‘I can imagine,’ Tony replied. ‘I’ve been pretty shaken up by it myself. We Freemasons are all brothers and sisters. Even if we’ve never met each other, we are one.’ He fell silent, as if the subject was something he’d rather not talk about for now.
‘Come on,’ said Peter. ‘Let’s go inside.’
They entered the room that had been set up as a living room.
‘What a lovely place this is,’ said a woman whose name Peter couldn’t remember. ‘This should definitely be one of the highlights of our programme.’
None of the Pilgrims ever lived here, Peter almost blurted out before deciding that it was Jeffrey’s job to reveal that sort of information.
‘As you probably know already, they’re hard at work in Plymouth, Massachusetts, restoring the Mayflower II, a replica that was built during 1955 and 1956. If it’s declared seaworthy again, they hope it’ll be able to sail to England’s Plymouth and to Delfshaven in the Netherlands in 2020.’
‘And that’s just one of the many things that are being planned,’ the woman next to him continued. ‘The list of events taking place in Leiden, Boston and Plymouth is huge. The list of events that are still at the planning stage is possibly even longer. And there’s going to be quite a big celebration around the opening of the new research centre. Well, “research centre” might be overstating it a little, but there will be a research department dedicated exclusively to the history of the Pilgrims. It’s going to be a branch of the Leiden Heritage Organisation.’
This last detail appeared to be news to Jeffrey. He looked around the group with a delighted expression, as if he had actually been the one to reveal it. Now that he knew that he had something real and long-lasting to look forward to as a result of the delegation’s visit, he immediately appeared more at ease.
‘And of course,’ the woman went on, ‘Jeffrey will have a vital role to play.’
A boy unwrapping the most longed-for item on his birthday wish list could not have looked happier.
Jeffrey went around the circle and shook everyone’s hand enthusiastically, which they all tolerated with weak smiles.
They visited both rooms briefly, and since the American visitors were already well-versed in the history of the Pilgrims, Jeffrey focused on the history of the building itself.
After the requisite photos had been taken, the group went back outside.
‘Are you coming with us, Peter?’ Jeffrey asked. ‘We’re going to take a short walk around town and see some of the other places that are associated with the Pilgrims. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.’
Peter looked at his watch. He still had plenty of time before his lecture was due to start. ‘Yes, all right, Jeffrey,’ he said.
They walked along the Nieuwstraat and past the public library towards the Burcht, which always made a huge impression on everyone who saw it for the first time.
The town centre was dominated by the Burcht. It was an enormous ninth-century motte, a man-made hill that rose twelve metres above ground level. On top of it was a tall shell keep with a circular, crenellated stone wall that was six metres high. Inside, a wooden walkway had been constructed along the castle’s battlements, giving visitors fantastic views out over the city with its medieval houses, churches and narrow streets.
The Americans took photos of the castle with the eagerness of photography students who had been told to capture every detail of the building’s construction.
Afterwards, they crossed the Oude Rijn canal and walked along the Haarlemmerstraat to the Vrouwekerkhof where the remaining walls of the Gothic Vrouwekerk still stood. Before it was renamed after the Reformation, this church had been called the Onze Lieve Vrouwekerk, or Church of our Lady.
Jeffrey told the group that ruins of the church, which had been attended by the Pilgrims, had almost been demolished by an overzealous city council. One phone call to the American State Department had been enough to have the plans to bulldoze it cancelled.
Philippe de la Noye had been baptised here in 1603. A Huguenot born in Leiden, he had sailed to America on the second Pilgrim ship, the Fortune. His descendants had anglicised their name to Delano, and one of them would eventually become the President of the United States of America: Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
On the little square in front of the remaining walls of the church, Jeffrey pointed out the long, dark stones laid out in a geometric pattern representing the graves that would have been there centuries ago.
They went back to the Harlemmerstraat and crossed the canal via the renovated Catharinabrug at the point where the Oude Rijn and Nieuwe Rijn rivers meet. They paused in front of the Waag, the seventeenth-century weigh house built in the Dutch baroque style where goods were once weighed for the market.
