Upon hearing these words from this lovely lady, I fell to my knees and began to gnaw upon the base of her dais bench, my tears of joy blending with my own saliva and pieces of wood, until at last the bishopa commanded several bishops to escort me from that hall and to another great chamber, the Ambassadorial Suite, which I was to have as my own during my stay in Quebec.
Now, the bishopa was very anxious to have the Grief built, but, unlike that swindler Vulpine, she had the arrans to pay for the job in full. As you may imagine, she and I spent many weeks in close consultation, for, while she was awestruck by my original design, there were also certain practical alterations which she felt desirable—for instance, she wished the walls to be heavily armoured, so the building might be protected from attack. Also, she wanted a great worship hall placed at the ground level, and within this hall were to be placed dreadful weapons of war, so sinners might be reminded of God’s terrible wrath. And she asked that the building’s many rooms be sized and equipped in such a manner as to make them suitable as a barracks for myrmidons—for she had nearly six thousand myrmidons at that time and most were housed in and near to the cathedral.
Of course, when I understood her desire to make the Grief into a military as well as a spiritual stronghold, I had many ideas of my own. I modified the plans so the eyes of the statue housed ballistas, and I added subtle machicolations to the ears, and from them could be poured great vats containing Oil of Aenu, which would then flow down the body of the statue-king and along the stone sheets, engulfing and destroying any attackers. The Grief concealed other traps and hidden weapons too, but for various reasons these must remain a secret.
We decided to situate the edifice beside the original cathedral, just to the south, and connected by a road of gold, so the bishopa might easily use both buildings for her religious duties.
These few weeks were a time of remarkable plans then. But they were remarkable in another way too, which I will now explain.
The rigours of my work required that I rose before dawn each morning and made my way downstairs from my chamber, and thence across the cathedral’s central courtyard, which was covered in snow, for it was winter. I then walked to the bishopa’s chambers to show her my work of the previous night. She would examine my plans and changes as she sat in her bed, clothed in her purple nightrobes and night-cloak, and during these early hours we would discuss further changes, and details of the building, and so on, for, as you may imagine, the appointment scroll of a bishopa is a very busy one during the rest of the day.
Well, one morning, as we examined the plans, the bishopa asked me to come closer to explain some minor detail or other. I sat upon the bed to do so, talking for a time, and then suddenly I felt a great silence fall upon us both. For you see, I was suddenly overcome with a feeling of the deepest and most profound love. Slowly I turned and looked into the face of the bishopa, and it was clear she too was overwhelmed by the same strong feeling.
You will understand me when I say both modesty and my great respect for this beautiful woman prevent me from describing the details of the hours that followed. Suffice it only to say that the bishopa sent word her appointments of the day were to be cancelled, and you may be sure this lovely lady proved herself more capable than the finest harlots of Cyprus.
During the following months, our romance continued—at first in secret, as I continued to visit her chambers under the pretence of having further modifications approved, but later openly, for it was the bishopa’s desire that I should dine with her at all her meals and accompany her on many of her trips around the region.
Now, this caused a great commotion in many quarters. In the town, the people said I sought only rank and power through the match, for they said I surely could not be drawn to a woman of the bishopa’s age. This, of course, was nonsense, for I have already spoken of the bishopa’s great beauty.
It is true she had passed a little over eight decades upon the world, while I had passed only three, but when a woman has such spiritual radiance as was possessed by the bishopa, you may be certain that such matters as her age, and the colour of her hair, and the quantity of her teeth seem trivial indeed.
And in any event, few would pass comment if a wealthy man of eighty years—or even ninety—took to himself a mistress who was a half-century his junior. Why, then, should the great and holy love between the bishopa and young Yreth be the cause of such enmity? But cause it was, and there was great unrest in the town, stirred largely by the many monks who lived there, who were bitter and frustrated by their vows of celibacy.
Within the confines of the cathedral, the hatred was of a different kind. All the male bishops detested me with a great passion, for there was not a man among them who would not have gladly taken that lovely bishopa for his own, had the opportunity arisen. And as for the women bishops, I believe it was my attentions they craved, for I was a handsome devil in those days, very tall and strong, with black hair, so when those women saw I had been taken by the bishopa, they hated me out of jealousy. Yet the bishops and the priests dared not insult the bishopa by mocking her age, so instead they selected a different pretext for opposing the affair, speaking many words about the impropriety of a romantic liaison between a member of the clergy and one of her congregation.
However, the bishopa, in her wisdom, very quickly put an end to this debate, for she raised me to the rank of archbishop, which is higher than a bishop, though lower than a cardinal or bishopa. She placed other honours and ranks upon me, too, giving me the post of Bath Protector, and Keeper of the Golden Fig, and Head Whisk, which assured me the pick of the larder for my meals. Each of these posts carried a large stipend, so I was now receiving more than one hundred arrans per month, in addition to my salary for the construction.
