Books: Masters of the Guild
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L. Lamprey >> Masters of the Guild
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"I have told you these things because a man should have neither overmuch
fear nor any contempt for his enemy, and these paynim are, or may be at
any time, our enemies. Our faith must be as this dagger, ready for service
by day or night, but for defense, not for assassination. Since Saladin has
come to the throne there is a stirring among the tribes that worship the
false prophet, and they may be once more dreaming that they may conquer
the world for Islam. They can never do it, but they may force us to
another Crusade in time. I am on my way to England now to make report to
the King of what I have seen. I hope that some day we may meet there. If
ever you want work, Sir Gualtier Giffard on the Welsh border will bid you
welcome if you say that you were sent by Hugh l'Estrange."
Moved by sudden impulse Dickon told in a few words the story of Audrey's
service and their promise. The knight held out his hand in open
kindliness. "You did well," he said. "Every man who keeps faith with his
neighbor, every good soldier, every wise and gentle monk, and more than
all, every true woman, is a link in a great chain that makes for the
safety of Christendom. A token is a small thing,--yes--but what is our
Cross itself but a token? I would wish my own lad Roger to have acted as
you did."
AWAKENING
Before the snows are melted that cradle the mountain streams,
Before the bear and the dormouse rouse from their winter dreams,
Before the earliest linnet flutes forth his roundel clear,
There comes an authentic moment that marks the turn of the year.
A brightness in the sunshine, a hint of life in the air,
A soft mist veiling the hilltops that were so brown and bare,
Nothing to note or ponder, nothing to see or hear,--
But there is a mystic difference that marks the turn of the year!
Light as the wings of a sea-mew in the rush of startled flight,
Cool as the touch of clover, shy as the dews of night,
Strong as the love of freedom, sudden as panic fear,
The restless gypsy longing wakes at the turn of the year.
Why do we toil and swelter over the task we hate?
What is to keep us fettered to the benches of sullen Fate?
There is nothing half so fleeting,--there is nothing half so dear
As the unfulfilled desire that comes with the turn of the year!
X
FOOLS' GOLD
"Yes," acknowledged old Tomaso thoughtfully, "I knew Archiater of
Byzantium very well at one time,--and yet no one ever really knew much
about him. He was more than a clever alchemist,--he was a discoverer of
secrets, and a good man. But for all that, he was condemned and executed
as a wizard."
Alan of York said nothing for a minute, but his fist clenched where it lay
on the table. "How could such a thing happen?" he said at last in a low
voice.
"Naturally enough, when wisdom must ever contend against the whelming
force of folly. But there is something worse--the will of a ruler seeking
to enslave knowledge to his own purpose. A madman with ideals is bad
enough, but Barbarossa's son is a diabolically sane person without any. A
man is not called 'the Cruel' without reason."
"But what object--" Alan began, and paused.
"Archiater the physician, as I knew him, would have been rather worse than
useless to that prince as I have heard of him," answered the Paduan
deliberately. "Such a patron demands creatures who do as they are told,--
which is not the duty of a philosopher. The easiest way to dispose of a
man who knows too much is to dub him a wizard. But, of course, all this is
merely guessing in the dark.
"The little that I do know is this. When we had been acquainted for about
three years he told me that he had been offered the use of a house in
Goslar in which he might carry on his experiments privately. The chief
inducement, for him, lay in the nature of the country, which is very rich
in minerals, and he decided to leave Padua in the hope of making important
discoveries in this new field. He went first to Hildesheim and developed a
formula for making bronze which is said to be extraordinary, and then
began exploring the Harz mountains. He sent me some of the ores he found;
it appears that there is nearly everything in those ranges. I heard no
more until the news came, in a roundabout way, that he was dead and his
ashes cast to the four winds. His writings were supposed to have been
burned at the same time, but not all of them were, for three manuscripts
at least must have gone to make up the fragments we found among our
bezants. I wish for your sake, Alan, my son, that I could tell you more,
for I know of no man who would gain more by Archiater's work than you. If
he had been your master I think you might have rivaled the Venetians."
Alan was not vain, and he never dreamed that Tomaso thought so highly of
his ability. In the Middle Ages the secrets of such arts as glass-making,
enameling, leather work, gold and silver work, and the making of
dyestuffs, were most jealously guarded. Alan had had two fortunate
accidents in his life; he had been taught in the beginning by a master-
artist, and later had come upon writings by a still greater genius, the
Byzantine philosopher of whom Tomaso had been speaking.