According to legend, the Pilgrims had first set foot in Leiden near the Waag. Jeffrey pointed out the exact spot opposite the building, and the members of the group all took turns to pose for photographs.
It’s really all just a matter of faith, Peter thought. As long as you say it convincingly enough and often enough, you can tell people that anything happened anywhere, and eventually, everyone will believe you. After a while, nobody will dare to question whether or not the story is true.
As they were making their way along the narrow Mandenmakerssteeg towards the busy Breestraat, Tony began to slow down, apparently on purpose. Peter slowed his pace to match Tony’s so that he wouldn’t be left alone at the back of the group.
‘You know, Peter,’ Tony said when they were out of earshot of the rest of the group, ‘Coen Zoutman’s murder last night … His death has shocked me in so many ways. It’s not just because it was so brutal and so unexpected. I feel like I’ve lost a friend, which is absurd, I know. I only met him for the first time yesterday.’
Peter nodded sympathetically.
‘I can only imagine how awful it must be for you. And for your girlfriend.’
‘It’s such a tragedy. As I said earlier, I didn’t know him well myself, but I’m shocked by how violent the murder was.’
Tony had grabbed Peter’s arm as if he thought he might be about to walk away. It created a physical intimacy between them that made Peter feel uncomfortable.
‘But I mean, you were the one who found him, right? That’s what I heard this morning.’
It’s astonishing how quickly news like this gets around.
‘That’s right. Fay and I found him. It was horrible, a nightmare. I don’t know how else to describe it.’
Tony shook his head in a way that suggested that he would have preferred it if Peter didn’t describe it at all.
Then Tony said something in a whisper. Peter had to incline his head and lean sideways towards him to hear it.
‘We’ve been the target of an increasing number of … threats, lately. The Freemasons, I mean … In the States too. I often wonder … Our grand lodge in Boston has been getting anonymous letters and emails. Sometimes, Peter, it feels like we’re in a movie. We get letters in the mail where the words have all been cut out of newspapers, very old-school. We don’t know who’s behind it all.’
‘And do you think it might be connected to what happened here?’
‘I don’t know. That’s for the police to figure out, I guess.’
‘Have you told the Dutch police about all of this yet?’
‘I’ll go to the police station this afternoon. The police want to talk to us, but we’re flying back to the States tonight.’
At last, Tony let go of Peter’s arm.
‘There are a lot of crazy people around, especially back home, as I’m sure you know,’ Tony said, and he smiled. ‘There are conspiracy theorists who think that the Freemasons have been involved in pretty much all the evil in the world. They think we had a hand in 9/11, that we’re responsible for just about every financial crisis there’s ever been, that we started the French Revolution, that we were behind the attack on Pearl Harbor, you name it. The Illuminati, Novus ordo seclorum, the so-called New World Order, all the Maso
nic symbols on the dollar bill, the All-Seeing Eye and the unfinished pyramid. Oh, I’m sure you know all the stories. I’d probably think it was funny if it wasn’t so pathetic.’
The group stopped on the Langebrug, the five-hundred-metre-long street that had once been a canal. The famous painter Jan Steen had lived here. It was also the street where Rembrandt van Rijn had taken his first painting lessons with Jacob van Swanenburg.
Jeffrey told the group the story of James Chilton, a Pilgrim who was pelted with rocks by a group of boys in 1619 because they thought that he had been holding Remonstrant church services at his home. The Remonstrants were a group of mostly Protestant Christians who disagreed with the doctrine of the Dutch Reformed Church, the prevailing church in the Dutch Republic at the time.
So the much-vaunted Dutch tolerance wasn’t really all it was cracked up to be, Peter thought. This was something he regularly tried to impress upon his students. The myth of total religious liberty was so deeply ingrained in the story that the Netherlands told about itself that it would be an uphill battle to convince anybody that it wasn’t true.
