Of garlic.

I, too, have a confession to make regarding the late Matteo de’ Civigni¹, friends. He, too, had a book I wished to have. But don’t jump to conclusions. The book’s contents aren’t all that interesting—well, to anyone but scholars of music, I mean.

Some days prior to meeting with Masters Xerox and Abraham and the kind Doctor, a young man came to my abbey in the dead of the night. He did not look hungry, thirsty or needy, but the brothers took him in all the same. In the morning, after Lauds², he told me that his boss had a book of some import to me: the Thesaurus et Enchiridion Inventorum Melodicorum Harmonicorumque Antiquorum; sive, Ratio Antiquissima Genera Veterum Excogitandi, ad Usum Musicorum et Cantorum³, of Master Hypno of Melitene.

‘A music book?’ asked Master Xerox.

‘Yes. A music book. But not just any music book. One that, if its rules are applied to our system of music, could change the very way we think, read and sing music.’

‘But Matteo de’ Civigni wanted something for it. Otherwise he would not have shown up at the abbey,’ Lady Arbonne said.

‘I had nothing to give him. And furthermore, the book’s contents, while attractive, are not worth the outrageous demand of one hundred and thirty-five florins⁴ for it. Abbeys have an interlibrary loan service⁵ and I hold the privilege of copying any book I want. I told him, of course, to be off in the morning. But he left an examination copy.’

The Abbot held up the book before the company.

‘Full of errors, of course. The Cremonese bishop⁶, who is evidently hiring adolescents to copy out treatises on ancient Greek music, is paying far too much for such shoddy work. But I guess I’m here to tell him myself, and to see this thing rightly put to rest.’

‘And will you, Reverend Abbot? I presume you will meet with an abbot or prior⁷ in Lodi to exchange scholarship if this book is really of interest to you.’

‘We will, Sir Persiflage. And I will also exchange what I have—books and treatises I no longer need. It used to be that all the great chapter-houses⁸ of Christendom exchanged books with one another. If only men of our time would share information as readily as our abbots used to. Sometimes people really do just need to bite the bullet and speak to one another, face to face.’

‘I’ve never heard of Hypno of Melitene,’ Xerox said.

The Abbot whirled to him with a bemused expression.

‘Is that so? He lived in the time of Tiberius⁹. And while he was born in Melitene¹⁰, he lived in Contrapollinopolis¹¹. Six of his books on melody, harmony, rhythm and choral singing were written there. Perhaps that little book you’ve been sitting on might have an entry on him.’

Xerox was at a loss for words.

‘I hope he’s not taken with the notion of resurrecting the unplayable and unsingable enharmonic scales¹². Those the Eastern Church rightly put to rest because it was thought their unusual setting would disturb the angels guarding the sublunar sphere¹³,’ he said.

‘But my lord Abbot—Egypt?’ Persiflage asked.

‘It’s best that I start from there, for that is precisely where this tale begins,’ the Abbot replied.

This story is quite old. According to Master John of Spumoni, it was recorded from an account of an old monk named Bertuillus, in the time following the death of Pope Formosus¹⁴, and recorded in a tome entitled Silly Sleepytime Stories for Monks.

But another old book, The Book of Splendid Garlics and Onions, says it came from the pen of a Roman named Gaudentius Superbus Fraxinus, who lived in the time of Philip the Arab¹⁵. I should mention that this gardening treatise is from our chapter’s mother house¹⁶. It’s a speculum¹⁷ of world history as well as a guide to the hardiness of bulbs for most of Western Italy.

I can see some of you are beginning to look dour. Yes, this is as Italian as these stories get.

Fraxinus was a civil servant, charged with overseeing the import agreements at Ostia¹⁸. Another Roman, Cæcas, came to him with the complaint that he had not been paid by a man named Victorinus Cicer¹⁹, for a contract involving—I am not making this up, by the way—three hundred and eighty-four librae²⁰ of grade-A Roman chickpeas. And lupin beans²¹, as well. Fraxinus asks around, and finds out that Cicer has been put under arrest for accepting a bribe in return for refusing to sell to Cæcas. The tribunes²², of course, have already dealt with Cicer—who is not, by the way, related to Cæsar.

