how much I don't know." Maybe it went with the territory.
But sitting down did have a nice sound. He followed Arouetto.
They passed through the door into the atrium. That bright Italian sun beat down, but Arouetto was leading him to a marble bench in the shade of a wall, with a little table beside it. "Seat yourself, my friend! I know—the marble is hard. But a cushion will soften it!" He stared at the white surface, and suddenly there was a brocaded cushion covering its top, fitting its shape exactly. "And something cool to drink!" Arouetto stared at the tabletop, and a crystal goblet appeared, beaded with moisture, for the purple liquid inside it was iced. Arouetto looked up, beaming. "It is convenient being in a world of illusion, is it not?"
So he knew. "How long did it take you to figure that out?" Matt asked slowly.
"I did not—I fear I am slow of thought. It took an encounter with a braggart sorcerer, who thought to intimidate me with the range of his fantasies." Arouetto smiled. "But he did not know the Classics, knew nothing of the Hydra or the gorgons. He fled screaming when he met them, and by the time he remembered they were only illusions and could be fought, I dreamed up this villa. Its walls were proof against all his monsters, for I fear the man had little learning, and less imagination." He sat down on a bench next to Matt's, the little table stretching to accommodate them. "How long did it take you, my friend? Being a wizard, you no doubt knew it for what it was quite quickly." A goblet with chartreuse liquid appeared in his fingers.
"Well, yes, but I was trying to figure it out," Matt said, "and when you're deliberately trying to cast a spell, and it works better and faster than you'd expected, you kind of get a hint." He took a sip; it was unfermented grape juice, cold and delicious. "Apparently, King Boncorro decided it would be better for me to be working my magic in here than in his kingdom."
"So you confronted the king himself! A wizards' duel?"
"Don't know if you could say it was a duel," Matt said slowly. "I was too busy talking and not being suspicious enough; he took me more or less by surprise. I can understand why he'd want me out of the way, though—I did come into his kingdom in disguise, after all. To be frank, I was spying."
"And he found you out." Arouetto nodded. "Or was it his chancellor, Rebozo?"
"It was Rebozo, and he would as soon have cut my head off as glowered at me—but Boncorro decided to send me here instead. He said it was a test to find out how powerful I was. If I can figure a way to get out of here, I pass."
"In which case, he will know that he must use every spell at his command to slay you." Arouetto nodded. "I would recommend, Lord Wizard, that if you do manage to fly this congenial prison, you escape to some place far from King Boncorro—and take me with you."
Matt swirled the liquid in his goblet. "I should think you would like it here."
"Oh, it is certainly far more luxury than I could manage in the real world, and I am able to surround myself with beauty that I can only dream of at home! But it is lonely, Lord Wizard. I may not wish to marry, but I do enjoy the company of kindred souls—and corresponding with the few others who have discovered the delights of the old Greek and Reman books."
"I can understand that. I saw some of your statues coming in, though, and they're masterful. Did you just remember works you had actually seen? If you did, I'd like to meet the sculptor."
"I did remember the statues of the Greeks and Remans that I have seen myself, but for the others, I imagined people I knew, then undressed them in my mind and set them on pedestals, in stone."
Matt smiled. "It's a good thing none of them can see their statues."
"Oh, they would not recognize them!" Arouetto assured him. "I begin with faces I know, but change them so that the resemblance is lost, but the beauty preserved."
"And change them toward the Greek ideal while you're at it, I'll bet—and the same for their bodies. I haven't seen too many modern people who have those builds."
Arouetto smiled with delight
. "You have caught me! But yes, there is a certain sameness to all the faces, and to the bodies, too. It is the Classical style."
"I take it you enjoy working with nudes."
"If you mean, do I find sexual pleasure in it, the answer is yes," Arouetto said. "I caress the feminine form divine with my mind as I am making it appear on its pedestal—but I take equally great delight in the contemplation of its proportions and its line and grace, when I am done."
He was honest, at least. "I might accuse you of glorifying the human form."
"Might, but would not?" Arouetto smiled wickedly. "So you, too, believe that human beings are perfectible!"
"Well, yes, but they're depravable, too," Matt said slowly. "I do think our race has an amazing number of good qualities and hidden potentials—though I sometimes despair of them ever being developed."
