The Sixth Key (21 page)

The old abbé wavered. ‘No.’

Rahn knew he was lying. ‘In fact, I believe
the inspector may be arriving here very soon to make further enquiries.’

‘Mon dieu!’ The abbé cupped his bearded chin,
like a man faced with an insurmountable conundrum.

‘Do you have any idea why your name might be
on that list?’

‘I won’t know until I see it,’ he said,
looking up with a duplicitous eye. ‘I have to see who else is on it.’

Rahn took it out and showed it to him and the
old man’s eyes widened as he read the names. Rahn put it back in his jacket
pocket then and the man looked disappointed, as if he had not extracted
everything he could from it.

‘So?’ Rahn said.

There was a moment of the greatest hesitation
and then it seemed as if the abbé had come to a decision; he nodded. ‘Yes, I am
on that list because I was something of a friend to Bérenger Saunière, the abbé
of Rennes-le-Château, who was being investigated by Cros for the Bishop of
Carcassonne but that was many years ago; if my mind serves me, it was in 1910.
You see, Saunière moved here in 1885 but I met him in 1886. In those days we
saw each other from time to time because he was interested in the history of
this area and I had a good library in my sacristy. He was a bit of an amateur
archaeologist, or so he said, and he showed me some things – artefacts he
found when he was renovating his church. There was a goblet from the Knights of
Malta, some coins, and various semiprecious things. I only heard later that he
had found something else, something he was very secretive about. I don’t know
what it was but it must have interested Bishop Billard because he paid for
Saunière to go to Paris to have whatever it was appraised.’

‘Was this the same bishop who was
investigating him?’

‘Oh no! At that time Abbé Cros was Bishop
Billard’s secretary, actually, but later when the new Bishop of Carcassonne, a
man called De Beauséjour, was appointed he also worked for him. It was the
Bishop De Beauséjour who started investigating Saunière. You see, De Beauséjour
was nothing like Billard.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, Billard was of the old school. Look,
after the revolution and especially after Napoleon, the government had complete
control of the clergy. It could withhold the wages of any priest opposed to the
republic and could even prohibit contact between a priest and the Vatican. The
government also controlled which priests were selected for positions in episcopal
vacancies. Billard and Saunière were both staunchly anti-republican. In fact,
speaking out against the government is what got Saunière into hot water on
several occasions. The truth is, he was a restless, ambitious man, and
Rennes-le-Château was a backwater. He didn’t like living like the rest of us,
from hand to mouth, on whatever scraps were thrown to us; preaching to heretics
in churches that were falling to bits. He was soon to learn that what kept many
of us alive was our healthy friendship with the nobles, who often opened their
purses in exchange for a mass here and there. These same nobles also belonged
to Masonic Lodges. Bishop Billard condoned these delicate but lucrative
relationships . . .’

‘Are you saying Saunière and Billard were
involved with Freemasons?’

‘Yes, of course! Many priests were, including
myself. But that was before the pope put a stop to it.’

‘So was Saunière being investigated by Cros
because of his connection to the Freemasons?’

‘He was being investigated, so they say,
because he was selling masses for the dead.’

‘How can you sell masses to the dead?’ Rahn
asked.

‘You don’t sell masses to them,’ Grassaud said
this as if he wanted to add you imbecile. ‘One pays for a mass to shorten the
time of a dead loved one in Purgatory. The nobles paid highly to have masses
said for their relatives. As I said, it was what kept many of us alive in those
days – what we got for the dead. Ironic, don’t you think?’ He leant
forwards. ‘They say Germans have had to learn the meaning of irony the hard
way.’

Rahn held back his chagrin, though inwardly he
was prickling.

Having secured higher ground, the old man now
spoke with a certain arrogance: ‘But the masses were just an excuse because De
Beauséjour had an ulterior motive for filing that suit against Saunière.’

‘Another reason besides weeding out corruption?’ Rahn said,
making his point.

‘Look, Billard himself had taken money from
nobles for things such as the odd appointment of a relative to a certain
parish. In truth, in those days there were not many bishops who would have
cared less if a mass was said here or there for a loved one . . . no, there was
another reason.’

‘What was the other reason?’

‘There was a rumour,’ the other man wheezed,
‘only a rumour mind you.’

‘Rumour of what?’

‘Of treasure . . . This is not so unusual, you
know, there’s treasure hidden everywhere in caves and holes and churches all
over the south. Some of it may have once belonged to the aristocracy fleeing
the revolution; the rest could have belonged to the Visigoths or even the
Cathars. Perhaps Saunière found something valuable? I don’t know, perhaps
something heretical? I don’t know that either.’

‘You said he took what he found to Paris. Whom
did he take it to?’ Rahn said.

‘From what I’ve heard he went to the seminary
of Saint-Sulpice, and then somewhere else, to an order named the Society for
the Reparation of Souls.’

‘Who are they?’

‘I don’t wish to speak of them!’ he said
abruptly. ‘Except to say, you should look into the Abbé Louis Verger, the man
on the top of your list, then you will know more. The only other thing I can
tell you concerns another priest on the list, Abbé Rivière of Espéraza. Some
time before Saunière died, he confessed everything to Rivière. But when Rivière
heard his confession he didn’t give Saunière the sacrament until after he was
dead.’

‘Is that normal?’ Rahn said.

‘No! I’ve never heard of it before!’ the old
man said. ‘Whatever Saunière told him must have upset Rivière so much that he
couldn’t bring himself to absolve him. Afterwards he was never the same, poor
man – they say he never smiled.’

