Chapter 7 #4
He too, he said, had read the so-called true gospels.
They were, of course, nothing of the sort.
Furthermore, it might interest the council to learn where they’d come from.
He had it on the very best authority (the square man said) that they had been handed to certain selected delegates, together with an unverified translation into Robur, by no less a person than the current leader of the gang of blasphemers who called themselves the Loyal Opposition.
He could prove this, he said (and thanks to his exceptional lung-power, we all heard him, in spite of the yelling) and would be delighted to do so at the earliest opportunity.
In fact, he insisted on it, for the simple reason that if he delayed, it was practically certain that he would be murdered by the inhuman and unnatural monster, controlled by the Loyal Opposition, which had already killed three delegates in the most foul and horrible manner imaginable.
The prospect of martyrdom (he went on) held no terrors for him; in fact, he welcomed it.
But violence as a tool of Evil incarnate could not be tolerated and must not be allowed to succeed.
The involvement of the Loyal Opposition meant that anyone who supported the motion was, by implication, making an open declaration of their sympathy and association with that organisation.
It was unthinkable that this council should provide its delegates with an opportunity to vote for the devil.
Therefore he proposed that a committee be appointed immediately to hear and evaluate his evidence, and he insisted that a vote on his proposal should be taken at once, before anything further was said and the monster had an opportunity to –
You had to be there. It’s one of my most painful memories.
Come off it; no, seriously. I may not believe in anything, but there are certain things that act as pillars to support my view of the world and stop the sky from falling in; one of them, probably the most important one, is the academic mind.
What does that mean? I’m not quite sure, but it includes learning, scholarship, science, the use of intellect rather than muscle and steel to solve problems, the fundamental hope (because that’s all it is) that the brain can achieve what the heart and the fist can’t – stuff like that.
It’s why I worship the old empire, strive to preserve old books from being lost for ever, can’t believe in the Invincible Sun, get off on theological debate.
And the sight of a large hall crammed full of the sort of men I admire the most, philosophers and theologians and men who can argue both hind legs off a donkey and still leave it standing – my heroes, my idols – doing what?
Howling and screaming and shaking their knobbly fists in the air, achieving a state where nothing could be said or heard.
Well, now. I might as well never have left the Mesoge.
I’d have got up and left if I could, but I was wedged in too tight. It’s just as well that I don’t believe in hell, because I can tell you exactly what it would be like, for me. Oh dear, or words to that effect.
At some point, someone – I’d like to think it was Vitimer but I doubt it – had a smart idea.
He sent out for two dozen handbells, the sort of thing we used to train with when I was a novice, learning to ring complex peals on the abbey bells.
In a confined space, those things are loud, and the acoustics in the Chapter House (a masterpiece of late imperial design) are pretty remarkable.
Whether by accident or design, the two dozen soldiers wielding them set up a discordant, arrhythmic, irregular pattern that made your eyes water and your teeth ache.
Ten minutes of that was more than flesh and blood could stand.
The yelling died away, then stopped. Vitimer stood up.
For what seemed like a long time he didn’t say a word; he just looked round, with infinite contempt.
Then he cleared his throat. A proposal had been made, he said, that a committee should be formed to investigate the contents and provenance of the disputed documents.
He fully endorsed the formation of such a committee, with the proviso that its report should be voted on by the council.
If the committee found in favour of the documents, they would henceforth be included in the canon of true scripture.
If it found against them, they would be declared heresy and anathema, all copies of them would be burned, possession of a copy would be a capital offence against canon law, and all reference to them would be forbidden on pain of permanent excommunication.
Accordingly the council would now move to an immediate vote, without further debate, on the question of whether or not to appoint a committee.
If that motion was passed, it would be followed by a general debate on the composition of the committee. All those in favour –
I don’t like Vitimer, but he’s not a complete fool.
He’d realised that what was needed right then was a proposition – any damn proposition, didn’t matter what it was – to which everybody would unanimously agree.
And if you want to get the noose off from around your neck, what better way than form a committee?
A moment later, every arm in the building was raised, including mine: a moment of dead silence and unity of purpose, marred only by the smell from a thousand armpits.
The motion, Vitimer announced, was carried. The debate on the composition of the committee would take place that evening. In the meantime, he proposed that the council be adjourned.
*
“He’s not smart,” she said. “He’s a coward. There’s a difference.”
I was too drained to argue. “Fine,” I said. “Have it your way. He’s an idiot.”
The sun had come out, and the courtyard behind the stables was glaringly bright; scriptorium light, an extremely valuable commodity back home. I could have done exceptionally fine work by it, with the right brush and a steady hand.
“I didn’t say that,” she said. “It wasn’t a stupid thing to do, but it was the wrong thing. All he’s done is stave off the end of the world for a little while. You can’t put a lid on something like this. And the harder you try, the worse you fail.”
“Actually,” I said, “he’s smart. You’ll note that he called the big debate for this evening.”
“So?”
“So it’s going to be a long debate,” I said. “I can more or less guarantee it’ll last all night. Which is brilliant.”
“Is it? Why?”
“Because if all the delegates are cooped up in the Chapter House all night, they can’t be in their beds getting murdered by Kotkel. Not unless he plans to smash his way through the entire council, and I don’t think that’s his style.”
She was silent for a moment: high praise. “I don’t suppose he intended that.”
“Maybe he didn’t, but it’s still good news,” I said.
“Another killing really wouldn’t help matters.
Also, I bet you anything you like it was deliberate.
For one thing, Vitimer’s got to be the number-one target.
Right now, a crowded council chamber’s about the only place where he’d be reasonably safe. ”
“And if you’re wrong and the monster does show up in the chamber?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Walkers don’t like crowds. It’s the same with daylight. They’re not afraid of them; they just don’t like them. Like you and I aren’t water-soluble, but we don’t go out in the rain.”
“You’re not going to be there, are you?” she said. “You’re going to skip the debate.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“You’re going to hang around here and hope the monster comes after you.”
“Am I? That’d be pretty brave of me. Brave meaning stupid.”
“Yes,” she said. “Brave as two short planks.”
“That’s me all over,” I said. “Besides, I think I’d rather face an eight-foot ravening monster than sit listening to all those intellectuals howling at each other. Not quite so depressing.”
“I’ll come with you,” she said.
My heart stopped. I hadn’t expected that – the worst words, proverbially, that a tactician can utter, but I wasn’t thinking of it in those terms. “Like hell you will,” I said.
“No, shut up,” she said. “If you really think there’s a chance that a better class of steel will make a difference, you’ll need someone who can fight. Don’t suppose you’ve ever noticed, but I’m good at that.” She picked up a cloth bundle I hadn’t noticed before and unwrapped it.
“Where the hell did you get that from?”
“The abbey treasury,” she said. “It’s a holy relic. I stole it.”
Weapons I can take or leave alone, but that thing was cute.
I’d never seen it before but I recognised it from the description in Vespaluus’ Life of Saint Jotapian.
There’s a legend, which is presumably bullshit, but what I think really happened is that someone took the blade from a genuine imperial army issue short sword, fitted it with a fancy silver-gilt and ivory hilt, and sold it as the saint’s personal sidearm.
It’s been in the treasury for six hundred years, stone-cold documented fact.
Imperial steel, the stuff they don’t make any more.
“You put that back right now. If we get caught with it, we’ll be in so much trouble—”
She didn’t dignify that with an answer. Killing the monster with St Jotapian’s own sword was, of course, exactly what orthodoxy needed.
It might just possibly be enough to heal the schism, given how gullible most people are, deep down where it matters.
“How on earth did you get in there? It’s the most secure area in Choris. ”
She smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “Yes, it is.”