4. THE EMPEROR

In the morning Victor put on his new travelling clothes that had been delivered to him, together with another more resplendent set to be worn at his audience, by the palace tailor who must have been working with his helpers throughout the night. A servant put it into a bag for him, together with his old clothes with which he refused to part, expecting to wear them again later when he would continue his journey. His luggage was carried for him into the waiting coach. The seats inside the coach were extremely comfortable, and he felt like a real aristocrat, particularly when they passed through villages and when he saw people taking off their hats and bowing in front of the vehicle that carried the imperial emblems on its doors. At two points of the ride the horses were changed, it was done with an amazing speed and efficiency, and by the early afternoon they were in the streets of the capital city. Even now they were treated with the utmost respect by its residents, always given the right of way, so that soon they sped through the main gate of the palace.
Victor and his luggage passed through several lackeys' hands, before he found himself in front of the Director of the Ceremonies, to whom he handed the Empress' letter. The dignitary viewed the young man, who so clearly lacked the courtly manners, with a degree of suspicion, but being a man of a high standing and impeccable manners, he would not allow to show anything that could betray his rather understandable mistrust. There was however a shade of disbelief in his voice when he asked:
-   Are you her Majesty's messenger?
Victor was conscious of the fact that his new clothes could hardly hide his humble origins, but he also knew that the man behind the mahogany table had no power to override the Empress' orders and stop him from seeing the Emperor. He therefore said in the most decisive tone of voice he was able to muster:
-   Her Majesty, the Empress, personally gave me this letter of introduction for the Emperor. Will you please pass it on to his Imperial Majesty!?
The great man sighed and carefully examined the letter's seals again, as if he still suspected a forgery. He must have deemed it to be genuine, because he called a servant and ordered him to lead Victor into the waiting room. With the letter in his hand he left through another door. A little later he came back, this time displaying a decisive change of attitude towards Victor, being all smiles when he announced:
-   His Imperial Majesty welcomes you as his guest in the palace, and he will be most pleased to see you at his table for tonight's dinner.
That was more then the simple hearing that Victor expected to be given. The Mayor of the palace must have also been impressed, because he immediately issued orders regarding Victor's accommodation in the apartment for notable guests, and he even provided him with the services of a personal valet and two footmen.
In the evening, when Victor came into the dining hall, there were about two dozen courtiers, variously grouped and engaged in a casual conversation. He was progressively introduced to most of them as the Empress' protegè by the Master of the Ceremonies, and they accepted him without asking any searching questions, much to his relief. The Emperor arrived, and they moved to the table, Victor being seated at the far end, in the company of another two men of approximately his age. Between the courses of excellent dishes he was taken and introduced to the Emperor, who received him with a simple nod of his head, though there was a slightly detectable sparkle of interest in his lively eyes. Resuming his seat, the young men who sat next to him soon drew him into a spirited discussion; it was apparent that both men wanted to find out as much as they could about him, probably viewing him as a possible rival whose presence might complicate their ambitious plans of a career at the court. It was evident that they had their eyes set on such careers, and they treated him with a well-measured mixture of refined courtesy and concealed jealousy. The news of Victor's arrival from the Empress' summer retreat had obviously travelled fast around the corridors of the palace, and they wanted to find out as much as possible of his past and about his plans for the future. Victor had a good time dodging their polished questions aimed at cracking the mystery that surrounded his person and his unexpected appearance at court, and he gloriously succeeded in leaving them even more mystified as to his true identity.
The banquet ended when the Emperor stood up from the table. Before he left, he glanced towards the trio of young men, who could see him whispering something into the ear of his aid. The secretary came to them.
-   His Majesty was much impressed by the ardour he observed you putting into your debate, and he decided that we should all benefit from your undoubted erudition. He therefore resolved to give you the opportunity to appear in front of him for a full audience tomorrow morning. Each of you should prepare a discourse on one of these themes: Who is more powerful - the wine, the king or a woman? He is looking forward to being enlightened by your thoughts on these topics. To make it more interesting to the audience, His Majesty in his wisdom had decided to turn it into a contest, with the one of you, whose thesis is judged to be the wisest, being rewarded by having any one reasonable wish granted.
The secretary left, and the three men, by the twist of the Monarch’s fingers now suddenly turned into genuine rivals, looked silently at each other. The Empress forewarned Victor of her husband’s propensity for testing people, but he did not expect to be locked into a battle of words with two far more experienced and extremely ambitious opponents. At the same time, since he had committed himself to this voyage of self-discovery, he had to expect the unexpected. In good humour, he bade his antagonists good night and they reciprocated with forced smiles on their faces. He went into his rooms in the knowledge that he would get very little sleep during the night that was to follow.

                                                             ***

When the time for the morning audience finally came, the three contestants met at the door of the main hall, where the Mayor of the Palace announced to them the order in which they were to appear before the Emperor. Victor was to go last. A generous applause greeted them when they walked into the hall, filled to its capacity. The first of the contestants stood before the Emperor's seat, he performed the perfect bow, and in an obviously well rehearsed and deliberately slowed action, unrolled the paper scroll he carried under his arm. He made a long, theatrical pause, before he began to read:
-   Your Majesty, what a mighty power is hidden in wine! He, who tastes it, cannot resist its strength; sooner or later it overcomes him completely. Wine has the capacity to unite the minds of the poorest of beggars with those of the richest of noblemen, of the last amongst the serfs with the first man in the kingdom. He, who partakes of wine, forgets everything else, to him, kings or women do not exist. If he happens to find himself on the point of desperation, wine will disperse all his sorrows and turn them into mirth and happiness. He feels so superior that he is capable of anything, of loving his friends and neighbours, or of attacking them with his sword!  When men hold up their filled glasses, their minds become completely clouded, they know nothing of what they are doing, and they still know nothing of what they did, even when they have finally woken up from their inebriation. With all this power present in wine, could anyone deny it its supremacy?
The last words were directed to the audience and were calculated to arouse the popular support. And indeed, they were sympathetically applauded by a large portion of those present, many of whom were obviously no strangers to the celebrated liquid, nor to its described effects. The young man bowed and withdrew, apparently satisfied with his performance, even though the expression on the Emperor's face remained unmoved.
The second of the competitors stood before the throne.
-   Your Imperial Majesty! God has given man an immense power. He gave him command over the land and the sea and over all creatures that inhabit them. But, beside the Lord's commands, who's orders does the man obey? Does he not owe his loyalty to the king? It is the king, who gives directions to his subjects, and the king's orders are executed, without a question being asked. On the king's command, men set out on campaigns against their enemies, in their courses they perform the most incredible tasks; they climb the tallest of mountains, they sail over tempestuous seas, they storm the highest walls and conquer the strongest fortresses. Men kill and allow themselves to be killed on a mere gesture of their king's hand; if they happen to be victorious in their battles, they lay the spoils of the war at his feet. Not all people can be soldiers, those who are not, honour their king in many different ways, by paying their taxes, by being ever ready to comply with his orders. They slay, when he orders them to slay, they spare, when they are ordered to spare, they raze, when told to demolish and they build, when told to construct, they sow, or they reap, they do anything at all, on their king's command. The king rules all men, he is also the ruler of all women, he can order that vineyards be built, but he can also have them destroyed. Is the king thus not more powerful then the wine or the woman?
It was Victor's turn. He had every right to be nervous, but strangely, as soon as he was ready to speak, there came an inner sense of calmness and confidence and he was surprised by the sonority of his voice.
-   Sire! No one can dispute the power of kings, no one can deny the wine its potency. Still, one can usually leave the country if feeling too oppressed by its ruler, and one can abstain from drinking wine, if he wants to wake up with a clear head. But all men who ever established vineyards in any land, and all kings who ever ruled over these lands, were born of a woman! Women have tremendous power over men. A man may amass great honours and riches, but he is ready to abandon all as soon as he sees a woman blessed with beauty and grace, whose favours he is determined to win at any cost. On the other hand, a poor man who is struck by love for woman, endeavours to gain wealth, if he feels that it might help him to get nearer to his beloved. To win love of a woman, a man will fight with other men or with wild beasts, he will cross rivers and seas, he will move mountains or build new cities. Man loves his wife more than anyone in the world, more than his father or his brother. Some men may even lose their reason for a woman, kings have been reduced to mere slaves and became playthings in the hands of their concubines, who took the crown off their head and toyed with them at their will. There is an old saying: 'behind every successful man there is a woman', one of the greatest truths ever stated; it was probably put into the mouth of its propagator by the woman in his life.
By now, Victor had captured his audience who laughed at these words, with the Emperor. Victor turned to him, with a solemn expression that silenced everyone in the hall.
-   Sire, women are more powerful then kings, they are stronger then any wine. But there are other mighty powers and potencies. The Earth is vast, the sky is high, the Sun is the carrier of life giving energy. What is then the most powerful force of all, what is it that rules over all and everything? Mightiest of all is the TRUTH!
It is the Truth that is blessed by the Heavens; all Creation strives towards the Truth. Nothing in this world can be permanent and ultimate, everything is transient and therefore it is not entirely truthful. A 'truth' some might believe to have found in wine, vaporises the very next morning. The king's men who were sent on a campaign for the one and only true cause, fall to the swords of other men whose resolution to fight for their own truth happens to be a slightly stronger one. A woman who inspired a true love in her suitor, runs away with all his riches, in a never ending search for an even truer love in the arms of other men, and so it goes on. All children of women are unfaithful and unjust, there is no truth in their lives, or in their deaths. They are survived by the one and only Truth, the Truth that is immortal, incorruptible and honourable; the course that leads to it is the only one worthy of the man's quest, in it lies the Power, the Kingdom, and the Majesty, for ever!
There was a long silence while the Emperor looked into Victor's eyes. Finally, he was moved to say:
-   In face of what you have just said, my judgment can mean little. Still, I don't think that it would contradict the way of the Truth you have so convincingly invoked, if I declare you to be the winner.
A wave of agreement moved through the hall.
-   You are entitled to your reward.
-   Your Majesty will understand that I cannot accept any prize.
-   I know, you feel that it would not be ethical, especially after praising the incorruptibility of Truth. But look at it this way: like any worker on a higher cause, you too, have the legitimate claim for receiving your wages for the diligent work you have just performed. So, come closer and whisper into my ear what is your true desire!
Victor ascended the three steps that lead to the Emperor's seat and whispered to him:
-   I want to see your Majesty, in the light of the Truth.
The Emperor smiled and also lowered his voice.
-   You will stay in the palace for the next three days, as my guest. You will remain at my side at all times while I conduct my official duties. From this position you will have the best possible perspective. On the morning of the fourth day, put on your travelling clothes and leave the palace through the rear door. Walk through the garden, until you find the path that leads towards the mountains. I will meet you there, we will be alone and we will talk.
The Emperor then spoke aloud:
-   Bring another chair and let my guest be seated on my right!
A minute later, Victor viewed the crowd in the reception hall from his new and elevated position.

