“Not intentionally,” the scholar said, “but in effect you did-and for the very motives you imply should be mine. If you try to save wisdom until the world is wise, Father, the world will never have it.”
“I can see the misunderstanding is basic!” the abbot said gruffly. “To serve God first, or to serve Hannegan first — that’s your choice.”
“I have little choice, then,” answered the thon. “Would you have me work for the Church?” The scorn in his voice was unmistakable.
22
It was Thursday within the Octave of All Saints. In preparation for departure, the thon and his party sorted their notes and records in the basement. He had attracted a small monastic audience, and a spirit of friendliness prevailed as the time to leave drew near. Overhead, the arc lamp still sputtered and glared, filling the ancient library with blue-white harshness while the team of novices pumped wearily at the hand-powered dynamo. The inexperience of the novice who sat atop the ladder to keep the arc gap adjusted caused the light to flicker erratically; he had replaced the previous skilled operator who was at present confined to the infirmary with wet dressings over his eyes.
Thon Taddeo had been answering questions about his work with less reticence than usual, no longer worried, apparently, about such controversial subjects as the refrangible property of light, or the ambitious of Thon Esser Shon.
“Now unless this hypothesis is meaningless,” he was saying, “it must be possible to confirm it in some way by observation. I set up the hypothesis with the help of some new — or rather, some very old-mathematical forms suggested by our study of your Memorabilia. The hypothesis seems to offer a simpler explanation of optical phenomena, but frankly, I could think of no way to test it at first. That’s where your Brother Kornhoer proved a help.” He nodded toward the inventor with a smile and displayed a sketch of a proposed testing device.
‘“What is it?” someone asked after a brief interval of mystification.
“Well — this is a pile of glass plates. A beam of sunlight striking the pile at this angle will be partially reflected, and partially transmitted The reflected part will be polarized. Now we adjust the pile to reflect the beam through this thing, which is Brother Kornhoer’s idea, and let the light fall on this second pile of glass plates. The second pile is set at just the right angle to reflect almost all of the polarized beam, and transmit nearly none of it. Looking through the glass, we’d scarcely see the light. All this has been tried. But now if my hypothesis is correct, closing this switch on Brother Kornhoer’s field coil here should cause a sudden brightening of the transmitted light. If it doesn’t—” he shrugged “ — then we threw out the hypothesis.”
“You might throw out the coil instead,” Brother Kornhoer suggested modestly. “I’m not sure it’ll produce a strong enough field.”
“I am. You have an instinct for these things. I find it much easier to develop an abstract theory than to construct a practical way to test it. But you have a remarkable gift for seeing everything in terms of screws, wires, and lenses, while I’m still thinking abstract symbols.”
“But the abstractions would never occur to me in the first place, Thon Taddeo.”
“We would make a good team, Brother. I wish you would join us at the collegium, at least for a while. Do you think your abbot would grant you leave?”
“I would not presume to guess,” the inventor murmured, suddenly uncomfortable.
Thon Taddeo turned to the others. “I’ve heard mention of ‘brothers on leave.’ Isn’t it true that some members of your community are employed elsewhere temporarily?”
“Only a very few, Thon Taddeo,” said a young priest.
“Formerly, the Order supplied clerks, scribes, and secretaries to the secular clergy, and to both royal and ecclesiastical courts. But that was during the times of most severe hardship and poverty here at the abbey. Brothers working on leave have kept the rest of us from starving at times. But that’s no longer necessary, and it’s seldom done. Of course, we have a few brothers studying in New Rome now, but—”
“That’s it!” said the thon with sudden enthusiasm. “A scholarship at the collegium for you, Brother. I was talking to your abbot, and—”
“Yes?” asked the young priest;
“Well, while we disagree on a few things, I can understand his point of view. I was thinking that an exchange of scholarships might improve relations. There would be a stipend, of course, and I’m sure your abbot could put that to good use.”
Brother Kornhoer inclined his head but said nothing.
“Come now!” The scholar laughed. “You don’t seem pleased by the invitation, Brother.”
“I am flattered, of course. But such matters are not for me to decide.”
“Well, I understand that, of course. But I wouldn’t dream of asking your abbot if the idea displeased you.”
Brother Kornhoer hesitated. “My vocation is to Religion,” be said at last, “that is — to a life of prayer. We think of our work as a kind of prayer too. But that—” he gestured toward his dynamo “-for me seems more like play. However, if Dom Paulo were to send me—”
“You’d reluctantly go,” the scholar finished sourly. “I’m sure I could get the collegium to send your abbot at least a hundred gold hannegans a year while you were with us, too. I—” He paused to look around at their expressions. “Pardon me, did I say something wrong?”
Halfway down the stairs, the abbot paused to survey the group in the basement. Several blank faces were turned toward him. After a few seconds Thon Taddeo noticed the abbot’s presence and nodded pleasantly.
“We were just speaking of you, Father,” he said. “If you heard, perhaps I should explain—”
Dom Paulo shook his head. “That’s not necessary.”
“But I would like to discuss—”
“Can it wait? I’m in a hurry this minute.”
“Certainly,” said the scholar.
“I’ll be back shortly.” He climbed the stairs again. Father Gault was waiting for him in the courtyard.
“Have they heard about it yet, Domne?” the prior asked grimly.
“I didn’t ask, but I’m sure they haven’t,” Dom Paulo answered. “They’re just making silly conversation down there. Something about taking Brother K back to Texarkana with them.”
“Then they haven’t heard, that’s certain.”
“Yes. Now where is he?”
“In the guesthouse, Domne. The medic’s with him He’s delirious.”
“How many of the brothers know he’s here?”
“About four. We were singing None when he came in the gate.”
“Tell those four not to mention it to anyone. Then join our guests in the basement. Just be pleasant, and don’t let them know.”
“But shouldn’t they he told before they leave, Domne?”
“Of course. But let them get ready first. You know it won’t stop them from going back. So to minimize embarrassment, let’s wait until the last minute to tell them. Now, do you have it with you?”
“No, I left it with his papers in the guesthouse.”
“I’ll go see him. Now, warn the brothers, and join our guests.”
“Yes, Dome.”
The abbot hiked toward the guesthouse. As be entered, Brother Pharmacist was just leaving the fugitive’s room.
“Will he live, Brother?”
“I cannot know, Domne. Mistreatment, starvation, exposure, fever — if God wills it—” He shrugged..
“May I speak to him?’
“I’m sure it won’t matter. But he doesn’t make sense.”
The abbot entered the room and softly closed the door behind him.
“Brother Claret?”
“Not again,” gasped the man on the bed. “For the love of God, not again — I’ve told you all I know. I betrayed him. Now just let me — be.”
Dom Paulo looked down with pity on the secretary to late Marcus Apollo. He glanced at the scribe’s hands. There were only festering sores where the fingernails had been.