Another lama, with more elaborate headgear, was waiting for them, and when he spoke, the eerie horn blast that had accompanied the opening of the main gate was repeated.
“It is my pleasant duty to show you to your quarters,” he said, indicating a wide hallway lined with scrolls of painted silk showing various lamas performing a number of feats most of which Saint-Germain assumed were allegorical. In the largest scroll, a man in a lama’s robe fended off a flying creature with a double set of horns and fangs, whose twisted green body was covered with eyes. There were a number of pillars along the hallway, each with an elaborately painted capital. The ceiling, too, was painted, each section between the beams having a different design, most of which were repeated geometrical patterns. Here the predominant colors were rust, deep blue, and bright yellow.
In one of the large rooms they passed, fifty lamas sat on the stone floor, their legs crossed, facing an altar on which an enormous gold statue of Buddha seated on a lotus was placed. The lamas were chanting quietly: a few of them held the rattlelike insruments in their hands which Saint-Germain had discovered were called prayer wheels.
“Up these stairs,” the lama who was leading them said, and the men at prayer were quickly behind them.
Their assigned rooms faced the north. The walls were thick wood, and the tiny windows were high and narrow, providing a little light. There were two sections to Saint-Germain’s quarters, both scantily furnished. To Saint-Germain’s surprise, all the bags and the Roman chest were stacked in one corner. It did not appear that they had been opened.
As he started to open the Roman chest, the air was filled with a low, shuddering note—one of the huge temple gongs was being rung. The sound of it was not so much heard as felt. It trembled and echoed once, twice, a third time, and then was silent.
“How often do they do that?” Rogerio asked from the door.
“I have no idea,” Saint-Germain answered. He indicated the sacks and his chest. “They said they would bring them, and they did. I’m somewhat perplexed.”
Rogerio’s blue eyes grew bright with relief. “So they did,” he said, coming across the room to have a better look at them.
“Where are your rooms?” Saint-Germain went to the door and looked down the hall. Though there was no one in sight, he said, “I think it will be best if we speak Latin and Greek. Doubtless there are men here who know Chinese, and I would wager a few of the Islamic explorers have got this far. No Persian, then, and no Arabic.”
“Latin and Greek,” Rogerio agreed. “Latin, preferably.”
Saint-Germain managed to smile slightly. “Nostalgia?”
“Convenience,” his servant answered. “Do you wish me to make up a bed for you?” he went on in a different tone, indicating the earth-filled bags.
“It would be wise. I don’t know how long I will have to go without other … nourishment, and so I must rely on my native earth to sustain me.” He looked at the raised pallet against the wall. “That is the bed, I assume. You can improvise some sort of a matress with the shelter cloths and the bags, and that should be sufficient.”
Rogerio nodded. “It won’t take me too long.”
“Do you wish my help?” Saint-Germain inquired, knowing the answer as he did.
“No. Of course not.” He hesitated, then said, “I understand there is a bathhouse somewhere in this building. When you return I will have clothes set out for you.”
Saint-Germain looked at the Roman chest. “You’d better store Masashige’s sword in the back panel. There are a couple dozen jewels there, and it might be wise to have a few of them ready, in case we have need of them.” He put his hand on the chest. “If we ever find a place to stay for a while, I must build another athanor and replenish our supply of gold and jewels. It’s ridiculous to try to set up an establishment on so little.”
“Were you planning to establish yourself here, then?” Rogerio asked, startled.
“No, not here. It would not be terrible, however, to have a few months of calm.” He shook off the despondency that had begun to take hold of him. “I’ll see if I can find the bathhouse.” With that he stepped into the hall.
A lama found him a little while later and guided him to the low wooden structure where the baths were. Saint-Germain thanked him and gave himself up to the oblivion of warm water and steamy rooms.
