Alaric in Mirabeau part 6: The Shriving
In The Doom that Came to
Amber
The Shriving
Once
in the church, Mother Bellano lights a single candle
on the altar and places two stools before it so you can both sit comfortably.
Then she beckons you to kneel beside her before the altar and she says a quick
prayer before rising and gesturing to the left-hand stool. She sits on the low
stool with difficulty; she’s middle-aged and slightly plump. But once sat, she
spends about half a minute gazing at you with a half smile. If you find her
gaze disturbing, you can start the conversation or look around you. The church
reminds you a little of the
If after a minute or two, if you haven’t
said something first. Mother
Bellano says quietly. “You did a brave thing
tonight...and a difficult one for you personally, yes? It is not an easy thing
to kill in cold blood, not even for your faith. Tell me, in your own words,
what happened, from the start – about how you felt at the time.”
Alaric
says nothing. He smiles politely back at Mother Bellano
and muses over the similarities between the lines of classical renaissance
churches in
“That
is a fair summation of events but not an account and reveals nothing of your
feelings.”
“Well
as to how I feel? Initially anger, mother. Anger. Anger that someone dared to waylay
me and sought to remove from me the sketches that I was discussing with my
friend. Anger that they threatened both my friend and myself.
Fear for my friend – for he is a gentle man.”
“Understandable.”
“Annoyance
that I was obliged to kill one outright,” Alaric pauses “and regret that I did
not immediately kill the other. Regret, also that my conceit and my arrogance
betrays some relief, and, perhaps, that Mira’s will has been wrought though my
blade. Wonder that my skill with a blade has become so poor that I took a wound
on my arm and bemusement over how I shall acquire another shirt of such a fine
cut and quality of linen – in such a land as this one. Beyond that, mother, my
emotions are and remain my business.” All of the above is delivered coldly and
clinically and with a barely concealed impatience for the entire charade and
both the actors taking part in it.
She
nods slowly, as in understanding rather than agreement.
“And
I have other business – and I feel detained. If you could carry out the
necessary service of shriving than I should be pleased to leave you to your
private devotions.” He smiles coldly.
“We
are about it now; it has begun.” She looks around, breaking her gaze for the
first time in several minutes. “The Goddess in her wisdom is aware that her
laws, which are just and good and for the defence of her faith and so for the
weal of all of us, may sometimes be hard to bear. So in circumstances such as
these, where an obviously sensitive individual has been required to do
something potentially...traumatic, in an emotional sense, she dictates he shall
be able to speak freely and relieve himself of the burden of feelings: anger,
regret...guilt, before receiving the rite of absolution in a genuine state of
spiritual peace.” She looks back to you. “The process finishes when you have
been honest with me, the Goddess and yourself. I sense this has not been the
case so far. So perhaps you would like to elaborate?”
Alaric
is a little irritated by this. “Obviously sensitive
individual?”
“You
are showing all the signs of a sensitive nature, yes.”
“Traumatic in an emotional sense?”
“You
exhibited understandable signs of...reluctance and your behaviour at the time
and since has been...erratic.”
“Madam,
you do not know to whom to you speak or your analysis of a situation such as
this would be rather more accurate!”
She
gestures you to continue. Her smile is friendly and inviting, in no way
humorous or mocking.
“I
trained as a mercenary and I have served as a soldier over many years. I
duelled copiously and throughout much of this murderous professionalism, art
and the practice and study of art has kept my body and
soul together, intellectually, physically and emotionally. My boyish good looks
obviously belie my wealth of experience. Mirabeau has
a reputation for the production of very fine art and I am very happy to serve
the Goddess in the production of art. My anger is directed both at those who
inflict the carrying out of the Goddess’ laws upon my person. It is also upon
those who allow the conditions for the growth of poverty and an often
concomitant criminal element to exist.”
“The
person who ‘inflicts’ these laws upon you is the Goddess herself.” Mother Bellano in no way seems angry or surprised at your
outburst. “Are you angry with her? You have a right to be!”
“My
regrets are as I stated earlier. Had I been aware of Mira’s laws in such an
area...”
She
raises a questioning eyebrow.
...I
would, no, may have given the injured man the opportunity to repent. I briefly
toyed with the idea of taking him with me and giving him the opportunity to
reform himself and support his family, if indeed he
had one.”
Now
she shows genuine surprise, shock even.
“I
would have certainly, given the choice, have killed him on the spot and sent
his soul to Mira to judgement.”
“Had
you done so, you would have denied him justice and condemned your own soul into
the bargain. It was not an option.”
I
would not willingly have taken any part in his later execution and I am
outraged that I was obliged to do so.” Alaric is looking straight back into Mother
Bellano’s gaze. “I do not like politics and I do not
participate in state executions. I do feel remorse at having broken Mira’s
strictures and I do ask absolution of you.”
She
has regained her composure but says nothing for a time, thinking deeply.
Clearly your words have disturbed her. “There was no politics in what happened
tonight and I am not aware you have broken any strictures though I understand
you may feel otherwise, which is why what we are doing here is so important.” She
looks earnestly and imploringly into your eyes. “My son, take a moment to
reflect on your words and demeanour in the last few minutes. You have been
affected by tonight’s events far more deeply than you are admitting, perhaps
even to yourself, and I cannot grant you absolution until you are honest with
me.”