Everyone still with me? Good. In time, Fraxinus discovers that Cicer’s little network of bribes runs up and down the Apennines²³, from sunny Naples to Milan and all of Rome. Cicer’s house, Villa Boboli, is the place where the bribes come and go. Everyone gets a cut: the butcher, the baker, the garum and liquamen²⁴ maker, and even the guy who picks out the nails to crucify villains with. Eventually, the Senate gets involved, and Fraxinus discovers his own patron²⁵, Bettinus Craxo, is involved. He is in charge of all port agreements with the Empire.

‘Egypt, Reverend Abbot,’ Persiflage said.

‘I’m getting there—hold your horses.’

In time, the Senate²⁶ amply handles and punishes the malefactors, without getting the Emperor involved (I’m told that he had bigger fish to fry at the time). But you should remember this, as Master John of Spumoni’s retelling of it is rather entertaining. While leaving an inn in the company of his wife and a few of their friends, Craxo was met outside by the Roman people, who pelted him with the nearly worthless coins whose value had been greatly diminished by the scandal. Craxo never recovered politically, and was exiled to Palmarola²⁷.

In their company that night was a man named Silvius Quinquatrus²⁸ Dociter. Of common rank, but eloquent and likable enough to pass for a Roman noble, he quickly won over the hearts and minds of the Roman people, and in a few years, became a tribune, then a consul²⁹. The written record, I must warn, differs somewhat as to what he resembled. The Roman one, in Master John’s telling, obviously says he was handsome, well-built and irresistible to women, while the Book of Splendid Garlics and Onions says he was ugly, blind, fat and impotent. Public opinion, I tell you! Never an honest answer from anybody.

Anyway. More than a few years pass, and Dociter attains another consulship under the Emperor and begins to act in ways increasingly like an Emperor, which makes everyone in Rome frightfully suspicious. But the common people don’t complain: Dociter is kind to them, dutiful, intelligent, and knows how to cut a figure in a toga and sandals³⁰. He’s passing out slices of focaccia, he’s inaugurating a wine press, he’s watching the horse races where the church of Sant’Agnese in Agone³¹ is, and perhaps he may have seen poor Saint Agnes carried off to her doom, as well.

And meanwhile, the government is… well, not much different. You still have to bribe a guy forty sesterces³² to secure an expensive import licence for grapes and wheat. You think the Sacrament³³ is hard to come by now? My dear friends, imagine having to pay a premium just to get grapes off the boat!

He makes the very snooty choice of setting up a villa in Milan rather than Rome. And this, my friends, is where the tales diverge.

‘Diverge how?’ Boulevardier said.

‘If you will indulge me, kind Abbot, I shall at least explain to our dim-witted Swiss soldier friend the novelties of differing historical records,’ Xerox said.

‘Such an explanation is not necessary, good Xerox,’ replied Persiflage. ‘We learned Latin as youths and know of the considerable bias in, say, works by Tacitus or Josephus³⁴. Pray continue, Lord Abbot.’

If one reads The Book of Splendid Garlics and Onions, one receives a fairly frank account of Dociter and the Femina Ægyptiaca³⁵ and the considerable trouble it caused him before the Emperor. Master John of Spumoni cites from a later chronicle of St Gennadius, whoever he was, that seems to pass over a great deal of what I’m about to tell you. It’s up to you to make up your mind on what sort of person Dociter was.

