“That’s marvelous, Nadira. Thank you.”
“Monsieur?”
“Don’t trouble yourself with this, Nadira.”
“Monsieur, if I may ask?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know the fate of my companions?” It was time for Conti to pay the piper for his song.
Conti took his seat again. “I was led to believe they were your kidnappers, not your companions. Father Bertram says that you were stolen from a spice merchant in Barcelona.”
Nadira did not wonder how Father Bertram had come by that information. She reached for her beer mug to give herself time to think about this. He was right; they were her kidnappers. The mug was empty. Conti reached over to refill it for her. She took a long pull. She felt a hand on her head.
“They did you no harm, then?” Conti asked gently, as if he cared.
Nadira shook her head, “No, they were very kind to me.”
“I suppose they were. You are quite a jewel, Nadira. The mind is not easy to control once one has learned to read.” He looked thoughtful. “Were they all illiterate?”
“I believe so, monsieur.”
“Well, then. You probably fascinate them. Many simple men believe that just the ability to make sense of letters and words is magic.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Though I must say that Lord Montrose and his men are not simpletons. It is true, for I have noticed this fascination among other men. My master would bring me out some evenings when he was entertaining guests and have me read. I knew he was showing off. I would read poetry to the sound of the lyre. I saw how they looked at me.”
Conti sat back in surprise. “How did they look at you?” he asked.
“Oh, with great admiration. Many of the sea captains must have been very impressed with Homer and Ovid. I imagine they desired the ability to read these great poets themselves.” Nadira tightened her lips. “Some asked me to read to them later in their chambers, but master forbid that.”
Conti chuckled.
“My lord.” He held up a hand to stop her words, but she insisted. “My lord,” she repeated with emphasis, “I am your servant. What is it you desire?” She lowered her eyes so he could not see how he had disturbed her. He had said he would not bed her, yet he was not too old for lechery. She clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap
“Nadira, you are safe here. I told you I have no designs on your person, and I speak the truth. I will call for you tomorrow to read more for me. I have some other interesting scrolls I have not been able to decipher. Please allow my servants to show you to your chamber for this evening.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NADIRA found her breakfast by her bed. She had been put in a very comfortable chamber on the second floor. She awoke late in the morning, not eager to come out of the soft bed. No one had called for her, no one had demanded she bring breakfast or clean clothing. She sat up and rested back against the thick pillows behind her. This was the first time in her life she lay in a real bed, alone and not shared with others. The room, though small, was opulent with embroidered wall hangings, thick rugs on the floor, and generous bedding. Nadira slid down between the sheets, feeling the substantial padding of the feather mattress beneath her and the bulky coverlets above her. The delicious feeling spread along her tired muscles and her aching back. She stretched full length, not able to touch the footboards. The food beside her convinced her to sit up and eat. Her breakfast was nearly gone when there was a tap at her door.
“Come in.”
A timid head in a stiff white wimple peeked around the door. “I have come to help you dress, Milady.” The girl pushed the door shut behind her with her hip. Her arms were piled with fabric.
“What?”
“Yes, milady. Please choose a gown for today.”
“Please, I am not a lady. Are you certain you are in the right room?” This response elicited squealing laughter from the girl. She covered her mouth before she spoke.
“My lady,” she giggled, “you are the only lady here in the keep. The master was quite firm. He said, ‘Take these to my lady and let her choose.’ Here I am. What would you like? I have red, brown, white, and this lovely green one.”
Nadira considered. “Still, I am no lady. Please call me Nadira. What’s your name?” she asked.
The girl blushed. “I’m Maria, miss.”
“Maria, you say I’m the only woman here?”
“Oh yes, miss.” Maria set the pile of clothing down gently on the bed.
“Where am I?”
“Why, this is Andorra.”
“Monsieur is the lord of Andorra?” Nadira reached for the pile of clothing, pulled the brown dress out.
“No, miss, you don’t want the brown.” Maria dug in the pile. “You want the white or the green, miss. My master is the guest of the prince of Andorra. He has been here for many years now.”
