That's right,' Tess said.
'So what kind of God would add crime and cancer to that universe? The existence of those evils makes the traditional Christian God seem not at all benign. In fact, it makes Him seem cruel. Perverse. Inconsistent. That's why the Devil was invented.'
Devil? Tess thought. What the…? This is getting…
'Lucifer,' Priscilla said. The topmost angel in heaven. The superstar of God's deputies. But the Light-Bearer, as he's sometimes called, wasn't satisfied with being a deputy. No, that powerful angel wanted even more power. He wanted God's power. He thought he could compete. But when he tried, God pushed him down, oh so far down, to the depths, to the newly created fires of hell. And God changed his name from Lucifer to Satan, and Satan in his fury vowed to corrupt God's perfect universe, to introduce evil into the world.'
'But that part of Christianity always seemed to me a myth,' Tess said.
'To you. However, the majority of Christians, especially fundamentalists, believe and base their lives on that conception. God and the fallen angel. Satan is a convenient explanation for the spreading evil around us.'
'You sound like the nun who gave me catechism lessons every Sunday after mass.'
'Do I?' Priscilla wrinkled her already wrinkled brow. 'Well, I'm about to teach you a different catechism. And it might undermine your faith. As well, I regret to say, it might terrify you.'
Tess straightened, her muscles cramping as she listened with greater tension.
'The trouble with using Satan as an explanation for the existence of evil,' Priscilla said, 'is that God can still be accused of perversity. Because God tolerates Satan's evil. Because He allows Satan to oppress us with crime and disease.'
Tess shook her head once again. The nun who taught me catechism used to say that God decided to condone Satan's evil rather than destroy him – in order to test us. If we overcome the temptation of evil and accept the hardship of disease, we can gain a higher place in heaven.'
'Now, Tess, really. Do you honestly believe that?'
'Well… Maybe not. But at least, it's what I was taught.'
'And this is what I was taught.' Priscilla's tone became bitter. 'Richard and I had a son. Jeremy. Our only child. When he was ten, he died – in excruciating pain – from bone cancer. Thirty years later, I still wake from nightmares of how much he suffered. That sweet, dear, perfect boy never harmed anyone. He didn't have the faintest idea of what sin was.' Priscilla's eyes misted. 'Nonetheless God allowed that vicious disease to torture my son. If Satan is responsible for evil, God is responsible for Satan and ultimately for what happened to Jeremy. I still blame God for what happened to my…' The mist in Priscilla's eyes faded, replaced by a hard determination. 'So I come back to the question I asked you earlier. How can a benign, all-loving God permit evil? The Christian attempt to provide an answer, by inventing a fallen angel, is not at all satisfactory.'
Priscilla scowled, then continued. 'However, there is another myth that provides a more logical explanation for the existence of evil. Thousands of years before Christ, our ancestors believed in two gods, a good one and a bad one, co-equal, both of them fighting for control of the universe. That version of Satan wasn't a fallen angel but rather a divinity. The virtuous god was independent from and hence couldn't be held responsible for the evil god and the viciousness that the evil god inflicted on us. The earliest evidence we have for this belief comes from the fourth millennium BC in ancient Iraq, specifically in the valley between the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. That's where tradition tells us the Garden of Eden was supposed to have existed.'
'The serpent in the garden,' Tess said.
'Exactly. But that serpent wasn't a fallen angel. He was a symbol of an evil god in combat with a virtuous one.'
Tess couldn't help staring toward a clock on the wall. Craig. He'd be landing at Washington National Airport soon! He expected her to meet him!
'Don't look at the clock, Tess. Look at me. Keep paying attention.' Priscilla braced her shoulders with professorial sternness. The concept of opposite but equally powerful gods spread throughout the Mideast. By the time it showed up in ancient Iran, around one thousand BC, the virtuous god had a name. Mithras.'
Tess jerked straighter. 'Mithras? You mentioned him before.'
