A Canticle For Leibowitz Part 8

11.

The hour had come. Brother Francis, in his simple monk's habit, had never felt less important than at that moment, as he knelt in the majestic basilica before the beginning of the ceremony. The stately movements, the vivid swirls of color, the sounds which accompanied the ceremonious preparations for ceremony, already seemed liturgical in spirit, making it difficult to bear in mind that nothing of importance was happening yet. Bishops, monsignori, cardinals, priests, and various lay-functionaries in elegant, antiquated dress moved to and fro in the great church, but their comings and goings were graceful clockwork which never paused, stumbled, or changed its mind to rush in the other direction. A sampetrius A sampetrius entered the basilica; so grandly was he attired that Francis at first mistook the cathedral workman for a prelate. The entered the basilica; so grandly was he attired that Francis at first mistook the cathedral workman for a prelate. The sampetrius sampetrius carried a footstool. He carried it with such casual pomp that the monk, if he had not been kneeling, might have genuflected as the object drifted by. The carried a footstool. He carried it with such casual pomp that the monk, if he had not been kneeling, might have genuflected as the object drifted by. The sampetrius sampetrius dropped to one knee before the high altar, then crossed to the papal throne where he subst.i.tuted the new footstool for one which seemed to have a loose leg; thereupon, he departed by the same route as he had come. Brother Francis marveled at the studied elegance of movement that accompanied even the trivial. No one hurried. No one minced or fumbled. No motion occurred which did not quietly contribute to the dignity and overpowering beauty of this ancient place, even as the motionless statues and paintings contributed to it. Even the whisper of one's breathing seemed to echo faintly from distant apses. dropped to one knee before the high altar, then crossed to the papal throne where he subst.i.tuted the new footstool for one which seemed to have a loose leg; thereupon, he departed by the same route as he had come. Brother Francis marveled at the studied elegance of movement that accompanied even the trivial. No one hurried. No one minced or fumbled. No motion occurred which did not quietly contribute to the dignity and overpowering beauty of this ancient place, even as the motionless statues and paintings contributed to it. Even the whisper of one's breathing seemed to echo faintly from distant apses.

Terribilis est locus iste: hic domus Dei est, et porta caeli; terrible indeed, House of G.o.d, Gate of Heaven! terrible indeed, House of G.o.d, Gate of Heaven!

Some of the statues were alive, he observed after a time. A suit of armor stood against the wall a few yards to his left. Its mailed fist held the staff of a gleaming battle-ax. Not even the plume of its helmet had stirred during the time Brother Francis had been kneeling there. A dozen identical suits of armor stood at intervals along the walls. Only after seeing a horsefly crawl through the visor of the "statue" on his left did he suspect that the warlike husk contained an occupant. His eye could detect no motion, but the armor emitted a few metallic creaks while it harbored the horsefly. These, then, must he the papal guard, so renowned in knightly battle: the small private army of G.o.d's First Vicar.

A captain of the guard was making a stately tour of his men. For the first time, the statue moved. It lifted its visor in salute. The captain thoughtfully paused and used his kerchief to brush the horsefly from the forehead of the expressionless face inside the helmet before pa.s.sing on. The statue lowered its visor and resumed its immobility.

The stately decor of the basilica was briefly marred by the entrance of pilgrim throngs. The throngs were well organized and efficiently ushered, but they were patently strangers to this place. Most of them seemed to tread on tiptoe to their stations, cautious to create no sound and as little movement as possible, unlike the sampetrii sampetrii and New Roman clergy who made sound and motion eloquent. Here and there among the pilgrims someone stifled a cough or stumbled. and New Roman clergy who made sound and motion eloquent. Here and there among the pilgrims someone stifled a cough or stumbled.

