Avram Davidson - Vergil in Averno

“Master,” Iohan said, between panting breaths, “whenas I had tooken care of brushing out your robes and hanging of them up, so then I ‘gins to unpack your chests and portmantles, ser; then of a sudden I takes to shaking, ser, then I needs must piss, so I step out to the gallery over the back-stable yard, though keeps I ever the outer door in view (having barred the inner).” And on he babbled: concluding, “And it be for sure upon my life, my master, ser, as ne’er I seen this case before.” He swung its heavy weight by his left hand. “ — But there it lay, when I return and lifts the ruddy robe as whosoever give thee. . back there …” He did not mention the city’s name; indeed, he never did again mention it. — ”And there lay this case!” Was he sure he had not packed it? He was sure. Was and could he be sure that no one might have slipped it in the larger carry-case … back there …? He could not be sure. Would he say he was so certain he could swear against he drown in water it had it been impossible for someone, somehow, to have stolen, swift, into his master’s room, here, here, and slipped it — swift! — beneath “the ruddy robe” —?

His lips trembled. “I was taken sudden sick, bethinking me of — I could not swear. Indeed, ser. . I thought I heard. . perhaps saw. . but nothing I can clearly speak of. Ser, I do not know!” He seemed he would, another question more, break into tears.

Two shops down, the shop of Cosimo the goldsmith and moneychanger. Who took the case up in practiced, knowing hands, opened it, aloud counted out, stopped at ten, the total tally, the purses sealed and sealed. “Ah, this is Rano’s gold,” he said, a slight glance at the seals sufficing. He spoke softly, for goldsmiths seldom speak up loud. “Rano got him sundry golds outside, before — ” He stopped short. Goldsmiths are not often wont to speak of one man’s business to another. Cosimo counted on his checkered cloth. “Has Messer Vergil Mage perhaps heard of some newfangled system of numeration come forth, some say, from Araby? — some say, from farther yet? No matter. None.” The gold was counted, the purses sealed again, a receipt was passed across the checkered cloth, a look exchanged; Vergil and his servant left the shop.

To Iohan, he said, “Half of this is mine.”

The fellow stared at him. “Ser … all of it is yours.”

“Half of it is mine. I shall take a house, somewhere. Buy books. More books. Many books. Set up an elaboratory. Perhaps I shall engage a boat and take some rest on the Isle of Goats.” He gestured. There it still stood. . did not stand. . floated on the miraculous blue waters of the Parthenopean Bay.

“But half of it is yours. You will — as yet — take no house, buy no books, set up no elaboratory, engage no boat. If indeed you think to take some rest, it will be best, I think, that you take it apart from me for a while. . for we shall part, I must tell you, Iohan….”

“Master, I doesn’t want to leave you — ”

“ — for a while, and it will be some great long while — ”

“Master, hasn’t I been faithful?”

“With a part of your half this” — he showed the receipt — ”I propose to pay for your indentures as an apprentice in the arts of fire and metal, for you still find them to be canny things. Which indeed they are. And, when you have finished your apprenticeship, part of this shall pay your journeyman’s fee. Part of it shall be your bridegroom’s portion, if you are minded then to marry. And, when you shall have finished your master-piece, and become passed as a master into the guild, part of it shall be to set you up in work.”

Iohan nodded, slowly, slowly, as all this was said. His face remained sober as before. When Vergil finished, he said, “And then, master, may I work for you? — with you? In that elaboratory?”

Vergil said, “There is time enough to think of that. So. Well. And what might you want now?”

There was no hesitation. “Ser, I has one brother, older than me, he works with horses, just as I did, but back in our village. He fed me several year from his own share of the bad bread. Every day at one hour past the hour of noon, the carrier leaves from here for there, and I knows the carrier well, from old. If I might have one silver piece of money, ser — but one? only one? to send my brother?”

Vergil opened his purse. Removed one coin, handed it over. . paused, with it still in his hand. “Iohan, I see that when all rents and such are paid, there still remains enough in my purse so that — you need not hasten, the evening hour is a good ways off — there are certainly more than four groats in the purse. Meet me at home, whenever you have done. And we shall visit the baths.”

He slipped the coin into Iohan’s palm. Who said, at once, “Therefore.” And was gone.

Vergil wandered off more slowly. He wished the baths were open sooner, but here in this small place the drums did not beat that signal till the sun was setting. He needed the hot and healing waters. He would wait. He might look out for a bookshop, as he slowly walked. He had. . after all, and it was an immense, an immensely terrible all . . he had his fee. Who had paid it? Had Rano caused it to be slipped into the baggage, back. . back there? Had someone else? Had someone done that, here? Was it possible that somehow, somehow, someone, some certain one, had spun herself a net, and such a net or web as spiders weave, sometimes a mere wisp of web, and somehow, sailed off upon it? Pausing here? Suppose Poppaea to have escaped, clearly she had not wished to tarry here with him; whither would she wander? Far, no doubt; no doubt so very, very far. Past the great Isle Taprobane, set in the center of the Indoo Sea. As far, perhaps, as Tambralinga and the Golden Chersonese, where honey dripped from the reed called succharum.

And, perhaps, farther.

Perhaps, though no Roman knew what lands lay farther; still, perhaps farther.

Such thoughts bemused him as he walked the street, the crowded street. Still the people spoke of what had happened. . there. He heard one gossip-voice, as thus he slowly moved himself along, trying to think of other things, heard one gossip-voice saying, loudly, almost in a scolding tone, “Nay, but this is what I heard, I heard it true, that there went some great magus-man into that city and he did them wondrous works, and they would not pay him, nay, a stiver not: whereat he cursed the city. ‘You be curst!’ saith he, and by his magery did turn it all to ash, to ash — did we not see that gray, gray ash? I heard it true — ”

A greater weariness came upon him, then, than even before. Some other voice next whispered loud, “Look! There he go!”

A moment a silence. One moment. And another voice declared, “Ah, and see! Black o’hair he left, and now his head is turned as ashen-gray!”

He did not turn aside, but he could not avoid the faces that looked at him as he walked, of those who moved away, to give him way as he walked. Was there horror in their faces? Abhorrence? Terror? Fright? Not one shadow of any that. He might his whole life hence deny the tale. Always there would be some, many, who would believe it all. And what did they show, as they looked at him, believing it? Awe. None else. And then -

Along the street, riding the longest-legged mule ever Vergil had seen, own legs tucked under him, stooped over, and yet still visibly and preternaturally tall: who? Vergil did not wish to know, there were other things he wished to know. Should he, for once there being gold in his account, should he seek for home and wife? Bethink him of sons and daughters, family, heirs? And if not this very day — no, be certain not this very day — to commence upon such a matter, why, ah, what was the woman’s name — she in her shoddy purple gown, who lived all but next door to him in his rented rooms? He need not even know her name, nor she, his; she likely, she of a certainty, had troubles, too. But whatever his or hers might be, for some hour or so they might forget somewhat their troubles in each other’s arms. — Upon the mule! Who? The eunuch, Rano’s eunuch. Who saw Vergil stop and stare. And halted then his mule, and gave a grave salute.