We made our way to the choir stalls in the shadow of the great tripod at the altar. I paused for a moment before it, and said a short prayer to keep the Devil at bay.
‘You see, Rainiero has managed to accomplish much this evening,’ my master said, annoyed.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked after I had crossed myself.
‘It is the job of an inquisitor to instil fear into the hearts of men, and I must say Rainiero does it well. He has you and the others fearful of your own shadows, believing in untold evils, exactly as he intended.’
‘I’m not afraid, master . . .’
‘Christian,’ he sighed,’ you should never show a mad dog that you are fearful, for the moment he senses it he will attack without mercy . . . beware of the dog – cave canem – Domini canes.’
I frowned at his play of words. ‘So what should one do, then?’
‘You must hold his gaze, never swerve for a moment, and run like an infidel!’ He laughed then, but I was not surprised, for I had observed this peculiarity before in men of eastern race; that they laughed at strange things, and so I changed the subject lest his impious comparison of the inquisitor to a dog result in some terrible heavenly retribution.
‘What about the old monk?’
‘He is dead, that must be obvious even to you, but the cause will not become apparent until we have had time to examine the evidence, namely the body. At this moment the infirmarian, our eager brother Asa, waits for me so that together we can execute a concurrent examination. Until that time I’m afraid we shall have to reserve our judgements, lest we desire to look like fools later . . .’ He searched my face, ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, boy, one would think you had never seen a man die! He was old, how many have you seen die in the flower of youth, run through with a lance or a blade? To live beyond a certain age may seem a gift from God, but to many it is a curse from his infernal adversary. Though I will grant you it is far preferable to die sleeping, quietly and without fuss . . .’
‘Actually, I have been wondering about the name the old monk kept calling out . . . the name . . .’
‘Sorath?’
‘A strange name. I’ve never heard it before, but it seemed to inspire such fear.’
‘Of course you’ve heard it! The man himself told us as much; he is the sun demon.’
‘So he is like a devil?’
‘His name comes from the Greek vernacular, and so he is a pagan devil more wretched than Satan or Lucifer, we are told.’
‘But I thought there was only one evil one?’
‘Evil wears many faces, dear boy, like a body with many limbs through which works the one infernal intelligence.’ My master smiled and I was afraid for his immortal soul.
‘Don’t look at me that way . . . I smile because here we have found another piece to our puzzle, like a hilt to a sword, it fits perfectly, that is all!’
‘Another piece?’
‘Sorath is a Gnostic devil, this is well
known.’
And so it did not surprise me that I did not know it, for very often what he mistook for common knowledge was simply not so.
‘And how do you know about him, master?’ I ventured, perhaps a little impudently.
‘I make it my business to know many things!’ he fired at me. ‘Now, stop asking me stupid questions, for you are interrupting the flow of my thoughts . . .’ He cupped his beard in one hand and supported his arm with the other. For all his bad mood, he appeared to be well pleased. But I, dear reader, was miserable, because I could not forget the look on the old monk’s face in that final moment; a face filled with so much pain that it seemed close to immense pleasure.
‘Also,’ he broke through my meditations, ‘did you not hear what he said?’
‘What he said?’
‘By the sword of Saladin, boy, where are your wits?’ he cried and his voice reverberated in the holy room, ‘Did you not hear these words, ‘They will not find the one . . .’?’
‘But the who one, master?’
‘Well, how should I know?’ He seemed at the point of exasperation. ‘It is not significant that we know whom, for that will come when we have discovered where and when, and this where could quite possibly be the cuniculus . . .’ Seeing my blank face, he said, ‘Come boy . . . the tunnel . . .’
‘What tunnel?’
‘If you had been asleep you might have a plausible excuse – though it would still be a poor one – for this lapse in observation. But as you were awake I must conclude that you were stupefied.’
‘I’m sorry, master, but it all happened so suddenly and even if I had heard what he said, I would still not have understood it. What tunnel?’