There was a great commotion. The abbot stood, the inquisitor followed.
‘He is here,’ Ezekiel hissed. ‘He comes to tear away your anima and drive you into the pit! You who have been dragged down into sin because your body is material, and material because it is sinful! You who have become food for the devil!’
Here he paused for breath, and the abbot, perhaps seeing his chance, called out, ‘Brother Ezekiel! In the name of God!’ he was trying to get past monks who had thrown themselves on the floor of the stalls moaning, but the man continued despite the command.
‘It has been written . . . and so it shall be! Heed the word my people – Audi populos meos! For the seven letters have been sent! The seven communities have been warned! He will come, it is certain, but now he hides, furtivus! But while he waits, he feeds on cleverness! Fattening his belly with the beast of knowledge, waiting for the secundum millennium, when he will try to overcome the sublime Holiness! Then it will not suffice to turn your sorry countenances to the heavens and say; save me because you are merciful! Convertere Domine, et eripe animam meam . . . salvum me fac propter misericordiam tuam! For the Scorpion will have already found the iniquitous, omnes qui operamini iniquitatem! And all of you will be driven into that dark eternal flame of hell, because the world will have fallen into lawlessness and men will be blown hither and thither by the fetid breath whose magic will be blasphemy, whose name will be treachery, whose legacy is darkness! I am old, but I see you! You follow the beast! You are the fattened calf!’ He pointed in the direction of the pope’s men. ‘You carry out his business, you believe the foulness of his words. And the crown will join with the antipope, and like two snakes they copulate, they entwine in an evil union ! Deceit, hypocrisy, violence! You search for him but you will not find the cuniculus . . . No, you will not find it! You will not rob him of the sacred, little jewel.’ Ezekiel then smiled hideously, for he had no teeth. ‘Ahh but the widow is wise!’
He grabbed at his throat then, in an anguished gesture. All of us sat transfixed, so shocked were we to hear such things. The abbot once again made a vain attempt to reach him, but there was now a great commotion, a kind of hysteria had overtaken everyone, many had taken to their knees, crying and pulling out their hair.
‘You feed the genius of the demon! The genius of numbers! And the number is 666 the number of . . . SORATH!’
Monks wailed, covering up their ears as though assailed by countless agonies. Some fainted, others, horrified, crossed themselves, shaking their heads and thrashing their bodies about. ‘Salva me!’ They cried and moaned, eyes upturned towards the vaults of the cathedral.
The old monk raised his voice once again in a terrible shrillness, amid the horror and confusion. ‘Sorath!’ His face was filled with a vision that only he could see. ‘I am flying! Have mercy on me, Lord, Miserere mei, Deus, rere mei, for my soul trusteth in thee . . . I FLY!’
These last words sounded hollow. He choked and coughed in a terrible way, gasping for breath, and his eyes bulged as he reached out one hand like a drowning man. Not long after, the life seemed to drain from his body and he doubled over, his limbs still twitching uncontrollably as he collapsed on the floor of the stall. Someone shouted. ‘There is a fluid coming from his mouth!’
That was all I saw, for my master told me to go outside and wait for him in the cloister, but later I was to see that the old monk had died clasping the wooden cross around his neck so tightly that the infirmarian could not prise his fingers away from it when he attempted to wash him for burial.
I waited for my master as I had been instructed, and presently, the abbot sent the brothers to their dormitories, and I was left alone in the darkness. Thankfully it was only moments before Andre returned from the church wearing a worried frown, and I hurried to meet him, as simultaneously the inquisitor intercepted us, flanked by the other members of the legation.
‘Preceptor,’ he said with gravity, his eyes falling upon my master with slight irritation. ‘It is sadly worse than we could have imagined. The evil one has visited us, and we cannot ignore his diabolical signs. He has this night revealed his infernal face so that we may bring about an expeditious and orderly resolution to this inquiry.’
‘How obliging of him,’ my master said, his thick brows knitted. There was a pause.
‘Merely fortuitous,’ replied the inquisitor.
‘But I find that almost always what is fortuitous is only so for the sake of convenience, Rainiero.’
The Bishop of Toulouse moved forward trembling, and in a whisper said to us, ‘God has revealed the Devil’s infernal face to us, preceptor, we cannot ignore his message, surely?’