Georgia on My Mind and Other Places (19 page)

Johannes nodded. He knew, but of course I did not—not then. Later, he explained to me that they were concerned because in his religion God made Man in his own image, and so creatures other than those in the shape of Man could not worship or have souls. They would have to be Satanic creations, inventions of the Devil.

“Now,” concluded my master. “Here is the letter from His Holiness, for delivery to the Great Khan, Kublai. According to Father Carpini, the Great Khan lives in such splendor that material gifts are useless, although almost everyone offers them. We hope that your own scientific and mathematical powers will interest the Khan more than anything else. Do you have any new suggestions for this?”

While my master was still speaking, Johannes reached into his battered brown bag of calf’s leather and pulled out a little book, bound in red. “This is not new, but I think it may be new to the court of the Great Khan. It is the
Liber Abaci
of Leonardo of Pisa, known as Fibonacci. I have studied it closely, and I believe it to be of overwhelming importance for science.”

“Indeed.” My master looked at the book, and to tell the truth there was a skepticism in his voice that only someone who knew him well would recognize. “This little volume here?”

“Yes. It introduces a quantity, the
sifr
, or
cifra
, and a new way of writing numbers based upon it. I agree with Fibonacci, this will transform every aspect of calculation, from astronomy to the sale of goods. With your permission, and the permission of His Holiness, I propose to instruct the philosophers at the court of the Great Khan in the mathematical techniques of the
Liber Abaci
.”

“Oh certainly, certainly, do that if you wish.”

But it was clear that my master thought this of little consequence compared with Auromancers and Templars and Quarry Ants.

By contrast, Nataree seemed indifferent when I spoke of animals with near-magical powers, and flamed with curiosity when I mentioned the little book that Johannes carried with him everywhere.

She had huddled inside her cloak as she listened to me talk of Johannes and our mission, with only her eyes showing. Now she suddenly stirred and said, “Tell me more about the book. Tell me what it allows you to do.”

I tried to explain; and of course, I could not. I had heard Johannes talk a hundred times of the new methods, and seen him do calculations so fast that some scholars swore he must be in league with the Devil; but nothing of Johannes’s techniques had ever made sense to me.

Nataree listened to me for a while, then pushed back her cowl and stood up. “Dari, you do not make sense. It is not your fault. I will talk about this to Johannes myself.”

And then she was moving, heading for the line of campfires. As she walked away, I was tempted to shout after her, “Talk all you want, you silly girl. Johannes does not speak your language, and you do not speak his.” Then I shivered, and remained silent. I realized that in the hour or less that we had been talking together, Nataree had somehow caught much of my vocabulary and accent, and was already speaking closer to my own choice of tongue. I am quick with languages; most people would say, incredibly quick. Could anyone, ever, learn another’s language in a few hours or a few days? Only, I would say it again, if she were a witch-woman.

* * *

I was cold, not fully recovered from our ordeal in the desert, and again feeling hungry; but I did not go back at once to the cooking pots and the warmth of the fires. I felt strangely disloyal and ashamed. In thinking to acquire information, I had learned nothing, and perhaps I had told too much.

It was good that Nataree had left when she did. Otherwise the force of those pale, piercing eyes might have sucked out of me the rest of the story of my first meeting with Johannes; and that was something that he surely wanted no one to know about—not even me.

My master, when the official business was over, had drawn a chair up close to Johannes, and his voice changed to a solemn tone I had never heard him use before. I froze at his feet.

“My son,” he said, and Johannes bowed his head. “Do not look on this journey as a punishment, or even as a penance.”

“Father di Piacenza, Your Holiness, I try not to not think of it that way. I try to see it as an opportunity.”

“It is, indeed. An opportunity to give service to God, and a chance to renew your faith. If you would like to tell me what happened to you . . .”