“If
you think I am less than candid with you – then I can assure you that you are
probably correct. However, my honesty is between Mira and myself, and without
meaning to be overly offensive, it does not require an intermediary – and that
is not conceit. It is a statement of fact.” Alaric stands up.
Mother
Bellano rises with you but unhurriedly. “You believe
you have an intimate acquaintance with the Goddess?” She looks away for a
second, thinking. “Yes! I believe this to be true.” She makes eye contact again.
Something about the way she looks at you makes it seem she’s looking into the
depths of your soul.
“BELIEVE?”
Alaric is outraged at her doubt. “I HAVE an intimate acquaintance with the
Goddess – which phrase did you not understand Priestess? I am working directly
for Mira and our business is our business and are not
for general discussion amongst her clergy.” Alaric is even more bringing
Pattern to mind. “
You
both stand facing each other in silence. She seems perfectly self-contained,
not at all fazed by your anger. After more than a minute, she speaks. “Very well! I withdraw my remark: you are not angry at all.”
She smiles ironically and continues. “You claim you are a priest and I believe
this to be true. But you also claim you were forced to involve yourself in
tonight’s execution, but that is not true, is it? In fact, the Goddess told you
not to. Am I right?”
“I
have made no claim to be a Priest of Mira – in fact I can state categorically
that I am not a Priest of Mira.” Gosh he’s angry. The toy box will soon be
emptied. “I would sooner be a Priest under my mother and not reduced to wearing
saintly smocks and following a predestined life of celibacy singing Hosannas
whilst painting the most mediocre, mealy mouthed travesties of...”
“You
are not a priest? Who else does a Goddess speak to?” She makes eye contact
again. [Again, she seems to be looking into the depths of your soul.]
Alaric
sharply brings Pattern to mind – no one wants a Miran
Priestess in his or her head!
[You’ve
felt nothing so far but OK. You can’t do it immediately but you start now. It
usually takes a minute or two.]
Yeah
– well she’d better like what she sees, eeeeerrrrrrrrr!
Hmmmmmmm.
Pattern. Hmmmmmmmmmm.
[OK,
it’s there – and it makes not the blindest bit of difference. You never felt
her in your mind to begin with. She is, after all, merely a mortal. She is
perhaps merely a sensitive, perceptive woman, skilled at reading faces and body
language – and obviously with inside information on your conversations with
Mira.]
“SHE
speaks directly to me, Richard Alars. And it has been
known that we have spoken whilst partaking a very fine
meal.”
“So
you have eaten with the Goddess? An honour indeed – She must think highly of
you. Only her highest archpriests and prophets get that privilege. But this is
not surprising – when...Salli knocked on my door, she
pointed you out. You were a small distance away, studying a small object
intently. When you joined us a scant minute later and spoke to young Paolo, I
saw briefly the likeness of the Goddess before you put it away in that case.”
She gestures to your Trump case.
“Salli is far too overly interested in me and my actions. Salli,
would do better to perfect her painting and get where she so very obviously
wants to be – which as we both know is to be an Iconer.”
A
smile creases Mother Bellano’s lips; she seems amused
for the first time. “Perhaps it would be a good thing if you were to speak with
her now. When she is satisfied, I will have no qualms over absolving you, if
that is still necessary. My son, listen to yourself.
You are angry and you are not used to being angry.” [s’true,
good stuff people usually aren’t. :-)]
“My
Trumps, or, Icons as you call them are my concern. The
image you saw of the Goddess was given to me by Mira. You will do as you see
fit Madam, but I would that you did so soon. I find that my good nature is
deserting me and I have a friend to consult and would eat, drink and pack
before I travel.”
Alaric
is calmer now, smiles at Mother Bellano and says “I
have already spoken to the Goddess, as you correctly observed and she wishes me
to be about my business in swift order. She also bade me to beware of my
conceit – but I can hardly help that. Conceit is a family condition. May I
leave now mother? I will accept your blessing but not your absolution. The
journey may be difficult and the homecoming ... trying.”
“The
Goddess’ law is explicit and she is with us now: has been since I lit the
candle. Were I to allow to you to leave unshriven, a
burden would be on my soul as well as yours. The ritual has begun and neither
of us can leave this place until it is finished.”
“Actually,
Madam I can leave this place when I please. And, as I could not bear [sarcasm ‘R
Us] to be the cause of such a burden mother I shall leave you to absolve
yourself at your leisure.”
She
smiles once more. “Come, why are you so reluctant to bare your soul?”
“I
should sooner bare my soul to my BLOODY mother, Priestess. Do you not
understand? – I am not interested in soul searching – I am interested in DOING.
And I am not accountable for my actions TO YOU”
“I
understand! I understand...you have now twice introduced the subject of your
mother; it seems she is on your mind. I wish now you had spoken with a priest
for your shriving. But perhaps it is for the best after all.” She smiles gently
and talks quietly, intimately. “I already know much of which you speak.” She
gestures toward an antechamber nearby. “Take the candle and see the proof.”
“Don’t
even think to try a Freudian analysis of me Madam.”
“What
is ‘freudian’? I do not know the term.”
“Mother love, Madam. In the most unhealthy
sense.”
“‘Freudian’ mmm! An analysis of ‘mother
love’?” She seems doubtful.
