Several days later, Brother Harold approached Alphaios as he was crossing the courtyard to leave for the library. "We're in need of another sewing machine operator in the manufactory."
Alphaios was appalled. Surely he would not be asked to run a sewing machine! He'd gladly do the most unpleasant and menial labor imaginable as long as he could continue illuminating books. But the thought of operating a machine that could mangle his hands made him cringe.
"Brother Levi asked to be transferred there. Prior Bartholomew agreed and has assigned you to take his place as morning churchwarden. You're to keep the nave and choir clean and do simple repairs. It'll be your responsibility to open the church in the mornings and close it for sext. Most important, you must see that its sanctity is protected—no sacrileges committed against it."
"Sacrileges?" He was greatly relieved, but couldn't imagine what awful things Harold might have in mind.
"It may be more difficult than you imagine. You'll start tomorrow. Find Brother Levi after angelus, and he'll show you what to do. Good day, Brother."
Today, for the first time and for reasons he did not understand, Alphaios felt his heart lift when he stepped out of the big doors and into the teeming city. He knew only that before him were eleven blocks of visual adventure, and at their end a great task.
When he arrived at the library, Inaki was in the scriptorium with the two new scribes. They had agreed the archivist would provide their initial introduction to the book, and he was showing them samples that demonstrated the broad scope of the work to be done.
For his part, Alphaios was to orient them to the process of making the copy. Despite his own eagerness to actually get started, the scribes would not be given the nativity quire until they thoroughly understood the task before them and he had assessed their skills.
Inaki made introductions. Kenny was a slender man of medium height with dark brown hair and round wireless glasses. He wore a black turtleneck shirt and pressed khaki slacks over a trim torso. He carried a small professional bag—his pens, Alphaios supposed.
XM, by contrast, was big, burly and disheveled. He had long, unkempt hair and a bushy beard, and was probably years younger than he looked. He wore faded blue jeans and a rumpled black T-shirt emblazoned with "Grand Funk Railroad," whatever that was. His forehead was nearly covered by a red headband, and part of a tattoo showed below his sleeve. Strangest of all, his earlobes had been stretched far beyond their natural shape; wide silver pegs penetrated both of them.
Alphaios looked at Inaki. What had possessed him to hire this man? Inaki tried to hide a grin, but the amusement in his eyes gave him away. Well, so be it. He would know soon enough. At least the man's hands and fingernails were clean.
"OK, gentlemen, here we go. Have you worked with parchment before?"
Both men nodded.
"In bifolia?"
XM shook his bushy head. "Not me. How's it different?"
"First, unlike ceremonial documents or presentation pieces you might be used to, both sides of the parchment are used. It's therefore important to apply only as much ink as necessary. We have to protect against shadows on the reverse side. Especially against bleed-through. Also, we're going to duplicate the ink and paints used in the original manuscript, so the ink will be thicker than you're accustomed to. We'll be using quills, not pens. You'll have to learn to prepare your tips and control the flow of ink. Tell me, how closely did you look at the pages Inaki has been showing you?"
The men looked at each other, and then at him. They didn't seem to know where he was going.
"Did you look for erasures or corrections?"
Kenny looked uncomfortable. "It's the first time we've seen them."
"So you don't examine the work of your fellow scribes when it's placed in front of you?"
Kenny frowned. "Of course I do."
"Then you will have noticed there are no erasures on these pages. None. How many pages are there, Inaki?" He did not wait for an answer. "Imagine, three hundred and thirty-two pages, and not a single erasure mark. Can you do that?"
The two men stared at him.
"Our book of hours was completed some six hundred years ago by men not much different than us, under less favorable conditions. We will match their accomplishment. Is that understood?"
"Inaki told us the work would be exacting. But then, calligraphy always is." It was Kenny again. He was revealing a brittle pride that would bear watching.
"The second difference. XM, is it? The second difference is the extent of organization and planning required. Any error or deviation from the original, any at all, will result in the whole bifolium being rejected, regardless of how close it is to being finished."
