The Ultimate Stonemage: A Modest Autobiography (15 page)

My plan for the design was a representation of the
Fifth Day of Creation. It included all manner of exotic birds and flowers and fish, as well as dancing weasels, and a good fat pig with his head being cut off by savages, and countless other marvellous animals.

I spent most of my waking hours upon this pattern, except for those times when I was being questioned, and, by the time it was finished, I would say I had spent a hundred hours working on it. It was truly an intricate, beautifully crafted pattern. Unfortunately, because my bonds prevented me from creating any of the coloured or shining gossamers, it was completely invisible, even to me, its creator. When I was finished a section, I could not sit back and admire my work. Instead, I had to be satisfied I knew the job to be done, and well done too, though no eyes might ever perceive it. In this way, my self-discipline was greatly bolstered, making my imprisonment easier to endure.

As I have said, my work was frequently interrupted. I was questioned at least twice a day, sometimes for hours on end. The periods of questioning were a difficult business, all in all, for they would ask me the same questions again and again, and if they did not believe my answers, which they usually did not, then they would try to get some answer from me which was more to their liking. It was their strategy, I think, to make me feel very alone and isolated from the world, and for this reason they tried never to engage in casual conversation with me, and instead concentrated on their questions, so these might be all I thought about during their absence.

Sometimes, though, I was able to push my interrogators from their intended course for a few minutes and find out a snippet or two of what was happening outside. Getting this information depended upon taking advantage of the questioner’s nature. For example, Midana was sly, and I could never distract him from his dreary questions. However,
Tirbe, the old woman, could often be manipulated into bringing me news, especially if it was bad news.

On one occasion, I said to her, “You will get nothing from me today. I am feeling very happy, for I dreamed my army was still waiting for me.”

She replied, “You are wrong. We have sent word to your myrmidons that you have died. Hundreds of the uniformed ones have wandered away.”

She was pleased with herself then, imagining she had lowered my spirits by telling me this. In fact, though, her words cheered me immensely, for it told me that, while the ordinary myrmidons, who wore uniforms, might be wandering off, my loyal
Behemoths were still waiting for me.

When I was being questioned by
Giella, I took a different tack, playing upon the friendship which he claimed to have for me. So I would say, “How can you claim you are my friend when you will not even tell me such-and-so.” Then he would chuckle, and rub his fat chin, and say, “Very well, I will answer your question, but then you must answer mine,” and I would find out the thing I wanted to know.

Now,
Reckdohl usually questioned me with Midana, but sometimes he came alone, and when he did he was a rich source of entertainment. He would try to trick me, you see, but he was very poor at it, and I would often turn the tables on him.

For example, I boasted to him that he would never trick me into telling my secrets, for I could never be tricked by the simple people of his town.

He grew angry then, and said, “Nonsense! We have already tricked you. Are you not a prisoner, and at our hand?” Then he revealed to me that all the people of the town had played a part in trapping me, at the instruction of
Prince Tiaphan, who ruled
Manitario, and whose family and ancestral home I had unwittingly destroyed in
Sudbury.

He also told me, while trying to frighten me, that the prince had summoned upon the aid of many other princes and archbishops from Manitario to gather together a great army. This army, I was told, was on the march towards this wicked town of Grim, and when it arrived, all my myrmidons would be captured or destroyed.

He then repeated what I had overheard when he talked upstairs with Midana. He said I would meet my end when the prince arrived, and he told me, “A prince may kill a holy man, if he does so with his silver sword, and this will not bring down the wrath of God.”

I replied, “You are in error. The death of Christ, for example, was sanctioned by both King Caesar and King Herod, and yet their actions brought doom to them both.”

To my great pleasure, the superstitious fool was very afraid at my words, not realizing it was not the death of Christ which brought doom to Caesar and Herod, but rather the fact he rose from the grave, and then quickly escaped to heaven before either of the kings could kill him a second time.

Another time, I was in the middle of creating a complex part of my Fifth Day of Creation which contained seventeen interlinked baboons. I had tried several times to create this image, but always I would lose track of which arm was wrapped around which tail, and so on. This time, though, things were going exceedingly well. In fact, I was almost finished, when suddenly Reckdohl blundered in to interrogate me, and I completely lost my place.

