The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series) (18 page)

“You are gracious, sir. Thank you for your hospitality.”

He laughed lightly, the dark eyes lightening up as he then spoke in Castilian, “Please, may I offer you some wine?”

Nadira placed a hand over her heart, “I think not, my lord,” she answered in Castilian, “for I believe wine has not been a friend to me lately.” She smiled. The master laughed again.

“Perhaps some water then, or beer?” he said in English.

Nadira’s English was not as good. She could understand most of what was said if it was said slowly, but speaking was more difficult. She knew the word for beer. “Yes, a beer, sir.”

The master sat her in a chair with a high curved back. He took his place across a small empty table in an even larger chair and poured beer from a pitcher into a ceramic mug. He stared at her over the candle while she took a drink. Nadira was famished; her eyes darted above the rim looking for any food in the room. The master caught her glance. He lifted a cloth on the table and produced a bowl of fruit. She plunked the beer down , too hungry to worry about good manners. The master smiled and pushed the bowl toward her. Nadira reached for an apple and a handful of plump grapes. She tried to eat daintily, slowly chewing the fruit while the master watched. When she was finished, he pushed a napkin toward her and she took it appreciatively.

“Now, mistress…?”

“Nadira, my lord.”

“Please call me ‘monsieur’. I am no ‘lord’, calling me so is disagreeable.”

“Monsieur. I am no ‘mistress’ either.” She smiled again and finished her beer.

Monsieur laughed pleasantly “Then let us get acquainted,” he said to her, his eyes eager. “I am Signore Conti.” He took a sip of his wine.

Nadira watched him curiously. He reminded her of her master Sofir with his easy intelligence and rich dress. She did not quite fear him now, and might actually admire him, for the proof of his surroundings told her he was a man of learning. A more chilling idea occurred to her. Perhaps he did not desire her for her mind. Her face must have betrayed that thought, for Conti leaned back quickly, his hands clasped over his chest.

“Forgive me, Mistress Nadira. I do not intend to alarm you. My interest lies in another field. Trust that I will leave yours to be plowed by another.”

Nadira laughed. The sound startled her, for she had not laughed aloud for many weeks now. His coarse humor contrasted sharply with his elegant appearance. Perhaps she was safe after all.

“Please, monsieur, tell me what I can do for you,” she asked tentatively.

He chuckled with her before answering. “Some time ago a monk from Father Bertram’s monastery rode through here, stopping for the night. He had in his possession a very fine book, a Hermetica that he could not read. I encouraged him to stay for a while. My wine cellar is quite famous, you know. This monk was encouraged to stay here for exactly as long as it took to copy the book while he slept off this wonderful wine.” Conti grinned. “And Father Bertram’s letter tells me that you can read the parts that I cannot,” he finished.

Nadira took a deep breath. So. Now she knew what Father Bertram had been doing while Montrose recovered, and why he changed his mind. Carefully she said, “I have heard ill of this book, monsieur.” She left the rest of the sentence hanging in the air.

Conti rubbed his chin. “I have been reading this copy since the monk continued his journey on to Rome. I am not afraid to admit that it makes no sense to me so far. More than half the book is in languages I cannot decipher. The monk did mention that the book was cursed, that it was used to summon demons,” he paused thoughtfully, “but I haven’t seen anything like that. Please do not succumb to rumor or superstition.” He looked at her meaningfully. “I do not believe this is an evil book. I have not been harmed and I have been studying it for months.”

“Monsieur, I am at your service.” Nadira said graciously. “Bring me the book. I will do my best.”

Conti looked surprised. “Is that it? You do not need to be convinced?”

“Monsieur, your hospitality has convinced me of your veracity,” Nadira was not above flattery herself. She must see this copy, and learn where it is kept. Should she be reunited with her companions, this information will be greatly appreciated. Conti sat back, silenced.

“Of course, I would be very grateful for your help,” he said quietly. He raised his eyebrows.

Nadira understood that he was asking her price. She was only too willing to tell him. “Monsieur. I have companions at Coix.” Her voice wavered. “I do not know what has happened to them.”

“Ah.” Conti stood and began to pace back and forth before the dark window. “Perhaps I can send word back.” He stopped. “You can read the Saracen script?” he asked with emphasis.

Nadira nodded. Conti continued back and forth, his fingers to his lips. He stopped again, “You can read Hebrew?” He narrowed his eyes as he peered at her.

“Yes. Quite.” Nadira radiated confidence.

“Very well. Very well. Very well.” His face flushed. He stopped at one of the shelves on the wall. He pulled off a wooden casket and brought it to the table. With great reverence, he carefully opened the curved lid and withdrew a sheaf of parchment. Each page was carefully numbered, but unbound. Conti placed the stack in front of Nadira, moved his chair around the table and sat beside her. Nadira watched him as he turned the leaves over to catch the light from the oil lamp on the table.

“I have read the Latin and the Greek, Nadira. Here it says, ‘all is one’, here it says ‘as above, so below’. Here is some Plato. Here is some Virgil.” Conti turned the leaves over until the one facing up remained. Nadira recognized the Hebrew. Conti looked at her. “And this one?” he prompted.

Nadira leaned closer and lifted the page closer to her eyes. “It is very poorly copied. I will do my best.”

“Yes, yes,” he whispered.

She read, “‘Seeing that there is a world made of three parts: elementary, celestial, and intellectual, and every inferior is governed by its superior and receives the influence of the virtues thereof, so that the very original, and chief worker of all does by the angels, the heavens, the elements, the plants, metals and stone convey the proof of his ascendancy over all three worlds and everything else in the universe.’” Nadira took another drink of the beer. Conti turned another leaf over.

