The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series) (21 page)

Nadira smoothed her hair. It was longer now, almost between her shoulder blades. She smiled, thinking that when spring came again it would be long enough to wear in a coil on her head. She played with it, testing the length. The thick plait would take years to re-grow. With that thought, her smile faded. There had been no word from Montrose or any of his men these long weeks. She thought about the plait in his vest. Was it still there? She blushed, thinking of it. She took a great breath and stood up, shaking her mind from him.

He
probably has gone on without me, perhaps changing course and
taking off to avenge his brother.
She began to stride the length of the room, twisting the ends of her hair. Was he caring for his wound? Had it healed properly? His body was striped with scars. Obviously, he knew how to care for a wound. He had been fighting since he was fourteen, he told her when she had asked. Surely he knew what to do. She turned at the wall and marched back. This was small comfort to her burdened mind. If she knew how he fared, she could be thoroughly content. Not knowing kept her awake at night.

William noticed her distraction when she came to a stop at the table. “What? Have you forgotten something? Do you need to go to the privy?”

Nadira flashed him a wan smile. “No, William. I am just stiff from so much sitting,” she lied.

“Yes, that does get painful sometimes. Perhaps if the weather is fair we can go for a ride this afternoon.”

“I do not ride unless I must,” this revelation brought another memory with it. Nadira felt her throat tighten. She forced herself to sound cheerful. “A walk would do me better than a ride in these circumstances, since it is my nether regions that are already sore. I do not look forward to antagonizing them further.”

William nodded in agreement. “A walk then. Monsieur should be here soon. It is a short manuscript we are to read today. Perhaps he will allow us an outing afterwards.”

“I would like that very much, William. Thank you.”

The young man smiled at her with affection. Nadira counted this as another great change in her fortunes. She could merely look long at something, a pitcher of beer, a bowl of fruit, even a quill or other small item and it would be given to her with a flourish. Once she admired a tapestry in the entry. The next afternoon she found it hanging in her bedchamber.

The sound of Conti’s boots on the stone steps below the trap sent William over to the heavy chain. With a grunt, he lifted the trap as the master’s fur hat ascended through the floorboards.

“Good morning, children.” The same greeting they received every morning. “I see you are ready to begin again.” He turned to William, “What have you pulled out for me to hear today?”

The big man dragged a bench to the table by the window and adjusted the mirror to throw a beam of sunshine on the center of the table.

William placed a thin book, bound in smooth wood and leather on the table. Tiny jewels glistened on the cover and silver hinged clasps held the fore edges together in a tight vise.

“Ah, the Plato,” Conti frowned, “But this is all in Latin, William. We have both read this one cover to cover.”

“Forgive me, monsieur, but remember there are handwritten notes in the back that we have not been able to decipher.”

“That is just one reader’s comments. It may be a matter of curiosity…”

“Intense curiosity.”

“But not necessary to spend precious time on such a matter when there are dozens of manuscripts moredeserving of our attention.”

“Humor me, monsieur. Master. As you say, they are short and can be quickly dispensed with.”

Conti looked at Nadira, and then glanced out the window. “Very well. You have been a good boy. It is a clear day and the sun will hold long enough to indulge you. Proceed.”

William unclasped the book with expert movements and gently opened the volume to the back. He flipped a few of the creamy vellum pages until he reached a familiar place. Interlined among the print was a fine script in a neat and beautiful hand.

“It is Moorish, is it not?” he asked Nadira eagerly.

Nadira leaned closer. The script was fluent and steady, the mark of a learned person well practiced in calligraphy. She read for them: “Such a silly idea, that man makes the image of the world in a mirror and calls it real.” William and Conti laughed , the latter slapping his thigh with a ringed hand.

“Please, I don’t understand,” Nadira said.

“If you wish, I will read Plato to you in the evenings if monsieur will spare the candles.” William offered. “Then you will see the humor.”

“Don’t make her wait, William. In short, Nadira, Plato relates a conversation between Socrates, a great thinker, and Glaucon, his student, concerning what is real and what is imitation. He says that while God created the world, man can create the same world by holding a mirror to its form.” Conti swung the gimbaled mirror so the image of the book lay in its metallic circle. “There. I have created a book.”

“I see,” Nadira said, “You have created a book, but not one we can touch or read. The words are backwards and we cannot turn the pages! One could argue that you really have not created even the image of the book, as you have no control over the light from the sun. As the light fades,” as she spoke a cloud passed over the face of the sun and dimmed the image in the mirror, “like so. At night you could create nothing.”

“Yes,” William said, “Which begs the question ‘what is real?’ Is it what you see? At night, you see nothing. Does everything disappear? I cannot see the ocean, though I know it exists. Does it disappear because now I live in the mountains?”

“You can feel the table at night.” Nadira ran her hands over the smooth surface of the table, “So you know it exists even in the dark.”

“And the ocean? I cannot see it nor feel it in the dark” William challenged her with bright eyes.

“Others come and tell about it. Books are written which describe it.”

“So the image of the ocean exists in your mind, yes? However, what if you have never seen it with your own eyes? Is that image in your mind the real ocean?”

“No, of course not. It is the imitation of the ocean, for me to use as a reference to the real one. Like one might use a map. A map is not the land it describes, but a representation of one.” Nadira tapped the table with her finger.

Conti nodded. “She is a clever one, William.” To Nadira he said, “And yet you have not studied philosophy?”

She blushed. “You disparage me, monsieur. I have not studied what you call philosophy. It seems like nothing more than common sense.”