This villa in Milan was a wealthy man’s paradise. If one had any aspirations to political power in those pagan days, one went there to wine and dine with Dociter. And of course you had better come prepared to grease the wheel, so to speak. In Dociter’s consulship every mean thing in commerce was strictly controlled. Nothing could enter or leave the ports without a little hat-pass to the boys on the docks. Want a fish-market stall? A few denarii³⁶, please. Entry into the Imperial Bodyguard’s barracks? A fifth of your estate, assuming you had one. Library privileges in Alexandria³⁷? Be prepared to sacrifice your eldest daughter to a marriage neither she nor you should want. So from John of Spumoni. But The Book of Splendid Garlics and Onions says Dociter was generous, magnanimous, wise as Solomon³⁸ and fair with commerce. And all these things were settled at the villa in question: Villa Boboli, Cicer’s old residence.

It so happened that a Libyan procurator³⁹ and strongman, Ammonius Nolo, arrived at Dociter’s villa one evening in June. With him he brought exotic foods, wine and servants of all shapes and sizes. The Book of Splendid Garlics and Onions records Nolo saying to Dociter: ‘Behold, I have young fresh things that will do practically anything I tell them. Look at this one here. I say to her, “bark like a dog”, and she barks in her tongue.’

The slave—barely an adolescent—then barked like a dog, but not in Latin. It was in her tongue. Master John records this saying as something like ‘zenga, zenga’. Nolo and Dociter then go on to host an orgy of such licentiousness and sin that a scholiast⁴⁰, Vico, later records that much of it had to be expunged in the time of St Bernard⁴¹ because it was not fit for study. But the Book of Splendid Garlics and Onions records it, with the inclusion of a prayer to the Holy Garlic planted on Golgotha⁴², to be said when transplanted bulbs fail to thrive.

‘Why would a historical account of an orgy contain an inline prayer to garlic, which is neither holy, nor a person, and therefore not a fitting subject for supplication?’ Lady Arbonne asked.

The Abbot cleared his throat and looked to Lady Ouiser.

‘Marriage will teach her in time, good Abbot. Pray continue.’

In any case, the accounts of the orgy also diverge at various points with fanciful additions of persons not known to have preferred these sorts of things, including the emperor’s sister and her husband—the latter certainly not alive at this time—and a few poets and writers, who probably were there, but only as witnesses and perhaps passive participants. It does not matter, of course. Dociter’s mere assent to these sinful dealings confirmed his readiness to bend the public will and with it, business and finance.

But I come now to the Mulier, Puella, or Femina Ægyptiaca⁴³. Only Splendid Garlics and Onions records her name; Master John’s vocation probably barred him from thinking of or writing the name of women, God bless him. She was a beautiful lass of seventeen named Rhodopis⁴⁴ of Sulis Minor, of Greek parentage yet living in Egypt. Some of the details that the account relates—such as the fact that she could fly, that she could cause doves to break forth in song, or the fact that her bloodline derived from Hecate⁴⁵—are either later additions or outright falsehoods.

Master John records that, during a demonstration on the Græcostasis⁴⁶ in the Forum, near the church of Saints Hadrian and Natalia of Nicomedia⁴⁷, a passing wit said something funny to Dociter as he addressed some visiting ambassadors, and that one of Dociter’s friends threw a small cult image of Venus Manubricordia⁴⁸ at him. But it struck Dociter in the jaw and knocked two of his teeth loose. So a dentist was called for⁴⁹. With the dentist was Rhodopis.

‘There were dentists in ancient Rome?’ Persiflage said.

‘Oh yes! The good Abbot’s story, mind you, takes place during the time of Philip the Arab. One must remember that during this Emperor’s tenure, our good Saint Apollonia⁵⁰ had all her teeth smashed or pulled out. Her martyrdom necessarily induces the belief that some device for extracting the teeth must have existed at the time, to say nothing of the trade of dentistry itself,’ said Father Bunion.

‘Your Reverence’s scholarship on the lives of the saints is quite sterling,’ said the Abbot, smiling. ‘The Lord has granted you a most efficacious and compleat⁵¹ vocation. And to add to this, Father, let me say that Master John of Spumoni observes the very same in his account.’

