"You might throw out the coil instead," Brother Kornhoer suggested modestly. "I'm not sure it'll produce a strong enough field."
"I am. You have an instinct for these things. I find it much easier to develop an abstract theory than to construct a practical way to test it. But you have a remarkable gift for seeing everything in terms of screws, wires, and lenses, while I'm still thinking abstract symbols."
"But the abstractions would never occur to me in the first place, Thon Taddeo."
"We would make a good team, Brother. I wish you would join us at the collegium, at least for a while. Do you think your abbot would grant you leave?"
"I would not presume to guess," the inventor murmured, suddenly uncomfortable.
Thon Taddeo turned to the others. "I've heard mention of 'brothers on leave.' Isn't it true that some members of your community are employed elsewhere temporarily?"
"Only a very few, Thon Taddeo," said a young priest.
"Formerly, the Order supplied clerks, scribes, and secretaries to the secular clergy, and to both royal and ecclesiastical courts. But that was during the times of most severe hardship and poverty here at the abbey. Brothers working on leave have kept the rest of us from starving at times. But that's no longer necessary, and it's seldom done. Of course, we have a few brothers studying in New Rome now, but—"
"That's it!" said the thon with sudden enthusiasm. "A scholarship at the collegium for you, Brother. I was talking to your abbot, and—"
"Yes?" asked the young priest;
"Well, while we disagree on a few things, I can understand his point of view. I was thinking that an exchange of scholarships might improve relations. There would be a stipend, of course, and I'm sure your abbot could put that to good use."
Brother Kornhoer inclined his head but said nothing.
"Come now!" The scholar laughed. "You don't seem pleased by the invitation, Brother."
"I am flattered, of course. But such matters are not for me to decide."
"Well, I understand that, of course. But I wouldn't dream of asking your abbot if the idea displeased you."
Brother Kornhoer hesitated. "My vocation is to Religion," be said at last, "that is — to a life of prayer. We think of our work as a kind of prayer too. But that—" he gestured toward his dynamo "—for me seems more like play. However, if Dom Paulo were to send me—"
"You'd reluctantly go," the scholar finished sourly. "I'm sure I could get the collegium to send your abbot at least a hundred gold hannegans a year while you were with us, too. I—" He paused to look around at their expressions. "Pardon me, did I say something wrong?"
Halfway down the stairs, the abbot paused to survey the group in the basement. Several blank faces were turned toward him. After a few seconds Thon Taddeo noticed the abbot's presence and nodded pleasantly.
"We were just speaking of you, Father," he said. "If you heard, perhaps I should explain—"
Dom Paulo shook his head. "That's not necessary."
"But I would like to discuss—"
"Can it wait? I'm in a hurry this minute."
"Certainly," said the scholar.
"I'll be back shortly." He climbed the stairs again. Father Gault was waiting for him in the courtyard.
"Have they heard about it yet, Domne?" the prior asked grimly.
"I didn't ask, but I'm sure they haven't," Dom Paulo answered. "They're just making silly conversation down there. Something about taking Brother K back to Texarkana with them."
"Then they haven't heard, that's certain."
"Yes. Now where is he?"
"In the guesthouse, Domne. The medic's with him He's delirious."
"How many of the brothers know he's here?"
"About four. We were singing None when he came in the gate."
"Tell those four not to mention it to anyone. Then join our guests in the basement. Just be pleasant, and don't let them know."
"But shouldn't they be told before they leave, Domne?"
"Of course. But let them get ready first. You know it won't stop them from going back. So to minimize embarrassment, let's wait until the last minute to tell them. Now, do you have it with you?"
"No, I left it with his papers in the guesthouse."
"I'll go see him. Now, warn the brothers, and join our guests."
"Yes, Domne."
The abbot hiked toward the guesthouse. As be entered, Brother Pharmacist was just leaving the fugitive's room.
"Will he live, Brother?"
"I cannot know, Domne. Mistreatment, starvation, exposure, fever — if God wills it—" He shrugged.
