The Veil Of Years - Isle Beyond Time Part 4

"Lovi? That is Louis in our local patois. Is he perhaps related to the Frankish kings?"

"You mean the descendants of Chlodowechus, called Clovis? I doubt it." "As do I. But isn't it strange how such an odd and savage name, Chlodowechus, that sounds like someone choking, can be trans.m.u.ted by time and Christian influence into the mellifluous 'Lovi' or 'Louis?'

At that moment Pierrette, though she had no wine to choke on, made a sound that sounded very much like "Chlodowechus." The bishop then noticed her presence. "Here, boy. I've forgotten you. Have some wine. Are you ill?"

"I'm sorry,Episkopos Arria.n.u.s," ibn Saul interjected. "This is Piers, who is, though young, a scholar in his own right, who has read many ancient works not only in Latin, but in Greek and Hebrew, and in the dead tongue of the Phoenicians as well. I am thinking he choked not on an absence of wine, but on something you may have said. Piers? Is that so?"

Pierrette nodded. "When you spoke of the trans.m.u.tation of 'Chlodowechus' to 'Clovis' to 'Louis,' and attributed the improvement in the sound of it to the blessing of the Church, I was reminded of my own observations of how Christianity has claimed much else that was pagan, and made it its own. I was further reminded of Saint Augustine's own advice, in that regard, and that of the Holy Father Gregorius, whose ideas paralleled his."

The bishop was wholly captivated now-and Pierrette had shaped her words just so that her own pagan estate would not likely come up. She had never lied outright even to devout Christians, and did not want to. "Yes?" said Bishop Arria.n.u.s, leaning forward until his prominent nose almost rested on the gleaming rim of his goblet.

"It is not enough to say that Christianity mellows what was once pagan," Pierrette said. "It is closer to truth to say that the very realities of the pagan world have been reshaped by it. Christian influence reaches not only forward into lands where no vagrant priest has trod, and into a future no one has visited-it reaches back through time itself, and changes pagan G.o.ds into Christian saints."

"How can that be? You speak rhetorically, of course-nothing can change the past. What has been written cannot be erased."

"Is that so? When Pope Gregory suggested that the wood from holy pagan oaks be hewn and split, and Christian shrines built where they stood, and when pagan folks had no choice but to come and wors.h.i.+p before a cross made from that once-holy tree, didn't Gaulish Esus, the carpenter-G.o.d, become Jesus, still a carpenter, still a G.o.d?"

"But no! You tread on fearsome ground, boy! There is no connection between the one Jesus and the other!" The p.r.o.nunciation of the two names was so very similar-"Ay-soos" and "Hay-soos," that the bishop had missed Pierrette's slight aspiration of the one name and not the other. "I have never even heard of a Gaulish 'Jesus.' "

"That is exactly my point," Pierrette said firmly. She leaned back and took a leisurely sip of wine. "You must accept my a.s.surance that the Celtic 'Esus' once existed-at least in the minds of his wors.h.i.+ppers-because the texts in which his name is written are not here, and I cannot show them to you. Accept that, and the rest becomes evident: Esus once was, but is no longer. Jesus once was not, but now is. The very past in which pagan Esus existed is no longer: now the roots of the Christian tree are deeper in the heart of this land than were those of the pagans, and Esus, in truth, never was."

"You play with the meanings of words!" Arria.n.u.s spat. "You flirt with terrible heresy!" "Where is the heresy? I have said that-in this world we live in-there is and was only one Jesus, ever."

"But you just said there was once another . . ."

"The very fact of his existence has been erased, not just memory of him. He does not exist, and because of the strength of the Church, he never did. And he is not the only one! Shall I name other names?"

"I am afraid to ask them."

Pierrette's dark eyes held the bishop's with their intensity. "In the north, in Armorica, Britannia, and Hibernia, there was once a G.o.ddess whose name has changed just as Chlodowechus's has. She was the Mother G.o.ddess, whose flesh was the soil itself, whose bones were the rocks beneath it, and whose flowing b.r.e.a.s.t.s were the sacred pools and springs that well hot and cold from dark, buried places. Do you know her name?"