But Rhodopis, like all those fantastical girls with her name, had a less rosy origin. Some notable matrons⁵² informed the local authorities that she had stolen some money and gems while in their service. Dociter, who was a widower, had her at his side at all times and fitted her with gems, silks and gold, and treated her as Aspasia was treated by Pericles⁵³. When the local authorities took her in for questioning concerning the theft from the matrons, Dociter intervened personally and had the reports suppressed and the matrons reimbursed with his own gold. He continued to flaunt her before the public, who lauded her beauty even as the elders of the assembly whispered against him.

Dociter, meanwhile, put her in charge of overseeing agricultural affairs on his behalf. Splendid Garlics and Onions records that, in the Year of Our Redemption 247⁵⁴, this girl oversaw the influx of more than six thousand bushels⁵⁵ of wheat, forty-three thousand librae of beans, and a surplus of other grains, fruits and vegetables, of which there was so much that the local public storehouses⁵⁶ had to give them away to the common people, such was the bounty.

Master John of Spumoni believes that the numbers were inflated for political reasons. But I am of the opinion, dear friends, that a girl truly can and will make herself useful in matters of agriculture, as both Holy Scripture⁵⁷ and the voices of the Ancients relate.

‘But Lord Abbot, we have yet to hear of Egypt!’

‘I arrive at the point now, Messer Boulevardier. You will find this to your liking. Or perhaps not.’

In the Year of Our Redemption 248, just as Philip the Arab’s tenure was arriving at its end, Dociter was arrested for corrupting a youth. Splendid Garlics and Onions tells the whole of the tale, while Master John of Spumoni’s account adds context to it. What I report is a synthesis of the two.

Fidelissimus, a thespian⁵⁸ and orator, was arrested with another man, Moretus, for procuring⁵⁹. They were both of noble houses, where procuring was unacceptable. When these men were put to the test to confess the names of their fellow evildoers, both cited the use of a barbarian word employed as a shibboleth⁶⁰. And this word, dear friends, is recorded as either being ‘munga munga,’ or, more reliably, ‘bunga bunga’, which Splendid Garlics and Onions says is derived from the barking of the slave girl whom I just told you of.

I have consulted the Etymologies⁶¹ of the venerable Isidore of Seville, and in that beautiful, reverent book, there is no entry for the word ‘bunga’, but mark how the astrologers of our time name a certain star in the heavens with a term that, I believe, is markedly similar to this phrase.

‘Bungula⁶²,’ Doctor Scholl said. ‘Aye, I know the star well. Ptolemy accords it the nature of Venus and Jupiter⁶³, and it is therefore fortunate, although I have known men to make very unfortunate use of such blessings.’

‘The centaur Sagittarius⁶⁴, Doctor?’ Lady Lunesta then asked.

‘No—this centaur is Chiron⁶⁵, whom the gods saw fit to place in a more southerly fashion so as to not offend the travelers along the Milky Way⁶⁶ attaining the route of fame to the Empyrean⁶⁷.’

The Abbot of Costello went onward:

I come to the end of my tale, dear friends.

Splendid Garlics and Onions records that the authorities undid this cabal of malfeasants⁶⁸ quickly and without much fanfare. But, since this is the Roman Empire we speak of, there were fanfares nonetheless. Dociter’s friends and lawyers called the entire affair absurd and baseless. They said that the word ‘bunga bunga’ was a mystery-cry for initiates of the Mithraic sort⁶⁹, and that the girl Rhodopis was a falsifier, a baggage⁷⁰, and a jealous courtesan.

Fidelissimus then confessed to having attended some parties at Dociter’s villa wherein nude girls were judged by their physical characteristics. Dozens of girls were tried before the Triplicate Deities of Neptune, Pluto and Jove⁷¹, and then received into a sort of holding cell for nubile young things. Then these girls were given to various magisters⁷², bureaucrats and wealthy men, who corrupted them.

