A Book Dragon Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  BROTHER THE OPHILUS

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  HE WIND HAD RISEN WHILE NONESUCH WAS IN THE I—

  forest. Now it was stronger than he had ever remembered it. Even when he was still among the trees it reached for him, blowing him near the branches. He flew above the highest trees and spread his wings to ride along the moving air. A swarm of torn, flying leaves followed him in a green cloud as he was blown out of the forest and over country he had never seen before. Without any effort of his own, he passed over a small village that did not seem to have been damaged in the human wars. The wind was lifting the thatch from the roofs. One wattled house was on fire, burning brightly, as if the flames wanted to escape into the sky too.

  The wind never slackened. Nonesuch was carried over a leafless apple orchard, where bright apples were being blown from the boughs. He flew past the round tower of a squat castle. He soared over a group of low gray stone buildings surrounded by a lower gray stone wall. The last, and tallest, of the buildings, still within the wall, was a narrow but lofty church. The wind paused suddenly, then with a quick puff deposited Nonesuch gently on the glass of a high window at the end of the church’s nave.

  He had landed between two upright strips of stone on a slab of colored glass, held in place by strips of iron. The wind’s pressure increased again, forcing him against the dark glass. He pushed himself back, but the wind would not let him fly away. Then Nonesuch realized he was not alone on the window:

  across the next rib of stone was a small brown bat, upside down and apparently fast asleep. Nonesuch could see its little pig’s snout and sharp white teeth. The bat, who was breathing quite peacefully, seemed fastened to the glass by the pressure of the wind. Then, when the wind dropped again, he started to slide down. He reached out a winged arm, somehow seized one of the stone ribs, worked himself down to a crack where the glass had come away from its metal frame, and squeezed through. In a moment, Nonesuch also flapped down to the hole in the window and followed the bat inside the church.

  The swift clouds that had covered the sun until now suddenly broke away from it. On the inner side of the window, Nonesuch found himself flying in a wonderful world of light. Colors shone all around him. In astonishment he flew away from the window until the spots of color that composed it gathered themselves together.

  The window was made up of twelve oblong frames, each of which contained a man in a long robe. Wide gold rings circled their heads. One of the men held a great gold key in his hand. Another man held an open book, another a fisherman’s net, yet another a carpenter’s square. Each figure had solemn features and dark, shining eyes, which seemed to look directly at him.

  Nonesuch hovered in the air, staring back at these twelve men. Then he felt the emptiness of the church behind him and turned away from the window to look down the nave, the

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  main aisle. It was dim, shadowy, with rays of colored light entering from other windows at the sides. At the far end, past the altar, a circular rose window filled the upper wall. Nonesuch flew towards it, over the empty benches of the congre-gation, and lighted on a high wrought-iron screen that separated the choir and altar from the rest of the church. On each side of the choir were two rows of seats, separated by richly carved partitions. Before every three seats was a small table, on which lay what seemed to be a pack of brown leather, about two feet square.

  A distant bell rang; another nearer one answered it. There was the sound of feet. From the far end of the church a double file of monks, each in a long black cloak, paced down the nave, chanting more or less together. They passed under the screen, and each took his place in the choir. A few peasants entered the church behind them.

  While the monks continued to sing, a short and rotund monk climbed the stairs to a pulpit on the right side of the screen. Nonesuch realized that if any of these monks looked up, they could see him. He quietly sidled to the edge of the screen, which ended at one of the columns that supported the roof, leaped out, and. in the shelter of the column, flew up to its capital, a wide stone platform two-thirds of the way up. Above this platform the column soared upward, dividing into many ribs of white stone that flowed up to the roof like a stone fountain. Nonesuch gazed up in wonder: the spread-out stone seemed to float there, as if the roof were holding it in the air.

  A voice spoke directly at his feet.’ ‘It’s called ‘fan vaulting’. One of the characteristics of Perpendicular Gothic, if you’d like to know. Human beings are often as much affected by it as you are.”

