The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes

by Hogarth Brown

  His pulse quickened, verifying the find, as he reached out to seize the book and flee. His hands prickled above the book, the sensations running up his arms before he remembered the little nun’s warning and then drew back.

  The Professor then heard a woman’s voice, deep and smooth, coming from what sounded like a room next-door. The Professor then turned back on himself, almost tripping over some gold figurines of Buddha and Durga, to follow the voice and noticed that he had passed a door, draped with dark purple velvet: the fabric had obscured a door to a small chamber before his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He drew closer to the door that stood ajar and peered inside.

  The Abbess stood facing away from him draped in a dark blue robe, fringed with pearls and cloth of gold. She stood, absorbed in prayer and meditation, as she made symbolic gestures in front of a crystal ball that sat cradled within a pair of upturned eagle’s claws. The crystal orb began to swirl and glow within as she continued her incantations, and images began to form inside the ball. Unable to help himself the Professor stepped closer to get a better look at the crystal. The utterances of the Abbess intensified as murky images became clearer, and the Professor almost shrieked when he recognised what looked like his rented carriage, and then the contents of his dark leather-bound suitcase. He had almost forgotten the case in his haste to evade capture the night before, and seeing it, as well as Illawara’s hands inspect the bottles in the light, reminded him of why he came to Italy in the first place. The Professor stood slack-jawed, covered in Goosebumps, as the Abbess continued her magic, and watched with horror as Illawara took out one of the bottles, then closed the case before hiding it under her seat, and stepped out of the carriage. The Professor clamped his hand over his mouth to stop a howl of incredulity and foreboding, as he saw Illawara cross a street to approach a beggar woman holding a baby. He could see via her image within the ball, although clouded at times with mist, that Illawara had begun to walk with the woman into a side street as the wavering eye of the crystal blinked, and hesitated at times before following on. Professor Sloane tried to shake his head, but could not move as the scene played out, and the Abbess continued to chant, and gesticulate.

  The vision continued, and the Professor could see that Illawara had begun talking to the woman, and seemed to be offering her comfort. The beggar woman gestured to her limp baby, before clutching at her breasts with defeat.

  Illawara nodded, appeared to say something, and wiped away the beggar woman’s tears and then her own, before she scratched around on the street, in her grand dress, like the chickens for stray grains of corn. The Professor almost shouted when he realised what she planned to do, but bit hard on his thumb to stop himself exclaiming. The Abbess continued with her chanting and gestures, and the Professor could see, to his horror, that Illawara had opened a phial of Transformation Tincture and sprinkled some of the liquid onto the grains of corn. The Professor witnessed Illawara crouch, to try and hide her efforts in the side street, but he also saw the obvious elation of the beggar woman as she screamed, almost dropping her baby, as the corn turned into golden coins.

  ‘She's a witch, she's a witch!’ the Abbess began to cry, and pointed her finger at the ball, and a bony finger of a man within the orb did the same - marking Illawara out. The Professor saw the beggar woman rush forward to fill her pockets, as the image then began to fill with people:

  ‘No, Illawara’ whispered the exasperated Professor through gritted teeth - unable to hold back any longer. The Abbess stopped her craft immediately, and the crystal grew dark before she turned faster than a spindle to scan the room with her glowing green eyes.

  ‘Who goes there? Have you come? Are you the soul I seek?’

  The Professor’s heart raced, and he pondered fleeing the scene, as the Abbess stood with her eyes glowing like Medusa, but yet unseeing: ‘you have witnessed my craft’ came her voice, dark and intense, as the glow faded from her eyes, and the Professor struggled to speak. Not since he had been a little boy had he felt so scared: ‘speak up, or I shall cut out your tongue when my mundane sight returns.’ The Abbess gestured to a dagger that lay on a table nearby. The Professor wanted to run, but he held fast.

  ‘Yes, I am he’ came the Professor’s voice which, to his irritation, trembled.