Suddenly the basilica became warlike, as the guard was strengthened. A new troop of mailed statues tramped into the sanctuary itself, dropped to one knee, and tilted their pike-staffs, saluting the altar before taking their posts. Two of them stood flanking the papal throne. A third fell to his knees at the throne's right hand; he remained kneeling there with the sword of Peter lying across his upraised palms. The tableau became motionless again, except for occasional dancing of flame among the altar candles.

Upon the hallowed silence burst a sudden peal of trumpets.

The sound's intensity mounted until the throbbing Ta-ra Ta-ra-raa Ta-ra Ta-ra-raa could be felt upon one's face and grew painful to the ears. The voice of the trumpets was not musical but annunciatory. The first notes began in mid-scale, then climbed slowly in pitch, intensity, and urgency, until the monk's scalp crawled, and there seemed to be nothing at all in the basilica but the explosion of the tubas. could be felt upon one's face and grew painful to the ears. The voice of the trumpets was not musical but annunciatory. The first notes began in mid-scale, then climbed slowly in pitch, intensity, and urgency, until the monk's scalp crawled, and there seemed to be nothing at all in the basilica but the explosion of the tubas.

Then, dead silence-followed by the cry of a tenor: FIRST CANTOR: "Appropinquat agnis pastor et ovibus pascendis." "Appropinquat agnis pastor et ovibus pascendis."

SECOND CANTOR: "Genua nunc flectantur omnia." "Genua nunc flectantur omnia."

FIRST CANTOR CANTOR: "Jussit olim Jesus Petrum pascere gregem Domini."

SECOND CANTOR: "Ecce Petrus Pontifex Maximus." "Ecce Petrus Pontifex Maximus."

FIRST CANTOR: "Gaudeat igitur populus Christi, et gratias agat Domino." "Gaudeat igitur populus Christi, et gratias agat Domino."

SECOND CANTOR: "Nam docebimur a Spiritu sancto." "Nam docebimur a Spiritu sancto."

CHOIR: "Alleluia, alleluia-" "Alleluia, alleluia-"

The crowd arose and then knelt in a slow wave that followed the movement of the chair containing the frail old man in white who gestured his blessings to the people as the gold, black, purple, and red procession moved him slowly toward the throne. Breath kept choking up in the throat of the small monk from a distant abbey in a distant desert. It was impossible to see everything that was happening, so overwhelming was the tide of music and motion, drowning one's senses and sweeping the mind along w.i.l.l.y-nilly toward that which was soon to come.

The ceremony was brief. Its intensity would have become unendurable had it been longer. A monsignor-Malfreddo Aguerra, the Saint's advocate himself, Brother Francis observed-approached the throne and knelt. After a brief silence, he voiced his plea in plain chant.

"Sancte pater, ab Sapientia summa petimus ut ille Beatus Leibowitz cujus miracula mirati sunt multi..."

The request called upon Leo to enlighten his people by solemn definition concerning the pious belief that the Beatus Leibowitz was indeed a saint, worthy of the dulia dulia of the Church as well as the veneration of the faithful. of the Church as well as the veneration of the faithful.

"Gratissima n.o.bis causa, fili," the voice of the old man in white sang in response, explaining that his own heart's desire was to announce by solemn proclamation that the blessed Martyr was among the saints, but also that it was by divine guidance alone, the voice of the old man in white sang in response, explaining that his own heart's desire was to announce by solemn proclamation that the blessed Martyr was among the saints, but also that it was by divine guidance alone, sub ducatu sancti Spit.i.tus, sub ducatu sancti Spit.i.tus, that he might comply with Aguerra's request. He asked all to pray for that guidance. that he might comply with Aguerra's request. He asked all to pray for that guidance.

