When only three of us were left, William cleared the rubble and papers away from one of the tables and told me to hand him, one after another, the books in Severinus’s collection. A small collection, compared with the immense one of the labyrinth, but still there were dozens and dozens of volumes, of various sizes, which had formerly stood neatly on the shelves and now lay in disorder on the ground among other objects, already disturbed by the cellarer’s frantic hands, some even torn, as if he were seeking not a book but something that could be placed between the pages of a book.
Some had been ripped violently, separated from their binding. To collect them, rapidly ascertain their subject, and pile them up on the table was no easy undertaking; and everything had to be done in haste, because the abbot had given us little time: the monks had to come in and lay out Severinus’s battered body and prepare it for burial. We also had to move about, search under the tables, behind the shelves, in the cupboards, to see whether anything had escaped the first inspection. William would not let Benno help me and allowed him only to stand guard at the door. Despite the abbot’s orders, many were pressing to enter: servants terrified by the news, monks mourning their brother, novices carrying clean cloths and basins of water to wash and enshroud the corpse. . . .
So we had to act fast. I grabbed the books and handed them to William, who examined them and set them on the table. Then we realized it was a long job, and we proceeded together: I would pick up a book, smooth it out if it was ruffled, read its title, and set it down. In many cases there were only scattered pages.
“De plantis libri tres. Damnation, that’s not it,” William said, slamming the book on the table.
“Thesaurus herbarum,” I said, and William snapped, “Drop it; we’re looking for a Greek book!”
“This?” I asked, showing him a work whose pages were covered with abstruse letters. And William said, “No, that’s Arabic, idiot! Bacon was right: the scholar’s first duty is to learn languages!”
“But you don’t know Arabic, either!” I replied, irked, to which William answered, “At least I understand when it is Arabic!” And I blushed, because I could hear Benno snickering behind my back.
There were many books, and even more notes, scrolls with drawings of the heavenly vault, or catalogues of strange plants, written on scattered pages, probably by the dead man. We worked a long time, exploring every corner of the laboratory. William, with great coldness, even shifted the corpse to see whether there was anything beneath it, and he rummaged inside the habit. Nothing.
“And yet it must be somewhere,” said William. “Severinus locked himself in here with a book. The cellarer didn’t have it. . . .”
“Can he have hidden it inside his habit?” I asked.
“No, the book I saw the other morning under Venantius’s desk was big, and we would have noticed.”
“How was it bound?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It was lying open, and I saw it only for a few seconds, just long enough to realize it was in Greek. Let us continue; the cellarer didn’t take it, nor, I believe, did Malachi.”
“Absolutely not,” Benno confirmed. “When the cellarer grabbed him by the chest, it was obvious he could have nothing under his scapular.”
“Good. Or, rather, bad. If the book is not in this room, obviously someone else, besides Malachi and the cellarer, had come in here before.”
“A third person, then, who killed Severinus?”
“Too many people,” William said.
“But anyway,” I asked, “who could have known the book was here?”
“Jorge, for example, if he overheard us.”
“Yes,” I said, “but Jorge couldn’t have killed a strong man like Severinus, and with such violence.”
“No, certainly not. Besides, you saw him going toward the Aedificium, and the archers found him in the kitchen shortly before they found the cellarer. So he wouldn’t have had time to come here and then go back to the kitchen.”
“Let me think with my own head,” I said, aiming at emulating my master. “Alinardo was moving around in the vicinity, but he, too, can hardly stand, and he couldn’t have overpowered Severinus. The cellarer was here, but the time between his leaving the kitchen and the arrival of the archers was so short that I think it would have been difficult for him to make Severinus open the door, to attack and kill him, and then to make all this mess. Malachi could have come before them all: Jorge hears us in the narthex, he goes to the scriptorium to tell Malachi that a book from the library is in Severinus’s laboratory, Malachi comes here, persuades Severinus to open the door, and kills him, God knows why. But if he was looking for the book, he should have recognized it, without all this ransacking, because he’s the librarian! So who’s left?”
“Benno,” William said.
Benno shook his head, in vigorous denial. “No, Brother William, you know I was consumed with curiosity. But if I had come in here and had been able to leave with the book, I would not be here now keeping you company; I would be examining my treasure somewhere else. . . .”
“An almost convincing argument,” William said, smiling. “However, you don’t know what the book looks like, either. You could have killed and now you would be here trying to identify the book.”
Benno blushed violently. “I am not a murderer!” he protested.
“No one is, until he commits his first crime,” William said philosophically. “Anyway, the book is missing, and this is sufficient proof that you didn’t leave it here.”
Then he turned to contemplate the corpse. He seemed only at that point to take in his friend’s death. “Poor Severinus,” he said, “I had suspected even you and your poisons. And you were expecting some trick with poison; otherwise you wouldn’t have worn those gloves. You feared a danger of the earth and instead it came to you from the heavenly vault. . . .” He picked up the sphere again, observing it with attention. “I wonder why they used this particular weapon. . . .”
“It was within reach.”
“Perhaps. But there were other things, pots, gardening tools. . . . It is a fine example of the craft of metals and of astronomical science. It is ruined and . . . Good heavens!” he cried.
“What is it?”
“And the third part of the sun was smitten and the third part of the moon and the third part of the stars . . .” he quoted.
I knew all too well the text of John the apostle. “The fourth trumpet,” I exclaimed.
“In fact. First hail, then blood, then water, and now the stars . . . If this is the case, then everything must be re-examined; the murderer did not strike at random, he was following a plan. . . . But is it possible to imagine a mind so evil that he kills only when he can do so while following the dictates of the book of the Apocalypse?”
“What will happen with the fifth trumpet?” I asked, terrified. I tried to recall: “And I saw a star fallen from heaven unto the earth and to him was given the key of the bottomless pit. . . . Will somebody die by drowning in the well?”
“The fifth trumpet also promises many other things,” William said. “From the pit will come the smoke of a great furnace, then locusts will come from it to torment mankind with a sting similar to a scorpion’s. And the shape of the locusts will resemble that of horses, with gold crowns on their heads and lions’ teeth. . . . Our man could have various means at his disposal to carry out the words of the book. . . . But we must not pursue fantasies. Let us try, rather, to remember what Severinus said to us when he informed us he had found the book. . . .”
“You told him to bring it to you and he said he couldn’t. . . .”
“So he did, and then we were interrupted. Why couldn’t he? A book can be carried. And why did he put on gloves? Is there something in the book’s binding connected with the poison that killed Berengar and Venantius? A mysterious trap, a poisoned tip . . .”
“A snake!” I said.
“Why not the fish that swallowed Jonah? No, we are indulging in fantasies again. The poison, as we have seen, had to enter the mouth. Besides, Severinus didn’t actually say he couldn’t carry the book. He said he preferred to show it to me here. And then he put on his gloves. . . . So we know this book must be handled with gloves. And that goes for you, too, Benno, if you find it, as you hope to. And since you’re being so helpful, you can help me further. Go up to the scriptorium again and keep an eye on Malachi. Don’t let him out of your sight.”
“I will!” Benno said, and he went out, happy at his mission, it seemed to us.
We could restrain the other monks no longer, and the room was invaded. Mealtime was now past, and Bernard was probably assembling his tribunal in the chapter house.
“There is nothing more to be
