Hod stuck his thumbs in his belt. “Put up thy money,” he muttered. “The old doctor he cured our Cicely, he did.”
The messenger gone, Padraig went straight to the Temple and asked to see the Preceptor. Gregory listened at first with suspicion, then with wonder, to what the stranger told. It seemed that, hearing that a famous alchemist was at work in the Temple, he had come to crave the privilege of acting as his servant. It was, he said, absolutely necessary that such a master should have a disciple at hand for the actual work, and be left undisturbed in meditation meanwhile.
“Is this necessary to the making of gold?” asked Gregory.
“Surely,” Padraig assured him. “The pupil cannot do the work of the master, the master must not be compelled to labor as the pupil. It is written in our books—Feliciter is sapit, qui periculo alieno sapit—Those are fortunate who learn at the risk of another,—and again, He is wise who profits by others' folly.”
Gregory eyed the stranger warily, but in Padraig's blue eyes he saw only childlike innocence and fanatical zeal. If a madman, he was a useful one. By his help the experiments could be carried on without imperiling any Templar. He directed a page to show Padraig the way to Tomaso's chamber.
“My son!” said the physician as he lifted his eyes from his writing and saw who was in the doorway, “how came you here?”
“I came to be with you, Master,” Padraig answered with a glance behind him to make sure the page was gone, “to rescue you if I can. What else could I have done?”
Then he related his conversation with Gregory. “Through a drover of this place who is our friend,” he ended, “I have sent word to Robert Edrupt asking him to get word of this to the King or to the Bishop. But if help does not come in time—”
“Che sara sara (What will be, will be),” said Tomaso coolly. “I have made a fair copy of these writings in the hope that I might send them to Brother Basil.”
Padraig knelt at the physician's feet, his beseeching eyes raised to the kindly, serene old face. “Master Tomaso,” he stammered, “they shall not do this thing—I cannot b-bear it! We have—we have the formula for the Apples of Sodom, and—and other things. They would give more than gold for that knowledge.”