The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes

by Hogarth Brown

  She lifted her thin gauze-like dress and tied part of it into a knot at her side, to walk into the brook to retrieve the Professor who had crouched, like a smooth boulder of marble, in the eddying waters. ‘Stand up’ she said, and he did so as if hypnotised, before she lifted him with ease, her arms outstretched like Mary holding the body of Jesus, as she lay the naked and sleepy man on the soft grass - he did not feel the cold.

  Lucia spoke purifying words over him, broke rare twigs, and smothered his body with the sap and juices of herbs that grew near brooks like the one he had entered. When Lucia finished she stood the Professor up - his skin streaked with green and purple sap - and clothed him in Chinese silk that glowed and shimmered with the colours of sunset. Lucia took up his folded, civilian, clothes and walked the entranced Professor, in seclusion, back up the hill to return to the nunnery.

  Winston entered Lucia’s room with a dim awareness of where she lead him. Lucia, the sorceress, watched and waited for the Professor’s trance to take full effect. She whispered to him and his lowered head raised up from its slumped position, from where she sat him at the end of the bed. Lucia held the Professor’s face in her hands, to stop his eyes from wandering, till his wavering eyes began to settle on her: ‘now it’s time for us to start’ she said.

  …

  Rome, evening, Sunday 16th 1611

  Cardinal Orsini meandered his way back home after leaving the Sistine Chapel, lost in thoughts of Illawara, drifting via teeming main roads and side streets, before gazing upon the preoccupied inhabitants of Rome as they begged, chatted, negotiated, and swindled their way about, and, for once, felt himself separate from them. Not so long ago he was just like them: focused, determined, and ambitious. Orsini sat down at a Trattoria, in need of refreshment, ignoring the fuss around him, and mused on the words of the Pontiff that shook him to his core. He puzzled at himself as he sipped a cool drink. 'Forget her, forget her' he mumbled to himself as he downed the contents of his glass before he paid for his service and walked off. The staff of the Trattoria gossiped and chattered with excitement, with many pausing their work to step outside and whisper to one another as they watched the Cardinal slope away. When the Cardinal returned home from the Vatican, he stepped into a household atmosphere like that of a crypt. The Chef was selected among the palace staff to update the Cardinal. Orsini’s Chef and confidant informed him that his adviser, Benfico, had resigned his position, and had told the other staff, in histrionics, that he could not work for an abusive tyrant any longer. Orsini’s shoulders slumped at the news, 'He'll tell every secret he knows to a new master' said the Cardinal. Orsini stood still for a while, cursing his temper, and gazed into the distance as if looking at a ship dip below the horizon: a ship of his Pontificate sailing further away, and fading from view. The Cardinal then grumbled in a low voice to Chef in a side room off the corridor of the Palazzo Orsini. A knock came at the door: 'enter' said Orsini. The footman hesitated by the door he opened before he stepped forward, and approached the Cardinal as if he feared being bitten by a leopard.

  'A message for you, your Eminence' he stammered. The Cardinal's eyes flashed when he saw the seal on the letter, before he snatched it from the footman's hands,

  'Leave us' said Orsini, before the footman scurried away. Orsini recognised its author in an instant, the creamy paper and red insignia of the Holy See were unmistakable. With his heart beating Orsini made excuses to his Chef, clutched the letter to his chest, and walked back into his dining room. The house staff had cleared the room after his outburst. The rug still damp and stained. Orsini had almost forgotten the mess he left behind, as he stood still, his eyes wide and his heart beating. He tore open the stamped wax seal and tried to keep his hands still as he read:

  Sunday, October 16th, 1611

  To his Eminence, Pietro Maria Card Orsini

  His Holiness formally informs thee that a full investigation into the unfortunate matters in Firenze are underway, with righteous vigour and intent, by the right arm and hand of his Holiness: The Papal Inquisition.

  Matters are at hand, and rest assured that appropriate resources will be dedicated, to achieve a swift and forthright resolution to matters that will leave no doubt in the minds of those devout, faithful, and loyal to our Mother Church.

  You are henceforth relieved of your duties to your titular church to undertake a period of prayer, reflection and rest: The Deacon will be informed.

  May the Lord give us his blessing in this task to nullify and expunge those that seek to corrupt: and thus rid ourselves and the Earth of temptation, and obliterate sin.

