The old priest advanced like a nemesis on his guest. “So we are but creatures of creatures, then, Sir Philosopher? Made by lesser gods than God, and therefore understandably less than perfect — through no fault of ours, of course.”
“It is only conjecture but it would account for much,” the then said stiffly, unwilling to retreat.
“And absolve of much, would it not? Man’s rebellion against his makers was, no doubt, merely justifiable tyrannicide against the infinitely wicked sons of Adam, then.”
“I didn’t say—”
“Show me, Sir Philosopher, this amazing reference!”
Thon Taddeo hastily shuffled through his notes. The light kept flickering as the novices at the drive-mill strained to listen. The scholar’s small audience had been in a state of shock until the abbot’s stormy entrance shattered the numb dismay of the listeners. Monks whispered among themselves; someone dared to laugh.
“Here it is,” Thon Taddeo announced, passing several note pages to Dom Paulo.
The abbot gave him a brief glare and began reading. The silence was awkward. “You found this over in the ‘Unclassified’ section, I believe?” he asked after a few seconds.
“Yes, but—”
The abbot went on reading.
“Well, I suppose I should finish packing,” muttered the scholar, and resumed his sorting of papers. Monks shifted restlessly, as if wishing to slink quietly away. Kornhoer brooded alone.
Satisfied after a few minutes of reading, Dom Paulo handed the notes abruptly to his prior. “Lege!” he commanded gruffly.
“But what—?”
“A fragment of a play, or a dialogue, it seems. I’ve seen it before. It’s something about some people creating some artificial people as slaves. And the slaves revolt against their makers. If Thon Taddeo had read the Venerable Boedullus’De Inanibus, he would have found that one classified as ‘probable fable or allegory.’ But perhaps the thon would care little for the evaluations of the Venerable Boedullus, when he can make his own.”
“But what sort of—”
“Lege!”
Gault moved aside with the notes. Paulo turned toward the scholar again and spoke politely, informatively, emphatically: “ ‘To the image of God He created them: male and female He created them.’ “
“My remarks were only conjecture,” said Thon Taddeo.
“Freedom to speculate is necessary—”
“‘And the Lord God took Man, and put him into the paradise of pleasure, to dress it, and to keep it. And — ’“
“ — to the advancement of science. If you would have us hampered by blind adherence, unreasoned dogma, then you would prefer—”
“‘God commanded him, saying: Of every tree of paradise thou shalt eat; but of the tree of knowledge of good end evil, thou shalt — ’ “
“ — to leave the world in the same black ignorance and superstition that you say your Order has struggled—”
“‘ — not eat For in what day soever thou shalt eat of it, thou shalt die the death.”“
“ — against. Nor could we ever overcome famine, disease, or misbirth, or make the world one bit better than it has been for—”
“‘And the serpent said to the woman: God doth know that in what day soever you shall eat thereof, your eyes shall be opened, and you shall be as Gods, knowing good and evil.’ “
“ — twelve centuries, if every direction of speculation is to he closed off and every new thought denounced—”
“It never was any better, it never will be any better. It will only be richer or poorer, sadder but not wiser, until the very last day.”
The scholar shrugged helplessly. “You see? I knew you would be offended, but you told me — Oh, What’s the use? You have your account of it.”
“The ‘account’ that I was quoting, Sir Philosopher, was not an account of the manner of creation, but an account of the manner of the temptation that led to the Fall. Did that escape you? “And the serpent said to the woman — ’ “
“Yes, yes, but the freedom to speculate is essential—”
“No one has tried to deprive you of that. Nor is anyone offended. But to abuse the intellect for reasons of pride, vanity, or escape from responsibility, is the fruit of that same tree.”
“You question the honor of my motives?” asked the thon, darkening.
“At times I question my own. I accuse you of nothing. But ask yourself this: Why do you take delight in leaping to such a wild conjecture from so fragile a springboard? Why do you wish to discredit the past, even to dehumanizing the last civilization? So that you need not learn from their mistakes? Or can it be that you can’t bear being only a ‘rediscoverer,’ and must feel that you are a “creator’ as well?”
The thon hissed an oath. “These records should be placed in the hands of competent people,” he said angrily. “What irony this is!”
The light sputtered and went out. The failure was not mechanical. The novices at the drive-mill had stopped work.
“Bring candles,” called the abbot.
Candles were brought.
“Come down,” Dom Paulo said to the novice atop the ladder. “And bring that thing with you. Brother Kornhoer? Brother Korn—”
“He stepped into the storeroom a moment ago, Domne.”
“Well, call him.” Dom Paulo turned to the scholar again, handing him the documents which had been found among Brother Claret’s effects. “Read, if you can make it out by candlelight, Sir Philosopher!”
“A mayoral edict?”
“Read it and rejoice in your cherished freedom.”
Brother Kornhoer slipped into the room again. he was carrying the heavy crucifix which had been displaced from the head of the archway to make room for the novel lamp, He handed the cross to Dom Paulo.
“How did you know I wanted this?”
“I just decided it was about time, Domne.” He shrugged.
The old man climbed the ladder and replaced the rood on its iron hook. The corpus glittered with gold by candlelight The abbot turned and called down to his monks.
“Who reads in this alcove henceforth, let him read ad Lumina Christi!”
When he descended the ladder, Thon Taddeo was already cramming the last of his papers into a large case for later sorting. He glanced warily at the priest but said nothing.
“You read the edict?”
The scholar nodded.
“If, by some unlikely chance, you would like political asylum here—”
The scholar shook his head.
“Then may I ask you to clarify your remark about placing our records in competent hands?”
Thou Taddeo lowered his gaze. “It was said in the heat of the moment, Father. I retract it.”
“But you haven’t stopped meaning it. You’ve meant it all along.”
The thon did not deny it.
“Then it would be futile to repeat my plea for your intercession on our behalf — when your officers tell your cousin what a fine military garrison this abbey would make. But for his own sake, tell him that when our altars or the Memorabilia have been threatened, our predecessors did not hesitate to resist with the sword.” He paused. “Will you be leaving today or tomorrow?”
“Today I think would be better,” Thon Taddeo said softly.
“I’ll order provisions made ready.” The abbot turned to go, but paused to add gently: “But when you get back, deliver a message to your colleagues.”
“Of course. Have you written it?”
“No. Just say that anyone who wishes to study here will be welcome, in spite of the poor lighting. Thon Maho, especially. Or Thon Esser Shon with his six ingredients. Men must fumble awhile with error to separate it from truth, I think — as long as they don’t seize the error hungrily because it hasa pleasanter taste. Tell them too, my son, that when the time comes, as it will surely come, that not only priests but philosophers are in need of sanctuary — tell them our walls are thick out here.”
He nodded a dismissal to the novices, then, and trudged up the stairs to be alone in his study. For the Fury was twisting his insides again, and he knew that torture was coming.