                                                               ***

On the morning of the fourth day Victor did as instructed by the Emperor and, dressed for a journey ahead, he walked through the garden and onto the narrow path that he found at the end of it. The path climbed steadily through the rocky terrain and Victor was wondering where the Emperor might be, when a light reflection caught his eye. He had to leave the path to come closer to its source. He stopped when he realised that the reflection came from the golden helmet worn by the man he had come to here meet. To Victor’s astonishment the monarch had brought his insignia with him; in one hand he held a sceptre, in the other a globe, as he stood leaning against a roughly hewn cubic stone on a rocky promontory, high above a deep gorge with a fast running river below. From the point where he stood he could only see the Emperor's profile, as the older man was silently looking back towards his palace and the city behind it. Victor too stood without uttering a word, as he did not want to disturb his contemplation, but the monarch must have somehow become aware of his presence, because he spoke to him, without turning his face to him.
-   You wished to know the real Emperor. Come closer, so that you can make the most of your observations. The first thing I want you to understand is that the person you will meet here shortly will be no less real then the two you have already encountered. The one you had been seeing performing his duties for the past three days, who is essentially a diplomat, albeit one with the right, and even obligation, to exercise his right to have the final word if everything else fails. And the one you are just seeing, almost totally devoid of any individuality, because he is meant to be a symbol.

The Emperor fell silent once again, and for what to Victor seemed an eternity he remained in the same position. At last he moved. It was to lay his insignia onto the surface of the stone table; he also put down his helmet, which he had taken off his head. He turned to the neophyte, who perhaps for the first time could see him smile in the free manner of an ordinary man.

- This is the Emperor number three. To this one, you can talk freely, without observing the customs of the court.
-   Does this mean that I am now meeting the real person behind the office of an Emperor?
-   There are four sides to everything in this world. I'm letting you observe the three sides of me, which is more than my subjects can see, in fact more then almost anyone can normally see. As for the fourth side, that will have to remain concealed. On this level of existence the person's real self can never be fully known, not even by that very person.
-   Please, tell me if I understood you correctly. Most people have the frontal view of you, usually at ceremonies or similar occasions, and they see the Emperor as the monarch, the head of the state.
-   Yes, that is true.
-   But when I sat next to you, didn’t I already become acquainted with what I might call your human side? I could see you eat your favourite meals, hear you telling jokes, and so on.
-   Yes, but even then you still had to go on calling me 'Your Majesty'. That's when you saw what we might identify as the right side of my face. It can only be glimpsed by some of my subjects, but only my courtiers regularly see it, though the etiquette still has to be observed or otherwise I might loose my authority.
-   Now I understand. The third person does not insist on observing the protocol.
-   He will even admit that he often hates it, but only to somebody like you, and only when we meet on the same level. Ultimately, all people are equal, we all have the same origin and we have the same aim, the only difference is in the individual degree of spiritual attainment. But let’s talk about you for a change. You find yourself on the path of initiation and I take it that you have already met your Magician?
-   As a young boy, then recently again.
-   My wife wrote in her letter that you came to her after seeing her older sister. This means that I should be your fourth initiator. Having passed the first degree under the Magician’s instructions, you moved to the heights of abstraction, coming down to walk through the garden of intuition, leading you into the world of solid matter, which is my domain. You would have noticed that the people you met with at my court were very much immersed in the materialistic world, most of them having their careers utmost on their mind, and behaving in the corresponding manner.

- That was noticeable even in the cases of my opponents.

- Do not pass your judgment too readily, I should warn you about this. But let’s leave it at that and let’s move on to the lecture that I am about to give you. The subject is abstraction and solidity. These are two seemingly contradictory concepts, yet they are tightly connected, the former always leaves its imprint on the latter. The most abstract idea is concealed in numbers, and I want to talk to you now about numbers. I will start with the number four, because it belongs to me. At the risk of being accused of haughtiness, I have to say that the number four surpasses the numbers that precede it, because in its potential it contains the final number ten. In the world of matter ten is the final number, because it leads directly to Unity.

- I don’t understand what you mean by that.

- Then I better explain it more thoroughly. When you add up the first four numbers, what is the result?

- You mean one plus two plus three plus four? That makes ten.

- What is the number ten made of?

- One and zero. I see, one plus zero equals one.

- Number four, my number, is also the first true even number.

- Isn’t two the first even number?

- Yes, and no. Everything has its origin in Unity. We may call it the number one for our convenience, but we have to remember that Unity exists even before numbers are created. The same goes for duality, number two.

- I know, duality is still part of the process of original Creation.