True to his word, Rogerio had set out a change of clothes, and Saint-Germain donned them with relief. He dressed with Frankish elegance, in a long tunic of black wool embroidered at cuffs, hem and collar with red silk. Over that he wore a cote of sable lined with black Venetian velvet. The silver chain with the black-and-ruby pectoral was pinned on his shoulders. His boots were of Byzantine design—reaching above the knees and having tall heels and thick soles. As he finished dressing, he flicked his short, loose curls to dry his hair. Then he sat in the one low chair and waited. He was certain that after such a welcome there would be more expected of him.
The sound of the chanting from the central room had grown louder when there came a knock at his door. Saint-Germain rose and answered it, and found himself facing a bent old man in a shapeless woolen robe. “I am not a lama,” he said to Saint-Germain. “I am merely the servant of the Abbot, who would be grateful if you might spare him a moment of your time.”
There was little else for Saint-Germain to do, but he responded politely, “I am grateful that the Abbot will see me.” He hesitated. “My servant…”
“He will be told where you have gone and when he should expect you to return.” The old man smiled toothlessly and bowed in the direction of the main hall. “The Abbot’s quarters are in the south tower.”
Saint-Germain acknowledged this with a gesture and fell into step behind the old man. The sharp report of his heeled boots marked their progress down the hall.
As on the main floor, scrolls and murals covered these walls, depicting spiritual beings in symbolic manifestations. There were three wooden statues along the way, each gilt and painted. Saint-Germain noticed that all the figures had intensely blue hair, and he wished he could stop the old man and ask why. He contented himself with the reminder that he would be here most of the winter, and during that time he would learn much.
The old man paused before plain double doors and knocked once, very softly. An indistinct voice answered at once. “He is waiting to see you,” the old man said to Saint-Germain, and stood aside to let him enter the room.
Though several elaborate scrolls hung on the walls, this room was no more elegantly furnished than Saint-Germain’s quarters. There was a man seated on a thick mat on the floor and he looked up as Saint-Germain entered.
“Ah!” the man on the mat said. “You are the foreigner. I am the Abbot SNyin Shes-rab.” He made the ritual motion that Saint-Germain knew was a greeting, and which he returned.
“My servant and I are grateful for your hospitality,” he said, wishing he had a better command of the language.
Apparently the Abbot shared his feeling. “I fear I do not speak the languages of China, but the Master does. I understand that you comprehend most of what is said to you.”
“Yes, that’s true enough,” Saint-Germain said, wondering if he was supposed to stand in the Abbot’s presence.
SNyin Shes-rab rose to his feet. He was not very tall, but had an air of command that Saint-Germain respected. “Doubtless you have been asking yourself why we brought you here.”
So it had been deliberate! Saint-Germain schooled his features to a confidence he did not feel. “You must have your reasons.”
The Abbot bowed. “It was at the order of the Master, SGyi Zhel-ri, who read the report of you and said that when you arrived you were to be admitted.”
“And you obeyed,” Saint-Germain said.
“Of course. We are most fortunate to have such a Master, good foreigner.” He stopped. “Surely you have a name that you would let me use.”
Saint-Germain nodded. “In China I was called Shih Ghieh-Man. It is as good a name as a
ny.”
“Shih Ghieh-Man,” the Abbot repeated with an odd inflection. “Very well.” He sank back onto the mat and indicated the low chair in the corner of the room. “Let us talk, Shih Ghieh-Man.”
“By all means.” Saint-Germain seated himself, and though the chair was uncomfortable, he contrived to be at ease.
“Our Master is one of the Great Masters,” SNyin Shes-rab said when he had gathered his thoughts. “He is far along the Path and his wisdom touches all of us.” He gave Saint-Germain a level look. “You are the first one he has ever asked to see. Until now, those who have wished the chance to enter his presence have had to request it, and those requests have not always been granted. Even the King has not been admitted to his meditation chamber.”
“Then why should he send for me? Surely there are foreigners enough…” He had decided that half of what the Abbot said was intended to impress this foreigner with a sense of the magnitude of his honor, and he was determined to let SNyin Shes-rab know that he was not easily awed.
“You are more than a foreigner, Shih Ghieh-Man,” the Abbot said firmly. “Most foreigners are ignorant and pass through our world with as little influence as a leaf riding a mountain stream.”
