The watchtowers remained constantly manned. The abbot himself frequently climbed the wall to peer eastward.

Shortly before Vespers on the Feast of Saint Bernard, a novice reported seeing a thin and distant dust trail, but darkness was coming on, and no one else had been able to make it out. Soon, Compline and the Salve Regina were sung, but still no one appeared at the gates.

“It might have been their advance scout,” suggested Prior Gault.

“It might have been Brother Watchman’s imagination,” countered Dom Paulo.

“But if they’ve camped just ten miles or so down the way—”

“We’d see their fire from the tower. It’s a clear night.”

“Still, Domne, after the moon rises, we could send a rider—”

“Oh, no. That’s a good way to get shot by mistake. If it’s really them, they’ve probably kept their fingers on their triggers for the whole trip, especially at night. It can wait until dawn.”

It was late the following morning when the expected party of horsemen appeared out of the east. From the top of the wall Dom Paulo blinked and squinted across the hot and dry terrain, trying to focus myopic eyes on the distance. Dust from the horses’ hooves was drifting away to the north. The party had stopped for a parley.

“I seem to be seeing twenty or thirty of them,” the abbot complained, rubbing his eyes in annoyance. “Are there really so many?”

“Approximately,” said Gault.

“How will we ever take care of them all?”

“I don’t think we’ll be taking care of the ones with the wolfskins, m’Lord Abbot,” the younger priest said stiffly.

“Wolf skins?”

“Nomads, m’Lord.”

“Man the walls! Close the gates! Let down the shield! Break out the—”

“Wait, they’re not all nomads, Domne.”

“Oh?” Dom Paulo turned to peer again.

The parley was being ended. Men waved; the group split in two. The larger party galloped back toward the east. The remaining horsemen watched briefly, then reined around and trotted toward the abbey.

“Six or seven of them — some in uniform,” the abbot murmured as they drew closer.

“The thon and his party, I’m sure.”

“But with nomads? It’s a good thing I didn’t let you send a rider out last night. What were they doing with nomads?’

“It appeared that they came as guides,” Father Gault said darkly.

“How neighborly of the lion to lie down with the lamb!”

The riders approached the gates. Dom Paulo swallowed dryness. “Well, we’d better go welcome them, Father,” he sighed.

By the time the priests had descended from the wall, the travelers had reined up just outside the courtyard. A horseman detached himself from the others, trotted forward, dismounted, and presented his papers.

“Dom Paulo of Pecos, Abbas?”

The abbot bowed. “Tibi adsum. Welcome in the name of Saint Leibowitz, Thon Taddeo. Welcome in the name of his abbey, in the name of forty generations who’ve waited for you to come. Be at home. We serve you.” The words were heart-felt; the words had been saved for many years while awaiting this moment. Hearing a muttered monosyllable in reply, Dom Paulo looked up slowly.

For a moment his glance locked with the scholar’s. He felt the warmth quickly fade. Those icy eyes-cold and searching gray. Skeptical, hungry, and proud. They studied him as one might study a lifeless curio.

That this moment might be as a bridge across a gulf of twelve centuries, Paulo had fervently prayed — prayed too that through him the last martyred scientist of that earlier age would clasp hands with tomorrow. There was indeed a gulf; that much was plain. The abbot felt suddenly that he belonged not to this age at all, that he had been left stranded somewhere on a sandbar in Time’s river, and that there wasn’t really ever a bridge at all.

“Come,” he said gently. “Brother Visclair will attend to your horses.”

When he had seen the guests installed in their lodgings and had retired to the privacy of his study, the smile on the face of the wooden saint reminded him unaccountably of the smirk of old Benjamin Eleazar, saying, “The children of this world are consistent too.”

18

“‘Now even as in the time of Job,’” Brother Reader began from the refectory lectern:

“When the sons of God came to stand before the Lord, Satan also was present among them.

“And the Lord said to him: ‘Whence comest thou, Satan?’

“And Satan answering said, as of old: ‘I have gone round about the earth, and have walked through it.’

“And the Lord said to him: ‘Hast thou considered that simple and upright prince, my servant Name, hating evil and loving peace?”

“And Satan answering said: ‘Doth Name fear God in vain?

For hast Thou not blessed his land with great wealth and made him mighty among nations? But stretch forth Thy hand a little and decrease what he hath, and let his enemy be strengthened; then see if he blasphemeth Thee not to Thy face.’

“And the Lord said to Satan: “Behold what he hath, and lessen it. See thou to it.’

“And Satan went forth from the presence of God and returned into the world.

“Now the Prince Name was not as Holy Job, for when his land was afflicted with trouble and his people less rich than before, when he saw his enemy become mightier, he grew fearful and ceased to trust in God thinking unto himself: I must strike before the enemy overwhelmeth me without taking his sword in hand.

“ ‘And so it was in those days,’ “ said Brother Reader:

“that the princes of Earth had hardened their hearts against the Law of the Lord, and of their pride there was no end.

And each of them thought within himself that it was better for all to be destroyed than for the will of other princes to prevail over his. For the mighty of the Earth did contend among themselves for supreme power over all; by stealth, treachery, and deceit they did seek to rule, and of war they feared greatly and did tremble; for the Lord God had suffered the wise men of those times to learn the means by which the world itself might be destroyed, and into their hands was given the sword of the Archangel wherewith Lucifer had been cast down, that men and princes might fear God and humble themselves before the Most High. But they were not humbled.

“And Satan spoke unto a certain prince, saying: ‘Fear not to use the sword, for the wise men have deceived you in saying that the world would be destroyed thereby. Listen not to the counsel of weaklings, for they fear you exceedingly, and they serve your enemies by staying your hand against them. Strike, and know that you shall be king over all.’

“And the prince did heed the word of Satan, and he summoned all of the wise men of that realm and called upon them to give him counsel as to the ways in which the enemy might be destroyed without bringing down the wrath upon his own kingdom. But most of the wise men said, ‘Lord, it is not possible, for your enemies also have the sword which we have given you, and the fieriness of it is as the flame of Hell and as the fury of the sun-star from whence it was kindled.’

“ ‘Then thou shalt make me yet another which is yet seven times hotter than Hell itself,’ commanded the prince, whose arrogance had come to surpass that of Pharaoh.

“And many of them said: ‘Nay, Lord, ask not this thing of us; for even the smoke of such a fire, if we were to kindle it for thee, would cause many to perish.’

“Now the prince was angry because of their answer, and he suspected them of betraying him, and he sent his spies among them to tempt them and to challenge them; whereupon the wise men became afraid. Some among them changed their answers, that his wrath be not invoked against them. Three times he asked them, and three times they answered: ‘Nay, Lord, even your own people will perish if you do this thing.’ But one of the magi was like unto Judas Iscariot, and his testimony was crafty, and having betrayed his brothers, he lied to all the people, advising them not to fear the demon Fallout. The prince heeded this false wise man, whose name was Backeneth, and he caused spies to accuse many of the magi before the people. Being afraid, the less wise among the magi counseled the prince according to his pleasure, saying: ‘The weapons may be used, only do not exceed such-and-such a limit, or all will surely perish.’