Baudolino (18 page)

"You shut up: you're as false as the soul of Judas. For you it's fine when your Ezekiel sees a temple and we know nothing about its form; if a Christian mason comes and tells you it couldn't stand up, you answer that Ezekiel heard voices and wasn't paying attention to the figures, so then I have to make only mirrors that will stand on their feet? All right, I'll also put twelve thousand armed guards
around the mirror, at the base of the column, and they'll see that it stands up. All right?"

"All right, all right, it's your mirror," Rabbi Solomon said, conciliatory.

Abdul followed this talk, smiling, his eyes lost in empty space, and Baudolino realized that in the mirror Abdul would have liked to glimpse at least the shadow of his distant princess.

"In the days that followed we had to make haste because the Poet had to leave again, and he didn't want to miss the rest of the story," Baudolino said to Niketas. "But by now we were on the right track."

"On the right track? But this Priest was, in my opinion, less credible than the Magi dressed as cardinals and Charlemagne amid the heavenly host...."

"The Priest would become credible if he made himself known, with a personal letter to Frederick."

The decision to write a letter of Prester John was inspired by a story that Rabbi Solomon had heard from the Arabs of Spain. A sailor, Sindbad, who lived in the time of the caliph Harun-al-Rashid, was shipwrecked one day on an island, along the line of the equinox, where both day and night last exactly twelve hours. Sindbad said he had seen many Indians on the island, and so the island was close to India. The Indians took him into the presence of the prince of Sarandib. This prince moved only on a throne, mounted on an elephant, eight cubits high, and on either side, in double file, marched his vassals and his ministers. He was preceded by a herald with a golden javelin, and behind him came a second herald with a golden mace, an emerald at its apex. When the prince descended from the throne to continue on horseback, he was followed by a thousand horsemen dressed in silk and brocade, and yet another herald preceded him, crying that a king was arriving who possessed a crown such as Solomon had never had. The prince granted Sindbad audience, asking him many questions about the kingdom from whence he came. Finally the prince asked him to bear a letter to Harun-al-Rashid, written on sheepskin parchment with ultramarine ink, which said: "I send you the greeting of peace, I, prince of Sarandib, before
whom stand a thousand elephants, and in whose palace the battlements are made of jewels. We consider you a brother and we beg you to send us a reply. And we beg you to accept this humble gift." The humble gift was an enormous ruby goblet, its bowl adorned with pearls. This gift and that letter increased throughout the Saracen world the veneration of the name of the great Harun-al-Rashid."

"That sailor of yours was surely in the kingdom of Prester John," Baudolino said. "Though in Arabic they call it by a different name. But he lied in saying that the Priest sent letters and gifts to the caliph, because John is Christian, even if a Nestorian, and if he had sent a letter, it would have been to the emperor Frederick."

"Then let's write that letter ourselves," the Poet said.

In seeking any information that could enhance their construction of Prester John's kingdom, our friends encountered Kyot. He was a young native of Champagne, who had just returned from a journey in Brittany, his spirit still aflame with stories of errant knights, wizards, fairies, and spells, which the inhabitants of those lands tell in the evening around the fire. When Baudolino mentioned to him the wonders of Prester John's palace, the youth cried out: "Why, in Brittany I heard tell of such a castle, or almost! It's where the Grasal is kept!"

"What do you know about the Grasal?" Boron asked, turning suspicious immediately, as if Kyot had laid a hand on something that was his property.

"Well then," Baudolino said, "I see that this object means a lot to both of you. What is it? As far as I know, a grasal, or gradalis, is some kind of bowl."

"Bowl? Bowl!" Boron smiled indulgently. "More of a chalice." Then, as if making up his mind to reveal his secret, he went on: "I'm amazed you haven't heard of it. It is the most precious relic of all Christianity, the cup in which Jesus consecrated the wine at the Last Supper, and in which later Joseph of Arimathea collected the blood that flowed from the ribs of Christ on the cross. Some say that the
name of that cup is the Holy Grail, others say it is Sangreal, royal blood, because he who possesses it becomes one of the chosen knights, of the same lineage as David and Our Lord."

"Grail or grasal?" the Poet asked, immediately alert, hearing of something that could confer some kind of power.

