The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series) (17 page)

They were escorted to a small chamber with high ceilings and tapestries on the wall. In the center of the room, a table was spread with a fine white cloth and several drinking vessels.

Thick wax candles warmed the air with the scent of honey and made Nadira glad to have jettisoned the woolen cape. She examined the tapestries carefully as they waited for Father Bertram to arrive. One was a hunting scene with stiff dogs chasing a wild-eyed doe. Another was a garden in full bloom. Garreth stood nervously on first one leg and then another. Montrose leaned heavily against the third wall, the tapestry behind him now distorted into folds. Alisdair stood patiently by the table, trying to see what was in the pitcher without touching anything. The door opened and an initiate bowed Father Bertram into the room. The priest entered and strode directly to his chair in front of the window.

“Please,” he said, “have a seat.”

Long benches flanked the sides of the table. Nadira immediately sat herself on the far end from Father Bertram on the left side of the table. Montrose took the seat to Bertram’s right hand. Alisdair sat opposite Nadira and Garreth, opposite his master. The priest bowed his head and began a long prayer. Nadira watched the others over her clasped hands. Garreth was listening with eyes closed; Alisdair’s quick eyes darted back and forth from person to person. Montrose was watching her watch them.

“Amen.”

“Amen,” they echoed.

The amens signaled the beginning of the meal. Acolytes entered carrying platters of food and poured wine over their shoulders into their cups. Alisdair’s eager eyes made Nadira smile. She wore the brown gown and slippers Beniste had gifted her. Alisdair had used her scissors to trim the ends of her hair; now it hung just below her shoulders, no longer ragged. She had made a small veil out of leftover linen bandages, wrapping it at her crown with a bright blue silk handkerchief that Montrose had given her. It was strange to her to be sitting as a guest at such a table. She pulled her feet in under her and kept her hands in her lap. They all waited for Father Bertram to pick up his cup.

“A toast, Lord Montrose. May your trail bear fruit.”

“Bear fruit,” they echoed. The wine was warm and sweet. Nadira tried to take it in small sips, but the taste was so smooth and delightful it was gone in a moment. She set the cup down and it was immediately refilled. She glanced up in surprise at the young man who bent over her. He smiled but did not meet her eyes. The others were enjoying the wine as well, but Montrose still had most of his first cup. He passed the cup back and forth between his hands but did not drink more than the obligatory toast.

“My friends, I heard about your discussion with Brother Henry. I’m sorry you were injured, Lord Montrose.”

“Father, it is but a scratch,” Montrose dismissed the blood and broken bones with a tilt of his head. “We are practical men. Let us not quibble. I am interested to hear about what happened to Brother Henry after he read the book.” Father Bertram appeared not to be offended by Montrose’s sudden change of subject

Father Bertram laced his fingers. “Do you wish hear this strange tale? Then I will tell you.” He nodded to the two young men standing against the tapestries. They moved in tandem out the doors, closing them behind with a metallic click. Father Bertram looked at each one of them with grim interest before he began.

“Brother Henry brought me the book early this spring, showed me its beauty. It was bound in leather and wood, inlaid with
lapis lazuli
and gold. Inscriptions from many hands adorned the cover and it was clear the book had been carefully preserved for a great many years. I could only read the Latin, of course. It said, “‘Herein lies all knowledge of the world. Read with caution, for what you know you do not know and what you do not know, you know.’ I thought it was gibberish, and told him so. Nevertheless, Brother Henry was so eager I gave my permission for him to translate the book and keep me updated with his progress. He took the book to his cell along with a month’s worth of candles and a substantial amount of paper and ink.”

Montrose interrupted, “Did Brother Henry keep you updated on his progress as he had promised?”