'Yes. The figure in the bas-relief sculpture,' Priscilla said. 'Now do you understand why I had to go into so much detail? The figure killing the bull is not a man. He's a god. Various later religions, Zoroastrianism and Manichaeism, also used the concept of equal, competing, good and evil gods. But essentially those gods are versions of Mithras and his evil counterpart. We're talking old, Tess. Very old. That's what I meant when I said that Mithras comes from the roots of history. He's the most ancient notion of a god we have any specific knowledge of, and it's only by chance that…'
Professor Harding interrupted, supporting himself with his cane while he wheeled in a cart upon which a teapot, cups, and a plate of biscuits were arranged.
'Thank you, Richard.'
'I'm pleased to help, dear.'
'It's only by chance that what?' Tess asked, impatient for Priscilla to continue.
'Milk, dear?' Professor Harding asked.
'Just a little.'
Tess became more impatient, barely able to restrain herself from telling Priscilla to hurry.
While Professor Harding poured the tea, Priscilla pensively opened one of the books she'd set on the desk, leafed through it, and found the page she wanted. 'Let me describe a religion to you. When you enter its church, you dip your hand in a holy-water basin and make the Sign of the Cross. On the altar, you see a representation of the physical form of your God. During the service, you receive a communion of bread and wine. You believe in baptism, confirmation, salvation through good works, and life after death. The physical form of your deity has his birthday on December twenty-fifth, and his rebirth occurs during the Easter season.'
Professor Harding wrapped each steaming teacup with a napkin and handed them to Priscilla and Tess. 'Catholicism,' he said.
'Yes, that would be the logical assumption, Richard. However, with apologies, you're wrong.' Priscilla kept staring at Tess. 'It's Mithraism.'
'What?' Tess set down the teacup and blinked in surprise. 'But how can there be so many parallels? You said that Mithraism came long before Christianity.'
'Think about it.' Priscilla lowered and peered over her glasses. 'I'm sure the answer will occur to you.'
'The only explanation I can… It doesn't seem possible. Christianity borrowed from Mithraism?'
'So it appears,' Priscilla said. 'For the first three centuries after Christ, while Christianity struggled to survive, Mithraism was a major force in the Roman Empire. Several Roman emperors not only endorsed it but were members. Mithras is sometimes called the sun god, and because of him, Sunday assumed sacred importance for the Romans and eventually for Western culture. Mithras is often pictured with a sun behind his head, and that sun became the halo around the heads of major figures in Christian art. The cross, by the way, is an ancient symbol that represents the sun. Thus believers in Mithras made the Sign of the Cross when they entered their church to worship the sun god.'
Priscilla turned the book and slid it toward Tess. 'Here's a photograph of an ancient bas-relief depicting a Mithraic communion service. Notice that the pieces of communion bread have a cross etched into them.'
'Before Christianity?' Tess felt off-balance. 'But this is… All my religious training, everything I took for granted about Catholicism… I feel like I'm sinking.'
'I warned you.' Priscilla raised her swollen fingers. 'I told you that what I had to say might undermine your faith. I tried to prepare you when I said it might be terrifying. In more ways than one. But I'll get to that.'
Professor Harding sipped from his teacup, sighed in appreciation of the taste, swallowed with pleasure, and interrupted. 'My dear…'
'Yes, Richard?'
'When I came in, you said it was only by chance that…
What was only by chance?'
'That's what I want to know,' Tess said.
'I meant…' Priscilla narrowed her gaze. 'It was only by chance that Mithraism didn't assume the dominance in Western culture that Christianity now has. As I mentioned, in the first three centuries after Christ, several Roman emperors pledged themselves to Mithras. But all of that changed with Constantine. In the year three-twelve, just before Constantine was about to send his army against his major enemy in the famous battle at the Milvian Bridge, Constantine had what he later described as a vision.'
'Vision?'
