They both stood where they were, at an impasse.
Peter lifted the torch a little higher, bringing it closer to Daniël. The muscles on Daniël’s face twitched spasmodically, as though he had a nervous tic.
Daniël shrank backwards.
The torch flame grew weaker still.
Peter gripped Daniël’s arm. It felt hard and tense, like a sturdy oak branch. ‘Where’s the third man?’ he asked.
‘He stayed with the one who was on fire. I just ran. I don’t think he could have survived that, anyway. What about the one who went after you?’
‘I knocked him down and left him bleeding.’
‘Then there are two left.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘One was killed at the Hortus, and there were three here, so that means there are two left. I don’t know where they are, but there were six in total. They might have convinced more men to join them.’
Peter sighed deeply. ‘Okay,’ he said. Daniël’s arm relaxed beneath Peter’s fingers, like a vacuum pack of coffee softening when it’s snipped open. He let go of him. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘These stairs lead to the sacristy,’ Daniël said. ‘I’m impressed that you managed to find this entrance, by the way.’ He tried to pass Peter on the stairs, but Peter blocked his way.
‘Here,’ Peter said, ‘hold this.’ He gave Daniël the torch. It gave off so little light now that he could hardly see Daniël’s face at all.
Daniël took the torch from him. The other men had left their torch in a ring on the wall. He lit it with the weak flame from the torch in his hand, flooding the passageway with light.
Peter slowly walked up the stairs. There was a hatch at the top. He tilted his head and pressed his ear against the wood to listen for noises above him. When he was sure he couldn’t hear anything, he gradually pushed the hatch upwards until he had cracked it open by a centimetre or two. He didn’t dare to open it any further.
‘What are you doing? We can’t stay here,’ Daniël said. He stood next to Peter and opened the hatch, still very cautiously, but much wider than Peter had dared to. Daniël peered warily over the edge of the opening in the flagstone floor above them. ‘There’s nobody here,’ he whispered. ‘Come on.’ Without making a sound, he opened the hatch door all the way and hauled himself through it.
Peter followed him, glad to be out of the dank, musty air in the tunnel.
There were two slabs of stone stacked one on top of the other, close to the hole in the floor that they had just climbed out of. The room they had emerged into was sparsely furnished, with just a table, a chair, and wheeled clothing rail with long robes hanging from it.
This room looked deserted, but they could hear loud men’s voices coming from somewhere else in the building.
Peter crouched down and began to creep into the Coelikerk on his hands and feet. When he looked behind him, he saw that Daniël was following his example. They hid behind a bench near the altar.
Peter peeked around the corner. He saw an old, rather heavy-set man standing in the aisle, absolutely still, like a statue waiting to be mounted on its plinth.
Peter craned his neck further, like a turtle poking its head out of its shell. Then he saw why the man wasn’t moving. Someone was aiming a bow and arrow directly at him. Peter couldn’t make out if it was the same archer he had encountered in the Hortus. Whoever it was had company. Someone was guarding the church entrance.
There was another man sitting in one of the pews. His hands were in the air and he was staring miserably ahead.
‘This is where it ends for you, Father,’ the archer said. ‘You’ve exposed us, the worst sin you could commit …’
The archer gradually drew the bowstring back. ‘You’ve failed,’ he said. ‘It’s all been for nothing. And where’s your so-called chosen one? Well? He was supposed to find his way here within twenty-four hours.’
‘There’s still time,’ the heavy-set man said calmly, as though the bow and the arrow weren’t even there.
Peter slowly stood up and emerged from his hiding place.
Daniël grabbed him by his coat, but Peter pulled himself loose. Furious, but filled with energy and the hope that he would soon see Judith again, he walked straight towards the men in the aisle, waving his arms, like a castaway trying to attract the attention of a passing ship.
‘Here I am!’ he shouted.