"Still, you have faith in humanity?"
"I'm afraid I do," Matt sighed, "though it does make me feel gullible. I wouldn't say I believe that all people are born fundamentally good, but I think most of them are. Doesn't always last until they're grown up, of course. I take it you do believe humanity is good in and of itself?"
"Oh, I think that people are wonderful! They are a never-ending source of wonder and mystery, even the bad ones! But yes, I find that there is more good than bad in them, and believe that we as a species can be made perfect."
"You are definitely a humanist," Matt said. "What else are you?"
Arouetto spread his hands. "I am a scholar who seeks to become a philosopher. That is all."
"That's enough, Heaven knows." Matt noticed that the man didn't flinch at the word "Heaven." "But how do you make a living?"
"I inherited enough to live in comfort if I lived plainly," Arouetto said, "and found that I had to make a choice. I could live in genteel poverty and devote myself to study—or I could marry, rear a family, and pay the price of having to labor and scheme in commerce to support them. I chose to devote myself to Knowledge, my true love."
"And Art," Matt pointed out. "Couldn't you have made a living as a sculptor?"
"Oh, my hands have neither skill nor talent! I cannot paint or sculpt in the real world, Lord Wizard—or no better than a clumsy child can. It is only here, in a realm that can be governed by pure thought, that the glories I imagine can become real!"
"Sounds like your ideal habitat," Matt said, "provided you could leave it whenever you wanted to, for a little socializing. What did you do to get sent here in the first place?"
"Nothing." Arouetto smiled sadly. "I existed. That was enough."
Matt stared. "All you asked was to be left alone to study, and the king sent you here?"
"No, Rebozo did—or rather, the king's were the hands that sent me, but it was at Rebozo's urging. He told the king that I was a threat, though I cannot see why."
"I can," Matt said darkly. "Rebozo's power rests on the power of Satan, and you have the audacity to ignore it. If everybody else started thinking the way you do, people actually might start living morally, without fear of the Devil or faith in God, just because it was the right thing to do, just because life was better that way."
Arouetto's smile was sad again. "Come, my friend! Next you will have me believe that water flows uphill and winter is warm! I believe in the worth of humanity, but even I am not so foolish as to believe that most people will be good without some form of coercion!"
"Rebozo believes it, though," Matt said, "and anything that might encourage people to be good is going to win his instant animosity. As to the king, he's young enough to believe most of what his chancellor tells him."
"He will grow, though, and gain wisdom for himself," Arouetto said.
"Oh, yes," Matt said softly, remembering the conflict he had witnessed between chancellor and king. "You may be sure of it."
"He may then find my ideas not as threatening as his chancellor does." Oddly, Arouetto didn't seem all that eager about it.
Matt studied him closely a moment and guessed that his calmness was more a matter of willpower and discipline than of gut-level emotion; it spoke of the Stoicism of Marcus Aurelius. Also, now that he looked closely, he saw that the scholar wasn't really all that old; the bald head and the stooped shoulders were signs that, in this case, were misleading. His face was wrinkled, yes, but mostly with crow's-feet and laugh lines, along with some grooves in his forehead, and that prow of a nose made the whole face look leaner than it really was. Matt's revised guess for his age was mid-fifties, maybe sixty. Of course, in a medieval world, that was old. "Yes, I think the king would find your ideas interesting, even now," he said slowly. "In fact, I think he would find them vital—if he knew about them."
"There is the little problem of informing him, yes." The scholar sighed. "But why do you think he would find my studies so fascinating, Lord Wizard?"
"Because he's trying to convince himself that there's no Heaven or Hell," Matt said, "which means no God or Satan. In brief, he's trying to do away with religion."
"Then my ideas would not please him!" Arouetto said severely. "I believe most strongly in God, Lord Wizard—which no doubt had something to do with Rebozo's eagerness to be rid of me."
"But you also believe in humanity."
"I do, and see no conflict between the two. The churchmen teach that we are born in sin and are animal by nature. I cannot argue with our essential animality, but I will also affirm that we each hold within our souls a spark of the Divine. I have dedicated my life to discovering and revealing that innate goodness in man and woman which comes from God, and to developing all that is best in human nature."