Fixing Nadira with a perplexed stare as though just now noticing her presence, Father Bertram continued, “Yes, yes, he did. He came to my chambers every Friday after vespers to read to me what he had found. I admit it was not something I looked forward to. Every Friday for about an hour I had to sit and listen to
non-sequiturs
in Henry’s excited reading voice. He read to me things like, ‘Tell me the sound that one hears when one hand applauds,’ and ‘Only the eye fears darkness.’ I felt he had forgotten the purpose of this project in favor of his own personal interests. I tried to end the assignment. I was astounded at the hysteria this caused.

“Brother Henry had stopped attending mass. He stopped coming down for meals or attending to his chores. He did not participate in prayers or meetings. He stayed in his cell day after day, night after night. I tried to take the book away, but he would not release it no matter my threats. I had five of my strongest brothers enter the cell one morning to hold him down and take the book. They came back to me with their heads and arms broken, faces pale, habits ripped. I saw the fear in their faces and realized something terrible had happened to Brother Henry’s mind.”

Father Bertram paused, waiting for the murmurs to die down. He waved at the laden table. “Please, eat, drink.”

The men reluctantly picked up bread and fruit from their plates, but only Garreth put food in his mouth. Nadira could see the bread in Montrose’s hand trembling. From weakness or excitement, she could not tell. His eyes were glassy but his jaw was firmly set. She lifted her glass and took a sip. Montrose tapped his bread on the table.

“Father. Brother Henry does not have the book. How did you get it from him?”

Father Bertram smiled. ”I had him drugged. Henry had stopped eating with us, but had bread and wine brought up to him. Some opium in his cup and an hour later he was asleep. The book was brought to me and Brother Henry was locked in his cell.”

“There must have been a scene when he awoke.”

“Ah, yes. We had anticipated that Henry would be upset, but we were not ready for what did occur.” Father Bertram paused mysteriously. He turned to Nadira. “I hear you can read the Saracen script, and Hebrew too.”

Nadira did not like the way his eyes challenged her. She found it difficult to look away demurely. “Yes, father,” she answered.

Montrose interrupted, “And the book?”

Father Bertram frowned at him. “My Lord Montrose. Please. The book is not here, as you know.” He leaned towards Montrose. “And it will not come back here. If you plan to chase it down, then you will be traveling to Rome. However, I cannot see you wasting your time. The Holy Father probably has the book by now. He knows its reputation, he will be keeping it safe, and out of the hands of curious monks and scholars. In any case, please give him my most respectful greetings.”

Bertram leaned back in his chair, picked a bunch of grapes from his plate. “Brother Henry is now a ruined man, Montrose. He sits and rots in his cell, and he will until the day God calls him. I pray that you see the sense in my words and leave the book be.”

There was an uncomfortable silence at the table. Father Bertram’s demeanor was quite different from before. What had changed? Nadira watched Montrose carefully, though he seemed to blur as he moved. She shook her head. Right now, she did not care. Her thoughts turned to a warm bed and soft blankets. The room blurred around her. Didn’t Montrose tell her to do something? She fought to stay awake, focusing on Montrose. He was saying something to Father Bertram but she could not hear him clearly. She tapped her fingers lightly on the table, but could not feel the hard wood. She began to worry. She tried to focus on a candle. Its light wavered yellow and gold.

He told me to stay alert
.

CHAPTER TEN

N
ADIRA
opened her eyes, uncomfortable, her gown twisted around her legs. Then she remembered the wine. She tried to put her hand to her head, but found her hand would not move, nor would her feet. Alarmed, she blinked and focused. She was lying on her back, tied to the corners of a wagon bed. Above her a canopy swayed back and forth. As she became fully conscious, she could hear the
clip
clop
of a team of horses and the jolting of the boards beneath her. She thought to cry out for help and drew a breath to do so, but as she did a face appeared above her.

“Don’t. No one will hear you. We are miles from the monastery.” The man sat beside her. He was small and slight with a pocked face. His breath was bad and his habit stained with mud. Nadira wrinkled her nose. She stretched her neck to look around inside the wagon. Above her swung lumpy sacks of supplies tied with cord, and there were grain sacks on the sides of the box. She pulled on her tether. She was tied with leather cord.