“Madam,”
Alaric bows deeply, “I do not feel Holy enough to touch the candle and if I
chose to touch it I might feel obliged to do something unfortunate with it. And
if you know much of which I speak I shall spare you the tedium of having me
RECOUNT IT IN PERSON.” Alaric turns and storms out of the Chapel [hopefully].
The
beautiful wrought ironbound doors refuse to open. Mother Bellano
neither locked nor barred them and you cannot see anything holding them shut
but now you examine them closely, you can feel a trump essence within them.
“The
ritual has begun...” repeats Mother Bellano, “…and
neither of us can leave this place until it is finished.” She picks up the
candle and beckons to you. “Please...come with me.”
“Stop
being so fucking reasonable,” mutters Alaric under his breath. “Very well
Madam, it appears that I am further obliged to impose upon your charmingly
rustic, though sadly lacking in vittles, hospitality.”
“If
you did as your Goddess bids, you would no longer be impinging upon it.” Her
tone is flat and matter of fact, utterly devoid of anger. The sort of voice a
very patient adult uses on a child who sulks over its own stupidity. “Now you
can come with me or not but we won’t be finished until you learn to obey the
Goddess.”
“Ah.
The grand tour of the Chapel; architecture to rival Bruneleschi’s
own with a ceiling by – yes, it’s Michaelangelo. Lit
by scented candles and filled to its rude wooden beams with the pungent scents
of albumen paints past their sell-by dates. Oh I cannot wait for the further
joys of this night.”
“You
won’t have to, it’s just here.” Alaric follows her into a robing
chamber with cupboards filled with vestments, robes for the various ceremonies
the Priestess must perform. She also uses it as a private night studio; it is
well lit, probably for reading the books and iconographies on the shelves at
the back. “My duties don’t allow me to paint as much as I used to in the
seminary or the Cathedral but I like to unwind by sketching or painting for an
hour or two before going to bed. This week, I’ve been working on this...”
She
pushes forward the candle to reveal a small, half-finished triptych. The still
wet paint of the outside glistens in the candlelight, revealing a scene where a
man in black and white eats food with a woman clearly meant to be the Goddess. Mother
Bellano opens it to show that, inside, only the
left-hand panel is painted. That panel depicts the same man slaying a kneeling
figure as several onlooking priests sing hymns. The
slayer’s left arm is bare to the shoulder, revealing bloodstained bandage. For
a second you think it’s all coincidence, as he looks
nothing like you from the neck up. Then you realise it shows you as you without
your wig; the figure wears his hair short and red.
The
middle panel shows the same man dressed in priestly robes lecturing a class of
artists in what looks like a chapel. The right panel shows the same figure in
bright armour fighting against a vicious feral unicorn on a mountaintop. These
two are still just drawings, devoid of colour. It’s well executed, well up to
the standard required for Trump, though of course you could do better.
Alaric
doesn’t reply. He studies the triptych intensely and completely ignores Mother Bellano as he is absolutely engaged with the work of art.
She
seems content to retire to a chair nearby and watch him, smiling indulgently.
His
anger is subsumed in his professional and personal interest. He moves candles
around to enable a closer view of the various works. He is genuinely taken
aback by the subject matter. He makes the occasional ‘ah-ha’ sound of
understanding. After about 10 minutes he says, “may I
trouble you for some wine Madam?”
“I
am afraid the only wine available is consecrated and I cannot get a more
mundane beverage until the ritual is complete.”
Alaric
goes back to his study – probably entering a semi trance state in which to
examine it more closely. Possibly some 30 minutes later he breaks out of his
examination. “It is a fair enough piece of work Mother Bellano.”
“Thank
you! I respect your opinion.”
Alaric
gives a very good and very fair criticism of the work. “As to the subjects
depicted. Well, you have painted what has occurred and I suggest the pencil
sketches are images of what may come to pass.”
She
nods agreement.
“What
it lacks, as a whole is a sense of passion. The viewer has no real sense of the
nature or the passion of either the subjects or the story that is unfolding
about them.”
“Yes!”
She sighs, still smiling. “That’s always been my problem; I have a naturally
dispassionate nature.”
“That
is what most art here lacks mother. Sure there is fervent passion in your lives
– but it is all directed at or about Mira. The iconography is frankly clumsy – but
the execution of it rather well done. That is really the difference between Mirabeau and the work produced by the artists of the High
Renaissance – Passion.”
“High
renaissance?” quizzes the priestess. “Now here I have to disagree with you,
young man. You have only seen the work of Salli’s
tyro acolytes and perhaps some more mature work in the cathedral but I assure
you there is plenty of passion both about Mira and about frankly secular
subjects. Perhaps one day you will see the Chapter House in the Cathedral and I
think there will be passion enough, even for you.”
“Then
take me there Madam. Take me to your Chapter House. I would know much, much,
more of your art – and, soon before I leave Mirabeau.”
“In
the morning – assuming the ritual is finished by then.”
“Please
– I have recently executed a portrait of Mira myself – and I would be pleased
if you were to see it and, if you like it, I shall gift it to your Chapel.”
“I
and my humble church would be honoured.”
Alaric
nods. “Now Mother Bellano.
You have drawn all the clues as to my identity and my current purpose in Mirabeau. My work is for Mira and I suspect that, in a
really quite curious way, that I may outrank you. Thank you for your interest
and patience but I really do have to be about my work.”