"We don't know," Kyot said. "Some also say Graal. And it may not necessarily be a bowl. Those who have seen it do not recall the shape; all we know is that it is an object endowed with extraordinary powers."

"Who has seen it?" the Poet asked.

"Surely the knights who guarded it in Broceliande. But every trace of them has also been lost, and I have met only people who tell of them."

"It would be better if they told about that thing less and tried to learn more," Boron said. "That boy's been to Brittany, he's barely heard it mentioned, and he's already looking at me as if I wanted to steal from him what he doesn't have. That's how it is with everybody. You hear talk of the Grasal, and you think you'll be the one to find it. But I've spent five years in Brittany, and in the islands beyond the sea, without telling stories, only to find—"

"And did you find it?" Kyot asked.

"The problem wasn't to find the Grasal, but to find the knights who knew where it is. I traveled, I asked questions, I never encountered them. Maybe I wasn't one of the chosen. And here I am, rummaging among parchments, hoping to uncover a clue that escaped me while I was roaming in those forests...."

"Now why are we here talking about the Grasal?" Baudolino said. "Whether it's in Brittany or in those islands, it doesn't concern us, because it has nothing to do with Prester John." No, Kyot said, because where the castle is and the nature of the object it houses have never been clear, but among the many stories he had heard there was one according to which one of those knights, Feirefiz, had found it and given it to his son, a priest who was to become king of India.

"Nonsense," Boron said. "Would I then have searched for years in the wrong place? Who told you the story of this Feirefiz?"

"Any story can be valid," the Poet said, "and if you follow Kyot's you might find your Grasal. But for the moment the question is not to find it, but to establish if it's worth connecting to Prester John. My dear Boron, we're not seeking a thing; we're seeking someone who will tell us about it." Then he turned to Baudolino. "What do you think? Does Prester John possess the Grasal? Is that the source of his great distinction, and could he transmit that distinction to Frederick, making him a gift of it?"

"And could it be the same ruby cup that the prince of Sarandib had sent to Harun-al-Rashid," suggested Solomon, who in his excitement had begun to speak through the toothless side of his mouth. "The Saracens honor Jesus as a great prophet; they could have discovered the cup, and then Harun might, in turn, have given it to the Priest...."

"Splendid," the Poet said. "The cup as harbinger of the reconquest of what the Moors had held as unjust possessors. Better than Jerusalem!"

They decided to try. During the night Abdul managed to remove from the scriptorium of Saint Victoire a parchment of great value, never scraped. It lacked only a seal to make it seem the letter of a king. In that room meant for two people, which now housed six around a rickety table, Baudolino, his eyes closed, dictated as if inspired. Abdul wrote, because his calligraphy, which he had learned in the Christian kingdoms beyond the sea, could suggest the way an Oriental would write Latin letters. Before beginning, he had proposed, so that all would be suitably clever and inventive, emptying the pot of the remaining green honey, but Baudolino objected: this evening, they had to have clear minds.

They promptly asked themselves if the Priest should not write in his Adamic language, or at least in Greek, but it was decided that a king like John probably had at his service secretaries who knew every
language, and out of respect for Frederick, he would write in Latin. Also because, Baudolino added, the letter was intended to amaze and convince the pope and the other Christian princes, and therefore it had, first of all, to be comprehensible to them. They set to work.

The Priest Johannes, by the power and grace of God and of Our Lord Jesus Christ, master of all those who rule, to Frederick, holy and Roman emperor, wishing him good health and perpetual enjoyment of the divine benediction...

It has been announced to our majesty that you held in great esteem our Excellency and that word of our greatness has reached you. Also we have learned from our emissaries that you wish to send us some pleasing and entertaining gift, to delight our clemency. Gladly we accept the gift, and through our ambassador we send you a token, on our part, as we desire to know if you follow, as we do, the true faith, and if you believe completely in Our Lord Jesus Christ. In the breadth of our munificence, if you desire something that can procure for you pleasure, inform us, either by a word to our messenger or by a sign of your affection. Accept in exchange...

"Stop a moment," Abdul said. "This could be the point where the Priest sends Frederick the Grasal!"

"Yes," Baudolino said, "but these two nitwits Boron and Kyot haven't yet managed to tell us what it is!"

"They've heard so many stories, they've seen so many things, maybe they don't remember everything. That's why I suggested the honey: we have to encourage the flow of ideas."