Left and right, the road stretched out as far as she could see. There was no sign of the monastery, no village, no town. The track the horses followed was overgrown and unused. That was all she could see. She should not be surprised to be kidnapped yet again.
It must have been Father Bertram’s
plan.
She thought back to the dinner. He seemed interested in her literacy. She tried to remember if anything else had been said. Nothing significant she could remember, but that Father Bertram had seemed particularly annoyed with Montrose. She narrowed her eyes. What would he have done with Lord Montrose? Could he be tried for treason or heresy?

She thought she remembered that a priest could not draw blood. She heard that often enough from Sofir. Were the others also drugged with poppy juice? Bertram must have had someone come in and overpower them when she fell asleep. He could not possibly do it himself. She frowned. Asking the monks questions only caused them to turn their backs to her. She could get nothing from them. They had obviously been told not to speak.

Before sunset the monks became alert and sat up straighter as they rounded a curve. She leaned toward the canopy hole to widen her view. A stone tower and several outbuildings were at the crest of the hill. The tower was completely round and very tall, maybe five stories. She saw openings in the stones starting on the third floor in regular procession in a spiral around the tower. The top was crenellated; small forms were visible moving between the stones. Beside it a low building flanked the tower, another and another appeared over the hill as they approached.

The wagon had been seen from a long way off. It creaked up the last embankment and stopped before the main gate, a huge wooden structure reinforced with metal braces. A portcullis hung down before it, black and foreboding. The pocked monk pulled her back from the canopy hole. He untied her from the iron ring and pulled her roughly from the wagon. A tall soldier met them at the gate.

“Name your purpose!” he shouted.

The tall narrow-faced monk answered. “We are from the monastery in Coix. We come on an errand for Father Bertram.” The monk produced a roll of parchment from his sleeve and slipped it to the soldier through the portcullis. The soldier disappeared, but another, just as fierce, took his place. Nadira stood quietly, rubbing her chafed wrists and stretching her cramped legs. They waited only a few minutes before the tall soldier returned, this time with another man, not a monk.

This man was middle aged, his beard was dark but streaked with gray, his body stocky and powerful. His sharp, piercing eyes examined her through the bars. He was dressed in thick rich velvet and wore a great chain on his chest. Suspended from the chain was a gold amulet of some kind. Nadira couldn’t see it well in the folds of his robes. On his head was a tall hat made of some kind of fur that almost exactly matched his beard. He lifted the parchment to his face and read it again, lowering it to stare incredulously at Nadira. No doubt Father Bertram had written something about her that this man did not believe and he did not try to hide his skepticism.

“Open.” The velvet-clad man spoke in quiet authoritative tones. “Get the gate open and take this wagon to the stable. Unload the supplies and send the guests to the kitchen. Bring the girl to my chambers after she has been washed.” He gave her one last curious look before he disappeared through a tall door to the left.

The soldiers had the portcullis up in moments. One of them came forward to take the horses’ bits. The other dragged Nadira inside. The men took her to the laundry where she was instructed to wash up. She was given soap and cloths and a fine wool dress which was dyed a pleasant blue. As she walked out of the laundry, her guard handed her a heavy woolen cloak. She gratefully accepted its warmth as he helped her adjust it around her shoulders. The cape was too long to avoid being dragged on the flagstones. Nadira was careful not to step on it as they climbed the stairs to the master’s chamber.

The door opened into a large room, half the size of the tower’s diameter. Nadira paused in the doorway allowing her eyes to adjust to the light. Her guard was dismissed, but she heard the clanking sounds as he settled himself outside the door. The master was looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and barely concealed excitement.

He extended his hand and Nadira took it. It was large and warm and soft. The only calluses seemed to be on the fingertips. “Come and sit. It is time for us to talk.” He spoke to her in Latin, a challenge in his dark eyes. Nadira smiled guardedly and answered him in kind.