The Scarlet Fig: Or, Slowly Through a Land of Stone, Book Three of the Vergil Magus Series (44 page)

For just a portion of a moment the knightly eyes had left their attention to the Vergil Mage’s, and Ser Minnimus Rufus remarked, “Almost I’m sorry that this house is closed and that we can’t come in. I am always fascinated by the interiors of things — vehicles, buildings, women —”

“But attend, Ser Minnimus, attend —”

Ser Minnimus looked away no more. He attended.

The great flight of the fowl in the consulate of Calpurnius Otto had been certainly a matter of wide consideration and had become even a set subject for the boys at the rhetors’ schools. Vergil went briefly over the matter with the thick small knight. — There had been strong great gales into the west of Europe, blowing from the Sea of Atlantis — Three days they had been blowing, agreed Ser Minimus: his broad brow concave, his nose somedel retrousse, somewhat auburn his hair, and his beard cut short. A faded red the plaster now so largely broken off the front of the closeted house on the steps of which Vergil now sat. — and upon the early morning of the fourth day there was seen, first seen, over the lands of the Friesians and the Beiges, flying straight in from the wide vast sea, a skyful of birds such as none had seen before. High, too high up for any arrow, bolt or quarrel or slung of shot to reach, but every so often some single fowl of that throng had fall dead upon the earth: a fowl, a bird, of what origin such a welkin of them? Gone over the lands of the Friesians and the Beiges, next the immensity of bird had descended into rest upon the fields of the Burgundians: and ate them full of all the planted grain until the land was bare; then gate they up and resumed their sundimming flights. Passing over the broad lands of the Loringians and the Swabians, their dung descended in hot torrents, burying and burning the barley, wheat, and rye; so that had it not been for the crops already gat into the granaries and the rootcrops still under the surface of the earth, stark famine had gripped them all in those lands.

And the very stanes of the walled cities and the monuments upon the temple walls had been scored deep by the acid scourings of the vast-flying bird-hordes, and so might the marks thereof be seen till now. So Ser Minnimus agreed and nodded, nodded, eyes into Vergil’s eyes. — Flying yet across the territories of the Bayers, the Avars, and the Gepides, gradually the flocks flew lower and slower, and word of them passed ahead by couriers’ horses as they rested them two day and half a day in the Forests of Pannonia, thet the weight of them brack all the branches off of all the trees: not alone that they ate them up every single acorn and filbert and walnut and every other nut of food upon which many depended not for mere refreshment or a muncheon but for prost
food
, making their bread, for ensample, of acorn and of chestnut meal, nutmeal for their polenta and gruel as had it been of barley: the fell fowl consumed the lot. So, so as they lifted off and swarmed away like locusts, these birds, the forests of Pannonia they began to sicken and to die: might none trenching nor any accustomed and benevolent dunging help a stivers worth: the forests failed entire and complete. And now all the lands of Pannonia are but broad fields, horned cattle and the fleecy ewe graze where once in time the green-clad hunter went to slay the antlered roebuck and the broadchest stag, the white-tusked boar and e’en the westward outreaches of the wooley byzont of Byzontinople, and the southmost clamors of the gigant urus with the high-held, wide-reaching horns.

Thence the flocks of intrusive fowls borne on the diminishing winds and gales though from ane horizont to tother horizont the birds still flew, ower the shelly seacoasts of Bohemia, ower the Ister and the Dunave, the lands of the Moraves and the Moldaves: hourly lower and hourly slower, what time they settled yet again in their tremendous settlings: atween the Wends and the Wallachs they sate them, sometimes twittering upon the breaking branches and betimes squatting on the very grounds like so many small small swine: then gan they their rut to make, masses covering masses, their sensual screeching closing out whatever sounds, all the day they shuddered, he upon she; and whilst they delved, there crept up and down upon them on silent feet the Bulgars in their thousands and the Petchenegs by tribes, all with broad nets such as not alone the fowlers use but even the nets with which the fishers draw through rivers and through lakes: these they cast over the heedless birds, in their ecstasies refusing flight. There came upon them eekit the Polones with brooms and clubs, and nameless hordes and yortes: Soon the noise of the great beatings and clubbings drowned out even the shrill delights of cock and hen; vast as their number was, they rose not up to flee while the hosts of hungry men rained blows upon them, cotched all in snares which they did not cotch in nets nor simply brute to death with winnowing-fans and grain-flails and cudgels and whatsoever sticks they might in haste seize up or break off. Rods, bastoons, and bacculas.