“Of
course you do, and so we come back to the ritual.” She composes herself to pay
you full attention. “Tell me honestly how you felt during tonight’s events – and
why you have been so reluctant to discuss the matter.”
“My,
reluctance is due solely to my upbringing Madam. I do not hail from Mirabeau, or from its hinterland. I have not been brought
up to bare my soul to anyone. I simply do not do confession, private or public
and I do not wish to participate in discussions over my feelings. They are mine
and they are private. I feel little for this night’s events. I do not know your
rituals and I do not know how I am expected to behave within your rituals so I
am forced to fall back to my earlier expressions of anger and regret. To this I
would add that I am pleased that by your laws the hamstrung man died in the way
decreed by Mira’s laws. He would have been dealt similar summary justice where
I usually dwell. What is done, is done and by the law of Mira.”
She
sits quietly after you’ve finished, head on one side,
thinking or listening. After a long silence, she speaks quietly and firmly, as
if stating a simple truth to a child. “You seem to think it is my decision when
to end the ritual. I am afraid you are mistaken. The Goddess is listening to us
at this minute and she will tell us when the ritual is over. You must simply
overcome your upbringing and speak openly. If you have a problem with that,
then you must take it up with the Goddess. Now!”
“Then
Mira, I Alaric say to you that I would admit contriteness over having nearly
countered your law. The man was yours and always was yours. I am bound to admit
an outburst of anger and another of conceit and those acts I should apologise.”
She
casts an oblique glance at the candle by the triptych then again cocks her head
as if listening but this time she speaks sooner. “No! I must be firm! You will
go through the evening step by step and recount your feelings in detail.
Apologies are unnecessary and unwarranted.”
“Then Madam, I must confess my confusion. For I have both
recounted the events of this night along with their concomitant feelings. So
confused that I shall further council.” Alaric produces his Trump deck,
extracts the Trump of Mira and attempts to contact her directly.
You get through immediately. In fact, the trump seems to connect
before you even start concentrating. Mira sounds tired and slightly peevish. “Yes, Alaric! Waste my time some more – why not? You’re
going to ask if you have to go through with the ritual and the answer is ‘YES!’“
She spits the word out in temper. “You are my prophet; the embodiment of my
worship and you will set an example to others.” Her face is red with true
anger. “Now stop wasting time like the dilettante poseur you have been and get
into the spirit of the thing. If you want what you asked for you can bloody
well work for it!”
The contact breaks.
“Then give me something to work with,” he hisses, pale with anger
and indignation. He stops from saying anything worse and breaks contact with
the irate Goddess.
She broke first, almost certainly not hearing your words.
He looks up at Mother Bellano. “Well, mother.
Mira has been more than unusually forthcoming in her reply to me. And I shall
obey her as her Prophet doubtless ought.”
Mother Bellano nods gravely but doesn’t
ask for clarification.
“This evening began when my friend Paolo awoke. He has just been
introduced to advanced painting through an accidental gift of the Goddess and I
have been encouraging him to explore his new skills. Unfortunately, until last
night it had not occurred to me that he was exhausting himself during the
process. So I spent the day in his rooms to make sure that his sleep was sound
and that I was there to assist him when he awoke. I spent some time sketching
Paolo in preparation for a Trump painting and I was disturbed by the
implications of my sketching. I destroyed it and had been drawing a sleeping
Paolo until he awoke – sometime that evening.”
“Having made sure that he was well I went out to get food for both
of us. We consumed this and discussed our current work. I was uncomfortable
with Paolo’s interpretation of me as a soldier of the Goddess. I was
particularly uncomfortable with the iconography that was depicted and my
seeming role in events. I was depicted as warlike and have been in denial of it
for hundreds of years. Paolo saw me as a crusader, fighting for our faith. He said,
‘I know you, Richard. I know you’d fight for what’s important. For your art’. He is right, Art is
the only thing I will fight for. I was also depicted as a prophet – and I have
little interest in politics or religion which,” and he smiles with irony, “seems
peculiar given my current state in Mirabeau.”
“I later discussed with Paolo my plan to establish a formal
teaching school for art in...a certain place, and that
I would like him to join me there. I also showed him some sketches of Miran iconography I had done in the Cathedral and he was
not able to explain them in terms of traditional iconography but thought that Salli might be able to help. We set off towards the bar
where Salli and her coterie currently meet and
stopped to look at the sketches again. We were walking down an alleyway when
the attempted mugging took place. Seeing the size of the big man it briefly
crossed my mind that it was a relative of mine and that I might be held to be
guilty of treason by some of my relatives. I was pleased to discover that it
was just a group of thugs.”
“I was outraged by the concept of art theft – and had felt that
Mira was guilty of the same crime when she removed my deck of Trumps [you call
them Icons] when I first came to Mirabeau a few
months ago. I looked to Paolo for backup – but he was too inexperienced and
frightened to either help or run and it became clear that either they died or I
died and I have too much left undone to die at this time.”
“I decided on an attack strategy and performed it, mostly
adequately. I will admit to some feeling of adequacy when I was sprayed with
the blood of my first opponent. There was no bloodlust – I prefer death to be
far more clinical than that and there was no fancy swordplay either. But my
offence was at the personal attack on my person and the threat to Paolo. Mira
and her Art did not come into the equation. I let the third one run in the
foolish belief that he would fetch help for the injured one.”