'Perhaps it's another myth. Constantine peered toward the sky and claimed that he saw a cross of light imposed on the sun. He interpreted this as a message from God and ordered his soldiers to paint similar crosses on their shields. They entered and won the battle – under the Sign of the Cross. Considering that the cross is an ancient symbol for the sun and that Mithraism favored that symbol as a reference to its sun god, historians aren't clear why Constantine seemed arbitrarily to decide that this cross referred to the crucifix, the cross upon which Christ had died.' Priscilla settled back. 'In any event, Constantine converted to Christianity and eventually made it the primary Roman religion. Christians, who until then had been tolerated at best – when not spurned or thrown to the lions – were quick to take advantage of their sudden influence. Their urgent priority was to stamp out the sect that rivaled them. Mithraic chapels were sought out and destroyed. Mithraic priests were killed, their corpses chained to their altars… to so desecrate the Mithraic chapels that they'd never be used again. The balance of history tilted, and Mithraism abruptly declined. Persecuted as heretics, its few remaining followers went into hiding. In small groups, they performed their rites in secret. But no matter how stringently they were hunted, they managed to survive. In fact, to this day, Mithraism is practised in India.'
Priscilla sipped her tea, gaining strength. 'But in Europe, the last vestige of Mithraism was eradicated during the Middle Ages. In the thirteenth century, the concept of two opposing, equal gods – one good and one evil – surfaced again in a town in southwestern France called Albi. The Catholic Church referred to the name of the town and declared that this unexpected reappearance of Mithraism was the Albigensian Heresy. After all, there could only be one God. The papally authorized crusaders, thousands of them, converged on southwestern France and massacred anyone – multitudes!-whom they suspected of being a heretic. Eventually they forced the supposed disbelievers onto a mountain fortress. Montsegur. There, the crusaders waited until the heretics surrendered due to starvation and thirst. The crusaders then herded the heretics into a wooden stockade, set fire to it, and watched while the heretics burned. That was the last time, more than seven hundred years ago, that a version of Mithraism raised its head in the Western world.'
'But you don't look convinced,' Tess said.
'Well.' Priscilla debated. 'A rumor persists that the night before the massacre, a small group of determined heretics used ropes to descend from the mountain fortress, taking with them a mysterious treasure. I've sometimes wondered if pockets of the heretics might have survived, remaining in hiding to the present day. And the photograph of that sculpture makes me suspect I'm right. It's not as if you can walk into an art gallery that specializes in ancient artifacts and simply buy one of these objects off the shelf. If any were available, the price would be outrageous because, as I told you, most of the bas-relief statues were destroyed after Constantine converted to Christianity. The few that survived are museum pieces. The best two I know of are in the Louvre and in the British National Museum.'
'But you saw similar statues in Spain in nineteen seventy-three,' Tess said.
'Yes, weathered engravings in grottoes outside Merida. And a badly broken bas-relief in a small museum outside Pamplona. Then, to my great surprise, a few sculptures hidden in isolated caves in the area. That's what made me wonder if the heresy continued to survive. Surely the local villagers had explored those caves and knew about the statues. They'd been left there, hidden, for a reason, I thought, and I took care to leave them exactly where I'd found them, out of respect, not to mention fear. After all, I didn't want to anger the local villagers by stealing a sacred part of their tradition, and I did have the sense I was being watched as I left the caves.'
'You never told me that, dear,' Professor Harding said.
'Well, I haven't always told you everything, Richard. I didn't want to concern you. I've had many adventures on my determined solitary journeys, and if you'd known, you might have tried to stop me from going on other journeys. But that's a separate matter. My point is, Tess, your photograph doesn't show an ancient statue. It's a painstaking modern recreation. In marble. Someone went to a great deal of trouble and expense to have it made. The question is, Why?'
'And,' Tess insisted, 'what the hell does it mean? Why would the ancients have considered it religious? Why is Mithras slicing the throat of the bull?'
FOUR
Washington National Airport. Craig waited tensely for the jet to reach the docking platform. He unsnapped his seatbelt and lunged to his feet the instant the seatbelt-warning light was extinguished. In a rush, he squirmed past other passengers in the aisle, anxious to leave the plane.
Past the exit gate, he hurried through the crowded terminal, checking warily around him, apprehensive about anyone who might show an interest in him. Outside the terminal, he fidgeted, forced to stand in a line with other travelers wanting taxis. Finally it was Craig's turn. As an empty cab stopped at the curb, he scrambled into the back, telling the driver, 'The Marriott hotel in Crystal City.' Sweating, Craig glanced repeatedly at his watch.