Saint-Germain concealed the alarm he felt. What did the Abbot mean? “We all pass through the world that way, SNyin Shes-rab. Only on rare occasions do we…” He could not find the proper word and did not know how to draw a metaphor.
“This is one such occasion,” the Abbot assured him. “It was the wish of the Master that you see him, and you shall. You would do well to listen closely to all that he says, for his words are more precious than jewels. Often his teachings are copied down and sent to other lamaseries of our Order so that all may benefit from his great knowledge.” He smoothed his sun-colored robe. “He will tell you himself why he wishes to see you. It is not for me to answer for the Master.”
“So you have said,” Saint-Germain responded. “When am I to be admitted to the Master’s presence? Is there anything I should do?”
SNyin Shes-rab looked away. “You must sit at his feet, and you must not speak until he gives you the office to do so. You must not question his words unless he has said that he desires to answer questions. When he dismisses you, you must leave at once, and retire to your room so that you may meditate on what the Master has told you. Do not discuss what has been said until you have meditated on it.” He waved his hand, indicating that Saint-Germain should rise. “There is a door at the end of the hall, and it is finished in gold leaf. That is the door you wish. You may enter it when you reach it. SGyi Zhel-ri knows you are coming.” His face smoothed out as he closed his eyes. Clearly, Saint-Germain was dismissed.
Saint-Germain smiled wryly as he left the Abbot’s room. He was inwardly somewhat amused by this preparation. The lamas of this lamasery were determined to enhance their Master’s reputation, of that there could be no doubt. He went quickly down the hall, enjoying the theatricality of the meeting. When he reached the door he lifted his hand to knock, then shrugged. He had been told that the Master expected him, and so he would simply enter the room. Quickly he lifted the latch and stepped inside.
It was unexpectedly dark. If there were windows in the room, they were closed. Three oil lanterns burned behind a fretwork screen, but other than that, the chamber was deep in shadow.
“You are the foreigner,” said a voice from behind the screen. It was pure and high. Hearing it, Saint-Germain was taken aback, for he realized that the Master of the Bya-grub Me-long ye-shys lamasery must be a eunuch to sound as he did.
“I am.” He stopped, waiting.
“You have come far,” the Master observed. “Very far. You have made the journey in more than distance, you have made it in many years.”
Saint-Germain tried to convince himself that anyone as European as he would be given a similar evaluation, and would accept it as proof of the Master’s perspicacity. Though it was difficult, he reminded himself that startling as the Master’s pronouncement was, it was also safe: travelers had to come a long way to reach this place.
The voice spoke again. “How can you free yourself from the Wheel, Shih Ghieh-Man, if you live as you do, without dying?”
Now Saint-Germain was truly taken aback. “I … I don’t understand…”
“Do not say so,” the Master went on in Chinese. “You understand me very well, Shih Ghieh-Man. You have learned to be cautious, which is a wise course, no doubt, but in this instance, it is quite unnecessary. I am not one who believes in the demons who prey upon men and drink their blood. Those are tales for frightening gullible and ignorant people.”
Saint-Germain, listening to that tranquil voice, was almost lulled into betraying himself. With an effort, he shut out the Master’s words, interrupting him. “What do you intend?”
Apparently this rude treatment did not offend SGyi Zhel-ri. “I intend to learn from you. I ask no sacrifice. You will have a willing partner in your bed and the earth you lie on will not be tampered with.” The Master was silent, as if waiting for Saint-Germain to speak again. When nothing was said, he went on. “In this land we have long believed in the powers of the great magicians. While I realize that is not quite what you are, I respect what you can accomplish, and what you have endured in your quest. You are on a quest, are you not?”
“Yes,” Saint-Germain answered slowly. “I suppose you might call it that.”
The Master was somewhat more decisive. “You have long to search. There are many, many years between you and your goal, and much of the world to cross to attain it.”
Saint-Germain could not quite laugh. “It has eluded me so far, SGyi Zhel-ri.”
