The Sixth Key

by Adriana Koulias

  Rahn paused on the threshold to quell the anxiety he was feeling, before following the other two. He wiped his brow and tried to look calm but he glimpsed something that immediately took his eye. It was a slab of engraved stone sitting against the wall. ‘What is that, Abbé?’ he said, going down on one knee to look at it.

  ‘Oh, that is the knight’s flagstone. I don’t know where to put it.’

  ‘It reminds me of a Templar Seal,’ Rahn said as he looked closely, ‘two knights on one horse . . .’

  ‘It was placed here by the Blancheforts, I believe.’

  ‘I see.’ But Rahn’s mind was now on the altar. ‘This looks quite modern.’

  ‘Yes, the entire renovation began when Saunière replaced the old altar, which was really just one great slab of stone sitting on two ancient pillars of the Visigoth period.’

  They drew closer to look at the painted relief of Mary Magdalene praying in a grotto some distance from a township; she was depicted with a book by her side and a skull nearby.

  ‘What is that book?’ Eva asked.

  ‘Some say, mademoiselle, it’s the original Apocalypse of John – the Book of Revelation in the New Testament. There is a Cathar legend that Mary Magdalene was the sister of Saint John and that she was the guardian of his book. The Cathars called it the Book of the Seven Seals.’

  Rahn’s mind was running through the connections. ‘What’s that town behind Magdalene?’

  ‘Ah! Well, that is purported to be the New Jerusalem, but some believe it looks like Rennes-le-Château. Have you seen the Tour Magdala? It looks like the tower in the relief. Saunière painted the entire thing himself, with the help of another priest.’

  ‘And this inscription is not correct either.’ Rahn read it out, ‘Jesu Medela Vulnerum Spes Una Poenitentium. Per Magdalenae Lacrymas Peccata Nostra Diluas – Jesus you remedy against our pains and only hope for our repentance. It is by way of Magdalene’s tears that you wash our sins away. The word “paenitentium” is not only spelt incorrectly, he has also added the word “per” unnecessarily.’

  The abbé nodded. ‘Once again, yes, I see your point.’

  By way of . . . per . . . tenet . . . Rahn set this aside for later digestion and looked around, feeling hot under the collar. He concentrated, swallowing down his fear. The wallpaper around the altar drew his attention. Something looked familiar . . . and then he was struck suddenly and he saw it, and it was all he could do to keep himself from crying out. There were hundreds of small upside-down anchors entwined with snakes. His head pounded the significance into him. That was the symbol tattooed on the dead man’s wrist!

  ‘Now, over here, there was once an entrance to the tomb of Sigebert IV,’ the abbé continued.

  But Rahn had to take a moment to digest his insight and only managed to say, ‘That’s very interesting.’ He could feel his hands shaking and put them in his pockets.

  ‘Yes, he was Dagobert II’s son,’ the priest said.

  ‘A Visigoth tomb – is it possible to see it?’ Eva said, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.

  ‘I’m afraid no one knows where the entrance is since the renovations.’

  ‘What a shame,’ Eva said, looking at him with her brown-gold eyes.

  ‘Oh, but Saunière’s housekeeper is still alive!’ he said brightly, completely under her spell. ‘She might know something. She doesn’t usually talk to anyone but it won’t hurt to ask. In the afternoons she is usually in the conservatory. I will see if she’s available. In the meantime you can have a look in the cemetery – you might find something to interest you there.’

  The graveyard lay on the south side of the church and was sequestered behind a wall. To reach it they had to traverse the garden with the Cavalry cross they had seen on their arrival. Rahn breathed in a sigh of relief to be out of that church and welcomed going into the cemetery with a lustful enthusiasm.

  ‘Did Saunière build this garden too?’ Rahn asked.

  ‘Oh yes, to commemorate the end of his building works. Bishop Billard himself came to bless the church. In fact, his name is engraved on that plaque below the crucifix.’ The priest led them to an arched portal dominated by a relief of a skull and bones, and unlocked the gate covered in verdigris. Rahn noted that there was a rounded protrusion on this side of the church with a little window high above. It looked like a recent addition. ‘Is that a storeroom?’ he asked the priest.

  ‘Oh, that’s just the sacristy,’ he said, fumbling for his keys.