  ‘You’re wise to be afraid’ said the Abbess, still blind, as she reached for a square of black velvet that hung on a hook to one side, and then walked forward with the fabric outstretched to cover the crystal ball: ‘do you know the story of Actaeon?’ she said,

  ‘Yes’ said the Professor, regaining his usual command,

  ‘Then you know what will happen to you if you cross a Goddess. Remove yourself from my door for you have already seen too much, and retreat into my chamber where I shall visit you.'

  The Professor dared not disobey and waited with patience as the Abbess made ready. When he saw her again, she wore a nun’s habit.

  Even in the dim light, the turquoise eyes of the Abbess shimmered, before she then concealed her long flaxen hair beneath the jet-black veil of her habit. Her face shone young, in the dim light, but every move of her portrayed experience as she strode to where he stood next to the open Grimoire. The Abbess addressed him, as he studied her, without looking at him but moved instead to a small mirror she then uncovered to check her veil and clothing.

  ‘What did you see within my orb as I made my craft?’ she said. The Professor readied himself, as the blood pumped in his ears,

  ‘Not much: a street, a few people’ he said. The Abbess turned to face him, and he felt struck by her beauty,

  ‘Lie to me again’ she said, ‘and you will not live to see another sunrise’ he swallowed hard, with all doubt removed, in the full knowledge that his vision on the hill had been her.

  ‘You saw me then?’ he added,

  ‘I see many things’ she replied, ‘now answer my question.’ The Professor tried to calm his breathing before he spoke again,

  ‘I saw my carriage and a young woman opening my carry case before she stepped into the street.’ The Abbess nodded.

  ‘Who is she, what is her name, and what are the objects in the carry case?’ she said, before she swept past him, leaving a waft of her perfume, and took up a candle from a sideboard to light it with the flame of the other, and put it into a lantern of red coloured glass.

  ‘Her name is Illawara’ he said,

  ‘She's as pretty as her name.'

  ‘Yes, and…’ he hesitated, ‘she’s my daughter.’ The Abbess swept herself round,

  ‘Daughter, you say?’ The Abbess then walked forward to inspected him by raising the red lantern and casting its pink light upon his face. She scrutinised him: ‘you tell the truth - but you look like a man who's not seen thirty years, and yet you have a fully-grown daughter. How so?’ The Professor took in the Abbess' gaze and flawless complexion as she looked at him.

  ‘You may already know the answer to that; Abbess' said the Professor. She raised her eyebrow, 'for you look no more than twenty-five years, yet you’re head of this institution.’ A wry smile crept across the Abbess’ face,

  ‘You’re no fool, and you’re no boy…’ she added in a sage tone, ‘and you have a tongue as silver as your eyes.' The Abbess then moved the lantern around to cast more light upon him. 'She is dark, and you are fair: how so?’ The Professor took a deep breath and pondered how he could answer without lying. The Abbess observed him struggle: ‘was her mother, a Saracen?’ she said,

  ‘Possibly, but I don’t know her mother’ the Professor confessed, the Abbess raised both her brows into high arches.

  ‘I see. So you’re her father in name but not in deed?’ She said. The Professor nodded, closed his eyes, and blew out a breath that lasted some seconds. The Abbess paused to look at the Professor - her eyes glittering in the dark. ‘A weight has come off you’ she said, sweeping closer, ‘unburden yourself yet more, and tell me of the contents of the carry case.’

  'But what of Illawara? You've used that person
, you've possessed, to denounce her in public.' The Abbess gestured to the plush surroundings,

  'If you were so worried about her you'd be by her side, not here in my bed-chamber' she said. The Professor looked away, paused, and saw no point in holding back in front of a master - it seemed she could read his mind.

  ‘The contents of those phials represent over twenty years of research. There are few Grimoires that I’ve not read, and few countries that I’ve not travelled to in my quest for knowledge.' The Abbess narrowed her eyes and tilted her head back as she pondered him.

  ‘Impressive, so you’re a philosopher and a sorcerer… though I suspect that you've not read the book that rests over there - and so fixes your attention’ the Professor's eyes darted to the book then back again.

  ‘That’s true’ he said, ‘but I don’t consider myself a sorcerer.'