The cleric could not look away. He wanted to. He wanted to flee from this terrible boy who knew of such things-but he was in his own house, that shared a common wall with his church, which was consecrated ground. He could not flee.

"Her name was Brigantu. That was the name of a tribe as well, a warlike tribe whose name comes down to us as 'brigand.' Today the G.o.ddess does not exist-but my friend Ferdiad, an Irish singer and teller of tales, whose people have been Christian for many centuries, says that Saint Bridget is the patron saint of his land-and has always been so. . . . If you need still another name, to be convinced, there is Mary Magdalen, patron saint of this land . . ."

"Stop! Please! No more! Magister ibn Saul, who is this frightening child you have brought here? I am afraid for my very soul, here in my own home."

"Then you should be grateful. When we fear for our souls or our mortal bodies, we consider our actions carefully. And I have listened to what Piers has said. As I understand it, he claims that the strength of the Church is such that when a pagan deity falls before it, there can be no true apostasy. As a priest of G.o.d you should rejoice."

"No apostasy? But there is. Everywhere, in the villages, in the countryside, folk fall into error so easily, and throw offerings into pools and springs, or holes in the ground."

"Notrue apostasy, I said-for if the deities they importune do not exist, and indeed never did exist-then where do their prayers go? Who is there to hear them, but the One G.o.d?"

Bishop Arria.n.u.s nodded grudging agreement, then turned the conversation in a direction more immediately useful to the scholar-the state of the countryside of the Rhoda.n.u.s Valley, and the portage road to the headwaters of the Liger. The bishop gave them names of churchmen they could call on for hospitality on their way, and promised to have a packet of letters, in the morning, for them to deliver for him. Still uneasy with the boy Piers's revelations, he was quite obviously happy to have an excuse, the letters, to bid them farewell.

"Shall we sleep on the boat?" ibn Saul asked, wrinkling his great nose as they descended into the darkness of the erstwhile amphitheater. "I can't imagine any inn here that would smell better than the garbage in the ca.n.a.l." With several hours of daylight left, ibn Saul arranged for the galley to be towed to the river itself-the ca.n.a.l ended at Arelate-and they spent the night moored offsh.o.r.e, free from the stinks of the town and the risk of sneak thieves in the night.

"Isn't the next town Tarascon?" asked Pierrette when they were under way in the early hours, with the bishop's letters and the hedge-priest Father Gregorius aboard. Ibn Saul nodded.

Then Father Gregorius spoke (he had until then been sullenly resentful about his premature ejection from the comforts of the bishop's house, and about ibn Saul's jovial refusal to part with the letter of recommendation at their very first port of call). "Of course we will be stopping there, won't we?" he asked.

"I hadn't planned to," said the scholar. "According to the galleymaster's calculation, it may be less than a full day's row, against this sluggish current. We may be well beyond Tarascon by nightfall. Why?"

"Tarascon is a very holy place," said the priest, avoiding the scholar's eye. His gaze slid away upstream like a slippery fish. "Saint Martha lived there, and slayed a ferocious river monster, a great beast called a 'Tarasque.' "

Pierrette laughed out loud, and Gregorius turned angry eyes upon her. "You don't believe it?"

"Of course I do," she replied. "I know better than anyone that the stories of the saints here in Provence are true. I myself saw them where they came ash.o.r.e, in the little town that grew up on that spot. I have been in the church there, built over the graves of Mary Salome and Mary Jacoba, sisters of the mother of Jesus. I was only laughing because Magister ibn Saul, the bishop Arria.n.u.s, and I, had quite a discussion of names and tales, and how they change."

"You are mocking me," said Gregorius. "The saints came many hundreds of years ago, and you are still a boy."

