The Sixth Key

by Adriana Koulias

  He was confused. He tried not to think of what Deodat might be suffering. Perhaps whoever they were, they didn’t want him to find whatever it was and he was placing Deodat’s life in peril just by going around asking questions. On the other hand, if they wanted it, they might kill Deodat if it turned out to be a hoax, or Rahn couldn’t find it. They might cut off a finger or a toe as he had seen in the movies – or do more than that . . .

  ‘Hey, are the two of you hungry?’ the truck driver said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘In that bag, mademoiselle, behind you there, I have a baguette stuffed with sheep’s kidneys and mustard. You’re welcome to some of it.’

  Rahn was nauseated and gestured for Eva to open her window so he could get some air.

  The girl answered the driver with a casual voice: ‘Thank you, but we’ve just had a most satisfying lunch.’

  ‘Mais oui,’ he said around the cigarette which sat in its reserved place at the corner of his mouth. He changed gears with one sinewy, tattooed arm and said, ‘So, you are going to Rennes-le-Château to visit family?’

  ‘No, we would like to see it for . . . for its historical significance,’ Rahn said.

  ‘You like history?’ The driver smiled broadly. ‘Well, Rennes-le-Château has history!’ He laughed but said nothing more.

  For a few francs he took them over the serpentine dirt road leading to the town but he dropped them off at the bottom of the hill saying, ‘I won’t go further, I will leave you here,’ he said firmly.

  Rahn observed the steep walk. ‘Why?’

  ‘The town smells of death, and if I were you I would not stay there long,’ he said, touching his nose. He turned his truck around with haste and disappeared in a trail of dust.

  The sun was still high and Rahn took off his coat as they toiled up the hill without speaking. Eva seemed to be quite fit compared to Rahn’s abused self and walked ahead with a stride that would impress a Teuton. The air was crisp and thin and from this altitude one could see clearly for miles, but Rahn was in no mood for sightseeing. His head felt like it was caught in a vice and he badly needed a comfortable chair and a brandy, but at least for now the snow in the globe of his head had settled and the bee was quiet.

  When they reached the top he realised that Rennes-le-Château hardly looked promising. It was a cluster of some forty rundown houses set on an ancient chalky outcrop rising up out of a vast landscape. Rahn guessed there could be no more than two hundred or so souls living on the small piece of land that was dominated by the old ramshackle castle of the Hautpouls.

  As they walked into the shade of those frowning buildings Eva threw him an amused glance. ‘Do you think that truck driver is right about this place?’

  ‘I agree with him. I don’t like it either, there’s something sinister in the air.’

  ‘Well, I suggest we go to the church; usually in these small towns the main road leads straight to it. The priest will know something about Saunière, no doubt.’

  ‘No doubt,’ Rahn said, feeling on the back foot.

  They passed a woman sweeping the steps outside her door. Her form was large and her eyes were keen. ‘Who are you?’ she said, holding her broom in front of her like a weapon.

  Rahn put out both hands, his nerves frayed. ‘I beg your pardon, madame. We didn’t mean to startle you. We’ve come to see the priest.’

  ‘The priest?’ She raised one brow, deeply suspicious. ‘Why do you want to see him?’

  In the corner of a little garden not far from the door sat an ancient woman bent over a bowl. Her gnarled hands shelled peas with lightning speed in an exercise that defied the eyes.

  ‘Good morning, madame!’ Rahn called over to her, trying to fend off the question.

  ‘Oh, she can’t answer you, she’s mute,’ the woman said dismissively, leaning on her broom. Apparently, having decided that the two strangers were not dangerous, she now made them her confidantes. ‘She’s my husband’s mother and this is her house. A modest home, but we do let the rooms now and again to visitors – are you visitors?’

  The old woman in the corner was staring at Rahn with unreserved intensity, making him falter.

  Seeing this exchange, the buxom woman said, ‘Stop that, Maman!’ The madame leant in, her voluminous décolletage straining the buttons of her floral dress. ‘The peasant has no manners. Now, what do you want with the priest?’

