Fay sighed irritably.
‘And no sign of the culprits, I bet,’ she said.
‘None, I’m afraid. Mark was really worried about Judith. He was scared that someone might have been targeting her.’
‘I don’t think that’s very likely. Do you?’
‘No, I’m sure it was just some stupid protestors, and it’ll turn out to be nothing. But it’s still a rotten thing to do. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s so pointless.’
‘And cowardly.’
As Peter took a second sip of his wine, he noticed that Fay’s glass was already empty. She went back to the kitchen to pour herself a second. She knocked it back standing next to the kitchen counter, and then poured a third, filling the glass to the brim.
‘Steady on, darling,’ Peter said.
‘Sorry,’ Fay apologised. ‘I think I just need something to calm me down.’ She carefully carried her wine back to the sofa, watching the glass to make sure she didn’t spill any. ‘That detective called again,’ she told him. ‘He was trying to get hold of you, but when he couldn’t, he called me. He’s coming here with his colleague tonight to speak to us.’
‘Yes, I know. We spoke earlier. But why’s he coming?’ Peter said. ‘Didn’t we tell him everything yesterday already?’
‘He wants to speak to us again, anyway. And he wants to know more about Coen winning the election for the chairmanship. Maybe they think it’s got something to do with his murder.’
‘Do you think it might?’
‘I don’t know. There was some …’ She lowered her voice as if she was afraid that someone was listening. ‘The lodge isn’t always perfectly harmonious. There was some resistance to him becoming chairman.’
‘You’ve never told me that.’
‘No, because it was just bickering. Some people were annoyed at yet another man claiming the chair despite us finally having a co-Masonic lodge. Others thought he was too liberal. Some people need more authority, they need a Worshipful Master who’s more—’
The harsh clang of the doorbell interrupted her.
Hanging outside next to Fay’s front door was a large, old-fashioned bell, a bronze contraption that was rung by pulling on a chain. Each time he heard it, Peter was reminded of playtimes at primary school, when that week’s bell monitor would ring one just like it to let the children know that it was time to go back indoors.
Peter got up to open the door.
Rijsbergen and Van de Kooij were waiting outside.
‘Ah,’ said Rijsbergen. ‘You’re here too. Good.’
They stepped into the living room and sat down. They had both unbuttoned their coats but left them on.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ Fay asked.
‘No, thank you,’ Rijsbergen replied. ‘We won’t keep you long. We just wanted to have another quick chat with you, particularly about the election that you mentioned yesterday. I’d like you to tell us more about that.’ He took out a small notebook and opened it on his lap.
‘All right,’ Fay said.
She spoke with a steady voice, but Peter knew her well enough to tell that she was making an effort not to sound tipsy. She had downed two glasses of wine in less than five minutes.
‘I don’t have any new information, but there is … How should I put it?’ She took a large gulp of wine. ‘Coen was the chairman …’ she began hesitantly. ‘He was the first chairman, the first Worshipful Master, since our lodge, the first mixed-sex lodge in Leiden, was established. But his appointment was a bit controversial. There were other candidates at the time, of course, that goes without saying, but Coen won the election. Although “election” is probably too big a word for it. But he won it by a landslide. The overwhelming majority of the members supported him.’
‘How was that done, the election?’ Rijsbergen wanted to know. ‘Did people raise their hands? Did you put votes in a ballot box?’
‘That last one, yes,’ said Fay.
‘Then that would make it just a normal election, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes, although there wasn’t any campaigning, no election posters and so on. But you need to find out which candidate has the most support. The members rejected the idea of raising hands because it wasn’t anonymous, obviously. So a secret ballot made the most sense. Then there’s no trouble afterwards, nobody giving other members dirty looks for not supporting them.’
‘Well,’ Rijsbergen said. ‘That may be true, but people will still try to guess who did or didn’t vote for them. But anyway, Zoutman won?’
‘Yes. He got nearly two-thirds of the votes if I remember correctly. That would have been about forty votes. The two other candidates got about ten votes each.’
‘So he would have been able to count on most of the members to support him?’
Fay nodded.
‘Do you think,’ Van de Kooij asked, ‘that we should be looking at the people who stood against him?’
‘It wasn’t really about the position of chairman, as such,’ Fay pondered. ‘To a certain extent, it’s an honorary title. But even so, the Worshipful Master is still first among equals.’
‘Primus inter pares,’ Van de Kooij said, rolling the ‘r’ of his Leiden accent even more deliberately than usual, Rijsbergen thought.
‘That’s right,’ Fay agreed. ‘The Worshipful Master doesn’t dictate what we do or anything. But he leads our discussions. And, in a way, he’s the face of the lodge to the outside world. He’s the one who speaks for us when it comes to things like the open evening. If the lodge is asked for interviews, he’s our spokesman. But there was a certain …’ She was clearly choosing her words carefully. ‘There was a certain amount of conflict about how the Worshipful Master should give us guidance. You might not expect that of the Freemasons, but we’re only human, after all.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Rijsbergen said, taking over from Van de Kooij.