Then the girl Rhodopis came forth with the grand tale that she was descended from the line of Ptolemies⁷³, which makes no sense. John of Spumoni believes it to be either a misspelling or an outright fabrication. Then she said she knew the Libyan man. Nobody knew whom or what to believe. In any case, Rhodopis, the poor girl, was not of Egyptian ancestry—her mother, Isidora, was an Egyptian, but of Gallo-Roman⁷⁴ parentage. Her father was from Sulis, nowhere near Egypt⁷⁵—unless by incense alone.

The people were by this time thoroughly disgusted by the entire affair, and complained to the officials in Rome. Dociter was removed from his post and put under house arrest. His corruptions were felt all through the Empire and business had begun to slacken for it. Dociter was sent to prison and died in disgrace, the villa was sold off, and Rhodopis disappeared into the fog of the war after Philip’s death on the battlefield in Verona⁷⁶.

And here, dear friends, the relation ends.

Splendid Garlics and Onions believes it was she who introduced scallions⁷⁷ into the Po Valley⁷⁸, watered with Philip’s blood. Some years ago, I met another abbot who told me that Philip may have adhered to our Holy Faith⁷⁹, and that he wanders in Limbo⁸⁰ awaiting the day when the Lord will ransom him. But Master John says that both Philip and Rhodopis earned their oblivion, as well as this Dociter, who broke the peace between men and the State by simply refusing to keep his appetites in abeyance⁸¹.

I see some of you are still not placated and wish me to tell you of Egypt. Very well. Splendid Garlics and Onions records that the lowly garlic plant⁸² was from Egypt, and that Our Lord, at the tender age of two⁸³, pulled up a garlic plant from the ground and handed it to his Holy Mother.

‘Behold,’ said the Lord to his awestruck Virgin Mother, ‘this weed which I’ve pulled up out of the ground—let it be a thing that eases the soul, refreshes the blood and heart, strengthens the bones, and invigorates the soul. And whosoever cooks with it, or eats it, will sense through smell and taste alone the potency of this plant. Because, dear Mother, there was a demon in it, and I have exorcized⁸⁴ him: but he’s left his stench in it yet. But as the timeless God of life and love has ordained it that men might believe in Me and My Father which is in Heaven, I leave it for them as both warning and confirmation.’

The abbot sat down.

‘That is the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard,’ said Persiflage.

‘Never mind that it’s ridiculous,’ replied the Abbot. ‘Is it true? And if it isn’t, who are you to question it? Would you question the things spoken of by Our Lord and Savior?’

‘And what shall you do with the book that Matteo de’ Civigni gave you? If it is so full of errors as you claim, perhaps it may serve another scholar—perhaps good Master Xerox here,’ said Oura.

‘I’ve already perused the book, good shepherdess. I am already too well studied in the ancient genera and the octoechos⁸⁵ of the Church for it to be of any use to me,’ Master Xerox said.

‘I will deal with the matter later, dear girl,’ the Abbot said. ‘Do you wish to look upon it?’

He gave the book to the girl. As she flipped through the pages, a loose leaf of parchment⁸⁶ fell out. It was a musical score with some text.

‘Is this some sort of song? A sequence⁸⁷, perhaps?’ the shepherd girl said.

‘It is a silly song,’ the Abbot said. ‘About a dog named Fido⁸⁸.’

Princess Calamondin sat straight up.

‘I have a similar book, Father Abbot, that has the very same score, with a similar Latin text. But I can’t read music, and neither can Messer Cayenne. Lord Swiffer can read it, however. I will show you the book. But it is no music book. Rather, it is entitled Liber mirabilis melodiarum orientalium insolitarum, incantantium et iucundarum⁸⁹. It was sold to us by a man in Graziano, while we were waiting to depart.’

Messer Cayenne laid that book at Oura’s feet, and the two scores were unfolded side by side.

‘What are all these red letters⁹⁰ for?’ Oura then said.