Читать книгу John the Pupil - David Flusfeder, David Flusfeder - Страница 15

It is said that, From a clear spring, clear waters flow. A man is estimated by the company he keeps. Brothers Andrew, Bernard and I stood outside the friary. Master Roger kept reiterating the details of my mission. You will tell the Pope this, and this, and you will demonstrate the device to him, and you will insist upon the need for a more satisfactory translation of the Bible.

The details of my mission are written on my memory. I had no need to be instructed in any of them.

And you will take this bag for the gathering of treasures. And here is parchment for you to write on. If you find the opportunity, send communication to me. And you remember the details of your itinerary?

I remember.

Our Great Work is in this box. Do not dare open it.

The bag for treasure is a heavy cloth one, the sort the villagers use to gather the harvest of apples. The box is made of wood and stained a dark red colour like blood. A single green stone is set into its lid and green wax seals it shut.

Do not open it. Promise me you will not open it.

I will not open it.

And you will carry this also.

He gave me this final load without care, wrapped in linen and tied with twine.

You will open this only when you have given up all hope. You understand me?

The extra packet is heavy at the bottom of the sack I carry, further cloth around it with my bowl and spoon and knife and parchment and styluses wrapped inside. The device I am to demonstrate to the Pope and the box containing the Great Work are in Brother Bernard’s sack.

I implore divine mercy that He Who is the One, the beginning and the ending, Alpha and Omega, might join a good end to a good beginning by a safe middle, my Master said.

Brother Bernard is eternally phlegmatic. He stood there, ox-like, bearing the burden of our load. Brother Andrew looked as anxious as I must have done. He shivered, his eyes closing and opening and closing against the sunshine. Suddenly, the prospect of a journey was a matter of trepidation. I had never been outside the village and the friary, except on the wings of Master Roger’s knowledge, and during my imaginary journeys. The friars gathered at the gate, Master Roger wiped away something that was occluding his eyes, and the Principal gave the blessing of the Sarum Missal.

The almighty and everlasting God, Who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, dispose your journey according to His good will; send his angel Raphael to keep you in this your pilgrimage, and both lead you in peace on your way to the place where you would be, and bring you back again on your return to us in safety.

And so our journey began. We walked past the village on the way to the river. I fancied I saw my father in a field beating a goat.