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  Nonesuch had leaped into the air as soon as the voice spoke. He flew away from the column, then turned and hovered just below the capital. The lower part of the platform was decorated with carved stone faces that looked down into the church. Between the faces were carved bunches of grapes and plums. The brown bat was there too, hanging upside down, his feet gripping a carved branch, slowly chewing on a fat moth.

  The bat swallowed, licked his lips, and looked up at the dragon.’ ‘When the light from the Heaven window strikes the stone fruit, the insects think it’s real. See.” He pointed with one wing, and Nonesuch saw that a shaft of glorious blue light from a high window had made the stone plum glow like a real one.

  “But I have to be careful,” the bat added. “On other columns some of the fruit has insects carved as well. I’ve chipped my teeth on them.”

  Below them, the chanting stopped for a moment. As if on a signal, every third monk in the choir bent over, seized the corner of one of the packs of brown leather, and flung it back. In an instant, eight large books, each four feet wide and two feet high, lay open before the monks in the choir. Three read from each book as they chanted the responses.

  Nonesuch had never seen or heard of a book before. It seemed to him as if light were shining out of the pale vellum pages. He looked at the rich black letters and the decorations between them with deep attention. To see them more closely, he flew below the capital, peeking round its end to get a better view.

  The bat opened one eye and looked out at him. Nonesuch landed on the top of the capital again. • ‘If you’re really interested

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  in such things,” the bat told him, “you should go to the Scriptorium.” ^S^ “The Scriptorium?” Nonesuch asked, i^afe From the Latin scribere, to write,” the bat explained. “The room where books are made. Only Brother Theophilus works there now. He’s the next to the last one on the right.” Nonesuch looked and saw a monk, taller than most of the others, with red hair poking out of his cowl, who was running his finger over the page of the book before him, an action that made the monks on either side shake their heads in disapproval. ‘ ‘But he’ll be here a while yet,” the bat continued.’ “There’s a hole under the window by the fifth column on the right-hand side.” He nodded down the nave.’ “That lets you out over the roof of the cloisters at one comer. The Scriptorium is under the diagonal corner.” The bat closed his eyes again.

  Nonesuch hesitated a moment. Then, while the monks’ chanting continued in the choir, he flew where the bat had told him, high in the ceiling, along the white vaulting, down by a red-and-gold window, then through a hole in a broken pane. The cloister was an open square surrounded by a roofed passage. At the opposite comer was another window that opened into a white-walled room.

  The first thing that Nonesuch noticed about the room when he flew through the window was the amount of light; it seemed brighter than the open air. All the windows were of clear glass, and there was a wide skylight in the ceiling. On a table in one

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  comer, well lighted by the skylight and by windows on either side, was a book. Not so big as the great books in the choir:

  each page was only as long as a man’s forearm from elbow to fingertip, and broad in proportion.

  It was not a finished book but one in preparation: the pages had not yet been bound together. Each was laid loosely in a leather binder on one side of the desk. A single page, next to the pile on the bind
er, was still incomplete. On the desk were small pots of paint, mortars for grinding the different colors, pungent oils, and a container with dark brushes. Under the disturbing smell of oil in which the colors were suspended, Nonesuch could tell immediately that one of the pots contained real gold powder.

  But the images on the top page in the binder and on the unfinished page drew his attention more closely. The middle part of each page was covered with black letters. In the wide margins around the text were more familiar shapes. A vine started in the lower right-hand comer and spread all around the page, its branches meeting again at the upper left-hand comer. Small tendrils of the vine ran right into the text, marking certain letters with tiny red and gold flowers. Away from the text, the vine became alive with larger flowers in fantastic shapes and colors. Here and there faces peered out of the vine:

  unicorns, gnomes, mischievous monkeys, solemn toads. From one leaf a tiny bat hung, head down. In the blank spaces away from the vine, bright butterflies fluttered, looking as if in a moment they would fly away from the pages.