From the first glimpse he had had of the crabbed, clear handwriting, the
terse phrases, the daring and independent thought of Archiater, he had
been fascinated. Now he had set out to cross the narrow seas and find out
what, if anything, remained of the master's life-work.
"May there not have been some friend or pupil," he asked wistfully, "who
would have rescued his manuscripts?"
"In that case," Tomaso replied with gentle finality, "I think some of us
must have heard of it."
"And yet," Alan persisted, "some one had those parchments--some one who
may have received them from Archiater himself."
"Take care," the old man said with a rather melancholy smile. "That a
thing is possible and desirable, is no proof that it is true. To search
for that man seems to me like hunting the forest for last year's leaves.
But here come friends of yours."
Guy Bouverel came springing up the stair, Giovanni and Padraig close
behind him. When greetings had been exchanged, and Alan had told the
others that he was in London only for a brief stay on his way to France,
Tomaso addressed the young goldsmith.
"Guy," he said, "did you ever ferret out anything more about those
parchment scraps we found among the King's coin? You said that you should
make some inquiries." "Bezants are bezants and tell no tales," said Guy
with a shrug. "And if they did, they might lie, like so many of those who
love them. Why, you recall that I repacked that gold in my own chest
because I thought one of the clerks was growing too fond of it. I took it
as it lay and never looked at the parchments. I met the clerk one day in
Chepe and questioned him. He said that the gold was a part of that the
King recovered from the London Templars--you know, when he had to come
with an armed guard to get his moneys that were stored in their house.
Gregory of Hildesheim had something to do with it, for he was very wroth
when he found that I had got this particular chest. But he could not have
known what these scripts were or he would have kept them in a sealed
packet under his own hand."
"He could not have read most of them," said Tomaso. "Archiater usually
wrote his diaries in cipher. Who is this clerk?"
"Simon Gastard his name is. He was very anxious to leave England when last
I saw him. He was at me to join in a scheme for digging gold out of the
Harz mountains--Padraig, what are you grinning at?"
"Only to see how keen is your nose for a thief," Padraig chuckled. "If
Simon is after digging gold out of the ground with his hands 'tis the
honestest plan he has had this long time. Simon thinks gold is what heaven
is made of. He would look at the sunset and calculate what the gold would
be worth in zecchins--he would. But why all this talk of the parchments?"
"Because I have a mind to see whether any more of Archiater's work is to
be found," said Alan quietly. "It may be a fool's errand, but I could not
rest till I had made a beginning."
Three faces looked astonished, sympathetic and interested. Alan had the
hearty liking of his friends. They could depend upon him as on the market
cross. But they would almost as soon have expected to see that cross set
forth on pilgrimage as to find the quiet North Country glassmaker
beginning any such weird journey as this.
Tomaso broke the little silence, leaning forward in his oaken chair, his
finger-tips meeting. "We may as well sift what evidence we have," he said.
"If the manuscripts had been in the hands of any one who knew the cipher
he must have done work so far beyond anything else in his craft that it
would be heard of. Archiater never made use of half his discoveries--and
he was always finding out secrets concerning the crafts. He knew things
about glassmaking, enamel-work, dyestuffs, and medicine, that no one else
did. He was occupied almost wholly with experiment and research. There are
not two such men in a century.
"Giovanni, you are the only one of us who has been beyond the Rhine. Do
you know any one there who might possibly aid in this search?"
The Lombard seldom talked unless he was directly addressed. "One man," he
said, "might know the truth."
"Would he reply to a letter?"
Giovanni shook his head. "He does not write letters. If I could see him I
would ask him, but the air of Goslar is not wholesome for me." He looked
at Alan curiously. "Do you think of going there?"
"Why not?" Alan returned.
"There are rather more than half a score of reasons why not," said
Giovanni, with a little mocking smile. "Do you speak many foreign
languages?"
"Only French."
"And the moment you opened your mouth they would know you for an
Englishman. A foreign glassworker searching for the books of a reputed
wizard who made the Hildesheim bronze they are so proud of. That would
interest the Imperial spies."
"Vanni," said Alan, getting up, "I know well what a hare-brained
undertaking this must seem to you. But if you see fit to give me any
advice, I shall value it."
