A Canticle For Leibowitz Part 7

"Well, Brother, if that's your story and you stick to it, I don't think we'll be bothered with you at all. Even if it's true-which I don't admit-it's so trivial it's silly. Do you realize that?"

"That's what l always thought, Messer," sighed Brother Francis, who had for many years tried to detach the importance which others had attached to the pilgrim.

"Well, it's high time you said so!" Flaught snapped.

"I always said that I thought thought he was he was probably probably just an old man." just an old man."

Monsignor Flaught covered his eyes with his hand and sighed heavily. His experience with uncertain witnesses led him to say no more.

Before leaving the abbey, the advocatus diaboli, advocatus diaboli, like the Saint's advocate before him, stopped at the scriptorium and asked to see the illuminated commemoration of the Leibowitz blueprint ("that dreadful incomprehensibility" as Flaught called it). This time the monk's hands trembled not with eagerness but with fear, for once again he might be forced to abandon the project. Monsignor Flaught gazed at the lambskin in silence. He swallowed thrice. At last he forced himself to nod. like the Saint's advocate before him, stopped at the scriptorium and asked to see the illuminated commemoration of the Leibowitz blueprint ("that dreadful incomprehensibility" as Flaught called it). This time the monk's hands trembled not with eagerness but with fear, for once again he might be forced to abandon the project. Monsignor Flaught gazed at the lambskin in silence. He swallowed thrice. At last he forced himself to nod.

"Your imagery is vivid," he admitted, "but we all knew that, didn't we?" He paused. "You've been working on it how long now?"

"Six years, Messer-intermittently."

"Yes, well, it would seem that you have at least as many years to go."

Monsignor Flaught's horns immediately shortened by an inch, and his fangs disappeared entirely. He departed the same evening for New Rome.

The years flowed smoothly by, seaming the faces of the young and adding gray to their temples. The perpetual labor of the monastery continued, daily storming heaven with the ever-recurring hymn of the Divine Office, daily supplying the world with a slow trickle of copied and recopied ma.n.u.script, occasionally renting clerks and scribes to the episcopate, to ecclesiastical tribunals, and to such few secular powers as would hire them. Brother Jeris developed ambitions of building a printing press, but Arkos quashed the plan when he heard of it. There was neither sufficient paper nor proper ink available, nor any demand for inexpensive books in a world smug in its illiteracy. The copyroom continued with pot and quill.

On the Feast of the Five Holy Fools, a Vatican messenger arrived with glad tidings for the Order. Monsignor Flaught had withdrawn all objections and was doing penance before an ikon of the Beatus Leibowitz. Monsignor Aguerre's case was proved; the Pope had directed that a decree be issued recommending canonization. The date for the formal proclamation was set for the coming Holy Year, and was to coincide with the calling of a General Council of the Church for the purpose of making a careful restatement of doctrine concerning the limitation of the magisterium magisterium to matters of faith and morals; it was a question which had been settled many times in history, but it seemed to re-arise in new forms in every century, especially in those dark periods when man's "knowledge" of wind, stars, and rain was really only belief. During the time of the council, the founder of the Albertian Order would be enrolled in the Calendar of Saints. to matters of faith and morals; it was a question which had been settled many times in history, but it seemed to re-arise in new forms in every century, especially in those dark periods when man's "knowledge" of wind, stars, and rain was really only belief. During the time of the council, the founder of the Albertian Order would be enrolled in the Calendar of Saints.

The announcement was followed by a period of rejoicing at the abbey. Dom Arkos, now withered by age and close to dotage, summoned Brother Francis into his presence and wheezed: "His Holiness invites us to New Rome for the canonization. Prepare to leave."

"I, m'Lord?" m'Lord?"

"You alone. Brother Pharmacist forbids me to travel, and it would not be well for Father Prior to leave while I am ill.

"Now don't faint on me again," Dom Arkos added querulously. "You're probably getting more credit than you deserve for the fact that the court accepted the death date of Emily Leibowitz as conclusively proved. But His Holiness invited you anyway. I suggest you thank G.o.d and claim no credit."

Brother Francis tottered. "His Holiness...?"

"Yes. Now, we're sending the original Leibowitz blueprint to the Vatican. What do you think about taking along your illuminated commemoration as a personal gift to the Holy Father?"

"Uh," said Francis.

The abbot revived him, blessed him, called him a good simpleton, and sent him to pack his bindlestiff.

10.

The trip to New Rome would require at least three months, perhaps longer, the time depending to some extent on the distance which Francis could cover before the inevitable band of robbers relieved him of his a.s.s. He would be traveling alone and unarmed, carrying only his bindlestiff and begging bowl in addition to the relic and its illuminated replica. He prayed that ignorant robbers would have no use for the latter; for, indeed, among the bandits of the wayside were sometimes kindly thieves who took only what was of value to them, and permitted their victim to retain his life, carca.s.s, and personal effects. Others were less considerate.