For three more days this slaughter so continued, meanwhile a blizzard of plucked feathers blew along the whole zone of clime as leaves do blow in the season of falling leaves, what time the canny peasant gathers the fallen leaves as unsown crops and stores tham in barton and in byre to spread for the cattle to dung upon, and then he spreads them on his fields and round the roots of hungry trees — so all about did the feathers serve for leaves. Salt from every store of salt and every lick thereof was brought and every barrel keg firkin hoghead and vessel whatsoever was filled with corns of salt to conserve the flesh of the odd-fowl; and fires the smoke of which went up to take the place in the briefly empty skies where but a few days afore flew the vasty massy masses of the birds, for the smoking of them: and yet and yea, they, the folk of men, ate swiftly of them that could not in any way be conserved, grilling their tender flesh by the fires and crisping them upon the coals, licks of flames spurting higher as the fat —

“Even so,” said Ser Minnimus Rufus. “Even so have I seen in the shops of such as serve rare things for sales, such as the tiny, saddled sea-horses, the serrate morses’ teeth and the spirally tushes of the nare-whales, have I seen what they swore upon Nemesis and Belial and Bogbella and sundry sorts of ghouls and ghad-she-whats, that they were dried and desiccated corses of said marvel-birds as rode across Europe from ane part to other as like to passengers upon ships they birds rode upon the enorment winds — and yet, Ser Vergil: did they look unto me as mere doves or pigeon-birds, whereas one should think such marvels might hap to have the forms of pococks or phaynixes —”

“That a marvel, rather in itself, that they did not,” said the sage, Vergil, his grey-green eyes a-looking into the brown-with-just-a-hint-of-ruddy-color, those of the dwarly knight.

Who asked, “Well, and then and thence, whence cam they, my Master and my Mage? if not from some large land —”

Clemens had begun again, after some short while silent, to huff and puff, like unto the sibylant soft sounds as make move the lid of the vapor-bath, that Bath of Mary
*
; but he for a marvel (yet another marvel!) said nothing — said nom word. Left it to his friend the Magus Mago to espeak it all. Who, “Consider, Ser Knight, my Minnimus Rufus: what such a great land it would take to breed and nourish such an infinity of living birds as nigh estroyed our land of Europe whilst merely they passed over! Consider, then, what immensities of plains! of forests! of fruitful fields! in order to maintain such an amplitude of birdery! Vast continents, it may be said —”

Breathed the sturdy-small-and-compact Knight, “Yes … yes ….”

Soberly, almost (it might be fancied) slightly sadly, slowly said the Magus Vergil, “Now, could it be that of such vast continents not a single syllable would have reached our ears from the Strabo and the Herodote? from even Magno Homero, the chief of geographers as of occymists — From that waste of ocean has come to us not a single ship — not a sole wayfarer or stranger, cast upon our coasts by strength of storm or missenchance — no alien tree wandering slowly upon vasty seas, uproot by tempest on some distant shore—”

That member of the Knightly Order, so small and yet so full of power that might he be called a full fist of a man, a pygme-measure of a man, listened as becomes a man of sense and sound of mind; he listened to the logic which he recognized he could not refute, nor neither did he … as becomes a man of vertue … regret that he could not. Only he cast his eyes a-back down the wynde towards the Great Piazza where stood that grand globe, and askit he one sole question: “The birds, then … whence? Wherefore … birds?”

A whiff of burning wooden coals and cooking meat came wafting and wifting up the wynde, the realities of life intruding, as ever they would, upon the conjectures and the wherefores. Asked, in the manner of the rhetors, Vergil, “Whence that far-, far-northern goose-bird whose eggs no man hath seen? From out the depth and bosom of the sea, out from a barnacle,
whence.
Whence the coral and the pearl? Out of the shells of the sea,
whence
. Out from the sea itself came those marvel-birds. In an instant, called up by gales of wind. Why? As a warning against unreasonable lust, so say philosophers. Say others —” here he smiled; the dwarve knew that thus the mage included himself, by that modest oblique term; “— Say tothers: nay, not so. That the immense swarm was a
lusus natura
? Yes, of course: intended what to teach? For teach it did, as clearly as any clamoring bronze from high Dodona’s oaken shaws where vatic cauldrons moan mysterious tide. Himself the August Caesar was persuaded that, just as immense swarms of birds swept in from the west to the affliction of the empery, just so immense swarms of men were soon to be hasting in from the east, to the affliction of the empery. And that wise our troops and those of our confœderates and our allies posted to the border marches, so that …”