  ‘We were hoping he might tell us something about Marie Blanchefort,’ Eva said out of the blue.

  ‘Blanchefort? You mean the Hautpouls? Why do you want to know about her?’

  Eva did the strangest thing then – she grabbed Rahn affectionately by the arm. ‘We’re looking for family connections, that sort of thing.’

  The woman’s face was full of knowing. ‘Looking for family connections?’ She smoothed her floral dress over her bosom.

  ‘I’d say looking for treasure more like it! That’s why people come here generally, for gold and silver, not family connections! They’re always disappointed though. Anyway, it’s none of my business. Just follow this street all the way to the end, it’ll take you directly to the church. The priest is there every day, poor man. They say he has a condition and was sent here to calm his nerves. Imagine that! Will you be staying the night? The Autan’s getting ready to blow.’

  ‘The what?’ Rahn said.

  ‘The Autan . . .’ she repeated, gesticulating as if informing a child or an imbecile. ‘Haven’t you noticed how calm it is?’ She raised both brows and leant on her broom again, rather like a witch, Rahn fancied, and it made him smile a little. ‘Do you smell how fine the air is? That is how it always starts with the Autan . . . the calm before the storm. You don’t want to get caught up in the middle of that devil! Once, you know, they found an auto in the fork of a tree after the Autan! I will reserve a room for the monsieur and madame; you are married of course?’

  ‘Newly,’ Eva answered quickly, to Rahn’s surprise.

  ‘Look, Maman, love birds!’ the woman said, with a wistfulness that lingered only a moment before vanishing in light of practicalities. ‘Well, that’s settled then! Mind you don’t fall on those cobbles! Dinner is at six, on the dot. If you’re late I feed your portions to the pig.’

  As they walked Rahn asked, ‘Why did you tell her we’re married?’

  Eva came disquietingly close and whispered. ‘If someone comes here looking for you, they will not be looking for a married couple, will they?’

  Rahn couldn’t argue with her logic. Her quick thinking impressed him but he didn’t know how it would go at night when he would have to sleep on a chair, or worse still, on the floor. The thought of it didn’t sound the least bit appealing.

  They hadn’t walked long before a short wall defined the path to the door of the church. The path cut through a garden, which on one side was crowned by a crucifix and on the other by a statue of Mary on a pillar of sandstone. Rahn could tell it was of Visigoth design.

  Standing outside the door to the church, Eva pointed to the inscription over the lintel:

  ‘Terribilis est locus iste!’ she said.

  ‘This place is terrible . . .’ he translated.

  ‘Interesting words to put over the door to a church!’

  Rahn couldn’t agree more because he felt that familiar nausea come over him and had to brace himself as she pushed the door open, allowing the light to fall on an old water stoup directly in front of them. It made him pause in amazement for the second time that day, for it was held up by a red devil with horrible eyes.

  ‘Asmodeus . . .’ he said, his breathing deliberate and slow. ‘The king of the Underworld.’

  ‘A handsome devil!’ Eva said, walking in. ‘I’ve always wondered why so many churches have him at the front door.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. But if pressed I might venture to say that it could have something to do with Solomon.’

  ‘The king?’ She turned around, boyish, tall and as calm as a cold lake.

  ‘Yes, he invoked Asmodeus to help
him to build his temple in Jerusalem. See how the devil holds the stoup of holy water as a symbol that he’s bound, like a servant, to the elemental beings and the angels above him? Solomon wrote the first grimoire and men have used it to bind devils for holy purposes ever since.’

  ‘So the book written by this Pope Honorius wasn’t the first one?’

  ‘No. Solomon was the first, centuries before Christ. After that came the book by the Theban who was also called Honorius, and then later Pope Honorius appropriated it. It is complicated. Look do you see those griffins and salamanders on the water stoup?’ Rahn pointed to them. ‘They’re guardians of treasure. And the initials BS?’

  ‘Bérenger Saunière,’ Eva said to herself. ‘Not a modest man!’

  ‘Perhaps not, but BS also stands for something else in Black Magic: Baron Samadi – the lord of graveyards and death. Asmodeus by another name is still Asmodeus.’