The young men took their leave of Tomaso and followed the curving shore of
the Thames eastward to the city. "Look you," said Guy presently, "I have a
plan--not a very shrewd one perhaps, but you shall judge of that. This
clerk, Simon Gastard, knows the country and the language. If his story is
true it may be worth looking into. I would not trust him alone with the
value of a Scotch penny. But if you were to go with him as my proxy, you
would have a chance of talking with this man Giovanni has in mind."
Padraig sniffed. "And Simon would sell ye to the devil if he got his
price. 'Tis pure rainbow-chasing, Alan--but I love ye for it."
"Fools are safer than philosophers, in some parts of the world," observed
Giovanni dryly. "And they are commoner everywhere. I hear that the
Templars are trying to find a tame wizard who can be kept in a tower to
make gold."
"Vanni," said Guy demurely, "did you ever, in your travels, hear of any
one making gold?"
"No," said the Milanese, "but I have known of a score finding fool's gold,
and that's the kind you come on at the end of the rainbow. Alan, if you
are resolved on this thing, I will give you a token and a password to a
man you can trust."
At London Stone they separated, Giovanni turning toward London Bridge,
Padraig wending his way to Saint Paul's, Guy and Alan making their way
through clamorous narrow streets to the Sign of the Gold Finch.
"By Saint Loy," said the goldsmith suddenly, "here comes the clerk
himself. Gastard," he beckoned to a little threadbare man edging along by
the wall, "I have a question to ask about the matter you wot of."
If Alan had heard nothing beforehand he would have taken the man for a
fussy, inoffensive little scrivener who would never do more than he was
bid--or less. But when they were seated in the private room above the
shop, in which Guy kept some of the finest of his gold and silver work,
Simon's restless eyes began to glitter, and he reminded Alan of a rat in
the dairy.
Guy came at once to the point. Would Simon repeat his story for Alan's
enlightenment? Simon would. He related how, when returning from
pilgrimage, he had lost his way in the Harz valley and come upon a
hermitage where a very old monk lay near death. In gratitude (Simon said)
for services to him in his extremity, the hermit had revealed the secret
of a rich mine of gold in the mountains. Simon had gone to the mine,
secured nuggets of the precious metal, but most unfortunately had shown
them to Gregory of Hildesheim, a Templar said to be wise in the arts of
alchemy and metal-working. Gregory had seemed interested at first, but
afterward had told him that the ore was not gold at all, but a cunning
counterfeit devised by Satan. He had not even returned the specimens, but
had railed upon Simon for trying to pass them off as gold. That night a
heavy snowfall, the first of many, made it impossible to visit the mine
again. Now that Gregory was in England Simon wished to go again and secure
more of the gold secretly. It was scarcely possible to find the place
without direction, but one man, Simon solemnly declared, could, with pick
and shovel and leathern bag, bring away a fortune.
"It would be necessary," said Guy, "to purify the gold so far as to make
it into rude ingots, if it is, as you say, in the rocks and not in free
lumps and particles washed down a stream. You need a companion who
understands such work. Now, I cannot take up the matter myself, but my
friend here knows enough of metals, though he is no goldsmith, to do that
part of the work. Some sort of makeshift laboratory might be arranged for
that. Then, if it is really a rich mine, we will see what can be done
next. But you will understand that I cannot be expected to undertake any
work involving great expense unless I have some other proof than you can
give me now. If you will take my friend to this mine, so that he may
secure ore enough to make his experiments, and I see the gold for myself,
I will pay the cost of the expedition. More than this, it seems to me, you
cannot expect."
With this Simon effusively agreed. Alan had been watching Guy's face with
interest during the interview. The Londoner's usual debonair manner had
become the cool decision of a man with whom it is unsafe to deal slyly.
When Simon's back had vanished in the crowd of Chepe, Guy began rolling up
papers and closing books. "That may save you some time and trouble," he
said, "if you can stomach his company. I do not believe, you know, that
there is any gold in the ledges. Simon knows no more of the nature of
metals than Saint Anthony's Pig."
"What is the truth of the matter, do you think?" asked Alan.
"I thought at first that he had invented the whole story. But in that case
he would hardly have agreed to my plan so eagerly. It is just possible, of
course, that gold is there--it has been found in the Harz. He says that
the stuff is not brittle, and can be hammered and cut, which does not
sound like an iron ore. And his description of the rocks is too good to be
his own fancy. Again, the ore may be 'fool's gold',--a mixture of copper
and sulphur. In that case you will know it right enough when you come to
the roasting of it. In any case I am interested enough in the tale to take
a little trouble, and you and your private treasure-hunt happen to alloy
very happily with my curiosity."