"I don't mean that I wasthere then," Pierrette replied, "or not exactly. Indeed I saw the Saints-all eight of them: Mary Magdalen, her sister Martha, their brother Lazarus, Cedonius who was blind and was healed by Jesus, Saint Maximinus, Sainte Sarah, whom some say was the elder Marys' Egyptian servant-but I saw them in a vision granted me by a very holy old woman. And another time, I spoke with one of the two old sisters, and with Sarah, in their cottage on the very spot where the church stands today."

"Oh," said Gregorius flatly. "Visions."

"You don't believe in visions, Father? Then what of burning bushes, and blinding lights on the road to Damascus, and . . ."

"I didn't say that!" Only now did he realize what a formidable opponent the slender boy in the conical leather hat could be. Did he perhaps fear that he might be unmasked as a fraud? But no rule stated that a vagabond priest had to be educated, though many, the bishop might have said, were far too erudite for their own-and the Church's-good.

"Tell us why you laughed," said ibn Saul. "What about Tarascon, or river monsters, bears on our own conversation with the bishop?" "To answer that, I must tell not one, but three tales, and it is almost noon. Let us eat, and then nap through the heat of the day, and I'll tell the first of them tonight, around the evening fire, when we have moored the galley.

Pierrette napped, as did ibn Saul, but Gregorius did not, nor Lovi. The priest recited poetry in fine, cla.s.sical Latin, and the apprentice was obviously enraptured. From what Pierrette heard, they were not stolid Christian verse, but romantic tales of faraway places, of adventures, treasure-seekers, and seventh sons. Were they the same tales with which he had captivated the bishop's clerks and scribes?

As luck and River Rhoda.n.u.s's currents would have it, they had not reached Tarascon by the time the sun dropped below the trees on the river's west bank. They drew up along a sandy spit downstream of a summer island-so called because it did not exist in winter or spring, when the water was high. Though no trees grew on it, several dead ones had snagged on its upstream end, and there was plenty of wood for a cheerful fire, where crew and pa.s.sengers alike settled when their stomachs were full.

Chapter 7 - The Pagan Tale.

"This is how it was in the most ancient time," said Pierrette. "The people called Gauls or Celts came out of the east riding war chariots, wearing arms made of iron, which was a new metal then, and was cheap, if one knew the secret of drawing it from red, yellow, and black rocks, which were everywhere. Because it was cheap, every man was well armed, and was a warrior, so Gaulish iron overwhelmed bronze, and took this land from the small, dark Ligures who had cherished it from the very beginning. That is why, to this very day, some old granny-women who dabble in herbs and potions will not touch cold iron.

"The Gauls' main G.o.ds were Taranis, who was the sky, Teutatis, father of theteuta , the tribe, who was a war G.o.d, black as iron, red as blood, and lastly Danu, the river. Danu was really G.o.ddess of another river, far away, but wherever Gauls conquered, they brought her, and gave every great river her name.

That is why so many great streams bear it, as does this one: Rhodo-danu, the 'rosy river,' perhaps so called for the red salt pans that are her painted mouth.

"But the Gauls did not conquer the Ligures easily. The small folk resisted, and killed them when they ventured from the high ground and open-sky places, and the G.o.ds of the land fought them also.Ma , whose belly was the soil, whose bones were the rocks, whose b.r.e.a.s.t.s were springs and holy pools, whose veins were rivers and streams, did not accept the usurper-G.o.ddess Danu, and she kept many dark ones safe in her swamps and low places.

"The Gauls called upon Taranis, whose legs were snakes, and upon Danu, herself winding across the land like a serpent. Danu promised to mate with Taranis if he rid her of the flukes and worms-the humans-that infested her. So Taranis lay with her, and in time she gave birth to a beast with a serpent's body, but with legs to stride on land, with a great maw filled with teeth sharp as lightning bolts, and as bright. The beast's name was Taran-asco, which meant 'in Taranis' stead,' and it went where the Gauls feared to go, into the swamps and low places, where it lived upon the bodies of the small folk. "Only iron could harm it, and the dark people had no iron, only bronze, and little of that. They had nowhere further to flee, so many of them died. When Taran-asco came upon a village, it consumed young and old, women and babes, and this was an abomination even to the Gauls, especially Teutatis, who was of honest blood that tasted of iron.