"May I speak to him?'
"I'm sure it won't matter. But he doesn't make sense."
The abbot entered the room and softly closed the door behind him.
"Brother Claret?"
"Not again," gasped the man on the bed. "For the love of God, not again — I've told you all I know. I betrayed him. Now just let me — be."
Dom Paulo looked down with pity on the secretary to late Marcus Apollo. He glanced at the scribe's hands. There were only festering sores where the fingernails had been.
The abbot shuddered and turned to the small table near the bed. Out of a small collection of papers and personal effects, he quickly found the crudely printed document which the fugitive had brought with him from the east:
HANNEGAN THE MAYOR, by Grace of God: Sovereign of Texarkana, Emperor of Laredo, Defender of the Faith, Doctor of Laws, Clans Chief of the Nomads, and Vaquero Supreme of the Plains, to ALL BISHOPS, PRIESTS, AND PRELATES of the Church throughout Our Rightful Realm, Greetings & TAKE HEED, for it is the LAW, viz & to wit:
(1) Whereas a certain foreign prince, one Benedict XXII, Bishop of New Rome, presuming to assert an authority which is not rightly his over the clergy of this nation, has dared to attempt, first, to place the Texarkanan Church under a sentence of interdict, and, later, to suspend this sentence, thereby creating great confusion and spiritual neglect among all the faithful, We, the only legitimate ruler over the Church in this realm, acting in concord with a council of bishops and clergy, hereby declare to Our loyal people that the aforesaid prince and bishop, Benedict XXII, is a heretic, simoniac, murderer, sodomite, and atheist, unworthy of any recognition by Holy Church in lands of Our kingdom, empire, or protectorate. Who serves him serves not Us.
(2) Be it known, therefore, that both the decree of interdict and the decree suspending it are hereby QUASHED, ANNULLED, DECLARED VOID AND OF NO CONSEQUENCE, for they were of no original validity...
Dom Paulo glanced at the rest of it only briefly. There was no need to read further. The mayoral TAKE HEED ordered the licensing of the Texarkanan clergy, made the administration of the Sacraments by unlicensed persons a crime under the law, and made an oath of supreme allegiance to the Mayorality a condition for licensing and recognition. It was signed not only with the Mayor's mark, but also by several "bishops" whose names were unfamiliar to the abbot.
He tossed the document back on the table and sat down beside the bed. The fugitive's eyes were open, but he only stared at the ceiling and panted.
"Brother Claret?" he asked gently. "Brother..."
In the basement, the scholar's eyes had come alight with the brash exuberance of one specialist invading the field of another specialist for the sake of straightening out the whole region of confusion. "As a matter of fact, yes!" he said in response to a novice's question. "I did locate one source here that should, I think, be of interest to Thon Maho. Of course, I'm no historian, but—"
"Thon Maho? Is he the one who's, uh, trying to correct Genesis?' Father Gault asked wryly.
"Yes, that's — " the scholar broke off with a startled glance at Gault.
"That's all right," the priest said with a chuckle. "Many of us feel that Genesis is more or less allegorical. What have you found?"
"We located one pre-Diluvian fragment that suggests a very revolutionary concept, as I see it. If I interpret the fragment correctly, Man was not created until shortly bef
ore the fall of the last civilization."
"Wh-a-at? Then where did civilization come from?"
"Not from humanity. It was developed by a preceding race which became extinct during the Diluvium Ignis."
"But Holy Scripture goes back thousands of years before the Diluvium!"
Thon Taddeo remained meaningfully silent.
"You are proposing," said Gault, suddenly dismayed, "that we are not the descendants of Adam? not related to historical humanity?"
"Wait! I only offer the conjecture that the pre-Deluge race, which called itself Man, succeeded in creating life. Shortly before the fall of their civilization, they successfully created the ancestors of present humanity — 'after their own image' — as a servant species."
