Kneeling on one knee and holding on to the altar, he took into his lungs an in-sweep of breath and it was as his mind was returned to itself and he prepared to pray that he realised, by the chill in the air, that it had come, and that he was no longer alone with the darkness . . .
Blessed St Michael, son of the Divine Sophia, messenger of Christ, protect me!
There was a profane whisper near his ear and it made his hair to stand on end.
What speaks?
He drew his eye about, turning his head this way and that – something in the shadows was seeking to enter into him. He grasped at the cross on the garments of the Order.
Thou art my saviour and my comforter. Overcome, O Lord, those who are against me. Help me to finish it finally!
But it had moved closer to observe him, to throw limbs of shadows over him.
I battle with forces that may be beyond me . . . Hark! It comes!
Like a wall of heated frost it made a leap towards him.
I – will – not – yield!
It struck then, and the pain swelled through him and out from the old wound in his side, from that place where all his hurts came together, as though it had been torn open and the mangled flesh ripped out. He fell forward and his cheek touched the stone floor. Sounds not intelligible danced in his head and a force compelled him from his knees to his heels. He swayed. His eyes were struck sluggish and he tried to see. Why could he not see? His ears stretched out to become one with the silence. Why could he not hear?
But the force was more than eyes, more than ears, and had made a place for him in its wretchedness. In it Etienne felt himself dissolving, and in his mind the thread upon which his salvation now hung was St Michael. He gathered all his strength in order to prevail upon his assistance.
Michael, take hold of arms and shield and rise up to help me. Send forth the spear and conclude against those who persecute me; say to my soul ‘I am your safety . . .’
But the whole mind and purpose of evil was bent with devastating force upon him.
‘Yield it! Dead man!’ it said. ‘Insignificant, corrupt and rebellious man! You could never bear it, dead man, old man, slave! Your faith splinters . . . and you will yield it!’
Christ protect me! Enter my Temple and defend me from those who are attacking me!
‘Why should Christ protect a coward who abandoned his mother to save his own life,’ it said, ‘who deserted his Grand Master and all the brothers of the Order and left them to languish in prisons or to die with the skin melting from their bones? You were afraid, pious man, defeated man! Afraid of the devil in your soul and in your heart! And while you were praying for forgiveness, elsewhere a woman was savaged and her child torn to pieces! Now Jourdain and the Catalan and all the men who have ever followed you shall have their heads cut off, and their bodies hung from the walls of this castle for the flies and the hawks, while you guard this small thing, old man, dead man! They shall die knowing that you have deserted them!’
These thoughts speared into his soul a channel so wide he felt himself emptied and sunk down into nothingness.
A howl came out of his soul, and the hiss of a whisper came into his ear: ‘If you love them more than you love yourself, you may yet prevent it! The death of your brothers, the burnings, the arrest of the Order! The seal shall return all things to their former state . . . you need only call on its power!’
The breath departed from his lungs and formed itself in the cold stillness into portions of eternity grasped in the moment – the flame script of his life. In it he observed those years before Acre, when faith had a footing and a man knew what season would follow from the next. He was full with despair and longing . . . to return all things to their former state.
It was far-reaching into his soul and alluring to his mind, this desire.
‘The seal must obey its bearer,’ the voice said. ‘It shall hammer out the world into a shape not displeasing to you! Conjure the spirits in the earth; in the depths; in the sun and in the stars; in the waters and in the seas, and all which they contain; in the winds, the whirlwinds, and the tempests; in the virtue of all herbs, plants, and stones; in all which is in the heavens, upon the earth, and in all the abysses of the shades. Conjure them and they shall do your bidding!’
But his heart in its death throes brought him to his senses, and Etienne, bent and gasping, was made aware in that moment of the impiety of this backward glance, of the wickedness of this allurement. It was not his place to unfasten destiny, to shape the world and use its forces for his ends, but to live life according to God’s laws! He knew the truth of it, and it formed for him a bulwark against which he could lean. He threw his mind away from reveries and turned it towards the shadows.