- That’s exactly why two still cannot be counted as true number. The first true number, and the first odd number, is three. And four is the first even number. There is another way we can look at it. The Divine Father as one, the Divine Mother as two. Number three is their child
- In this world I am the chief organizer, I am to be found in all four cardinal points of the globe, in the four seasons of a year, in the four elements of matter-   While I'm not the Absolute, so far as humanity is concerned I'm its realization. I'm its one and only authority, the father of every thought; like any true father who has the upbringing of his children foremost on his mind, I see to the fulfilment of these ideas. I'm the embodiment of the Divine ideal on Earth.
Suddenly, the Emperor smiled.

- I know that what I’m saying must reek of self-importance to you, but this is the only way I know of conveying the message.

- I understand.

- Then you should also be able to see that the Sacred Numerology and Geometry are the disciplines most closely identifiable with my office. Let’s make some drawings.

The Emperor picked up his sceptre, and holding it by its top end drew symbols on the sandy ground ahead of him as he was speaking.

- First, imagine a single point in space, which has the endless potential of expansion or contraction in a multidimensional Universe. Of course, we live in a three dimensional space, and can make only two-dimensional drawings. Now imagine that the point moves, and by its movement it creates a line, which in this case represents the level of physical matter. Above the line we have a third point, representing the Spirit, which remains suspended over the level of matter. When connection is established between Spirit and Matter, the points at each end of the line are joined to the third point, and a right-angled triangle is formed. Triangle is the simplest of geometrical figures, and as such it has always symbolised the rule of spirit over matter. The ruling spirit can make its imprint by projecting itself to the other side of the line, thus creating a potential second triangle as a mirror image of the first one. When the lines are drawn from the second point to the ends of original line, we have a square, symbolical of completed descend of the spirit into the matter.
I am that square, and in its four right angles all the rules of this world were written, which have been followed by the enlightened men of all ages. Traditionally they have been be expressed by the four principle virtues:

STRENGTH, PRUDENCE, TEMPERANCE, JUSTICE.

We have already established that number four contains in its potentiality the final number ten. Its journey back to Divine Unity leads through the symbolical royal marriage. Can you describe it numerically? Using the same model as we did before?

- I think I can. Let’s see…Triangle or number three, plus square or number four equals seven. Seven is one plus two plus three plus four plus five plus six plus seven, that equals twenty-eight. Twenty-eight is two and eight, which equals ten, and ten of course equals one.

- You are a fast learner. We call penetration of matter by Spirit the alchemical marriage. This is why its earthly equivalent, the royal marriage, is so important. It appeals to the unconscious minds of people and it arouses their imagination, when it is enacted on this level. There is an inner understanding of the sanctity of marriage, inherent in all individuals, though not always followed in practice. Marital ties nevertheless do reach beyond materiality, and they offer a line that can be used in the conquest of higher planes of reality.

- Is this the only way to advance?

- Would you expect it to be so?

- No, I wouldn’t. This has to depend on the individual.

- Nature exists only so far as it can be realized in the mind of its explorer. There are stages of development that can be clearly distinguished even on this level. A person's quest may begin on a low key, but eventually it reaches the stage where it becomes concerned with one of the two possible ways of investigation, with the way of the science or the way of the art, in other words with the analyses or the synthesis. Needless to say that neither of these can fully satisfy the profane traveller, as he yearns for something higher, of which he has only a faint notion. His hard won achievements, the honours, the titles, all the riches that he has thus far collected, appear insignificant in the light of the newly found truth, as you have so correctly stated in your speech.

- Yes, by now he should realise that anything that he has thus far accomplished could have also helped him to become a successful criminal, if for instance he would have chosen to move in such direction. And in certain circles he would have been similarly privileged and honoured.

- Such realization should not lead to condemnation of this world, but only to a change of one's perspective of view. The world is temporary, it is finite, and it is limited and limiting, transient and illusory, yet it remains our momentary home. The imperfect world tends towards commotion, decay and anarchy. It needs its unifying and cementing force, the organizational and directional principle, in other words, its Emperor. Now you have met him, is there anything else you want to know?
-   I saw you use your sceptre for drawing in the sand. I assume that it also has some symbolical importance?
-   Essentially it's a measuring tool. However brief our stay in this world is, our essential task is to improve this world and to advance. This is chiefly done through designing and through building, which means that the proper measurements must always be taken. Symbolically, I am the first measurer and builder, and the length of my sceptre measures everything allegorically.
Now, it's time to end this talk. I have to go back to my palace; you have your pilgrimage ahead of you. I will not say to you the usual, 'happy journey' or 'good luck', because it is not meant to be an entirely happy journey, but one full of adventures, temptations and so on. It also has little to do with any luck. So, fare well!
Victor bowed to the Emperor and walked back onto the path. When he looked behind, he could still see the lonesome figure of the man he for a brief time could observe while fulfilling the duties of his office of a temporary ruler, surveying the transient world that lay below him. On the background of the desolate and sterile rocks he looked so forlorn and melancholic... Then a thought occurred to Victor, that it is the erosion of these bare stones, which taken into the valley below by the river, prepares the ground for the fertile fields and gardens.

5. THE HIEROPHANT

War rolled over the countryside, and everywhere Victor looked he could see its imprint. He realized that something bad was happening when he came to the second burnt out farmhouse, and since then he passed through several villages either totally or at least partially destroyed, with their inhabitants dead or in hiding. He knew that his days of carefree wanderings were now over, that for a time at least, he would not be able to roam from one place to another, always finding food and shelter, and with people happy to give it to him in exchange for a little farm work or even for a good yarn.
That evening he felt especially tired after the daylong sojourn, and he dragged himself only a few paces from the path into the tall grass, where he almost immediately fell asleep. Normally, he would be awake by sunrise, but this time he slept long and his sleep would have gone on even longer, had he not felt a hot and odoriferous breath on his face, which caused him abruptly to open his eyes. From the distance of only some two feet they met with another pair of eyes, indifferent and only mildly inquisitive, as is natural to the bovine species. Impulsively he tried to get out of reach of the sizeable horns and hooves by rolling over swiftly and springing to his feet. His sudden movement also frightened the large black and white cow, and it jumped aside. At the same time, from somewhere behind him, Victor heard a loud scream. He turned around, and there was a girl; so far as he could tell she must have been the owner of the cow.  She stood a few steps away with the typical gesture of a startled woman, with the hand on her throat. She may have been eighteen years old, with a slim and lovely figure, her long brownish hair surrounding her pretty suntanned face. Only a few freckles around her nose and a mouth that was perhaps a shade too wide would have prevented the connoisseurs of female beauty from declaring her to be its perfect specimen. Far from being such an expert, Victor passed these minor imperfections, staring at her in silent admiration, unable to utter a word. His obvious shyness must have communicated to the girl that he was no danger to her, and her mouth widened a little more as an uncertain smile began to invade her face.
-   Phooey, didn't you scare me! Jumping out of that grass so suddenly.
-   I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I was sleeping and your cow...
He did not know what to say to the girl. Apart from the embarrassment he also suffered from a terrible headache, and this only added to his discomfort.
-   You were in the army?
Victor understood that the girl would naturally suspect him to be a deserter.
-   I have had nothing to do with the army.
-   Ah, conscientious objector, perhaps?
This was fast turning into an interrogation.
-   Well, you can call me that, if you wish.
Her lips contracted and a few wrinkles appeared on her forehead.
-   My father and my brother were objectors, too. It didn't help them much, though. When the recruiters came into our village, they didn't ask them about that, they just put the uniforms on them. We haven't heard from them since. The same thing will happen to you, you know, especially if you sleep right next to the road. You are not local, are you?
-   No, I'm not. I was travelling and I didn't even know there was any war, until I saw those burned out houses.
-   And you just kept walking along the road, did you?
-   I thought that if I walked fast, I might get out of the war zone.
-   You were lucky not to run into any army men.
He indeed was lucky, or perhaps it was not his destiny to wear a uniform. Victor did not know. It may have been the thought of being forced to kill other men that made him tremble. Suddenly his legs felt weak, and he tottered and wanted to sit down, but nearly collapsed onto the ground. The girl rushed towards him, but she was too late to prop him up. She presently bent down to him, looking straight into his face, her eyes full of sympathy.
-   You're not well, are you?
-   That's nothing, it will soon pass. I must be tired, that's all.
-   Do you feel sleepy?
Victor remembered how long he slept last night and faintly nodded. The girl became serious.
-   I'm afraid that it will not pass too easily. I know it all too well myself, because I've already had it. It's this sleeping sickness that’s been going around lately.
Yes, sleep, that's what he wants to do, just lie down, and listen to this nice and pretty girl talking him to sleep...
-   Come on, you can't stay here!
Her voice sounded distant. He felt her hands, helping him to stand up. He rallied and managed to get back on his feet, uneasily, but even making a few steps with her hand under his arm.
-   Can you stand here, for a minute? I have to take my cow with us, she's all we have left, and I can't leave her here.
The girl tied a long rope to the cow's neck and the other end around her waist.
-   You can lean on my shoulder. We'll have to walk slowly.
He heard himself asking the question in a feeble voice:
-   Where are you taking me?
-   I'm taking you home.
There was decisiveness in her response that ruled out any argument. Victor was too weak to oppose her, anyway. He allowed himself to be gently led, with the cow obediently following them to the village.