Kenny's stool stuttered against the wooden floor. "But that could be four whole pages."
"That goes for my work as well. I won't decorate a single page until you've completed the text on the entire bifolium and it has passed my inspection. Any imperfect work will be destroyed as soon as it's found. When you're done and I've accepted the bifolium, let's say I make a mistake while painting it. In that case, it'll also be destroyed, and we'll all have to do it again."
Kenny looked as if he were going to protest further.
"And if Inaki or the commission finds fault, we'll do it over yet again. If Inaki hasn't informed you of the commission yet, he will."
Alphaios waited long enough to imply opportunity for questions but not long enough for the silence to ripen into a challenge. "One other thing. Don't start applying ink to a page until you've blocked out the entire bifolium and Inaki or I have approved it. It's too easy to place a line or page out of sequence. Obviously, that also would mean starting again."
XM looked puzzled. "How could a page get out of sequence?"
Alphaios took four pieces of notepaper from the drawer in his worktable. He put them together and folded them once, into the form of a small pamphlet. He numbered each resulting page, front and back, one through sixteen. He held it up in front of them.
"This is a quire. Each of the sheets in a quire is a bifolium. If I remove the outermost sheet, you'll note that on the outer side are pages one and sixteen. Its inside face has pages two and fifteen." He took off the next sheet and held it up. "This bifolium contains pages three and fourteen on the outside and four and thirteen on the inside. Fortunately, the existing book serves as an exemplar for us. Think how difficult it would be to figure out if we were to start from scratch."
The two men nodded. Perhaps they were beginning to see the complexity of the work.
"That isn't all." He reassembled the small paper quire and marked each page with a plus or minus sign. "The plus sign represents the flesh side of the parchment, the minus sign the hair, or grain side." He reached into a nearby drawer and withdrew a piece of vellum. "I'm sure you know the texture and color differ from side to side. When a quire is opened as a book, it's aesthetically important to have the same color and texture on facing pages. That's the way our book is made. So when creating a quire, one sheet is laid flesh side up, the next flesh side down, and so on." He turned the pages of the quire so they could see the marks. "Then each subsequent quire must be assembled to conform to the prior one. Do you see?"
He again received nods, but Kenny had a question. "If one little error can ruin four whole pages, why are we using bifolia? Why not just cut them in half and do two pages at a time?" It wasn't a good sign that he seemed so focused on errors rather than confident performance.
"The short answer is because we're recreating a medieval document. There weren't any adhesives of sufficient strength and pliancy for use in bookbinding at the time, so books—especially books that were meant to last—were made by building quires of parchment and sewing them together. But we do have it easier than the original bookmakers in another way. Did you notice the margins?"
Alphaios could see the scribes were put off by his questions; they hadn't expected to be schooled in an area so close to their own expertise.
This time it was XM who spoke, his grin sheepish. "OK, Brother, what's it you want us to see?"
"The outer margins on each page, outside the text field, are exactly the same width. It's another remarkable aspect of this book. Fortunately, the calculation has already been done for us. All we have to do is copy it, working not from the outer edge, but from the gutter to the far edge of the text field. Because before it can be bound, our copy of the book will also have to be trimmed."
"Man, this's complicated. You done this before?"
"I've been working with ancient books most of my life. But this?" Alphaios shook his head. "Artistically, this book is one of a kind."
He went on. "Unlike you probably do in your own work, we'll use tiny pinpricks to block out our pages instead of pencil marks. Pencil lead doesn't penetrate the surface of vellum, and it doesn't leave traces when erased. But it is not the way the original was done."
This time, there were no questions or comments. "Oh, one other thing. There is to be no food or drinks in this room, and no visitors. Ever. And I presume Inaki has told you that nothing leaves this room. Nothing at all. No remnants, no relics, no tales told. This is completely confidential work. Have you agreed to this constraint?"
Both men looked Alphaios in the eye and nodded.
