The Right Hand of the Grand Master

Prepared by Levan Abramishvili

Friday, May 3

In the previous issues, we offered to our readers the first three chapters of The Right Hand of the Grand Master, a magnum opus of Konstantine Gamsakhurdia who is considered to be one of the most influential Georgian novelists of the 20th century.

The historical fiction novel is set in the 12th century Georgia. The novel explores the semi-legendary story of building of the Svetitskhoveli Cathedral (Cathedral of the Living Pillar) which was to be built by a dedicated architect, Konstantine Arsakidze, as per orders of the King Giorgi I.

(Continued from previous issue) In front of the door of the oratory a group of Tagged people lay higgledy-piggledy. He drew nearer to them hut could not make out whether they were beggars or pilgrims. The homeless paupers were fast asleep, except for one old man who was sitting apart on a flagstone, mumbling psalms.

Before the icon tapers were faintly gleaming. Mamamzeh glanced at Christ’s face, which was contorted in an abject grimace. The sight did not please him.

He approached the man who sat on the stone and wished him “good evening.”

The old man returned his greeting, and, beckoning him to be seated, shifted himself to the edge of the flagstone.

“Venerable pilgrim,” said Mamamzeh, “let us exchange our clothes, if you please.”

The old man rose, led the stranger to the tapers burning before the icon, looked him over from head to foot and saw that he was one of noble birth. Why does he want the rags of a pauper, he wondered.

“What affliction has been sent thee by the Lord, my unfortunate brother, that thou desirest the tatters of a poor wayfarer?” he asked.

“I was a pagan, brother. I’ve been baptized in Mtskheta, and converted to a new faith. Henceforth I will follow Christ, divest myself of all my worldly gains and wander about a homeless pauper. Didn’t He, our Lord the Saviour, roam the earth like that?”

The old man looked hard at the noble features and stately bearing of the stranger. His words rang true.

The man doffed his threadbare cloak and hung it over Mamamzeh’s arm; then he sat down on the stone, took off his worn heelless shoes and held them out to him.

Mamamzeh carelessly flung his casque on to the flagstone and unbuckled his cuirass. Then he stripped off his tunic of costly samite, handed it over to the old man, and taking his seat on the stone, pulled off his high-heeled riding boots made of morocco leather with the tips of the toes curved upwards like the prow of a Grecian barque, and placed them before the pilgrim.

“Whence do you come and whither are you going?” asked Mamamzeh.

“We are stone-cutters and masons from the fortress of Kveli. The King’s church in the castle of Korsatevela is said to have been demolished by the heathens. Tomorrow Catholicos Melkisedek is going to send us there to rebuild it.”

The mention of Korsatevela’s name tore at Mamamzeh’s heart. He was anxious to ask more about Korsatevela but checked himself.

As soon as he had finished dressing himself he made his departure. The old man was curious to learn who he was and from where, but before he could utter a single word the stranger had said good-bye and vanished in the dark.

In the gloom of the street called Princes’ Baptism Mamamzeh caught up with the caravan.

Its owners turned out to be merchants from Javakheti on their way to the castle of Kherki, taking provisions for the garrison.

“Would you kindly let a poor traveller join you?” asked Mamamzeh in an obsequious manner. “I am afraid of the beasts prowling by night. I’ll follow you on foot.”

The head of the caravan asked him who he was.

“A mendicant monk from Tao. I am going on foot from the castle of Artanuji to Gudamakari to collect alms for the churches.”

Still talking they came to the end of the street of Princes’ Baptism. Not a sound was heard there either. From time to time Mamamzeh looked back.

Nobody was in sight and that gave him heart. It seemed, he thought, that his escape from the palace had gone unnoticed. Only a few miles more, and once beyond the castle of Mukhnari he would be safe. The darkness of the night would protect him like a fortress.

“O night, dark as my soul! Advise me of thy secret counsels!”

They found the gates of the castle of Mukhnari barred and bolted.

“They close the castle early now. Eristavi Chiaberi and Talagva Kolonkelidze are said to have forced the Ossetians and Dzurdzukians to render allegiance to them, and the King is fearful of an assault from the north,” said the head of the caravan.

The caravan came to a standstill near the castle. Out of the darkness emerged the watchmen.

The head of the caravan saluted the commandant of the castle and asked for permission to pass. He apologized by saying that they had left Uplistsikheh early that morning but one of their camels had fallen on the way. It had taken time to unload him and transfer the goods to the other camels, and night had overtaken them.

“How many camel-drivers have you?” asked the commandant.

“Twelve, and a traveller who has joined us am the way. He seems to be a mendicant monk.”

While they were conversing in this way Mamamzeh noticed two vague figures mingling with the caravan.

And when the captain of the guard ordered the castle gates to be opened, one of these two figures approached, laid hold of Mamamzeh and said loudly:

“This traveller is the King’s guest. We cannot entrust him to you tonight.”

The news of Mamamzeh’s flight caused a great commotion in the palace of the commander-in-chief. The link-bearers tumbled out and lit the torches.

Zviad was awake, yet he tarried a long time in his bedchamber.

Mamamzeh’s face turned pale when Zviad entered the hall. The captive was standing, his arms pinioned behind his back.

A frown on his hirsute face, the commander-in-chief sank down in an armchair. He ran his eyes over the beggar’s rags worn by Mamamzeh.

“Who are you?” he asked indifferently, as if he did not know who was standing before him.

“Eristavi Mamamzeh,” replied the prisoner with bowed head. Zviad rose from his seat and with his own hands placed an armchair for Mamamzeh. Then he made a sign to the lancers and they untied Mamamzeh’s hands. The captive murmured something to express his gratitude and Zviad noticed that his lower jaw, thrust forward, began to quiver.