                                                              ***

Eyelids are closed; behind them there is an entirely different world, the realm inhabited by red spirals. The helixes are holding a dance. As they swirl around in an ever-expanding circle, their vigorous action lures more and more new performers onto the dance floor. In the midst of the fiery jig Victor is abruptly and mercilessly tossed around. Every now and again some of the spirals become attracted to the stranger in their midst attending the ball, and they disengage from the prancing mass and lunge at him, painfully boring into the skull, into the spine, or some other part of his body. The music changes its rhythm into a march, it sounds as if hundreds, thousands of feet are striding; and they are moving closer and closer. Victor can now see that the newcomers appear different. They are lighter in colour, orange as opposed to red. It is also obvious that the invading orange and the resident red spirals are enemies, and that an unavoidable conflict will soon follow.
Invisible drummers feverishly beat their instruments, as the gyrating mass of red and orange spirals engage in their mortal combat. When any one of them is hit, it contracts into a small fiery globe and explodes on the spot, raining sparks all over, some of them falling on Victor, causing more pain to his aching body.
The battle is nearing the end, one after another the drummers have fallen silent, and only a few spirals on both sides are still alive. Still, the fighting goes on until the last spiral, of the orange race, remains. It appears weak and fatigued, and it too begins to shrink. When it reaches the size that previously would have invited an explosion Victor awaits it, but this time it does not come. The metamorphosed spiral goes on shrinking past the small globe stage, and it is also losing intensity. Eventually it becomes a mere flickering light, like a sole candle burning in the darkness. Two pale ovals appear on either side of it, they get nearer to Victor's face.
-   He's going to pull through.
The voice that said it is coming from one of the ovals, and it is unfamiliar to him.
-   Thank God! I thought that he wasn't going to make it.
Victor tries to remember where he heard this voice. One tardy spiral comes from nowhere and tries to bore under the eyeball, but lacking the fervour of its dead companions it causes only a little pain. It turns into a dimly glowing wire that continues to cool down and soften, until it becomes a squashy rope, which can no longer hurt the eye. The rope hangs in space and Victor wants to know where it goes, so he follows the rope to its end, and can see that it is tied to the neck of a cow. Suddenly he remembers the girl whose lips were too wide to make her eligible for beauty pageants. He opens his eyes and fixes them on the oval with the known voice, searching for the mouth. The lips are there, they are conspicuously red, but are they too wide? No, he must have already been hallucinating when he made that hasty judgment! The girl's face is even prettier then when he first saw it. He whispers to her.
-   Did you get her home?
-   Whom?
When she is surprised, her lips are really quite narrow...
-   Your cow, of course.
-   Why! We both worried that you’ve been listening to the angelic choirs, and instead you were taking our cow to the heavenly pastures!
And the girl laughs, the other oval laughs too, and Victor turns his attention to it. The same features, so far as he can tell, but older, it has to be her mother, surely. He tries to laugh with both of them, but it ends in a wheeze. The mother says:
-   You are still too weak. Here, take this drink and try to sleep. Svetlana is making a soup, we'll see if you can eat some when you wake up.
So, that's her name. Svetlana. The girl of light, the name suits her. Had not her face glowed with an inner light, when he saw it as he came out his long sleep? Sleep...

The house the two women lived in had not entirely escaped the damage when the village was being pillaged and partially burnt, but it was still quite habitable. There were more such houses in the village that once had some three hundred inhabitants. Now scarcely a hundred remained, mostly women, children and the old. They continued living here, because there was now little left to plunder and thus they were relatively safe. The villagers managed to grow some crops and most had vegetable gardens, but anything they produced had to be carefully concealed from the eyes of the military, which had its provisions personal constantly combing the whole country, in search of anything worth appropriating. The other menace were recruiting officers, who had just about run out of all suitable human material, with most men of military age either wearing their uniforms or hiding in the forests. Still, they refused to give up their chase for more prospective soldiers.
Victor's recuperation was slow and it was impossible for the mother and the daughter to keep his presence in their house secret, and they had to tell about him the other villagers. And what they had hoped for has happened - the village people formed a conspiracy to keep Victor safe from the army men. It was their way of getting at least partially even with the hated warlords, to whom nearly all of them had lost some relatives. Nevertheless, it was obvious even to Victor that this could not continue very long.
One evening, an old man came on a visit. He had retired some years earlier from being the local magistrate, but now, with all younger men gone, he had again become the undisputed head of the community. He and Victor exchanged some pleasantries, but the old man soon went straight to the point.
-   You know we all like you, but we will have to do something about you, now that you are getting better. I feel being responsible for this village, and if the army were to find out about you they might take a punitive action against us all.
-   I can leave tomorrow.
-   I didn't mean that. Besides, where would you go? You wouldn't last a day on the road before you would be apprehended.
-   I could go through the forest.
-   You'd need some local knowledge for that. No, I might have a better idea. But let me first ask you this question. You seem a meditative type, have you ever thought of living in a monastery?
-   As a monk?
-   Well, you may become a monk if you wish, but that would not be necessary unless the idea appeals to you.
-   I cannot say that I ever felt that I had the vocation.
-   Never mind. Perhaps I could arrange for you to be admitted as a layman. The monastery I had in mind, had already accepted a few laymen.
-   Could you arrange it? How?
-   A monk comes regularly to the neighbouring village, to conduct services in the church, which has miraculously escaped the burnings. He is due tomorrow, and I will be going there. I can tell him about you and perhaps he can do something.
-   Please, do.
The old man came back a few days later, his face beaming with satisfaction.
-   I talked to the monk and he told his superior. The message just came from the monastery that you can come tomorrow.
-   Tomorrow!
The utterance came from Svetlana's mouth. The former magistrate turned to her, his eyes smiled while there was a pretended sadness in his voice.
-   I have a task for you. Someone has to show him the way to the monastery, and it's too far for my old legs. I'm afraid that the task of taking him there will fall on you.
The rest of the evening was quiet, only Svetlana's mother managed to keep some conversation going, while the girl looked pensive and Victor was not loquacious either. In the morning he said goodbye to the villagers, and he felt as if he were leaving a home when Svetlana's mother kissed him on the forehead.
They walked briskly and kept quiet until reaching the forest, where they could relax a little. Svetlana broke the silence.
-   Why do I feel as if I were leaving my village forever, when it's you who is going?
There could hardly be any answer to that, so Victor said nothing for a while. Then he changed the subject.
-   Your mother's great! But all the others were so nice to me, too.
-   You know what? It's the war that did it. It may be horrible, but it also made people stick together, like never before. Normally the neighbours would be at each other's throats nearly every day because of any egg mislaid by their hen, and what not. And you should have heard all that gossip! That’s gone, for now. But once this war is over it won’t take long before they’ll be back to their old ways.
-   You make it sound as if you didn't want the war to end.
-   I do, I only wish that people could be nice to each other all the time.
-   Isn't life full of paradoxes? Some people become nice to each other only because other people have become nasty and took to killing and burning down villages. When half of their village is burnt down, when they've lost almost everything, including their fathers and brothers, the villagers discover tolerance, even love of their neighbours!
-   Do you think that my dad and my brother will come back?
-   I'm sure they will.
-   I'd like to wait for that, and then I too might leave the village.
-   Really? Where would you go?
-   I'm not sure. Who can make definitive plans in this situation? Have you made any?
-   Presently, I'm on my way to the monastery, as you may recall.
-   Yes, you are, but that's only temporary.
-   I might decide to become a monk, what would you know?
-   I doubt that you will.
-   Pray, tell me why?
-   A monk's frock, a breviary, and all that goes with it…

Svetlana halted her stride, and stood on the spot with her eyes closed.

