Reformation

by Henrikson, Mark

  Tomal looked around at the water filled streets of the sunken city and flagged down two gondolas. “We divide and conquer then. You start on the west side of the city, and I will meet you in the middle coming from the east.”

  Before the two boarded their respective boats, Tonwen added a word of caution. “Remember, the vaccine only prevents a person from contracting the disease. It does nothing for them once infected so only give it to those treating the patients.”

  When Tomal stepped off the gondola on the eastern side of the city he was somewhat concerned he would not be able to locate the hospitals very easily. As it turned out, all he needed to do was follow his nose to the source of the most revolting stench he had ever encountered, which included burying the dead on a battlefield a week after the bloodletting happened.

  It wasn’t just the stench of death. It mixed with sweat, excrement and disease resulting in an aromatic cocktail that made him feel rather lightheaded.

  Tomal pushed open a tall wooden door to a church and found the worshipping pews haphazardly shoved aside to make room for hundreds of sickbeds. The potent smell did its best to knock Tomal over as he entered the hot, sweaty caldron of disease and decay.

  “Out!” a man wearing a piece of white fabric over his mouth and nose shouted upon seeing Tomal. “All our beds are full. You will need to find somewhere else to take your sick.”

  Tomal shook his head and placed the wooden crate he carried on the floor and pulled out two thin glass vials, one in each hand. “I do not bring sickness. I bring a cure.”

  “Yeah sure,” the exhausted man laughed loudly. “You and everyone else.”

  “I am serious,” Tomal protested.

  The man finished placing a wet cloth across the forehead of the nearest patient and then stopped in front of Tomal long enough to say, “You must be the fifth person to come through those doors today attempting to sell an elixir that will restore all these people back to full health.”

  The man accentuated his disgust with the abusive practice by spitting at Tomal’s feet. “Now get out of here before I get angry.”

  To the man’s back Tomal replied, “Unfortunately, those individuals who are already ill cannot be helped. It is their caretakers I seek to keep healthy.”

  The man abruptly turned about and looked ready to toss Tomal out by the scruff of his neck if he did not like the answer to his next question. “What’s your price?”

  “Nothing,” Tomal answered. “Except spreading the word to your fellow caretakers and friends once you are satisfied with the results.”

  “How will I know,” the man asked with a little less anger than before. “A few, like myself, seem not to catch the disease. How will I know it is your elixir and not God’s favor instead?”

  “You know as well as I that nine out of ten people will contract and die from the disease.” Tomal bent down and removed a cluster of twenty vials held upright by a wooden frame and handed them over to the man. “Give each of these to a different person you know who is not yet infected with the plague. A week from now if they are all still in good health you will have your proof that it works. Then you can meet me ten days from now in the square outside of St. Mark’s Basilica to help deliver this cure to as many people as we possibly can.”

  The skeptical man accepted the glass vials and Tomal left the building without another word. When he reached the open air he drew a deep breath of relatively fresh air and then moved on to locate the next hospital with his nose.

  Ten days later Tomal and Tonwen hosted a gathering of over fifty clergy, physicians and nurses all clamoring for more vials of the vaccine.

  “Is this your plan,” an angry woman shouted. “Show us the cure and then pretend like you do not have much of it left so you can charge us?”

  Tomal raised his arms up to try and quiet the mayhem around him. “Please. Please quiet down so we can talk.”

  Eventually the chaos died down enough for Tonwen’s voice to carry over the din of lingering voices. “We have no intention of charging anyone anything for the medicine. It is our Christian duty to help our fellow man. The difficulty is making enough of it to help this city and eventually those all around Europe. The raw herbs cost money. Trained manpower is needed to properly mix it, and so on.”

  The bishop wearing a white robe with a bright red half coat draped over his shoulders spoke up for all the clergy in the city. “I can open the unfortunately meager coffers of the church to purchase materials and my monks, priests and parishioners can provide the necessary labor.”

  “I am afraid it will require significantly more coin than you have available your Grace,” Tonwen said with a slight bow of his head.

  “We can charge everyone a fixed price for the cure,” the first physician Tomal visited on the east side of Venice suggested.

  “That would exclude the poor and condemn them to die,” the bishop protested.

  “What about enticing the wealthy among the city to contribute for the benefit of all,” a monk wearing a hooded brown robe suggested.

  Tomal shook his head. “No, that will not work. Every person of means is squirreling their money away believing it will somehow help them weather this calamity.”

  “Then we should convince them that parting with their riches will gain them favor in the afterlife,” Tonwen offered.

  “You propose we lie to our fellow man. Make hollow promises of riches in heaven in order to extort money from them?” the bishop responded in complete shock.

  “It is not entirely a lie,” the monk countered. “My studies of scripture reveal numerous instances of favor granted by God for good works here on earth. What could be more holy and noble than contributing to the distribution of a cure that could save hundreds of thousands of lives?”

  “Millions of lives,” Tomal corrected before the bishop could render his final judgment on the suggestion.