"Inaki, are you ready for the next step?"
The archivist nodded, and took Kenny and XM to the area where the desks stood. All of them had sharply inclined tops designed specifically for use by scribes.
"Choose a desk. It'll be yours until we're done." As they moved among them, Inaki continued. "In the drawers are straightedges, penknives, calipers, quills, and so on. Your inkwells are full, with iron gall ink. In the wide drawers to your left are sheets of new vellum. Use cotton gloves whenever you handle either the original document or the new sheets." He pointed to a tall cabinet against the back wall. "You'll get them over there. If you need other tools or supplies, let Brother Alphaios or me know."
The men chose their places and sat down on the high stools in front of them. "Your first task is to block out a bifolium," Inaki said. "You'll have as long as it takes, so don't think you're working against a deadline. The important thing is that the mockup is sufficient to produce an exact copy." He went to a cabinet and came back with a document for each man.
"But this isn't parchment," Kenny said. "It's just a photograph."
"Chill out, bro," XM said. "Would you let someone borrow your ride the first day you met them? Not likely."
Alphaios didn't know what a ride was, but understood the point. At least XM was going to be patient. Kenny gave the other scribe a sour look but didn't say anything more.
"Yes, they're photographs," Inaki said, "the exact size of the original. Block out your work on a fresh skin. All four pages. Then go ahead and inscribe the text on the first page. First page only. If you want to get used to the quills and ink, there are some scraps of vellum in the bottom drawers. I'd recommend it. This task will take you a day or two, maybe more. At the end of today, I'll come back and have you put your work away for the night. Tomorrow you'll continue, and the next day if necessary. If you need additional sheets of vellum, go ahead and get them. When you're both done, we'll critique your work. Remember, you're making a copy."
The next day, Alphaios arrived in the scriptorium to find both scribes bent over their tasks. He was tempted to check their work, but he had pressed Inaki to let them do this first assignment themselves, to work through it without help. He needed to know what they were capable of. There would be plenty of problem solving to do in the future, and if they were good enough to stay, he wanted their minds fully engaged.
He went to his own worktable and opened the drawer. A small brass key lay there, just as Inaki had promised. Key in hand, he left the scriptorium, walked down the side hall to its end, and unlocked a door to find a small room with shelves and countertops filled with cans, boxes and jars—all the ingredients on the list he'd given Inaki. He was pleased to see a small sink. Sunlight streamed through a window above it.
He checked the drawers and cupboards for tools and supplies, then took all the containers down from the shelves and put them back up in the order he wanted. Under the counter were two large bottles of the black ink Inaki had had flown in from Florence. He nodded in satisfaction; the room would do nicely.
XM was standing beside Kenny's desk when Alphaios returned the key to its drawer. They appeared to be working out a problem. He could see at least one piece of vellum in the wire wastebasket beside Kenny's desk; he would have been surprised not to. There would be more discards, most of them far more painful than this one.
He went upstairs and found the archivist in his office, writing. "We need to talk. Can you come downstairs?"
"Is there a problem?"
"Come with me."
Inaki rose from his chair, concern on his face. Alphaios led him down the steps, but instead of turning to the scriptorium, he led the way out the front door.
"What is it, Alphaios, what's this about?"
"You're a stranger with whom I have been thrown together to work on a long and difficult task. We must know something of each other if we're to succeed."
The archivist laughed. "Well said. So it's turnabout, is it?"
Today the sun was warmer, and the yellow and blue umbrellas were up and spread wide. This time, without pause, Alphaios went along outside the patio until he came to an empty table for two. He reached across the fence, lifted a chair out and set it down on the sidewalk. "Have a seat," he said when Arriaga reached the table inside the patio.
"Do you want a coffee?" Inaki asked.