The taxi arrived at the hotel slightly ahead of schedule, two-twenty-five, about when Craig had predicted to Tess that he'd reach the rendezvous site.
A uniformed doorman approached Craig while he paid the driver and the taxi pulled away. The doorman seemed puzzled that Craig had no luggage. 'Are you checking in, sir?'
'No. I'm expecting someone.'
The doorman frowned and stepped backward. 'Yes. Very good, sir.'
Craig nervously scanned the busy highway, watching for a black Porsche 911. The car wouldn't be hard to recognize. Anytime now, Tess would steer off the highway and stop before him. Craig would dart into the passenger seat. They'd speed away.
Sure. Anytime now.
Craig coughed from the smog and began to pace. He glanced at his watch.
Two-thirty.
Two thirty-five.
Two-forty.
She must be having problems with traffic.
Any minute now, I'll see her.
As solemn men with rings in their pockets watched from a replica of a UPS truck in a parking lot across the street…
As gray-eyed men stared with vicious resolve from the window of a restaurant farther along the street…
Craig's muscles hardened.
Two forty-five.
He breathed heavily.
Tess!
For God's sake, what happened? Where the hell are you?
FIVE
'You said you saw the sculpture in a bedroom of a friend?' Priscilla asked.
Tess hesitated, again unsure how much to reveal for fear that the Hardings would be in danger if the people hunting her found out that she'd come here. 'Yes, the statue was on a bookshelf.'
'From the rigid expression on your face, it's obvious something else troubles you.'
Tess made her decision. Urgency compelled her. She had to know. 'The bedroom…'
'What about it?'
'… looked strange.'
Priscilla leaned suddenly forward. 'How?'
'There weren't any lamps. The overhead bulb didn't work. The floor was covered with candles. And next to the statue, on each side, there were other candles.'
'Candles? Of course. And one pointed upward, the other downward?' Priscilla asked at once.
Tess jerked her head back in surprise. 'Yes. How did you know?'
'The
photograph of the sculpture. The torch bearers flanking Mithras. One torch is raised, the other inverted. Tess, I very much suspect that what you saw was a makeshift version of a Mithraic altar. What else haven't you told me?'
With a shiver, Tess relented completely, prepared to tell Priscilla everything. Rapidly she explained, from the start, a week ago Wednesday – could it have been only that recently?-the first time she'd met Joseph. The gold Cross pen she'd dropped in the elevator.
Joseph had studied the pen and murmured its name almost with reverence.
Gold Cross.
Tess now knew what those words had meant to Joseph.
The symbol for the sun god.
SIX
Near Washington National Airport, the smog became thicker. In the replica of the UPS truck that stood in a parking lot across from the Marriott hotel, a man with a ring in his pocket spoke to a phone equipped with a scrambler to prevent anyone from overhearing his conversation. 'No, he just keeps pacing in front of the hotel. Every thirty seconds, he checks his watch. It's obvious he's waiting for someone. This has to be the rendezvous site. Anytime now, the woman ought to arrive.'
A voice on the other end of the line said, 'But you're sure he doesn't know you followed him from the airport?'
'As certain as I can be,' the man in the truck said. The moment the target left the plane and got into a taxi, one of my operatives used a portable phone to warn me. We were parked at the exit from the airport. When we saw the cab that the bait had hired, we pulled out ahead of him. He went directly to the hotel. We parked across the street.'
'And the enemy? the voice on the other end demanded. 'Have you seen any evidence of the vermin?'
'Not yet. But we have to assume that they followed the detective just as we did. If the woman's as great a danger to them as we suspect they fear, he's the only way for them to locate her.'
'Keep watching! Keep searching for them!'
'We're trying. I've got another team patrolling the highway. But this area's extremely congested. Unless you get up close to the vermin and happen to notice the color of their eyes… We won't know for certain until the enemy makes its move. Wait a…! Hold it!'
The Covenant Of The Flame Page 29