As a precaution, Brother Francis wore a black patch over his right eye. The peasants were a superst.i.tious lot and could often be routed by even a hint of the evil eye. Thus armed and equipped, he set out to obey the summons of the Sacerdos Magnus, Sacerdos Magnus, that Most Holy Lord and Ruler, Leo that Most Holy Lord and Ruler, Leo Pappas Pappas XXI. XXI.

Nearly two months after leaving the abbey, the monk met his robber on a heavily wooded mountain trail, far from any human settlement except the Valley of the Misborn, which lay a few miles beyond a peak to the west, where, leperlike, a colony of the genetically monstrous lived in seclusion from the world. There were some such colonies which were supervised by hospitalers of Holy Church, but the Valley of the Misborn was not among them. Sports who had escaped death at the hands of the forest tribes had congregated there several centuries ago. Their ranks were continually replenished by warped and crawling things that sought refuge from the world, but some among them were fertile and gave birth. Often such children inherited the monstrosity of the parent stock. Often they were born dead or never reached maturity. But occasionally the monstrous trait was recessive, and an apparently normal child resulted from the union of sports. Sometimes, however, the superficially "normal" offspring were blighted by some invisible deformity of heart or mind that bereft them, seemingly, of the essence of humanity while leaving them its appearances. Even within the Church, some had dared espouse the view that such creatures truly had been deprived of the Dei imago Dei imago from conception, that their souls were but animal souls, that they might with impunity under the Natural Law be destroyed as animal and not Man, that G.o.d had visited animal issue upon the species as a punishment for the sins that had nearly destroyed humankind. Few theologians whose belief in h.e.l.l had never failed them would deprive their G.o.d of recourse to any form of temporal punishment, but for men to take it upon themselves to judge any creature born of woman to be lacking in the divine image was to usurp the privilege of Heaven. Even the idiot which seems less gifted than a dog, or a pig, or a goat, shall, if born of woman, be called an immortal soul. thundered the from conception, that their souls were but animal souls, that they might with impunity under the Natural Law be destroyed as animal and not Man, that G.o.d had visited animal issue upon the species as a punishment for the sins that had nearly destroyed humankind. Few theologians whose belief in h.e.l.l had never failed them would deprive their G.o.d of recourse to any form of temporal punishment, but for men to take it upon themselves to judge any creature born of woman to be lacking in the divine image was to usurp the privilege of Heaven. Even the idiot which seems less gifted than a dog, or a pig, or a goat, shall, if born of woman, be called an immortal soul. thundered the magisterium, magisterium, and thundered it again and again. After several such p.r.o.nouncements, aimed at curbing infanticide, had issued from New Rome, the luckless misborn had come to be called the "Pope's nephews," or the "Pope's children," by some. and thundered it again and again. After several such p.r.o.nouncements, aimed at curbing infanticide, had issued from New Rome, the luckless misborn had come to be called the "Pope's nephews," or the "Pope's children," by some.

"Let that which is born alive of human parents be suffered to live," the previous Leo had said, "in accordance with both the Natural Law and the Divine Law of Love; let it be cherished as Child and nurtured, whatever its form and demeanor, for it is a fact available to natural reason alone, unaided by Divine Revelation, that among the Natural Rights of Man the right to parental a.s.sistance in an attempt to survive is precedent to all other rights, and may not be modified legitimately by Society or State except insofar as Princes are empowered to implement that right. Not even the beasts of the Earth act otherwise."

The robber that accosted Brother Francis was not in any obvious way one of the malformed, but that he came from the Valley of the Misborn was made evident when two hooded figures arose from behind a tangle of brush on the slope that overlooked the trail and hooted mockingly at the monk from ambush, while aiming at him with drawn bows. From such a distance, Francis was not certain of his first impression that one hand grasped a bow with six fingers or an extra thumb; but there was no doubt at all that one of the robed figures was wearing a robe with two hoods, although be could make out no faces, nor could be determine whether the extra hood contained an extra head or not.

The robber himself stood in the trail directly ahead. He was a short man, but heavy as a bull, with a glazed k.n.o.b of a pate and a jaw like a block of granite. He stood in the trail with his legs spread wide and his ma.s.sive arms folded across his chest while he watched the approach of the small figure astride the a.s.s. The robber, as best Brother Francis could see, was armed only with his own brawn and a knife which be did not bother to remove from his belt-thong, He beckoned Francis forward. When the monk stopped fifty yards away, one of the Pope's children unleashed an arrow; the missile whipped into the trail just behind the donkey, causing the animal to spurt ahead.

"Get off," the robber ordered.