  She gave him a shiver of a white smile. ‘How nice. I like this place more and more. Who are those four angels?’

  ‘That’s also in the grimoires. The invocation of the spirits of the four directions: Michael, Gabriel, Uriel and Raphael. And see this inscription on the water stoup: By this sign you will vanquish him . . . ? This is usually attributed to Constantine, who was converted to Christianity after he saw the sign of the cross in a dream. It’s supposed to mean that by virtue of the sign of the cross one conquers one’s enemies, but here it says you will vanquish him, which is an aberration of the initial inscription.’

  ‘Does it mean with the sign one conquers the Devil?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked at her. ‘The sign of the cross . . . The interesting thing is that in the magic square, the word tenet forms a cross; tenet means to hold. The one who holds the cross, or in this case the sign – the key that is missing from the grimoires – can vanquish or become the master of Satan himself . . . just a conjecture.’

  ‘I see.’

  The church wasn’t large. Directly ahead on the west wall there was a confessional, above it a striking relief of the Sermon on the Mount. Running west to east the nave was tiled in black and white leading to the altar. On either side there were pews and on the walls representations of the Stations of the Cross, as well as the obligatory saints. There was a pulpit to the left, stained-glass windows high up, and the vaulted ceiling was painted blue and studded with stars.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Rahn saw the shape of a priest in the glare of the doorway.

  ‘I heard we had visitors in town,’ he said. ‘I’m the curator – Abbé Lucien.’ He came forwards out of the light and Rahn noted that his face was so youthful it looked like it had never seen a razor. His hand showed the slightest tremor as they shook hands.

  ‘News travels fast,’ Rahn said to him.

  ‘Well, I saw Madame Corfu on the way back from my walk.’ He glanced furtively at Eva and blushed violently. To cover it he bent his head, touching the tip of his black hat.

  Eva smiled in answer.

  ‘We don’t often see . . . people. It seems that you are a cause célèbre. I hear that you are interested in the Hautpoul family.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rahn said.

  ‘I’m not an expert but I know a thing or two.’

  ‘We were enjoying looking around your church,’ Rahn said.

  ‘Quite unusual, isn’t it? The man who renovated it was a rather interesting priest.’

  ‘Interesting, in what way?’

  ‘Oh he was quite . . . uncommon . . . if you know my meaning.’ He leant in. ‘I’m not supposed to talk about him!’ There was a nervous chuckle.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No, orders from above.’ He indicated the ribbed vaults of the church with a finger, like a young, unbearded John the Baptist.

  ‘From God?’ Rahn asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your orders?’

  ‘Oh no!’ The young priest blushed again and laughed it off as best he could. ‘No, dear me, no! From the bishop at Carcassonne. But I could tell you something about the church, and if he comes into it—’ he lowered his voice, ‘—well, one can’t help that, can one? A little tour perhaps?’

  ‘We would be delighted,’ Eva said ingratiatingly. ‘If you don’t have more pressing matters to attend to, that is.’

  ‘Oh, no, not at all.’ A sad expression entered his cow-like brown eyes. ‘I’m really very free – the people haven’t grown accustomed to me yet, I’m afraid. They keep very much to themselves. Bitten once, you see, twice shy.’

  ‘Surely they come to church on Sundays?’ Rahn said.

  ‘Yes, but not all of them, there are some who have fallen away from the flock. But that’s not your concern, is it? Alright.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Let’s see, shall we? What can I tell you…first, a little history . . . what do you know so far?’

  ‘Next to nothing,’ Rahn said.

  ‘Well, where shall we start? This village was a large Visigoth centre in its day. You wouldn’t know it now but thousands of people lived here. When the Franks defeated the Visigoths they sold the village and eventually it came into the hands of the Trencavel family. You may have heard of Roger Trencavel, the great Cathar.’

  ‘This town belonged to the Cathars?’