‘Freemasons are proud of the fact that we’re not dogmatic,’ Fay explained, ‘and that we give each other room to express points of view that might be different from our own. Everything is open to discussion. Nothing’s set in stone. Not even the symbols we use. I think Coen said something about that at the open evening. He was talking about the All-Seeing Eye on the wall behind him. He told us about his own understanding of that symbol, what it meant to him personally, and that other people’s interpretations of it could be entirely different, and that was absolutely fine. But there were people with less …’ She hesitated again. ‘I can only describe them as less-enlightened minds. And they weren’t content with that. They’d say: “The All-Seeing Eye is the Eye of God that sees all. It provides an incentive to be good even when you’re alone, even when there’s nobody else around to witness your actions. No other explanation needed. Period. End of discussion.”’
‘And that’s precisely the opposite of the whole spirit of Freemasonry, isn’t it?’ Peter chipped in.
‘You said there was some conflict?’ Rijsbergen asked. ‘Between?’
‘Well, what I just said. Between people who work from a belief in a fixed and indisputable history, that stories should be taken literally, that symbols are one-dimensional, which is a contradiction in terms of course …’ Fay rolled her ‘r’s exaggeratedly too, giving Van de Kooij an impertinent sideways glance ‘… because the meanings of symbols can change depending on who’s looking at them. Or even when they’re looking at them, the stage they’re at in their life. And on the other side of the conflict, there are people like Coen and like me who focus less on the literal nature of our traditional stories and more on their allegorical meaning, the message behind them, the undercurrents of meaning. And I say “less-enlightened minds”’ because to let go of those rigid interpretations takes guts. It takes wisdom and life experience.’
Peter could see a parallel with the way Jesus always told the common people parables, and then he revealed their true meanings to his disciples in the evenings. Ordinary people like farmers and labourers would be content with
the simple story and its literal meaning – which could also be said of most people of faith today, too – but those at a higher level, the initiates, could cope with more.
‘I don’t know if this clash between the two cultures, if you can call it that, would be enough to make someone beat poor Coen to death with a gavel,’ Fay said in conclusion. ‘But I’m assuming that you don’t want to rule out anyone or anything just yet, do you?’
‘Yes, correct,’ Rijsbergen said. He closed his notebook. ‘Right,’ he said, in a tone that made clear that, as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. ‘That’s all for now.’
‘Not entirely,’ Fay said.
Peter possibly looked even more astonished than Rijsbergen and Van de Kooij.
‘What do you mean?’ Rijsbergen asked, opening his notebook again.
‘I think …’ Fay paused for a moment, which had a dramatic effect ‘… that I can explain why they killed Coen the way they did.’
Fragment 4 – John Robinson and the spiritual life of the Pilgrims (1617)
I have had the privilege of knowing our spiritual leader, John Robinson, from the very beginning. Let me tell you more about him.
He was born in 1576 in Sturton le Steeple, a village not far from Scrooby. He earned a degree in theology at Corpus Christi College in Cambridge when he was only twenty years old! It was here that John first became acquainted with Puritan ideas. He felt an immediate affinity with them. Elizabeth I was our queen in those days, and you were not likely to find yourself in trouble if you held beliefs that deviated from those of the Mother Church as long as you did not stray too far from the path that had been set by Rome. And all was well until James I – the Dutch call him Jacobus – ascended the throne. The relative liberty that we had previously enjoyed – although they would laugh here at what we thought of as ‘liberty’ – was over. The clergy was brought to heel almost overnight, and they were forbidden to interpret the Gospel in their own way. Our John, who had by now become a pastor, openly preached Puritan ideas from his pulpit. In the year of our Lord 1603, John was removed from his position, and it was made clear to him that under no circumstances was he ever to preach again.
However, John was not prepared to abandon what he believed to be the truth. ‘If I were to remain silent, the very stones would cry out,’ he told me.
And did he give up? Did he return to his old master like a whipped dog? No! And that is how we eventually found in him a marvellous leader, a new Moses to lead us out of our slavery.
It was not long before he joined the ranks of the Separatists, first elsewhere, but then after a year, he came to our congregation in Scrooby. He soon became one of our leaders. Looking back, John was actually behind many of the decisions that would determine the fate of our group: establishing the Scrooby Church, the flight from England to the Netherlands and the move from Amsterdam to Leiden.
When our original pastor stayed behind in Amsterdam, John became the spiritual leader of the group in Leiden. In 1615, he entered the University of Leiden as a student of theology. John is a seeker of truth. In fact, he has been a seeker of truth his whole life. He rejects nothing, is always open to new ideas. He tests all things and holds fast to what is good. He believes that everything can be discussed, that there should be a free exchange of opinions. ‘A discussion can be enlightening even when your opponent spouts blatant nonsense,’ he once told me. When I looked at him a little stupidly, he explained to me that, although in the heat of the moment, you might not be able to find the right words to express them, your own ideas only become clear to you when you discuss them with other people, including those who espouse views that are different from your own.
