A strange smell like that of putrid eggs came from this entrance, but seeing that we had no other recourse, my master once again felt with his hands and found, after a quick inspection, that there was a flight of ascending steps.
With a stone once more in the way of the mechanism, we crossed another tunnel. We seemed to be going up, and perhaps would soon surface again at another point, but we made laborious progress in the darkness, not knowing if we might come upon a chasm or a shaft. I tripped several times, one such time dropping the compass, that – thank our Lord – I was able to find before my master noticed. If the tunnel diverged it was difficult to tell without light, for I could not see the compass, and so we proceeded at the mercy of the passage. It would lead us wherever it desired.
We arrived at another, this time very small aperture, measuring only three or four paces in height. My master felt with his hands.
‘A skull marks its centre, with the words, ‘Procul este profani’ carved below it. Keep far off you uninitiated ones,’ my master said, ‘and Aer, or air. Now, to open the aperture, as Archimedes has said, ‘Give me but one firm spot on which to stand, and I can move the earth’.’
He pushed, but it did not come away. ‘Ahh the Devil take you!’ he exclaimed, and in a fit of temper hit the door or rather, as he was to tell me later, the skull. Suddenly there was a snapping sound and my master began to push it open, and this occasioned a terrible creaking that echoed loudly and made us jump.
‘Master, we shall be heard!’ I said alarmed.
‘Nonsense, we are too deep in the ground, besides, we either go through this door, creak or no creak, or we take our chances and go back the other way. Which do you prefer?’
I knew he was right and said nothing. A moment later my master slipped through the opening, and we behind him, not knowing what we would find.
We entered into a room of generous proportions with five sides. Only one lamp, much like the ones that we had brought with us, stood on a bracket, illuminating the darkness, casting long shadows along the pentagonal apartment. We saw that four out of five walls were of a red colour, and covered in shelves holding hundreds of bound codices or books. In the centre of the room two long wooden benches, one longer, one shorter, formed the shape of a cross, or tau, and on this various curious items could be discerned in the dim light. Receptacles of glass, held by metal brackets so that they were perched over unusual lanterns, were placed here and there and beside them unfinished parchments and other assorted paraphernalia; quills, pumice stones, and inks. Also, glass receptacles filled with liquids and powders, vials, and ampoules, mingled with large volumes that had been haphazardly scattered about. There was no other door that we could see ahead of us.
Eisik, who until now had been muttering unintelligible things under his breath, became even more morose. My master, conversely, became exceedingly excited. He found some tapers on the table, lit his lamp, and began inspecting volumes, one by one.
Numerous books resided side by side, denominated by the classification of Ars Aeris, Ars Aquae, Ars Ignis, Ars Terrae. I wondered, as I walked along the shelves, how many hands had leafed through these countless pages? How many tired copyists had laboured, sometimes an entire life, so that the knowledge of one book could be passed over to one more generation!
‘I will wager that many sins have been forgiven here,’ my master remarked, reading my thoughts.
‘Sins?’
‘In order to keep monks from tiring, Christian, they were told that God would forgive them one sin for every line they copied. In fact, Ordericus Vitalis informs us that one monk escaped the fires of hell by the narrow margin of one single letter!’ He paused, looking around. ‘Marvellous!’
I was taken a little by his contagious excitement. And, perhaps because knowledge is a seductress that promises a man false comfort and security, or perhaps because there is something wistful, even familiar and friendly about the smell of books, we felt immediately at ease, completely forgetting that moments before we had been in peril of our lives if not our souls. Eisik was right when he admonished us to beware of learning’s artful ways, for very soon we would come to regret our carelessness. But I speak prematurely. Instead I shall tell how presently my master took a large book off a shelf from the Ars Aeris denomination and cried out in ecstasy,
‘Here there are several works on Greek astronomy . . . and one on Arabic mathematics. Very fine specimens . . . and,’ he cried once again, ‘an astronomical text written by Abu’l Fraghani of Transoxiania, this is a treasure! And another, in which we find the measurements of planetary movements, and the study of the spots on the sun!’