Secular Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  Pascal stared, astonished, but so did Escribo. He turned to Arouetto and demanded, “How can he, when it is all loveliness and no meaning?”

  “Aye,” Lelio seconded. “Our friend Pascal makes the most lovely strains of sound in the world, but how can he enlighten men when the meaning slips from our grasp even as we listen?”

  He smiled at Arouetto as he said it, but it was a challenge, with resentment against the intruder behind it. The scholar only smiled down at him, though, and said, “Have you never heard that a poem should not mean, but be?‘

  Lelio stared-and so, for that matter, did the other young folks.Pascal finally broke the spell to protest, “But it does have meaning! It speaks of the way I felt as I labored, of the insight I gained suddenly, of the union between myself and the earth and Flaminia and us all!”

  “It does, most surely,” Arouetto agreed, “and if we sit down and read through those words, we can extract that meaning and state it clearly and concisely-but it is far better to experience the poem as a sensory delight, and absorb the meaning in the process.”

  “But might we not then be persuaded of a principle we would never approve, in clear and sober judgment?” a plump girl asked. “Well asked, Berylla!” Lelio seconded. “You might indeed,” Arouetto told her. “That is why you should analyze the poem before you have heard it too many times-but do not deprive yourself of the pleasure of hearing it without weighing it at least once, and better, several times.”

  “Who are you?” Lelio asked. “Lelio!” Berylla cried, shocked. “No, it must be asked!” Lelio insisted. He leaned forward, frowning up at Arouetto. “For the same reason you have just told us to analyze a poem, we must know whose words we hear, that we may judge the lightness of any one idea of yours within the context of your whole philosophy. Who are you?”

  “I am no philosopher, but only a poor scholar. My name is Arouetto.”

  The circle of young folk froze, staring. Then Berylla stammered. “Not-Not the Arouetto who has translated Ovid and Virgil for us?”

  “Not the Arouetto whose Story of Reme is the talk of all the tutors?”

  “Not the Arouetto whose Geography is the boon companion of every merchant?”

  “I must admit my culpability.” But there was a gleam of amusement and triumph in Arouetto’s eye. “A chair for the scholar!” Lelio leaped up, offering his own, while Escribo ran to fetch another. “Wine for the scholar!” Berylla filled a goblet and set it in front of him. “Anything the scholar wants,” said another girl, with a deep soulful look. “Why, I want what any scholar wants,” Arouetto sighed, “the company of keen minds and their questions, filled with the enthusiasm of youth.”

  “Oh, that you shall have in plenty!” another young man assured him. “Is it true that you read Greek, but have not yet translated Homer?”

  “I have not yet had that audacity,” Arouetto confirmed. “But you must! For if you do not, how shall we ever read those epics, which are fabled to be so excellent?”

  “I cannot yet truly appreciate the spirit of the Athenians,” Arouetto protested. “But at least you can appreciate it-and we cannot, who have never read any book written by the Greeks!”

  “What of Pythagoras?” Escribo pushed the extra chair over to Lelio and sat down in his own. “Can you explain why he was both mathematician and musician?”

  “Ah! That, young man… What is your name?”

  “Escribo, sir!”

  “Escribo, Pythagoras was, above and beyond all else, a mystic, who sought nothing less than to understand the whole of the universe and the nature of human existence! Music and mathematics alike were means to understanding this whole, that is all.”

  “Music, a means to understanding the universe?” Flaminia leaned forward, staring. “How can that be?”

  Arouetto began to tell them. Saul sidled up to Matt and asked, “How’s it feel to be the Forgotten Man?”

  “A little deflating,” Matt confessed, “but under the circumstances, I don’t mind at all.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “Because I think I’ve found just the thing to wangle a way into King Boncorro’s favor.”

  Saul glanced at the seminar in surprise, then back at Matt. “Just don’t suck them into anything that’s going to go sour, okay?”

  “No,” Matt said slowly, “I don’t think there’s too much chance of that.”

  They watched and listened with delight and fond memories, until finally Pascal sat bolt-upright and cried, “My Heavens, the hour! And we must hoe tomorrow!”