Alphaios declined, and moved his eyes to the scene around him. Small trees lined both sides of the street, their trunks encircled in ironwork. A row of stately townhouses faced them. Unlike the ones that included the private library, these homes boasted an array of colors and styles. Mansard roofs were interspersed with flat roofs, and house fronts varied among pale greens, brick reds, reserved grays and whites. Most windows were squared at the corners, but some were rounded at the top. The entrances boasted distinguished brass and cut glass, and small wrought-iron fences pretended to protect them.
He turned his attention to the sidewalk. Not more than twenty feet away was a bearded man dressed for much colder weather. Behind him was a shopping cart overflowing with bags of all sorts. Alphaios remembered the men on the church steps his first day out with Prior Bartholomew and guessed this man might be homeless as well. Some kind of newspaper had captured his attention, and he stood motionless, looking at its open pages for a long while. He had on three layers of coats, all unzipped in the warmth, a worn short-billed, padded cap on his head, and a hood over that. Except for the bright yellow lining of a second hood that fell unused onto his shoulders, his clothes were in shades of blue and gray. On his hands he wore gloves, one white, one black. What most caught Alphaios's attention, though, were the six coat zippers shining in the sun; they resembled long golden chains falling from the man's neck, half of them dangling brilliant zipper-pull pendants.
"It's a racing form," Inaki said. "For picking your bets. Horses."
"Do you see his necklaces?"
"Necklaces? Where?"
"The zippers on his coats."
Inaki leaned forward. "OK, what is it you want to know?"
"About you. How you arrived here."
"Probably by a more straightforward route than you. I grew up in a seaside village called Lekeitio. The Basque country—northern Spain. My parents were both scholars—still live there. I followed their path and trained in ancient documents in San Sebastian. My specialty was Basque history and Euskara, the Basque language. After university, I did an apprenticeship in the National Department of Antiquities."
He shifted in his chair. "We became aware of a large collection of Euskara manuscripts that was to be probated. We wanted to have it donated to the Euskal Museoa in Bilbao. I was assigned to catalogue it and assess its charitable tax value to the owner's estate. Much to our disappointment, though, the Spanish government didn't have the authority to keep it in the country. The executor elected to split up the collection and place it for auction. Here in the United States."
Alphaios frowned in sympathy, and Inaki nodded sadly. "Euskara has no roots in any other language. It's completely unique, and Basque history is a very narrow specialty. Because of the work I'd already done on the collection, the auction house asked me to come to America to prepare the sale catalogue. It was enticing—a young man invited to one of the most vibrant cities in the world, and getting paid for it. You said you haven't been exposed to the documents market, right?"
"Very little."
"Most buyers of major art and historical documents bid through surrogates. It lets both the purchasers and failed bidders remain anonymous. That's what happened to the documents in this collection."
"So you don't know where they went?"
"Not usually, but in this case I do."
"Where? Have you ever seen them again?"
"They're upstairs at the library. I'll show them to you sometime."
Alphaios leaned forward. "The library was the buyer? So how did you get here?"
"I worked at the auction house for four more years, finally becoming the assistant head of the documents section. I learned to assess market value, the best times to schedule auctions, how to estimate prices and set reserves. I was good at it. But the whole time, truly remarkable objects were passing through my hands with little thought for anything but their revenue potential. The pace was frantic, and always with a sense of great importance. And there I was, a scholar working as a bookseller. The few times the schedule slowed down enough for me to think about it…"
Nico brought Inaki his coffee and left. He sweetened it and drew in a sip.
"Anyway, one day I got a phone call from a man looking for an archivist for a private collection. Very secretive, the library's existence known only to a very few. He knew my work put me in contact with many academics and other professionals. He wanted to meet and talk about who might be available. I was flattered that he wanted my opinion and agreed to join him for dinner. We met at a restaurant too fancy for my paycheck, didn't even have a sign. The only meal I've ever had like it, and not just the food."
He smiled thinly. "I learned he'd checked me out. Said my credentials were acceptable—that's the term he used, acceptable. He told me he'd had auctions managed by my section reviewed for any off-the-books deals that had advantaged some buyer or seller. Or me. There weren't any. He'd also had me vetted to see if I had any associates in the ETA. I didn't."
