The Lazarus Prophecy

by F. G. Cottam

  ‘A lesson taught in the gospels by Thomas, who doubted.’

  ‘He was entitled to his doubt. The Redeemer taught us that belief is all the stronger for overcoming it.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The cardinal took a step forward and then paused, almost faltering. ‘Will you not accompany me?’

  Brother Philip said, ‘Forgive me, no. His presence was corrupt and loathsome. I need no reminding.’

  The cardinal endured the cell for at least five minutes before re-emerging. Brother Philip thought he had done extremely well to last so long.

  ‘You have a man in London?’

  ‘We do. It was he who told us that our prisoner had returned there.’

  ‘Why do you think he went back?’

  Brother Philip didn’t reply immediately. He relocked the cell door. He gestured for the two of them to take the stairs. They had ascended through three high floors of the priory, all the way to the library, before he did so. It was night time and dark and he lit tapers on the walls before saying anything at all. Their light was feeble. It made the cardinal, who considered the gloom oppressive, yearn for the bright vibrancy of electric bulbs.

  ‘It’s my belief he came into the world young and immature. I think his appetite for destruction was strong and gleeful. But I believe that then, he lacked a sense of purpose.’

  ‘Confinement by your brotherhood gave him time to reflect.’

  ‘That’s true, your eminence, but it was not our intention to allow him to escape us.’

  ‘We can indulge the back and forth of mutual rebuke. Or we can communicate as men with something urgent to accomplish. Please continue.’

  ‘He knows now what his purpose is. More significantly, I think he has realized who and what he is. He knows his stature. He possesses Satan’s pride.’

  ‘He isn’t the devil himself,’ the cardinal said, repeated.

  Brother Philip did not reply.

  ‘Can your man not go after him?’

  ‘Peter Chadwick is strong and brave and resourceful. But we know from our own history that they cannot be tricked, or curtailed, or confined by a man who has killed. Men who have taken life have compromised their souls. They have not the necessary purity. They are spiritually contaminated. Chadwick was a soldier who distinguished himself in the field.’

  ‘Where he took lives?’

  ‘More than a few, I fear, yes.’

  ‘We need a champion.’

  The plural was not lost on Brother Philip, who smiled to himself.

  ‘And we must recruit. Your brotherhood must be put at full strength again.’

  ‘We need four to restore the seven.’

  ‘If you can find willing souls I would suggest an eventual strength of 49,’ the cardinal said.

  ‘That is seven times seven.’

  ‘Congratulations, Brother Philip. You remember your times-table. I find myself becoming an enthusiast for numerology, confounding the saying about old dogs and new tricks.’

  ‘You have a fondness for English sayings. You share that with him.’

  ‘I will read the prophecy now.’

  ‘First I will pour you the large glass of wine its contents will determine you require,’ Brother Philip said.

  And it came to pass that Lazarus sought the counsel of Peter when Christ had departed the earth. For he could not discover rest or contentment bearing the knowledge with which he had been returned to life. He could find neither comfort nor satisfaction in food or drink nor pleasure in contemplation of the bounty of the land or the fertile mysteries of the sea. All was debased to him in knowledge of the secret he nurtured and feared in his bosom.

  He went to Peter and Peter said to him, Jesus loved you as he loved all men but hath proven his love in a most direct and wondrous manner, and yet the miracle torments you and you find no grace or gratitude in the heart that beats in you only because of him. Why do you not rejoice in the gift of life?

  And Lazarus confessed to Peter that Christ had returned him not from death but from Hell. For Lazarus had been judged by the Almighty and determined a sinner found gravely wanting in his afflicted soul. He had been damned and Jesus had delivered him from the torment of Hades after four days that passed as centuries, he said, in that domain of anguish and hopelessness.