Again the thunder of the choir filled the basilica with the Litany of the Saints: "Father-of-Heaven, G.o.d, have mercy on us. Son, Repurchaser-of-the-World, G.o.d, have mercy on us. Ghost-Most-Holy, G.o.d, have mercy on us. O Sacred Three-foldhood, G.o.d-One-and-Only, miserere n.o.bis! miserere n.o.bis! Holy Mary, pray for us. Holy Mary, pray for us. Sancta Dei Genitrix, ora pro n.o.bis. Sancta Virgo virginum, ora pro n.o.bis Sancta Dei Genitrix, ora pro n.o.bis. Sancta Virgo virginum, ora pro n.o.bis..." The thunder of the litany continued. Francis looked up at a painting of the Blessed Leibowitz, newly unveiled. The fresco was of heroic proportions. It portrayed the trial of the Beatus before the mob, but the face was not wryly smiling as it smiled in Fingo's work. It was, however, majestic, Francis thought, and in keeping with the rest of the basilica.

"Omnes sancti Martyres, orate pro n.o.bis..."

When the litany was finished, again Monsignor Malfreddo Aguerra made his plea to the Pope, asking that the name of Isaac Edward Leibowitz be formally enrolled in the Calendar of Saints. Again the guiding Spirit was invoked, as the Pope chanted the Veni, Creator Spiritus. Veni, Creator Spiritus.

And yet a third time Malfreddo Aguerra pleaded for the proclamation.

"Surgat ergo Petros ipse..."

At last it came. The twenty-first Leo intoned the decision of the Church, rendered under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, proclaiming the existing fact that an ancient and rather obscure technician named Leibowitz was truly a saint in Heaven, whose powerful intercession might, and of right ought to be, reverently implored. A feast day was named for a Ma.s.s in his honor.

"Holy Leibowitz, intercede for us," Brother Francis breathed with the others.

After a brief prayer, the choir burst into the Te Deum. Te Deum. After a Ma.s.s honoring the new saint, it was finished. After a Ma.s.s honoring the new saint, it was finished.

Escorted by two scarlet-liveried sedarii sedarii of the outer palace, the small party of pilgrims pa.s.sed though a seemingly endless sequence of corridors and antechambers, halting occasionally before the ornate table of some new official who examined credentials and goose-quilled his signature on of the outer palace, the small party of pilgrims pa.s.sed though a seemingly endless sequence of corridors and antechambers, halting occasionally before the ornate table of some new official who examined credentials and goose-quilled his signature on a licet adire a licet adire for a for a sedarius sedarius to hand to the next official, whose t.i.tle grew progressively longer and less p.r.o.nounceable as the party proceeded. Brother Francis was s.h.i.+vering. Among his fellow pilgrims were two bishops, a man wearing ermine and gold, a clan chief of the forest people, converted but still wearing the panther skin tunic and panther headgear of his tribal totem, a leather-clad simpleton carrying a hooded peregrine falcon on one wrist-evidently as a gift to the Holy Father-and several women, all of whom seemed to be wives or concubines-as best Francis could judge by their actions-of the "converted" clan chief of the panther people; or perhaps they were ex-concubines put away by canon but not by tribal custom. to hand to the next official, whose t.i.tle grew progressively longer and less p.r.o.nounceable as the party proceeded. Brother Francis was s.h.i.+vering. Among his fellow pilgrims were two bishops, a man wearing ermine and gold, a clan chief of the forest people, converted but still wearing the panther skin tunic and panther headgear of his tribal totem, a leather-clad simpleton carrying a hooded peregrine falcon on one wrist-evidently as a gift to the Holy Father-and several women, all of whom seemed to be wives or concubines-as best Francis could judge by their actions-of the "converted" clan chief of the panther people; or perhaps they were ex-concubines put away by canon but not by tribal custom.

After climbing the scala caelestis, scala caelestis, the pilgrims were welcomed by the somberly clad the pilgrims were welcomed by the somberly clad cameralis gestor cameralis gestor and ushered into the small anteroom of the vast consistorial hall. and ushered into the small anteroom of the vast consistorial hall.