"But even if you totally reject Revelation, that's a completely unnecessary complication under plain common sense!" Gault complained.
The abbot had come quietly down the stairs. He paused on the lower landing and listened incredulously.
"It might seem so," Thon Taddeo argued, "until you consider how many things it would account for. You know the legends of the Simplification. They all become more meaningful, it seems to me, if one looks at the Simplification as a rebellion by a created servant species against the original creator species, as the fragmentary reference suggests. It would also explain why present-day humanity seems so inferior to the ancients, why our ancestors lapsed into barbarism when their masters were extinct, why—"
"God have mercy on this house!" cried Dom Paulo, striding toward the alcove. "Spare us, Lord — we know not what we did."
"I should have known," the scholar muttered to the world at large.
The old priest advanced like a nemesis on his guest. "So we are but creatures of creatures, then, Sir Philosopher? Made by lesser gods than God, and therefore understandably less than perfect — through no fault of ours, of course."
"It is only conjecture but it would account for much," the then said stiffly, unwilling to retreat.
"And absolve of much, would it not? Man's rebellion against his makers was, no doubt, merely justifiable tyrannicide against the infinitely wicked sons of Adam, then."
"I didn't say—"
"Show me, Sir Philosopher, this amazing reference!"
Thon Taddeo hastily shuffled through his notes. The light kept flickering as the novices at the drive-mill strained to listen. The scholar's small audience had been in a state of shock until the abbot's stormy entrance shattered the numb dismay of the listeners. Monks whispered among themselves; someone dared to laugh.
"Here it is," Thon Taddeo announced, passing several note pages to Dom Paulo.
The abbot gave him a brief glare and began reading. The silence was awkward. "You found this over in the 'Unclassified' section, I believe?" he asked after a few seconds.
"Yes, but—"
The abbot went on reading.
"Well, I suppose I should finish packing," muttered the scholar, and resumed his sorting of papers. Monks shifted restlessly, as if wishing to slink quietly away. Kornhoer brooded alone.
Satisfied after a few minutes of reading, Dom Paulo handed the notes abruptly to his prior. "Lege!" he commanded gruffly.
"But what—?"
"A fragment of a play, or a dialogue, it seems. I've seen it before. It's something about some people creating some artificial people as slaves. And the slaves revolt against their makers. If Thon Taddeo had read the Venerable Boedullus' De Inanibus, he would have found that one classified as 'probable fable or allegory.' But perhaps the thon would care little for the evaluations of the Venerable Boedullus, when he can make his own."
"But what sort of—"
"Lege!"
Gault moved aside with the notes. Paulo turned toward the scholar again and spoke politely, informatively, emphatically: " 'To the image of God He created them: male and female He created them.' "
"My remarks were only conjecture," said Thon Taddeo.
"Freedom to speculate is necessary—"
"'And the Lord God took Man, and put him into the paradise of pleasure, to dress it, and to keep it. And—'"
"—to the advancement of science. If you would have us hampered by blind adherence, unreasoned dogma, then you would prefer—"
"'God commanded him, saying: Of every tree of paradise thou shalt eat; but of the tree of knowledge of good end evil, thou shalt—' "
"—to leave the world in the same black ignorance and superstition that you say your Order has struggled—"
" '—not eat For in what day soever thou shalt eat of it, thou shalt die the death.' "
"—against. Nor could we ever overcome famine, disease, or misbirth, or make the world one bit better than it has been for—"
" 'And the serpent said to the woman: God doth know that in what day soever you shall eat thereof, your eyes shall be opened, and you shall be as Gods, knowing good and evil.' "
"—twelve centuries, if every direction of speculation is to he closed off and every new thought denounced—"
"It never was any better, it never will be any better. It will only be richer or poorer, sadder but not wiser, until the very last day."
The scholar shrugged helplessly. "You see? I knew you would be offended, but you told me — Oh, What's the use? You have your account of it."