"Guy," said Alan, "you may laugh, but your aid means more to me than you
know. If the clerk's tale is false you shall be repaid for your outlay."
"Pshaw!" laughed Guy, "a copper mine is good enough to repay me. And then,
I take a certain interest in the manuscripts you are after. After all, if
you should find them it would be no stranger than those parchments coming
to us as they did, through the very hands of both Gregory and Simon. That
was a golden jest--but we must keep it hid for awhile. And now, what I
know of metals and their ways is at your service."
Behold Alan then, after no more than the usual adventures of a journey,
busied with a small furnace in a small stone-floored room over an archway
in the walled city of Goslar. It was a late spring and bitterly cold, and
the heat of the fire was grateful. Simon had thus far put off taking his
companion to see the mine, and Alan had been occupied with fitting up a
place in which the ore should be tested when the time came.
Hearing the blare of trumpets, he craned his head out of window, and
caught a glimpse of the imperial banner flaunting and snapping in the
chill wind. He caught up cap and cloak and ran down the winding stone
stairs, coming out upon the market-square just as the guards entered it.
So close that Alan could have touched him, there went by a humped and
twisted figure with a jester's bells and bauble--a man with a maliciously
smiling mouth and wicked, observant, tired eyes. The white pointed beard
and worn, lined face belonged to an older man than Alan had expected to
see. The eyes met his for a second, he flung his cloak over the left
shoulder with the gesture Giovanni had taught him, and a few minutes later
an impudent small page pulled his sleeve and whispered that Master Stefano
desired to see him.
The boy led him through ancient streets to the entrance of a tall house
near the wall, and went off whistling. An old woman opened the door and
showed him into a little ante-room where, the jester sat, perched upon the
corner of a table. Alan bowed, and waited in silence.
"Very well," said the jester with a laugh. "And now, since we are quite
alone, why do you, an honest man, pretend to be the fellow of that
rascally clerk?"
Alan always met an emergency coolly. "I did not know the country or the
language," he said, "and I took this way of reaching Goslar in the hope of
learning the truth about one Archiater of Byzantium."
The jester's high cackling laughter broke in. "Truth from a fool!" he
shrilled. "Oh, the wisdom of those who are not fools is past
understanding! Why do you rake those ashes?"
"I have read some of his writings," Alan went on undisturbed, "and if
there should be more--anywhere--I would risk much for the sake of them."
Stefano shook his head mockingly, and the bells mocked with him. "You
English are mad after gold. They say here that Archiater sold his soul for
his knowledge."
"That is child's prattle," said the young man a little impatiently. "Gold
is all very well, but a man's life is in his work, not his wages. If you
can tell me nothing of what I seek, I will not trouble you."
The fool clasped one knee in his long crooked white fingers. "You have no
wife, I take it."
"I have not thought about it. But that has nothing to do with secrets of
the laboratory."
"Heh-heh! Little you know of women. They have everything to do with a
secret. But suppose the manuscrips are worthless?"
"That is not possible," Alan returned. "The lightest memorandum of such a
man has value. It is like a finger-post pointing to treasure. There are
writings, then?"
"I said nothing of the sort," retorted Stefano. "I know all about your
search for treasure. Your clerk is digging the hills up this very day for
fool's gold. It has the look of gold--yes--but it is copper and brimstone
mixed in Satan's crucible--fool's gold and no more. Neither you nor he
will get any true gold out of that mine."
"I tell you," said Alan in sharp earnest, "that I came here with him for
convenience, not for treasure. A friend to whom I owe much desired to know
whether the clerk's story were true or false. For myself I seek only to
know what remains of the work of Archiater, because he was a master whose
work should not be lost. There must be those--somewhere--who could go on
with it,--if we but knew."
"Aye," chuckled the jester, "if we but knew!" Then leaning forward he
caught Alan by the shoulder. "Listen, you young chaser of dreams--what
would you give to see what Archiater left? Eh? Would you guard the secret
with your life? Eh? They burned the books in the public square--yes--but
if there was something that was not a book, what would you do for a sight
of that?"
Alan's heart was pounding with excitement, but his face was unmoved. "I am
not good at fencing, Master Stefano. I have been frank with you because I
am assured that you are to be trusted, and I think that you trust me or
you would not thus play with me. When you are ready to ask a pledge,--ask
it."