"Ah! Then you believe that if you are a scholar, you have the obligation to teach!"
"Only if I am asked." Arouetto smiled. "And I have not been." He seemed relieved.
Matt was not. "Too bad there aren't any universities to confer the degree—you're definitely a Ph.D. No wonder Rebozo thought you were a threat."
"Yes—for if someone had asked me to teach, my students might have begun to think and question." Arouetto's eyes sparkled.
"But you're no threat at all to King Boncorro's overall plan—in fact, your ideas are just what he's aching for!"
"All the more reason to hide me away here, is it not? No, I am no threat to King Boncorro's goals—but I am a threat to the chancellor's plans for frustrating his Majesty's efforts, and corrupting the king himself into the bargain."
"Oh?" Matt's attention suddenly focused even more sharply on the scholar's words. "I only met the two of them briefly, you understand. You think the chancellor has a deliberate plan to stop Boncorro's chances of doing good?"
"Not just to stop him—to pervert all his efforts for the good of his people into ways to cause them suffering as great as any they have ever known. Nay, worse, for it will be a kind of agony of the spirit they have never encountered before, and are ill-prepared to endure!"
"That makes sense," Matt said slowly. It really did—the king having his own private in-house brothel, conferring status and legitimacy on prostitution; the organized campaign to seduce country girls into the business, and the men into crime—Matt realized that something that grew up that fast had to have been planned and encouraged. He wondered if Rebozo had agents leading the runaways south, instigating and twisting their revelry. "You mean Boncorro has a whole strategy mapped out for the enrichment of the commonwealth, but Rebozo has a strategy for corrupting it?"
"That is my guess—though I must confess I have no proof."
"Other than observation, generalization, and prediction, no. It's impossible to run a real laboratory experiment on people; you need field studies, and the field is pretty boggy." But Matt was galvanized, excited, and ebullient. "Your ideas really are what King Boncorro needs—something to temper his secularism with humanism, injecting values that might forestall the worst excesses Rebozo's trying to lead him into!"
"Only the worst," the scholar cautioned. "Humanism is not a religion, after all—though it is not opposed to religion, either."
Matt jumped up. "Let's go!"
Arouetto stared at him. "Go? Go where?"
"Why, back to Latruria, of course! You've got no business loafing around here when there's so much work for you at home!"
"But how are we to break out?" Arouetto asked, bewildered.
Matt shrugged it off with airy disregard. "With your brains and my magic, we should be able to find a way easily—but not if we don't try! Come on! Time for research! To the laboratory! Let's hit the books!"
Arouetto began to rise from his bench, his smile growing, his eyes kindling with excitement. It was too bad that the chimera chose just that moment to attack.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The chimera came flying over the wall of the house on short, stubby wings that could not possibly have borne its weight—after all, it was basically a winged lion with a dragon's tail. It dropped down at them like an eagle stooping, if eagles could roar loudly enough to shake a house.
Matt bellowed, "Duck!"
"No, a chimera!" Arouetto stood gazing up in wonder.
"I mean get down! Scholars are only supposed to be fascinated by metaphorical chimeras!" He hit Arouetto with a body block. They went flying, and a huge thud shook the ground while an angry roar shook the trees.
"But 'tis Classical!" Arouetto struggled to free himself. " 'Tis a monster from Greek legend, and I never dared to make one myself!"
Now that somebody had, of course, he was all eagerness to study it, and probably wouldn't remember why he hadn't made one himself until it bit his head off. He struggled valiantly, and Matt was amazed at the gaffer's strength. But he could feel hot breath on his legs, and the roar was echoing all about him as he rolled aside and shouted,
"Like calculus degenerate,
It don't want to integrate!
His parents all refused to mate!
Let all components separate!"
Teeth clashed shut, and a streak of pain slashed Matt's leg. He howled and rolled aside—just in time to see an eagle struggle loose from the chimera's back, while a small dragon disengaged itself from the monster's rear end, leaving a lion tail behind. The lion fell over, bellowing in pain, and the dragon bellowed, too, scorching the walls. The eagle was smarter—it screamed and flew away.
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