  Eva frowned. ‘Do you always keep the cemetery locked? What about those who want to visit their relatives?’

  ‘There are not many who want to, but I’m glad to open the gate for anyone who asks.’

  ‘But why lock it at all?’

  ‘To prevent people from . . . digging up the graves.’

  She laughed, incredulous. ‘What?’

  The abbé gave a sigh. ‘Yes, unbelievable, isn’t it? The lengths to which we must go to prevent the desecration of graves! When it comes to treasure, nothing is sacred.’

  ‘What treasure are they looking for?’ Rahn asked.

  ‘Visigoth treasure . . . not far from here, a shepherd fell into a hole in the ground and found a casket of coins dating to the time of the Visigoths. Since then it’s been rather difficult to keep people out of this cemetery because beneath it lies the crypt of the dames.’

  ‘So, beneath the church were buried the males and beneath this cemetery the females?’ Eva said.

  ‘That is what the church records say.’

  They stood a moment inside the gates, looking over graves that were less than well cared for. Above, the sky was as hard as enamel and below, the weeds grew everywhere, headstones looked to be crumbling and some had even toppled over.

  ‘The cemetery needs some work, as you can see, but I can’t get anyone to do it.’

  ‘Why not?’ Rahn said.

  ‘We can’t keep tourists and riffraff from tearing the gates down and yet the residents of the town won’t venture beyond them!’

  ‘Really?’ Eva remarked.

  ‘They are afraid.’

  Eva looked about her. ‘Of what? Their dead?’

  ‘So it seems.’

  Rahn listened to this while he glanced down a long avenue of graves. Towering above it, beyond the wall of stone, he could see what looked like a glass conservatory.

  ‘Abbé Saunière is buried there, at the end of this avenue,’ the priest said, noticing his interest. ‘I’ll go and see if the madame will speak to you.’

  He excused himself with a tip of his hat and a bat of his eyelashes and left with his long black cassock rustling between his legs.

  It was eerily quiet now and Eva took Rahn’s arm again, sending an electric shock to his abused head. ‘I agree with you, I don’t like it here,’ she confided.

  ‘That’s why I think it is exactly the right place,’ he said to her as they walked to Saunière’s grave. He had not had a woman’s arm in his since Etienne, and it felt disconcerting.

  The grave was nothing special, almost conspicuously so, just a simple horizontal stone slab with the usual inscriptions. They turned around again and walked back looking at other graves. Rahn noticed an ossuary on the far left and Eva went to a place set apart for the burial of unbaptised children.

  ‘Isn’t this sad?’ she said. ‘Some people say unbaptised babies become angels . . . others say they live in limbo. Apparently they are always buried where the rainfall from the church can run off onto their little plots – to baptise them with Holy Water.’

  Rahn came over to her and took a look at the miserable patch of ground. ‘Well, Dante depicts limbo as the first circle of Hell but the pagans see it as a brightly lit castle, like the Elysium. Apparently, you can be in limbo and not know it—’

  Rahn was interrupted by the priest who had returned wearing a triumphant smile.

  ‘Madame Dénarnaud has agreed to see you!’ he said. A moment later they were leaving the gloomy cemetery and retr
acing their steps past the church. Eventually they came to a small garden that led to a larger one shaded by tall trees.

  ‘Once,’ the priest said, walking briskly, ‘this was a magnificent paradise. Saunière planted rare, exotic species of trees and orchards bearing fruits never seen in these parts. All nurtured by subterranean aqueducts and cisterns. Quite ingenious!’ He paused a moment to orient them. ‘That large building is the Villa Bethany.’

  ‘Interesting name,’ Eva commented, still hanging onto Rahn’s arm.

  ‘Well, I suggest it has some connection to the church. Bethany being the home of Mary Magdalene and Lazarus, her brother, the one who was raised from the dead by Christ and became Saint John because of it.’

  To Rahn the villa looked rather austere. ‘Did the priest build that too?’

  ‘Oh yes. These days it’s where the madame lives. She used to live in the vicarage, until I came. Ahead is the tower of Magdala

  – it once had a wonderful library.’ Rahn grew attentive. ‘You say it once had, what happened to it?’

