This proves nothing, he said. You will have to perform penance. You and the other two.
I did not understand the purpose or meaning of the test by breath. But his reference to my two associates further strengthened my assumption that he was referring to Master Roger and the wretched scribe. We had broken the rules of our Order, of the blessed Saint Francis, of whom the Principal is a shadow. I was not concerned for myself. Happily, I would have taken all the blame but it could hardly be believed that it was I who had led my Master astray.
I will be taking counsel in prayer now. Tell the other malefactors to visit me after Prime.
He looked at me. I said nothing, deciding that in silence I should least harm my Master.
You will tell them.
Of course, My Lord. But, who?
Brothers Andrew and Bernard. Tell them to visit me.
I returned to the dormitory, gathered my writing materials and went into the shadow of the far wall that stands closest to my former village, where I write this now. I thought I detected the hand of my Master in this. I had not thought him malicious or vengeful. Was it because I expressed a desire to take leave of my father? But I could not believe he would take this kind of action against me, or threaten the mission to deliver his Book to His Holiness the Pope, or indeed make martyrs of Brothers Andrew or Bernard, sacrifice the innocents as well as his Great Work on a spiteful altar.
Incline, O Mother of Mercy, the ears of your pity unto my unworthy supplications, and be unto me, a most wretched sinner, a pious helper in all things.
My Master was delighted. He rubbed his hands together. His eyes shimmered.
So, you have got yourself in trouble, he said.
I do not know what I am supposed to have done.
You have been stealing wine from the cellar.
But I did this for you.
You did not tell them that.
I did not know what I was accused of, and nor would I have betrayed you even if I had.
You are a good boy, he said.
And then he beat my head with his hand, an action which hurt me but did not grieve me because I understood that it was an act of tenderness and acts of tender affection do not come easily to Master Roger.
Because you are my charge, I have been permitted to decide upon the penance that will be required of you to expiate your sin. I believe that they think it right, perhaps restorative, that one under an Interdiction be put into the position of a judge. They have even permitted me to determine how to dispose of your fellows.
But they are not guilty.
Are we not all guilty? Did we not all participate in the sin of the Fall?
I have never known my Master like this, so light and careless.
Be that as it may, he said. I am going to make an unorthodox judgement in your cases. The Principal will accept it. I have decided that this crime is so great, its cupidity, its incontinence and greed, the gluttony it indicates, the treachery against your Franciscan brothers, these sins are all so large that nothing less than a pilgrimage would suffice to pardon them.
My Master was smiling. His beard parted to reveal the paleness of his tongue, the yellow of his teeth. He reached his arm towards me but I was quicker this time and prepared for it and able to escape it this time.
Slowly, the grace of understanding was being granted me.
And where are we to go? I said feeling an answering smile on my own face.
For these extraordinary crimes, my Master said wiping his mouth with his hand, it is deemed that nothing less is required than for you to travel abroad to his Holiness to ask forgiveness of the Pope.
How? How did you order this?
But my Master was laughing, and when he had stopped laughing, his mirth had been discharged.
You will set out as we discussed. We have some preparations to make for your travels.
I am going to Rome?
Not Rome. The Papal court is in Viterbo. There is strife in Rome.
And then he looked at me and around the room, the books, the crystals, the boxes of herbs, the scribe’s table bearing the drips of his ink and the scars of his pen, the four packets wrapped in heavy cloth that contain the seven parts of the Great Work; and then he looked back at me again and reached for me and held me to his breast and stroked my hair in a powerful and strange charity and whispered that there was strife everywhere and he wished me good fortune on the road I had ahead of me.
Saint Restituta’s Day
It is said that, From a clear spring, clear waters flow. A man is estimated by the company he keeps. Brothers Andrew, Bernard and I stood outside the friary. Master Roger kept reiterating the details of my mission. You will tell the Pope this, and this, and you will demonstrate the device to him, and you will insist upon the need for a more satisfactory translation of the Bible.
The details of my mission are written on my memory. I had no need to be instructed in any of them.
And you will take this bag for the gathering of treasures. And here is parchment for you to write on. If you find the opportunity, send communication to me. And you remember the details of your itinerary?
I remember.
Our Great Work is in this box. Do not dare open it.
The bag for treasure is a heavy cloth one, the sort the villagers use to gather the harvest of apples. The box is made of wood and stained a dark red colour like blood. A single green stone is set into its lid and green wax seals it shut.
Do not open it. Promise me you will not open it.
I will not open it.
And you will carry this also.
He gave me this final load without care, wrapped in linen and tied with twine.
You will open this only when you have given up all hope. You understand me?
The extra packet is heavy at the bottom of the sack I carry, further cloth around it with my bowl and spoon and knife and parchment and styluses wrapped inside. The device I am to demonstrate to the Pope and the box containing the Great Work are in Brother Bernard’s sack.
I implore divine mercy that He Who is the One, the beginning and the ending, Alpha and Omega, might join a good end to a good beginning by a safe middle, my Master said.
Brother Bernard is eternally phlegmatic. He stood there, ox-like, bearing the burden of our load. Brother Andrew looked as anxious as I must have done. He shivered, his eyes closing and opening and closing against the sunshine. Suddenly, the prospect of a journey was a matter of trepidation. I had never been outside the village and the friary, except on the wings of Master Roger’s knowledge, and during my imaginary journeys. The friars gathered at the gate, Master Roger wiped away something that was occluding his eyes, and the Principal gave the blessing of the Sarum Missal.
The almighty and everlasting God, Who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, dispose your journey according to His good will; send his angel Raphael to keep you in this your pilgrimage, and both lead you in peace on your way to the place where you would be, and bring you back again on your return to us in safety.
And so our journey began. We walked past the village on the way to the river. I fancied I saw my father in a field beating a goat.
Saint Helena’s Day
The wood of the cross was a vile wood, because crosses used for crucifixions were made of vile wood. It was an unfruitful wood, because no matter how many such trees were planted on the mount of Calvary, the wood gave no fruit. It was