‘But why now?’ Peter asked Tony. ‘Why are the Freemasons getting so many threats right now?’
‘Why now? We live in strange times. People feel like they don’t understand the world any more. They feel powerless. Maybe the world has just gotten too big. We’re bombarded with terrible news every day, on the internet, on our smartphones. Whenever people suffered in the past, they could blame the gods for every sickness, every bad harvest, every child’s death, every shipwreck. People of faith were actually the first conspiracy theorists. Something didn’t just happen. Someone made it happen, someone with a set plan. It was punishment for not following God’s rules, or because a sacrifice hadn’t been made, or even because two gods were warring with each other or whatever. But terrible things still happen in the world, utterly senseless, random disasters that have absolutely no purpose. If you don’t believe in God, then the only possible cause of all these awful events is man. And the most convenient culprits are secret societies who are all hellbent on world domination.’
‘And you think it has something to do with all that?’
Tony shrugged and stuck out his bottom lip to show that he didn’t know.
They stopped at the former Stinksteeg, an alleyway that was now called the William Brewstersteeg after the Pilgrim whose printing shop had been here. The shop was closed down, Jeffrey explained, by none other than the English King James I, who was furious about a pamphlet Brewster had printed called Perth Assembly. Brewster fled to Leiderdorp, where he stayed until his departure for America. All this upheaval and disruption eventually led to the Pilgrims deciding to seek refuge elsewhere.
The group made its way along a winding route through streets and alleyways to the Lokhorststraat. They stopped at the Latin school where, Jeffrey told them, Rembrandt had studied as a young boy.
Rembrandt was three years old when the Pilgrims arrived and fourteen when they left again, so he was very likely to have bumped into John Robinson and the other Pilgrims in Leiden’s small town centre at some point – a detail that seemed to delight the American visitors.
Walking ahead of the group, the expert guide led them to the Gerecht square. They turned left into the Muskadelsteeg and then left again around the Pieterskerk towards the Jean Pesijnhofje, where Fay lived.
I’ll pop in and say hello to Fay, Peter thought. Make sure she’s okay.
‘We’ll visit the Pieterskerk on the way back,’ Jeffrey said. ‘We can stop for coffee in the café there, but I want to show you a few other things first.’ He opened the large, heavy door that led into the hofje. The Americans gasped in surprise as they went through the vestibule and realised that it led to an inner courtyard with a garden surrounded by what looked like little fairy-tale houses.
‘John Robinson lived here, as did many of the other Pilgrims,’ Jeffrey told them. ‘Sadly, the original compound was demolished, but it stood on this exact spot.’
Peter noticed that Fay’s bike was gone.
Maybe she’s gone to her office at the university after all.
When they returned to the street, Jeffrey pointed towards the Pieterskerk. ‘You might be interested to know,’ he said, ‘that they recently opened an escape room in the Pieterskerk.’
‘Oh, with puzzles?’ one of the women in the group asked. ‘I love those!’
‘Yes, exactly. But the fun thing about this one is that it has a Pilgrims theme. I’ve done it myself, and I must say it’s quite ingenious. And the fact that it’s such an old building adds to the whole experience, of course.’
‘And did you manage to escape?’ the woman wanted to know.
‘I think that’s for me to know and you to wonder about,’ Jeffrey said, laughing. ‘But I will tell you that I can highly recommend it. You should have a go if you have time. They have an English version, so we could ask if they have any slots available later. The theme changes every year or two, but for now, it’s the Pilgrims.’
They moved on to a famous spot on the Rapenburg canal. It was here in front of the old university library in 1620 that the Pilgrims boarded boats bound for Delfshaven, where they would eventually set sail for England.
The tour ended on the Vliet, the canal where the Pilgrims finally left Leiden forever. A statue of a man waving a final farewell to the travellers had been erected on the canalside.
The group walked back towards the Pieterskerk.