Nadira pulled the green out slowly, feeling the luxurious fabric. Could it be silk? She felt the hem -squirrel or fox?
“I’m glad you like the green, miss. I wanted you to choose that one.”
Nadira looked up. “Where did these gowns come from?”
“Oh,” Maria’s face fell, “My lord’s lady, miss. Long dead. A fever. Long ago.”
“How long?” Nadira wondered aloud, plucking nervously at the silk.
“Ah, nigh to three years.” Maria pulled the bedclothes back. “Come out, miss. And get dressed. The master wants you in the study after you have eaten.”
Nadira reluctantly slid out from the comfortable bedding. “All right, Maria.” Maria smiled in return and picked up the green gown.
“This color will brighten your eyes.” She peered into Nadira’s eyes. “Mostly brown,” she said, “but some green there, miss. I have been waiting to see this gown on somebody. The fur trim is really so lovely.”
Nadira smiled. “Have you been here long?” She pulled the dress over her head. Maria took the laces.
“Yes, miss. Since I was ten years. That’s when I was brought here to serve my lady.” Maria gave her a shy smile. “Ah, miss. What terrible thing happened to your hair?”
“I was traveling in disguise, Maria.”
“Oh! How exciting!” Maria picked up an ivory comb, “How were you discovered?”
“Well, it didn’t work at all. The monks saw through it immediately.”
Maria laughed. “It’s hard to fool the monks. They are very smart.”
“Do you see many monks here, then?”
“Oh, yes. At least once a week one comes through to see the master’s books. We have a friar too.”
“Really? Has anyone said how long I would be staying?” Nadira asked, pretending to be uninterested in the answer.
“Well, I heard you would be reading some of the queer languages in some of the books. Master told me to get this room and clothes prepared as though you would be here a while. It is getting to be winter, miss, where else would you be going?” Nadira did not reply to this reasonable question as Maria walked around, straightening the dress and then crouching to tug at the hem.
“Did your master arrive here with these books?” Nadira asked.
“No. After my lady passed, he left and was gone all winter. I am not sure where he went. He came back with several books and scrolls, then every winter he would do the same. He spent the spring in the tower, reading or copying them. He would lock himself in, so I do not really know.” Maria straightened up. She pulled a few strands of Nadira’s hair from the laces at her nape.
“I think you’re ready to go. It’s near the time, and better to be early.”
Nadira followed Maria out of her chamber. The keep was small; it was larger on the outside than Sofir’s house, but it seemed smaller inside. It was just a round tower, five storeys high. There were small separate buildings a few steps from the tower that contained the kitchen and laundry and the blacksmith’s anvil and forge. The stairways were attached to the inner walls and spiraled up around them. From the second floor, b
uilt of heavy wood beams, there were openings in the stone allowing light and air into the stairways.
As one passed through a hole in the wood floor, one could choose to get off the stairs and enter that level or continue upward. Maria led them around and around to the fifth floor. There, they were blocked by a trap door overhead. Maria knocked at the planks over her head. With a groaning of heavy hinges the ceiling panels opened up and allowed them to continue up the stairs.
Nadira’s eyes came even with the thick wood, and then passed above the floor into the room. A young man in a light brown cassock stood behind them supporting the trap. As they moved from the stone stairs to the wood floor, Nadira had to lift her skirts above her knees. Maria pulled her up then addressed the man with a curtsey.
“Brother William. I have brought the Saracen woman as instructed.” She smiled reassuringly at Nadira.
“Thank you, Maria.” Brother William made the sign of the cross in the air. “Bless you,” he said. Maria curtseyed again, and then went below. Brother William lowered the planks down carefully with a heavy chain attached to an iron ring.
