by Robert Shea
XXXVII
_An open letter from Fra Tomasso d'Aquino of the Order of PreachingFriars to the Christian sovereigns of Europe, from Orvieto, 7th day ofNovember A.D. 1263_
Let us leave these wild beasts, Tartars and Muslims alike, to devour each other, that they may all be consumed and perish; and we, when we proceed against the enemies of Christ who remain, will slay them and cleanse the face of the earth, so that all the world will be subject to the one Catholic Church and there be one Shepherd and one fold.
* * * * *
When Simon and Friar Mathieu climbed the stone steps into Fra Tomasso'scell, pushing up a trapdoor to enter, he was bent over a scroll. He heldthe two rolled-up ends apart with his fingertips, and as he read he verygently pushed down the bottom part of the roll, allowing the part he hadread to roll up. The scroll looked very old, and the Dominican friarhandled it as if it might fall apart in his hands.
He did not look up at his two visitors. His large head moved ever soslightly from side to side as he scanned the lines of writing, and Simoncould hear his loud breathing just as he had a week ago in thecathedral. Simon and Friar Mathieu stood quietly and waited for FraTomasso to stop reading and notice them.
It had taken Friar Mathieu's Franciscan superiors a week of delicatenegotiations after Alain's funeral to arrange an audience with theDominican philosopher for Friar Mathieu and Simon. Simon prayed, feelingthe sweat break out on his forehead, that their intrusion would notannoy Fra Tomasso. He desperately hoped that they could persuade him tochange his mind about the alliance.
It was really up to Friar Mathieu, he thought. That Simon could have anyeffect on such a brilliant philosopher was unthinkable.
Simon noticed a single deep crease between the great Dominican'seyebrows. His forehead bulged on either side of the crease, as if themuscles that made him frown had grown from much exercise. The browsthemselves were so fair and sparse as to seem almost invisible.
Fra Tomasso laid a broad right hand on the scroll to hold it open,picked up a feather pen with his left hand, dipped the sharpened tipinto a tiny ink jar, and began making small, rapid marks on a piece ofparchment. Simon watched with interest. Since his university days, herarely saw people reading and writing, and could not remember everseeing anyone write with his left hand. When the pen ran dry, FraTomasso happened to glance up as he dipped it again.
"Dear Lord, forgive me," he said, his eyes round with surprise."Friends, I did not hear you enter. Please pardon my rudeness." Simonwas gratified to hear him speak French and impressed by his fluency.
"It is we who are guilty of rudeness, Fra Tomasso," said Friar Mathieu,"for interrupting your work."
"My brothers in Christ are more important than books," said the stoutDominican, gesturing to them to take seats on his bed.
His cell was a circular room occupying the top floor of a tower in thecompound that housed his order in Orvieto. The curved walls of the roomwere painted as white as Fra Tomasso's robe. A black wooden crosssurmounted by a white ivory figure of Jesus hung over the bed. FraTomasso sat, his chair hidden by his great bulk, with his back to awindow, at a large trestle table with stacks of books and boxes ofscrolls on either side of him. His bed was a wide, sturdy woodenplatform covered with a straw-filled mattress and a blanket the size ofa galley's sail. A giant could lie on that bed, Simon thought.
"I must admit this scroll is a great treasure, and I am reluctant totear my eyes from it," he said. "A hitherto lost treatise of Aristotleon the composition and movements of the heavenly bodies. This copy mightbe over six hundred years old. In Greek. You are familiar with _the_philosopher?" He looked from Friar Mathieu to Simon eagerly.
"I did study for a year at Pere Sorbonne's college in Paris, YourReverence," said Simon. "We read the works of several philosophers."
Fra Tomasso smiled indulgently. "I always refer to Aristotle as _the_philosopher because I can learn more from him than from any otherancient or modern thinker. Do you not agree, Reverend Father?" Heturned to Friar Mathieu. "Or are you, like so many of your fellowFranciscans, uninterested in philosophy?"
_Oh, God, he scorns Franciscans_, thought Simon with dread. _We're sureto fail._
"I truly would like to find the time for it," said Friar Mathieu,unruffled. "But I seem to be always traveling."
Fra Tomasso nodded. "You and that merchant from Trebizond are the onlytwo Christians in Orvieto who have traveled among the Tartars. I foundyour testimony at His Holiness's council quite fascinating."
"But not persuasive?" Friar Mathieu leaned forward intently.