  And there Satan sought out Lazarus and chided him for his sins. He appeared in the guise of a most loathsome creature, scaly and terrible to listen to and look upon. He slouched foully and bragged most gleefully and knew that his sisters Martha and Mary were faithful Disciples of Christ while their brother Lazarus had been a worthless man.

  He goaded Lazarus and mocked him. He told him that he would visit demons on the earth in human guise and that they would possess strength and cunning and go among pious men to trouble their faith and steal their hope in God, sowing chaos and destruction. This until the End of Days when his own son would be sent among men and the Antichrist would triumph in the final conflict. The light will go out in the world, he said. And the beast as which he had disguised himself delivered this promise with joy.

  And Lazarus, who knew that Satan was sometimes a terrible and vaunting liar, knew that the threat was made not idly and that the promise would come to pass in future times. And despite his great pity for his own plight, he told Peter, he feared more greatly for mankind and for the message of God, imperiled by such awful visitations. In the presence of the demon darkness would flourish and finally darkness would rule.

  And Peter was convinced by Lazarus. He told the sinner that his sins had been expunged. He told him he had earned God’s grace by the sharing of this revelation. He swore that the soldiers of God would take strong and sacred steps to prepare for the assault from hell. The demons would be vanquished and the will of Christ would prevail.

  Thus did Lazarus depart Peter. His expression was sanguine, his carriage that of a man from whom a great weight had been lifted, as Christ himself lifted the sealing rock from the tomb of Lazarus in his calling forth from the domain of Hades and the presence over him there of its damned and tainted Lord.

  ‘How many have there been?’ The cardinal had finished reading.

  ‘He is the ninth,’ Brother Philip said.

  ‘I was afraid you might tell me that.’

  ‘He is different from the others,’ Philip said. ‘That’s if the chroniclers of our order are to be believed. They do not die, according to our predecessors in the brotherhood. Imprisoned by the rituals, they fade and disappear eventually when they lose hope and purpose. They leave behind nothing but their spoor. This happened in the past after a span not dissimilar in years to a mortal life.’

  ‘Why do you think that was?’

  ‘Evil is not a benign state, like good. It requires the nourishment of wicked deeds. Without that, it is nothing.’

  ‘Deprived of deeds to perform, evil can scheme. This one is stronger,’ the cardinal said, looking down, as though through the floors to where they had kept and lost him.

  ‘He is the ninth,’ Brother Philip said, simply.

  Chapter Seven

  Jane Sullivan felt like getting drunk. She had endured a grisly and defeating morning at the scene of an awful death. A good woman had been degraded and destroyed and she had been helpless to prevent it happening.

  She had then been obliged to deliver the news to Charlotte Reynard, who had done something selfless and brave that had, potentially, exposed her to the risk of press and public ridicule. Charlotte had acted to try to help catch a murderer. She had been inspired to do what she’d done by the example shown by the friend Jane had to tell her had become a victim of the same killer.

  Between the first and the second of those confrontations, Jane had been sacked. She was still in the pay of the Metropolitan Police. She still held the exalted rank of Detective Chief Inspector. But the pay had never been the issue and the rank was nominal. Her credibility would be trashed the moment it became generally known she’d been taken off the case. The media verdict would be merciless. Her career
as an investigator was effectively over. She faced a future of routine duties someone enterprising with a roster would be instructed to busy her in carrying out.

  She didn’t want to drink alone. Even in the 21st century, men routinely hit on women kept company only by the glass in front of them at a pub table. The only person she could think of who would be free to join her at a moment’s notice was Jacob Prior. He lived just a few blocks away from her. He wouldn’t be out. He would be watching something by Ibsen or possibly Busby Berkley on his overworked TV.

  There was a very good reason for not calling him. She felt he had betrayed her trust. But she badly needed company of the non-professional variety and she thought that drinking alone would be even more depressing tonight than staying sober.

  ‘I’ll be at the Prince of Wales in Cleaver Square in ten minutes.’

  ‘It’s nine-thirty at night.’