  ‘Then what are you?'

  ‘I’m a physicist, a chemist and a botanist.'

  'You’re what?' She said, the Professor raised his chin and pulled his shoulders back,

  ‘I'm a man of Science’ he declared. The Abbess turned from him and tutted,

  ‘So you’re a disciple of Galileo - you admire him, and yet seem to be an acolyte of some other things I’ve not quite heard of before. Yet, I know you’ve become much more than that’ she purred.

  The Professor swallowed, as if in great thirst, before she raised the lantern over the open book. ‘You see this book here’ she said. The Professor nodded, ‘if you were not a sorcerer the book would be invisible to you. If you were not worthy of its knowledge, the book would have closed itself. If you were to touch it without respect, the book would harm you. So don't say you're just a man of "Science", for there are things you understand that not even I know.’ The Abbess began to encircle the Professor, holding her lantern aloft before she continued. ‘What I do know for certain is that you've come here for that book, and I'll teach you of its contents, but first, you'll teach me everything you know, and if you do, you’ll leave with yet more knowledge - and your life and body intact.'

  The Professor had never met such a woman in his life, and dropped all pretence of holding back information, for now: she, above all others, could be told and understand what he had learned up to that point, and he could only anticipate, with reverence, all that she could teach him in return. The Professor spoke again:

  ‘My Illawara, you called her a witch, and used your finger to point her out - and others ran to her - you’ve put her in danger.’

  The Abbess tutted,

  ‘She put herself in danger by practising magic openly in the streets: she’s foolish - but every false witch spares three real ones - she’ll have to get herself out of it. I didn’t know you were her father: why didn’t you teach her better?’ Shame silenced the Professor and a look of knowing passed over the Abbess’ face, 'I see' she said but spoke no more of her thoughts. The Abbess bid the Professor to sit on a cushion and rest. She took up a bowl, covered with cloth, from a dark place on a shelf and wrung out the sponge that floated in the liquid before exposing his slashed arm with a gentle touch, and daubed the wound. The Professor flinched and tried to draw his arm back, but she held him firm and cooed in low tones to sooth him. The Abbess then rubbed some balm over the scab before wrapping his arm in fresh linen and secured the wrapping with a pin.

  The Professor sat still as the Abbess turned again and walked over to a wooden chest with iron trappings, opened it, and took out a small bejewelled box. She took the box over to the Professor and then kneeled to place the box in her lap before she opened it. ‘You’re hungry’ she said. The Professor recognised the contents immediately and allowed the Abbess to feed him the syrupy pieces of pistachio baklava. The Abbess then uncovered a low bed in another corner of the room, and bid the Professor to lie down, he did. The Abbess then whispered something in the Professor’s ear before she touched her slender fingers to his temple whereupon he fell to sleep. She stopped to look at the Professor as he slumbered before she pulled the covers back over him and left the room.

  Chapter 12

  Bedlam and The Blue Madonna

  Florence, near the river Arno

  A ntonio and Hermes checked the safe-house but no one answered their call. The Pair then walked from tavern to tavern on the north side of the Arno and asked the landlords if they knew where Riccolo had rested. It had become clear by the time they had reached the fourth tavern, from the various descriptions of the landlords, and those people that had overheard and chimed in saucy details, that Riccolo had spent the night at the brothel. The pair of men walked at a pace in the direction shown to them by those that knew and tried to ignore their innuendo, giggles, and laughter. However, the pair soon paused their advance, and Hermes clapped his hands to his forehead when they rounded a corner and saw the Blue Madonna.

  The establishment looked much like a tavern or wine house save for the wooden sign that swung in the wind, embellished with an ironic copy of the Mona Lisa, wearing a blue shawl - and her knowing smile.

  ‘I don’t want to go in there’ said Hermes, as men of various classes stumbled out of the establishment, and blinked in the daylight, before making off for a church confession or the taverns to eat. Hermes face contorted as he watched the men shamble out, ‘I’m surprised the Inquisition doesn’t close the place down: it’s obvious what this place is for’ Hermes added.