Simon caught his breath. Fra Tomasso had given them an opening.
"I presumed that was why you had come to see me," said Fra Tomasso witha self-satisfied smile. "Let me assure you, good friar and noble count,that until a little over a week ago I had tried to keep to a strictneutrality, feeling that in that way I could be more useful to HisHoliness. Even after hearing the Tartars condemn themselves out of theirown mouths at the Contessa di Monaldeschi's reception. But then Ichanged my mind."
"Let me ask you a rather delicate question, Your Reverence," said FriarMathieu.
Fra Tomasso leaned back and rested his hands, fingers laced, on his hugebelly. "Any question at all."
"Did Cardinal de Verceuil's behavior toward you have anything to do withyour change of mind?"
The crease in the Dominican philosopher's forehead deepened. Simonwinced inwardly. What if, now, they had truly offended Fra Tomasso?
"Surely you do not suggest that I would let personal pique determine myposition on a matter so important to the future of Christendom?"
"I am not surprised, knowing Your Reverence's reputation, that you graspjust how important the matter is," Friar Mathieu said.
Neatly sidestepping Fra Tomasso's question, Simon thought.
"Exactly. Thus it was that when Cardinal de Verceuil went to FraAugustino da Varda, my Superior General, demanding that he order me tochange my position on the Tartars, I realized it was time for me to cometo a conclusion."
"I made a terrible mistake," said Friar Mathieu as much to himself andSimon as to Fra Tomasso. "May God forgive me."
"What mistake was that?" asked Fra Tomasso.
"Not trying to discuss this with Your Reverence myself, as I am doingnow. To be honest, I feared you would not care to meet with a poorFranciscan."
"Again you do me an injustice," said Fra Tomasso. "_The_ philosophertells us that we acquire knowledge first of all through the senses.Therefore, if you would know about something, ask of those who have seenit firsthand."
"Then perhaps you have new questions," said Friar Mathieu.
Simon felt despair pressing on him like a mail shirt that was too heavy.Fra Tomasso was a man whose whole life was argument. How could FriarMathieu hope to persuade him to change his mind about anything?
His chair creaking loudly, Fra Tomasso leaned forward and rested hiselbows on the table in front of him. "I am so sure of my conclusionsthat I have written to Emperor Sigismund in Germany, King Boleslav inPoland, and King Wenceslas in Hungary--all lands that have suffered fromthe depredations of the Tartars, urging them to beg His Holiness torepudiate this scheme that will bring the frontier of Tartary so muchcloser to us. I have written to King Louis of France, your liege lord,too, young Count de Gobignon, even though he is said to be eager for apact with the Tartars. Furthermore, Father da Varda is considering myproposal that the Dominican order all over Christendom preach against analliance with the Tartars."
Hearing in Fra Tomasso's words the ruin of all his hopes, Simon couldnot contain himself. He burst out. "_Why?_"
Fra Tomasso looked surprised, even a bit affronted. "For all the reasonsyou heard in church last Friday. They are not simple savages, my youngfriend. They are diabolical."
It was hopeless. Simon's heart sank lower and lower. The greatpreacher's mind was made up.
"Yes, but, Your Reverence"--Simon felt driven by desperation to debatewith a man w
hom he knew was invincible in argument--"we all know of manytimes when Christians and Saracens have been just as cruel."
Friar Mathieu gave a little grunt of agreement.
Fra Tomasso looked down at his thumbs, the tips pressed together as theyrested on his wide belly. There was a moment of silence. He wasthinking, Simon realized. Hardly ever had Simon seen a man stop tothink before speaking in an argument. He began to tremble inwardly,expecting to be crushed.
Fra Tomasso raised a fat finger. "Yes, I know that Christian knightshave also committed barbarities. But they did so in mindless rage, andafterward they were ashamed. Even the Mohammedan faith teaches theSaracens to wage only just wars, to be compassionate, to spare theinnocent and helpless. I stipulate that neither Christians norMohammedans live up to these laws. But they _profess_ them. The Tartarshave no such laws. In their bottomless ignorance they think that it is_good_ to commit deeds of unimaginable horror, and they do it withcalculation. Exemplum: As David of Trebizond has told me, when they wipeout the population of a city, they know there will be a few survivors.So, weeks later, they return to the ruins when the remaining few peoplehave emerged from hiding, and they slaughter them all. That is the worstsort of evil--evil done with utter deliberation."