"The Holy Father will receive them here," the high-ranking lackey softly informed the sedarius sedarius who carried the credentials. He glanced over the pilgrims, rather disapprovingly, Francis thought. He whispered briefly to the who carried the credentials. He glanced over the pilgrims, rather disapprovingly, Francis thought. He whispered briefly to the sedarius. sedarius. The The sedarius sedarius reddened and whispered to the clan chief. The clan chief glowered and removed his fanged and snarling headdress, letting the panther head dangle over his shoulder. There was a brief conference about positions, while His Supreme Unctuousness, the leading lackey, in tones so soft as to seem reproving, stationed his visiting chess pieces about the room in accordance with some arcane protocol which only the reddened and whispered to the clan chief. The clan chief glowered and removed his fanged and snarling headdress, letting the panther head dangle over his shoulder. There was a brief conference about positions, while His Supreme Unctuousness, the leading lackey, in tones so soft as to seem reproving, stationed his visiting chess pieces about the room in accordance with some arcane protocol which only the sedarii sedarii seemed to understand. seemed to understand.

The Pope was not long in arriving. The little man in the white ca.s.sock, surrounded by his retinue, strode briskly into the audience room. Brother Francis experienced a sudden dizzy spell. He remembered that Dom Arkos had threatened to flay him alive if he fainted during the audience, and he steeled himself against it.

The line of pilgrims knelt. The old man in white gently bade them arise. Brother Francis finally found the courage to focus his eyes. In the basilica, the Pope had been only a radiant spot of white in a sea of color. Gradually, here in the audience room, Brother Francis perceived at closer range that the Pope was not not, like the fabled nomads, nine feet tall. To the monk's surprise, the frail old man, Father of Princes and Kings, Bridge-Builder of the World, and Vicar on Earth of Christ, appeared much less ferocious than Dom Arkos, Abbas Abbas.

The Pope moved slowly along the line of pilgrims greeting each, embracing one of the bishops, conversing with each in his own dialect or through an interpreter, laughing at the expression of the monsignor to whom he transferred the task of carrying the falconer's bird, and addressing the clan leader of the forest people with a peculiar hand gesture and a grunted word of forest dialect which caused that panther-clad chieftain to glow with a sudden grin of delight. The Pope noticed the dangling panther headgear and paused to replace it on the tribesman's head. The latter's chest bulged with pride; he glared about the room, apparently to catch the eye of His Supreme Unctuousness, the leading lackey, but that official seemed to have vanished into the woodwork.

The Pope drew nearer to Brother Francis.

Ecce Petrus Pontifex...Behold Peter, the high priest. Leo XXI, himself: "Whom alone, G.o.d did appoint Prince over all countries and kingdoms, to root up, pull down, waste, destroy, plant, and build, that he might preserve a faithful people-" And yet in the face of Leo, the monk saw a kindly meekness which hinted that he was worthy of that t.i.tle, loftier than any bestowed upon princes and kings, whereby he was called "the slave of the slaves of G.o.d."

Francis knelt quickly to kiss the Fisherman's ring. As he arose, he found himself clutching the relic of the Saint behind him as if ashamed to display it. The Pontiff's amber eyes compelled him gently. Leo spoke softly in the curial manner: an affectation which he seemed to dislike as burdensome, but which he practiced for custom's sake in speaking to visitors less savage than the panther chief.

"Our heart was deeply grieved when we heard of your misfortune, dear son. An account of your journey reached our ears. At our own request you traveled here, but while on your way, you were set upon by robbers. Is that not true?"

"Yes, Holy Father. But it is really of no importance. I mean-It was was important, except-" Francis stammered. important, except-" Francis stammered.