“Have you caught cold again, Chief of the Eristavis?”

“No, sir commander-in-chief; now I feel feverish,” answered Mamamzeh and a bitter smile twisted his large mouth.

“Why did you run away? Has not the King given orders to escort you back to your domain?”

The eristavi was speechless for a while. Then he lifted his head and again looked at Zviad’s fiercely lowering eyebrows.

“I myself don’t know, my lord spasalar, why this happened to me. Perhaps it is owing to some strange delusion brought about by my illness. After you had left I went up to the terrace of the tower. I gazed on the town, and suddenly some strange riders galloped past me like the wind. First, two; then six three abreast, and, at last, a whole detachment. All of them held flaming swords in their hands, fire-throwing falchions.

“I accompanied Bagrat Kuropalat ten times in the battles with Saracens, I have fought against the Greeks by the side of King Giorgi, but never have I beheld aught resembling that vision.”

“Ah, so! You would know who those riders were, and what their swords meant. This secret is known only to the King and to me, and to our masters. Traitors do not hold the secret. All this was arranged by me to find out whether you came here as friend or foe. Everything now is clear. By the order of the King you will go back to your province tomorrow. Try to persuade Chiaberi and Kolonkelidze to become loyal to the King, for otherwise we shall come and attack the castle of Korsatevela and then you shall understand who those riders were and what kind of swords they wielded.”

And saying this the commander-in-chief bade the guest good night.

All through that night the blacksmiths in the street of Princes’ Baptism were at work. They took red-hot swards from the anvils and handed them to horsemen standing by, who galloped away at a furious pace, tempering the glowing Indian steel in the cool air of the moonlit night.

Mamamzeh passed the whole of the night, until daybreak, at the window. Only when the bluish grey of the dawn overwhelmed rubescent Mars did he snatch a brief sleep.

Early in the morning the head of the King’s messengers awoke him and reported that the horses were ready.

Two lancers escorted him into the courtyard and helped him into the saddle.

The master of the horse handed him a whip.

Mamamzeh asked him to convey his thanks to the King and the commander-in-chief with his petition to grant him the honour of receiving the Catholicos in the castle of Korsatevela at Easter and to send him icons and priests as well.

Only when the party had passed the fortress of Mukhnari and the King’s messenger had spurred his horse northward did Mamamzeh reassure himself that he was being dispatched not to the other world but to his own estate.

Spring was encroaching on the mountains. On the banks of the Aragvi wild plums were abloom and larks were winging up to the heaven bearing the rapture of the rejuvenated earth.

IV

At the end of April Giorgi sent a massage through his major-domo to ask Catholicos Melkisedek to call on him on Saturday evening after vespers.

Melkisedek was surprised when he saw the King’s major-domo standing with bowed head in the middle of the hall. Previously the young King had been wont to visit the Catholicos in person.

In his secret heart Melkisedek was displeased with the King. He resented the fact that, unlike his father Bagrat Kuropalat, he neglected affairs of religion and morality.

It is a common practice with mankind: the dead are sometimes praised in order to cast a slur on the living.

Melkisedek made a point of lauding Bagrat Kuropalat with zeal. ‘He used to say that Bagrat excelled in piety and this was the reason that God had looked benevolently on him and enabled him “to conquer the Caucasus from Jiketi to the Hyrcanian Sea.”

In his mind the Catholicos reproached the King for having executed the petty eristavis. He believed, as the Georgian people had done erstwhile, that any guest was sent by God. Why then had the Christian king put his guests to death? Bagrat would have disdained to act in such a way.

He kept that precedent in mind and therefore exerted all his influence when Eristavi Mamamzeh, who had come to attend an audience, found himself in honourable captivity.

For many months an incessant and unseen battle was waged between the young King and the old Catholicos.

When the King set about tempering steel blades and making arrangements for war, Melkisedek passed the nights in prayer.

Zviad, the commander-in-chief, made great efforts to press the King to order that Mamamzeh’s eyes be put out. Moreover, Zviad was eager to put himself at the head of the army and to wipe the castles of Korsatevela amd Kvetari off the face of the earth.

Melkisedek tried to persuade Giorgi: “The Lord hath forbidden thee to take up the sword. Thou shalt guide the apostates to the way of truth with the Gospel and the Holy Cross, for, verily, to life eternal leads the Holy Life-Giving Cross, amid the virtue thereof dissipates the gloom in their hearts.”

Giorgi did not set much store upon the virtue of the Life-Giving Cross, but not wanting eventual complications with Byzantium in consequence of his war with Chiaberi he inclined more and more to the advice of the Catholicos. On the other hand, Mamamzeh’s great services to the throne of Georgia, his desperate fight with the bear and finally the entire personality of the mighty eristavi—all this together made it possible for Mamamzeh to get away to his mountains with a whole skin.

Spasalar Zviad was undoubtedly a believer in Christ, but he had never yet seen an enemy defeated by the mere power of the Cross; he therefore assiduously remonstrated with the King, affirming that as long as Mamamzeh, Chiaberi and Kolonkelidze carried their heads on their shoulders there could be no peace in their provinces. As for Tokhaidze, he thought it would be sufficient to have him hamstrung.

That Saturday the evening service was deliberately delayed by the Catholicos. He had a plausible excuse: collecting offerings for the agapae had taken much time and he could not find it in has heart to intrude upon the King so late.
(Translated by Vakhtang Eristavi)
(continued in the next issue)