Devil's Lair by David Wisehart Read Free Book Online

he share his bread when every
farm lay fallow? He had spent his last fiorino in Capua buying wine, cheese,
and wormy apples. He still had a few denari sewn into his shoes, but they would
not last long. One false step and he would tumble into the pit of penury. If he
could not find a patron in the Angevin capital, he might be forced to sell his
cart, his donkey, even his books.
    William said, “We should
think about what’s best for Nadja.”
    The poet stopped. “What do
you mean?”
    “She’s a virtuous girl, but
I fear for her soul.”
    “Now you’ve lost me.”
    “She has a strong will and a
Christian heart, but do you think it wise to tempt her with the flesh of a
naked man? Especially one as strong and handsome as our heroic knight?”
    Giovanni glanced back at the
circle of firelight. He saw Nadja kneeling beside the reputed Templar, holding
his hand. The man’s waist was covered with William’s blanket, but his chest and
arms were bare. Nadja bowed her head over him. Her eyes were no doubt closed in
benediction, but from this vantage point she appeared to be admiring his battle-forged
physique.
    Jealousy flared in
Giovanni’s heart. “He can have my clothes.”
    “God will bless you for it.”
    “He can have all my
clothes,” Giovanni said. “I’ll go naked if I have to.”
    William smiled. “That will
not be necessary.”

 
    CHAPTER 7
     
     
    In the early
morning light, William stood watching as Giovanni drew, in his notebook, a map
of the Inferno: a deep delve with nine concentric levels; a walled city; rivers
and bridges and stairs leading down. The details were difficult to see. William
knelt closer.
    “Is that a passage?” he
asked, pointing to a dark spot on the map.
    “The Gate of Dis,” Giovanni
said.
    “Guarded?”
    “Of course.”
    “By whom?”
    “Medusa, three furies, and a
thousand demons.”
    “Interesting.”
    From the pouch on his belt
William retrieved a piece of smooth, round glass that had once belonged to
Roger Bacon. William did not consider it his personal property—that would
be against his vows—but he held it in trust, and had carried it with him
since his student days at Oxford.
    “What’s that?” Giovanni asked.
    “A glass lentil.” William
scrutinized the map through the instrument, which magnified the details of the
drawing. “It helps my eyes.”
    He glanced up and saw
Giovanni staring at him, curious.
    “A seeing stone,” Nadja
said, stirring the porridge that would soon break their fast.
    “Not exactly.” William
handed the glass lentil to Giovanni, who tried it for himself.
    Closing one eye, the poet
moved the glass forward and back to study the effect. He smiled.
    “It creates a false image,”
William explained, “making small things appear large.”
    “Like water in a Murano
cup,” the poet said.
    William nodded. “The same
principle.”
    “Magic,” said Nadja. “Some
say it is the Devil’s work.”
    “Is it?” Giovanni asked.
    William took back the glass.
“Not at all. The lentil offers strength to weak eyes. I use it to read
scripture. No sin in that. Jesus said, ‘ vestri autem beati oculi quia
vident. ’ He restored
sight to the two blind men. I believe the glass lentil can assist us in the
work of our Lord. But then, I have been called a heretic for less.”
    “For what, exactly?”
Giovanni asked.
    “For claiming that Christ
meant what He said: ‘ quaecumque habes vende. ’”
    “Not a popular phrase at the
papal palace.”
    “They thought it meant,
‘Sell all you have and give it to the pope.’ These French pontiffs do not
follow the path of Christ, but of David: from being shepherds they would make
themselves kings.”
    Studying the map, William
noticed a line running straight down the middle of the page. He magnified it
with the glass lentil. The line appeared to be older than the poet’s map, for
the ink was dry and greyer than the ink Giovanni used now. The poet ignored the
vertical line, drawing his map over