A Canticle for Leibowitz - Walter M. Miller [77]
“What a cheerful outlook! So what are you looking for?”
“Someone who shouted at me once.”
“Shouted?”
“‘Come forth!’ “
“What rot!”
“Hmmm-hnnn! To tell you the truth, I don’t much expect Him to come, but I was told to wait, and-” he shrugged “-I wait.” After a moment his twinkling eyes narrowed to slits, and he leaned forward with sudden eagerness. “Paulo, bring this Thon Taddeo past the foot of the mesa.”
The abbot recoiled in mock horror. “Accoster of pilgrims! Molester of novices! I shall send you the Poet-sirrah!-and may he descend upon you and rest forever. Bring the thon past your lair! What an outrage.”
Benjamin shrugged again. “Very well. Forget that I asked it. But let’s hope this thon will be on our side, and not with the others this time.”
“Others, Benjamin?”
“Manasses, Cyrus, Nebuchadnezzar, Pharaoh, Caesar, Hannegan the Second-need I go on? Samuel warned us against them, then gave us one. When they have a few wise men shackled nearby to counsel them, they become more dangerous than ever. That’s all the advice I’ll give you.”
“Well, Benjamin, I’ve had enough of you now to last me another five years, so-”
“Insult me, rail at me, bait me-”
“Stop it. I’m leaving, old man. It’s late.”
“So? And how is the ecclesiastical belly fixed for the ride?”
“My stomach-?” Dom Paulo paused to explore, found himself more comfortable than at any time in recent weeks.
“It’s a mess, of course,” he complained. “How else would it be after listening to you?”
“True-El Shaddai is merciful, but He is also just.”
“Godspeed, old man. After Brother Kornhoer reinvents the flying machine, I’ll send up some novices to drop rocks on you.”
They embraced affectionately. The Old Jew led him to the edge of the mesa. Benjamin stood wrapped in a prayer shawl, its fine fabric contrasting oddly with the rough burlap of his loincloth, while the abbot climbed down to the trail and rode back toward the abbey. Dom Paulo could still see him standing there at sundown, his spindly figure silhouetted against the twilight sky as he bowed and munched a prayer over the desert.
“Memento, Domine Gomnium famulorum tuorum,” the abbot whispered in response, adding: “And may he finally win the Poet’s eyeball at mumbly-peg. Amen.”
17
“I can tell you definitely: There will be war,” said the messenger from New Rome. “All Laredo’s forces are committed to the Plains. Mad Bear has broken camp. There’s a running cavalry battle, nomad style, all over the Plains. But the State of Chihuahua is threatening Laredo from the south. So Hannegan is getting ready to send Texarkana forces to the Rio Grande-to help ‘defend’ the frontier. With the Laredans’ full approval, of course.”
“King Goraldi is a doddering fool!” said Dom Paulo. “Wasn’t he warned against Hannegan’s treachery?”
The messenger smiled. “The Vatican diplomatic service always respects state secrets if we happen to learn them. Lest we be accused of espionage, we are always careful about-”
“Was he warned?” the abbot demanded again.
“Of course. Goraldi said the papal legate was lying to him; he accused the Church of fomenting dissension among the allies of the Holy Scourge, in an attempt to promote the Pope’s temporal power. The idiot even told Hannegan about the legate’s warning.”
Dom Paulo winced and whistled. “So Hannegan did what?”
The messenger hesitated. “I suppose I can tell you: Monsignor Apollo is under arrest. Hannegan ordered his diplomatic files seized. There’s talk in New Rome of placing the whole realm of Texarkana under interdict. Of course, Hannegan has already incurred ipso facto excommunication, but that doesn’t seem to bother many Texarkanans. As you surely know, the population is about eighty per cent cultist anyhow, and the Catholicism of the ruling class has always been a thin veneer.”
“So now Marcus,” the abbot murmured sadly. “And what of Thon Taddeo?”
“I don’t quite see how be expects to get across the Plains without picking up a few musket-ball holes just now. It seems clear why he hadn