  ‘Unfortunately for me, an antiquarian bookseller from London came shortly after the abbé’s death to buy all his books. I would have liked to have seen them.’

  Looking for Le Serpent Rouge, the Grimoire of Honorius III, perhaps? Rahn wanted to ask. But instead he trailed behind, glancing about at the decrepit garden, trying to imagine how it must have looked in its glory days.

  ‘All sorts of celebrities came here, apparently,’ the priest said, looking over his shoulder. ‘They ate and drank till all hours, even royalty, so I hear.’

  ‘Royalty?’

  ‘Yes, this village was graced by a visit from the Tuscan, Johann Salvator, of the Austrian Imperial family, who was also as it happens the nephew of Countess de Chambord who lived nearby. Actually, the Countess de Chambord was actively involved in trying to unite the exiled French Royal family with the House of Austria. There were some who wanted her husband, the Count de Chambord, to lead a new monarchy, but he died before it could be realised. Her donations helped to build these buildings and this garden. At any rate, her nephew, Johann Salvator, one day renounced his title and privileges and assumed the name John Orth, upon which he married a commoner, purchased a ship called the Santa Margareta and sailed for South America. They say his ship was lost and he was never heard from again, that is, until he came here to visit Abbé Saunière.’

  ‘Perhaps it was true love?’ Eva said.

  ‘More like he got a whiff of what was to befall the Hapsburgs and wanted to distance himself,’ Rahn answered.

  ‘Yes, suicide, assassinations, war and eventually their downfall.’ The priest climbed the steps to the semicircular walkway that overlooked the vast, mountainous footfalls of the Pyrenees. The walkway connected the Tour Magdala on the left with the conservatory on the right. This was the glasshouse Rahn had seen from the cemetery a moment before. It had seemed far grander from below. As they neared, Rahn realised it was rather a shabby place. The floor was littered with rotting leaves and dead snails and the corners were hung with cobwebs. Above, bird droppings clung to the broken glass panes that allowed the filtered light to fall over a wicker chair in which dozed an old woman. She was dressed in black like a nun, with a black shawl over her head that accentuated the paleness of her withered face. She was resting her chin on her chest and making low snoring sounds as they approached.

  ‘Madame Dénarnaud,’ the priest said tentatively, giving her a little shake. ‘These are the people who wanted to see you.’

  She opened both eyes sharply and lifted her head to survey the abbé with contempt. She turned her slow and penetrating eyes to the strangers standing before her and said, ‘Who are you, and what do you want?’

  26

  Madame Dénarnaud

  ‘Then I cursed the elements with the curse of tumult; and a frightful tempest gathered in the Heaven where, before,

  there had been no wind.’

  Edgar Allan Poe, ‘Silence, A Fable’

  ‘These are the visitors I told you about. They would like to ask you some questions,’ the abbé said, the perfect model of politeness and decorum.

  Madame Dénarnaud turned to the abbé and spat, ‘Get out!’

  This abruptness caused a violent blush to flower on the priest’s face and a few words of apology were followed by a hasty exit.

  When he was gone, she addressed Rahn and Eva: ‘Strangers usually want one thing from me, and if that is what you’re seeking you will not be satisfied.’

  Rahn ventured to ask, ‘And what do they usually want?’

  ‘They want to know about the treasure, of course,’ she said, with a wily smile and narrowed eyes.

  ‘Is there treasure?’

  ‘I knew it!’ she shouted. ‘Take your carcasses out of here!’

  ‘We’re not here about treasure,’ Eva hurried to say.

  ‘I read the cards this morning. I pulled out the Tower – destruction – mayhem – death! The planet Mars!’ Madame Dénarnaud punctuated each word with a jab of her finger.

  ‘The Tower can also mean a blessing in disguise,’ Rahn countered.

  There was a reluctant grunt. ‘You know the cards?’

  ‘Of course. There’s a wealth of knowledge locked in each one that can only be mined by those who are wise.’

  She was soothed, but only a little. ‘What do you want to know?’

  Rahn decided to take advantage of her momentary good humour to get to the point. ‘We’re looking for any information on something called Le Serpent Rouge – a grimoire written by Pope Honorius.’

  ‘A grimoire?’ she said with raised brows.

