I made some movements of my own. I moved my mouth. Somewhat sad, my mouth. Not quite absolutely sad, my mouth. Not quite smiling, my mouth. I moved my hand. Hapless, my hand? Empty, my hand. The courtiers murmured. The courtiers moved … a bit … about. And beneath the table and upon the floor, amongst the scraps and spittles and phlegms and bones, the mastives rooted in the reeds and rushes; the servants had not, to be sure, swept out the old such, but had lately added some new: wormwood, its fresh and bitter odor somewhat concealing the ill smell of the others; and amongst all this the mastives rooted and rottled and made all men fear them with their small sharp teeth — all men (including me) save Doge Tauro, that is, who now and then pounded them upon the head and under the chin with his shaggy fists, then see them fawn and grovel.
The Doge was not altogether happy (the Doge was not absolutely unhappy either; the Doge now had a golden horse, and a golden Doge), but the Doge was not the least puzzled. The Doge apprehended perfectly that — for now, at least — there was no more gold.
He turned at once (for him: at once) to move a previous question. “What name this great Work, who? book who?”
The courtiers rustled and fidgeted, of all things they were not accustomed to hear their duke speak of books; they never spoke of them. Sooner they would speak of the chameleon and the crocodile … but not much sooner. “Ah, that is very curious, Duke,” I said, wondering how much longer this charade must last. I had something in the athenor … almost always I had something in the athenor … “Its name is the same as the oath. Magno Homero. Just so. Great Homer is the name of the mysterious book on occymy. One does not know why.” If I had told him that the name if the mysterious book was Caca Pudenda, he would not have been any more bemused. He would certainly have believed. “Yes,” I said. “Consider, for example, the verse,” I could see that Tynus was listening, “the verse, And Ulysses brought all the treasure thither.” The Bull was wearing a robe of deepest red, and it made his always ruddy face more rufous yet; perhaps, too, the mention of treasure raised a flush. Tauro was not especially greedy as these things go, but he had great expenses — how they robbed him! — “And Ulysses brought all the treasure thither. The gold and the stubborn bronze and the finely-woven raiment. May raiment, for example, mean the woven filter-cloth? that the bronze be used as a flux for the projection into gold? or that the bronze itself is to be projected into gold? and is stubborn in reduction? But here is the difficulty, that bronze is not all that stubborn in reduction.” Tynus, I saw, standing tall and attent with his halberd, Tynus slightly nodded. “By the way, Dux, they say that Ulysses was the founder of Olisboa, in the land of the Lusitaynes, where, where, tis said, the wild mares oft conceive by the west wind: such colts do not live long, so one hears —”
“And neither doth the wind that gets ‘em,” growled the Duke. This was not merely promising, this was astounding; had the Doge caught a wit, as one may catch an ague? Thus encouraged, I continued. “Another text from the Magno Homero, mi Lord: For a month only I remained, taking joy in my children, my wedded wife, and my wealth — does this mean that the Great Work took but a month? No modern philosophers would consider so short a time possible; Magno Homero gives us much to ponder. — and then to Ægypt did my spirit bid me voyage. The ‘voyage’ of course is the journey into the elaboratory where all works of philosophy and occymy take place; Ægypt, by Ægypt is meant Great Ægypt, another name for the elaboratory: the regressus ad utero, this journey. — when I had fitted out my ships, we may be sure that by ships is meant not mere sea-vessels, but vessels for alchymy; fitted out, baked new clay pipes for the alembic, perhaps — this teaches us not to use twice-used pipes, do you see — Nine ships I fitted out, this may well mean nine vapor-baths, vulgarly called ‘Double-boilers,’ such as those devised by Mary of Ægypt, she who also made a Major Speculum … fitted out, and the host gathered speedily.”
I had him, I could tell that I had him, not the Doge, no: Tynus. He had forgotten even to pretend that he was not intent on what I was saying. “Now, Dux,” I went on, “ ‘the host,’ is that not perhaps the Philosophers’ Stone? The image of the gold ‘gathering’ in the upper section of the bath like butter gathering in the churn is an infinitely intriguing one, of course all alchymical images are intriguing, but that of course hardly means that they are all true.” I sighed.
All the while I had been giving this succinct exegesis of the mysterious text, just as the interest of the metal-worker Tynus had increased, so the light of wit had been dying out of the Doge’s eyes, being replaced by a sort of glaze. He plucked at his red, red robe.
“Mad,” muttered the Doge. “All mages? Mad.”
But the Doge did not sound quite utterly convinced of this. He turned his head a bit, and gazed at me out of the corners of his eyes.
And the secrets of that Eastern King of Cappadoce? One does not know. They must have been of much worth. His knowledge of alchymy was fabulous. Yet he died poor. He died in exile and he died poor. He died old, too. Very old, violently, by murder. So one hears.
VIII
The Teeth of the Oliphaunt
Later, in the deeps of that night, he heard that sound which was the sound … along with the lionel’s roar … preeminently the sound of Africa: the voice of an oliphaunt, baying on the beach. — the beach? surely he had not become entirely disoriented in the darkness? (the lamp had quite expired and not even a glowing coal marked where it had burned, supported on the tripod of three ithyphallic satyrs) … and, surely, the beach — where still lay the ship, its sides now scraped and caulked and painted, still slowly being laded full of dried dates which would grow dryer yet before ever they reached their final market (and who knew where or when that would be); dates and salts, and jars of some strange oils, and more: he knew not what more: surely the beach did not lie in the direction whence came that great sound of baying and that clash of tushes? No. It did not; he was able to orient himself by something as simple as the head of the bed; the sound grew louder. What ailed the beast? for this was no mere adventitious cry of warning or of menace; perhaps the beast was in rut … perhaps it was in pain …
Sound of anguished (he soon decided) baying, cries of alarm from the awakening household, sight of torches and of the smoke of torches and of little flecks of fire floating off the torches: hastily Vergil donned a garment and a pair of sandals, and gat him down to the scene.
Heard, as he went, Huldah’s voice. Also anguished.
Huldah was no cossetted nor dandled woman-child, feeding pulse or poppy-seed out of her palm to the pea-hens; Huldah would smite the wild sow and her sounder, did they come to root in the plantings so carefully planted. “You have your mast in the woods!” would she say as she smote them; “Get hence!” Thee and me, the wild sow and her speckled weans would slay and eat: from Huldah they turned with a snuffle and a squeal or two. And they got them hence.
“Very well,” said she, breaking into the silence which she had maintained throughout his telling of his tale; “I asked, You answered. Now I know of at least one king and occymy … But a thing you forgot to say. In the matter of his, whatever-it-was, buried deep in the steadily fermenting flameless fire and heat of the dung-heaps of his midden …”