rather halfhearted attempt to interrupt the proceedings, until two bulky bailiffs with long pikes appeared and moved them along. Order restored, the open-air symposium continued. Douglas turned his attention to the lecture and tried to follow it as best he could. The Latin was accomplished—fluent and fluid, eloquent, and elegant in expression—and so highly polished by years of scholastic application that even when Douglas knew the words being spoken it was difficult to ascertain what sense was being conveyed. The students, and a smattering of townspeople, seemed to grasp the meaning of what Douglas eventually concluded was a discourse on the nature of the universe and the place of reason in framing the human conception of reality.
It might well have been riveting stuff, but it took all of Douglas’ newly acquired expertise in the ancient language just to identify the subject; actually following the subtle nuances of the argument were well beyond his nascent abilities. Still, he had a basic general idea of the flow if not the particulars, and anyway he had not come to sit at the feet of the learned professor. He was on a far more important mission.
“Snipe!” Douglas hissed under his breath. “Do not throw that.” He had seen his pugnacious assistant fingering a rotten pear he had picked up from the gutter on their way to the lecture. “Drop it now.”
The youth turned a baleful gaze upon his master, but still clutched the overripe fruit, juice oozing from his fingers.
“Drop it!” said Douglas. “Obey.”
With a sneer of defiance, the pale youth released the fruit. The pear hit the ground with a dull splat; Snipe stomped it with his foot and ground the soft fruit into the dirt. He then stood, rigid with rage, and glowered at the rabble around them.
“Good boy,” Douglas commended him, and offered him a sop. “We will find a cat for you later.”
The lecture eventually came to an end and the students began drifting off in twos and threes, melting into the general bustle of the busy town square. A few lingered to ask questions, and Douglas waited for these to finish. When all had gone away, he approached. “Pax vobiscum, Magister Bacon,” he said, removing his round monk’s cap and making a nicely practised bow of deference. “Deus vobis.”
“Quis est?” said the professor, as he turned. Taking in Douglas’ robes, he said, “God with you, brother.”
Douglas introduced himself as a visiting priest who had come seeking enlightenment on a scholarly matter. “I wonder if I may call on you in your lodgings to discuss it?”
“It would be a sublime pleasure for a certainty,” replied Master Bacon. “Alas, my duties are many, and I have not found a way to expand time to accommodate them all. Therefore, I must sadly decline your offer to attend me—attractive as it may be.”
“To be sure,” replied Douglas, who had anticipated a similar response and was ready with a reply. “I would not presume to add to your burdens in any way, God knows. Yet it may interest you to know that I come from the abbey at Tyndyrn, where an exceedingly peculiar manuscript has come into our hands, we know not how.” He saw the glint of curiosity spark in the professor’s dark eyes. “Some of my brothers believe you may be the only person alive who can read it.”
“This manuscript of which you speak,” said Roger Bacon, rubbing the back of his hand, “what can you tell me about it?”
“Very little, sir. You see, it is written in no language ever seen before. At least, not one that our best scholars can identify.”
“Congratulations, my friend,” declared the august professor with a bow of his tonsured head. “You have succeeded in intriguing me—an eventuality that grows more difficult with each year that Christ tarries. Will you come to me tonight at the Bear? We will have supper together.” He indicated the inn behind them. “I take my meals within, and my table is always ready. I shall keep a place for you.” His eyes shifted to Douglas’ companion. “And your acolyte, of course. God’s greeting, my son.” Upon regarding the youth more closely, his smile wilted.
“He is mute and does not speak,” Douglas informed the master with a pat of Snipe’s overlarge head. “My thanks, Master Bacon. Until this evening, then.”
“God with you, friend,” replied the professor, stepping away.
Douglas waited a moment, then crossed the square and proceeded to the Star Inn, where he had taken rooms. He spoke to the matron and