He started to interrogate me, saying, “What other armies do you command?”

I snapped at him (though with my usual perfect honesty), “I have told you, I command no other army—just the one camped outside your town.”

But Reckdohl had a theory of his own. He tried to win my love then, saying, “You are a great and powerful general. Surely a man such as you has other forces, to augment his power and reputation still further. I believe there are other forces hiding in the forest.”

“Not so,” said I. “The myrmidons you see from your town walls are all the myrmidons I command, although it is true that, under my skilful direction, they fight with the power of a much larger body.”

“No no,” he said, growing angry. “You have a still greater army somewhere. I am certain of it.”

Well, I was still angry from my spoiled work, and I thought to myself, “It is clear, despite what he says, that this man does not want to hear the truth at all, but rather wishes me to tell him a story of an imaginative and fabulous nature. So, if that is what he wants, that is what I shall tell him.”

Then I said to him, “Very well. I do have a greater army.”

He said, “Ah! I knew it!” Then he said, “Where are these other myrmidons encamped?”

I continued with my entertaining tale, saying, “Exactly one hundred miles to the north of here.”

He scribbled this down upon a slate, and said, “One hundred miles! Evidently this distance serves some superstitious purpose.”

I said, “One hundred is the number which represents victory in the simple but warlike culture of our people.”

He said, “Indeed, indeed. I thought it was something of the sort. Now, will you tell me which prince you serve?”

I said, “I serve
Prince Fiathor Fthather, who sent me to win all of America for him.”

Reckdohl laughed, and said, “Your prince has much to learn about the world. No army could conquer this great continent. The idea is preposterous.”

Then I said, “Do you think so? Well, perhaps you are right. We shall see how well the
Puissant Ones fare against your American armies.”

“The Puissant Ones? Do you refer to those fat black myrmidons which you command?”

I laughed and said, “No no. Those myrmidons are puny by comparison with the Puissant Ones. The Puissant Ones are camped sixty miles to the north of the first army I mentioned, and comprise thirty thousand winged spectres, who spit vitriol, and cast fire from their fingertips.”

He became very fearful then, and started shouting at me. He said, “You are lying! There are no Puissant Ones. It is a crafty lie.”

I replied, “It is certainly no lie.”

And it was not a lie either. To have said I possessed a hundred additional myrmidons would have been a lie. But to say I commanded winged spectres was merely an entertaining fiction, a fairy tale, if you will, which only a fool would take as fact. However, since Reckdohl was a fool, he took it all as fact, and when he had finished with me, he dashed off to talk to the others of the town about his latest discovery, and also, I am sure, to send messengers to carry the news to his prince.

After that, my interrogators lost their patience with me, and, while they did not dare to torture me, they tried to punish me by withholding all food and drink from me, save for a plain bread roll and a small cup of lemon-scented water.

Also, they would come to me telling me how close their prince was, and saying things such as, “It is now just eight days until you must die,” and “In six days the prince will be here and you will die,” and so on. To add to the terror of it all, they placed a painting of the prince in the cellar, which showed a young man with red hair and a great sword, surrounded by all manner of his fierce myrmidons.

I would have despaired if not for the fact that I had a great faith within my soul, and the
Holy Ghost visited me daily, just after my meagre lunch. Then I saw how wise I had been in creating the beautiful scene from the Fifth Day of Creation, for this work not only showed my devotion and secured my bond with God, but also it heightened my ability to perceive invisible things, including the Holy Ghost.

The Ghost said to me, “Fear not, Yreth. Your troubles will soon be ended.”

I asked, “Am I to die then, in this prison?”

Then the Holy Ghost replied, “Perhaps you will and perhaps you will not. That is all pie for the miller, my friend, and not for me to guess at. But I will warrant you this: if you die, I will take you to heaven and introduce you to God himself. You will sit at his right hand, closer to him even than Moses, and you will be the architect for a new heaven, with finer buildings than we currently have.”

I was delighted to hear this. Then I asked the ghost, “Will I be paid for my labours?”

