Authors: David Wisehart
“God has no heart,” Giovanni
said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “He is impotent or He is evil.”
“God gives us what we ask
for,” William replied.
“My father never asked for
that.”
“Didn’t he?”
Giovanni felt his heart
squeeze itself into a stone. “Look down there and tell me God is love.”
“‘
Deus caritas est,
’” William said. “Love is the motive
force. It moves the universe and every soul within it. What we love most, our
soul will seek. If you love a woman above all else, your soul will seek hers.
If you love God, your soul will seek God. Those men down there, what did they
love?”
“Gold.”
“We are not punished for our
sins, but by them.”
Giovanni said, “Leave me
alone.”
William stood and slapped
the sand from his robe. “We’ll wait for you. Take as long as you wish.” He
walked off, disappearing into the gloom.
When the poet was alone he
covered his face with his hands, and for the first time in his life he wept for
his father, who got everything he ever wanted.
CHAPTER 29
The river flowed to the edge
of the cliff, where it formed a cascade of blood. Giovanni stood back with
William and Nadja as Marco used the lancelight to look for a way down.
Marco said, “There’s a place
to the right where we might descend by rope. The drop is too far, but the cliff
looks rougher over there. We may be able to climb down.”
Giovanni agreed, and secured
one end of the rope to an outcrop of rock, tested the pull of his weight
against it, and tossed the loose end of the coil into the abyss. He saw something
move in the shadows below.
Nadja joined him at the
edge. “What do you see?”
Giovanni knew what it was
before he saw it clearly. “Geryon.”
An enormous beast flew up to
meet them. He pawed the air like a man swimming up from the bottom of a lake.
The manticore resembled Nadja’s sketch: a man’s face, but the body of a lizard;
lion’s paws, but the tail of scorpion. At first his face seemed avuncular, but
when he wheeled to confront the pilgrims his features transformed into those of
a devil. Smoke poured from his flared nostrils. When Geryon opened his mouth,
Giovanni saw that the monster’s tongue was not flesh but flame.
“Go back!” Geryon commanded.
The air quivered at his words. “You do not belong here.”
Giovanni muttered, “
Mater
Dei,
” and crossed himself.
“Behind me,” Marco said to
the others, and stepped forward with the Lance to meet the beast.
Geryon flew above the knight
and circled, wary of the Lance, seeming to gauge the strength and speed of his
opponent.
“Geryon!” William exclaimed.
“We are here to meet your master.”
“Meet him in death,” Geryon
replied.
The manticore swooped. Marco
jabbed at him, but with a forepaw Geryon knocked the shaft aside. The knight
kept his grip and ducked as Geryon flew over him. He turned to meet the second
pass and was knocked to the ground. When the monster returned, his scorpion
tail struck at the knight, who rolled away, sweeping the Lance in a wide arc.
He scored the tail with a glancing blow. Geryon bellowed in pain, faltered in
the air, and landed roughly across the river. The monster inspected the injury.
Black fluid wept from the wound.
“We mean you no harm,” said
William. “Take us down, and we will leave you in peace.”
“You will find no peace
here.”
Geryon took to the air once
more. This time, he came for William. Marco interposed himself, fending off
repeated attacks, but Giovanni saw that the knight was starting to tire while
Geryon seemed to gain strength and confidence with each new attack. As the
beast flew over, black blood dripped from his wound, making the rocky shelf at
Marco’s feet more treacherous. Twice Marco was knocked down as his feet slipped
out from under him. The second time he regained his footing slowly. Geryon came
at him from behind. Nadja screamed a warning, and Marco spun in response, only
to meet the full brunt of Geryon’s tail, which swung and knocked him back.
Marco’s head smacked hard on the stoney ground. As Geryon made a final pass,
Giovanni picked up a rock and threw it, hitting the beast in the flank, but the
manticore seemed oblivious to the blow, and stabbed Marco’s thigh with his
stinger. The knight did not scream out. He did not seem to feel it.
Geryon circled and advanced
on the others.
William saw the lancelight
dying.
Devil be damned.
Ducking Geryon’s attack, he
ran to Marco and picked up the Holy Lance. He felt a sudden energy surge
through him. Turning, he saw the monster fly at Nadja. He called out, “Geryon!”
The manticore seized Nadja
and swept her into the air, but Giovanni grabbed her foot and held her. Geryon
struggled to rise, hampered by the corporeal weight. He let go of Nadja.
Giovanni caught her in his arms as they both fell to the ground.
The beast turned and came
for William, who had seen all this before. He knew what came next, and welcomed
it. He ran straight and fearless at the monster.
We die together.
Geryon seized William by the
shoulders, claws puncturing flesh and scraping bone. The friar thrust the Lance
upward, running the beast through the belly. William felt his feet leave the
ground. His stomach lurched. He saw the red river below him. He pushed harder
on the shaft until Geryon’s reptilian belly glowed from the lancelight within.
Black blood dribbled down the shaft, coating William’s hands and forearms.
The beast fell back into the
river. William held his breath as hot red blood engulfed him. Man and beast
fought in the river, which hurled them both toward the abyss. They tore at one
another as they neared the nappe. The roar of the bloodfall grew louder.
At the last possible moment
William let go the Lance, broke free of Geryon, and swam for shore. He reached
it, exhausted, and looked back to see Geryon swept by the rapids over the edge.
Too tired to move, William
closed his eyes and waited. “
Pater in manus tuas commendo spiritum meum.
