Startaker

by Marian Goddard

  Christian turned to Cardinal Roelas “Your Eminence, within these walls are clockworks and musical inventions and unfamiliar animals and plants which concur with old philosophies. There are also manuscripts on mathematics, medicine and instruments of navigation and astronomy that may interest you. There is a relic from Constantinople… the fingernails of St. Sebastian, and an excellent painting of Our Lord and His Blessed mother.

  And I have gathered stones from the depths of an Arabian mountain for the making of everlasting lamps. But there has been no sorcery.”

  They looked around the circular hall, at the marble floor sparkling with reflections of the starlight above and in the centre, the magnificently jewelled armillary sphere that Saladin gave to the wise men of Damcar.

  There were several large rooms leading from this central space and he led them to the first, for here was the icon he had promised. And now these pious men were moved, crossing themselves and taking up their beads, for it was rendered in such brilliant living colour, it seemed that the blood could be seen pulsing beneath the Saviour’s pale skin and the soft folds of the Madonna’s blue robe might be lifted to kiss. And so finely executed were the eyes, their glistening tears might be brushed away with a trembling hand.

  The cardinal took a moment to regain his composure and turned, eyeing him with suspicion “The stink of the supernatural surrounds you, young man. Be warned. The Lord’s justice will be swift… and terrible in its execution. There will be no mercy.”

  Christian said nothing, but walked to a golden ossuary set upon white damask, the Holy relic of St. Sebastian. He took down the small casket and placed it in the cardinal’s hands, then waved his arm to take in the whole room, hung with other precious paintings and lined with marble statuary “Your Eminence…for the people of Seville.” He gestured to another doorway. “Come, there is much more to see.”

  Professore Enrico said little as he stepped over the threshold, until he realised what he beheld…books…from the floor to the lofty ceiling, continuing round in dark unbroken rows. Low divans were placed here and there upon wine red Turkish carpets, giving the large space a warm cosiness, enhanced by the soft glow of candlelight and the moon shining through the tall windows. He threw up his arms in amazement “By the blessed saints! It would take lifetimes to amass such a wonder.”

  He let his fingers linger on an illuminated manuscript open upon a table…a work of Cicero. “Ah…can you not hear it whispering?” Christian smiled…and led them to another room.

  And the child clutched at the cardinal’s robe again as a life-size clockwork knight mounted upon a prancing clockwork horse raised his arm in a salute as they passed through the door.

  Here were small machines and inventions, all clicking and humming and turning, machines for pressing grapes, kneading dough, churning butter and another for spinning flax and wool and weaving it into cloth, all meant to ease the lot of the common people. And against the walls, musical instruments playing soft melodies, little ringing bells and water filled vessels that sang when touched.

  Here also were unguents to ease aching joints, powders to preserve meat and sweeten water and medicines to ease the pain of broken bones, rotted teeth, childbirth and …death.

  It seemed that his guests would linger but Christian guided them to yet another room, its shelves displaying measuring tools, hourglasses, instruments of navigation and curved enlarging lenses, to see lice on the skin or fleas in the mattress. And tethered by cords to the roof beams, wooden birds flew slowly around, whistling and chirping. They saw the skeletons of strange beasts and fishes and alone on a high carved chest, grinning blindly out at them, the skull of a full grown man.

  This time Christian took them, not to another room but to a wooden gate leading to a walled enclosure and he waved them through, into a glorious garden…giant lilies hanging like church bells from painted arches, exuding a perfume that made them giddy with its intensity, and tiny white blossoms spread like an exquisitely woven carpet under their feet. And high above them, branches of golden flowers, cascading and tumbling down like falling stars into a pond alive with glittering, splashing fish.

  Night eyes peered at them through the leaves, owls and small animals melting away into the darkness as the small procession carried on along the path. And the ground rumbled beneath them as they approached a roaring lion, its tawny mane flaring out around its head as it fixed them with its golden, wary eyes.

  Christian showed them a leopard, its pelt glowing ebony in the moonlight, a cobra in a wicker basket surveying the world outside with black, bead-like eyes, and a knot of white faced monkeys, asleep in each others arms.

  And suddenly someone screamed as a truly terrifying creature lunged from a dark pool, gnashing and hissing as it threw itself at the iron bars.

  It was fully the length of three men, its gaping jaws filled with long, pointed teeth, its hide grey and plated. As it swung its long tail around in fury they could see two rows of serrated armour standing up along its length. If ever the devil were embodied in this place, it was not with the gentle, long limbed animals nibbling at the trees but here, in this nightmare dragon.

  The cardinal tottered and Christian moved quickly to support him, guiding him to a bench under a flower covered arbour. Mopping at the sweat that ran down his face with a fine lace cloth, he shouted over the commotion made by the unsettled animals. “Enough, young man. I have had enough! Summon my carriage.”

  A servant was called to escort the page to his master’s horses and bring them to the gate. “Will you take some wine, Eminence?”

  The cardinal looked at him with sour, accusing eyes “This is the way you would treat your guests, by frightening them with fiends from hell?”