48
Saturday 21 March, 1:45pm
The heavy-set man looked at Peter with an expression of great joy, like a father watching his son score the winning goal in a football match. With his full head of grey hair, he looked like an orchestra conductor, a man of a certain age who had lived a good life.
Peter did not return his look with the same joy. ‘Are you the Father?’ he shouted angrily as he approached him. When he got closer, he saw that the man had big, dark blue circles under his eyes.
‘I am … the Father, yes,’ the man replied. He appeared to be genuinely surprised by Peter’s anger.
‘Where’s Judith?’ Peter snarled through clenched teeth.
‘Judith?’ the man repeated. ‘She’s … we’ll go to her shortly. But … But you have nothing to worry about. You did it, my boy! It is finished!’ He walked towards Peter with open arms, as though he had completely forgotten that there was someone aiming an arrow at him. ‘I’m Tiny … Tiny Strauss. I’m the priest here at—’
‘Hey!’ the archer shouted furiously, trying to bring his target back to reality.
‘Where is Judith?’ Peter asked again.
It wasn’t the priest who answered him this time, but the archer. ‘You could say Judith’s sins are being washed away right now.’
‘How do you know where she—’ the Father said, turning to stare at the man with the bow and arrow.
‘I want to see Judith! Now!’ Peter interrupted him.
‘Don’t worry,’ the Father said in a soothing tone, as if he was speaking to his beloved congregation from the pulpit. ‘But first we need to deal with this, er … situation.’
‘How could you?’ the other man shrieked at him. ‘And now you want to give this important role to someone we don’t even know? I would drag you outside and stone you in front of the whole world if I could.’
‘Listen to me,’ Tiny said, his voice suddenly severe and full of authority, like a teacher who has finally had enough of a pupil’s antics. ‘I am, and will remain the Father of this group, and that means of you too. I’ve seen signs, and the hour has come … I’ve explained it to all of you.’
For a moment, the man appeared to be willing to listen. He slowly lowered the bow, whether in capitulation or because his arm was growing tired, Peter couldn’t tell.
‘Not everyone will be able to become a member,’ the priest continued, ‘that will always be special, reserved only for those who can pass our tests. But we’re going to educate people. We’ll give them the true story, give them light in the darkness that they’re all stumbling around in.’ He straightened his back, thrust his chin forward, and took a few steps towards the rebels. ‘Very little will change for most of them,’ he went on. ‘It’s old wine in a new skin, remember? Perhaps a few people will leave, but it won’t make any difference to the faith itself. Something can still be true even if it never actually happened, can’t it?’
Meanwhile, the church door opened and Peter heard the man who was standing guard say in a surprisingly friendly tone: ‘I’m afraid we’re closed for a private service. But do come back later.’ The door closed again and the man resumed his position.
‘We don’t need to burden the newcomers with the same regime as us,’ Tiny said, ‘when we ourselves sometimes find it difficult to follow.’
The archer looked as though he was considering everything the priest was saying.
‘You’re the Sun-Runner …’ the priest said sounding disappointed. ‘I had expected you to show more insight.’
‘Why him?’ the man asked, nodding his head at Peter.
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‘For now we see through a glass, darkly …’ Tiny began.
‘Stop that! Why him?’ he asked, aiming his bow and arrow at Tiny again.
‘Trust me,’ Tiny said simply. ‘He’s shown himself to be worthy, he’s proved himself. He’s exactly the face we need to show to the outside world, a perfect spokesman. I’ve been following him for many years. He—’
‘Erm … excuse me, but do I get a say in this?’ Peter asked indignantly. ‘I’ve had more than enough of your theatrics. You can argue about all your own nonsense later, but now you’re going to take me to Judith.’
The archer glanced sideways at the man still guarding the church door like a nightclub doorman, face blank and arms folded across his chest. He aimed his bow higher and bent his head back slightly, as if he was asking his accomplice’s opinion on what he should do.
Tiny took a few more steps towards the archer, who responded by moving backwards to maintain the distance between them.