The a.s.s stopped in the path. Brother Francis tossed back his hood to reveal the eye patch and raised a trembling finger to touch it. He began lifting the patch slowly from his eye.

The robber tossed back his bead and laughed a laugh that might have sprung, Francis thought, from the throat of Satan; the monk muttered an exorcism, but the robber appeared untouched.

"You black-sacked jeebers wore that one out years ago," he said. "Now get off."

Brother Francis smiled, shrugged, and dismounted without further protest. The robber inspected the donkey, patting its flanks, examining teeth and hooves.

"Eat? Eat?" cried one of the robed creatures on the hillside.

"Not this time," barked the robber. "Too scrawny."

Brother Francis was not entirely convinced that they were talking about the donkey.

"Good day to you, sir," the monk said pleasantly. "You may take the a.s.s. Walking will improve my health, I think." He smiled again and started away.

An arrow slashed into the trail at his feet.

"Stop that!" howled the robber, then to Francis: "Now strip. And let's see what's in that roll and in the package."

Brother Francis touched his begging bowl and made a gesture of helplessness, which brought only another scornful laugh from the robber.

"I've seen that alms-pot trick before too," he said. "The last man with a bowl had half a heklo of gold hidden in his boot. Now strip."

Brother Francis, who was not wearing boots, hopefully displayed his sandals, but the robber gestured impatiently. The monk untied his bindlestiff, spread its contents for display, and began to undress. The robber searched his clothing, found nothing, and tossed the clothing back to its owner, who breathed his grat.i.tude; he had been expecting to be left naked on the trail.

"Now let's see inside that other package."

"It contains only doc.u.ments, sir," the monk protested. "Of value to no one except the owner."

"Open it."

Silently Brother Francis untied the package and unwrapped the original blueprint and the illuminated commemoration thereof. The gold-leaf inlay and the colorful design flashed brilliantly in the sunlight that filtered through the foliage. The robber's craggy jaw dropped an inch. He whistled softly.

"What a pretty! Now wouldn't the woman like that that to hang on the cabin wall!" to hang on the cabin wall!"

Francis went sick inside.

"Gold!" the robber shouted to his robed accomplices on the hill. the robber shouted to his robed accomplices on the hill.

"Eat? Eat?" came the gurgling and chortling reply.

"We'll eat, never fear!" called the robber, then explained conversationally to Francis: "They get hungry after a couple of days just sitting there. Business is bad. Traffic's light these days."

Francis nodded. The robber resumed his admiration of the illuminated replica.

Lord, if Thou hast sent him to test me, then help me to die like a man, that he may take it only over the dead body of Thy servant. Holy Leibowitz, see this deed and pray for me- "What is it?" the robber asked. "A charm?" He studied the two doc.u.ments together for a time. "Oh! One is a ghost of the other. What magic is this?" He stared at Brother Francis with suspicious gray eyes. "What is it called?"

"Uh-Transistorized Control System for Unit Six-B," the monk stammered.

The robber, who had been looking at the doc.u.ments upside down, could nevertheless see that one diagram involved a figure-background reversal of the other-an effect which seemed to intrigue him as much as the gold leaf. He traced out the similarities in design with a short and dirty forefinger, leaving a faint smudge on the illuminated lambskin. Francis held back tears.

"Please!" the monk gasped. "The gold is so thin, it's worth nothing to speak of. Weigh it in your hand. The whole thing weighs no more than the paper itself. It's of no use to you. Please, sir, take my clothing instead. Take the donkey, take my bindlestiff. Take whatever you will, but leave me these. They mean nothing to you."

The robber's gray gaze was meditative. He watched the monk's agitation and rubbed his jaw. "I'll let you keep your clothes and your donkey and everything except this," he offered. "I'll just take the charms, then."

"For the love of G.o.d, sir, then kill me tool" Brother Francis wailed.

The robber snickered. "We'll see. Tell me what they're for."

"Nothing. One is a memento of a man long dead. An ancient. The other is only a copy."

"What good are they to you?"

Francis closed his eyes for a moment and tried to think of a way to explain. "You know the forest tribes? How they venerate their ancestors?"

The gray eyes of the robber flashed angrily for a moment.

"We despise our ancestors," he barked. "Cursed be they who gave us birth!" our ancestors," he barked. "Cursed be they who gave us birth!"

"Cursed, cursed!" echoed one of the shrouded archers on the hillside. echoed one of the shrouded archers on the hillside.

"You know who we are? Where we are from?"

Francis nodded. "I meant no offense. The ancient whose relic this is-he is not our ancestor. He was our teacher of old. We venerate his memory. This is only like a keepsake, no more."

"What about the copy?"

"I made it myself. Please, sir, it took me fifteen years. It's nothing to you. Please-you wouldn't take fifteen years of a man's life-for no reason?"