  Christian was astounded by his ignorance “They are God’s creatures. Were it not for this reptile, the clean waters of the Nile would be rotten with carrion, also the lion, known as a king among animals in his native land.”

  The cardinal grunted “You are a showman, a charlatan…and not to be tolerated. Take these trifles…this menagerie…and leave. Be gone before the Sabbath. If you are not, I will order the city guards to take you to the dungeons…and your claims to ‘arcane knowledge’ will be investigated further.

  We will see if the Boot and the Maiden will rectify your impertinence.”

  The message was clear and there were no words to assuage his anger. Cardinal Roelas waddled out through the gates, surrounded by his retinue, all flapping and chattering like a murder of crows. As he stepped into his carriage, he turned to the man standing beside Christian. “Professore Mendoza, it seems to me that you are overfond of novelty and diversion.

  Perhaps your position at the General School is too burdensome a duty, one that leaves little time for entertainments?

  I will arrange a replacement for you in due course.”

  Enrico paled and spluttered “But Your Eminence…the books…the wonderful instruments…surely?”

  And the cardinal smiled “Ah, yes, the gifts for the people of Seville. I will send my men in the morning to take possession of your generous endowment, Herr Rosencreuz. Be assured, they will be kept safe in my private apartments until a worthier place is found for them.” And his red robe billowed round him as he seated himself and waved the driver on.

  The professor sat down heavily on the recently vacated bench and lowered his head into his hands “Ah, my friend. I have worked so hard for my position at the university. And I have my family to think of. What is to be done?”

  Christian did not hesitate “I am truly sorry for the situation I have placed you in. I beg you; do not endanger your livelihood. Visit the cardinal tomorrow; disavow your interest in these things. Tell him you are here to report back to the conclave. He will reconsider, I am sure. Come, there is one more thing I wish you to see before you leave.” and he led him to a hidden door behind the veil of golden flowers and down, by slippery, mould covered steps, down, winding and twisting to the very foundations of the tower itself.
r />   *

  The air was musty here and the light dim, illuminated by only a single smoking lantern.

  They moved slowly, feeling their way along a narrow corridor until they came suddenly to a dark stone wall. Christian pressed a small latch hidden in the corner and an opening appeared, bathing them in a brilliant golden glow.

  Enrico stepped back, surprised “Have we come out into the daylight? It seemed that the night had just begun when I arrived.”

  “Nay, sire, look again.” And he pointed upward, to a shimmering, fiery light hanging by an iron chain from the ceiling. “It is an everlasting lamp.”

  The professor’s mouth stood agape as he craned his neck to see “Everlasting?”

  Christian nodded. “It has learned its light from the sun. As long as the sun shines upon this earth, it will never be extinguished”

  Enrico looked around the small, strange room. It was a vault, of seven sides and corners, each side about five feet in length, its height perhaps eight feet, all brightly coloured and clearly decorated with symbols and figures.

  Of the upper part, the ceiling, it appeared that these decorations were divided according to the seven sides of the triangle, running from the walls to the bright centre, but the intensity of the light obscured the pictures, leaving him to wonder what they meant.

  And the same for the lower part, which was again parted in the triangle and painted with the inferior governors but winding through the whole and hiding the most part, was a twisted, evil faced dragon, spreading its talons across the floor. For just a moment he thought the serpent lived and recoiled with fear, so realistically was it made.

  Of the middle, every side or wall was parted into ten figures, each with their several sentences and characters and into every wall was set a door or chest.

  They moved along opening the doors, finding old books and small devices, looking glasses of diverse virtues, little bells, burning lamps and exquisitely made singing instruments, finer even than that which were displayed in the tower above.

  And a fine golden astrolabe, too beautiful to touch.

  Then Christian guided him to the centre, to a magnificent round altar covered with a brass plate, which was all over etched with writing.

  The outer edge had been engraved in Latin; ‘This compendium of the Universe, I made in my lifetime to be my tomb.’ Inside was another circle and written there; ‘Jesus…all things to me.’

  In the middle were four figures, enclosed in circles and round about each were also inscriptions; “A vacuum exists nowhere, the yoke of the Law, the liberty of the Gospel, the whole glory of God.’ The professor bent over it, frowning, as he examined the strange tableau more closely, then straightened up and Christian could see that there were tears in his eyes.

  “Who are you, that you show me this?”

  Christian stood quietly, saying nothing.

  “Why build a tomb and fill it with such knowledge?”

  Still Christian did not speak. Enrico Mendoza searched his face for the answer…and found it.

  He rubbed at his eyes and sighed “You are in grave danger, Master Rosencreuz. Cardinal Roelas will not forget what he has seen here tonight. He will not be satisfied with the gifts you have given. You must leave now.” He stopped, as if suddenly realising the enormity of what he had witnessed. “But there is no place that will be safe for one such as you.”

  And Christian smiled sadly “I know Professor Mendoza… I have always known.”

  He grasped the other’s hand with affection “Let us walk together to the gates, friend.