Johannes had sighed like an old, old man. “That is part of the problem. Nothing happened. There was no event, no moment of temptation, no sight of Satan high on a church spire trumpeting at me like a thousand elephants to bring me to sin. But the more I studied, the more I asked questions, the more I tried to understand—the less became my certainty. I waited and prayed and hoped. Six months ago I at last went to Monsignor Alienti and asked for advice. He suggested some kind of pilgrimage, and thought that with my interests and background in the sciences, one of unusual type might serve better both me and the Holy Church. And so here I am.”

There was a great simplicity and honesty to Johannes, no one could mistake that. And although what he said made no sense at all to me, apparently it did to my master. “If the result of this mission is that you are helped,” he said, “then even if nothing else is accomplished, it will not be a failure. A soul is quite beyond price. Nothing is more important than your return to full conviction.”

Johannes’s eyes were turned down, but I could see them from where I was sitting. Instead of the clear certainty they held when he spoke about mathematics and the
Liber Abaci
, now they were tormented and filled with misery.

“You have questions,” my master went on. “The Church has no objection to questions. It welcomes debate and logical thought, it even thrives on paradox. But logic must ultimately be subordinated to Faith. We begin with Faith, and end with Faith, and Faith conquers all. If in your studies there was a failure to understand God’s plans for the world down to the level of the smallest logical detail, that is proof only of human fallibility. It adds to the glory of God, if understanding Him is not simple. You are making a grave error if you say, ‘because I cannot understand everything, God is lacking’! Remember again, the soul of a human is priceless.”

I listened closely—and still I had little idea what he was talking about! It was more of the cold tangle of Christ that I heard so often in the palace. All words and no warmth. But this time I felt something new: the pain in Johannes. I was so drawn to him, so taken with him, I could not dismiss this dialogue as unimportant.

“Perhaps,” Johannes said after a few moments of silence, “I will convert the Great Khan himself, to make him become a follower of Christ.”

His voice was wistful. My master blew that sorrow away with a great gust of laughter.

“Ah, my Johannes, would that you could! But no, we are not so ambitious as that. Go east, and bring back a little new knowledge, and your faith made whole, and that will be all we can ask.” He finally noticed me, staring up at him, and switched at once to speak in Persian. “Now then, Dari, why are you still here? Off, and bring
chai
for our honored guest.”

I would never have a better chance.

“Master,” I said, and bowed low. “The honored guest has come a great distance, and I think he must travel farther. I heard you talk of the court of the Great Khan. That is far, far away. If the guest does not know the language you are using now, or those of the tribes still farther to the east, he will find travel very difficult. I have some gift for languages. I would be honored to serve him, and speak to others on his behalf.”

My master stared at me as though he had never seen me before in his whole life. I shivered, and waited. At last he smiled. “This desire to serve does you credit, Dari. But there is one problem. How can you help the holy Johannes, when you cannot even speak
his
language. What would you be able to say to him, or on his behalf, if you cannot understand him?”

“I would say”—and now I turned to face Johannes himself, and changed to Latin; not very good Latin, on purpose, since I did not want to upset my master with my earlier eavesdropping—“
Domine
, I want to serve you. My Lord, I will go with you wherever you go, and speak on your behalf, and make your goals my only goals.”

M. di Piacenza’s mouth hung open. “Such cheek! You’ll do no such thing. Be off with you, little Dari, get out of here and bring hot tea. Johannes and I have much to talk about.”

I went, and my feet bore me along the carpeted corridor like the wings of eagles. My master might fool Johannes with the severity of his manner, but he did not fool me. When he was angry he called me Daryush, when he was pleased with me, it was Dari; when he was
really
pleased, it was little Dari.

I was going, I was going, I was going, I was going.

Johannes of Magdeburg and I, we would travel east and east and farther east. We would walk the shining world, go together beyond the eye of the rising sun, to travel the Great Silk Road—the Dragon Road, the Smoke Road, the Snowy Road, the Golden Road, the magic road that would lead to the court of the Great Khan himself.

I hugged myself. I was going!