  The bishop remained silent for several minutes of silent prayer. Finally he drew a deep breath while nodding his head up and down. “There could be truth to it, and at the very worst it is a deceit at the behest of a noble cause that benefits all of god’s creation.”

  He looked around at all the clergy present. “I will begin work on a series of sermons to deliver the message that financially contributing to the good works of the church will carry favor for the giver in God’s eyes.”

  The order was well received, especially with Tomal and Tonwen who exchanged a subtle look of satisfaction between them as the bishop’s plan was put into motion.

  Chapter 24: Enlightened Encounter

  Nicolaus sat alone with his notes in the corner of his favorite tavern nestled equidistant between the university and the docks along the Golden Horn. The relative solitude of the establishment was ideal for his work. Bars too close to the docks suffered the distraction of sailors singing songs and getting into brawls. The university taverns on the other hand were laden with intellectuals attempting to outshine one another.

  He pored over his observations and calculations for the thousandth time hoping they would tell a different story. He was a man of science, but also faith. What’s more, he was not any sort of a rebel. His life’s work of studying the heavens was meant to mathematically confirm the church teachings that the Earth was indeed the center of the universe.

  This wasn’t the case. The data showed plain as day that Sol rest at the center of the system and the Earth and her accompanying planets all revolved around it. The irrefutable conclusion sent shivers down his spine knowing men had died from challenging far less important church doctrine.

  “God help me,” he said quietly into his beer as he took a long thoughtful drink from the flask.

  “Only a man with a lot on his mind utters those words,” came a voice from the opposite corner of the establishment. Nicolaus looked up to see a man surrounded by schematics of some sort and a dozen empty beer flasks. “I ought to know, I recite the same prayer many times a day.”

  The man clearly had his troubles and sough
t to find resolution at the bottom of a beer flask. At this point Nicolaus had a decision to make: respond to the man and begin a potentially pointless conversation, or play deaf and continue his work. One look at the concentric circles of his own diagram and the inflammatory meaning made the choice for him.

  “Knowing the truth behind a great secret is a heavy burden to carry alone, therefore I seek help from the divine,” Nicolaus responded.

  “Come, join me,” the stranger offered. “Perhaps we can share each other’s burdens while we wait for divine inspiration to strike us.”

  Nicolaus had no intention of revealing to the drunken stranger his discovery that would likely see him burned at the stake as a heretic if it ever got out. Still, sharing a drink with another who clearly had a lot on his mind was a welcome diversion from his own troubles. He gathered his papers, stuffed them into his carry bag and joined the man at his table for a drink. “My name is Nicolaus Copernicus. I come from Prussia to teach and study at the university.”

  “Orban,” came a gruff introduction. Rather than offering a handshake he kicked a chair out from under the table and placed a beer in front of it. Nicolaus found the chair occupied by a tattered doll crafted from a stuffed potato sack. He gently picked up the child’s toy, placed it on the table and took a seat.

  “I arrived from Florence two days ago in order to get away from the plague and those who did nothing to prevent it,” Orban said.

  “I heard Florence felt the worst of it,” Nicolaus said, eager to drive the conversation away from his own issues.

  “You have no idea,” Orban said into an emptied flask. “Picture four out of five people you know dying a hideous and painful death in the span of a few weeks. Then having to deal with the stench and resulting solitude to ponder what you’ve lost.”

  The man’s voice croaked and trailed off into yet another mug of beer delivered by the bar maid. “I take it you lost more than just some random neighbors. Parents? Brothers?”

  Neither elicited a response, but the mention of wife and children drew a stream of quiet tears running down the side of his tortured face. The man looked to the doll resting on the table and patted it gently with his free hand.

  Orban eventually regained his composure enough to continue, “She wasn’t my wife and the boy not my son, but we were as much a family as any.”

  “Tell me about them,” Nicolaus prompted. “If they continue in our memories then I believe their existence is immortal.”

  Orban shook his head and chuckled softly as if the word ‘immortal’ carried an inside joke for him. “Alice was her name, and Thomas was her eight year old boy.”

  “I try and picture the two of them in good health and cheer, but the image always degrades to the coroner loading their pale, lifeless bodies onto the burial wagon along with all the other corpses infested with black welts from the plague.”

  Orban paused to take another drink and gather himself again. Nicolaus decided to focus the conversation on their lives rather than deaths. “How did the three of you meet?”

  The sad lines around Orban’s eyes noticeably relaxed as he started speaking again. “We had a rather awkward introduction actually, considering she attempted to sell her sexual services to me. She was quite lovely, but paying for companionship is not my way so I declined the offer. For some reason though, I felt compelled to learn why this beautiful young woman was prostituting herself. Over a simple meal I learned she was a recent widow struggling to support her infant son. She had no other family and no one hires a widow, particularly one with an infant child and all the distractions that come along with it.”

  Nicolaus shook his head with disbelief. “I admire you, sir. Everyone treats widows like the death of their husband was their fault. The fact of the matter is if they have no family to take care of them, then there is little option other than turning to prostitution. Then the snooty socialites look down on them for turning to the only source of income available to them. Life is not fair sometimes.”