  For you have truly been a friend to me.”

  *

  Christian journeyed on, each year upon the other until decades had passed. And the same song was sung to him by other nations, which hurt him all the more, because it was contrary to his expectations. He travelled now in secret, loading and unloading his wonders by night, carrying them hidden, in hay wagons and meat carts and coffins. He walked alongside, dressed as a plague doctor, a stone mason, a tinker, a minstrel.

  And he crossed the seas again, to Britain, in the merchant ship he’d purchased with the gems he’d brought from Arabia, filling the hold with his treasures and finding his crew among the Barbary pirates. And they’d sworn fidelity and protection to the fair German prince who’d spoken to them in their own tongue and promised them more gold than the two Indies gave to the king of Spain for their reward.

  He sailed through the Straits of Gibraltar, and on to Bristol where the ship was docked and disguised as an empty merchantman in need of repairs. Then he took his fair and sturdy horse and carried on alone.

  Here, he found the people base and steeped in dark superstitions, of devils and goblins and eternal damnations, their roads and public buildings still attesting to the yoke of Roman rule long since ended but their religion and politics in upheaval and ripe for revolt. They were surly and warlike and grim, endlessly feuding with their neighbours and cruelly careless of life.

  But they were lovers of freedom and willing to fight for it. And everywhere was told in whispers, a legend of a Scottish lord, William Wallace, who’d gathered an army and dared to fight for the right of Scotland to rule itself, dying a traitor’s death for his crimes against the English king.

  Christian had pondered on this dilemma, knowing that there were other ways than war. Perhaps a society could be formed in Europe, for the education of wise governors and kings? In this way the gold that was everywhere if man could but see it, would be put to good use for the benefit of the masses.

  The people were thin and hollow eyed; the plague leaving the country diminished and further oppressed by unjust laws, and he’d heard grumbling in the taverns and bakeries and market fairs as he wandered through the towns. Great swathes of verdant pastures and thick forests was given over for the private use of their feudal lords, and tithes and poll taxes had left them wallowing in poverty.

  He made his way to Oxford, to the great university there, but was turned away for a fraud at the gates and laughed out of the city. So he made his way up through the Midlands, to Northampton, to Leeds, to Carlisle in the hope of finding the kind of brave men who would have the courage to stand for the truth.

  And everywhere he journeyed through that damp and dismal island, there were rotting cadavers by the sides of the roads, bound in chains, or heads spitted on pikes at the city gates and gibbets in the squares. And witch burnings and hangings and drownings, attesting to the ignorance of the people and the iron hand of the church.

  Then, in the rolling purple flowered hills of the Scots, he was waylaid by a ragged band of fearsome men, with braided beards and woaded cheeks, bearing great broadswords and axes and spiked maces. They’d pulled their shaggy mounts in front and behind his stallion, who shied and whinnied in fright as the little horses pressed in against him.

  His treasures remained in the ship but he still carried gold enough in his purse.

  None seemed superior to the others but when the younger of them grinned wickedly, drew his dagger and pointed it at him, the others had all laughed, unsheathed their own and did the same. He was sure he was to be killed, for though his garments were deliberately poor, his horse alone was worth a murder. And who was there on these lonely moors to see?

  He’d nodded solemnly to the laughing men and shifted aside his heavy travelling cloak to untie the purse that was hidden beneath his mantle, but as he did, a short, heavy set man with cold grey eyes gave a start and cried out, seeing the talisman that Neiliman had given him to ward off evil.

  Christian was surprised. He’d known that the bright silver token held no magical properties. It was merely a depiction of two knights riding the same horse, a symbol of the poverty and brotherhood of Knights of the Temple. He’d worn it nevertheless, because he’d felt a strange kinship with this long suppressed order, perhaps only in its relationship with the Hospitallers, and Andre.

  The man had sheathed his dirk and pulled back his horse, speaking quickly to the others in rolling, un
intelligible words and they’d put away their knives and backed their ponies away. Then they’d gestured for him to join them for a meal, lighting a fire and roasting the fat buck they’d poached from the laird’s dark glen. And Christian thanked them humbly and offered them his purse, but they’d shaken their heads and ridden away.

  It was a mystery to him until he’d reached the next town and entered the chapel to give thanks for his deliverance, for in the tiny churchyard were two high stone crosses, with the same symbol carved into the stone at their base and another with a skull and crossed bones laying nearby.

  Yet even here, he’d found no man willing to hear him, and he made his way slowly back, to his ship.

  *

  One by one his faithful servants departed, wearied by age, but Christian was hearty and full of hope. His thoughts turned at last to the green valleys of his homeland, to plan for the future.

  He made the long journey back through the passes, moving quietly through the towns, offering aid and then melting back into the darkness of the forests, drawing no attention to himself, offering no gold. And a great sadness overcame him, because through every country he travelled, every town and village he passed; he could not help but to be struck by the misery of the common people.

  There was no food, no aid for the suffering. The monasteries and convents had been shut up tight, the priests and nuns hidden behind their sturdy gates and iron grilles.