All through your narrative, the priestess sits quietly, listening
intently. It’s been a while since you’ve been paid such rapt attention. Her air
is of total concentration on your words and their meanings. She occasionally
nods but you never feel it is in approval of your actions, merely an
acknowledgement or understanding of them.
“Paolo was still in shock and was unable to offer advice as to who
to tell about the attack and he fell back on his friendship with Salli. He bound my arm for me and we sought the appropriate
cafe. He was full of tales of bravery to Salli and I
was embarrassed by the accolades. They were not worthy opponents and I was
fortunate that the second attack was so slow. My cousins would have despatched
the three with far greater speed than I had managed. I wanted to check my arm
for poisons but Salli prevented me from a closer
examination. Paolo was despatched for wine with which to celebrate our good
fortune. Then Salli announced that the hamstrung man
was an outlaw and should be executed immediately. I protested. The manner of
his death was for me to determine. I was conceited, but it is not my way – and
I do not have the benefit of a Mirabeauan education.
You were fetched on the way back to the alleyway and I Trumped Mira to ask her
what fate should deliver to an Art Mugger. I tried to intervene and she
rebuffed me.”
“How did you feel about that?” Her question surprises you.
Obviously up till now she’s been happy with your narrative.
“It is Mira’s world and I respect her authority over it.”
Mother Bellano raises an eyebrow in
scepticism.
“I insisted on killing the hamstrung man. This was because I am
good with a sword and such a thing should be done swiftly or else the
executioner is no more than a torturer and a barbaric one at that. If I had
have known of Mirabean justice towards wounded art
thieves I would have killed him out of hand. But then I am sadly lacking in
Mira’s theology, am I not?
“I was not able to replenish my thirst and came with you for
absolution. I am not playing the spirit of the thing however. And I truly do
not know if I am able to play the game. But I must try for I am bound by my
word to do so. And thus, I sought to be excused from this ritual and have been
informed No.”
“Your frustration over it was plain but how did you feel when
harangued by the Goddess?”
“Inadequate. Slapped like a spoilt favoured son.”
She nods understandingly, then smiles. “There! That wasn’t so
hard, was it? Now! Just one more question and answer and I think we’ll be
finished. Knowing what you now know about our theology, what one thing would
you change about your behaviour tonight?”
“I would not seek to impose my desire over Mira’s laws as
practised by those who know her will.”
“A good general statement but absolute ideals are hard to stick
to. Give me just one thing you’d have done differently bearing this ideal in
mind.”
“I would that I had sought advice from someone like you earlier.”
“I can accept that!” As she speaks, the candle glows brightly for
a few seconds, illuminating the vestry. The various artworks almost seem to
glow and you feel you’re seeing them as you’ve never seen them before. The
triptych suddenly seems to transcend itself. Your eye is drawn to the right hand
panel. Somehow in your mind’s eye you see it as it will be, complete and as
full of passion as any battle scene can be. The ferocity of the Unicorn; the
grim determination of the man in armour; the pain of both the combatants from
their many wounds and, above all, the hard, brutal work that has brought them
to this extreme. Then the candle returns to normal and your vision fades. Mother
Bellano says something about the Goddess agreeing but
you’re not really listening. You’re brought out of your reverie by her touching
your forehead and muttering something about absolution.
She’s standing over you, smiling maternally. “Come back anytime!
You’ll find it easier as you go on.” Somehow, you feel a tremendous peace
inside you, as if your soul’s at rest. It feels wet where she touched you.
Alaric brings his hand up to touch his forehead and looks in
wonderment at it.
It’s red! For a second it seems to have the smell and consistency
of blood, then you smell alcohol and realise it’s
wine.
He stares back at the third panel of the triptych as if to
memorise it. He will attempt a Trump reading later to try and seek the likelihood
of the events depicted on it.
He nods at Mother Bellano and says “I
would like to see the Chapter House before I leave for Amber mother. And I
would have a basic knowledge of the
“A basic knowledge is possible but it will take years of training
to become a qualified priest, especially because you are so ignorant of basic
customs.” [Your automatically translate her words into ‘one or perhaps two
years’ by comparison with your previous learning curves in shadow.] “As to the
Chapter House, ask at the Cathedral tomorrow, I think you’ll find the
Archpriest amenable.”
“Finally, I would take my leave of you. I have much to think on – and
I must speak to Paolo before he takes to his bed again. Thank you!”
“You should congratulate yourself, my son. You achieved a
difficult thing tonight. Remember your answer to my last question and seek
advice more often in future.”
Later that Night – 3rd Visit to the
Cathedral
Alaric attempts to leave. Will the tavern still be open – can
Alaric estimate the time?
Actually, all this has taken only 20 – 30 minutes. The inn is
still open and will be so for at least another two hours. Salli
and her cronies are in there but there’s no sign of Paolo.
“Richard!” Salli seems delighted to see
you. “Here’s wine for you.” She thrusts a quart goblet into your hand. As you
look into it, you get the strangest feeling the wine has again turned to blood.
A moment later, it’s just wine.
“Thank you Salli,” he says gravely. “I do not feel entirely clean with
someone else’s mortal blood still upon my face and body...”
“Yes...messy!”