"Nor did Taran-asco limit his hunger to the little people. When he found Gauls on the river in wooden boats, he consumed them as well, and when women with bright gold hair came down to the river to wash clothing upon the stones, he ate them also, and no people were happy in the land.

"But one old woman of the original people remembered howMa had ruled the land kindly, and had given freely of her flesh, her blood, and her milk, and that woman wondered what had happened to her. On a night with no moon, she sent her youngest daughter up the rocky riverbank near the present church, where there was a cave, and inside it a spring sacred toMa . As she approached the cave, a Gaul woman, herself virginal, little more than a child, espied her, but gave no alarm. Instead, both girls descended together into the earth.

"What transpired there is not remembered, but that next morning the G.o.ddessMa emerged from her cave, and went down to the river. She waded in until the waters swirled about her knees, and created a great disturbance. The monster Taran-asco came to see what food had come his way, and saw her there.

"What a great battle ensued! Oh, what splas.h.i.+ng, what roiling of mud. Riverbank reeds soon festooned the highest trees, and river water fell like rain many miles away. Great willows were uprooted and flung aside. Taranis looked down, but saw nothing through all the water, mud, reeds, and trees. Teutatis also watched and wondered, but dared not come near. Danu screamed in agony as the battle rended her. She writhed in her bed of silt and rocks, and begged relief. ThenMa emerged from the water, clutching Taran-asco in her arms of stone and soil, and all the G.o.ds saw her.

" 'What shall I do with this beast that consumes yours and mine alike?' she asked them.

" 'Kill it!' pleaded Danu, 'for it has rended me.'

" 'Kill it!' demanded Teutatis, 'for it has eaten of my flesh.'

"Only Taranis did not speak, because it was his offspring, and had not harmed him, though it had created discord among his peers. SoMa knew she should not kill it.

" 'I will take it with me,' she said to Taranis. 'Once each year, send me one virgin of Gaulish blood and one of Ligure, and they will bring it forth for you.'

"To Teutatis, she said, 'My folk and yours lie beneath my mantle now, and in death are at peace with one another. Let it be so also in life.' Teutatis nodded, and it was so.

"To Danu, she said, 'You sleep in my bed, and it disturbs me not. Let it remain so.' Then she departed, and was seen no more above the earth and beneath the sky.

"She sent the two maidens forth, and in good time each gave birth to a child. The golden-haired Gaul's son was dark as a Ligure, but tall, and the Ligure girl's daughter was small and delicate, but golden and pale-and so it has been ever since, that the people of the land are one, dark and light, earth and sky, and it is no surprise when dark parents create a golden child, or yellow-haired people a dark one.

"For many generations thereafter, young women went beneath the earth and brought forth the beastTaran-asco for his father Taranis to see, and people remembered what had transpired, and gave every G.o.d its due."

Pierrette sighed, and then was silent, and so were the others. There was only the crackling of the fire, the lap of the waters, and the distant soughing of a breeze in the trees on the far sh.o.r.e.

Then Gregorius spoke. "That is a pagan tale, unfit for Christian ears." Several low voices murmured, though whether in agreement or protest was unclear, for even in Provence, long a Christian land, the old roots burrowed deep, and spread wide, and Pierrette had not been exactly truthful with the bishop, because much of what she had told him was her own fear of what was happening, and the final changes had not yet occurred.

The tale had taken time to tell, and though young Piers had promised them three stories, everyone knew the rest would have to wait, because they had heard the hoa.r.s.eness in her voice. They could see that the fat moon was already high overhead, and was purest silver, and they knew that dawn would not come at a later hour just because they had not gotten a full measure of sleep.

