|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Gaviota, California 2030
Brother Tomas the Monk wore a coarse habit of black broadcloth with a belt of elegant but simple gold-line rope. Light poured into his study hall through a stained glass window which showed Jesus chastising the money lenders in the temple. The savior held a whip and was beating one of their number as angels looked on approvingly.
Gaviota Monastery was a majestic eminence on the last stretch of otherwise undeveloped California coastline. It was built by the Order of the Elect, after decades of battles with environmentalists. The room itself was spare, furnished with only one long table and bookshelves along the walls. At one end was a book stand originally intended for the Holy Bible. It had been re-purposed, and now supported a yellowed tome, a rare printing of the ill-famed Malleus Maleficarum. (This translates as “Hammer of Witches”.) It was the ancient church's guide to the suppression of witchcraft, written by the insane Inquisitor Heinrich Kramer. He wrote with rage and bitterness directed against all women. His animus was, however, largely driven by anger over the acquittal of one woman in particular – accused witch Helena Scheuberin.
The Kramer text condemned women for allegedly being subject to corruption by the Devil. Father Augustus, current abbot of Gaviota monastery, deliberately put the dusty old relic there upon the Bible stand. To his mind, Helena Scheuberin was guilty as charged, Kramer was a genius, and the Maleficarum deserved restoration to the prestige it had once enjoyed in Christendom. The monk Tomas did not agree with this opinion of the Abbot, but he was reluctant to argue, as it was forbidden for a man of the cloth to quarrel with his superiors. Nevertheless, in violation of his vows, he challenged this policy.
“Dom Augustus, the Malleus is an interesting old book, but is it not your wish to return our beautiful King James edition of the Holy Bible to return to its traditional seat of repose on its’ stand? Eventually?”
“Hush now, Brother Tomas. It is not for a monk to arrange things in the priority. I am the abbot here, and that is my wheelhouse. It is pleasing to the Lord that we elevate this most sacred writing. It is from the age of true Christian zeal, before the debasement that modern times has brought upon us..”
Even if inclined to further disputation, the monk was in no position to engage intellectual battle. He was under quarantine, ravaged by fever, and the abbot spoke to him from outside the room. Both of them knew death was closing on Tomas. It was the new plague, and neither doubted it was somehow in accordance with God’s will that humanity should endure it.
The pain had become unbearable; he had no effective medicine, no hope of recovery. There was only a choice between day after day of suffering in his last hours, or the quiet sleep of death. He prayed and wept and prayed some more until he finally chose the latter. Yes, death would bring peace, death would bring solace and the company of saints. Or so he hoped.
Two clean, shiny new syringes lay upon the long table before him. Each was loaded with 2 milligrams of fentanyl – as much as would fit on the tip of a pencil. According to his calculations there would be no need for the second dose.
***
Jörg Spiess, knight and nobleman, lay sick upon his bed in the city of Innsbruck. It was Monday before Palm Sunday 1485. He was attended by his doctor, the noted Italian physician who had worked with Dr. Michael Servetius in pioneering research on the heart.
“You must stay away from this woman Helena. The Inquisitor has a feverish interest in her and you will surely fall into his net if you don’t stay away from her.”
“Good doctor, a man must follow his heart. If I was not bedridden I would dispatch that Inquisitor to the depths of Hell where he surely belongs.”
“Jörg I can’t tell you what to do when you are well but I can tell you that you are not well enough now to go out into town. Once you recover, do as you must.”
Neither of the two realized that across town court was in session and Helen Scheuberin was in the docket, charged with using the dark arts of magic to make the noble knight Jörg fall ill. Had she not cursed the Inquisitor? Had she not spit and denounced him as a false prophet and a liar? How could any court not find her demonstrably guilty by virtue of these undisputed facts?
And yet the city government found cause to grant her bond! Here she now sat, head held high, as Kramer sought to prove that she was indeed a witch. A witch in league with Lucifer and his host of rebels.