Small Ser Minnimus nodded slowly. He knew which
that
followed. So that when the great Hordes of Gogmagog, of whom no man Roman had ever heard, swept in from the fathomless east, pushing the Huns ahead of them and driving before their advance the Sarmatians and the Scythians like leaves before the winds: the Imperial forces were more than ready, and drove down upon them from three sides (some say: from four) and caught them in snares and in fowlers’ nets, and captured so many that the slave markets were nigh glutted: and of those they captured not, many indeed they clubbed to death …

And as Vergil was slowly ceasing to speak, a man came slowly down the wynde, dressed in the manner of a country-dweller, a small-to-medium landowner who came perhaps twice a month to the city, perhaps once a month to Brindusy and once a month to Naples; such a man of rather past the middle of his age came along the street, slowly and bemused and looking down. That a small throng of people were gathered in the street rather surprised but did not very much startle or bother him. He a bit lifted his head and, as it was Vergil whom he from happenstance faced, to Vergil he said, “Pray pardon, my dan, I am going up into this house here …”

Not showing his great surprise, Vergil stood, and stood aside, and said, “Surely, my Ser. But I fear this house is closed —”

Said the country laird, just a bittle smiling, and very, very civilly, “It will open for me, my dan. I thank —” A look of bewilderment commenced to crawl over his face, was succeeded by dismay. He looked at the wooden hatchment, at the signs. Caught his breath. Swallowed (they could hear) his spittle. Said: “I fear I’ve made a silly mistake. This is the wrong house. I seek the home of the brothers Lars and Ares Gibbeus, how can I have thought this was their house? where I am always welcome,” his eyes ran every which way about the ruinous building, sought the eyes of the others. “I was their guest here but a few weeks ago, two brothers? do you know their names? Gibbeus? Lars and Ares? one is marked by the smallpox and tother is not … is … not … this is not their house ….” All around the fellow looked. Slowly his body began to tremble. Then slightly to twitch. “A house plaistered in red plaster, well kept up, my sers. And,” here his face slightly brightened, “the steps are excellent steps, no mere flagstones, but a-made with Ganadian granite —” Vergil did but a very small gesture. Of a sudden it was quite plain that the country gentleman
now
observed the granite steps,
now
observed the faded and crumbled red plaster. So clear was his alarm that not one spoke to break the silence.

The silence was broken by a grizzled Æthiop with the customary jewel in his ear. He led a good roan stone-horse along; few would care to ride, mounted, in such a confined and curving way. “Good day, good Roman people,” he said, looking at the huddle of folk with politely controlled interest. And slowed his step. Ser Minnimus perhaps compared the roan to his own pony.

It was Clemens who spoke up. With a gesture — “What do you know about this house, my ras?” asked he.

By just the slightest change of countenance and motion of head the Æthiop indicated that the use of the word (in his own land) of respect had not been missed. “This house. Ah. Well. My cousin-german lives but small way from here, and I pass by month by month to see him. A few fresh thing from country I bring him — lettuce, dormice, comb-of-honey. Sausage. Snail.” He made a slightly deprecatory movement of his mouth. “
You
cannot get good snail in city market. This house?” He gave it a brief look. “It has been empty as long as I remember, and that is many year. Many year. I have heard that it did belong to a pair of brethren who departed to fight upon the marches of the eastern border in the invasion long ago. That great invasion. Ah, their names. I do not remember of their names.” A bit, next, his face brightened. “But I recall of this I heard: That
one
was marked with the smallpox. And
one
was not.” He gazed calmly upon them all. The country
patron
sat very abruptly upon the second step, gave a gesture as might be seen within a drama acted on a stage, of one abandoning himself to wrack and wreck upon the deck of a driven ship.

Buried his face in one hand.

Vergil, not really knowing anything precisely appropriate to ask, asked, “Where is Ser Minnimus Rufus?”