Peter’s conversation with Tony had left him feeling unsettled – as if their conversation had been unfinished.
‘Tony, getting back to what we were talking about earlier,’ said Peter, ‘do you really have no idea where these threats are coming from? And why do you think that they might be connected to what happened here?’
‘It’s just a hunch,’ Tony said. ‘I don’t know. I’ll tell the police this afternoon. But you know, and this is just speculation, really, but maybe they should be looking at the Catholic Church. There are plenty of orthodox Catholics who still haven’t accepted that Rome’s word is no longer law. They see us Masons as godless devil-worshippers. But the States are home to an enormous number of different groups. We’ve got radical evangelists, trigger-happy born-again Christians who would happily annihilate everyone who isn’t pro-life. We’ve got fascist white supremacist militias. And we’ve got tree-hugging hippies who see the Pilgrims – and maybe the Freemasons too – as the start of where it all went wrong in America, the beginning of the end for the indigenous population. I could go on, I really could. It’s no wonder the Freemasons are usually the first organisation that dictatorships decide to ban.’
‘Who could say?’ Peter mumbled to himself. ‘Who could say?’
But that’s all in the USA, he thought. How on earth can events over there be linked to Coen Zoutman’s tragic death here?
They reached the university’s Academy Building near the Nonnenbrug Bridge.
Although he’d not actually spoken to any of them, Peter said goodbye and shook hands with everyone in the group. He waved at Jeffrey.
‘Well, Peter,’ Tony said. ‘I’m sorry our meeting was in such unpleasant circumstances. But I hope that we’ll meet again in better ones someday.’
‘I hope so too.’
‘If you ever decide to attempt the “great crossing” yourself,’ Tony said, ‘feel free to come visit me. Or us.’ He gave Peter his business card.
Peter smiled. According to one of his colleagues who had lived in the States for a while, it was advisable to take such remarks with a grain of salt. ‘You can visit me anytime’ was more polite small talk than an invitation to actually visit someone.
But who knows, Peter thought.
Before Peter left, Tony gave him the sort of brotherly bear hug that Americans were famous for.
As he walked away, Peter wondered why Tony had taken him aside to tell him what he had told him, but it would have looked odd to go back and ask him.
I suppose you’re i
nclined to be more candid than usual when you’re talking to people you think you’re never going to see again. It can be cathartic to tell your story to an outsider, someone who’ll listen to you like a confessor.
Peter couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he had a strange feeling that something else had been going on, something that transcended the simple conversation they’d had. Like he’d been watching a subtitled film in which the lines spoken by the actors had been entirely different from the words on the screen.
Chapter 8
Rijsbergen and Van de Kooij followed the coroner’s team as they carried Coen Zoutman’s body down the stairs.
The building manager, Frank Koers, was waiting for them in the function room. He had spread out a floor plan of the building on one of the tables and placed glasses on the four corners to stop it from rolling back up.
They stood around the table like generals studying a terrain map to devise a plan of attack.
Frank traced a finger over the floor plan. ‘As you can see,’ he said, ‘in the temple itself there’s only one way in and out: this door here. No hidden escape routes, no secret tunnels or doors. The city architect, Jan Neysingh, designed an initiation chamber that was added to the first floor in 1950.’
Rijsbergen nodded. He blinked slowly, like he was taking a mental photograph of the plans in front of him.
‘And here,’ Frank Koers said, sliding his finger over the paper again, ‘on the ground floor, we have the main entrance, the hall with the toilets. Then the entrance to this room with …’ he pointed with his left hand at a door in the corner of the room ‘… a smaller room next door. That room leads to a large extension that runs the length of the garden. These doors …’ he pointed to the two sets of double doors at the end of the function room ‘… take you outside to the garden. It’s an enclosed yard with high walls. Not easy to get over.’
‘But what if you did manage to climb over them?’ asked Van de Kooij, who was furiously scribbling notes. ‘Where would you end up?’
The Pilgrim Conspiracy Page 8