  Paul P.P V

  The Decretal letter bore the Papal seal on the front and the seal of the Holy Inquisition on the reverse. Orsini sat himself down, as adrenaline coursed through his veins, and rubbed his hands over his face. The implications of the letter could not be more clear to the Cardinal: ‘she’s as good as dead’ he said, and held his hand to his mouth as if to trap the words that had already escaped his lips. The Cardinal bolted upright: ‘I can’t allow this. She’s innocent’ his hands shook, ‘but there’s still time’ he whispered to himself.

  The Cardinal did not delay. In haste, he made his way to his rooms and packed a swag of essentials, including an extra bag of money, Orange water, and his favourite gold crucifix. He dug through his clothes chest, selecting and tossing garments aside, while the sun set and the cooling blue of twilight fell upon the Holy City. He found a simple dark grey woollen cloak with a broad hood: ‘this will do’, he said before he stripped off his finery to wear a simple shirt, jerkin, hose, and the cloak. The Cardinal snatched a glance of himself in his wide mirror, pulled the hood to the brim of his eyes, and stood satisfied that he looked like a pilgrim. The Cardinal took up his swag and went downstairs in his disguise. The effect was immediate: at first, his household staff took him for an intruder, and they snatched up whatever lay near to apprehend him, not recognising him till he spoke. Orsini raised his voice to call all his staff present to attention. Orsini made a show of his transformation and wrung his hands with much lament and anguish.

  'I make my pilgrimage south to atone and reflect in prayer…' he said, and then inserted the details of the most obscure church he could think of in Naples. '…For I'm deeply stricken at the loss of my advisor' he continued, 'and the manner under which he has left this great house.' Orsini then made a humble gesture and cast his eyes down before he spoke again: 'I leave you now to pray for him, and the souls of the unfortunate, and seek the mercy of God, and pray that he grants me temperance.'

  The household staff present looked thunderstruck and struggled for words by his sudden display of remorse and piety, accepting his remarkable display of conscience as genuine. But his Chef, knowing the Cardinal so well, had his suspicions. Orsini then gathered his staff around and made his, dumbfounded, but obedient, household give oath upon punishment of the Lord, that his pilgrimage remained secret for three days should there be enquiries about him.

  Orsini's staff nodded, and he left the most competent member of his household team in charge and warned that he and the Chef were not to argue. The Cardinal then made strides to the courtyard of the Palazzo Orsini, followed by his Chef and his valet. 'Pietro, your Eminence, you can't mean to go into the depths of Naples on pilgrimage?' said the Chef when they entered the courtyard. The Cardinal gave his Chef a cautionary look but did not reply as he continued to ready himself. 'Then let me accompany you as I did before to Firenze: you've only just returned, and have not spent a night in your bed. You need to eat, you need to sleep, and the roads down south are dangerous.' The Cardinal shrugged,

  'The Lord grants me his protection' said Orsini, while he saddled up his Donkey Gino, and began to clamber onto the animal's back. The valet followed Orsini's instructions and attached saddle bags of provisions onto Gino before the Cardinal bid him to open the gate. The Chef made a fuss, but the Orsini paid no heed to his protests, waving the man off, but promising to return soon, as Gino’s twin sister, Gina, t
ugged at her brother's tail with her teeth. Gino pulled away from her grip with the swish of his tail. Gina brayed and filled the courtyard with her noise, seeing Gino and the Cardinal leave, until the Chef stroked the muzzle of Gina to comfort her. 'Look after her' Orsini called back over his shoulder.

  The Cardinal passed through the rear gates of the Palazzo Orsini and made a conspicuous effort of riding around the side of the house to turn his donkey south along the road, as the craned heads of his household followed him with curious eyes. 'There’s only one place that Antonio can hide her' Orsini said into Gino's ear, before he tapped at the side of the animal's neck to gee the donkey onward. When the Cardinal became confident of being out of sight, he changed his progression and turned the donkey northward to get to Padua as soon as he could.

  Chapter 17

  Hekate’s Message

  The Convent of San Matteo, evening, Sunday October 16th 1611

  L ucia locked her eyes with the Professor’s who looked back at her with an unfocused stare. Lucia then raised her index finger in the air and wafted it side to side, Winston's eyes followed, then she moved it up and down, and his eyes followed again. Lucia nodded her approval, sure of her work, before she began her questioning: keen to extract the truth from her stubborn captive.