“Ah, my dear girl, you will find that ‘sense’ is far, far rarer than it is ‘common’.”

“Here, here,” assented William.

Nadira pursed her lips and adjusted the mirror to allow the sun to shine upon the page again. She drew a slender finger along the marginalia. “Here the writer says, “Plato agrees that what is above, so is below. What is unreal becomes real through the eyes and mind of man. Nothing exists and everything exists.” She looked up at William. “Explain that one.”

William scratched the back of his neck. Conti pulled on his beard. William spoke first. “Is there more? Does the writer say anything else on this page?”

Nadira indicated the script she had just read. “No. That is all.”

William addressed his master. “How can nothing and everything exist at the same time?”

Conti closed his eyes. They sat quietly for several minutes until he opened his eyes again.

“The writer says ‘Plato agrees’. Agrees with whom?”

“Whoever said, ‘what is above, so is below’, William answered.

“Perhaps. Perhaps there is more. I am thinking that the writer is saying that anything that can be imagined in the mind of man does already exist.”

“You mean like Plato’s analogy of the bed, or the painting of the bridle and bits?”

Conti frowned. “In a way. You remember how he emphasized that it was the flute player who tells the flute maker how to make the flute better, and that a painter could paint a picture of the flute without knowing how to play one or even how to make one that plays. It is the idea of ‘fluteness’ that has no limits while an actual, physical flute does have limitations.”

William nodded, deep in thought.

“The implication is vast in scale if it means what I think it does,” Conti continued, “I suspect there is more to this than playing with ideas. You should spend some time looking at where we acquired this book, William. See if we also purchased other books from the same source. It would be gratifying to find more of this man’s comments.” Conti closed the book and pushed it away. “That was a pleasant diversion, little ones, but we must proceed a bit quicker if I am to hear a new manuscript today as well as meet with my guests below.”

William looked up from where he was removing a scroll from the latticework shelving. “We have guests?” he asked.

“
I
have guests.” Conti’s eyes twinkled. He poured Nadira a cup of ale from a pitcher on the table. “Take a drink, my dear, and get ready to read to me.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T
ODAY
will be chilly, Nadira thought as she shuttered tight her small window. Maria would be up with her breakfast soon and a steaming cup of posset. The thought of the hot milk made her feel the cold. The turn of the season had come with a great storm last night. She put on another dress over the thin brown one and laced it. She wrapped her feet in some strips of linen before putting her leather boots on. She would be wearing her cloak indoors this day.

Nadira picked up the cloak and sniffed it. It was heavy with the musty odor of dampness and the sharp scent of smoke from the fire in her room and those in the other rooms of the tower. With a sigh she wondered when it could be washed and dried in this weather. She swung it around her shoulders, and then froze in place.

Two months ago, she would have been ecstatic to enjoy two full meals a day and been kept out of the rain. Now she was disparaging of a fine woolen cloak and resenting the delay of her breakfast. Shamed, she sat down on the expensive bed and pulled a thick down-filled pillow to her lap to warm her hands. She shook her head and looked up at the rafters. “What a fool I am.”

“Miss?” Maria pushed the door open with her hip and carried the tray to the bed.

Nadira reached for the steaming cup on the tray. “Nothing, Maria. Thank you for the posset.”

“Oh, miss. I’m sorry I am late, but monsieur has important guests and I was needed in the kitchen.”

“Oh? Who are they?” The reading might be cancelled if monsieur and William were engaged with guests. She took a sip.

“I wouldn’t know, miss. They arrived yesterday noon and we are just now finishing with their baggage and settling them in.” Maria began pulling Nadira’s clothing from her trunk. “There is a great deal of laundry to do so I am going to take your clothes down. They won’t even notice these extra bits.” Maria stood to shake out the linens.

“So you have no idea? Can you tell from their clothing?”

“Oh yes, the men are clerics and soldiers and no women are traveling with them, so you will not be disturbed by a bed partner.”

“I wasn’t concerned about that, Maria. It has gotten so cold I might welcome a bed partner tonight. I was just wondering what their business might be and if I would be going upstairs to the library today.”

“I was told to get you fed and dressed, so you should go up. I saw Brother William in the larder this morning, so he is already out of bed. I would think you are expected as usual.”

Nadira made her way to the top floor as she did every day but Sunday. There was a great deal of noise below, but the two top floors were nearly deserted. She paused as she spiraled up to look out the casement. The sky was a steely gray and the wind was sharp. She thought fleetingly of winters in Barcelona, so warm the water never froze and flowers bloomed in February.

A gust slapped her back to the present, where winter in the mountains was proving to be quite different.
At least it isn’t raining.
Down below tiny forms were moving horses out to the better forage in the orchard. She saw linens and clothing flapping in the cold wind. She rubbed her hands. But for the written word, she herself might be chapped and burned from such heavy labor in the laundry. She blessed her mother as she continued up to the familiar trap door.

William was there as usual. “Nadira, you are shivering this morning.”

She smiled as she gave him her hand to pull her up through the trap. His hands were soft and surprisingly warm. No fires were permitted in the library, not even a candle. She looked around. “How are you keeping warm this morning, William? If it is a trick, please teach it to me!”

He laughed. “It is a trick, Nadira. I have some heated rocks here in some blankets. I pull them up from below in the laundry where they are heating gallons and gallons of water this morning. Paolo puts them in this bucket…” he leaned out of the window to show her a long rope attached to a metal bar in the sill, “and I pull them up. He puts fresh ones in there every hour and I lower down the ones that have cooled. Here…” William reached into a pile of blankets and pulled out a smooth stone the size of his fist.