- When I close my eyes like this, and try to imagine what you would look like as a monk, somehow it just doesn’t work.
Victor was thus forced to stop too, and he turned to her. They were both intensely aware of each other’s presence and of the fact that they are alone in this place, under the dome of old trees, taking in the fresh air with the blend of odours, the essences of which the roots of forest trees for centuries of their existence have been extracting from the earth. Apart from the light murmur of tree branches continuously in conversation with the wind somewhere above, interrupted only by an occasional call of some distant bird, all was quiet. In the prevailing dimness, a solitary ray of sun somehow managed to slip through the dense foliage and unerringly found its way to the girl's face. Enticed by her smiling lips, Victor’s instinct told him to kiss them. He did not fight the impulse. Her eyes stayed closed, even after the kiss. The mouth however said softly:
- The monks are not supposed to behave like this.
The code of moral ethics followed by the monks was not foremost on Victor's mind now, and it became soon apparent that no definite vow of chastity stood in Svetlana's way either. The time stood still, but it was the girl who eventually remembered what had brought them into this forest, as she gently slipped out of the young man's arms.
-   We must go on, we still have a long way to go.
Life sometimes finds a way of offering opportunities, only to instantly take them away. Victor had just found out that his yearning for the love of this exceptional girl, which to this moment he had not dared even admit to himself might not go unanswered. The discovery came as they were about to part. His whole being was revolting against such cruel destiny.
-   Can't we stay at least a little longer?, was all he managed to get out of his mouth.
-   The monks are waiting for you!
Svetlana teased him a little, but she allowed him a few more kisses before she resolutely started to walk. He followed her reluctantly.
-   Why are you so determined to get rid of me?
-   Please, don't say anything. I'm the one who should apologize.
-   Apologize for what?
Svetlana stopped walking again and turned to Victor.
-   Because I wanted it that way myself! I've been in love with you almost from the moment I first saw you and I knew that I couldn't even dream about us staying together. Without this war, we wouldn't have even met and while it goes on you can't stay in the village, they would find you and take you away from me. You must go into the monastery, we both know that, it's the only way. I know that I'm going to lose you, but at least there you'll be safe! But this is just a silly girl talking and making things even more difficult for you!
It was an outburst of emotions and there could be no other answer than to take her again into his arms. Svetlana quietly sobbed on Victor's shoulder and he whispered into her ear:
-   I promise that I will come back, as soon as it is possible!
The girl reacted by disengaging herself from his embrace, and suddenly appearing quite composed she stood in front of him with the expression of firm resolve in her pretty face.
-   No, don't say that. I don't want you to feel obligated. I know that you have other things to do and that they are very important to you. I know that you are not going to stay in the monastery forever, but you cannot come back to me either, because you cannot be indefinitely bound to any one person or to any place. So, let's forget now what had happened and let's not talk about it any more!
Victor was still inclined to argue, but Svetlana's resolution was absolute and she kept walking. From what she had told him he had to admit that her feminine intuition must have taught her a lot about his person, and about the nature of his journey. She had not learnt it from him, he had told her very little about himself and nothing about his aims. He felt that he had to do it now, that she was the only uninitiated person who should know about his life mission, because she had earned this right through her sacrifice. During the several hours it took them to reach the monastery, Svetlana found out about his various adventures and received answers to many questions that she asked him.
The monastery was in a remote valley, and its many large buildings surrounded by strong walls appeared impressive even from a distance. Svetlana refused to walk all the way to the gate with him, stating that she still had another long walk ahead of her. She also had another reason.
-   Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?
-   I thought you didn't want that.
-   You are talking like a jilted lover!
It was not the same kind of kiss as before, and it dispersed any tensions that remained in either of them. Both knew that they might have become lovers, had they met under different circumstances, in a different world, in another time.