* * *

When I lived in Bactria, before I was sold to M. di Piacenza, I slept always with the horses and the camels. My master told me at once when I reached Acre that he did not want me stinking of animals in his house, and he made me bathe often and sleep in an inside chamber; but I have never lost my fondness for the warmth and comforting smell of the great beasts.

In desert country, now, where there is no hope of forage, all the animals of the caravan are herded together for the night in the middle of the circle of campfires. It is smelly and intimate there, and the finest place in the world in freezing weather. When I at last came in from the darkness, chilled to the bone, I headed inside the circle for old time’s sake, and also for a late-night look at Nataree’s beautiful dappled pony.

To my surprise, Johannes was at the first campfire I came to—and he was sitting with Ahmes and Nataree.

I watched for a few moments before I joined them. Johannes had his beloved
Liber Abaci
held out in front of him, and he was doing most of the talking. Nataree was listening very closely, and asking occasional questions in a slow and correct Persian. My teaching for the past year had been enough to allow Johannes to follow her, and to reply to her.

“So this mark,” she was saying. “The
sifr
. It does not mean that
hichi
—nothing—is there. It says that there is something specific there; that in this space there are no tens in this particular number. So it serves to mark the place where numbers of tens are written. This number, 308, has none of the tens. Three tens of tens in this place, here. No tens, in this place here. And eight units, here.”

“Exactly right!” Johannes leaned forward and gripped the hand that touched the book, something which he definitely should not have done. I looked around at once to see if her guards had seen, but they were arguing and dozing by the next fire. “And the
sifr
can mark the position of any sort of number—it could show, for instance, that there are no hundreds in a number which has some thousands and some tens. It makes calculation easy, almost trivial.”

Nataree was nodding, while Ahmes was yawning. I can’t say that I blame him. I’d heard Johannes and his “sifr position notation” far too often, myself. But Ahmes was by no means asleep. His eyes were on Nataree, and the expression they held was one that I had seen a hundred times. I am perhaps a little skinny, but I am fair-skinned and graceful in movement, and many men have found me attractive. I have never given myself to one, but I recognize that red-eyed glaze of blind lust easily enough; and Ahmes had it now. If he was not careful, he would get himself into worse trouble than any he had seen so far.

“Teach me more!” said Nataree suddenly. “Let us do another calculation!”

“Give me a problem!” Johannes was as excited as she, like a child showing off a toy. “Any numbers that you choose.”

“My age, added to your age, added to his age, added to his age.” She pointed at me and Ahmes.

“Too simple—once I know the ages.” Johannes made a column of numbers. “Twenty-eight, that is me. Thirteen, that is Dari. Ahmes, how old are you?”

“Twenty-three years.” The soldier shrugged. “And what good will your answer be when you get it?”

“And I am fifteen,” said Nataree. But as Johannes made his column of numbers, and did odd things with it, I saw through her game. She wanted to know how old Johannes was. And she had found out, without asking.

But why did she want to know? To cast horoscopes, perhaps? To set a spell on him? Nothing made sense. She was destined to be a bride of the Great Khan, that was her future, and the future of Johannes was irrelevant to her.

I was suspicious. I disliked Nataree anyway, without needing more reason. She was a witch-woman, and I had already given her too much information about me and about Johannes.

* * *

The whole desert was wider than Ahmes had said—far wider. If we had not met the caravan, the three of us would have ended as sun-dried corpses, days short of any supply of water; and we had been only in the Little Desert, the western end of the Great Desert.

Even with the experienced merchants of the caravan to guide us, the journey across that Great Desert was not easy. The most foolhardy traveler would not plunge on into the heart of the
Takla Makan Shamo
itself, the place that we had been heading for, in our sublime ignorance. The caravan turned north on the Great Desert’s western margin, to find and follow the southern edge of the
Tien Shan
, the Celestial Mountains, where we could take our water from their snowmelt.

It was four weeks before we reached the plain that we would follow north-east toward Karakorum itself. The weather turned colder and colder. We would find Karakorum, home of the Great Khan, a snow-girt city with (according to false legend) walls of gold and towers of diamond.