”
Giovanni saw William crawl
ashore as Geryon was carried over the brink. For a moment the poet’s heart
rejoiced. But as the creature fell, his long scorpion tail whipped out from the
darkness, striking William. The stinger pierced the old man’s back. It plunged
through his heart and out his chest. Giovanni watched in horror as William was
yanked high into the air, skewered on the tip of Geryon’s tail, and fell into
the abyss.
The poet crawled to the
verge and looked down. A pinprick of light receded and went out.
Through tears Giovanni saw a
new light below. It glowed in the deep, abating the darkness.
The Lance,
he thought at first, but the glow grew
brighter, rising from the inky depths.
“Look!” he said.
The friar’s radiant shade,
adorned in a luminous robe, ascended.
Giovanni cried out,
“William!”
The bright shade seemed to
recognize his name. William slowed his ascent, tarrying at the red cascade.
“Marco da Roma,” he said,
“open your eyes.”
Marco shuddered awake,
coughing blood, and sat up slowly. He blinked against the angelic light.
Nadja stood. “Don’t leave
us.”
The shade answered, “I am
summoned.”
“What do we do now?”
Giovanni asked.
“Complete your quest.”
“We can’t,” said Marco.
“You swore an oath to defend
the Grail.”
“I’m not the man you thought
I was.”
The bright shade smiled.
“You are the one, Marco. You must take hope into the heart of Hell.”
“Without you we have no
hope.”
“You have each other. That
is hope enough.”
William’s soul ascended
through the tenebrous vault, returning to his source.
Dominus vobiscum,
Giovanni thought. Another thought
murmured, like the whisper of an angel:
Et spiritu cum tuo.
CHAPTER 30
Weary with grief, they slept
by the bloodfall until Marco roused them. The knight seemed restored beyond all
reason.
Is it the Holy Lance that heals him?
Giovanni wondered.
It did not save
William.
The pilgrims consumed the
last of their food and wine, checked that the rope was still secure, and
started down. When they reached the floor of eighth circle of Hell, they
abandoned the rope where it hung and went to find their friend.
At the base of the cascade,
near where the blood pooled before draining again, they discovered William’s
body beneath Geryon’s. Marco pulled the Lance from the manticore’s carcass and
withdrew the stinger from William’s chest. Then he and Giovanni rolled Geryon
into the bloodstream.
Marco gathered William into his arms and
carried him to a level place beside the pool. They collected stones to cover
the body. When they had built a cairn they stood over it together, joining
hands, and bowed their heads.
Giovanni saw Nadja and Marco glancing at
him, waiting for him to say the right words. He did not know all the words, but
he knew some of them. “
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua
luceat eis. Te decet hymnus Deus, in Sion, et tibi reddetur votum in Ierusalem.
Exaudi orationem meam. Ad te omnis caro veniet. Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison.
Kyrie eleison.
In paradisum deducant te Angeli. In tu
adventu suscipiant te martyres, et perducant te in civitatem sanctam Ierusalem.
Chorus angelorum te suscipiat, et cum Lazaro quondam paupere aeternam habeas
requiem. Amen.
”
“Amen,” they answered.
Then, in a broken voice,
Giovanni sang a threnody:
Dies irae, dies illa
solvet
saeclum in favilla,
teste David cum
Sibylla....
Nadja could see that
Malebolge was divided into ten concentric ditches that ringed the abyss like
successive moats of a castle. The ditches were connected by stone bridges which
were staggered along the circumference so that the pilgrims had to trace an arc
of each ditch to reach the next crossing.
Nadja walked behind the
others as they continued left, toward the nearest bridge. Below her, naked
shades passed in two files along either bank. She saw more women than men. They
faced opposite directions, driven by horned demons who urged the laggards
forward with cracking whips. The nearest line of shades faced the pilgrims,
coming toward and moving past them. Nadja studied their faces in the
lancelight.
A woman looked up at the
light and approached. “Won’t you join us?” she asked. “We can fulfill your
every desire.”
The poet paused. “My only
desire is to get to the bridge.”
“Cross here. I’ll take you.
I’ve taken many men.”
“Do not tempt me, woman.”
“I am no temptress. But my
daughter...” She turned and called out, “Marozia!”
A younger woman in the
opposing line joined her mother. Nadja saw that Marozia was naked, with a body
built for lust.
“Look upon my daughter,
Marozia. Is she not lovely? Do you not love her?”
“Theodora,” Giovanni said,
stepping closer to the edge.
“You know me.” The mother
smiled. “Would you like to know me better?”
“You ruled the pornocracy of
Rome. You pandered your daughter to princes and popes.”
“Give me that bright weapon,
and my daughter is yours.”
“The Lance is not mine to
give.”
“Give me the lance between
your legs,” Theodora said, “and you could have us both.”
Marozia danced, swaying her
naked hips to unheard music, running her hands over phantom flesh, caressing
her neck, her breasts, and the place between her legs. Nadja tried to look like
she wasn’t looking as Marozia arched back and stood on her hands, spreading her
legs apart. Theodora stroked her daughter’s legs, moved her hands down her
daughter’s thighs, to the wet fold between, and inserted a finger.
Giovanni slipped. The ground
gave way. He nearly fell into the ditch, but Nadja caught his hand. Theodora
and Marozia seized him by the ankles.
“He is ours,” they said.
Nadja said, “Leave him
alone!”
Mother and daughter clawed
at the poet’s legs, up his thighs, climbing onto him. Marco plunged the Holy
Lance into Theodora’s mouth. She fell back screaming. The knight stabbed
Marozia in the left breast and the daughter tumbled.
Nadja pulled Giovanni back
to the ridge. The poet brushed himself off, trying to hide his embarrassment.