Temple of the Grail(68)

‘How do you mean, Eisik?’ I asked.

‘My son, all the wonders and sanctities of the law and the prophets result from combinations of twenty-two letters, letters that stand for numerals, and numerals that stand for letters.’

‘Like the ciphers and acrostics mentioned by the inquisitor that night at dinner?’ I waited for an acknowledgement of my acumen but there was none – perhaps I, too, was falling prey to the sin of pride?

‘There are,’ Eisik continued, his eyes shining like lamps, ‘many rules and permutations, all holy methods by which one can evade the scrutiny of the uninitiated. Do you know, my young one, that the Bible was written from such coded messages? The oral law became a written law . . . but it is at most an incorrect interpretation of the sacred Cabbala. In all, there are three methods that are known. In the first each letter . . . no, no . . . let me see, that’s not it.’ He thought for a moment, tapping his head. ‘It is the sum, the sum of the letters . . . yes! The sum of the letters that compose one word, are equal to the sum of the letters that compose various others, and so certain words come to mean certain things. Then again one may construct words by means of the first or final letters of several other words, but that is too complex. In truth, my son, all codes are not simple, and it is a fact that many are impossible to decipher, especially where words are transposed according to certain rules, that is, one divides the alphabet by halves, or is it quarters? One then places one half above the other in reverse order, so that A becomes T, or T becomes A. Lastly there is another code whose indiscriminate substitutions and permutations are obtained by forming a square of numbers, subdividing it by 21 lines in each direction into 484 smaller squares . . .’ He trailed off, lost in contemplation.

‘And one can always work out the meaning of codes by the use of one of these methods?’ I asked, amazed.

‘For centuries men have pondered the sacred art,’ he nodded, ‘but to answer your question, no. One is almost never succesful, for there are too many to choose from.’

‘And,’ my master interjected in an annoyed fashion, ‘since we do not have centuries at our disposal we shall have to guess as to which method may have been used.’

‘What say you, Nazarene?’ Eisik looked up from his vague calculations as one who had just been wrenched from a deep sleep. ‘I have never guessed a thing in my life! No, no, it is impossible! Do you know how many variations there are on a single word? We must work with strict principles. Strict principles!’

‘Yes, but Eisik, we don’t have time to test all such systems, that you have just said are too complicated, so by the sword of Saladin let us try one!’

‘This illustrates to me why gentiles will never come to know the truths contained in the old texts . . .’ He closed one eye, measuring my master with the other. ‘Such matters cannot be attended to in haste. However, if I am to be forced I shall start by adding the letters, or the value of the letters together, this is the simplest of all systems and so one likely to be used by a gentile . . .’ Eisik added, giving my master a caustic look. ‘Now then, in this system A is equal to one, B to two, and so on, so on . . . and if we follow this principle we find that the sum of your code’s numerical value comes to . . . one hundred and forty.’

‘Is that a good number?’ I asked excited, not immediately realising that the closer we came to solving the puzzle, the closer we came to inspecting the tunnels.

‘No, child, it is very bad!’ Eisik shook his head with pessimism. ‘Any number that is not significant is bad, though many significant numbers are also not good. However, this number is not without merit, for it can be divided by seven which is perhaps the most venerated of all numbers, and by four, the number of the unpronounceable name. And although one can divide it by the number of gospels, and by eight, the number of the perfect tetragon and by five, the five world zones, it is not significant.’

‘Yes, yes, Eisik,’ my master sighed impatiently.

‘Mors Fiensque . . . death and become. No, that’s not it . . . become . . . Becoming! That’s it, my sons! Death and Becoming. And underneath it . . . D and C . . .’ Eisik trailed off, closing one eye again, as if the vision in the other eye became sharper as a result.

‘Deus ... Christo,’ my master answered almost by reflex.

‘Deus Christo . . . the numerical value of D and C together is of course equal to . . . seven,’ Eisik said, thoughtfully nodding. ‘A venerated number.’

‘But why mors?’ my master said. ‘Why not moriens? Dying and becoming. Why use a noun and not a participle? That is, unless . . .’