                                                           ***

Victor’s stay in the monastery was much longer then he expected it to be. He was now living there for well over a year. He had his own cell, which he soon filled with books from the monastic library. He was well liked by the monks, some of whom were almost like fathers to him, and he made friends with several other laymen who had taken refuge from the ravages of war, which still tormented the outside world. Most of them were elderly scholars, who appreciated their seclusion behind the wall and who seldom touched upon the subjects of contemporary concern, preferring to discuss philosophy, religion or history, during their habitual evening gatherings, much to Victor's approval.
Despite their isolation, some outside information still filtered through to Victor, brought by the monks who visited the local villages. This way, after several months of uncertainty, he received the startling news that concerned Svetlana. The girl he so fondly remembered had made a similar move to his, only a more committed one. She entered a convent and became a nun. Her decision made any thoughts of revival of their loving relationship impossible.
Only one restriction applied to the laymen who lived in the monastery. They had no access to the abbot, whom they could only see from a distance on the rare occasions when he conducted the service in the main temple. During such events the Superior of the monastery appeared in his full ceremonial costume, in the long blue robe and the red coat with gold trimmings, wearing the tiara on his head, and holding the staff surmounted by a triple cross.
On one such occasion, Victor stayed inside the temple a little longer, after the ceremony was over and all the worshippers have left. He cherished the opportunity of meditating in the Gothic styled cathedral, where he could listen to his thoughts coming back to him, after he would send them out to reverberate off the vaulted ceiling. He was about to leave, when he noticed that the small door on the altar side was left half open. As he walked to it with the intention to steal a look inside, he could not escape feeling once again like the little boy who many years ago had stealthily slipped into the town hall to watch the magician's performance. He reached the door and looked through the gap. He could see the long narrow sacristy with a stone throne between two pillars, similar to those he once saw in the High Priestess' temple. The Hierophant was seated on the throne, with two monks standing in front of him and listening to the soft and quiet voice of their superior. Victor sensed that he was intruding on a very intimate meeting and he was about to withdraw, when he saw the priest's head nodding in his direction. Hesitantly he stepped inside, but remained standing near the entrance. The Hierophant raised his hand towards him and made the universal sign of blessing, then he smiled with a small dip of his head, which could have only meant that the brief audience was over. Victor bowed to the priest and left the temple.
The same evening, Victor went to see Parlon, a layman and a former dean of the University, an elderly jovial man, with whom he had struck a friendship. He told the scholar about his brief encounter with the head of the monastic order. Parlon looked surprised.
-   You are luckier than I, young man! So far as I know, no lay people here have ever got closer to him than the distance between the back rows of the benches to the altar.
-   I told you that I wasn't exactly invited, I rather barged in on him, in fact it was very ill mannered.
-   And he blessed you, did he?
-   Is that special?
-   To hell, it is! Sorry, I keep forgetting where we are. Never mind, after three years these walls must be used to my profanities.
-   Maybe this is why you haven't yet received your blessing, laughed Victor.
-   You're probably right. But seriously, the old H.P. never does that.
-   Old H.P.?
-   That's how I usually call him. Mind you, it's nothing opprobrious, only the abbreviation of High Priest. I'll tell you something, the H.P. doesn't even see the ordinary monks. He spoke to friar Ezra, who’s been here for more than half a century, only once, and that would have been years ago.
-   There were two monks with him.
-   Then they probably were no ordinary monks.
-   Who were they, then?
-   Ah, they were monks alright, but amongst these monks, there are some monks who appear to be more monkish then the ordinary monks, if you know what I mean.
-   I know exactly what you mean. One has to monk one's way among the monks to reach the higher state of monkness.
Parlon's style was contagious. The older man deeply examined Victor's face and suddenly his voice gained on solemnity.
-   If I'm reading you correctly, and I think that I am, you should forget it.
Parlon may have been a marginal cynic, but he was also very perceptive. Victor's mind was occupied almost entirely by one prevailing thought. Should, or shouldn't he, commit himself totally, and ask to be accepted as a novice? Ever since he chanced upon the meeting of the Hierophant with the two of his disciples, he had felt that something very important was being communicated to them, and that he would have wanted to hear it, because he was so keen to learn. On the other side of the argument stood the sobering thought that before he would get any chance of getting near the Hierophant he would have to serve time as a novice, live under the strict monastic rules, become an ascetic, work his way up through the ranks… Parlon was right, there were various degrees of 'monkness', and he could see the examples all around him. There were the old men like friar Ezra, good men, who were totally devoted to their prayers, but who had scarcely read a book in their lives. There were also some scholarly monks, but if scholasticism appealed to him he would probably do better by attaching himself to some university. If he wanted to become a serious disciple, he would first have to spent years just learning to listen. This is the way of a true monk, who learns to be alert and perceptive while remaining silent, so that his inner strength remains without becoming dispersed. This means calling upon the help of one’s inner voice, gaining access to the feminine part of one’s personality. Presently, try as he might, he could not hear his inner voice. He wanted it to provide some hints. He wanted to know whether or not he was suited for the monastic life. The thought came to him that it might have been the inner voice that had just spoken to him. Through Parlon's mouth!
-   You think that I shouldn't become a monk.
-   There are some who see the light and they are irresistibly drawn to it, there are others who can see the same light, but they know that it doesn't shine for them. If you belonged to the former, we would not be here discussing your dilemma, you would now be with the other monks reciting the evening prayers, because you would have joined a long time ago.
This is what he had really come to hear. The inner voice had spoken after all. In that case, what was the meaning of the Hierophant's blessing hand? Was it just meant to give him the blessing for his journey?
-   You haven't told me yet, what you think about that blessing I was given.
-   You have probably worked that out already, but if you insist we can talk about the H.P. Do you know the exact meaning of the word 'hierophant'?
-   I know that it comes from the Greek, that's all.
-   He, who reveals the sacred, that's the loose translation. The Latin word pontiff has a similar meaning, the builder of bridges, meaning someone who facilitates a connection, an association of outer impulses with our inner personality.
-   The inner voice, intuition.
-   Yes. That's another pregnant Latin word, intuition, the inner teaching. The Hierophant, or the Pontiff, above all is a teacher, largely symbolical one, of course. The sign of blessing is symbolical too, two outstretched and visible fingers and the remaining three fingers folded and invisible. What this really says is that there is more to life than what can be perceived by our senses, in fact the greater part remains concealed to us.
-   I think that it also says: go and find out more about these mysteries!
-   Yes, it sends you along the path of discovery.
-   There were other symbols about the H.P., as you call him. I think I understand the symbolism of the two stone columns, it is the dual face of Nature, but why would he be seated on the stone throne?
-   Did he sit on a stone throne? That's interesting.
-   I would be inclined to associate the hard substance of stone with materialism rather then spirituality. Yet, without a doubt, the H. P. is a religious symbol.
-   How is your Latin?
-   Reasonable, I think.
-   And your Hebrew?
-   Almost nonexistent, I'm afraid.
-   I would try to catch up on that, if I were you. A linguist can sometimes make a lot of useful ground where others become bogged.
-   How can your linguistics help us here?
-   By examining the word 'stone', and how it appears in different languages. We can start with the Latin, the language you claim to have mastered. What's the Latin word for 'stone'?
-   'Peter'.
-   Correct.
Parlon's scholarly tone bore witness to the many years he spent teaching, and evidently he found himself in his natural element.
-   We’ve struck a resonance here. Who is the traditional founder of the Holy See?  St. Peter. Of course that this is highly symbolical. The office of the spiritual leader was founded and firmly established on the rock of  religious faith, that's what it really means. But let's look now what Hebrew can do for us. The Hebrew for 'stone' is eben, this word has a very interesting root, two roots, in fact. The three letters that form it, ALEPH, BETH, NUN, or our A, B, N, can be further grouped into two pairs, one is AB, pronounced abe, which in most Semitic languages means father, the other root is BN, pronounced ben-   and means son. We are getting somewhere, aren't we? The Pope, or in our case the H.P., is the Holy Father to his religious subordinates, whereas he would usually address them “My son”. Can you see how nicely it all falls in?
-   I certainly can, it is the fatherhood and the sonhood, both spiritually conceived.
-   This connection reaches further, into the mundane world. The liaison of father-son is an initiatory relationship, because fathers often initiate their sons into the traditional family skills. There have been families that retained their specialised professions in music, in arts, in medicine, or even as simple blacksmiths or carpenters, for many generations.
-   I can think of its spiritual counterpart. It is about the higher initiation and it is in the Bible, in the Old Testament.
-   Yes, no doubt you mean the quadruple succession of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Joseph. It is about the creed as well as about practical life.
-   But it stands at the origins of the Western religion. The question is, where to look for the origin of all religions?
-   No one has satisfactorily explained that and I doubt that anyone ever will. Some might say that it is mankind's natural inclination, others are trying to explain it as the sublimation of our sexuality, and so on.
-   How do you see it?
-   I concede that it is incomprehensible. I know that it is potentially stronger then any sexual instinct, but that it is also analogical in the sense of being an urge to join two opposites into a whole. I also think that the act of blessing has a lot to do with freeing men and women from the slavery of their sexuality. The two visible fingers of the blessing hand can also be hinting to us that there exist two possible ways of achieving unity. And perhaps also that sexuality is the lower one of these.
-   The three concealed fingers must then symbolize the Holy Trinity!
-   I'm sure that they do, but that's where we must leave the field of religion. The strange thing is that the Trinity appears in some form or other in every advanced religious system in the world, but it also forms its most mysterious part. No one in this monastery will explain to you its meaning, believe me, I have tried. They will just keep repeating the phrases about the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. If you went to India, they will no doubt say the same about Brahma, Shiva and Vishnu and so on. It doesn't get you anywhere, the three fingers are hidden and they are meant to remain hidden, at least on this level of existence. The two visible fingers are quite clear, they give you the possibility of a choice. A demagogue might of course say that we can choose the way to eternal bliss or the way that leads to damnation.
-   You disagree with that.
-   I don't think that anyone can be so bad as to be infinitely condemned. Perhaps one way might be straighter and more direct then the other. But it might also be more painful.
-   I still prefer the straight way.
-   I take it that you've made up your mind? About leaving the monastery, I mean.
-   Yes, I have.
-   That’s wise. It was a necessary stage in your life, but ultimately it's not for you. It's not for me, either, I'll only stay till the end of the war.
-   I don't think that I'll wait that long.
-   There have been little disturbances lately, perhaps you can risk it. Where would you go?
-   Most likely to the nearest large city. I think that for a while I could do with the kind of life that would offer a little less tranquillity.
-   I'll give you a letter of introduction to one of my good friends at the university.
-   Thank you, I will use it.
Several days after the conversation, Victor was back on the road.