  “Exactly,” Orban commented. “That’s why I gave Alice a job in my currency exchange office. I even allowed her to bring the boy to work with her. Over the years I grew quite fond of the child. He was happy, playful, and so bright.”

  “I took every opportunity to teach them both how to read and write. Thomas showed particular promise. At just eight years old the boy could speak three languages. The lad could even read Ulysses and debate philosophy with me.”

  “Sounds like you were quite the stepfather,” Nicolaus commended.

  “There was never anything romantic between Alice and me,” Orban corrected. “I lost my wife long ago and swore to honor her memory by never being with another. As a result, I never knew the joys of fatherhood until Thomas, and had long forgotten the comfort of companionship until Alice.”

  “It was a source of great pride and joy helping the two of them through life right up until that fateful day,” Orban went on. “Alice was at the market that morning when the flat boats arrived carrying the plague with them. She, along with Thomas, were among the first to fall victim to the disease. Owing to the tireless care I provided, they were among the last to finally succumb to their condition.”

  The sad lines around the man’s eyes returned along with pools of tears gathered in the corners. “I simply cannot forgive myself for failing them. I knew all the sterilization procedures and combination of herbs to support their immune systems, yet it wasn’t enough. It required a vaccine.”

  Sterilization procedures, immune system, vaccine? The man was talking in unintelligible tongues right now.

  “I watched them be buried in a mass grave with all the others, and then waited alone in the home we occupied every day. Even when friends arrived I found no comfort. I had to leave. I needed to get away and start anew.”

  “So you traveled all the way from Florence alone? Was that not a dangerous journey with all the brigands about?” Nicolaus asked as if Orban just said he crossed a lake of molten lava.

  “Highway robbers tend to leave the impoverished looking travelers unmolested,” Orban instructed. “Plus only the bravest or most foolish brigand is still about. Everyone else is hiding behind locked gates of the nearest city or town to try and keep the plague out.”

  “Wise considering what the plague brings. I tell myself I am here in Constantinople for the university, but in truth it is protection. The walls of this city are impenetrable and that is truly what keeps me here.”

  “In my travels I have seen the plague ravage communities with high, thick walls and those with none at all just the same. Being surrounded on three sides by clean water is what preserves this city,” Orban continued.

  Nicolaus had not considered that. “Regardless, the impenetrable walls do protect the city from conquest. The only possible avenue of attacking the city is a land route to the west that is obstructed by over twenty miles of multilayered fortification walls. The city is impregnable which is why it has drawn the greatest minds of this generation. Above all else, scholars seek safety and consistency to pursue their studies with peace of mind.”

  “The comfort this city’s immense wealth provides cannot be discounted either,” Orban added. “With all the taxes raised from ships wanting to traverse the narrow straight between the Black and Mediterranean Seas, it seems no man’s purse ever runs empty in this city.”

  Nicolaus nodded his head in agreement. “True.”

  For the first time in their increasingly deep conversation, considering how inebriated Orban must have been, the depressed man cracked a smile. “Tell me, how can you claim the greatest minds reside here when so many go uneducated. How many brilliant minds such as Thomas are wasted on the collective illiteracy of the masses? This single city may prosper, but the wider civilization wallows around in ignorance and tears itself apart.”

  “You speak the truth once more, but what can be done about it?”

  “The knowledge and prosperity of this city must be shared with the world for the greater good of man
kind,” Orban declared and accentuated it by pounding his fist on the table. “We need to bring these artists and thinkers out of hiding and allow the glow of their enlightenment to illuminate the rest of the world once more.”

  Nicolaus relaxed into his chair a bit realizing he was simply hearing outlandish thoughts of a drunken man. It was an amusing distraction from his own troubles, however. “That is a fine plan, but how do you accomplish it? By force? You cannot thrust civilization onto people who do not want it. We all learned that lesson from the Romans. Besides, every city and town has stout walls and locked gates requiring years of siege to break. The cost is too great and the benefit too small for any prince to try and unite the civilized world under a single banner once more.”

  “What if a weapon were built that could level those city walls with a single shot,” Orban said and thrust a page with a detailed diagram for a cannon of some sort drawn upon it. Not just any cannon but a huge bombardment tool that would probably take fifty oxen and a whole army of men to move if it were ever built.

  Nicolaus gave the diagram a closer inspection. He was not an expert, but he knew enough about metallurgy to recognize the design had merit. This was not some drunken boast in a bar, it had real potential.

  “Has your recent loss left you preoccupied with death to the point that you would design such a weapon?” Nicolaus asked.

  “This is not a tool for death,” Orban countered. “It is an enabler for progress and peace in the hands of the right leader. Tomorrow I meet with Emperor Constantine to see if he is such a leader of vision.”

  Chapter 25: Plan B

  As Valnor led his horse away from the last in a string of gate houses defending the city of Constantinople, he felt the ground shudder slightly when the portcullis was locked into position behind him. The heavy wall of iron bars in conjunction with the seemingly endless string of stout walls looked intimidating; impregnable even.