"Fifteen years?" The robber threw back his head and howled with laughter. "You spent fifteen years making that?" The robber threw back his head and howled with laughter. "You spent fifteen years making that?"

"Oh, but-" Francis was suddenly silent. His eyes swung toward the robber's stubby forefinger. The finger was tapping the original blueprint.

"That took you fifteen years? And it's almost ugly beside the other." He slapped his paunch and between guffaws kept pointing at the relic. "Ha! Fifteen years! So that's what you do way out there! Why? Why? What is the dark ghost-image good for? Fifteen years to make that! Ho ho! What a woman's work!" What is the dark ghost-image good for? Fifteen years to make that! Ho ho! What a woman's work!"

Brother Francis watched him in stunned silence. That the robber should mistake the sacred relic itself for the copy of the relic left him too shocked to reply.

Still laughing, the robber took both doc.u.ments in his hands and prepared to rip them both in half.

"Jesus, Mary, Joseph!" the monk screamed and went to his knees in the trail. "For the love of G.o.d, sir!" the monk screamed and went to his knees in the trail. "For the love of G.o.d, sir!"

The robber tossed the papers on the ground. I'll wrestle you for them!" he offered sportingly. "Those against my blade."

"Done," said Francis impulsively, thinking that a contest would at least afford Heaven a chance to intervene in an un.o.btrusive way. O G.o.d, Thou who strengthened Jacob so that he overcame the angel on the rock... O G.o.d, Thou who strengthened Jacob so that he overcame the angel on the rock...

They squared off. Brother Francis crossed himself. The robber took his knife from his belt-thong and tossed it after the papers. They circled.

Three seconds later, the monk lay groaning on the flat of his back under a short mountain of muscle. A sharp rock seemed to be severing his spine.

"Heh-heh," said the robber, and arose to reclaim his knife and roll up the doc.u.ments.

Hands folded as if in prayer, Brother Francis crept after him on his knees, begging at the top of his lungs. "Please, then, take only one, not not both both! Please!"

"You've got to buy it back now," the robber chortled. "I won them fair enough."

"I have nothing, I am poor!" poor!"

"That's all right if you want them that bad, you'll get gold. Two heklos of gold, that's the ransom. Bring it here any time. I'll tuck your things in my shanty. You want them back, just bring the gold."

"Listen, they're important to other people, not to me. I was taking them to the Pope. Maybe they'll pay you for the important one. But let me have the other one just to show them. It's of no importance at all."

The robber laughed over his shoulder. "I believe you'd kiss a boot to get it back."

Brother Francis caught up with him and fervently kissed his boot.

This proved too much for even such a fellow as the robber. He shoved the monk away with his foot, separated the two papers, and flung one of them in Francis' face with a curse. He climbed aboard the monk's donkey and started riding it up the slope toward the ambush. Brother Francis s.n.a.t.c.hed up the precious doc.u.ment and hiked along beside the robber, thanking him profusely and blessing him repeatedly while the robber guided the a.s.s toward the shrouded archers.

"Fifteen years!" the robber snorted, and again shoved Francis away with his foot. "Begone!" He waved the illuminated splendor aloft in the sunlight. "Remember-two heklos of gold'll ransom your keepsake. And tell your Pope I won it fair." the robber snorted, and again shoved Francis away with his foot. "Begone!" He waved the illuminated splendor aloft in the sunlight. "Remember-two heklos of gold'll ransom your keepsake. And tell your Pope I won it fair."

Francis stopped climbing. He sent a glowing cross of benediction after the departing bandit and quietly praised G.o.d for the existence of such selfless robbers, who could make such an ignorant mistake. He fondled the original blueprint lovingly as he hiked away down the trail. The robber was proudly displaying the beautiful commemoration to his mutant companions on the hill.

"Eat! Eat" said one of them, petting the donkey. said one of them, petting the donkey.

"Ride, ride," corrected the robber. "Eat later."

But when Brother Francis had left them far behind, a great sadness gradually engulfed him. The taunting voice still rang in his ears. Fifteen years! So that's what you Fifteen years! So that's what you do over there! Fifteen years! What a woman's work! Ho ho ho ho... do over there! Fifteen years! What a woman's work! Ho ho ho ho...

The robber had made a mistake. But the fifteen years were gone anyhow, and with it all the love and torment that had gone into the commemoration.

Cloistered as he had been, Francis had become unaccustomed to the ways of the outside world, to its harsh habits and curt att.i.tudes. He found his heart deeply troubled by the robber's mockery. He thought of Brother Jeris' gentler mockery of earlier years. Maybe Brother Jeris had been right.

His head hung low in his hood as he traveled slowly on.

At least there was the original relic. At least.