The Sixth Key(16)

Indignation replaced revulsion. Rahn bristled at this comparison.

‘Not far from here in the Teutoberg forest there is a mystery centre, a temple eighty feet above the ground. Weisthor says this makes Wewelsburg a most propitious geographical location for the centre of our new Reich. He says that it is at the head of a long ley line that connects Germany to France – a line of powerful energies called serpent currents, which channel the forces of death. For this reason I will soon have twelve basalt pedestals located around the perimter of this vault. Onto these pedestals I will place urns containing the ashes of those esteemed dead knights who have sworn an oath that binds them to our order for eternity.’ He stared pointedly at Rahn. ‘But before one gives this oath one must sacrifice even one’s goodness. Do you understand, Rahn?’

A little patch of meaning floated out to Rahn and caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end and a bead of sweat to form on his brow. That same moment the man in the central depression began moaning.

Rahn’s heart burned with alarm. He stared at Himmler. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘It is not what I am going to do, Herr Rahn, but rather what you are going to do. This is a test of your loyalty. This man you see here is a malcontent. He has been inciting the people of the township against us and we were forced to arrest him and his family. I give you my word that I will spare this man’s children if . . .’

Rahn frowned. ‘If?’

Himmler sighed, like an impatient parent who must instruct a slow child. ‘If you will show your willingness to sacrifice your goodness, Rahn! The time has come for you to stain your hands with blood!’

Rahn turned the request over in his mind. He had obviously misunderstood it. ‘Stain my hands with blood?’

‘Of course!’ Himmler replied, happily. ‘I know you are an intellectual, for whom the word is mightier than the sword, but you may find consolation in saving the lives of three children who, beyond the error of their father, are of good German stock. It would be a shame to waste them, wouldn’t you agree? One life in exchange for three – a fair price by any estimation.’

Rahn, confronted by this monstrous proposal, fell into a panic. He looked about. He was surrounded and there were guards at the door. Even if he could get past them there was nowhere to go.

‘This man is an enemy,’ Himmler continued, ‘his children will be adopted by one or two of our own members. Soon you will hear of a program I am creating for such children. I’ve named it Lebensborn.’

The moans of the man in the pit turned to howls and tears made tracks through the blood on his face. Rahn could make out the words ‘Spare my babies!’

Himmler rocked backwards and forwards on polished heels. He looked to Rahn as if at any moment he might do a little dance. He was enjoying the macabre ritual, and Rahn despised him.

‘You see?’ his superior continued. ‘Even this man understands what you have to do! Sacrifice must come before illumination can begin.’

Rahn felt a distortion of his focus. Perhaps he had been drugged? The wine? The food? Was this a hallucination? Some strange mock initiation, using suggestion and lighting, smoke and mirrors. He summoned his defiance. This was surely a test of his moral fibre.

‘I will not do what goes against my conscience!’ he said.

‘Conscience? Well, I have underestimated the strength of your conditioning, Herr Rahn. I think you need a little encouragement. Once you see the children’s cherubic faces you might change your mind. I had wished to spare them the sight of their father’s execution, but you leave me no choice.’ He made a signal and one of his ritters came forwards, a man with a scar on his cheek. The man caught Rahn’s eye as he handed him a large dagger adorned with the Death’s Head.

The dagger felt impossibly heavy in Rahn’s hands. The skull’s grin mocked him.

‘Why don’t you kill me, you coward!’ the man in the pit cried.

A tremulous indecision overtook Rahn now. The man staring at him in the pit; Himmler with his fatherly grin; the dagger in his hand; the circle of ritters: all of it seemed to drop away like a rock thrown into a chasm in the caves of Lombrives and he felt himself rising. He would surely have fainted, he realised, had he not been startled to awareness by the appearance of three children ranging in age from twelve to two. They were brought down the stairs and into the chamber. The youngest was screaming, wrestling with her captor, while the older ones wore vacant faces until they saw their father. There was a struggle and they were reined in. The father cried and the children responded. The father turned away in shame and the children called out to him.