Arcadia by Iain Pears Page B

been added. A map, or a plan, or a scribble in the margin. No one has ever looked at how they contribute to the Story as a whole. You will find a fascinating example of storytelling through pictures at Hooke.’
    ‘What’s that got to do with hermits?’
    ‘Nothing. That’s a job for me. Before you go, you should read Lardley on hermits. An obscure and little-read text, but rather good. He tackled the problem of knowledge. Hermits are often known for their wisdom; yet all wisdom is contained in the Story, of which they know nothing. A conundrum, you see. Unfortunately, Lardley never bothered actually to talk to a hermit.’
    ‘So it is not much use.’
    Henary peered at him. ‘Ah … no. I suppose not. But it might help when you meet Jaqui.’
    ‘Why do you want me to do that?’
    ‘Well, you see,’ said the older man, ‘Jaqui is a curious fellow. He is uneducated, but he can write. I want to know what he writes, and how he writes. I want you to bring back some of his scripts.’
    ‘Will he give them to me?’
    ‘I have no idea. I won’t blame you if you fail. It’ll give you something to do, and may win favours from your tutor. That’s me, by the way, and I’m sure you realise keeping me happy is of the utmost importance.’
    *
    It wasn’t a hugely successful trip, in the sense that the meeting with the hermit never happened. When Jay arrived at Hooke, he knocked at the gate of the village, stated his business and was led to the collection of buildings that comprised the communal section. There he was told to wait while the gatekeeper went to fetch someone for him to talk to. Eventually a woman appeared, who introduced herself as a member of the village council and the keeper of the settlement’s stories.
    ‘Your name, young man?’ she asked; she seemed quite intrigued by the arrival of a student in their midst. Jay introduced himself and explained his interest in painting. ‘I wish also to see a man called Jaqui, a hermit who lives near you.’
    ‘I’m afraid you are too late. Jaqui left us a little while ago. We do not know why. He had everything he needed and wanted.’
    ‘That is a great shame.’
    ‘He often disappeared for short periods, but this time he said he would not return.’
    ‘My master met him some years ago. He wanted me to question him.’
    ‘That will be Scholar Henary? I remember his visit well. He was a man who brought credit to himself and our village.’
    ‘I trust I will also. If not, then I hope you will tell me, that I might amend what I say and do.’
    ‘Well said, young man. Alas, I’m afraid you have had a wasted journey. But at least we can show you our hall.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Jay said gloomily. He knew he would have to stand in a dark chilly building while listening to a long lecture about village history, full of names he had never heard of and events he cared nothing for. Important for the village, of course, but the few nuggets of importance would inevitably be left out in favour of long tales of families and fields.
    He followed dutifully as the woman led him around the wooden buildings to the Story Hall. Jay said the right things when he glimpsed it. ‘A fine building, made with love,’ he said. ‘I congratulate your village on its devotion.’
    ‘Thank you. We are proud of it. It took many years to build, and the tales say we used no outside hands. It was all from our own labour and sweat and ingenuity.’
    Jay had seen worse by this stage, but he had also seen better. It was nowhere near as grand as the great halls of Ossenfud, for example, but nor was it a mean hut of painted wood such as he had seen in some places. It was of dark brown stone, roughly put together and circular in shape, some forty feet in diameter and rising up two storeys in height to a conical roof covered in tiles. It resembled a huge dovecote, except that there were only four small openings at the very top to allow air to circulate and light to enter. Set apart was another small