  ‘Indeed, and they, in turn, were conquered by the Catholic Crusader, Simon de Montfort. Perhaps the heretics cursed the town because after that it was bedevilled by the plague and under constant attack from mercenaries – until it was almost completely destroyed. So, to cut a long story short, the village eventually came under the governorship of the Hautpoul-Blancheforts. Marie de Nègre d’Ables Hautpoul-Blanchefort was the last in their line. Her castle is fallen into ruin as you no doubt have seen.’

  ‘Blanchefort?’ Rahn said. ‘Isn’t that the name of one of the Grand Masters of the Templar order?’

  ‘Indeed. The Blancheforts were Cathars but they also belonged to the Temple. This place is dotted with Templar castles because it formed a part of the pilgrim route to Santiago de Compostela.’

  ‘And what about the church?’ Eva asked.

  ‘When Saunière came here around 1885 this church was falling to bits, and he decided to renovate it. That’s how it has become what it is. Shall we start at the entrance? I suppose you’ve noticed our devil, Asmodeus?’

  ‘Yes. What interests me,’ Rahn said, ‘is the inscription. It reads, “Par ce signe tu le vaincras,” that is, “With this sign you will vanquish him”, instead of “Par ce signe, tu vaincras” – “With this sign, you will vanquish”.’

  ‘Why, I believe you are right!’ the priest said, enlightened. ‘Fancy that! Perhaps it was a mistake? Yes.’ The priest seemed at a loss for words and turned his attention to the church again. ‘You see there, above the confessional, there is a relief of the Sermon on the Mount and the inscription “Come to me all those who suffer and I will ease your pain” . . . And as we walk down the central nave, we see along the walls the Stations of the Cross. Now, behind us, as you can see, opposite the entrance, is the baptismal and a statue of Jesus with John the Baptist.’

  ‘John looks rather large?’ the girl said.

  ‘Yes, but after the baptism it is well known that Jesus increases while John the Baptist decreases. Quite a clever man was our Abbé Saunière. Now, if we move along, on your right we see a statue of Saint Germaine, the shepherdess who was disfigured and gave away all her possessions, and to your left Saint Roche, and then Saint Anthony the Hermit, who was tempted by devils.’

  ‘The same saints that are found in the Bugarach church,’ Rahn remarked.

  ‘Bugarach?’ the priest said, suddenly attentive.

  ‘The abbé of Bugarach was my uncle,’ the girl said.

  He looked at her with a questioning expression, as if he were trying to fit a piece to a puzzle. ‘I didn’t think he had a niece?’

  ‘Did you know him?’ Rahn asked.

  ‘What do you mean, “did”? Has something happened to him?’ There was a sudden intensity in his v
oice.

  ‘My uncle had an accident,’ Eva said.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. May I ask, what sort of accident?’ He leant in.

  ‘He drowned,’ she said in a matter-of-fact voice.

  ‘Drowned? I thought he’d had a stroke. Strangely enough, I had a choice of coming here or going to Bugarach—’

  ‘Really?’ Rahn said. ‘What made you choose Rennes-le-Château?’

  Abbé Lucien looked at Rahn. His blond eyelashes shivered like wings and he smiled a nervous smile, wrinkling that young face. ‘I don’t like volcanoes.’ He nodded his head and touched the tip of his black cap again. ‘My condolences, mademoiselle.’

  Eva had charmed him!

  The young priest continued with an awkward, self-conscious tone that made Rahn feel like a third wheel: ‘Well . . . here on the right we have Mary Magdalene, for whom this church is dedicated. Further along on the left we have the pulpit and opposite that, Saint Anthony of Padua, the patron saint of lost items. Behind the altar, one sees the Holy Virgin holding her child on the right, and on the left, Joseph is also holding Jesus.’

  Eva turned to the priest with a frown. ‘Two Jesus babies in one church, how remarkable!’

  ‘I did say he was an interesting man!’ He laughed a little, embarrassed and delighted.

  The altar drew Rahn’s attention. He pointed to it. ‘Can we get closer?’

  ‘Well . . .’ The abbé seemed uncertain. ‘I suppose that would be permissible . . .’ He took a step and opened the gate leading to the enclosure.