They exchange bows. Crivano has been in Ciotti’s shop; he heard of it even before he left Bologna, and made a point of visiting soon after he arrived. It’s very good, stocking many titles concerning secret knowledge that he’d hesitate to carry openly in the street. I’m pleased and honored to make your acquaintance, Crivano says.
Ciotti’s smiling response is lost in cheers. The lutenist has doubled time against the bass thrum of the theorbo, executing runs along his fretboard that Crivano’s ears can barely sort out. The end arrives with a daring flourish, and applause fills the room. As it fades, a distant bravo! sounds from a boat passing on the canal, and everyone laughs.
Guests stoop to congratulate the players, the crowd begins to part, and Crivano catches a glimpse of the lutenist, sheepishly eyeing his calloused fingers. Extraordinary, Crivano says. Who is he?
I have not seen him before, Trist?o says. He is quite adroit.
He’s a scholar from Pisa, Ciotti says. I imagine he learned to play from his famous father, who recently died, I’m sorry to say. He, good sirs, was a fine lutenist.
The Nolan is standing near the hearth now, conversing with the Paduan scholar who’s to introduce him; the German boy hovers nearby. Messer Ciotti, Trist?o breaks in, at our last encounter, I believe you mentioned to me your need for the services of a person able to read and understand the writing of the Arabs. Someone also capable of discretion. Do you still suffer from such a lack?
Ciotti seems surprised for a moment. I do, he says. An Arabic document has come into my possession, an esoteric manuscript, and I’ve recently had it translated. I would like to have this Latin rendering authenticated before I pay my translator the balance of what he is owed.
This man, Trist?o says, placing a hand on Crivano’s shoulder, speaks and writes the Arabic tongue with great proficiency. Also the languages of the Greeks and the Persians and the Ottoman Turks, the last of whom kept him prisoner for many years and came to rely upon his skills and experience as an interpreter. I think that perhaps, if he is willing, Dottore Crivano could be of great help to you in this matter.
Crivano and Ciotti look at each other. Then both speak at once, fall silent again, and smile awkwardly. I would consider it a privilege to assist, Crivano says. May I ask how lengthy is the manuscript in question?
Not long. Scarcely ten thousand Latin words.
Crivano nods, suddenly wary, as if he’s stepped among slip-nooses. It might require several hours, he says. I don’t suppose you’d permit me to remove the translation and the original manuscript from your shop?
Ciotti smiles. I might, he says, if I were the manuscript’s owner. But I am not.
He turns to Trist?o. Dottore de Nis, he says, when last we spoke, you suggested to me that this task might be compassed most quickly by a pair of translators working in concert. Do either of you know another scholar with a facility in Arabic?
Crivano looks at Ciotti, then at Trist?o, who’s watching them both intently, like a child who’s trapped a pair of scorpions in a jar. In fact, Trist?o says, I may know of such a man.
Gentlemen! A voice rises from beside the hearth, speaking a clear and reedy Latin. Members of the Uranian Academy! it says. Distinguished guests! On behalf of our hosts, the generous Andreas and Nicolaus Morosini, I thank you for your attention. As always, I am Fabius Paolini, and tonight I am pleased to welcome Philotheus Iordanus Brunus Nolanus to the convocation of this assembly. This is not the first time that Doctor Brunus has addressed us. This chamber was full on the occasion of his previous visit, and all those who were here surely recall as vividly as do I the spirited debate that arose. I shall therefore assume that our speaker is known to most of you—from your familiarity with his famous publications on philosophy, cosmology, memory, and magic, if not from my earlier long-winded introduction—and I shall therefore forego a second one. Tonight Doctor Brunus will, I believe, lecture us on the art of memory, a subject of considerable interest to many in this room. Doctor, I gratefully surrender the floor to you.