Yes, perhaps Baudolino, who was dictating, and Abdul, who was writing, could limit themselves to wine; but the witnesses, or the sources of the revelation, had to be stimulated with green honey. And thus after a few moments Boron, Kyot (stupefied by the new sensations he was experiencing), and the Poet, who had now developed a
taste for the honey, were seated on the floor with foolish smiles engraved on their faces, raving like so many hostages of Aloadin.

"Oh, yes," Kyot was saying, "there is a great hall, and torches that illuminate it with a brightness beyond anything imaginable. An attendant appears grasping a spear of such whiteness that it shines in the glow of the fireplace. From the tip of the spear comes a drop of blood and it drips on the hand of the attendant. Then two other attendants arrive with honey-gold candelabra, in each of which at least ten candles are alight. The candles pale, as do the moon and the stars when the sun rises. The Grasal is made of purest gold, studded with extraordinary precious stones, the rarest that exist on land or in the sea.... And now another maiden enters, carrying a silver dish...."

"So what's this damn Grasal like?" the Poet cried.

"I don't know. I see only a light...."

"You see only a light," Boron said, "but I see more. There are torches illuminating the hall, true, but now thunder is heard, a terrible shaking, as if the palace were collapsing. A great darkness falls.... No, now a ray of sunlight illuminates the palace, seven times brighter than before. Oh, the Holy Grasal is entering, covered with a cloth of white velvet, and as it enters, the palace is filled with the perfumes of all the spices of the world. Gradually, as the Grasal moves around the table, the knights see their plates fill with all the foods they could desire...."

"But what's this Grasal like? Devil take it!"

"Don't curse. It's a cup."

"How do you know if it's under a velvet cloth?"

"I know because I know," Boron said stubbornly. "They told me."

"May you be damned through the centuries and tormented by a thousand demons! You seem to have a vision, and then you tell us what you've been told and can't see? Why, you're worse than that asshole Ezekiel, who didn't know what he was seeing because those Jews never look at pictures and only hear voices!"

"Please, you blasphemer!" Solomon interjected. "Not just for my sake: the Bible is a holy book also for you, you loathesome gentiles!"

"Calm yourselves," Baudolino said. "Now listen to this, Boron. We'll assume that the Grasal is the cup that held the wine Our Lord blessed. How could Joseph of Arimathea collect the blood from the crucified Christ if, when he takes Jesus down from the cross, our Savior was already dead, and, as you know, the dead don't bleed?"

"Even dead, Jesus could work miracles."

"It wasn't a cup," Kyot interrupted, "because the man who told me the story about Feirefiz also revealed that it was a stone fallen from the sky,
lapis ex coelis,
and if it was a cup it's because it was carved from this celestial stone."

"Then why wasn't it the tip of the spear that pierced the holy bosom?" the Poet asked. "Didn't you say earlier that you saw an attendant carrying a bleeding spear? Well, what I see is not one but three attendants, each with a spear from which blood is streaming.... And then a man dressed like a bishop with a cross in his hand, borne on a chair by four angels, who put him down before the silver table where the spear now lies ... Then two maidens carrying a charger with a man's severed head on it, bathed in blood. And then the bishop who is officiating over the spear: he raises the Host, and in the Host the image of a babe can be seen! The spear is the portentous object, and it is a sign of power because it's a sign of strength!"

"No, the spear drips blood, but the drops fall into a cup, demonstrating the miracle I was talking about," Boron said. "It's so simple...." And he began to smile.

"That's enough," Baudolino said, dejected. "Let's forget about the Grasal and go on."

"My friends," Rabbi Solomon said, with the detachment of a man who, being Jewish, was not greatly impressed by that sacred relic. "To have the Priest immediately make a gift of that significance seems exaggerated to me. And then, the reader of the letter could ask Frederick to display this wonder. All the same, we can't exclude the possibility that the stories heard by Kyot and by Boron are in circulation in many regions, and so a hint would be enough, and a word to the wise would suffice. Don't write Grasal, don't write cup; use a less precise term. The Torah never refers to the most sublime things in a literal sense, but in a secret sense, so the devout reader must gradually guess what the Almighty, always may his holy name be blessed, wanted to be understood at the end of time."