Device or Divine Co-incidence - That is the Question

Device or Divine Co-incidence – That is the Question

“So, what was it you wanted to speak to me about?” Will asked.

They were at breakfast and Ben was suffering a severe hangover from the previous night – he’d never been able to match Will’s consumption, often though he’d tried.

Ben swallowed back the bile that had risen as Ann placed a plate of fatty bacon in front of him and mumbled his somewhat insincere thanks with a wan smile. “A commission I’ve been given that I think might interest you,” he managed to say.

“I’ve no need of money these days, Ben. We’re quite comfortable here as you see. Anyway, I’ve done with all that.”

Ben took a long, thirsty swig of the small beer Will had advised he take; a ‘bristle of the badger’ was the countrified phrase he’d used. Ben gave thanks for this relief and agreed it did indeed work wonders for his troubled digestion.

He burped royally and immediately felt better, though not well enough to tackle the adipose offering in front of him – he’d never feel well enough for that, not even if he lived to be a hundred. But he did now feel settled enough to conduct his part of the conversation without mewling and puking like some infant.

“No, Will, listen. It’s a grace and favour business but you’ll enjoy the reason for it, I promise.”

“OK. Lay on.”

Ben took another fortifying draught and laid out his scheme. “You’ll have heard that the sanctimonious, Scotch buffoon, your erstwhile patron, has taken it upon himself to provide his long-suffering subjects with a new version of the testaments …”

“Yes. I’ve heard. What of it?”

“Well, the silly scholars have got themselves in a frightful frenzy over it and now they’re in a pickle. They’ve re-translated all the original texts but the result is about as readable as an edict by his Britannic Majesty or one of the learned opinions of that blinking idiot, Bacon.” Ben felt his gorge rise at the word but struggled on manfully. “In short, Will, they’re panicking and desperately seeking out men of letters to put the heart back into their Latinised and laughable attempts at common English.”

Ben looked questioningly at his old friend, studying the changeful face that smiled back. Gone was the lean, dark-haired trickster of yore. The hair was greying and dwindling on a growing dome, and the face was fleshy and almost corpulent. Ben couldn’t help thinking that he looked rather like a self-satisfied pork butcher, but the eyes were as bright and twinkling as ever and the wit every bit as sharp as it had ever been.

“So, Ben, what exactly have you been given to work on?”

“Well, I’ve got a few of the letters to peruse but mainly it’s the psalms that they’re concerned about. They want to put some of the poetry back into the turgid prose they’ve managed to come up with. I’ve done some of them but I need a bit of help.”

“Why didn’t they ask me directly?"

This was the critical point. Ben knew that Will had good reason to be suspicious and was perfectly capable of taking umbrage at slights, either real or imagined, but he’d also immediately see through any misplaced attempt to gild the lily. Ben decided that a challenge, laced with a little bit of flattery would suit best.

“Now, Will, thereby hangs a tale. You don’t need me to tell you that those in the manner born would never approach you face to face. For one thing they won’t budge an inch, but much more to the point, they’re jealous of your genius.”

“There’s no art to find the mind’s construction in the face, I once thought …, but I swear that you are so transparent, Ben, that I may have to review my opinion or in future, hold my tongue.

So let me hold the mirror up to nature. They’re not going to approach me, a Johannes Factotum and an upstart crow; not to mention that I’m the son of a known recusant, to boot. But you want me to dress in borrowed robes so I may wreak a little private vengeance on the pious and un-poetical. Am I right?”

“On the nose, Will.” Ben laughed at his clumsy stratagem being laid bare. “To do a great right, do a little wrong. So will you do it?”

“Yes, though the more fool I. Leave the manuscripts and I’ll run my eyes over them. I noticed that you had a folio or two about your person when you arrived last evening. I assume that it’s not just psalm 51; that at least you must have off to a ‘T’ by now.”

Ben gave Will an old-fashioned look but merely said, “That’s very generous of you, Will. There are some letters and several of the psalms still to do but there’s no hurry. I’ll charge them to your keeping for the rest of the month and pick them up on my way back to London. I have to submerge myself further up country for a bit.”

Will grinned at Ben’s unintended lapse into the seamy side of his life and asked mischievously, “And how is my Lady Celia these days? Still relishing your rosy wreaths?”

Ben started like a guilty thing but then returned the grin and the innuendo with interest. “Neither of us is as white as driven snow, Will. Dark ladies for some and Jove’s nectar for others; we are but every man in his humour.”

The two friends parted at the gate of Will’s new place but Ben made sure he was well down the road and safe from exposure before he consigned Ann’s uninspiring victuals to a lonely hedgerow and its small and altogether innocent inhabitants.

…………………………………………………………………

After just a few days with pen, paper and perception, Will had completed the task. An impartial observer wouldn’t have likened it to his very best creations though Will thought a few phrases were fine enough to suffice. But as he was about to put the manuscripts away he was struck with a happy and typically sportive thought.

“What if I left my signature on the work? Would people be able to pick it out?”

Will had never suffered from false modesty and was sure of his own worth, but he also knew enough about human nature to be aware that the good that men do was often interred with their bones. It might be so with him, but perhaps there was just a chance …?

He scanned through the pages and the number 46 caught his eye – his very own age. Will was fond of playing with cyphers. Could he manipulate the text a little to contain a hidden message? As he re-read the song, he decided that it was possible.

He grinned to himself and took up his muse again.

He replaced the word ‘tremble’ with a simple synonym and shifted the phrasing so that it appeared in 46th place from the beginning. Counting back from the end, the word ‘lance’ appeared close to where he wanted. He decided to ignore the final ‘selah’ as he understood it to be merely a terminal exclamation, so he only had to shift a few words around till his chosen alternative now emerged 46th word from the end.

“Now then – what else?” he said thoughtfully to himself. “Let’s see … forty six … four plus six equals ten.” The tenth verse seemed auspicious as the tenth word (Glory Be!) was ‘shall’.

“Perfect!” Will exclaimed and replaced it with the more common form of the future. As he did so, he noted, with some small amazement, that the sixth and seventh words were already ‘I am’. He dared then to suppose that the heavens did not forbid his playing fast and loose with the words.

He calculated the result. “Ten plus six plus seven equals twenty three,” he said aloud and smiled as he realised that this was not only the date of his own birthday, but also half of forty six and half of the thus completed name.

Will laid aside his pen and left it for future generations to decrypt, if they could.