The white old man smiled gently. "We know that you brought us a gift, and that it was stolen from you along the way. Be not troubled for that. Your presence is gift enough to us. Long have we cherished the hope of greeting in person the discoverer of Emily Leibowitz' remains. We know, too, of your labors at the abbey. For the Brothers of Saint Leibowitz, we have always felt a most fervent affection. Without your work, the world's amnesia might well be total. As the Church, Mystic.u.m Christi Corpus, Mystic.u.m Christi Corpus, is a Body, so has your Order served as an organ of memory in that Body. We owe much to your holy Patron and Founder. Future ages may owe him even more. May we hear more of your journey, dear son?" is a Body, so has your Order served as an organ of memory in that Body. We owe much to your holy Patron and Founder. Future ages may owe him even more. May we hear more of your journey, dear son?"

Brother Francis produced the blueprint. "The highwayman was kind enough to leave this in my keeping, Holy Father. He-he mistook it for a copy of the illumination which I was bringing as a gift."

"You did not correct his mistake?"

Brother Francis blushed. "I'm ashamed to admit, Holy Father-"

"This, then, is the original relic you found in the crypt?"

"Yes-"

The Pope's smile became wry. "So, then-the bandit thought your work was the treasure itself? Ah-even a robber can have a keen eye for art, yes? Monsignor Aguerra told us of the beauty of your commemoration. What a pity that it was stolen."

"It was nothing, Holy Father. I only regret that I wasted fifteen years."

"Wasted? How 'wasted'? If the robber had not been misled by the beauty of your commemoration, he might have taken How 'wasted'? If the robber had not been misled by the beauty of your commemoration, he might have taken this, this, might he not?" might he not?"

Brother Francis admitted the possibility.

The twenty-first Leo took the ancient blueprint in his withered hands and carefully unrolled it. He studied its design for a time in silence, than: "Tell us, do you understand the symbols used by Leibowitz? The meaning of the, uh, thing represented?"

"No, Holy Father, my ignorance is complete."

The Pope leaned toward him to whisper: "So is ours." He chuckled, pressed his lips to the relic as if kissing an altar stone, then rerolled it and handed it to an attendant. "We thank you from the bottom of our heart for those fifteen years, beloved son," be added to Brother Francis. "These years were spent to preserve this original. Never think of them as wasted. Offer them to G.o.d. Someday the meaning of the original may be discovered, and may prove important." The old man blinked-or was it a wink? Francis was almost convinced that the Pope had winked at him. "We'll have you to thank for that."

The wink, or the blink, seemed to bring the room into clearer focus for the monk. For the first time, he noticed a moth-hole in the Pope's ca.s.sock. The ca.s.sock itself was almost threadbare. The carpet in the audience room was worn through in spots. Plaster had fallen from the ceiling in several places. But dignity had overshadowed poverty. Only for a moment after the wink did Brother Francis notice hints of poverty at all. The distraction was transient.

"By you, we wish to send our warmest regards to all members of your community and to your abbot," Leo was saying.

"To them, as to you, we wish to extend our apostolic benediction. We shall give you a letter to them announcing the benediction." He paused, then blinked, or winked, again.

"Quite incidentally, the letter will be safeguarded. We shall affix to it the Noli molestare, Noli molestare, excommunicating anyone who waylays the bearer." excommunicating anyone who waylays the bearer."

Brother Francis murmured his thanks for such insurance against highwaymans.h.i.+p; he did not deem it fitting to add that the robber would be unable to read the warning or understand the penalty. "I shall do my best to deliver it, Holy Father."

Again, Leo leaned close to whisper: "And to you, we shall give a special token of our affection. Before you leave, see Monsignor Aguerra. We would prefer to give it to you by our own hand, but this is not the proper moment. The monsignor will present it for us. Do with it what you will."

"Thank you very much indeed, Holy Father."

"And now good-bye, beloved son."

The Pontiff moved on, speaking to each pilgrim in the line, and when it was over: the solemn benediction. The audience had ended.

Monsignor Aguerra touched Brother Francis' arm as the pilgrim group pa.s.sed out the portals. He embraced the monk warmly. The postulator of the Saint's cause had aged so greatly that Francis recognized him only with difficulty at close range. But Francis, too, was gray at the temples, and had grown wrinkled about the eyes from squinting over the copy-table. The monsignor handed him a package and a letter as they descended the scala caelestis. scala caelestis.

