The University of Oxford, AD 1268
‘Thomas Aylward of Exeter. I’d take it good in you, were you to direct me to Friar Bacon’s lodging place.’
The porter looked him up and down. A prosperous gentleman, and in keeping with the visitors the good friar had been receiving since attaining so much renown with the philosophicals.
‘That’s Brother Bacon yonder, walking by the river. Likes to do it in the afternoon, he does.’
Aylward went up to the dreamily pacing slight figure in Franciscan grey wearing a schoolman’s cap and said respectfully, ‘Brother Bacon, I believe? I hope I’m not intruding on your worthy thoughts.’
Bacon gave a start and stopped. ‘You have business with me? I do not recollect …’
‘Thomas Aylward, advocate of Exeter. We haven’t met, but I have long been your disciple at a remove, an ardent admirer of your methods. Tell me, is your study of optics advanced at all on the question of reflection or emission?’
‘It is, Master Aylward. In no small part due to the diligence and insight of the well-thinking Alhazen of Arabia, whose observing of rainbows and such shows conclusively that light proceeds inwards to the eye, not away, and in a straight line. My own recent trifling contribution with glass spheres only confirms his hypothesis. Are you, then, an experimenter?’
‘Not at all, Brother,’ Aylward said hastily. ‘My interest is solely admiration, and passing by I bethought myself to express this directly.’
‘Thank you. These are dark but exciting times and there are many jewels of God’s creation awaiting discovery. For instance, in the study of alchemy you would hardly credit that … but it were better we sit at ease to discuss such marvels. Have you the time?’
They retired to the eccentric little study perched above the road and Bacon shared with him secrets of nature won from the darkness by men’s minds not afraid to question the authority of the ancients, to wrestle with contradictions and allow their judgements to be dictated by evidence won from experience.
‘Then what is your chief study at this time?’ Alyward asked respectfully.
‘A most disturbing conjecture, one that I can scarce believe myself had I not set against it all my powers of reasoning without a deliverance.’
‘Pray what can this be?’
‘By my study of the motions of the heavenly bodies and much calculation I have proved to my satisfaction that the equinoxes and solstices are incorrect – the length of a year has been in error since the time of the Roman dictator Julius Caesar!’
‘This is … hard to credit.’
‘You will be therefore much distressed to observe that if I am correct – and you must accept that I am – the entire Christian faith has been celebrating Easter on the wrong day!’
‘A most lamentable situation.’
‘His Holiness Pope Clement is much disturbed and has mandated that I should discourse to him on the relationship of philosophy and theology, a work in parts in which I am now engaged.’
‘You have a solution?’
‘I have, but I find I’m forgetting my manners. Do tell me, there are fine and excellent scholars at Exeter. Have you had fellowship with them recently? What news?’
‘Brother, I confess I spend little time in Exeter. I am a jurist and latterly I’ve been intercessionary between the Venetians and Byzantium regarding trade in the Aegean.’
‘A worthy calling, and in a fascinating part of the world. I’m a martyr to travel and envy those who reach far parts.’
‘Then I may tell you that the court of Michael VIII Palaeologus is much diminished in splendour since the Crusader conquering and in subsequent times the Latin empire has been expelled; traditions are oriental and schismatic. Such trade as they can maintain is under grave threat – squeezed between the Hungarians and Mongols in the north and the Seljuq Turks in the south. There will be a reckoning before very long, is my conviction.’
‘Yet it is a region fecund of ideas and philosophies.’
‘Undoubtedly – which reminds me. In the bazaars where any bauble might be had for a pittance, I chanced upon a curious trifle that put me in mind of your good self. I thought to bring it to show you, a trivial thing indeed to set before your learning but it has its portion of curiosities.’
He reached into his jerkin and brought out a small, well-thumbed book.
‘Of only a slight number of pages and on a peculiar subject that I confess I could not readily grasp its meaning. Here – it is the Liber Ignium – the Book of Fires by one Marcus Graecus.’
Bacon took it with interest. ‘Ah – here we have a compiling of recipes of earth and fire for various purposes. Umm, this one for instance: “Take the juice of a double mallow, the white of an egg and fleawort seed together with lime, powder them and prepare with radish juice.’ And what is achieved? Nothing less than to empower a man to walk in fire or carry a hot iron in his hand with impunity!’
He chuckled. ‘Another – pigeon’s dung, tartar and so on buried for fifteen days will provide you with a species of fire that can never be extinguished. Your gift is well taken, Master Aylward, in affording me a measure of amusement, but I fear holds little of value for a natural philosopher.’
Turning over more pages he picked another and said, ‘Take this for example. Here it is saying—’
He stopped and to Aylward’s dismay, turned pale and rigid.
His eyes followed the text, his lips moving silently and he looked up with an expression of horror and shock.
‘Brother Bacon, what is it? Have I—?’
‘Take it! It’s the work of the Devil! It’s what I feared all these years – and now to see …’
‘Reverend Brother, if I’ve—’
‘Take it and burn it! On your soul, do not seek to know what it contains – it is a profane and evil work that in the hands of the wicked will bring down upon this world such dire calamities as will darken the years for ever.’
‘I’m truly sorry if I’ve distressed you, Brother Bacon. I had no idea—’
‘Go! Leave me – I must this very minute acquaint His Holiness in Rome of this, with my most earnest and sincere warnings for the future.’
At Aylward’s hesitation he added, ‘I thank you for showing me, it is polite of you – but it contains dreadful things you cannot be expected to know of. Go now, if you please.’
He turned to depart, but Bacon took his arm and fixed him with a gaze of peculiar intensity. ‘Do not fail to destroy it, or Christendom itself will rue it!’