Pagan's Vows Read Online Free Page A

a solid piece of literature! One wrinkled talon, pressed against the top of the page. The script looks like the work of a blind drunkard. A blind drunkard writing with a club foot.
    Let’s see, now . . .
    ‘ Nam cum sint aliae propositiones – ’
    ‘Translate it please, Pagan. For the benefit of the others.’
    ‘Urn . . . “There are some propositions that are only known through themselves, but also have nothing more fundamental by which they are demonstrated, and these are called maximal and principal propositions” .’
    (There. Happy? I hope that was fun for you, because I didn’t understand a word of it.)
    ‘The maximal proposition is the foundation of an argument,’ Clement declares. ‘It is the key to any discourse which produces belief regarding a matter that is in doubt. Can you give me an example of a maximal proposition?’
    Who, me? ‘Um – well – no . . .’
    ‘No? In that case, I suggest that you refrain from practising the noble arts of rhetoric and dialectic until you have mastered their fundamentals.’ Tapping at the book with his index finger. ‘Saint Augustine said: “What man is there who can comprehend that wisdom by which God knows all things?” You should live by those holy words, Pagan. And remember: “Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise”.’
    Meaning that I should shut my mouth. Is that it? Well why didn’t you just say so? Why go through all this fancy drivel? It’s not doing anyone any good.
    ‘Pagan? Are you listening?’ Look up, and he’s baring his gums at me. (What a ghastly sight.) ‘I have decided to let you keep this book,’ he says, with a kind of vicious satisfaction. ‘I’m going to let you carry it around for a while, and perhaps it will help you to understand the weight of the world’s knowledge. Because there are many things you have to learn, Pagan. Many, many things. Despite what you may believe.’
    Is that so? Well there’s one thing I have learned, Master Needle-nose. I’ve learned to recognise a real sepulchre-head when I see one.
    And I’m looking at one right now.

Chapter 4
    L ook at the size of that millstone. You can hardly see from one end to the other. They must need at least a score of mules to pull that thing around. And the corn! I’ve never seen so much. Talk about gathering corn as the sand of the sea. Piled up as high as the roof-vaults; stacked against the walls; carried in on the backs of labouring servants.
    ‘Here are your basins.’ The fish-faced servant in the green tunic starts handing around carved wooden bowls. ‘Your corn is on the sorting cloth. When you’ve filled up your basin, bring it to me.’
    What? What’s he talking about? But of course he doesn’t explain, just turns on his heel and lumbers off to the other side of the mill-house. Raymond pokes me in the ribs.
    ‘We’re supposed to sort the corn,’ he says. ‘For holy wafers. Only the very best grains of corn are used to make holy wafers.’
    I see.
    ‘It’s one of the duties of a novice,’ Raymond continues, in a patronising voice. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll show you how to do it. Just sit next to me.’
    He leads the way to a huge pile of corn, which someone’s dumped on a gold-embroidered blanket. Chaff and straw crunch under his feet as he hurries along. The other novices follow suit, babbling away as they dust off the paving stones and sit down. Only Ademar remains silent: I don’t think he’s opened his mouth since yesterday morning.
    ‘Are you sure it’s safe to speak like this?’ It doesn’t seem possible that Clement isn’t lurking outside, waiting to pounce. I can’t believe that he’s really in chapter with the rest of the monks. If you ask me, this whole thing is an elaborate hoax, specially designed to get us into trouble. ‘What about those servants? Won’t they tell on us?’
    Raymond laughs.
    ‘We’re allowed to talk in here,’ he says. ‘Everyone’s allowed to talk in here, even during the silent