.”..and I would, with your permission
excuse myself from this, merriment. I must also clean my wound and I have other
business this night and alas I can spare little time in this pleasing company.”
“You’re feeling tired!” She nods in sympathy. “You’ve had a big
day and I know you’ve big things in store tomorrow. Get some rest!”
“No I’m not tired at all thank you Salli
– and I have got more work to do.”
She inclines her head sardonically but doesn’t question you.
“Did Paolo perchance show you the sketches Salli?”
“Sketches?” It occurs to you then that
Paolo couldn’t because they’re still on you. They are, after all, yours.
He looks across the
“He had an epiphany,” smiles Salli. “He
went to the Cathedral to learn how to serve the Goddess.”
“Then it must be a night for epiphanies. Paolo will be serving the
Goddess with me actually Salli. His skill as an
artist has already been noted by both Mira and myself
and he and I have been working on his artistic training for the last few days.
His future is closely entwined with my own.”
“Yes!” Salli sounds very pleased – and
proud in a motherly sort of way. “He said as much before he left.”
“I was going to drop in to speak with the Archpriest tomorrow but
perhaps I shall do so now.”
“As you will, but I would advise you to get some sleep; you look
like sh... rather tired.”
“I shall bid you good night,” he says curtly. Alaric leaves the
You have to take a slightly roundabout route because this is not a
quarter you’re familiar with but you’re at the Cathedral just 20 – 30 minutes
later. It’s well lit and there’s only a handful of
worshippers kneeling in the pews. For once there’s no artists;
well it is a little dark. What do you do?
Look through the worshippers for Paolo’s face. If I cannot spot
him I look for a Priest to enquire for Paolo explaining that I on Mira’s
business and I require Paolo to join me on this quest.
You don’t find Paolo but a priest finds you; quite an old man,
bearded. He accosts you in the crossing and calls you ‘Prophet Alaric’. He
tells you Brother Paolo is at vigil and won’t be available until tomorrow
Alaric nods and says, “thank you Father, yes, there are several
things that I would like your assistance with. Firstly Mother Bellano said it might be possible to see the Icons in the
Chapter House – I wonder if this is possible now?
He nods gravely and gestures you to walk with him. He takes you
through a side door and into the cloisters. As you talk, you notice odd passing
monks bow their heads in deference to Father Leroi.
“Secondly, there are a group of icons in the Cathedral which
confuse me in terms of iconography. I have sketched them and I wonder if you
would do me the great favour of explaining both their context and iconography?”
“I will do what I can though no man can know it all and there are
many icons in the cathedral which are not in the iconography.”
He comes to a large double door and produces a foot-long key. He
unlocks it with a struggle and gestures you inside. Inside, the octagonal room
is walled with icons of all sizes; not a scrap of space is wasted. Many of the
pictures depict strange scenes, hard to understand. Others depict graphic
violence, scenes of eroticism, etc. The impact of many of them hits you with an
almost physical force. You are a sensitive soul and after viewing a few, you
feel almost afraid to look at another. OTOH, maybe you’re just tired; it’s been
a long day.
The largest depicts Philistine being sacrificed to art by a priest
in prophet’s robes before the Goddess. The agony etched on his face strikes
into your bones and you can feel the knife twist in your bowels. Mira’s crying
as she watches and you realise she didn’t want to do this. Not far away is an
erotic scene where the Goddess makes love to Philistine. After a few moments,
you have to turn away to hide an incipient erection from the old man. Then you
eyes alight on one of the apocryphal iconographic icons.
Alaric gestures towards this icon and says “Father – this is one
of the icons I would know more of. I have the sketches of the others on me. Can
you tell me more – or, perhaps could you tell me of the strife between the Philistine
and Mira.” He smiles and says “despite my epiphany I know little of the history
of this place and our Goddess.”
The old man hobbles forward, leaning on his staff, to blink
myopically at the icon. “That is part of the Cryptographica,
my son, depicting the life of the Goddess outside Mirabeau.”
He turns his watery eyes, ruined by decades of close attention to canvas, on
you and stares as if looking at you for the first time. “Yes! You are the one!
Your words betray your origins as otherwhere than Mirabeau. You are the prophet who will take the worship of
the Goddess to the land of her birth.”
“She came to us, after much trial and tribulation, fleeing the
Malign Unicorn. She came here and encountered Philistine the Creator, our God
in times past, whom she knew from elsewhere. They became lovers and for a while
ruled jointly. But she became distraught when she saw there was no beauty in
the world and its people lived their lives in drudgery, uncaring if they lived
or died for it was all the same to them.”
“Then she came unto Philistine, saying ‘let me give unto your
people beauty, that they may have joy in their lives and do you honour with
sacred images to your nobility’. And Philistine said, ‘Let it be done as you
say.’ So the Goddess went unto the people and gave them beauty and they revered
her for it. But soon they came to praise her more than their creator for though
he had created them, she gave their lives meaning, and Philistine came to know
this, for his worship decreased, and he was jealous and angry. And he came upon
the Goddess with a great might and they battled. But the people loved the
Goddess more than Philistine and at the height of battle he felt his strength
dwindle, so at the last he was defeated and cast down.”