Chapter 8 - A Christian.

Tale As chance would have it, Tarascon lay just around a long bend in the river from their island camp, and they pa.s.sed below its low, unimpressive walls close to the west bank, rowing briskly. Pierrette kept an eye on the vagrant priest Gregorius the while, observing the wistful look on his face, the way his eyes seemed to measure the wide brown expanse of river between him and the town, and the tiny shake of his head when he at last decided he had no hope of jumping from the galley rail and wading ash.o.r.e.

"We must keep an eye on him," she told ibn Saul later. "Letter or no letter, I think he'll debark at the first stop where he thinks there may be a welcome for him."

Ibn Saul agreed. "I'll have the galleymaster keep to the west bank-for some reason, most towns and villages are on the east, along this stretch."

"The west has always been less tame-and was never rebuilt after the Saracen conquests. A vagrant priest will find no hospitable, comfortable abbey refuge there."

That day Lovi again stretched out on the warm deck, s.h.i.+rtless, and Pierrette again admired his lithe, golden form. Strangely (she only noticed it because she kept a wary eye on the priest most of the time) Gregorius also seemed entranced by the sight, and during the hour Lovi lay in the sun, his eyes did not stray once, longingly, to the tree-shrouded east bank.

They made good time, and camped late, and there was no opportunity for Pierrette to tell a second tale.

Next day they pa.s.sed the mouth of the Druentia River, and knew that Avennio was just ahead. It was themost important town on the river save Lugdunum itself, which lay many days north. Because, like Nemausus further to the west, the city had willingly joined with the Saracens-who, though not Christian, were at least civilized-against the Franks, the Frankish ruler Charles the Hammer had allowed Avennio to be most cruelly sacked. Its key position at the confluence of two great rivers had aided its recovery but, like Arelate, it was said to be a shadow of its former self.

Much to Gregorius's disappointment, just as the city's walls came into view on the right, the galley slipped behind an island into the left, or western, channel. Lovi, who had been spending much time with the priest, put a sympathetic hand on his knee. "Perhaps at Lugdunum, near where we must leave this galley and proceed overland, you will have your chance," he said. The stories Gregorius had told the Frankish boy of his life among the Nors.e.m.e.n were not much like those he had told to entertain Bishop Arria.n.u.s and his household. In truth, he had been a slave, treated cruelly, and had not converted one Norseman to the Christian faith. Lovi completely sympathized with his need to escape, to avoid being taken back into a land they controlled. Lovi alone had seen the scars on Gregorius's neck and shoulders, from the iron collar the Vikings had put on him. They were usually hidden beneath his clerical robes.

Gregorius put his own hands over Lovi's. "Without your sympathy, I should go mad," he murmured.

"You are my one bright candle on this dark voyage."

That night, when the galley's complement settled by a cheery fire, and Pierrette prepared to tell her second tale, the two of them sat at some distance from the fire, and warded off the damp chill by huddling together under the priest's warmsagus, his woolen greatcloak.

"This is the story of Saint Martha," said Pierrette, "who came ash.o.r.e with Magdalen, Lazarus, and the elder Marys, having been put to sea by the Jews of Palestine in a s.h.i.+p without oars or sail.

"When the Saints parted, there by the sea, Jesus' elder aunties remained, too old for the hards.h.i.+ps of the road. Their servant Sarah, whom some say was Egyptian, remained with them. Magdalen went to Lugdunum, where she converted many in that city to the new religion, which as yet had no name. Lazarus becameepiskopos , overseer, to the believers in Ma.s.salia, and survived the purges of the emperor Nero, but was beheaded during the persecutions of Domitian. Maximinus went to Aquae s.e.xtiae, and some say Cedonius accompanied him.

"When the sisters Magdalen and Martha neared Tarascon, they heard of a river-monster, atarasque, which overturned every boat that tried to pa.s.s the town. 'Wait here,' said Martha, ever the practical one.