The Holy Ghost replied, “In heaven, the needs of all are supplied by God. A man needs no money for food or drink, for these things are always present on a long table, and there are no flies to buzz upon the feast, except for the good flies, such as the gentle cranefly, and the delicate false-bee.”

“My two favourite flies!” I declared. “But what of shelter? Are there good houses in heaven?”

“To be sure,” replied the Holy Ghost. “Although the climate is so soft a man hardly needs a house at all, and indeed, those who do not have one, such as the beggars, exist with the greatest comfort sleeping their nights upon the numerous thick and grassy banks. You can see then, nobody needs money in heaven. The angels, who labour endlessly for God, receive nothing for their troubles. Neither do I, although God and I are very close indeed.”

“You are saying, then, that I too shall receive nothing for my work?”

“So you might think,” said the Holy Ghost, with a chuckle to his voice. “But God has decreed otherwise. He has said you alone, in all of heaven, shall be paid for your work, and paid handsomely, to boot. You will receive a thousand arrans a day, whether you work that day or not. How does that strike your fancy?”

“With such rewards waiting for me in heaven, I am sure I shall no longer have any fear of death,” I said.

“Of that you may be sure,” the Holy Ghost replied.

Then the Spirit left me. But he returned every day, as I have said, and he was always good company, for he had a ready wit, and he would talk to me in an ordinary manner, without lacing all his talk with lessons and preaching, as
Christ is depicted as doing. This is not to deny the fact Christ was the most perfect man ever to live—I just do not think he would have been such an entertaining cellmate.

The days passed slowly, and with some physical discomfort, for I was very hungry. I continued to work on my pattern with the utmost dedication, and as I worked I prepared myself for the moment of my death which I believed was close at hand.

One evening, I was at my work, putting the finishing touches on the Fifth Day of Creation. I was going at it as well as I could in my weakened state when the boy servant came down into the cellar to bring me a small amount of water. He chewed on a hunk of beef as he went about his work, which was most cruel and inconsiderate, seeing how I was starving to death at the time. Still, it is no more than I would have expected from his type. As I have said, he was somewhat slow-witted, and ugly into the bargain.

As he filled my cup of water, I said, “Listen, boy, I have not taken good food in many days. I am very hungry and would think kindly upon you if you will give me some of your beef.”

Well, what do you think? He did! He gave me his entire piece of beef. And he did not knock it away as I was about to eat it (which was a little trick Reckdohl delighted in) but instead stood and watched and let me eat it in peace.

I thought to myself, “Here is a remarkable thing. Let us see what else he will do.” Then I said, “Some wine would go down well with this.”

He replied, in a voice that stammered, “Th-th-th-ey will not let me t-t-touch the w-w-wine, for th-th-they say it w-w-will make my head even w-w-weaker.”

I found his stammer most irritating, but I decided to try to strike up a conversation with him anyway, asking him about my myrmidons. We talked for a good hour, and I learned many things. I had wondered, for example, why my myrmidons had not come looking for me. They were usually very inquisitive when they were left to themselves. So I asked the boy about this.

He told me Midana had sent frequent messages to my myrmidons. He knew this, because he had been the messenger. At first the messages said I was ill (which was true enough, for I was quite weak by that time!) and then that I had died (which, thanks to God, and to my strong constitution, was untrue). Upon hearing this news, my myrmidons became confused, and did not know what to do. Then the townspeople sent more messages, repeating the news of my death, and urging the myrmidons to dismantle their camp and leave. This the myrmidons gradually did, wandering off in groups of tens and twenties, just as that old hag
Tirbe had said. At last, almost all my myrmidons had left.

My
Behemoths, however, had been less easy to trick. Upon being told of my death, they told the boy they would not leave until The Revered was among them. By this, they meant the pendant which I wore, and which they worshipped, but the townsfolk took their meaning amiss, thinking they desired my return, and, by means of further messages, tried to persuade them that my body had been burned, whereupon the Behemoths, perhaps believing the pendant was destroyed, gave angry screams and shrieks and tried to kill the lad who brought such a disagreeable message.