6. THE LOVER

The long time Victor had spent behind the wall of the monastery, where he had very little chance to exercise, was now showing. Namely in the state of his calf muscles, which were unused to the rigours of daily marching. But he knew that the slackness in his lower organs of mobility was only temporary, moreover, he felt that he had been more than compensated for this loss by the irrefutable gains in the upper departments.
Before he left the monastery Victor carefully planned his journey to the city and he talked to several monks about it. Even though there had been no recent conflicts or major movements of the armies in their region, he still decided against travelling on a direct route, preferring to take a much longer but safer detour that took him through mountains and forests. One of the monks even drew him a map, which showed the important landmarks and was proving useful.
One morning he found himself in a quiet green valley. The rains that had fallen recently had caused rapid growth of vegetation; its buoyancy and ever present fragrance reminded Victor of the garden where he had once felt the presence of the Mother Nature herself. With the remembrance came a similar sense of atonement, and he found himself meditating upon the origins of dynamic forces that are under her command, and which make every living thing grow with such expedition. Before any growth can take place, he thought, first there must be the birth. Birth follows conception, before conception there was fertilization, and so on. Above all lies the creative urge, without it, all would be dead, or rather nonexistent! Somewhere, hidden behind the facade of this enormous vivacity, there must be a current of primeval force...

-   Yes, I'm here!
Was it only in Victor's imagination or did he indeed hear this small voice that appeared to have sounded from somewhere close to the ground? He stopped walking and looked down. The face of a tiny boy was smiling at him from just above the level of the grass tops. The child carried a small bow over his shoulder, and except for a belt that supported a pouch with the feathered ends of several arrows sticking out of it he was completely naked. Victor gasped in surprise:
-   Where did you come from?
The boy's laughter answered him, it had a quality of chiming silver bells.
-   Why, you have summoned me, stupid!
Victor swallowed the insolence; it was hard to get angry over a child who was apparently having a good time. But was it really a child, this sparkling little creature who seemingly came from nowhere only to poke fun at him? He had to struggle to contain himself and remain serious.
-   I certainly didn't call you.
Eros (who else could it be but this mythological creature, even though the notion seemed fantastic) stopped laughing, though his chubby face with red cheeks still retained its expression of amusement.
-   You may not have been conscious of it. It sometimes happens to people, especially to those like yourself, who had lived in monasteries or such places. The creative urge is still present, but it was not dissipated in the way most people squander their energies. I happen to be sensitive to any abstract thought that even distantly touches upon the general subject of reproduction, and I'm immediately attracted to its source. Normally I would remain unperceived, because people in such situations invariably are far too preoccupied by the object of their admiration, to become even remotely conscious of my presence.
-   And because of my, ...eh... more abstract approach...
-   Abstraction in your thought wouldn't render you any less vulnerable to my weapons. But your meditation helped to focus your attention onto another level of reality, and I thus became temporarily perceptible to your physical senses.
Eros may have looked like a child, but he spoke like an erudite adult. Victor therefore had some difficulty trying to bridge the disparity. Eros must have guessed it, and he did the best thing ever known to disperse tensions; he began to laugh again. Laughter is contagious and Victor succumbed to it too. When both had had enough, he said:
-   So, you say that you're always nearby, invisible, but ever ready to pounce?
-   I do not pounce. I may nudge, pierce, perhaps cause a little pain, sometimes a lot of hurt, but I also bring a lot of joy into people's lives. They don't know where it comes from, they don't see me, they don't feel anything, except for a slight pain caused by the tips of my arrows.
-   Pity, they’re losing a lot not seeing you, such a merry child!
-   I admit to being merry, but I'm not a child!
The wrinkles that appeared on Eros' face did not however give it more maturity. It was still a child's face, only now the face of a defiant child. Victor was compelled to taunt him a little, like he would a little nephew.
-   You don't look like an old man to me...
-   Don't ever base your judgment on a mere appearance!
Victor was well versed in the mythological narrative about this creature, but he wanted to provoke Eros into giving out more about himself.
-   How old are you?
-   Why? I have no idea how old I am, no one knows that.
-   Not even your parents?
-   You've touched upon the sore spot, you do you realize that?
The child said this reproachfully, but the light in his eyes betrayed that he was playing a game. So, of course, was Victor.
-   An unknown father, that's not too uncommon, but one usually does know one's mother!
-   You see, I don't. No dad, no mum...
Eros produced a reasonably convincible impersonation of a contrite orphan. The role of a consoling uncle offered itself naturally, and Victor accepted it; he stroke the child's golden hair and assumed a soothing tone of voice.
-   There, there, don't let that worry you. The Greeks who wrote all those stories about you were nothing but ignorant fools. But look at it this way: they could not agree among themselves who were your real parents, but when they did name any these were always the greatest identities. The names they dropped were for instance Gaia, Aphrodite, Ares…
-   I can see that you have educated yourself well. I find it refreshing to for once talk to a knowledgeable person rather than just pumping arrows into dunderheads.
The blunt remark brought forth the legendary marksmanship of this shady being and Victor wondered if he, too, could be in any danger. So far, the little bowman had not displayed any remarkable degree of emotional stability, he nervously told himself. Eros obviously could read his mind.
-   You are quite safe with me, you know? Well, let’s say that for the moment you are not in any danger.
-   But you cannot guarantee my safety for the future?
Any thought of becoming a target for this amiable creature's arrows, was provocative but also strangely appealing, in a mild way.
-   Unfortunately, I never give anyone any guarantees. I don’t give them to a king or to a beggar, to a courtesan or to a nun, simply to no one. Once I get a sniff of a chance I shoot, and without a warning. It's a compulsion with me, I just can’t help it.
-   You would shoot at nuns?
-   With the greatest of pleasure!
-   What about future nuns?
-   What a question! Why do you think most nuns go to a convent in the first place? Mostly because of the near fatal wounds, of my doing!
-   And if they ever leave the convent, would that be for the same reason?
-   I know exactly where you aiming, and it only proves that all people are vulnerable.
-   There must be some exceptions, surely!
-   There are some, but they are rare.
-   When do they occur?
-   Only when some higher interests are present.
-   How would you know when not to shoot?
-   Sometimes I come across people whose personal will is stronger then the average. They usually have a mission to accomplish and through a will to succeed they can overrule their lower nature.
-   How can you tell that such is the case?
-   There is a barrier, a kind of force field around them, and it's impenetrable to my arrows. When I see that my arrows can’t get through properly, I stop shooting.
-   Can I ask you something?
-   Please, shoot.
-   Were you in that forest when I was on my way to the monastery?
-   What do you think?
-   You were, weren't you?
-   If you want to hear about your own strong will, then we had better change the subject.
-   No, I know that I wasn't particularly strong willed on that occasion, but the barrier was there, wasn't it?
-   Yes, it was there, but it came from a different source.
For a while, neither said anything. Eros broke the silence:
-   I’m sure that you would want to see me in some action. Let's go!