Soon, however, problems arose from a new source. The Archbishop of Ulph, who was a senior administrator for the bishopa, came before her, saying:
“Your Excellency, it is perhaps unwise to give to this one man so many positions of high honour. These posts involve little work, save for very occasional inspections of the kitchen and orchard staff, and I fear, to those not familiar with Your Excellency’s wisdom, the appointments might appear an overindulgence of our dear brother Yreth, and this could lead to dissent.”
“Of what dissent do you speak?” asked the bishopa.
“It grieves me to report the lies of others,” said the archbishop, “Yet there are evil rumours spreading to the effect that our beloved Yreth is merely a kept plaything of Your Excellency and contributes nothing to the church yet places a great burden upon its treasury.”
Here he spoke truly—there were indeed such rumours, and it was none other than he who was spreading them, but I said nothing, for it would not have been fitting to enter a crude debate in that holy place.
Still, the bishopa was concerned at the accusations, for, with her gentle and trusting nature, she put much faith in the Archbishop of Ulph. Therefore she asked me to commence construction of the Grief without delay, so all might see the value of my presence in Quebec.
“Your Excellency,” I said, “though it is my one desire to serve your every want, in this case I regret to say I cannot. The climate of the season (it was now midwinter) makes soil hard and difficult to excavate. Also, and more importantly, enchantments placed by cold hands are more liable to be faulty than those placed in warm weather. No, I fear we must wait until the spring before construction can begin.”
On hearing this, I could see the archbishop was pleased, though he feigned concern, while my dear bishopa was distressed.
“I shall accede to your expertise in these matters,” she said. “Tell me though, Archbishop Yreth, are there any other skills you possess with which you might usefully and visibly employ yourself in the months before the thaw?”
“Your Worship, I have many skills,” I said, and here we exchanged smiles, and a minute pursing and licking of the lips, though in a subtle way, so
it might not be detected by those others present. “As well as being a stonemage without equal, I am an accomplished painter and a passable cook. In addition, I have experience as a commander of myrmidons.”
“Ah!” she said. “In that capacity I can well use you. I hereby make you Commander of the Northern Guard, and with the post you shall receive a further sixty arrans per month.”
Ha! So, the Archbishop of Ulph, who had tried to deprive me of my posts, merely succeeded in winning for me another post, a still greater salary, and a great increase in my powers, for now I had myrmidons in my command.
Let me tell you something of the Northern Guard. The body numbered eight hundred and thirty myrmidons and ninety-three slaves. These latter, while they were called merely “slaves” were equal to all the tasks of a head slave, and would have gone by this description in the east. In ancient times, the Northern Guard patrolled the lands far to the north of Quebec, providing the first line of defence against the Eager Tribes who once ranged the area.
Of course, at the time of which I speak, the Eager Tribes were long dead and buried, and the main function of the Northern Guard was now to seek out spies and heretics and enemies of the church. I undertook this mission with great zeal, reading many books on the methods whereby spies and heretics and enemies of the church might be discovered. If you read on, you will learn my method, which I devised by taking those elements of the other methods I had studied which seemed to me the most prudent, and combining them with my own insights into the nature of the human animal.
When my studies were complete, I gathered together sixty myrmidons and went marching into Quebec, following the Cathedral Road, past the foul-smelling fields used by the leather workers, and through the market, which is in the centre of the town, close to the abbey. I ordered the myrmidons to march slowly, making a great stamping sound, so all might be aware of our approach.
When we were into the market, I bade the myrmidons stop, then narrowed my eyes and fixed my gaze upon various people, observing their reaction to my observation. There was one man, a fishmonger, who looked nervously about and refused to meet my gaze, whereupon I pointed at him, and upon this signal several myrmidons ran at the fellow. He took to his heels, his attempted escape merely assuring me my suspicions of his guilt were correct. Of course, my myrmidons were very much swifter than he, and they soon overtook him and brought him back to me as a prisoner.
We marched on for a short way, along a narrow street, where many people sat outside their houses, wrapped in warm furs, and playing dice in the snow. Here we stopped, and once again I narrowed my eyes and examined every face. Two people, a young woman and a boy with spotted skin, seemed to me the most suspicious, so once more I sent the myrmidons after them, and they took flight. The woman ran here and there, screaming, and was quickly caught. The boy, though, was much faster, and might have escaped if, by God’s grace, he had not slipped on the ice and broken one of his legs. So, in short order, the guilty pair were my prisoners.
Travelling on, we arrived at the harbour. I fixed many people with my gaze here, but none showed guilt. Yet two of these people were monks, and suddenly my powers of reason raised a suspicion where my intuition had shown none, for why should two monks have come to the harbour? Should they not be in the abbey, praying? Or in the market, buying goods or begging? It was very dubious, so I sent the myrmidons to seize the monks, and the men did not even bother to run—for doubtless they realized the futility of denying their guilt—and were brought back to me. After this, I returned, with my prisoners, to the cathedral.