  ‘Your powers of observation are phenomenal.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘You’re meeting me there. I’m buying.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re going to stand me up?’

  ‘No Jane, I’m not. I’m old-fashioned. I’m buying.’

  ‘And you can record it.’

  ‘Record what?’

  ‘Whatever it is you’re watching. Top Hat? Mother Courage?’

  ‘I’m watching a DVD. It’s Steve Collins versus Chris Eubank, the rematch?’

  ‘You’ve got hidden shallows, Jacob,’ she said.

  He was nice looking, there was no denying that. He was handsome in a way that wasn’t bland and he was well put together, under his clothes. He’d put on a suit over a soft collared woolen sweater in an outfit she didn’t think he’d been wearing ten minutes earlier to view an old prize fight.

  They were seated outside the pub in the square and were halfway through their first drink when she said, ‘Why did you go and see Peter Chadwick today?’

  ‘I went because he knows more about The Scholar than he was letting on in the interview room.’

  ‘You know that for a fact?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘How do you?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  After a moment, she said, ‘I can make an educated guess.’

  ‘That’s what he said. He asked me the same question. I couldn’t tell him, either.’

  ‘We had you vetted, Jacob, remember?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I know you did some consultancy work for our intelligence people. You’ve maintained a contact?’

  Jacob didn’t reply.

  ‘Alright, let me ask you this. Who was he talking to?’

  ‘I’d already found that out. He was talking to someone based at a Catholic priory in the Pyrenees. It’s fair to assume they’re some sort of Religious order but if they are, they’re operating incognito. I’ve drawn a blank so far concerning them. I can’t even find out what they’re called.’

  ‘Chadwick wouldn’t tell you?’

  ‘He still might. He might not. He discussed the Scholar with them. They seemed to be aware of who he was.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Will you bring Chadwick in?’

  ‘I might suggest doing so to whoever they put in charge of the investigation.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Jesus, when?’

  ‘This morning, just before the news about Alice Cranfield broke. That’s why I wanted a drink, Jacob. That’s why I called you.’

  ‘Even though you think I went behind your back?’

  ‘Beggars can’t be choosers. And there’s no think about it, I trusted you and you did go behind my back.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘We’re having Chadwick watched. He might be aware of the surveillance and he might not. It might be a good thing if he is. People can be panicked into mistakes.’

  ‘Not him.’

  ‘No stone unturned, Jacob, except that so far, we’ve been looking under the wrong stones.’

  He didn’t reply. Then he said, ‘Chadwick might actually know the Scholar’s identity. He’s got some material connection with these people in the mountains in Spain.’

  ‘And they’re likely to be some sect or brotherhood outside the umbrella of the Church.’

  ‘What makes you believe that?’

  ‘If they were completely kosher you’d have found out who they are.’

  ‘The last thing they are is kosher.’

  ‘You get my drift.’

  ‘Chadwick did share one honest insight with me today and I think he was bang on with it, Jane. He said that the Scholar would bask in the spotlight afforded him by Alice Cranfield’s murder. He thinks there’ll be a lull before he tries to kill again.’

  ‘I’d probably go along with that,’ Jane said. ‘But it’s not really my concern anymore. And my involvement with the investigation going forward is likely to be very peripheral. The personnel at the Yard view failure as contagious. Senior colleagues aren’t exempt from that fear. You can hardly blame them.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s papers are going to be interesting. Apparently print readership has picked up no end since they broke Julie Longmuir. Circulation’s booming.’ He looked at his watch. ‘The early editions will be out.’

  ‘I’ll wait till tomorrow for that particular treat,’ Jane said. ‘Drink up, Jacob. I’m ready for another. Mind if I call you Jake?’

  Her mobile rang. She listened. Jacob gathered their glasses and went to the bar. When he returned with fresh drinks she had finished the call. He said, ‘More bad news?’