“Then Mira offered Philistine her pardon and said if he but
accepted beauty into his life and into the world, she would have him by her
side as consort. But in his pride, Philistine said ‘Only when you have eaten of
the flesh of my body and drunken of my blood will I lie with you again and this
world will never be yours until that day.’ Knowing what he said to be true, the
Goddess slew Philistine and ate of the flesh of his body and drank of his
blood. Then she told her people, ‘henceforth this place shall be called Mirabeau and you shall take me for your goddess and it
shall be a place of beauty and joy and it shall indeed be good’. And so it has
been ever since.”
Alaric is thinking about the story that’s being related to him.
This story must come from the time before Amber [and Oberon’s strength].
Philistine could either be Oberon, or a shadow of him. His
attitude is certainly bloody minded enough to be Oberon’s! Some but not all of
the pictures depict Philistine as similar to Oberon. Large, powerful build, black
hair and a square face with a full curly beard; the eyes are usually depicted
as a steel grey.
Alaric says “I am newly named Prophet and it is my intention to
take worship of the Goddess back to Amber through her love of beauty and our
mutual love of art. How do these sketches I have
therefore work into the story’s sequence?
“Sketches?” The old man seems confused
until you produce them. “Ah! Yes, the first chapter of the Cryptographica.
It shows the goddess’ birth and upbringing.” He arranges your sketches in a
sequence, explaining as he goes.
2) A Lady [Mira?] rules a city of
“Once, a long time ago and far,
far, away.
A Princess married a handsome Prince and together they ruled over a fabulous
City of beauty and wealth where no one was poor or unhappy.”
5) A Unicorn and a Dragon look down on the City, [just like the
one above] and have some sort of falling out. They fight but it’s inconclusive.
This is the most difficult of the scenes to decipher. They might not be fighting, they might be doing something else.
“Now it so happened there were two gods
of the City, the Dragon and the Unicorn. They had great dispute over the city
and how it should be governed and both were jealous of the worship the other
received. In jealousy, each demanded the handsome Prince sacrifice his
beautiful Princess to one or the other, to prove who was supreme. But the
Prince refused, saying the Princess was with child and he would not sacrifice
his heir as well as his wife. Once the child was born, then he would make
sacrifice.”
6) A Dragon attacks a Lady in a
“In due time, the Princess bore his child, a daughter, and the
Dragon and the Unicorn demanded the Prince to make sacrifice as he promised.
But the Prince refused, unable to find it in his heart to kill the mother of
his child. Then the Dragon in a fury waylaid the mother and the child in a
great forest nearby, coming upon them with a mighty beating of wings and a
great flame. And he slew the mother and consumed her utterly but did not harm
the child but instead bore it away.”
3) A Dragon hides a Child from a Unicorn in a cave.
“Now the Dragon knew the Unicorn would not rest until she had
taken the child in sacrifice in the place of her mother, for the Unicorn was
wild and feral and jealous in all matters concerning her rights. The Dragon hid
the child in a cave and everyone thought her dead with her mother, even her
father, the Prince, did not know of her survival.”
4) A Child is raised by a Dwarf or perhaps by several dwarves
under the ground [Snow White?]
“In that cave, the child was found by a Dwarf who raised her as
his own. She became a beautiful woman, surpassing of loveliness and more graceful
than any who had lived before. And one day, the Dwarf looked upon her and
recognised her as the daughter of the Princess, for by her face she was her
mother’s daughter.”
1) A Child [Mira?] runs from a cave in a mountain pursued by a
Unicorn.
“But the Unicorn never forgets and, smelling but one death in the
forest, sought for the child for many a year. Then one day, disguising herself
as an old woman, she came to the cave pretending to sell apples. The Dwarf
answered the call of the old woman but saw through her disguise, for dwarves
are keen of eye and see what is, not what might be. And he wrestled with the
old woman, calling to the girl to run and save herself.
The girl ran and ran, the Unicorn following once she had escaped the clutches
of the Dwarf. But the Girl ran swift and she ran sure and the Unicorn has not
caught her yet. For that girl is Mira, our Goddess.”
Ah – the sequence clear at last... “Father, you have named Mira
but are the other characters in this history named? And, in the tradition of
all listeners to well told histories – what happened next?”
“Yes! Their names are Prince, Princess, The Dragon, The Unicorn,
The Dwarf (though is some versions of the story there are seven dwarves) and so
on. As to what happened next: the Goddess had many adventures before coming to Mirabeau, or Philistinia as it
was then known.”
“Are these adventures recorded anywhere in written form that I
could have access to Father?”
“I suppose so!” The old man seems surprised. “There are critiques
written by the less able; those who can do, and so on... But as a picture
speaks a thousand words, why should you bother? You are not lacking in talent.
If you would understand the Cryptographica, why not
paint your own?”
Just how tired is Alaric right now Steve – I know it’s been a long
day for him)
He’s tired but he’s a lot more resilient than most. If he avoids
challenging situations, he should be fine until this time tomorrow. Of course,
if he goes in for a lot of cerebral activity, he’ll find himself making the
sort of stupid mistakes everyone makes when tired.
“I have many calls on my talents Father, and Mira would see my
talents diverted into other activities at present. Besides, I have often found
that comparing the styles and means by which a person, or indeed a society,
depicts itself is as interesting as making the
discovery for oneself.”
“As you will!” The old man turns away,
shaking his head.