“Greetings, Mistress Nadira,” he said with a warm smile. He was handsome and very young. The thick hair around his tonsure was a light golden brown, the same color as his eyes. Nadira sighed with relief, for he wore the cassock of a Franciscan. She knew that only the black and white robes of Dominicans were to be feared. Inez had taught her the difference. A heavy belt circled his slender waist. Nadira was fascinated with the many items hanging from it. She recognized a pair of scissors, a mug, and a spoon. Some of the other metal items were unfamiliar. A stiff leather case hung on his hip, its circular lid tied shut with a thong. He saw her looking at it.
“Pens and ink,” he flipped the lid up deftly and tilted it so she could see the rods and quills inside. “I am monsieur’s copyist.” He barely had any beard hairs growing on his chin. Nadira guessed he might be her age, but it was hard to tell. His Castilian was heavily accented with what she guessed was English.
Taking her cue from Maria, Nadira dipped a polite curtsey before speaking to him in halting English. “Brother William. I am honored to meet you.”
His face lit up in surprise. He answered her in kind, “And I you. Are you fluent in English as well?” he asked eagerly.
“No, I am sorry, I speak it very badly.”
He smiled again and offered his hand. “Then we shall speak Castilian.”
She took the offered hand. It was warm and soft. Heavy calluses and dark ink stains on his fingertips confirmed his occupation as scribe. He led her to the table beneath the largest window and sat her on the bench. Nadira spread her soft skirts and remembered to sit up straight. Her eyes wandered around the remarkable room. William sat opposite her. His eyes followed hers along the walls.
“This is monsieur’s study,” he said with great pride in his voice, as though it were his as well.
Around the round walls were set heavy boards built in a sturdy frame. Heavy square books lay face up on shelves, the lip of the shelf keeping its valuable contents from sliding off. Chains attached the larger volumes to the wall. Other shelves, built in a diamond shape like wine racks, held scrolls of different sizes. A little tag dangled from the spiral end of each scroll. The room was furnished with thick tables in seemingly random positions, with their attendant benches. Some of them supported strange flagons and vessels; others held bowls and cups. A heavy rack of shelves stood alone in the center of the study. Each shelf was crammed with interesting items: jars of herbs, bottles of colorful liquid, skulls of different animals, piles of stones and crockery. Nadira stood up and stepped closer to peer at the curiosities. William let her stare, but stopped her when she reached her hand out to touch a human skull set in a dark grotto in the wall.
“Not that; let us leave the skull alone today.”
Nadira stepped back. “I hear footsteps on the stairs below,” she said.
William cocked his head to listen, then went to the trap. With a heave from his slight shoulders, he pulled the chain up and opened the hole in the floor. Moments later a familiar velvet hat appeared followed by the rest of Conti.
“Ah! Children,” he greeted them fondly. “Here we are now, on the first day of our work. Are you ready?”
“Master, I’ve been here since dawn,” William lowered the trap. “I’ve been checking my work and mixing the ink and trimming the parchment.” He followed Conti to the table, still talking, “I’ve swept the floor and adjusted the mirrors. I have found the texts you asked for yesterday. Here they are on the table…”
Conti laughed. He held up a hand to silence him. “You, I know, are ready, my dear friend. I have no doubts about your eagerness to begin,” His hand remained up to stop the next torrent of words. “I’d like to know if our guest is prepared.”
“My Lord,” Nadira began, “I’m afraid I’m at a loss as to what specifically you want from me. Of course I will try.”
Conti laughed again. “Mistress Nadira. I am more than pleased to have you as my guest. William and I have been pouring over these manuscripts for months now.” He waved his hand to encompass the room. “You can imagine how distressing it is to have in your possession something wondrous, yet not be able to make heads nor tails of it. Here and now, Father Bertram has answered my pleas and sent you here.”
“Father Bertram?”
“Yes, I had been asking him repeatedly for more than a year now to send me a monk who knew Hebrew, and finally he sends me not a monk, but a girl. Not what I expected, of course, but just the same,” he stopped when he saw the change in Nadira’s face. “What is it?”
“Monsieur, “she said slowly, “We spoke of my companions last night.”