There was the intonation of the great bell. It
woke the bee in Rahn’s head.

Monks began to arrive for the canonical hour
and the abbé got up. ‘You will leave now,’ he said, with authority. ‘But before
you go I will tell you this – apparently, days before Rivière died, he
told a friend that Saunière had sold his soul to the Devil.’

Rahn left the hermitage and returned to the
flat area but he found no Mademoiselle Cros waiting for him. She was missing
and the contretemps completely baffled his head, causing him to stand there
looking around like an abandoned orphan. He called her name but there was no
sign of her – she had completely vanished. He decided the only recourse
left to him was to walk to Saint-Paul-de-Fenouillet. As it turned out, it was a
considerable walk and by the time he reached the small township he was both
exceedingly annoyed and frightfully concerned, in equal measure.

He found Eva sitting in a small café looking
calm and composed, completely oblivious to his vexations and his obvious
sufferings. He had blisters on his feet, and the worry had given him
palpitations.

She explained that she had found a ride in an
auto-car headed for the town and had taken the liberty of ordering herself
lunch. She had a hunch he would find her.

What a nerve!

Not at all mollified, he told her of his
conversation with Grassaud.

‘So, Saunière sold his soul?’ she said.

‘According to Rivière . . . Now, I have to
make a phone call and perhaps you can ask around if there’s anyone headed in
the direction of Rennes-le-Château.’

‘Rennes-le-Château?’

‘Saunière’s village.’

He paid for her meal, asked to use the
telephone and was directed to the post office where he called La Dame in Paris.
The phone rang several times and Rahn was about to hang up when his friend
answered, with a voice full of sleep.

‘Are you still in bed? For God’s sake!’

‘Is that you, Rahn?’

Rahn heard a female voice and he imagined his
friend lying next to a blonde student or a brunette secretary trying to wake up
after a long night of soft battles in the bed. For some reason this vexed him.

‘Time to get up.’

‘What time is it?’

Rahn sighed. ‘The sun’s out.’

‘Perhaps in the south, but in the north the
sun’s not out until I pull the blinds.’

‘I have a job for you.’

He yawned. ‘And it couldn’t wait until my
first brandy? What is it?’

‘No time to explain now, except to say it’s
very important. I want you to find out anything you can about a certain
Jean-Louis Verger and the Society for the Reparation of Souls.’

‘Wait a minute, let me write this down.’ Rahn
heard him scrounging about for paper and a fountain pen. ‘What’s all this about
anyway? Has it got something to do with that book, what was it called?’

The female voice purred his name and La Dame
seemed to disappear for a moment.

‘Bastard!’ Rahn said, but he couldn’t help
smiling.

‘Sorry, Rahn, here I am . . . what was that
name again?’

‘Jean-Louis Verger and the Society for the
Reparation of Souls. And, La Dame, this is important, for God’s sake! Will you
get me the information as soon as possible?’

‘Dear Rahn, are you all right? You sound
terribly odd!’

Rahn took a deep breath of calm. ‘I’ve got
more than one lump on my head and I’ve been trying to maintain an outward show
of imperturbability amid terrible and chaotic events the likes of which I’d
rather not describe, lest I involve you more than I need to – so don’t
ask questions. Also, find out what you can about a symbol, an anchor entwined
with a snake, would you? It may have something to do with a Masonic order of
some kind, or that terrorist group, La Cagoule.’

‘Sounds like you’re in some trouble? What does
Deodat think of all this?’

‘I can assure you that right now he’s not very
happy about it.’

‘So, you’ve done something to put him off
side, and now you run to me! Meanwhile, you have all the adventures while I sit
in the Bibliothèque Nationale looking up information. Somehow it doesn’t seem
fair!’

‘What happened to your love for the boring
life? Your creature comforts?’

‘Well, these creatures of comfort do have
their advantages.’

There was a squeal.

Rahn rubbed his unshaven jaw. ‘I assure you,
you’ve made the right decision. This adventure is not fun; it is rather a
terrible exercise which, should you learn of it someday, you will be very happy
to have missed. Why don’t you take your lady friend with you to the library to
keep you company?’

‘I’m afraid she’s not the . . . literary type,
if you catch my meaning.’

‘Say no more, La Dame, please! I’ll call you
in the next few hours.’

There was the unmistakeable sound of
stretching and another yawn. Finally La Dame said, quoting Don Quixote, ‘I
shall not open my lips to make fun of your worship’s doings, but only to honour
you as my master and natural lord!’

Rahn sighed. La Dame was his only true friend
besides Deodat. This thought filled him with apprehension for the whereabouts
of his friend. He put the phone down, and resolving not to lose his spirits,
went to find Eva.

They caught a ride in an old truck full of
flour headed for the markets at Espéraza. Inside, Rahn sat nursing his head
next to the driver, while Eva sat in silence at the window watching the landscape
pass. He knew things were moving fast for her and she was no doubt perplexed.
No wonder! There seemed to be no end to the complications and number of deaths:
first the sacristan, then Abbé Cros, then the man in the barn. He was worried
for Deodat’s safety. There were people obviously willing to kill, but kill for
what? Was it Le Serpent Rouge or was it the key to complete it, which seemed to
somehow be connected to the treasure of the Cathars? Perhaps as Plantard had
said, it didn’t matter anymore if the grimoire existed or not, the mere idea
that it existed had become a commodity and they were now caught in the middle.
But Deodat’s note was clear: he wanted Rahn to find it, whatever it was, even
though he knew they were coming for him . . . But who they were and what they
were going to do with him, he couldn’t know.

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.