"Well and straightly spoken," nodded the jester. "If I reveal to you what
I know of this philosopher and his work, you shall pledge yourself to
betray nothing, to say nothing--not so much as a hint that I knew him--
whether I am alive or dead."
Now and then in his life Alan had acted from pure blind instinct. This was
the blindest, blackest place it had ever led him to. He did not hesitate.
"I promise," he said.
"Very good," said the jester, and drummed thoughtfully upon the table. "We
will begin with matters which are not bound up in your promise--for they
concern your friend who desires to sift out the clerk's tale about his
mine. This is the true story. Archiater found many metals and minerals in
these hills, and made some of his experiments in the ruins of an old pagan
temple close to the spot where he discovered a vein of copper. He was half
a winter trying out what he found, from arsenic to zircon. Simon watched
him by stealth, tracked him like a beagle, and finally went to one high in
authority with the report that he was making secret poisons. This would
have been no crime had the poisons been available for practical use. As it
was, they felt it safest to have Archiater seized when he came back to the
city, and tried as a wizard.
"They ransacked his house and got his books, of course, but Simon had
stolen some stray manuscripts he found in the old ruin and sold them.
Nothing, however, was gained by the person who paid the money, because the
writings were partly in cipher, and the key to the cipher had been burned
in the public square."
"Then the Templars may still have the manuscripts," mused Alan
disconsolately.
"Maybe," the fool said with a little laugh, "but I said there might be
something that was not a manuscript. Come you with me."
Taking a rushlight from a shelf the jester toiled slowly up two flights of
winding stairs, and then a short, straight flight of wooden steps,--opened
a door, and stood aside to let Alan pass. The young man paused on the
threshold in silent wonder.
The room within was not large, but it glowed from floor to ceiling like
some rare work in mosaic or Limoges enamel. The walls were hung with such
tapestries as Alan had seen on rare holidays in a cathedral, or in the
palace of duke or bishop. They were covered with needlework of silk in all
the colors of the rainbow, wrought into graceful interwoven garlands and
figures. The cushions of chair and settle, the panels of a screen, the
curtains of the latticed windows, displayed still more of this marvelous
embroidery, subtly contrasted and harmonized with the coloring of a rich
Persian rug upon the floor. The heart of all this glowing, exquisite
beauty was a young girl in straight-hanging robes of fine silk and wool,
her gleaming bronze hair falling free over her shoulders from a gold
fillet, her deep eyes meeting the stranger's with the sweet frankness of a
sheltered, beloved child.
The jester bowed low, his gay fantastic cap in hand, all his fleering,
mocking manner changed to a gentle deference.
"Josian, my dear," he said, "this is the young man of whom I sent you
word. He has traveled many weary miles to see and speak with Archiater's
daughter."
TO JOSIAN FROM PRISON
I
Sweetheart my daughter:
These three days and nights
(Stephen has told me) thou dost grieve for me
Silently, hour by hour. Yet do not so,
My little one, but think what happiness
We shared together, and attend thy tasks
Diligently as thou 'rt ever wont to do.
When thou dost add thy mite of joyous life
To the great world, thou art a giver too,
Like to the birds who make us glad in spring.
Be happy therefore, little bird, and stay
Warm in thy nest upon the housetop high,
Where may God keep thee safe. And so, good-night.
II
Dearest my little one:
It hath been ruled
That I shall go away to that far land
Which I have told thee of. Men call it Death.
Thou knowest that our souls cannot be free
Dwelling within these houses of the flesh,
Yet for love's sake we do endure this bondage,
As would I gladly if God willed it so.
Stephen will care for thee as for a daughter,--
Be to him then a daughter; he has none
Save thee to love him. For the rest, remember
That in the quiet mind the soul sees truth,
And I shall speak to thee in our loved books,
As in the sunshine and the sound of music,
The beauty and the sweetness of the world.
Three kisses give I thee,--brow, eyes, and lips.
Think wisely, and see clearly, and speak gently.
Thy little bed at night shall hold thee safe
As mine own arms,--thine elfin needle make
Thy little room a bright and lovely bower.
Thy household fairies Rainbow, Lodestone, Flint,
Shall do thy will. Thy stars have said to me
That thou wilt see far lands and many cities.
Await thy Prince from that enchanted shore
Beyond the rainbow's end, and read with him
Thy magic runes. This charge I lay on him
That he shall love thee--more than I--farewell!
Thy father,
ARCHIATER
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