  ‘What is your real age?’ she said, irritated that she had to resort to magical means to extract basic information from the Professor: his secrecy only exceeded by his appetite to learn.

  ‘I’m fifty-two years old’ Lucia gasped, and paused before her next question,

  ‘From what exact time have you come?’ The Professor hesitated and seemed confused, so Lucia rephrased her question, ‘what is the year of your times?’

  ‘The year I left home was nineteen-ninety-seven.' Lucia’s eyes bulged, but her business mind did the math, ‘so you’re from three hundred and eighty-six years in the future.'

  ‘Yes’ came his distant reply,

  ‘What is your real purpose for coming to me?’ Lucia's Tarot cards had told her much already, but the fine details escaped her.

  ‘I’ve come to learn from the true book of Hekate. I’ve come to learn how to capture souls’ he said. Lucia’s eyes widened and she tilted her head as the Professor’s motives became more apparent to her,

  ‘For that, we shall have to ask the Goddess herself, and you’ll have to have courage.' Lucia gripped the Professor by his shoulders, 'why do you want to learn how to capture souls?’ Once more the Professor hesitated, his face troubled by emotion, and Lucia worried the trance would break, but the Professor answered:

  ‘To fulfil a promise, and to answer the most difficult of questions.’ Lucia frowned before she let go of him,

  ‘Who’s promise must be fulfilled?’ The Professor paused again, and his mouth opened and closed as he started to rock backwards and forwards, his voice faltered,

  ‘A promise to my… to my’ His words trailed off. Lucia changed tack:

  ‘Who made the Hermeporta, and where does it come from?’ The Professor struggled to answer her and knotted his brow with effort.

  ‘I, I can't be sure… ancient people long, long ago - before these times - I think the book will know.’ Winston looked distressed, and Lucia could see the trance would break if she continued,

  ‘Shush, shush’ she cooed, ‘there, there’ she said, as she stroked her hands down through the air. ‘Stubborn Ox’ she muttered under her breath, ‘it’s easier to draw rusted nails from a rock.’ Lucia wiped her brow. The Professor stopped his rocking and calmed down, ‘that’s it, rest, rest’ she said, shaking her head. The door to Lucia’s chamber opened, as the twilight settled into darkness outside, and Celeste, Arcangela and the Golem entered the room: ‘my sisters’ said Lucia, ‘have you brought what I need?’ The three then nodded before Celeste handed Lucia a large bag of items; something squirmed inside. Arcangela looked awkward as she held a bundle of twigs and branches under one arm. Lucia’s eyes then glanced to the Golem, her twin image, who seemed more human than ever. Lucia creased her brow. She then checked the contents of the squirming bag. 'Good, well done, I have everything I need.’ Lucia then glanced in the direction of the Professor, ‘he’s ready for the ceremony now, he’s under my power’ she said to them, ‘but I’ll need you all nearby to be sure that things go well’ two of the three nodded, ‘tonight I’ll invoke Hekate.’ Celeste and Arcangela looked to each other; their faces strained.

  ‘Are you sure you still want to do this, Lucia? The Goddess is immensely powerful’ said Celeste,

  ‘I’ve petitioned her times before and lived' said Lucia with a flick of her wrist, 'I'm her priestess, whatever happens, is meant to be, but my visions have yet to fail me.’ Lucia gestured to the subdued Professor, ‘this man is remarkable, the best pupil I’ve ever had. What he knows is important, and it’s only the Goddess that can answer his questions - if she so chooses to reveal herself.’ The two witches looked concerned, exchanging glances again, but the Golem stood unreadable, her face like a waxwork, but her eyes brimming with life. Celeste made a bow,

  'As you wish, mistress’ she said, but she did not meet Lucia’s eye. Lucia’s expression relaxed,

  ‘Good, that’s a comfort’ she said and turned her attention to Arcangela, ‘did you drug the food as I requested?’