_David of Trebizond, may he roast in hell!_ thought Simon.
"With respect, Your Reverence," said Friar Mathieu, "the Tartars havelived isolated in their prairie homeland since the beginning of time.But I beg of you to believe that they can be won to the mercy of Christ.I have seen it. I have _done_ it."
_We are gaining ground_, Simon thought. If Fra Tomasso really could beswayed by the testimony of a person who had seen with his own eyes, theyhad a chance.
A hammering from beneath the floor made Simon start. Someone wasknocking on the trapdoor. Friar Mathieu nibbled at his mustache invexation while Fra Tomasso smiled broadly and called, "Come up."
The heavy door creaked upward, pushed by a hand in a white sleeve. Ashiny, tonsured scalp reflected the light from the tower window.
The young Dominican who emerged was almost too breathless to speak."Reverend Father! News from Bolsena! Un miracolo!"
Fra Tomasso's eyes widened. "Bolsena? Is that near here?"
"So near, Reverend Father, that the miracle happened yesterday and thenews reached us this afternoon."
"What miracle?"
"A foreign priest--from some eastern country--was saying mass. And whenhe got to the consecration and raised the Sacred Host"--the youngfriar's eyes glowed--"the Host dripped blood!"
Simon's head spun in confusion. Frustrated rage at being interruptedwhen they were so close to victory struggled with amazement at this taleof a bleeding Communion wafer. He looked at Fra Tomasso, and all hopeebbed away. The philosopher's face fairly glowed with relief. Sadnessswelled in Simon. They did not have a chance. Perhaps they had never hadone.
* * * * *
Before they knew it, it seemed, Friar Mathieu and Simon were walkingtogether out the gate of the Dominican convent. Behind them there wereshouts and white-robed friars bustling to and fro like a flock ofstartled doves. The whole convent, it seemed, was in an uproar over themiracle at Bolsena.
Fra Tomasso had courteously but firmly dismissed Mathieu and Simon,saying that he must question the one who brought the news. He might, hesaid, be called upon to look further into the event at Bolsena, and hemust be fully prepared.
Simon had wanted to protest. If Fra Tomasso would only give them alittle more time, he would surely have to change his mind about theTartars. But Simon sensed that Fra Tomasso did not want to change hismind.
The sky was cold and gray as chain mail. Carters, horsemen, and laborerson foot bustled along, their cloaks pulled tight around them against thechill north wind.
_All is lost_, Simon thought, as he had after Alain's funeral. Just whenthey were gaining ground with Fra Tomasso, news of a miracle. Was GodHimself against them?
Skulking back to Gobignon. Forever to be known, not as the count whohelped liberate Jerusalem, but as the son of the traitor Amalric.
_Maybe I should give it all up and become a Franciscan, like FriarMathieu._
"Where did he get that scroll?" Friar Mathieu wondered.
"What can we do now?" said Simon. He was not really asking; it was onlya way of saying he thought nothing could be done. He was in despair overthe failure of their mission.
Then he thought of Sophia.
In an instant a light bloomed within him. Skulking back to Gobignon? No,riding back in triumph, with the most beautiful woman in the worldbeside him as his bride.
He had not yet nerved himself to propose to Sophia, but now that theyhad failed with Fra Tomasso, he could not wait to see her again.
Friar Mathieu scratched his white beard thoughtfully. "It was deVerceuil who tipped the scales against the Tartars. And it was we whosent de Verceuil. I thought this might be the one time he could beuseful to us."
"Fra Tomasso had already sided with Ugolini's faction," Simon said."That is why we sent de Verceuil."
"He told us today that he had been trying to be neutral," said FriarMathieu. "But Sophia told you that Fra Tomasso had already sided withUgolini's party. Do you suppose the great Dominican was not being candidwith us? Or was it Sophia who was not being candid?"
Simon gasped at the sudden pain of a blow that was worse than theirfailure with Fra Tomasso. Sophia not honest? No, he could not live withthat.
He stiffened so suddenly that his horse stopped walking. He stared atFriar Mathieu in dismay.
Friar Mathieu reached over and put his hand on Simon's arm. His touchwas light but firm.
"Know where you are going, Simon. Do not travel blindly."
Simon nodded. There was a way to find out the truth about Sophia.
He must put Sordello to work. The mere thought of that blackguard spyingon Sophia twisted his heart with anguish. But he had to know the truth.