“Woman, did you not have in your possession a collection of herbs, herbs known to be used for the dark arts?”
Kramer riveted his eyes upon the defendant.
“I know not of what you speak. I have only the spices every cook has in their kitchen. Sage, parsley, salt. Do you not yourself consume these very things, Inquisitor?”
“I am the one asking the questions here woman.”
Kramer paused for an inordinate amount of time. The judge wasn’t having it.
“Counselor, do you have further questions?”
“Yes, your Excellency. I do.” Turning to Helena Scheuberin, he continued.
“Did you not have in your possession Spanish Needle and withania?”
“I don’t know what those are.”
Kramer turned towards the bailiff.
“Exhibit A, good sir.”
The bailiff produced two jars. Each was labeled – Exhibit A and Exhibit B, respectively.
“Madame Scheuberin, is this not Spanish Needle?”
“I don’t know what that is. I don’t recognize it. I have a maid. Sometimes she buys things at market which she puts in soup. To me, that just looks like a random green. Some kind of celery.”
“I will remind you that lying to the court will only make things worse for you. This is Spanish needle. Also known as Satan’s Spur, Lance of Lucifer or Demons’ Dagger. Isn’t it true that this is the very noxious weed …” - he drew out the word ‘noxious’ -”the very drug, the insidious poison used by witches to perform illicit abortions in the dark of night?”
A gasp went up in the courtroom. The defendant seemed unmoved by the dramatics.
“I have no idea what you are talking about. This is a green vegetable you are waving around. A random flowering plant. I don’t see that as having anything to do with demons and witches and abortions. I think you are out of your mind.”
A titter went up among the spectators. The judge intervened again.
“The court admonishes the defendant. You are not to insult or make aspersions as to the character of the prosecutor.”
Kramer tilted his head down, barely perceiving a smirk. He felt that victory was close.
“So you are lying to the court and you were in possession of a known abortifactant. Bailiff – Exhibit B.”
Sensing victory, the prosecutor no longer felt the need for obsequious courtesy towards the court personnel. The other container was produced. Kramer pulled a handful of leafy stalks out and held them in front of the defendant.
“Is this not withania? Is this not also a demonic preparation…”
“The good Lord made every plant for us for healing and to eat. It says this in the Bible. Don’t you read the Bible Mister Inquisitor?”
Now the spectators broke out in over laughter. The Inquisitor seemed stuck. Then he turned white with rage and started shaking, as if possessed.
“How dare you! It is not for a layperson to quote the Bible. Much less a woman. And much less a witch!”
The prosecutor turned to the judge.
“The impudence of this woman to cite the Bible to me, a learned man of the cloth who has studied at the Vatican. This alone shows her guilty conscience. I move this honorable court for a directed verdict of guilty.”
The judge did not betray his mind. With a blank expression he queried the prosecutor.
“Is this your case in full”
“Yes your Honor.”
“Defendant do you have anything further to say in your own defense.”
Helena Scheuberin simply nodded her head.
“Defendant declines any further statement. I will take the evidence under consideration. I will not make a decision at this time. The defendant and prosecutor may read my decision which will be posted on the court bulletin board and issued to the town crier within two days.”
With that, he gaveled out and left for his chambers. Kramer looked extremely dejected. He expected the defendant to be dragged off in chains, and the fact that the judge was reserving decision indicated that an acquittal was likely.
At noon the next day, a notice was posted and the town crier announced the court’s decision with more than the ordinary amount of zeal. Kramer was dining when the crier went past his quarters. The Inquisitor was so upset he threw his plate down on the floor and stormed back to his room and shoved his chattels into his trunk. He commanded the valet to summon his driver. By sundown, he was on his way back to the Vatican, utterly humiliated, vowing revenge against all who dared question the Church.
Next: Chapter Five
This is Chapter Four of Anthropocene Memoir: Ghost of the Forgotten Snows, a serial novel by Geof Bard.
Earlier versions of chapters 1-3 first published on Medium.