Conti became somber. “Yes. I have sent a messenger back to the monastery with a letter asking about them. However, it is not within my authority to influence the residents there, you understand.”
Nadira nodded slowly. She understood. Worry gripped her with the change in Conti’s face. Did he know something? She glanced up to find Conti watching her. She would have to worry later.
William interrupted, “I have the Hebrew documents here, monsieur.” He laid a pile of scrolls gently on the large table.
“Yes, William. I know you are eager to get started. Let us make Nadira comfortable first. Here, Nadira, sit in my chair. Put your feet up. You are our honored guest.” He pushed a great chair toward the table and reached for her hand. Nadira pushed back the bench and obliged. The chair enveloped her. William unrolled a scroll before her on the table and placed a smooth stone on either end to keep it flat. She leaned over it as monsieur opened the shutters wide. He reached out the window and adjusted a gimbaled mirror. A bright shaft of sunlight illuminated the manuscript before her. The Hebrew letters danced before her eyes.
“You can read this?” William could barely contain his excitement. He would not sit, but stood beside her, careful of the light, almost bouncing his weight from one foot to the other.
Nadira began, “’Herein lies the words copied without error by Moses de Leon…’”
“I knew it! I knew it!” William could not contain himself. He was nearly jumping with excitement. “Master! It is the Zohar! It is! It is!” Nadira stopped, startled. Conti put his arm around William’s shoulders. He, too, was smiling, but his dignity prevented him from jumping up and down.
“Read! Read!” William cried.
Nervously, Nadira continued, reading the Hebrew and translating slowly as she went. The two men stood behind her, arms over each other’s shoulders. Tears were streaming down William’s face. Nadira had to pause and restart every time he sniffed loudly.
“‘…Collected from the ancients and copied herein for the benefit of all who…’” Nadira squinted, “I think this says ‘All who love knowledge’, but it might say ‘All who desire knowledge’. There is a difference, you know.”
The two men did not answer. Conti gestured impatiently toward the manuscript again and Nadira continued. “�
��I have seen the Great Work of Moses de Leon and have the privilege of writing it here.”
A cry of agony escaped from William as he collapsed on the floor, his hands over his ears. Shocked, Nadira stopped reading.
Conti sighed. “Do not be startled, child. William is very excitable, as you can see. He suffers from a great imbalance of the humors, which is one of the reasons he is with me here in this keep.” Conti patted Williams shaking shoulders with a jeweled hand as the young man spread full out on the floor, weeping.
“What’s wrong with him?” She asked.
“Well, this manuscript is not an accurate copy of the Zohar. It appears that someone read it, and then wrote it down from memory. It may contain valid information, but it is not what William and I had hoped it would be.”
“Shall I stop reading?” Nadira looked at the crumpled heap of brown vestments on the floor.
“No, no. Please continue. What William cannot hear through his sobs, I may find useful enough.”
With a doubtful sideways glance at the floor, Nadira continued in a shaky voice, “‘There is male and female in the entire world. The entire world is two, and the entire world is one and the entire world is four’, this doesn’t make sense, monsieur.”
“Keep going, Nadira”
“There is a table, monsieur, explaining correspondence between the four directions and numbers and letters of the Hebrew alphabet.” Nadira read until she was interrupted.
“Read the direction of the East.”
“That is Kether, the number one.”
“Very well, Nadira, I am familiar with what this manuscript is by reputation. We will work on that later when William has recovered from his disappointment. Let me get you another.” Conti bent over her, rolled the scroll back up and with the quill on the desk carefully wrote on the tag “Kabbalah”. He reached over and set a small stack of parchment leaves in front of her, this time the script was in Moorish. “Read here.”
Nadira smoothed the first leaf of parchment. Very carefully she sounded the words to herself, then translated, “’The Beneficent, The Merciful, the King, the Holy, the Peace, the Faithful, the Protector, the Mighty, the…” William stopped weeping and appeared silently at her elbow again. He blocked some of the light from the window, so Nadira had to stop.
The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series) Page 14