  “Let the weeds grow,” Escribo told him. “One day will not hurt the crops so very much-but we may never again have such a chance to hear a true scholar speak!”

  “We must not keep him if he grows weary,” Berylla cautioned.

  “Weary, when so many good-hearted young folk are pouring energy into me? Never!” Arouetto smiled. “I shall talk as long as you, my young friends!”

  “The professor’s ego trip,” Saul sighed. “Hooks ‘em every time.”

  “Even so, there are a lot worse ways of boosting your ego,” Matt reminded him. “Besides, it only works on real teachers.”

  “And just what do you think you’re going to do with them?”

  “Crash the seminar, of course.” Matt glanced at the stars and made a quick guess at the time. “Even so, I think I had better turn in-I’m going to need my energy tomorrow.” He waited for a lull in the conversation, then called out, “Escribo! Mind if I lie down in your barn?”

  “Barn?” The young man started up, looking guilty. “No, my friend! You must have a proper bed!”

  “Tomorrow night,” Matt told him. “Right now, I wouldn’t dream of busting up the conference-and hay will make a fine bed, better than most I’ve had lately.” He turned to the scholar. “Good night, Arouetto. Next time, charge tuition.”

  Chapter 25

  “Look, I gave you a day to rest up,” Matt said, “and I warned you we would have to leave around noon. Can I help it if you stayed up all night talking again?”

  “But when I have been alone so many years,” Arouetto groaned, “young and eager minds are so hard to resist!”

  “I understand, and I wish more of my professors had thought that way. But now we have another prospective student for you to talk to.”

  “And who is that?”

  “The king. Okay, Saul, grab his other hand. Ready? Chant!”

  They had worked this out before they told Arouetto-decided they needed to make the most dramatic entrance possible, and worked out the verse that would do it They stood in the center of the farmyard, calling out, “Stouthearted men, which fondly here admire Fair sounding discourse, studious delight, Transported to the throne room bright Of King Boncorro, where courtiers aspire To curry favor, and claw their way up higher!”

  Nothing happened. Well, actually, for a moment they felt a terrific straining around them, a feeling of being caught in the center of a whirlpool made of two forces pulling and pushing against one another and trying to stretch them out of shape in the process-but the whirlpool suddenly seemed to snap back against them, rocking them all. “What was that?” Arouetto gasped. “That was our transportation spell, crashing headlong into King Boncorro’s protective spell,” Matt said. “Blast! He’s too strong! Even the two of us together couldn’t break through!”

  “Well,” Saul said, eyeing Stegoman, “we do have another means of transport that’s almost as dramatic.”

  “More so, in its way.” Matt turned to his old friend with a sigh. “Sorry to have to ask you again, Stegoman-but would you mind terribly much flying into the jaws of mortal danger again?”

  As they circled around the castle, Arouetto reached over Matt’s shoulder to point. “What troop of glittering cavalry is that?”

  “Queen Alisande!” Matt yelped. “That’s no army-that’s my wife!”

  ‘Think we ought to wait for her to catch up?“ Saul called. Matt thought about it while Stegoman swept through another quarter turn, co
ming closer. Below him, people in the courtyard began to scream and point, or run, according to their taste. ”No,“ Matt said, ”let’s go on in. A little more surprise won’t hurt.“

  Five miles away Ortho the Frank pointed at the wheeling form and cried, “Your Majesty! ‘Tis the dragon Stegoman!”

  Alisande looked up, surprised, then cried, “Surely it is he! But why does he not come to us?”

  “He goes to the king’s castle instead, your Majesty! There must be a most strenuous reason!”

  “Matthew in danger!” Alisande’s hand fell to her sword, then windmilled up to signal to her army. “Ride, men of mine! Your master is endangered! Ride, and bring down that fell keep if we must!”

  The army shouted behind her and kicked their horses into a canter. Matt and Saul muttered quick ricochet spells, and the crossbow bolts and spears fell clattering to the parapet as Stegoman glided over. People shrieked and scrambled out of the way as he lowered down toward the courtyard; the effect was of a big circle opening in the daily traffic, and Stegoman came to rest in it. Then he lifted his head and roared, letting out a blast of flame. ‘Take my master to the king! And woe unto him who tries to smite me!“

  Matt slid down and turned to ease the scholar to the ground as Saul and Sir Guy helped lower him, then leaped down beside them. “Stay here,” Matt told Stegoman, “unless there’s danger. If there is, take off and circle until we come out.”