'I'll take the sh.o.r.e road ahead, and make sure it is safe for you.'

"She arrived at nightfall outside the gates of Tarascon, and the watchman bade her hurry inside, because the night belonged to the monster. 'The night, like the day, belongs only to G.o.d,' said Martha, 'just as do all creatures that walk, crawl, or fly beneath the sun and moon.'

" 'Which G.o.d is that?' asked the townsfolk. 'We have prayed to all of them-to Roman Jupiter-Deus Pater, the Father-and to Gaulish Belisama, the Mother, and still thetarasque consumes us at will. If your G.o.d is able to help us, we will build him a temple greater than any others in the city.'

" 'My G.o.d is the only G.o.d,' said Martha, and at that moment understood why she had been driven here, by contrary winds, in a boat without oar or sail. 'He can tame thetarasque, just as he made a lion lie down with a lamb without consuming it. But because he is the only G.o.d, you must tear down all other temples, and build from their stones and timbers a single church, consecrated to him alone. "Themaior of Tarascon and his counselors agree that if Martha brought thetarasque to the town gate with a chain about its neck, they would do as she bade them, and would henceforth wors.h.i.+p only her G.o.d and his Son, and his Spirit-which appealed to their Gaulish natures, for which all things came in threes.

"Saint Martha asked for an axe, and a woodsman to wield it for her. She asked for a smith with a small forge, an anvil, and tongs and hammer as well. Themaior sent both men forth, though they were reluctant, because they were very afraid.

"Nearby was a great oak tree which had so many nails in its trunk that the bark was entirely hidden. It was a tradition that every carpenter who pa.s.sed that tree, sacred to Esus, their patron G.o.d, should sacrifice a nail to him, or themselves be hanged from the tree. She ordered the woodsman to cut down the great oak, and to split from its trunk two beams, and to fas.h.i.+on from them a cross. Because the town gate was shut, and because it was night, and the woodsman was more afraid of thetarasque than of Esus, he obeyed. When that task was done, Martha allowed him to scurry back to the gate, and to safety.

"She commanded the smith to gather all the nails that had fallen from the tree, and to pull those that remained in the wood, and to forge from them a great iron collar and a length of chain. That he did, and quickly, so that he also might be allowed to return to the safety of the town walls.

"Martha stayed outside, and picked up the cross and the chain. She carried them down to the river, and there began to sing. Far out in the dark water, something heard her singing, and it came to investigate. It was thetarasque . It came, but it did not slay her. Her song captivated it, because she sang of how all things on earth, beneath it, and in its waters, were G.o.d's creatures: eventarasques .

"The creature (for she had convinced it that it was so, a creation of G.o.d) allowed her to place the collar about its neck, and permitted her to lead it to the gate of the town. When the townsfolk looked down from their wall, they saw the wooden cross, and beneath it thetarasque, enchained, and the saint standing with her hand on the beast's head.

"They opened the gate, although it was night, and the people came forth, and danced around the long, scaly beast. When dawn's first glow appeared in the east, they picked up the chain, and led the monster through all the streets, even the narrowest ones, and Saint Martha went with them, carrying the wooden cross, thus consecrating all the streets and alleys to G.o.d, to Jesus Christ, and to the Holy Spirit.

"Then Martha went back down the river to where her sister awaited her, and sent Magdalen on her way, to her own mission in Lugdunum, and her own fate. Martha stayed in Tarascon, and oversaw the destruction of all the pagan temples and shrines, and the building of G.o.d's church. Perhaps she stayed on there, or perhaps when she had taught the folk all she knew of G.o.d and Jesus, she went on, for there are other stories, in other towns."

Pierrette sighed and stretched, because it had been a long tale. The fire had died to embers, because no one had wanted to disturb her while she spoke. Then everyone rose, one by one, and made their beds for the night. Only two remained where they were, already far from the fire, already wrapped in a single cloak as if they had slept through her telling . . .