  Nonesuch had seen all this while hovering above the page. Now he landed on the table, next to the unfinished page. Clouds passed rapidly outside, bringing moving shadows through the window, and the deep-black letters seemed to be moving too. They bent towards each other, as if they were

  whispering together. Nonesuch became so absorbed in watching these letters that he did not notice that Brother Theophflus, the tall red-haired monk, had returned.

  He was carrying an on lamp, which he carefully hooked on a chain that hung over the center of the table. In doing so, he leaned over, so that when Nonesuch turned at the shadow that suddenly covered him he found himself hemmed in by the man’s body, his wide shoulders and his long black robe. It was impossible to Qy up and away!

  The small dragon crouched down, looking for a way out, perhaps a spring sideways. His eyes lingered on the page beneath him for a last time; he saw a wise turtle’s head that he had not noticed before; it seemed to be winking at him.

  “A dragon!” the tall man exclaimed. “A true small dragon!” He stretched out his hand. Nonesuch drew back his head with a warning hiss. The man’s hand was long and scholarly; white, except where it was stained with color. Even so, it could easily have crushed the tiny dragon, and the man realized this immediately. He withdrew his hand gently and sat down, gazing at Nonesuch with large, shining eyes.

  Then, moving very cautiously, he took up a brush, dipped it in green paint, and sketched a small dragon, less than one-quarter the size of Nonesuch himself, in a space between two vines. Making sure that his movements did not alarm the dragon, he picked up another brush, then another; he tipped in a bluish tint to match the edge of Nonesuch’s wings, gold for his eyes, and a hint of red where his belly showed. He laid his brushes down and looked carefully from the dragon to his portrait of him. “It’s not so beautiful,” he remarked sadly, “but how could it be? I always wanted to see a dragon and now, at last, one has come.” He crossed himself, then pushed his chair back from the table. “Go in peace,” he told Nonesuch gently, “but come again.”

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  Though he knew there was no danger, Nonesuch thought it proper to leave now. He flew out of the Scriptorium, back through the church, which was empty again, to the column by the choir screen. The bat still hung there, motionless. When Nonesuch landed on the capital above him, the bat spoke without opening his eyes.’ ‘Brother Theophilus is a scholar and a scribe. I visit him from time to time. When he prepares his colors, it’s my duty to keep insects away.” The bat licked his lips thoughtfully. “He acknowledges my function, and even set a bracket in the wall for me to hang on.” “He painted you too,” Nonesuch told the bat. ‘ ‘Did he, now?” After a time the bat remarked,’ ‘I hope it doesn’t bring me visitors.” His legs tensed so that he hung a little higher. “Could you tell if it was me, particularly?”

  Nonesuch had never seen a bat so close before; this one looked like any other. “The picture was so small that I really couldn’t see,” he replied.

  The bat relaxed. “Good. I prefer the quiet, anonymous life. You are happier if no one notices you at all. Though it will be good if one of us is in the book.”

  “He painted me too,” Nonesuch admitted. The bat opened his eyes and looked thoughtfully at the small dragon for some time. “Well, I should imagine so,” he replied. “One doesn’t see your sort every day. In fact, this is the first time for me as well. Are you very young? You don’t seem so.”

  “I was large and grew smaller,” Nonesuch told him. The bat thought this over. “It was probably a good thing to do,” he said at last. “If you were too big to get into our church, you could never see the Apostle window there” —he nodded at the twelve upright glass figures — “or the rose window. There are some carvings behind the choir stalls that are absolutely unique. I’m sure the humans can’t see them at

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  all. The carver made them, so he must have wanted someone to see them, perhaps only you and I and the beetles; though naturally we don’t all have the same kind of interest in the carvings.”

  The bat sighed, as if weary of so much talk,‘and closed his eyes again. In a moment he began to breathe deeply, fast asleep. Nonesuch flew away from the column and explored the upper reaches of the church. He chose as his own resting-place a capital on which three smiling dragon’s heads had been carved. There he had a good view of the two great windows at either end of the nave, as well as of the choir with its stalls and books. From it, he could fly to the Scriptorium without being seen, even when the church was not empty.