"What's the ETA?"
"A militant group of Basques fighting for national separation from Spain. They've been outlawed by the Spanish government for decades now, but they don't go away." He looked at Alphaios. "Some call them terrorists, some call them freedom fighters."
When Alphaios didn't respond, he shrugged and continued. "It was an odd feeling knowing I'd been looked into so closely. And I still didn't quite understand why I was there. Anyway, the man told me he'd been watching my work since the sale of the Basque documents. He said the library he ‘represented' had purchased them for its collection. He went on to describe some of the library's other holdings. I was impressed—but still had no idea who this man was or where his library might be."
Inaki's eyes moved beyond Alphaios, and he chuckled. "Check out your friend."
Alphaios turned in his chair. The zipper man was pushing his cart along the sidewalk. Fixed to its side was a crude cardboard sign, "Home Is Where The Heat Is."
"What does it mean?"
"He sleeps on the street where he can find a steam grate. So, after several courses and a dessert I've never heard of, the man told me he intended to hire me. Said he wanted me to be the archivist for the collection and assist in further acquisitions. Made a salary offer that was really rather ordinary. His research had prepared him well, though. He told me I could conduct my own scholarship, starting with the Basque collection. I would also be able to use the library's resources—though he didn't say what those were—to access other closely held collections. I now know those resources are considerable. Anyway, I came to see the collection the very next day. A month later, here I was."
"Did you know the book of hours was here?"
"Not until after I got here. Quite frankly, it wasn't one of stars of the house. It didn't become a focus until Cardinal Ricci tracked it down and told us what he wanted."
"Do you have a family?"
"I'm married." He lifted his hand and showed his ring. "To one of those proxy buyers I mentioned. She makes more than I do. But then, I get to spend my days in history's playground, so who's complaining?"
"Now tell me," Alphaios said, "just where did you come across this XM? He's really a scribe?"
"XM's quite famous here locally, at least among a certain crowd. You can see examples of his work nearly every day. He's a tattoo artist."
Alphaios gasped. "A tattoo artist? For the book of hours?"
Inaki laughed out loud. "Take it easy, my friend. He's an accomplished calligrapher with an impressive portfolio. Several years ago, he found his skills crossed over to body art, as they call it now. I don't comprehend it myself, but many otherwise normal people do. Anyway, the work he submitted for the audition was superlative."
"But why would a so-called body artist want to be involved in a project like the book of hours?" Alphaios still bridled at the thought.
The archivist turned serious. "Not everyone gets to be a part of creating great art, Alphaios. Very few people ever get a chance to do something in their life so exceptional that they know—they know with certainty—that it will be considered an artistic masterpiece for a thousand years and more. XM knows this is his opportunity." He paused for a long moment. "It's mine, too."
Both men were quiet for a while until Inaki swallowed the last of his drink. "You're Greek. How come you don't like coffee?"
"Oh, but I do. And I miss it. I'm afraid Brother John, our kitchener, bless him, has no idea how to make it. He can stretch a pound of coffee from here until Judgment Day. I'd love to send him to one of the monasteries of Italy just to learn its godly virtues. I'd offer to teach him myself, but I'm a guest."
"Then you've got to try it here one day."
"I'm not allowed, Inaki."
"Maybe." The archivist grinned. "At least you know what you're missing."
A few minutes later, the two men left the café and Alphaios began his long walk back to the monastery.
That evening in his cell and among his prayers, Alphaios recalled Inaki's words. He had long appreciated and drawn inspiration from the great art and music and architecture that were the very apex of human capability and found himself hoping he and Inaki, and yes, Kenny and this strange man XM, were skilled enough to return the book of hours to its original splendor. But for him, it was not the book's longevity or place in history that mattered most, nor the happiness of some pope. Rather, it was the simple physical and spiritual joy of breathing in and creating great beauty.
~*~*~