Now, when I recount this story, I am often asked whether the behaviour of these people might not have arisen purely out of a fear of wrongful arrest. Well, it is true I quickly became widely feared in Quebec—although I was respected too, for my former critics soon saw I was no caged bird, but a hard-working man of honour, and one to be reckoned with. However, it is not fear that identifies an enemy of the church, but another, less tangible property. Therefore, while many of the townspeople I encountered would indeed show great fear, and might quickly make themselves scarce, or hide their heads when I was near, this was no proof of guilt, just as a lack of fear was no proof of innocence. Rather, I looked for a certain, subtle difference between the behaviour of a guilty person and an innocent, which one may recognize with the passage of time, and which is impossible to describe, but equally impossible to mistake.
And if you doubt the accuracy of my methods, hear what we discovered when we interrogated the prisoners upon the wire.
The old fishmonger confessed he hated God and all His works, and had plotted to overthrow the church, and had conspired with others to kill the bishopa and myself and many other good and charitable people. Also he confessed to consorting with demons and goblins. Here he lied, for educated persons know that goblins are mythical, but he clung to his story despite my protests, and so, in lying he committed perjury, which is another very grave offence.
The woman confessed she hated God and all His works, and had plotted to overthrow the church, and had seduced virtuous men, and virtuous women too, and had conspired to create war, and had placed noxious fluids from diseased animals into wells, and had, on many occasions, eaten human flesh.
The boy confessed he hated God and all His works, and had plotted to overthrow the church, and had committed many sins so terrible he did not know the names for them and was incapable of describing them with a mortal tongue. Also he confessed to the sin of stupidity, and to the sin of sloth.
The first monk confessed he hated God and all His works, and had plotted to overthrow the church, and had plotted to burn the abbey and the cathedral, and then to set ablaze the whole town, intending to dance naked amidst the flames, while eating human flesh. I interrogated him no further, for it was clear he was not only dangerous but also completely insane.
The second monk was very stubborn and initially confessed only to desiring bony old women. This, I knew, was a vicious insult directed at me and my love of the bishopa, yet I did not let my anger affect my duties as interrogator. Therefore I proceeded slowly and patiently, returning to him every day, until at last, after ten days upon the wire, he confessed he hated many of God’s works, and planned, if he escaped, to overthrow the church and to kill certain archbishops. This was all I needed to hear, and you may rest assured the fellow did not survive to achieve his fearsome ambition.
Now, these five were merely my prisoners from one afternoon of searching. During the following months, I would go into the town every day or two. I always returned with prisoners, and, upon interrogation, there was not one of these who had been falsely arrested. Indeed, so proficient was I at seeking out the enemies of the church that I became popularly known as the Bloody Archbishop, and Yreth the Bloody, because those who watched my infallible instinct at work thought it was Christ’s own blood that flowed within my veins, giving me my perception and my wisdom.
There were others interrogators too, mostly bishops, who sought out enemies of the church, but I did not care to associate with them or to watch them at work, for they were bloodthirsty and cruel, using blades and coals—and worse—to torture their prisoners. One of them said to me once, “You are too slow about your interrogations, and the wires are always taken up by your prisoners, leaving little room for ours.”
I said, “I take exactly the time required for each interrogation. I do not accept the first words from the lips of the prisoner, but rather I continue until I hear confessions which are the truth.”
Then this fellow said to me, “What does it matter whether the confession is true, as long as a confession comes?”
“A false confession taken to be true,” I replied, “could lead to the death of an innocent, and it our duty to persecute the guilty for the sake of the innocent. As I interrogate my prisoners, I do so with the constant hope in my heart that my first suspicions might have been mistaken and they might prove innocent after all.”
&n
bsp; “You deceive yourself,” he said. “Once a person is upon the wire, he will confess to anything, true or not, and he will keep confessing until he is believed.” And then he laughed a vile laugh.
Although I turned my back on him and left, still his words disturbed me greatly, for I could not carry out my duties in good conscience if I thought I was making the innocent suffer. Therefore, I decided to test the properties of the wire, to see if it would make an innocent man admit to crimes he did not commit; and, two days afterwards, I ordered the strong priests who assisted me with my interrogations to place me upon the wire. This command horrified them, and at first they refused to do it, but I was adamant, ordering them a second time, and also explaining my reasons for the request. Astonished by my great virtue, they obeyed.
The procedure by which a person is placed upon the wire is painful. My robes were removed, and the tip of the wire, which is very sharp, was inserted into the skin of my left arm, just above the wrist. It was then pushed along a few inches under the skin, then back out to the surface. A few inches further along the arm, the wire was pushed under the skin once more, proceeding, above and below, like a thread through cloth. The wire went across the left arm, then across the shoulders and the back, across the right arm, and finally emerged at my right wrist. At this point, it was pulled tight, so several feet of wire extended beyond each arm.
When this was done, I had the priests suspend the wire across the beams, so I was hanging like a prisoner, with my feet dangling above the ground and my arms outstretched. I ordered them to interrogate me, as they had seen me do to others. First they asked me whether I hated God and all His works. I answered that I did not. Then they asked me again, but I remained firm. Then they asked me whether I had plotted to overthrow the church.
“Yes,” I said. “I have done so on many occasions.”
The Ultimate Stonemage: A Modest Autobiography Page 7