Francis glanced at the letter's address and nodded. His own name was written on the package, which bore a diplomatic seal. "For me, Messer?"

"Yes, a personal token from the Holy Father. Better not open it here. Now, can I do anything for you before you leave New Rome? I'd be glad to show you anything you've missed."

Brother Francis thought briefly. There had already been an exhaustive tour. "I would would like to see the basilica just once again, Messer," he said at last. like to see the basilica just once again, Messer," he said at last.

"Why, of course. But is that all?"

Brother Francis paused again. They had fallen behind the other departing pilgrims. "I would like to confess," he added softly.

"Nothing easier than that," said Aguerra, adding with a chuckle: "You're in the right town, you know. Here, you can get anything absolved that you're worried about. Is it something deadly enough to require the attention of the Pope?"

Francis reddened and shook his head.

"How about the Grand Penitentiary, then? He'll not only absolve you if you're repentant, he'll even hit you over the head with a rod in the bargain."

"I meant-I was asking you, Messer," the monk stammered.

"Me? Why me? I'm n.o.body fancy. Here you are in a whole town full of red hats, and you want to confess to Malfreddo Aguerra." Why me? I'm n.o.body fancy. Here you are in a whole town full of red hats, and you want to confess to Malfreddo Aguerra."

"Because-because you were our Patron's advocate," the monk explained.

"Oh, I see. Why of course I'll hear your confession. But I can't absolve you in the name of your Patron, you know. It'll have to be the Holy Trinity as usual. Will that do?"

Francis had little to confess, but his heart had long been troubled-at the prompting of Dom Arkos-by the fear that his discovery of the shelter might have hindered the case for the Saint. Leibowitz' postulator heard him counseled him, and absolved him in the basilica, then led him around that ancient church. During the ceremony of canonization and the Ma.s.s that followed, Brother Francis had noticed only the majestic splendor of the building. Now the aged monsignor pointed to crumbling masonry, places in need of repair, and the shameful condition of some of the older frescoes. Again he caught a glimpse of a poverty which dignity veiled. The Church was not wealthy in this age.

At last, Francis was free to open the package. The package contained a purse. In the purse were two heklos of gold. He glanced at Malfreddo Aguerra. The monsignor smiled.

"You did did say that the robber say that the robber won won the commemoration from you in a wrestling match, didn't you?" Aguerra asked. the commemoration from you in a wrestling match, didn't you?" Aguerra asked.

"Yes, Messer."

"Well then, even if you were forced into it, you made the choice to wrestle him for it yourself, didn't you? You accepted his challenge?"

The monk nodded.

"Then I don't think you'd be condoning the wrong if you bought it back." He clapped the monk's shoulder and blessed him. Then it was time to go.

The small keeper of the flame of knowledge trudged back toward his abbey on foot. There were days and weeks on the trail, but his heart was singing as he approached the robber's outpost. Do with it what you will, Do with it what you will, Pope Leo had said of the gold. Not only that, the monk had now, in addition to the purse, an answer to the robber's scornful question. He thought of the books in the audience room, waiting there for a reawakening. Pope Leo had said of the gold. Not only that, the monk had now, in addition to the purse, an answer to the robber's scornful question. He thought of the books in the audience room, waiting there for a reawakening.

The robber, however, was not waiting at his outpost as Francis had hoped. There were recent footprints in the trail at that place, but the prints led cross-trail and there was no sign of the robber. The sun filtered through the trees to cover the ground with leafy shadows. The forest was not dense, but it offered shade. He sat down beside the trail to wait.