  ‘A development,’ she said. ‘Not a breakthrough, though. Maybe I’ll tell you on Monday. On the other hand maybe, after what you did regarding Chadwick, I won’t.’

  ‘Call me Jake by all means,’ he said. ‘I’d vastly prefer it if you did.’

  She became more cheerful, after her call. They drank and chatted. The evening weather was benign. The square in which they sat was tree-lined, Victorian, a handsome middle-class refuge from the 60’s brutalism of the council estates surrounding it. People were carefree, outside the pub. It was still the weekend. It was Sunday tomorrow, a day for picnics in the park and leisurely newspaper reading or maybe a trip to the seaside in an open-topped car, play and innocence, idleness and escape.

  An hour and a half later, he walked her home. They paused at her doorway.

  ‘I should really see you in.’

  ‘He isn’t there, Jake.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘It’s a complication I don’t need,’ she said.

  He raised his hand and stroked her hair, where it had escaped a clip securing it and fell loose, at the side of her face. The touch of him was spontaneous and tender and the tips of his fingers were warm on her skin. He leant in and kissed her and she returned the kiss. When it broke, she said, ‘Goodnight, Jake.’

  ‘Sweet dreams, Jane.’

  The cardinal breakfasted early the following morning with the brothers. They ate sparingly, but they were pious men, their regimen harsh and their customary inclination towards fasting. He had a tricky and arduous mountain descent and an industrious day ahead of him. He ate heartily, but they showed no disapproval of this. Their demeanor was as cheerful as circumstance allowed. They were friendly and inclusive. He was their guest and their reprieve. He was a prince of the Church and they were respectful of the fact.

  ‘Secrecy is self-perpetuating,’ he said. ‘It is also corrosive. It inspires cabals and conspiracies. It fosters rumour and suspicion.’

  ‘Our order never prospered in secrecy,’ Brother Stephen said. ‘It was a necessary condition. Some truths are too terrible to be trusted to common knowledge. The Lazarus Prophecy was always one such truth.’

  The cardinal nodded in agreement. He had pondered on this the previous night after reading the prophecy for himself. Had the peasants of less enlightened times feared the presence of demons among them disguised as men
, it would have provoked a pervasive mood of terror and cost far more innocent lives than fear of witchcraft ever had. The prophecy would have given them cause.

  There had been times over the centuries when Christianity had barely survived the various crises testing faith and challenging the organized structure of the established Church. Had the prophecy become widely known, it might not have done so. Hope could perish. It had almost happened at the time of the Black Death, when the building sheltering him was constructed. The tipping point had almost then been reached.

  ‘How quickly can you re-convene?’

  ‘We can be seven again by the end of the month,’ Brother Philip said. ‘We were granted the power of ordination by the first Pontiff and it remains in our gift. We have willing candidates for inclusion in the brotherhood.’

  The cardinal thought it impolitic to ask from where these candidates would come. Brother Philip sounded confident enough and one had to be thankful for small mercies. He said, ‘I must make contact with Peter Chadwick in London. I shall do so by less indiscreet means than radio transmission in Morse code. I assume the man possesses a mobile phone?’

  ‘I can provide you with the number,’ Brother Philip said.

  ‘I shall keep the Barry account in my possession for now. Its contents have convinced me that I am likely to find a more constructive use for it beyond these walls than you will here.’

  ‘The secret must be kept,’ Brother Stephen said.

  ‘There you go again,’ the cardinal said. ‘The Templars too believed in secrecy for its own sake.’

  ‘And we all know what happened to them,’ Brother Dominic said.

  ‘The innocent soul butchered yesterday by the creature you knew as Edmund Caul was a gifted healer. She was a saver of lives, a giver of hope, someone who repeatedly spared the loved ones of her patients the desolation of grief.’

  ‘You must be quite something in the pulpit, your eminence,’ Brother Dominic said.

  ‘I speak only the truth.’

  ‘Those are the very reasons he chose her,’ Brother Stephen said.