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Suppose we go to Germany and see the martyrdom of theAnabaptists. Or to England to watch Queen Mary burn those who hadturned against the Pope during the reign of her father, Henry. I'll tellyou an extraordinary scene that I have often revisited. Strasbourg,1349. Two thousand Jews will be burned there in February of thatyear, blamed for the Black Death. Things like that will happen allover Europe.. ..""I know the history," I cried, trying to catch my breath. "I know!""Yes, but seeing it is a little different, isn't it? As I said, this issmall potatoes. All this will do is divide Greek and Roman Catholicsforever.
"And as Constantinople weakens, then the new People of theBook, the Moslems, will pour past the weakened defenses intoEurope. Do you want to see one of those battles? We can go directlyto the twentieth century if you like. We can go to Bosnia orHerzegovina, where Moslems and Christians are fighting now. Thosecountries, Bosnia and Herzegovina, are names on the lips of peopletoday in the streets of New York.
"And while we are considering all the People of the Book?
Moslems, Jews, Christians梬hy not go to southern Iraq and listen to thecry of the starving Kurds whose marshes have been drained andwhose people are being exterminated? If you want, we could justconcentrate on the sack of holy places梞osques, cathedrals, churches.
We could use that method to travel right up to the present time.
"Mind you, not one suggestion I've made has involved peoplewho don't believe in God or Christ. People of the Book, that's whatwe're talking about, the Book which starts with the One God andkeeps changing and growing.
"And today and tonight, documents of inestimable value go up inflames. It is the unfolding of Creation; it is Evolution; it is sanctifiedsuffering on somebody's part surely, because all these people you seehere worship the same God."I made no answer.
Mercifully his voice stopped, but the battle didn't. There was anexplosion. The flames roared so high that I could see the saints onthe very dome. In one flash the entire magnificent scope of thebasilica blazed around me梚ts great oval, its rows upon rows of columns,the great half-arches supporting the dome above. The light dimmed,exploded again, as cries rang out with renewed vigor.
Then I closed my eyes and lay still, ignoring the kicks and the feetthat even ran over me, crushing down on my back for a moment asthey moved on. I had the veil and I was lying there, still.
"Can hell be worse than this?" I asked. My voice was small and Ididn't think he could hear me over the noise of battle.
"I actually don't know," he said, in the same intimate tone as ifwhatever bound us together carried our messages between each othereffortlessly.
"Is it Sheol?" I asked. "Can souls get out?"He didn't answer.
"Do you think I would wage this battle with Him on any terms ifsouls couldn't?" he asked, as if the very idea of an eternal helloffended him.
"Get me out of here, please," I whispered. My cheek was restingon the stone floor. The stench of the manure of the horses wasmingled with urine and blood. But the cries were the worst. The criesand the incessant clatter of metal!
"Memnoch, get me out of here! Tell me what this battle is aboutbetween you and Him! Tell me the rules!"I struggled to sit up, drawing my legs in, wiping at my eyes withmy left hand, the right still clutching the veil. I began to choke on thesmoke. My eyes burned.
"Tell me, what did you mean when you said you needed me, thatyou were winning the battle? What is the battle between you andHim! What do you want me to do? How are you his adversary! Whatin the name of God am I supposed to do!"I looked up. He sat relaxed, one knee up, arms folded, face clearone moment in a flash of flame and pale the next. He was soiled allover, and seemed rather limp and in a strange misery of ease. Hisexpression was neither bitter nor sarcastic, only thoughtful梖ixedwith an enduring expression just as the faces on the mosaics werefixed as they bore lifeless witness to the same events.
"So we pass so many wars? We leave behind so many massacres?
We have passed over so much martyrdom," he said. "But then you donot lack imagination, Lestat.""Let me rest, Memnoch. Answer my questions. I am not an angel,only a monster. Please let's go.""All right," he said. "We'll go now. You've been brave, actually,just as I thought you would be. Your tears are plentiful and they comefrom the heart."I didn't answer. My chest was heaving. I held on to the veil. I putmy left hand over my ear. How could I move? Did I expect him totake us in the whirlwind? Had I limbs any longer that would obeycommands?
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