Tomaso laid a gentle hand upon the young shoulder. “My dear son,” he said, “when we learned the secrets of Archiater—those secrets which mean death—we promised one another, all of us, never to use them save to the glory of God and the honor of our land. Which of these, think you, would be served by lending them to the evil plots of a traitor?”
Padraig caught the hand of his master in both his own. “It is beyond endurance!” he cried piteously.
“I have knowledge,” Tomaso went on, “that this Gregory is partly pledged to the faction of Prince John. The Templars have no country, but they think, with some reason, that they can bend John to their purposes. What would they do, with the power these fires of Tophet would give them? Padraig, there is no safety in the breaking of a pledge.”
A thought came into the boy's mind, and a wild hope with it. “Master Tomaso,” he cried, “if I can find a way to use our knowledge without breaking the pledge, will you give me my way?”
The Paduan looked long into the uplifted eager face. “It is good to be so loved,” he said. “I will trust you. Yet grieve not, whatever comes,—the stars are my fortress, God is my lamp. The bridge to eternal life is very short.”
Padraig's cell was the one just below, and the window looked out across the moors. Chin on his crossed arms, he pondered long under the stars. The next day he informed the Preceptor that the alchemist was ready to begin the making of Spanish gold, and must on no account be disturbed.
He showed Gregory the formula. It was not very easy to understand, but it was impressive. Cockatrice eggs were to be placed carefully in a nest in a stone walled underground chamber, which must be sealed from the outer air when all was ready. Snakes and toads brooding thereon would in time hatch out baby monsters—creatures with cocks' heads and the tails and wings of dragons. Their look was sure death, but they could be poisoned by a draught compounded of agrimony, dill and vervain. This must be prepared beforehand and left in a bason where the cockatrice when hatched would find and drink of it. When all were dead they were to be brayed in a mortar with other necessary ingredients. When the stars indicated that the fortunate hour was at hand, the compound was to be heated in a crucible over a large brazier, covered with a layer of chaff to absorb the poisonous gases that arose. That which remained in the crucible would be pure gold.
“'Tis a fearsome business,” said Padraig naively, “for men hate wizards.”
“Let them hate, if they fear us as well,” muttered Gregory poring over the mysterious phrases. Visions arose in his mind of a Grand Master whose power should have no limit, whom Kings must serve and Sultans fear. Nay, not only should the Holy Temple be recovered, but it should be built anew, overlaid with gold as in Solomon's day. He called a steward and ordered him to fit up a cellar, formerly a passage into the vaults of the oldest part of the building, with all needful utensils. Braziers, crucibles, retorts and all the usual materials in the way of metals and powders were there, but of course, no cockatrice eggs.
“He brought these from Andalusia,” said Padraig, showing seven small eggs mottled with crimson and black in a medicine box. Gregory touched one very gingerly. They were in fact waxen shells filled with volatile liquids, and Padraig had spent most of the night preparing them. He explained that they were no larger than frogs' eggs when he first had them,—which was perfectly true, the wax having been carried in the form of balls.