‘“The sun shall be turned to darkness,”’ Tiny began. His voiced echoed through the cavernous space. It was the voice of an experienced preacher, accustomed to making his voice carry to the pews at the back of his church. ‘“The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day …” That prophecy, that’s about us in the here and now, Sun-Runner. The sun was turned to darkness yesterday, wasn’t it? Then doesn’t that mean that the hour has come?’
‘Your hour has come!’ the man cried.
The church door opened again. The doorman was about to give the visitors his line, but the door was flung open with tremendous force and the man who was supposed to be keeping intruders out fell to the floor.
Three armed policemen stormed into the church, and when they saw the archer, they expertly removed their guns from their holsters as they ran. Janna Frederiks followed in their wake.
Alarmed by the noise and anxious to see what was happening, Daniël leapt out from his hiding place.
One officer held the doorman at gunpoint as he lay helpless on the ground. The other two aimed their pistols at the archer. ‘Drop your weapon! Now!’ one of them screamed at him.
The archer didn’t move.
‘Put your weapon down on the ground! Slowly!’
Apparently unfazed, the man looked away as the police officer aimed his gun at him with his arm outstretched. He started to lower his bow and arrow to the floor. Defeat and resignation were written on his face, like a sportsman who knows that his team has lost the match before the final whistle has even blown.
‘Throw your weapon on the ground,’ the armed officer commanded again. ‘Now!’
‘Okay,’ the archer said.
The officers visibly relaxed their shoulders by a few centimetres.
Peter and Tiny put down their hands.
But a fraction of a second later, the archer had raised his bow again. ‘Hora est!’ he screamed, his face warped with rage.
The officer widened his stance, bent his knees slightly and closed one eye.
The bowstring was drawn as taut as it would go. Just before the arrow left it, there was a dry bang, like a firecracker being set off.
The archer recoiled, jumping back awkwardly and hurling his bow in the air as though it had burned his hands. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
At almost exactly the same time, the priest sank to his knees, clawing at his throat with his hands.
Peter could see the bloody arrowhead sticking out of his neck.
Tiny keeled forward, gurgled, and then fell on his side. A pool of blood began to form under his neck and spread across the floor. He lay there, his eyes still open, his tongue protruding from his mouth, like an unceremoniously slaughtered animal.
Within two strides, Peter was at his side. Seemingly oblivious to the fact that the man had just been fatally wounded, he knelt down, brought his face close to the Father’s cheek and screamed desperately in the man’s ear: ‘Where is Judith?’
The priest’s eyes were wide open, glassy and blank like the eyes of a dead deer on the side of a motorway.
Peter realised that the man wasn’t going to utter any famous last words and got to his feet.
‘Come here!’ Daniël called to him. ‘Come on!’
‘Stay where you are!’ a police officer shouted. ‘Call for backup!’ he shouted to his colleagues at the door.
Peter wanted to go over to Daniël, but didn’t dare.
The officer who had shot the archer shouted, ‘Everyone get over here! Hands behind your heads!’
Peter laced his fingers behind his head.
‘You as well!’ the officer shouted at Daniël, who immediately complied.
Daniël jerked his head to beckon Peter over again.
Peter stared at him for a moment and then gave him an almost invisible nod before starting to count, mouthing the words silently.
One … Two … Three.
When he got to three, he sprinted to the altar.
‘Hey!’ the officer shouted, sounding shocked.
Daniël and Peter ran back to the sacristy.
They heard the policeman yelling behind them and fast footsteps coming closer. When they got to the sacristy, Peter grabbed the clothing rail and dragged it behind them. Daniël had already disappeared through the hatch and into the tunnel. Peter followed, pulling the rail behind him. It clattered down the stairs and then became lodged in the narrow space so that no one else would be able to get through.
They heard the footsteps come to a halt above their heads. Someone began yanking at the rail, but it didn’t budge at all.
Meanwhile, Daniël had grabbed the torch from the ring on the wall. It was still burning.