  ‘Everyone goes to the whore house’ said Antonio with a shrug, ‘and the clergy are no exception, except those that prefer other entertainment’ he said tilting his head. Hermes pondered what Antonio could have meant, ‘and besides’ he continued, ‘it’s one of the best ways to get information. If you want to know anything interesting: ask a whore.’ Hermes looked surprised, ‘they won’t close these places down. There’s little a man won’t confess when in the arms of his lover’ added Antonio, with a suggestive whisper, before he gave Hermes' shoulder a squeeze. Hermes felt the blood rush to his face, but could not stop himself smirking, ‘the Inquisition like the whores, really’ Antonio continued in a breezy manner, ‘they make the best spies and some of their finest mistresses. They couldn’t do half their work without them - so we’ll have to be very careful of what we say when we get in there.’ Hermes seemed unconvinced by the statement but felt himself in no position to argue.

  The two young men walked up to the dark wooden doors of Il L’azzuro Madonna and then took two steps back as a male client almost tumbled out the doors after tripping on the step. A young girl, no more than seventeen, gave out a shrill giggle at the sight before she tugged a strap of her dress back onto her shoulder. The middle-aged man turned, after his stumble, to take off his hat and give a sweeping bow to the girl as if to say goodbye to a Gentlewoman. The gesture delighted her into even more laughter, as she waved off her client who then wobbled down the street and into a trattoria. The girl almost closed the door before she noticed the pair: ‘Nino’ she exclaimed, when she saw Antonio, before flinging her arms around the young man. Hermes face clouded,

  ‘You know this girl?’ he said, as he eyed her up and down,

  ‘Yes, she’s like a little sister to me’ said Antonio as he swept the girl into a twirl, which made her giggle all the more.

  ‘I’m Chiara’ she said, looking at Hermes with a face full of joy and freckles. Hermes' face did not move. Chiara, like a court dancer, then gave a curtsy with the swish of her hand, and a coquettish flutter of her lashes framing her brown eyes. Hermes lips then twitched into a smirk, before he remembered his manners and introduced himself.

  ‘Chi Chi’ said Antonio, ‘we need your help. We’ve come here to find a friend, and some people said that he might be here.'

  ‘What’s his name?’ said the girl as she ushered in her guests off the street, and closed the brothel doors behind them. Hermes scanned the room. Inside it looked as if few people were around. On the floor laid a worn Persian carpet, with colours long faded, covered in scuffs and scrapes that added to its intricate pattern:

  ‘He�
��s called Riccolo’ said Antonio. Then the girl erupted into more giggles,

  ‘O Dio. We know him. He’s always here’ she said and shook her head.

  ‘Do you know him personally?’ said Antonio,

  ‘Not personally, Nino: he says I’m too skinny for him’ she whispered, ‘he prefers the bigger ones like Georgiarella.' Chiara then flicked her hair, took on a haughty manner, before pouting an impression of a woman much larger than herself: she wobbled imaginary breasts some distance in front of her own and Antonio, and Hermes laughed at her antics.

  ‘Chi Chi’ said Antonio, once recovered, ‘it’s important that you don’t tell anyone we were here.'

  ‘Why Nino, are you in trouble?’ said the girl, frowning. Antonio nodded,

  ‘We need a place to hide for a while, and Riccolo will have somewhere for us safe to stay. Would you be able to find him for us? There’re so many rooms here.’ Chiara gave an eager nod,

  ‘I’ll find him for you. Wait here’ she said, and then Chiara turned to dash along the hallway, and up a flight of wooden steps with almost no sound. Hermes followed the girl with his eyes.

  ‘She’s so young to be working here’ said Hermes, ‘she’s just a girl.’ Antonio shrugged at the observation.

  ‘Her family couldn’t afford to give her a dowry, so they sent her to a convent - it’s cheaper than marriage.' Hermes scratched his head.

  ‘Then why is she here?’

  ‘Because the nuns threw her out when she had her baby, and wouldn’t give it up.’ Hermes' face dropped.