John the Pupil. David Flusfeder

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СКАЧАТЬ gems scattered across the ground, and a river which no man might cross. They plucked their fill of the fruit and they gathered as many gems as they would, and all was replenished, for this was Paradise; and they sailed back to their abbey in Ireland, from which they had been gone seven years. Shortly afterwards, Saint Brendan, the holy, the mariner, full of virtues, departed from this life to the one everlasting.

      Consternation in the friary. Murmurs in the refectory, heads bowed in sharp telling. During the service of Vigils looks of pity and wonder were sent my way. After Lauds, I was summoned into the Principal’s rooms. Seldom have I spoken with the Principal. On a few occasions I have performed for him, for my Master to demonstrate my knowledge and, therefore, his pedagogy. I have always disliked these occasions, standing lonely and cold, unfriendly curious eyes upon me, to make recitations of Greek mathematics, of the houses of the constellations. I have never been in his rooms before. The Principal is a large man who has no love for Master Roger. He asked me what I had to say for myself. I had nothing to say because it did not seem opportune to demonstrate my command of tongues, ancient and present, or to recite my recent lessons in geometry and the nature of light.

      These are heavy crimes you are accused of, he said.

      Of what am I accused?

      It would be best to tell all.

      When I first made confession, I lied. I could not think of any sins to confess, so I invented some, gaining a consolation that at least on my following confession, I could confess to the sin of lying while making confession. But this was different. Was it my Master? Had the Principal learned of the Great Work, of the Mission to the Pope? Had the scribe reported of his imprisonment and labours? Did the Principal know of my part in the breaking of the Interdiction?

      It had been an act of pride to think that I could deliver the Great Work to the Pope. If I was so stuttering and undone with the Principal, it was unthinkable that I might ever presume to be in the presence of the Vicar of Rome.

      I have been guilty of the sin of pride, I said.

      Never mind that. Let me smell your breath.

      The Principal pulled me over to him roughly by the arm. A second time, he commanded me to breathe on him, which reluctantly I did. His own odour was not good, it tasted like neglected meat.

      Again, he said.

      I breathed on him again. He thrust me away.

      This proves nothing, he said. You will have to perform penance. You and the other two.

      I did not understand the purpose or meaning of the test by breath. But his reference to my two associates further strengthened my assumption that he was referring to Master Roger and the wretched scribe. We had broken the rules of our Order, of the blessed Saint Francis, of whom the Principal is a shadow. I was not concerned for myself. Happily, I would have taken all the blame but it could hardly be believed that it was I who had led my Master astray.

      I will be taking counsel in prayer now. Tell the other malefactors to visit me after Prime.

      He looked at me. I said nothing, deciding that in silence I should least harm my Master.

      You will tell them.

      Of course, My Lord. But, who?

      Brothers Andrew and Bernard. Tell them to visit me.

      I returned to the dormitory, gathered my writing materials and went into the shadow of the far wall that stands closest to my former village, where I write this now. I thought I detected the hand of my Master in this. I had not thought him malicious or vengeful. Was it because I expressed a desire to take leave of my father? But I could not believe he would take this kind of action against me, or threaten the mission to deliver his Book to His Holiness the Pope, or indeed make martyrs of Brothers Andrew or Bernard, sacrifice the innocents as well as his Great Work on a spiteful altar.

      Incline, O Mother of Mercy, the ears of your pity unto my unworthy supplications, and be unto me, a most wretched sinner, a pious helper in all things.

      My Master was delighted. He rubbed his hands together. His eyes shimmered.

      So, you have got yourself in trouble, he said.

      I do not know what I am supposed to have done.

      You have been stealing wine from the cellar.

      But I did this for you.

      You did not tell them that.

      I did not know what I was accused of, and nor would I have betrayed you even if I had.

      You are a good boy, he said.

      And then he beat my head with his hand, an action which hurt me but did not grieve me because I understood that it was an act of tenderness and acts of tender affection do not come easily to Master Roger.

      Because you are my charge, I have been permitted to decide upon the penance that will be required of you to expiate your sin. I believe that they think it right, perhaps restorative, that one under an Interdiction be put into the position of a judge. They have even permitted me to determine how to dispose of your fellows.

      But they are not guilty.

      Are we not all guilty? Did we not all participate in the sin of the Fall?

      I have never known my Master like this, so light and careless.

      Be that as it may, he said. I am going to make an unorthodox judgement in your cases. The Principal will accept it. I have decided that this crime is so great, its cupidity, its incontinence and greed, the gluttony it indicates, the treachery against your Franciscan brothers, these sins are all so large that nothing less than a pilgrimage would suffice to pardon them.

      My Master was smiling. His beard parted to reveal the paleness of his tongue, the yellow of his teeth. He reached his arm towards me but I was quicker this time and prepared for it and able to escape it this time.

      Slowly, the grace of understanding was being granted me.

      And where are we to go? I said feeling an answering smile on my own face.

      For these extraordinary crimes, my Master said wiping his mouth with his hand, it is deemed that nothing less is required than for you to travel abroad to his Holiness to ask forgiveness of the Pope.

      How? How did you order this?

      But my Master was laughing, and when he had stopped laughing, his mirth had been discharged.

      You will set out as we discussed. We have some preparations to make for your travels.

      I am going to Rome?

      Not Rome. The Papal court is in Viterbo. There is strife in Rome.

      And then he looked at me and around the room, the books, the crystals, the boxes of herbs, the scribe’s table bearing the drips of his ink and the scars of his pen, the four packets wrapped in heavy cloth that contain the seven parts of the Great Work; and then he looked back at me again and reached for me and held me to his breast and stroked my hair in a powerful and strange charity and whispered that there was strife everywhere and he wished me good fortune on the road I had ahead СКАЧАТЬ