‘My art is in examining your thoughts – as my tutor, Socrates, would have said – and not in promulgating my own. You must not see me as an originator of ideas, for I am like a midwife who in her barren wisdom, can never bring forth. It is you who must give birth, you must labour, and I will see to the delivery . . . Come . . . what could this knowledge be? If it were known to all men it would not be vouchsafed to you, am I right?’
‘I should think not,’ I affirmed.
‘So it is a secret thing . . . and so not easily learnt or attained?’
‘Following this line of reasoning,’ I replied, ‘quite rightly.’
‘It is not of a practical nature, for it would not be called an intelligence, it would be called wisdom.’
‘But wisdom is the same as intelligence. Is it not?’
‘You forget my friend that I am ignorant, you are the person who is in labour.’
‘But I am in pain!’
‘And so, I will comfort you. Do we call a man wise, whose nature is prudent?’
‘Of course.’
‘And from whence does the fount of prudence spring?’
‘From practical experience.’
‘Excellent! And what of intelligence?’
‘From understanding?’
‘Yes! It is the understanding that enables you and I to grasp the first principles – as my pupil Aristotle has said. And, as an outpouring of the gods, it is therefore divine. Prudence, on the other hand, is merely the result of the practical use of this understanding, and therefore human. So we may say that the knowledge vouchsafed to you is of divine origin?’
I nodded.
‘Then we are in agreement,’ he said.
‘But what does this have to do with the monastery?’ I asked.
‘It is clear from our discussion that this intelligence is mysterious, and now we also know that it is divine. Am I right in saying that opposite natures and substances attract?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Then nothing attracts a great evil more than a great good. If this knowledge is a great good, it shall attract a great evil, and so the battle will ensue. The monastery is merely the battleground.’
‘But how to find these books and therefore unlock the secret?’
‘Like the act of birth, all understanding is preceded by a little pain. This you must undergo with courage, but it is only the beginning, for when one learns a thing, it leads one to desire to know other things, and questions give birth to other questions, and so one conceives afresh. I, Plato, on the other hand, am dead.’ He sighed, ‘Having delivered too many men when I was alive . . .’
‘Alive . . . Come alive, boy!’ I heard these words echo through a darkened consciousness, and I found that my body was being shaken violently . . .
12
Capitulum
Some time before Matins
At first I could see nothing, but I then realised that my master was standing over me, a black shadow that I recognised instantly.
‘Master?’
‘For the love of God! If I were a Saracen you would now be singing discordantly in the great choirs of heaven.’
Half asleep, and a little hurt by the word ‘discordantly’, I fell into a broody silence, but as I readied myself I told him because I could not hold it in any longer. ‘I had a dream, master,’ I said very quickly. ‘First there was a dragon and an eagle . . . Plato said it was the battle between good and evil.’ I held the little gem, given to me by the abbot, hotly in my hands.
‘I say it was too much mackerel at dinner. Now up with you! Tonight we search for a mystery. Come along, look alive!’
‘But master –’ I began to argue with him, but seeing his mood, thought better of it, for he was rubbing his knee.
‘Curses to all ignorant Frenchmen!’ he mumbled. ‘Damn the Count of Artois. Are you ready? Do not forget the lamp, boy, we are not bats!’
I nodded, and taking the lamp in one hand and tapers in the other, joined him outside.
It was snowing lightly. I pouted, feeling a great frustration. My master sniffed the air, pausing, and for a moment stood very still. ‘Tomorrow it will storm,’ he said emphatically.
Who would have argued differently?
We entered the church, and hid in the shadows behind the rood, waiting long moments. I thought of Eisik, who was usually praying at this time, and I wondered how curious it must be to be a Jew believing in only one God, and awaiting a Saviour who had already come. I hoped that he was praying for our safety, for I was afraid. Not of what we might see, crouched as we were like thieves, but rather of what we might not see, for it was my impression that the evil one in his infernal wisdom works invisibly, and therefore unknowingly. My master seemed unperturbed, even excited and in a very good mood. I must say that this worried me more than anything.