Avram Davidson - The Scarlet Fig - Or, Slowly Through a Land of Stone, Book Three of the Vergil Magus Series

“I now remember who am I,” the man cried out. “I am Vergil Marius Mago! Let this doing now be done!”

And he sank and set himself upon his knees and he clasped old uncomprehending Teter round the old thing’s neck and he held him and he wept.

In a lagoon near where the islanders some times took their rest (ha! were they not always at rest?), or tended to their single fire (although how they remembered always to feed it, he could not imagine), odd birds waded and, seemingly, fed: for they quite often bent down their heads with the peculiar beaks and dipped them in the waters, surely not to drink, for the waters were not fresh. Their heads were not alone of them peculiar; their legs so long and thin the birds gave the impression of walking on stilts. And their plumage was entirely pink, much resembling a certain confection of marchipane, the specialty of a certain shop which sold sweetmeats, half-way upon the hill back there in Naples. Somehow he thought that the name of these birds was Flemingo , though why such a bird, very clearly a creature of the warm south, should be called after the natives of Flaunders, in the cool north, indeed he could not say. Now and then the island-folk, Guaramanties or Guaramanchies or however they called themselves, would sing all of them together, and beat time with sticks upon some naturally-hollowed logs: then all the wild, gaunt, pink birds would dance in time to the music: twas a rare fine sight, indeed. Flemingoes.

After some while, turning from the crags towards the sea, he saw the waves coming in, like students to a school. His mind, seeing them, was in an instant back a measure of years: when he, he himself a student, too: a single portmantle containing all his garb and gear, lived with others such — they shared one floor, one mess, one servant, and one set of books (they were very worn books, and for that matter, it was a very worn servant, too lacking one eye and one ear about his large and tufty head) — and all took turn and turn about. He could not imagine why a copse of exotic palm-trees was growing in the middle of their commons room now, he did not remember them, but there they were; and there were many things which he could neither imagine nor remember. It was said of such a group of student thriftbudgets that even a load of grass or hay served them at least three, even four, times: once to stuff their pallet-ticks; once, the stuffing having worn so flat or thin that they could feel the grain of the boards beneath, once to strew upon the floor in lieu of reeds or carpet; a third once , the strewing being grown thinner yet … and, for that matter, grosser, too! … to fuel the fire; and the fourth and last once the ashes served to polish knives and spoons.

Such a group of students was called a res , which was cant for a word not generally thought safe to use in public use: the thing , then, let it be called. At stated times they elected two consuls for themselves. Anselmo was Emperor then: arms, a shield of silver with five red roses. Rose, said to be in his honor (they relished even the touch of servility, that they might safely sneer upon it when in secret: Here’s two cheeks for you-know-who , one of them was sure enough to say when setting his naked buttocks on the cloak while dressing in the morn). Rose was the lining of their ragged cloaks, and they considered it themselves a brave sight and gesture with one motion to throw back the cloaks over the right shoulder as they walked along the lane: whereat passers-by or shop- or stall-keepers were expected to say, “The roses bloom …” Their particular res occupied the third floor and rooftop room of a tenement which clung like a wasp-nest to the surviving section of the curtain-wall of the Castello of Orland the Proud; the Castello of course itself was long gone, only here and there a stone of that famed honey-color was pointed out as being of such provenance. It was considered rather brave of them, the students, not to mind The Crone Below (so they called her when the door was at bolt); this was the old woman Iadwicka who lived in one room on the street floor and had a better beard than any of they students. Iadwicka in pits in part of the yard kept vipers and fed them with rats bought off the outcaste boys at five-a-stiver: one copperkin for five. Of which vipers she day by day killed such-and-such a number and them she stewed with honey and with dill till all the meat left all the bones: flesh and flour, vetch-meal and verjuice and broth she moiled in a mull and divided the mass into trochees of the lesser theriac [9] So sayeth The Matter: see the Pliny his Liber XXII ; this did she of the forenoons, and all the afternoons the hooded pothecaries in their hooded cloaks (none ragged) and their prentice-boys came upon their rounds and bought them up by weight in the scales the boys did tote, to be used as ingredient for many receipts and prescriptives.

It was considered rather brave of them to dwell there unmindful of the vipers (questioned, Were they a-feared? answered, that the vipers kept down the mice; sometimes, added, the fleas, or the lice, as well), but it was considered far from good taste to hiss. Once only someone did this, an ill-favored lumpkin whom none much liked; but so unskillfully that his imposture was soon discovered; instead of rueful laughter and rough good cheer which clearly and stupidly he had expected, they rated him at some long length, nor yielding to point out his bumpy skin and stinking feet and how ill he got his lessons; then they fined him. He was sullen after that a good long time and they by and by had reason to believe that he was mad, but they tried nothing to cure him. Merely they passed him by for mess-duty, fearing lest he introduce who knew what into the food, the while they wondered what to do with him. But soon he did it to himself, donned his cloak and went by ladder to the roof-peak and cast himself off.

“What a rare rose bloomed that day!” a pothecary’s prentice said, though his master growled and cuffed him for it.

They the students of that res dyed all of them their cloaks black from the linings out, and said it was for mourning, but in truth they knew it was for shame.

But why grew the grove of exotic palm-trees from the middle of their commons-rooms? Palms of such a sort, nor giant stalks of fennel, did not use to grow in Naples, nor samphire in the crannies of their raddled house-walls.

Fortunatus, the laughter of the Neopolitan court of its heavy Doge still ringing in his ears (only a certain sage, by name Vergil, had not laughed scornfully with the others: but did he not, behind his civil mask smile a bittle? — perhaps he did, a bittle, smile), Fortunatus scuttled through the door which the majordomo’s fingersnap had caused to be opened for him, half he turned for one further bow, but perceiving that the majordomo was already hastening off, Fortunatus gave half a shrug, then went his way. The courtly kindness had not ended with the gift of the purse which held fast on its thong against his belly (to be sure it was not a very heavy purse, but twas heavier than Fortunatus’s own purse ever was), for a torch parted from the cluster by the gate and a torchbearer said, trotting over before Fortunatus could vanish into the black, “If the Master Philosopher will just give me the directions — The house of Messer Magus, of course I so often —” Fortunatus, after a somewhat startled look to see that the sage, Vergil, had indeed come away from the levée and was standing right behind him, declared, “The Alley of the Hornscrapers, which lies yet other side of Oxen Shambles, past Fodder Lane. Yes, yes, yes, yes.”