He walked down the tunnel, in the opposite direction to the way they had come.
‘Do you know where Judith is?’ Peter asked him.
Daniël turned around. ‘I don’t know for certain but I have a good idea where she might be. I’m almost sure she’ll be there.’
‘And where is that?’
‘I think the plan was for you to go to the temple with the Father.’
‘So where’s the temple?’
‘Where it’s been for two thousand years,’ Daniël said. ‘Under the Burcht.’
49
Saturday 21 March, 2:00pm
‘Under the Burcht?’ Peter exclaimed. ‘But it can’t be! That castle wasn’t built until the ninth century!’
‘So? Why do you think they chose to build it there? Our beliefs came over with the Romans. They’d already built a temple, on that spot, under the ground.’
The tunnel they were walking through seemed to come to a dead end. Daniël put his torch in an iron ring then expertly pressed and pulled some of the bricks in the wall. He pushed on the left-hand side of the wall and slowly but surely, it started to revolve.
Peter looked at him in amazement. ‘This is …’ Before he could say more, Daniël motioned him to hurry through.
When they had both walked through the gap, Daniël pushed it back into place. ‘If anyone comes after us, they won’t be able to get past that.’ He picked his torch up again and walked in front of Peter. ‘Have you ever heard of ley lines?’ he said as he walked briskly through the tunnel.
‘Ley lines?’ Peter replied. ‘I don’t think this is the right moment for—’
‘I’m telling you so that you’ll understand. Ley lines are paths of energy that form a network across the entire globe. Temples were almost always built on the paths of ley lines. The most powerful places are where two lines cross and their energy is literally combined. The Christians didn’t build their churches on top of pagan temples for nothing. The pagans already knew those sites were full of energy.’
‘And the Burcht …’ Peter said.
‘And the Burcht was built at the point where two ley lines cross. One of them comes from direction of Hooglandse Kerk, and the other from the Pieterskerk. Where do you think our city’s name comes from?’
&
nbsp; Peter thought back to his conversation with Mark a day earlier and Mr Goekoop of Zierikzee’s theory about the Burcht.
‘We’re under the Oude Rijn,’ Daniël explained. ‘And there are two ways to get to the temple from here. There’s a hidden entrance in the tunnel you found yesterday – and there’s this one.’ He showed Peter a large key. ‘You get a key when you reach the fourth grade,’ he said in answer to the unasked question. He turned the key in the lock, then laboriously pushed the heavy door open onto yet another tunnel.
Peter was astonished to see long niches in the walls of this new tunnel, each covered with a marble slab. There were names engraved on the cover slabs, just like the ones he had seen in the catacombs in Rome. However, in Rome, the marble niches were left open after being destroyed by grave robbers and the bodies they’d once contained had turned to dust long ago.
But here, right by the entrance, was a marble cover that looked new, as though it had only recently been installed.
Pater
Ane Nias
1930–2010
Someone had been buried here only five years ago! Nias … A Greek name?
As he rushed through the narrow tunnel, he passed slabs with dates that went back many years, all with the same format: Pater, name, year.
Whether it was real or imagined Peter wasn’t sure, but the smell of death and decay seemed to be all around him.
Daniël turned to look at him. ‘Ane was the last one to be buried here. Tiny Strauss is his successor.’
‘Tiny Strauss? The man who …’
‘He’s our Father now. He’s also the priest in the Coelikerk.’
‘So how do you become the Father? Can anyone do it?’
‘No, not just anyone. Not everyone makes it as far as the black belt in karate, do they? And if the group gets too big, it splits up.’
‘So that means …’
‘There are dozens of groups in the Netherlands … And hundreds in Europe!’
Frescoes had been painted on the walls between the niches, and also on the ceiling. Some of them looked so bright and fresh they could have been painted the day before, but others had faded long ago and were so vague that it was difficult to make out what they portrayed.
St Paul's Labyrinth Page 32