An owl hooted at midday from the relative darkness in the depths of some distant arroyo. Buzzards circled in a patch of blue beyond the treetops. It seemed peaceful in the forest that day. As he listened sleepily to the sparrows fluttering in nearby brush, he found himself not greatly concerned about whether the robber came today or tomorrow. So long was his journey, that he would not be unhappy to enjoy a day of rest while wailing. He sat watching the buzzards. Occasionally he glanced down the trail that led toward his distant home in the desert. The robber had chosen an excellent location for his lair. From this place, one could observe more than a mile of trail in either direction while remaining un.o.bserved in the thatch of forest.

Something moved on the trail in the distance.

Brother Francis s.h.i.+elded his eyes and studied the distant movement. There was a sunny area down the road where a brush fire had cleared several acres of land around the trail that led southwest. The trail s.h.i.+mmered under a mirror of heat in the sunswept region. He could not see clearly because of the s.h.i.+ny reflections, but there was motion in the midst of the heat. There was a wriggling black iota. At times it seemed to wear a head. At times it was completely obscured in the heat glaze, but nevertheless he could determine that it was gradually approaching. Once, when the edge of a cloud brushed at the sun, the heat s.h.i.+mmer subsided for a few seconds; his tired and myopic eyes determined then that the wriggling iota was really a man, but at too great a distance for recognition. He s.h.i.+vered. Something about the iota was too familiar.

But no, it couldn't possibly be the same.

The monk crossed himself and began telling his rosary beads while his eyes remained intent on the distant thing in the heat s.h.i.+mmer.

While he had been waiting there for the robber, a debate had been in progress, higher on the side of the hill. The debate had been conducted in whispered monosyllables, and had lasted for nearly an hour. Now the debate was ended. Two-Hoods had conceded to One-Hood. Together, the Pope's children stole quietly from behind their brush table and crept down the side of the hill.

They advanced to within ten yards of Francis before a pebble rattled. The monk was murmuring the third Ave of the Fourth Glorious Mystery of the rosary when he happened to look around.

The arrow hit him squarely between the eyes.

"Eat! Eat! Eat!" the Pope's child cried. the Pope's child cried.

On the trail to the southwest the old wanderer sat down on a log and closed his eyes to rest them against the sun. He fanned himself with a tattered basket hat and munched his spice-leaf quid. He had been wandering for a long time. The search seemed endless, but there was always the promise of finding what he sought across the next rise or beyond the bend in the trail. When he had finished fanning himself, he clapped the hat back on his head and scratched at his brushy beard while blinking around at the landscape. There was a patch of unburned forest on the hillside just ahead. It offered welcome shade, but still the wanderer sat there in the sunlight and watched the curious buzzards. They had congregated, and they were swooping rather low over the wooded patch. One bird made bold to descend among the trees, but it quickly flapped into view again, flew under power until it found a rising column of air, then went into gliding ascent. The dark host of scavengers seemed to be expending more than a usual amount of energy at flapping their wings. Usually they soared, conserving strength. Now they thrashed the air above the hillside as if impatient to land.

As long as the buzzards remained interested but reluctant, the wanderer remained the same. There were cougars in these hills. Beyond the peak were things even worse than cougars, and sometimes they prowled afar.

The wanderer waited. Finally the buzzards descended among the trees. The wanderer waited five minutes more. At last he arose and limped ahead toward the forested patch, dividing his weight between his game leg and his staff.

After a while he entered the forested area. The buzzards were busy at the remains of a man. The wanderer chased the birds away with his cudgel and inspected the human remnants. Significant portions were missing. There was an arrow through the skull, protruding at the back of the neck. The old man looked nervously around at the brush. There was no one in sight, but there were plenty of footprints in the vicinity of the trail. It was not safe to stay.

Safe or not, the job had to be done. The old wanderer found a place where the earth was soft enough for digging with hands and stick. While he dug, the angry buzzards circled low over the treetops. Sometimes darting earthward but then flapping their way skyward again. For an hour, then two, they fluttered anxiously over the wooded hillside.