“Not entirely. You have known great love, and you have given it selflessly—”
“Not quite selflessly,” Saint-Germain put in. “If you know my nature, you know what I require.” He told himself that this was madness, to be speaking so in the dark to a serene and flutelike voice belonging to someone he had never seen. His hard-won reserve seemed to desert him entirely, and he feared it might be the result of his hunger making him reckless. He folded his hands together and listened.
“Your requirements do not constrain you to give love, only to create strong emotion. You know that you might as easily terrify your partners, but you do not do this.”
“Not now, not most of the time,” Saint-Germain allowed. “How did you learn this?” He had not wanted to ask that question, for it implied the Master’s knowledge was accurate, but he could no longer resist knowing.
SGyi Zhel-ri sounded amused. “Wisdom is a great gift, but it can only be accepted without reservation. If conditions are made, then the wisdom becomes dogma and is without use on the Path. You know that as well as I, Shih Ghieh-Man. Why does it disturb you that you are not loathed, when being loathed is the greatest hurt you have known? Loss is not so great as that gulf so many put between your kind and the rest of humanity.” The voice was silent, and when he spoke again, there was a mischievous sound in the words. “I am eager to see you, Shih Ghieh-Man. I will not chide you for hesitating, but it would please me to look on your face.”
Saint-Germain hesitated. “If you insist.”
“Hardly insist,” SGyi Zhel-ri said at once. “You may depart now, if that is your wish.”
Perversely, because he had been given permission to leave, Saint-Germain took half a dozen steps forward, then rounded the end of the screen.
In the light of the oil lanterns on a raised dais sat the Master. He was dressed in robes shot with golden thread and on his brow was a coronet of gold fashioned to look like an opening lotus bud. He smiled at Saint-Germain’s amazed expression and clapped his hands together.
“It can’t be you,” Saint-Germain said as he looked down at the Master.
The voice he had been listening to answered. “But it is.” Then he laughed again with great delight, and for that moment he sounded like the nine-year-old boy he was.
Report to the Ministry of War from the town of Ti-Yue
n.
On the eve of the Year of the Tiger, the Fifteenth Year of the Sixty-fifth Cycle, from the Municipal Tribunal of Ti-Yuen to the Ministry of War at K’ai-Feng.
Our District outpost, in accordance with orders issued by the Ministry of War, has been detaining all suspicious travelers in this region and has held them for questioning by the local Magistrate. At this time, the District Magistrate, Jen Jo-Wei, is confined to his bed, as he has been for most of the winter, with a disease of the throat which his physician has not been able to cure. For that reason the Tribunal has been entrusted to us, his lieutenants, until such time as his health is restored and he returns to his duties.
Therefore, in accordance with the duties of the Magisterial Tribunal, we have continued to carry out the tasks of the Tribunal.
A week ago we detained a suspicious man, who called himself a guide to travelers going to T’u-Bo-T’e. He claims to have come from there, though this is hard to credit in the dead of winter. The roads through the passes have been closed for five fortnights and we do not anticipate having them open again until the middle of spring, which is more than nine fortnights away. This man insists that he had the aid of a family living not far from the border, which is, in itself, open to question.
The guide answers to the name of Tzoa Lem and it has been suggested that he may be one of a band of robbers who prey on travelers, luring them into the mountains, then taking all their goods and abandoning them on foot, or simply getting rid of them by tossing them off the trail. If this is so, it is a serious charge, and it is well-known that such jackals do operate in these regions.
Therefore we questioned Tzoa Lem at length, and he insisted on saying that he is an honest guide. He said that he went into the mountains in the fall with a foreigner and his foreign servant and that they were separated by an avalanche, so that he can give no report on the travelers.
We then conferred and decided that this man was not telling us the truth, and so we had him beaten with bamboo whisks until his back was round as a melon and of a terrible red hue. During that time, he was questioned again, and at last admitted that he did work with a few of the brigands, but that these men had not fallen victim to them. He admits abandoning the travelers, but further says that he is certain they were wanted men, sought by the various officials in the capitals for unknown reasons, and he believes that it was in the interests of the state to abandon such miscreant rogues to their fate.
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