  ‘A book of black magic,’ Rahn said.

  ‘Why would I know about such a thing?’

  ‘We wondered if Abbé Saunière had known about it.’

  ‘And if I did know, why would I tell you anything?’

  ‘Because a priest has died and I think his death is connected to the grimoire.’

  This made her stop. ‘What? What did you say? Who is dead?’

  ‘The Abbé Cros from Bugarach.’

  She paused to think about it, and Rahn could see that Madame Dénarnaud was a good actress, for the addled exterior fell away and what surfaced now was a fiercely lucid intelligence. ‘Bugarach?’ She looked at Rahn, the whites of her eyes as yellow and dry as medieval parchment. ‘How did he die?’

  ‘His wheelchair tipped into a fish pond and he drowned,’ Eva said, without expression.

  The old woman frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘He was paralysed,’ Eva answered.

  The old woman pursed her puckered lips. ‘But he wasn’t—’ She looked at Rahn sharply, ignoring Eva. ‘What do you know about that book?’

  ‘I know that Saunière must have found something to do with it, and whatever it was he took it around to certain societies in Paris,’ Rahn informed her.

  ‘Look,’ the old woman said, pointedly, ‘I was only a young girl when he came to this village. I was beautiful, you wouldn’t think so now, but I was. I worked at Espéraza making hats but it wasn’t a good living, we were poor. My mother took him in as a boarder. Oh, he was a handsome man all right, in his broad hat and cassock! He won the hearts of the people of this township, that’s for certain. He even won my heart . . . a little. He had a wonderful humour and he was full of emotion when he spoke. The church was falling to bits and he found some money, not much mind you, but with the help of his congregation he fixed the foundations that were falling down because of the water, that is all. Now leave me alone.’

  ‘If you don’t tell us what you know, I’ll be forced to go to the gendarmes at Carcassonne,’ Rahn bluffed. ‘I know a certain inspector who’ll be very interested to know about Abbé Cros’s investigation into the priests and their involvement with certain brotherhoods. I might even show him a list of priests in which one finds the name Bérenger Saunière. I’m certain he’ll find it most enlightening, since he’s already looking into the death of Abbé Cros. A
death that occurred shortly after the abbé informed us of where the list was kept.’

  ‘A list you say? An inspector? What is his name?’

  ‘Beliere.’

  ‘Beliere . . .’ she said, a light seeming to blink on and off behind that old façade. ‘Look, all I know is that when Abbé Saunière moved the altar, he found something in the Visigoth pillar. I never saw it. That pillar is now outside the church. He had it placed there, upside down, and had an image of Mary of Lourdes sat on it. It is there for all to see.’

  ‘Why upside down?’

  ‘How should I know?’ she spat.

  ‘What did he find?’ Rahn pressed, trying to keep calm, though he could hardly forget that time was ticking away and that his friend was still missing and possibly in grave danger.

  She looked at him squarely as if she could read his thoughts. ‘Do you dare to go to Hell?’

  He held her stare, defiantly. He wasn’t going to let the old hag get the better of him. ‘If there exists a way towards Heaven and it crosses Hell, then, yes – I dare!’

  ‘You may recite Faust, but you don’t know the meaning of it! Heaven?’ she scoffed. ‘There is no Heaven!’ Then her face changed into a look of terror. ‘Listen!’ She sat stock-still. ‘It comes – le Autan, le Autan is coming! Do you hear it? It’s the Devil’s wind!’ Her face was full of alarm. ‘I told you! Disaster. The cards never lie. We have to go!’

  To Rahn the sky was no different. ‘I don’t hear anything,’ he said.

  ‘God help us! Lift me up, you idiot!’ She made a grab at Eva’s arm and used it to pull herself out of the chair. ‘Can’t you hear the snapping of the trees? It’s here!’

  Now Rahn could hear a faint whirring sound, like a large motor, perhaps a plane, echoing in the valley.

  ‘Take me out of here, now!’ The woman was suddenly frantic.

  It took only a moment for it to be upon them. From out of nowhere it came, shaking the old glasshouse and rattling its loose windowpanes so that they came crashing to the ground. The wind fetched the glass door then and swung it open and then shut it again with such force it shattered a number of old panels, spraying the three of them with glass splinters.