  ‘Yes’ said Arcangela, ‘the nuns will not stir tonight, not an earthquake could wake them - you’ll be left in peace.’ Lucia raised her chin to look down her nose,

  ‘And you controlled the dose?’ Arcangela nodded, ‘good, we want to be sure they all wake up this time.' The little nun shrank into herself with her head bowed down, ‘I don’t want a repeat of the last time’s events' Lucia continued, wagging her finger at Arcangela, 'remember that Sister Mary was very likeable – her death was hard to cover up.' Lucia gestured towards the door, 'we can’t let the nuns know about us, but we don’t want them lying dead at the dinner table either: they’re our innocents after all, and it’s their innocence that protects us - and all that we do.’ Arcangela bowed as her wrinkled face managed to blush. Lucia stepped to one side to command Arcangela with the sweep of her arm: ‘please lay the oak wood in the hearth.’ The little witch nodded and scurried past Lucia, with her hippity-hop, and put the bundle of lichen-covered oak branches in the mouth of the fireplace. The Professor sat mute as the witches talked: ‘thank you, sisters, for your work. I shall begin the ceremony. Please stand to one side and keep vigil over us, and only intervene in an emergency’ said Lucia. Celeste stepped forward,

  ‘Do you want me to hold Hekate’s book?’ she said, her eyes wide and full,

  ‘No, HE will hold the book’ said Lucia, pointing to the Professor. Celeste’s face twisted with darkness for a moment as she snatched a look at the Professor,

  ‘He's a man Lucia; he could defile the precious book. Is this wise?’ she added,

  ‘Step ASIDE, Celeste’ said Lucia, her voice hard, ‘he’s a full initiate now.' But the thin-nosed witch stood her ground, and snatched another look at him, her voice vicious:

  ‘He could die, you know? The experience could KILL him’ she said as if anticipating the demise of a great enemy. Lucia then glared at Celeste before she squinted, and her brow furrowed like a ploughed field,

  ‘You can wish him dead all you want Celeste, but I’ll have more use of him than a tired old maid.’ Celeste gasped and shrivelled: stung by the words, and she fought hard with herself not to cry. Arcangela looked up into Celeste’s miserable face and for once felt sorry for her. The Golem stood still, but her wax-like skin took on a faint glow before her eyes turned in their sockets to look at Celeste whose lips trembled.

  ‘As you wish, my mistress’ said Celeste, her voice shaking as she curtsied, ‘you are wise, and I should not try to correct you.’ Lucia made a sweep of her arm, and Celeste then walked to the side of the room with the others, as a tear ran down her face. Lucia stood as rigid as a mountain when she then called out to the Professor.

  ‘Stand up, Winston, your time has
come’, her voice filled the room. The Professor stood up. ‘Go to the book of Hekate’ Lucia commanded, before she walked to her table to place the bag down. The Professor walked, in slow steps, towards the large Grimoire sat upon its shelf as Lucia reached into the bag and took out several items. The first: a necklace made of black, red, and white beads which she then wore around her neck. She then took out a candle banded with the same colours in wax and lit it upon another that burned nearby. Then from the large bag, she pulled out two small bronze containers, and a broad scooped bronze plate.

  She laid the items upon the table and opened the bronze containers: one contained fresh grain, and the other wild honey from the Tuscan hills. Lucia then poured the grain into the bronze plate that rattled as the kernels fell, while the witches and Golem looked on in silence as the Professor neared the bookshelf. Lucia then removed two small bronze cups, and a long slender bronze carafe with a cork stopper, and placed them on the table. She plucked out the stopper, and a strong alcoholic smell of fermented grain and honey entered the room. Lucia sniffed at the carafe before she poured some of the liquid into the small bronze cups and watched the little bits of mushroom that swirled and bobbed to the surface of the drink.

  The Professor reached the side of the Grimoire and awaited instruction from Lucia as she continued to unpack the contents of the large bag. Lucia then took out a bundle of herbs tied with white string, a small silver snuff box, and a little iron plate and spoon, while something moved again within the bag.

  Lucia put these items on the table with the others, opened the snuff box and used the iron spoon to scoop one measure of opium into each cup of liquid from the carafe. She stirred in the opium with patience, as all, except the Professor, looked on, while she whispered soft incantations over the potent liquid. Lucia then lit the bundle of herbs over the striped candle, and placed them on the little iron plate, and allowed the oily scented smoke to fill the room. Silence prevailed as the Professor stood motionless and the others admired Lucia’s work.