We spend many hours conversing, sitting outside the little house that, because of his great generosity, I can call my home. Now, when I say ‘conversing’, I make it sound like an exchange of ideas on the same level, between equals, but that is actually not what it is at all. While I never, not for one moment, feel that I am unworthy or inferior, the relationship between us is that of a teacher and his pupil. We are not on the same level. Even after all these years, I can count on the fingers of two hands the number of times that I have been able to surprise him with an insight or answer. But I still glow with pride when I remember the few occasions when John has fallen silent and mumbled something like, ‘My goodness, you’re right,’ or ‘I’ve never looked at it that way,’ or ‘You’ve expressed that much better than I could have done.’
If I think back on our conversations, there are three things that we return to repeatedly in one way or another: liberty, equality, and democracy. These are the three principles in which he believes with his whole heart, soul and mind.
John once said to me: ‘I hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.’ He repeated these words to me so that I could write them down because, when he said them the first time – entirely spontaneously, so it seemed to me – they touched my heart so.
He also told me that if we ever have the chance to leave Leiden and build a new society on virgin soil, these words should be the guiding principles upon which it is founded. It will be a modern-day Atlantis, a true Utopia, a new Promised Land. And part of this ideal of liberty that he so reveres and prizes is the freedom to find his own meaning in the Bible. Moreover, John believes that all churches should have liberty, and that they should be independent and free from interference by the state. And as I wrote above, John considers equality to be of the utmost importance because who you are and what you do for a living does not matter. He actively embodies these beliefs in his own life, just by spending time with me. He will discuss anything, without judgement, with me or anyone else who chooses to sit with us – although, secretly, I always hope that nobody else will have the time or opportunity to join us. ‘Who are we to judge others?’ he once said. ‘Only God can decide who will be saved at the Last Judgement.’ The third pillar of his philosophy is democracy because the members of the congregation decide for themselves who should lead them. Of course, we also have elders, men who have been elevated to positions above the ‘ordinary’ members of our congregation, but they are no more than the representatives who regulate our day-to-day affairs. The congregation chooses these elders, and every adult man is eligible to become one. Where could you find more equality than we have here? The congregation can also remove the elders if they fail to discharge their duties satisfactorily.
Sometimes John tries to educate me – and the people who have gathered around us – about the fierce debate taking place within the Dutch Calvinist faith. To be honest, the finer points of it go over my head, yet even the simplest of minds can see that the row, which started with a quarrel between two professors, Gomarus and Arminius, is no longer confined to the Academy but has spilled out beyond its walls and is going on everywhere. From what I am able to understand, according to Gomarus, God judged each of us even before the creation, so we can have no influence over our fate. At most, our actions might give some indication of what awaits us in the hereafter. In contrast, according to Arminius, man can choose whether to follow God’s path or not. He gives us free will and the means to make the right choice, but He already knows what our choice will be before we make it. John has confessed to me that on some evenings, when he comes home after the public debates at the university, he is so fired up and agitated that he lies awake for hours, unable to fall asleep. John agrees with Gomarus – a position that clearly curries no favour here in Leiden.
The adopted ‘son’, as everyone thinks of the boy whom Josh Nunn has taken under his wing, has grown into a handsome, bright young man, a fully fledged member of our congregation. Sometimes he speaks at Sunday worship, which some members tolerate with a measure of reluctance. Or is it jealousy? People object because he has no formal training in preaching God’s word and correctly explaining His Scriptures. They never do this openly,
of course, but only when they think they are not being observed. A more serious objection is that the boy sometimes has the tendency to interpret things too liberally, as though he is looking for the story that might be hidden behind a story. As though he has found an obscure meaning that, to us mere mortals, remains invisible.
Chapter 13
‘What do you mean?’ Rijsbergen asked, narrowing his eyes. ‘You can explain why they killed Coen the way they did?’
‘I have an idea about the murder itself, not about who did it. The symbolism used in the Worshipful Master’s murder was unmistakable. But I was still too overwhelmed and tired to realise it the first time we spoke to each other.’
Now she had the detectives’ undivided attention. Van de Kooij narrowed his eyes, just as his senior colleague had done.
Peter looked at Fay in surprise. Why hasn’t she told me this, he thought.
‘And which symbols would you say the killer has used?’ Rijsbergen asked.
‘They’re blatantly obvious,’ Fay said. ‘If you’d not spoken to me today, someone else would probably have told you sooner or later. I’m sure you’ve seen the three pillars in the temple? They have candles on them that are lit during the ritual and then put out again afterwards.’
Rijsbergen nodded, quickly followed by a nod from Van de Kooij.
‘They’re the Three Great Pillars, and they’re called Wisdom, Strength and Beauty. I could tell you much more about them, but I’ll leave that for another day. We Masons say that Wisdom refers to mind or reason, Strength refers to the will, and Beauty refers to feeling or emotion. You could also say that the pillars represent our thoughts, actions and feelings.’
‘That sounds logical,’ Rijsbergen said.
‘The killer was aware of this – or the killers, of course,’ Fay continued. ‘By the way, do you know yet if it was one killer or more than one?’
‘We’re still considering every eventual possibility at this stage of the investigation. But, obviously, I wouldn’t be able to tell you even if I did know.’
The Pilgrim Conspiracy Page 12