Nadira continued, “That magic is the greatest of the pursuits of knowledge, for learning to control the elements, to learn the language of the metals and the stones, to hear the cries of the plants and the animals, to use what you have to influence the entire world to your own will. This is the meaning of existence: To learn what is and what is not, to hear color, to see sound, to know God, to speak to Him, to hear His answers in the world around you, to see His voice in the wind and in the grass. This you can do, you need…’” Conti turned the leaf, but the next page was in Aramaic. Nadira stopped. “I cannot read this, monsieur,” she said sadly.

Conti’s hands were visibly trembling as he flipped the pages though the stack. He stopped and slowly turned one of the pages face up. He spread it flat, then looked at Nadira. “My dear?”

Nadira looked long and carefully at the Moorish script in front of her. It was a strange dialect, and some of the words she did not know, but she began bravely, speaking the words first, and then translating them for Conti. “It is true that men may ascend beyond their flesh to the heavens and converse with angels. There are dangers there as well as wonders. This book will warn of the former while enticing with the latter. First, you must understand the wisdom of the book. You must consume the book with your heart, your inner self, your mind, your teeth…”

Nadira stopped and looked into Conti’s face. “Monsieur, she whispered, “You could not copy the endpapers.” He frowned. “The endpapers?” he questioned.

“The speckled papers at the end of the book.”

Conti sat back in his chair. His hand went to his beard once again. “The endpapers…” he mused. “They were very unusual. Ragged papyrus and spotted with black mold,” he remembered.

Nadira closed her eyes. Here was a test. This man was rich, powerful, and was better an ally than an enemy. She searched her heart. Montrose believed the abbot to be his ally and was sorely betrayed.
This man
—she opened her eyes, searching his face—
is
a scholar, a lover of knowledge
. His face showed deep understanding and confidence inhis place in the world.
He is
truly excited to hear my words as I read. I
can feel it.
She had not been sworn to secrecy. Her currency was literacy. Her ransom was knowledge.

“Yes, monsieur,” she decided, “we can read these pages, but you will not be successful without the endpapers. These words can be copied and read, but what is unique about this book will not pass though a copy.” Nadira remembered with a twinge how Henry had said that the book would defend itself.

Conti cocked his head, “And how do you know this, child?”

“I had the good fortune to sit and listen to Brother Henry explain the meaning of the endpapers…”

Conti interrupted, “Did Brother Henry consume the endpapers?”

Nadira nodded. “Yes, sir. He did.”

Conti leaned forward on his elbows and cupped his chin in his hand. “Did Henry mention consuming anything else, perhaps?”

Nadira thought back to that late evening a week ago. “No, monsieur. He talked about how he had swallowed half the page, when he should have tasted but a bit of it.”

Conti laughed heartily, shaking the table.

“I imagine he was quite sorry for that!”

“Oh, monsieur! You know about this madness? Brother Henry lost his mind! You should see him now, stuttering, shaking, incoherent, even violent,” Nadira remembered Montrose flying through the air and the sickening thud as he struck the wall. Montrose was twice Henry’s size. She shuddered. “The endpapers contain some kind of magic!”

“No, not magic, but not for the timid or the weak. I am annoyed that I missed something so obvious. I was so intent on having it copied before the monk departed that I missed it. I’ve heard of this black mold. What did Henry tell you about it?”

“He told us,” Nadira thought hard, “he was like a bug, that he flew out of the window, talked to spirits. He warned us not to seek the book,” she finished sadly.

Conti was musing, not looking at her. After a moment he rose, scraping the heavy chair on the wood floor, and reached for another scroll. He brought it back and unrolled it before her, tapping it with his heavily jeweled fingers.

“Can you read this?”

Nadira focused her eyes on the curling parchment. Before her lay a diagram of ten circles arranged like a boat with the prow facing downward. Inside of each circle was a Hebrew letter and lines were drawn connecting the circles to each other. Nadira frowned.

“I can read the letters, but I don’t know what they mean.” A hand came down over her shoulder and rolled up the parchment. A moment later, it disappeared.

“That’s marvelous, Nadira. Thank you.”

“Monsieur?”

“Don’t trouble yourself with this, Nadira.”

“Monsieur, if I may ask?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know the fate of my companions?” It was time for Conti to pay the piper for his song.

Conti took his seat again. “I was led to believe they were your kidnappers, not your companions. Father Bertram says that you were stolen from a spice merchant in Barcelona.”

Nadira did not wonder how Father Bertram had come by that information. She reached for her beer mug to give herself time to think about this. He was right; they were her kidnappers. The mug was empty. Conti reached over to refill it for her. She took a long pull. She felt a hand on her head.

“They did you no harm, then?” Conti asked gently, as if he cared.

Nadira shook her head, “No, they were very kind to me.”

“I suppose they were. You are quite a jewel, Nadira. The mind is not easy to control once one has learned to read.” He looked thoughtful. “Were they all illiterate?”

“I believe so, monsieur.”

“Well, then. You probably fascinate them. Many simple men believe that just the ability to make sense of letters and words is magic.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Though I must say that Lord Montrose and his men are not simpletons. It is true, for I have noticed this fascination among other men. My master would bring me out some evenings when he was entertaining guests and have me read. I knew he was showing off. I would read poetry to the sound of the lyre. I saw how they looked at me.”

Conti sat back in surprise. “How did they look at you?” he asked.

“Oh, with great admiration. Many of the sea captains must have been very impressed with Homer and Ovid. I imagine they desired the ability to read these great poets themselves.” Nadira tightened her lips. “Some asked me to read to them later in their chambers, but master forbid that.”

Conti chuckled.

“My lord.” He held up a hand to stop her words, but she insisted. “My lord,” she repeated with emphasis, “I am your servant. What is it you desire?” She lowered her eyes so he could not see how he had disturbed her. He had said he would not bed her, yet he was not too old for lechery. She clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap