Antonina spoke up:
“What were your own visions, Anthony? You did not speak of them yesterday.”
The bishop looked up. His pudgy face looked almost haggard.
“I do not remember them very well. My visions-and Michael’s even more so-had none of the clarity and precision of your husband’s. I sensed at the time that the-the jewel-would fit Belisarius much better. I cannot explain how I knew that, but I did.”
He straightened his back, took a deep breath.
“I saw only a vast ocean of despair, mute beneath a-a church, can you call it? — that was the essence of godlessness. A church so foul that the world’s most barbarous pagans would reject it without a thought, and find in their savage rituals a cathedral of pity compared to that monstrosity of the spirit.”
His face was pale. He wiped it with a plump hand.
“I saw myself, I think. I am not sure. I think it was me, squatting in a cell, naked.” He managed a croaking laugh. “Much thinner, I was!” A sigh. “I was awaiting the Question, with a strange eagerness. I would die beneath their instruments soon, for I would not give them the answer they demanded. I would refuse to interpret scripture as a blessing for the slaughter of the innocent. And I was satisfied, for I believed in the truth of my faith and I knew I would not yield to the agony because I had-”
He gasped, his eyes widened. “Yes! Yes-it was me! I remember now! I knew I would have the strength to resist the torment because I had the image of my friend Michael always before me. Michael, and his unyielding death, and his great curse upon Satan from the flames of the stake.”
He looked at the Macedonian and wept gentle tears. “All my life I have thanked God that Michael of Macedonia has been my friend since boyhood. And never more than on that day of final hopelessness. On my own, I am not certain I would have had the courage I needed.”
“ Ridiculous.” As ever, Michael’s voice carried the finality of stone.
The emaciated monk leaned forward in his chair, fixing the bishop with his gaze.
“Hear me now, Bishop of Aleppo. There is no pain on earth, nor torment in hell, that could ever break the soul of Anthony Cassian. Never doubt it.”
“I doubt often, Michael,” whispered Anthony. “There has never been a day in my life that I have not doubted.”
“I should hope not!” The raptor had returned, and the blue eyes of the Macedonian were as pitiless as an eagle’s. “Where else but from doubt can faith arise, wise fool?” Michael glowered. “It is the true sin of the churchman that he doubts not. He knows, he is certain, and thus he is snared in Satan’s net. And soon enough, casts the net himself, and cackles with glee when he hauls up his catch of innocence.”
The raptor vanished, replaced by the friend. “Others see in you the gentleness of your spirit, and the wisdom of your mind. Those are there, true. I have always recognized them. But beneath lies the true Cassian. There is no strength so iron hard as gentleness, Anthony. No faith so pure as that which always doubts, no wisdom so deep as that which always questions.”
The monk straightened his back. “Were this not true, I would reject God. I would spit in His face and join the legions of Lucifer, for the archangel would be right to rebel. I love God because I am His creation. I am not his creature.”
The Macedonian was rigid. Then his face softened, and for just a fleeting moment, there was as much gentleness there as was always present in the face of the bishop. “Do not fear your doubt, Anthony. It is God’s great gift to you. And that He placed that great doubt in your great mind, is his gift to us all.”
The room was silent, for a time. Then Antonina spoke again.
“Was there nothing else in your vision, Anthony? No hope of any kind?”
The bishop raised his head and looked up at her.
“Yes-no. How can I explain? It is all very murky. In my vision itself, no, there was no hope of any kind. No more than there was in Belisarius’ vision. All was at an end, save duty, and what personal grace might be found. But, there was a sense-a feeling, only-that it need not have been. I was seeing the future, I knew, and that future was crushing and inexorable. But I also sensed, somehow, that the future could have been otherwise.”
“All is clear, then,” pronounced Michael. “Clear as day.”
Belisarius cocked a quizzical eyebrow. The Macedonian snorted.
“The message is from the Lord,” pronounced the monk. The raptor resumed its perch. “None here can fail to see it, nor their duty. For our wickedness, we are doomed to damnation. But that wickedness can be fought, and overcome, and thus a new future created. It is obvious! Obvious!” The raptor’s eyes fixed on Belisarius, as the hawk’s on the hare. “Do your duty, General!”
Belisarius smiled his crooked smile. “I am quite good at doing my duty, Michael, thank you. But it is not clear to me what that duty is.” He held up his hand firmly, quelling the monk’s outburst. “Please! I am not questioning what you say. But I am neither a bishop nor a holy man. I am a soldier. Fine for you to say, overcome wickedness. At your service, prophet! But, would you mind explaining to me, somewhat more precisely, exactly how that wickedness is to be overcome?”
Michael snorted. “You wish a withered monk from the desert, whose limbs cannot even bear his own weight, to tell you how to combat Satan’s host?”
Cassian spoke. “May I suggest, Belisarius, that you begin with your own vision?”
The general’s quizzical gaze transferred itself to the bishop.
“I am not a soldier, of course, but it seemed to me that there were two aspects of the enemy’s strength which were paramount in your vision. The great numbers of his army, and his strange and mysterious weapons.”
Belisarius thought back to his vision, nodded.
“It would seem, therefore, that-”
“We must seek to lessen his numbers, increase our own, and above all, discover the secret of the weapons,” concluded Belisarius.
The bishop nodded. Belisarius scratched his chin.
“Let us begin with the last point,” he said. “The weapons. They bear some resemblance, it seems to me, to the naphtha weapons used by our navy. Vastly more powerful, of course, and different. But there is still a likeness. Perhaps that is where we should begin.”
He spread his hands in a rueful gesture. “But I am a soldier, not a sailor. I have seen the naphtha weapons, but never used them. They are much too clumsy and awkward for use in a land battle. And-” Oddly, he stopped speaking.
Antonina began to say something, but Belisarius made an urgent gesture which stilled her. His eyes were unfocused, his thoughts obviously turned inward.
“The jewel?” asked Cassian. Again, Belisarius made a stilling gesture. All fell silent, watching the general.
“Almost,” he whispered. “But I can’t quite make out what-” He hissed.
Subterranean, underground images. Impossible to discern clearly-not from the absence of light, but because the visions were so bizarre. Vision: three men in a room, below a building, watching some sort of giant, intricate machine. A sense of danger and anticipation. Vision: the same men, wearing strange eyepieces, staring through a slit; fear, suspense; a sudden blinding flash of light; exhilaration; terror; awe. Vision: other men, laboring underground on some sort of gigantic-pipe? Vision: the pipe flashing through the sky. Vision: weird buildings in an odd city suddenly destroyed, leveled as if from the blow of a giant. Vision: a different man, young, bearded, sitting in a log hut in a forest, showing indecipherable marks on a page to four other men-mathematics? Vision: the same bearded young man, wearing the same eyepieces as the men in the first vision, staring through a similar slit. Again, that incredible blinding light. Again: exhilaration; terror; awe.
The images vanished as suddenly as they came. Belisarius shook his head, took a deep breath. He described the visions, as best he could, to the others in the room.
“They make no sense,” said Antonina. Belisarius stroked his chin and said, slowly:
“I think they do. Not in themselves, no. I have no idea what was happening, in those visions. But-there was a logic, underneath. In every case, there was a sense of men working together to discover a secret, and then create machines which could implement that secret. They were- projects — deliberate, planned, coordinated efforts. Not the haphazard fiddling of artisans and craftsmen.”
