‘Perhaps they are headed in our direction, master, along another route, in which case we should leave before we are discovered.’ I knew my logic to be flawed, but I wanted to flee to the relative safety of my cell. My master, however, would have nothing of it.
‘Do not be a goose, Christian,’ he said calmly, ‘they were headed south, and that is why we shall head north, and soon another chamber will have us travelling in their footsteps. Come!’
We left the chamber through the door marked ‘Mercury’, walking along another tunnel, and in my ears the sound of water, dripping, dripping, dripping, all around. I guessed that it must be the underground channel that operated the organ. I walked a little behind, feeling very much alone in my misery, despairing at ever being worthy to climb the ladder of which one side is our body, and the other our soul whereby a good monk ascends to heaven. I did not feel like a good obedient child, but rather, since our arrival here, I confess to having indeed attempted things too high for me, my heart had indeed been haughty, I did not go about my day quietly! It is only now with the passing of the years that I know how it is the misfortune of every young man to suffer so. Pity God does not bestow wisdom on a man, before he is too old for it be of any value!
Bur for now I must return to that moment, when my disturbed my inner misery and wrenched me back to the equally miserable present.
‘The sound of water . . .’ he said. ‘Somewhere close is the underground spring that supplies the abbey. We are close, very close.’
‘I could have told him that,’ thought I, sinfully.
We continued in silence, frozen to the bone. I could no longer feel my feet, I only knew that they must be there for I was walking. Above black shadows loomed and I wondered what good it would do to die in this deplorable labyrinth, even though death seemed a preferable alternative to a life of guilt. At that moment we came upon the Sardes–Mercury chamber with two doors again heading in separate directions to Jupiter, or Philadelphia. We paused to look at our map once more.
‘You see here,’ my master pointed to the map, to the second chamber of Pergamos, ‘this door reads ‘Jupiter’ also,’ he pointed to the north door, and also the east door. ‘See this, Eisik?’ We turned around to see the pale countenance of Eisik pointing to something behind what we guessed must be the false door.
‘Holy Jacob! Holy Abraham!’ he whispered, his face like that of a man who looks on death with mortal eyes. When we walked to him and followed the direction of his gaze, we saw what had caused his distress.
I closed my eyes, made the sign of the cross, and prayed, trembling violently.
18
Capitulum
Slumped to one side inside the small chamber we found the body of a young monk, his eyes open in a look of terror. There was a faintly sweet, sickly smell. My master reached down and touched the body.
‘Cold. Dead for . . . three days, maybe more. This must be our curious young Jerome who broke the interdict only to find himself trapped inside this chamber. At least the poor boy did not die alone.’ My master shone the light around the room and we could see the bones of other unfortunates scattered about. I looked away in pity and disgust.
‘Strange . . .’ Andre remarked after a short inspection of the body. ‘He, too, must have been poisoned.’
‘Why do you say that, master?’ I exclaimed. ‘Is it not more likely that he was trapped by the same mechanism we have encountered on the doors and expired?’
He gave me a look that was not altogether benevolent. ‘If you found yourself locked up in such a place, what would you do?’
‘Naturally I would try to find a way out.’
‘Naturally, now tell me, after a time of this with no result, would you become quite desperate?’
‘Almost certainly,’ I answered.
‘And as a last hopeless measure you would attempt to claw the door open, would you not?’
This thought made me feel deeply sympathetic for the poor wretched boy, and all I could do was nod.
‘Of course you would, it is quite natural, and perfectly obvious to anyone but stupid squires and yet, do you see any signs of this? Where his fingers should be bloodied and his nails torn, they are impeccable, as any good apprentice physician’s hands should be. No, this poor monk died shortly after entering the chamber, before he reached such a stage of anxiety . . . and I believe holding onto something . . . something long and cylindrical in shape. Note his hands have contracted in position around whatever it was. Someone has removed it after he had been dead for some time. There are no other signs, no blood, no wound, only that terrible anguished face.’