  “Gladly.” Stegoman glared about him, paying special attention to any of the guards who seemed to be trying to pluck up nerve. “Which of these churls would seek to hinder me?”

  “Sorcerers,” Matt answered, “though I suspect the main one is going to be too busy to worry about a bat wing in his bailey. Still, let’s make it tougher for him.” He began to march around Stegoman, chanting, “Weave a circle ‘round him thrice! Whoever nears him, shrink with dread! For he on anthracite hath fed, And been drunk on spirits of petrol twice!”

  “Rather more than twice,” Stegoman said, “if ‘spirits of petrol’ refers to mine own flame. It is unkind of you, Matthew, to remind me of my unsavory past.”

  “Sorry, old saurhead,” Matt apologized, “but I’m more concerned with reminding any potential attackers than you.”

  “Well, I will suffer it,” Stegoman sighed, “and so will they, if they seek to meddle.” He glared around him again. “Be about your business, now, so that we may leave soonest.”

  “Gotcha. Good luck.” Matt turned away toward the door of the keep. Saul caught up, with Arouetto in tow and Sir Guy as rear guard. “Think anybody will get in our way?”

  “Somehow,” Matt said, “I doubt it.” He turned toward the door to the keep, to test his theory. The guards at the door wavered, then crossed their pikes, though not with much precision. “His Majesty wanted to know when I escaped from the prison to which he sent me,” Matt said as he came up. “He would not appreciate having me stopped.”

  He didn’t even miss a step. The guards wavered, but Sir Guy barked, “Stand aside!” Foot soldiers obeyed knights; that was all there was to it. They yanked their pikes aside and shoved the door open. Matt went right on in, with Arouetto and Saul close behind him. They marched into the throne room and found it packed with courtiers as usual-but they were just pulling back as a footman madly fought his way through to the throne. Matt stopped just inside the doors, waiting until the servant had managed to clear the last of the courtiers and was running up on the dais; then Matt called, “Don’t bother telling him we’re coming. It’s old news.”

  The footman spun about, staring in horror. Matt started down the aisle, calling out, “You did want to know when I escaped, didn’t you, your Majesty?”

  King Boncorro stared in surprise-but Chancellor Rebozo, behind him, turned pale, looking as if he had seen a ghost, pointing a trembling hand at them. King Boncorro gave Matt a smile of amusement that threatened to turn into a wolfish grin. “Indeed I did, Lord Wizard! You seem to be more powerful than I had thought! But how did you manage it?”

  “I got out with a little help from my friends.” Matt nodded at Saul and Sir Guy. Rebozo cried, “Who is that with you?”

  Matt ostensibly ignored him. “Your Majesty, this is Saul, the Witch Doctor, and this-”

  “The scholar Arouetto!” Suddenly, Rebozo had gone from shock to rage. His staff snapped down to point at the scholar, and he began to chant in the arcane tongue. “No, Rebozo,” Boncorro said-but for once the chancellor ignored him, perhaps did not even hear him; he just kept chanting, his voice rising with menace. King Boncorro flashed him a look of irritation. “I said, enough!” He raised an open hand, palm toward Rebozo, and snapped out a short sentence that sort of rhymed, in a language Matt didn’t recognize-but Rebozo rocked as if he had been struck with a body blow. “I appreciate your attempts to protect me,” said the king, “but I wish more information before we send this scholar back to his refuge.”

  Matt stared, shaken. He already had some idea of Rebozo’s power-and for the king to be able to counter it so easily meant he had far more power than Matt would have thought possible in so young a man. It made it worse that Saul was looking very interested. “I didn’t catch any names in that couplet, Matt-no evil ones, and no holy ones, either.”

  “There were none,” Arouetto assured him. Saul shot him a keen glance. “You know that language.”

  “Both of them.”

  “Well, scholar!” Boncorro turned to him. “It is long since I have seen you-and I cannot say it is unpleasant. How is it you have chosen to grace us with your presence?”