"The 'account' that I was quoting, Sir Philosopher, was not an account of the manner of creation, but an account of the manner of the temptation that led to the Fall. Did that escape you? 'And the serpent said to the woman—' "
"Yes, yes, but the freedom to speculate is essential—"
"No one has tried to deprive you of that. Nor is anyone offended. But to abuse the intellect for reasons of pride, vanity, or escape from responsibility, is the fruit of that same tree."
"You question the honor of my motives?" asked the thon, darkening.
"At times I question my own. I accuse you of nothing. But ask yourself this: Why do you take delight in leaping to such a wild conjecture from so fragile a springboard? Why do you wish to discredit the past, even to dehumanizing the last civilization? So that you need not learn from their mistakes? Or can it be that you can't bear being only a 'rediscoverer,' and must feel that you are a 'creator' as well?"
The thon hissed an oath. "These records should be placed in the hands of competent people," he said angrily. "What irony this is!"
The light sputtered and went out. The failure was not mechanical. The novices at the drive-mill had stopped work.
"Bring candles," called the abbot.
Candles were brought.
"Come down," Dom Paulo said to the novice atop the ladder. "And bring that thing with you. Brother Kornhoer? Brother Korn—"
"He stepped into the storeroom a moment ago, Domne."
"Well, call him." Dom Paulo turned to the scholar again, handing him the documents which had been found among Brother Claret's effects. "Read, if you can make it out by candlelight, Sir Philosopher!"
"A mayoral edict?"
"Read it and rejoice in your cherished freedom."
Brother Kornhoer slipped into the room again. He was carrying the heavy crucifix which had been displaced from the head of the archway to make room for the novel lamp, He handed the cross to Dom Paulo.
"How did you know I wanted this?"
"I just decided it was about time, Domne." He shrugged.
The old man climbed the ladder and replaced the rood on its iron hook. The corpus glittered with gold by candlelight. The abbot turned and called down to his monks.
"Who reads in this alcove henceforth, let him read ad Lumina Christi!"
When he descended the ladder, Thon Taddeo was already cramming the last of his papers into a large case for later sorting. He glanced warily at the priest but said nothing.
"You read the edict?"
The scholar nodded.
"If, by some unlikely chance, you would like political asylum here—"
The scholar shook his head.
"Then may I ask you to clarify your
remark about placing our records in competent hands?"
Thou Taddeo lowered his gaze. "It was said in the heat of the moment, Father. I retract it."
"But you haven't stopped meaning it. You've meant it all along."
The thon did not deny it.
"Then it would be futile to repeat my plea for your intercession on our behalf — when your officers tell your cousin what a fine military garrison this abbey would make. But for his own sake, tell him that when our altars or the Memorabilia have been threatened, our predecessors did not hesitate to resist with the sword." He paused. "Will you be leaving today or tomorrow?"
"Today I think would be better," Thon Taddeo said softly.
"I'll order provisions made ready." The abbot turned to go, but paused to add gently: "But when you get back, deliver a message to your colleagues."
"Of course. Have you written it?"
"No. Just say that anyone who wishes to study here will be welcome, in spite of the poor lighting. Thon Maho, especially. Or Thon Esser Shon with his six ingredients. Men must fumble awhile with error to separate it from truth, I think — as long as they don't seize the error hungrily because it has a pleasanter taste. Tell them too, my son, that when the time comes, as it will surely come, that not only priests but philosophers are in need of sanctuary — tell them our walls are thick out here."
He nodded a dismissal to the novices, then, and trudged up the stairs to be alone in his study. For the Fury was twisting his insides again, and he knew that torture was coming.
Nunc dimittis servum tuum, Domine... Quia viderunt oculi mei salutare...
Maybe it will twist clean loose this time, he thought almost hopefully. He wanted to summon Father Gault to hear his confession, but decided that it would be better to wait until the guests had gone. He stared at the edict again.
A knock at the door soon interrupted his agony.
"Can you come back later?"
A Canticle For Leibowitz Page 24