                                                              ***

They walked for some time, until they reached the end of the valley. The boy led Victor to a group of trees surrounded by some dense bushes. He slipped through the shrubbery and bid Victor to follow him. They found themselves inside a natural observatory, overlooking the nearby crossroads where something interesting was apparently about to unfold. Eros brought Victor's attention to the three people who stood on the road.
-   Can you see those people?
-   Which of them are you going to shoot? There are three, two women and a man.
-   You are so perceptive! Have you ever heard of what is commonly known as the classical triangle? Boy, they can be complicated! I've seen and attended to many such cases in the past millennia, yet I can never predict the outcome with any confidence. Just watch me!
Eros squeezed his tiny figure through bushes and briefly disappeared from Victor's vision. He appeared again, this time hovering on the outstretched wings above the people's heads, apparently unperceived by any one of them. Wings, Victor said to himself, he didn't have any wings a minute ago! He let it go and concentrated on the scene in front of his eyes.
A young man occupied the centre stage. Victor thought that there was something vaguely familiar about the way he carried his tall and slim figure, but his point of observation was not near enough to allow him to see the man's facial features. A young and clearly beautiful woman held him by his left elbow. It looked as if she might be trying to lead him away, probably from the other woman who stood on the man's right. The second woman appeared to be somewhat older, and she used subtler ways of persuasion, just letting her hand rest lightly on the man's shoulder while looking him in the eyes.
Which of the two women would prevail, thought Victor, keeping one eye constantly on the floating figure of Eros. The boy did not however act with any great decisiveness, taking out an arrow, examining the sharpness of its tip, then discarding it and trying another one. With such a laid back approach, how does he manage to attend to the countless couples, threesomes or whatever other odd combinations might come his way in the course of the discharge of his duties? For the past hour or so he had not yet seen him shoot one single arrow, only heard him talk about it. Not having any work to attend to during that time would have been statistically improbable. Well, maybe there are more of these beings in existence...
-   Time, it's to do with time,  you silly, -   he heard Eros' whisper in his ear.
-   Humans alone perceive time as flowing at a constant speed and only in the one direction. I can control time. I can even suspend it or make it run backwards.
The little angel mocked a curtsy in Victor's direction. So he definitely could read his mind! Victor looked again at the protagonists of the unfolding drama. Will the young man choose the physical beauty, will he take the road that seemingly leads towards sensuality and vanity? Or would the path towards the Spirit, the way of knowledge, perhaps symbolised by the older woman, hold more attractions to him? Had he imagined it or did Eros really make a disapproving gesture following this thought? Perhaps such a simplistic interpretation might be altogether wrong! After all, who is to say that the young and pretty woman must always be frivolous and that she will lure her lover away from the right path? Did he not himself meet a young and attractive woman, who in her way was also seductive, but certainly not superficial? He could easily imagine the two of them spending the rest of their lives together, in love with each other, caring for their children and again reliving their lives through them, until, still together, getting old, still in love, in love with the life itself! Aren’t there the kinds of love other than lusting for another person's body? Aren't there greater loves, such as the love for one's family, for his nation, for the entire humanity, love of the whole world? Isn't it only on this material level when the word love is uttered it usually means the unification of two bodies? Isn't there also a higher form of matrimony, the union of two souls?! Psychologically this would mean that the person is trying to achieve a balance with his or her opposite, the man with the softer, feminine side of his personality, the woman with her stronger, masculine part, one of which prevails on the surface while the other is hidden.
Suddenly and with the great clarity Victor understood the concealed meaning of some alchemical treatises he had the fortune to have found in the monastic library, and where the concept of alchemical marriage, hinted at by the Emperor, was frequently mentioned. The Mother always played the important part there. Couldn't the older woman be in fact the mother of either of these young people, rather then a rival of the other woman? If that were the case, she might be there to give her blessings for their future marriage!
As if to confirm that Victor was on the right track with this line of thinking, the older lady now took her hand off the man's shoulder and she stood aside. A ray of the sun reflected on the small golden crown she was wearing on her head. Gold being one of the main symbols in alchemy, Victor was reminded of the discussion he had held with his friend Parlon, not long after his arrival to the monastery. In fact, it was this debate that ignited his interest in what was the former dean's pet subject. At the time, Victor knew very little about alchemy, and like many others in such position, he was bound to be negative in his views. He expressed them in saying that the quest of alchemists for transmutation of base metals into gold seemed futile to him, even laughable.
-   What could you possibly know about alchemy, young man? bellowed Parlon.
Victor was forced to admit that beyond the notion of intended transmutation of metals, his knowledge of alchemy was severely limited. Still, he grimly defended his unwholesome position.
-   What is it that you find so repulsive in alchemy?
-   Mainly it's utilitarian aspects.
-   You are making the same mistake, as do most unsound critics of the Work. Their ignorance prevents them from seeing anything more than mere appearances, because they insist on viewing it from their materialistic angle. This makes it impossible to even hold a sensible discussion about the feasibility of such transmutation with them, and I normally refuse to participate in such debates. However, I'll discuss it with you, because if I understood you correctly, you do not dismiss the possibility outright, you only denounce the so-called alchemists, whose chief motivation appears to be an immoral gain. Am I correct in my assumption?
-   Absolutely correct!
-   You see, the fact that you're focusing your view on the moralistic principles inherent in alchemy, proves to me beyond a doubt that you are capable of grasping its basic tenets, otherwise I would not be wasting my time in trying to convince you of the merits of alchemy.
-   Please, tell me more, I want to learn.
-   Quite so. Of course that there exists a breed of dishonest men who go by the name of alchemists, and who deceive other unscrupulous people, even kings, with their declarations that they are able to manufacture gold from scraps of other metals. They even manage to make some gold from time to time, but it all comes from the pockets of the naive noblemen who set up laboratories for them, who wine and dine them, and who generally allow themselves to be led by their noses.
-   I know that, but are there any alchemists who can really make gold?
-   I'm not going to discuss that because it's the matter of personal belief, but I will tell you one thing. Any alchemist, who has reached the potential to do such transmutation, has long gone past the stage where it might have been possible for him to succumb to the temptation of turning it into a profitable industry.
-   So you do believe that it can be done!
-   Until I have done it myself, it must remain just that: a belief. My other belief, nay, my conviction, is that man is capable of anything.
-   So long as he doesn't want to profit from it.
-   But there are profits, of a spiritual nature. For success an alchemist depends on the discipline of his mind and the body, on the strength of his moral principles. Essentially, alchemy is a cleansing process, and with it, gradually, comes the knowledge. An alchemist thinks in symbols, and gold is only one of the many symbols true alchemists use. Gold is rare, it is pure because it doesn't rust; therefore it cannot be corrupted. What better symbol than gold could an alchemist find for his goal, for the purity of his soul!
The discussion went on much longer, and many more were to come after it. The sighting of the golden crown on the older woman’s head made Victor remember Parlon’s words. The woman reminded the young man of her presence by touching his shoulder and then she retreated, as if to encourage him to make his own decision. This is the essence of the Gnosis, thought Victor. This woman's body may be material, but her real being thinks and acts on a higher plane. The path of the Spirit is full of obstacles, and only by recognizing them and by knowing them, can one overcome such adversities. Gnostic thought also leads to recognition of our weaker companions’ vulnerability to temptation, and of their need for our advice and our help. At the same time, all the decisions of who should be their associates, who would be their preferred partners in marriage or friendship, all this must be left to them alone. They must always be given the opportunity to decide on their free will, on their faith, on their love!
What about Eros? On his admission, he shoots his arrows more or less at random, so what will he do in this case? Victor looked up, but the winged being was no longer there. Was he neglecting his duties?
-   No, I'm not.
The boy stood by his side.
-   Why didn't you shoot this time?
-   I thought that you disprove of violence.
-   I certainly do, but it just seems strange that in my presence there is no discharge of arrows. You didn't shoot at me, and you didn't shoot at this man either. Do I jinx your bow?
-   Mercifully, you were spared seeing the results of my intervention. Mind you, you haven't missed much. It's not a pretty sight when otherwise normal people become instantly disorientated, when they squirm and bubble with inanities, and generally behave like congenital idiots.
-   You don't hold a high opinion of our kind, do you?
-   If you could ever see as much as I have done, you too could be excused if becoming cynical.
-   You haven't yet answered my question. Why didn't you shoot?
-   But you already know.
-   Was I right then, about the alchemical marriage, about Gnosis?
-   Close to the mark. When you thought about the role of human free will that's when you came really close to hitting the target!
-   Was there that force field again?
-   All I can tell you is that if I were to face such strong willed people all the time, I would soon become redundant!

- But it doesn't happen very often, does it?
-   Fortunately, it doesn't. The last time I remember it happening to me, was on a certain forest path.

To part 3

To the main page