  Arouetto spread his hands. “Your Majesty, the residence you have afforded me is luxurious, but it is also lonely.”

  “So you have come for companionship? But how did you manage to leave?” Boncorro turned to Matt. “That was, I take it, your doing?”

  “Yes, your Majesty. He struck me as just the sort of person you would enjoy having around your court.”

  Rebozo started forward in panic-and jarred to a halt, as something unseen stopped him. The whites showed all around his eyes. “I must admit that I have enjoyed his conversation in the past,” King Boncorro said, “but Rebozo advised me that his ideas would undermine my rule, and I believed him. Indeed, I find no reason to question my chancellor’s advice, even now.”

  “I do, your Majesty,” Matt said. “In fact, this scholar’s thoughts are moving toward the same goal as your own.”

  There was no outward change in Boncorro’s face or body, but somehow Matt felt the impact of a great deal more interest. “Is he truly!”

  “Yes.” Saul spoke up unexpectedly. “He’s looking at the potential of human beings by themselves, your Majesty. He hasn’t said much about magic yet, but he did get into that the other night, discussing the theories of Pythagoras.”

  “A heretic and blasphemer!” Rebozo burst out. “Pythagoras? The prime misleader of all human minds! Majesty, do not listen to them! They will lead you to your doom!”

  “ ‘Heretic’? ‘Blasphemer’?” Boncorro turned a skeptical eye toward his chancellor. “Odd words, from one who acknowledges Satan as his master.”

  “Even to Satan he would be an infidel! He disregards the supernatural persons, while he pursues supernatural power! He-”

  “Indeed! This Pythagoras seems to have investigated exactly the questions that I, too, pursue! Why have you never told me of him before, Rebozo?”

  The chancellor turned ashen again. “Why… because… because…”

  “Because it might sidetrack you from the Hell-bound trajectory he has plotted for you, of course,” Saul said sourly. “Even I can see that, and I’ve never met either of you before!”

  “Has he really?” King Boncorro turned to him with a stare that would have made an elephant nervous-but Saul only glared back at him. “Come off it, your Majesty! You know that everyone you meet is trying to lead you toward their own goals, for their own purposes!”

  The whole throne room was dreadfully quiet. “Why, yes, I do know tha
t,” Boncorro said easily. “It includes yourself, of course.”

  “Of course,” Saul said with his sardonic smile. They locked gazes for more than a minute, as the silence stretched thin. Finally, Boncorro stirred and said, “It is refreshing to speak with an honest man.”

  “Diogenes would have approved of him,” Arouetto said. The gimlet gaze switched to him. “Who was Diogenes?”

  “Majesty, no!” Rebozo cried in agony. King Boncorro shot him a glare. “Would you keep me from learning, then? Yes, because it might weaken your influence over me! I grow weary of this, Rebozo.”

  The chancellor stared at him, and there was a flash of irritation in his face-or arrogance, even-but it faded instantly, into strain and trembling. King Boncorro held him in the focus of his glare a few seconds longer, then turned back to Matt. “Is this what you sought to accomplish by bringing your friends, Lord Wizard?”

  “Frankly, no,” Matt said slowly, “though I did think you and Saul would find you have a lot in common, at least intellectually.”

  “Then why did you bring them?”

  ‘To issue you a challenge,“ Matt answered. ”I challenge you to come and watch the scholar Arouetto talk with a group of young scholars for only one evening.“

  The throne room was silent again, but Boncorro’s brow was wrinkled in study now, not in threat. Then Rebozo moaned, and Boncorro said, “I see what you would gain thereby-you hope to interest me so much that I will turn to Arouetto’s teaching, and away from Rebozo’s. But why should this concern you?”

  “Because,” Matt said, “what happens in Latruria influences my people in Merovence-and whose counsel you listen to affects how your Latrurian folk will affect my Merovencians.”

  “So you fear that, if I follow Rebozo’s line of thought, my people will subvert yours,” Boncorro said. “But I have no concern over what happens to your people-only to my own, and that only because their welfare affects mine. Why should I accept this challenge of yours?”