  He and the bat never had the church to themselves for long. There were services throughout the day and one late at night. For this one, every fourth monk carried in a dim lamp. When the chanting stopped, and a long sermon was being preached, a lantern went here and there among the choir stalls: one of the monks was making certain that none of the others had fallen asleep.

  Whenever the bell rang for services. Brother Theophilus joined the other monks. Between times, he returned to his book. Nonesuch often flew out of the church to the Scriptorium as soon as the service ended. He would wait on a deep window ledge until Brother Theophilus sat down; then he flew to a shelf near the monk’s table. Finally he perched on an unlit oil lamp that hung directly above the table.

  Though the monk never looked up, he knew where Nonesuch was. When the little dragon landed on the lamp, Brother Theophilus would finish whatever he was painting, and then paint another dragon, or, rather, a part of a dragon. He would paint a wing with its individual scalloping, just emerging from

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  behind other figures; a head peeping out of the bushes; or a tail flying away. Soon there was at least one dragon on every page. Only their colors varied. Some were red, some gold, several green, one deep-black with red eyes.

  In time, Brother Theophilus began to talk to the little dragon. For a while he seemed to be speaking to himself. Nonesuch had seen his lips moving silently before, when Brother Theophilus thought he was quite alone; and sometimes he might laugh, almost as silently. But now Nonesuch realized that the monk’s words were directed at him.

  At first Brother Theophilus spoke of the book he was writing and illuminating. It was a “Book of Hours,” which contained prayers appropriate for each hour of the day. Though the words on each page were holy, the pictures that accompanied them often had little or nothing to do with these words. Rather, as Brother Theophilus explained, since the words came from God, it was permitted to adorn them with any aspect of His world. Other Books of Hours that have come down to us show a detailed picture of the life of their time. You can find ploughmen and weavers in the pages of such books, wood-cutters and stonemasons, splendid knights, bright ladies, ships and soldiers, scenes of battle and scenes of peace.

  Thus far, Nonesuch had only seen two pages of Brother Theophilus’s book. In the week that had now passed since the dragon’s arrival, the monk had finished the page that Nonesuch had first
seen and had started on another one. The rest of the pages rested in their loose cover. Whenever he had finished for the day and all the pictures he had painted were quite dry, Brother Theophilus would close this cover, which was of leather, adorned with four blue enamelled crosses, and store the cover and pages in a heavy black box that lay at the back of his work table. This box had been inlaid with strips of iron by

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  a clever metalworker, so that it seemed encased in an endless net of iron. The heavy lock was inlaid in the wood too. A light chain attached the box to the table. Whenever Brother Theophilus closed the lock on its contents of precious pages, he would remark, as if to himself: ‘ ‘Now my treasure is shut up again.” These words made Nonesuch shiver strangely.

  In those days, when most books were still made by hand, and when many required years of skilled work, they were rare and costly objects. Noblemen counted their wealth in books owned as well as in land, flocks, manors, and gold. The books Nonesuch had seen in the choir represented part of the abbey’s wealth. There were thirty more in the Abbot’s library, making this a rich abbey indeed. But the book that Brother Theophilus was making was not for the abbey’s use.

  When all the pages were completed, when all were bound together inside their cover, this particular Book of Hours was to be an important part of the marriage portion of Lady Blanche, the youngest daughter of Hungerford Castle, by which Nonesuch had been blown before he fetched up against the window of the church of this Abbey of Oddfields.

  Once Nonesuch, motionless on his lamp as if he had been an ornament, saw Lady Blanche herself. She was tall, just turned eighteen. Her eyes shone; her cheeks still glowed from the ride to the abbey. She had persuaded the young page who had accompanied her to see to a horseshoe, which might be loose, and talk to the blacksmith’s pretty daughter, while she, Lady Blanche, entered the Scriptorium alone.