“I hoped to depart Mirabeau tomorrow – but
if Paolo is at vigil than I supposed I shall have to postpone our mission for
another day. Is he here in the Cathedral – would it be possible to see him? Even from afar?”
The old man half turns. “Yes! You may see him but he will be
unable to go with you for some time. He has begun his training as a priest. He
is in a secluded chapel; walk this way.”
He leads you out of the Chapter House and around the cloister,
stopping at a small archway. Inside, just a few feet away a figure in brown
robes lies face down on the floor on a mosaic of the Goddess. It’s the right
size for Paolo but you can see nothing of him; a cowl covers his head and even
his feet toward you are covered by his woollen robe.
“There!” murmurs the old man, “You can see him but you may not
speak or distract him until the ritual is finished.”
“Father, Mira told me herself that this boy was to go with me.
[True!!] I need him in order to help me take her word out into other places. I
must move quickly on this – and I need him with me tomorrow [OK – Mira did say
I could have him but Alaric doesn’t really want Paolo to become a Priest] and I
need to know now whether he can travel with me. You said he was at vigil
tonight but you have also said to me that he will be unable to go with me for
some time – how long is some time – may I sit and wait
in silence with him?”
“You may not!” affirms the old man vehemently. “The vigil must be
private.” He turns to regard the prone figure. “The young man himself told me
the Goddess abjured him to fully train as a priest and we do not question the
Goddess here!” His remark seems somewhat pointed. “Priestly training typically
takes two to three years, depending on the vocation of the candidate. Brother
Paolo seems a dedicated young man who made attentive use of
Alaric is a little put out at Paolo’s decision and at the Father’s
overt criticism. “I do not believe I requested your opinion on my need for
Paolo’s company on this venture. If I do need your opinions I shall ask for
them and, if the Goddess feels that I require Paolo’s support than that is the
decision of the Goddess and should be respected especially in this place. If Paolo, my friend, drinking companion and fellow artist chooses
to take priestly orders than that is up to him. I would borrow the
written account of the Goddess’ history you spoke so disparagingly of and leave
you. I have a painting to deliver and my brushes to pack. And I really should
wash this long and vexing night from both my body and my spirit. The book Father – if you please?”
The old man clucks in mild irritation before shrugging and waving
you to follow him.
Alaric turns to leave and says very clearly to Paolo, “you stupid
bastard Paolo – and I thought you were my friend” and walks out.
The prone figure gives no sign of hearing you.
The old man leads you out of the cloister and up a stair to a
first floor room. He mutters inaudibly to a middle-aged woman at a desk, at one
point gesturing to you. She looks up as you hear your name but her expression
of wonder turns to disbelief at the old man’s last words. She throws you a
nearly contemptuous glance and moves off to retrieve a book from a far shelf.
“Here you are, Father!” And the old man hands it to you. “We don’t
need it back. Keep it!” It’s a slim volume of closely written text illustrated
with occasional line drawings in ink. The binding is fair but the cover has no
title.
“Thank you so much Madam, for your courtesy and you Father, for
this book, your interpretation of the Iconography – and for sparing me your
time. I shall occupy your time no further. Good night.”
The old man nods gravely.
Alaric leaves the Cathedral and heads back towards his rooms. He’s
not in a particular hurry and follows the route he took from Mother Bellano’s Church – back through towards Paolo’s Rooms and
onwards back to his own room.
Coming from the cathedral, your own rooms are a few minutes closer
than Paolo’s so you’re going in a wide circle.
If there is still a bar open he will stop to buy some wine.
Despite the lateness, you get wine from one of the many open
taverns.
Alaric is also looking for a key that will miraculously [in that Amberite way] open the door to Paolo’s room so that in the
morning he can return there to collect anything of his that he has left there.
Nearly upon his own doorstep you find a
key in the gutter. Paolo must have dropped his spare as he left.
After the events that took place earlier this evening Alaric will
be keeping an active awareness of threats in his general vicinity.
Your walk is devoid of excitement.
When he gets back to his room he will open his wine and drink a
generous amount of it. He will then set about cleaning himself up and will
check the wound in his left arm before rebinding it [if it needs it].
The wound is clean, having bled copiously at the time. You put on
a new bandage, however, with further remains of your ruined shirt. It should
heal in a few days.
He will drink a little more wine as he lays out his Trump deck. He
is interested in the current situation in the Court of Amber.
It takes a couple of spreads to clarify things. While shuffling,
unbeknownst and inadvertently, you turn a couple of cards upside down. When you
lay them out, you see the Unicorn reversed facing you from two positions in the
spread. It’s very easy to read: the malign influence of the Unicorn brought
about the current situation and still dominates today. You, Mira, the Hermit
and the Fool oppose her evil but great strife or perhaps great effort looms in
the future.
Having done this he will examine the cover and frontispiece of the
book he was given in the Cathedral, he will then finish his wine whilst reading
the first few pages of the text.
The binding is good but plain, lacking adornment. The text reads
like a simplified account of ancient legends, possibly intended for children.
You learn nothing the old man didn’t tell you.
After half-an-hour, the tiredness, wine and strain of reading in a
poor light lulls you into drowsiness. Much longer and
you’ll fall asleep with the light on and that’s dangerous with oil lamps.
Point taken. Alaric takes off his boots,
kills all the lamps and throws himself onto his bed – and sleeps the sleep of
the sleepy. He would like to be up pretty early…