Quest for the Ark

by Taggart Rehnn

  We also must take some more precautions, as a powerful fiend is most probably behind this witchcraft. But, for now, I bid you all farewell—until tomorrow.”

  And saying just that, Conrad and Severian bowed, left their inordinately expensive car at one of the castle’s driveways, and disappeared in the receding shadows.

  “Well,” said Tony, “after that history lesson, he either was really there, or is a very good liar. Seems the Ark might be, indeed, in Chartres, after all.”

  “That, or Conrad convinced us we must trust him, by getting inside our heads,” commented David, “and he wants us there—but for some other reason instead.”

  20—Cathedrals, Crusaders and Caches

  Once again, the morning after, everyone woke up red-eyed at the castle. Like the rivers of Babylon, powerful brews—from Indonesian kopi luwak, to good old regular French roasted beans from Nicaragua, Hawaii, or Sulawesi, to Ethiopian yirgacheffe—kept flowing.

  The Countess, who had visited Chartres Cathedral countless times, spoke of nothing else during breakfast, perhaps propelled in part by her café au cognac épicé. She had even brought a little poetic book about the city, one she kept leafing through, back and forth. “I have learned, long ago, that the only person to whom my opinion matters is I; and I can live with that. But all the same, I think this may be useful: Modern Chartres is heir to the Carnute capital, in those days called Autricum by the Gauls. Carnute kings sent some of the warriors who crossed the Alps in 6B.C., to found the cities of Cisalpine Gaul. At the time, Carnutes were very brave—Astérix brave, I should say—and very pagan. Listen, mes amis!” she said, as she started reading from her little book:

  ‘De là nassoît en eux ce boüillante envie,

  D’affronter une mort qui donne une autre vie,

  De braver les périls, de chercher les combats,

  Où l’on se voit renaistre au milieu du trépas;

  Cependant ces peuples estoient idolâtres,

  Adoraient Teutates, Hesus, Belenus et Taramis sur tous les autres,’ —from that surged in them this ebullient drive, to confront death that brings a new life, to brave dangers, to seek combats, where one sees oneself being reborn in the midst of one’s passing; however, these peoples were idolaters, worshipping Teutates, Hesus, Belenus and Taramis above all others’.

  You see, our ancestors were brave and believed they could come back from the dead, perhaps a bit like this Marquis of Montferrat, King of Jerusalem,” she said with dreamy eyes, letting the little book escape her grip and land on her lap, as she stirred her cup with a superbly engraved silver spoon, graced with the family’s coat of arms.

  Sól couldn’t resists: “Maman Chloé, if I didn’t know you, I’d say you have the hots for Conrad!”

  “Of course you know me, and of course I do, ma chérie,” the Countess replied, “I’d have to be dead not to. A widow is still a whole woman; and he is a whole, shapely, amazing specimen of a man, with tapered legs and buns to make sandwiches. He’s truly delicious.

  Sadly, however, being a vampire, he would only be interested in me as dinner, perhaps as a seasoned snack,” she chuckled, stopping a second to rearrange her rings, and to put on more rouge, which turned the coffee cup into a true lipstick mess. Sól chuckled and blushed.

  Then the Countess continued: “Sorry, gentlemen, what was I saying? Ah, yes! Autricum was one of those opposing the staunchest resistance to the Romans. And after its fall, over the centuries, it became a true fortress, a walled city, on a promontory overlooking a plain, the Beauce—the breadbasket of France, where Severian gets the flour for his croissants.

  After a few disastrous attacks by the Vikings in the late IX and early X century, Chartres built big defensive walls; and, starting in 1181, by agreement between Theobald V, count of Blois, Chartres, and Châteaudun, his royal nephew Philippe II Auguste, and the Bishops of Chartres—first Pierre de Celles, then Renaud de Mousson—a stone wall enclosure with twelve city portals was erected.

  Not much is left of all that. Even your ‘friends’ les Boches—How do you say? Sore losers? —blew up the Porte Guillaume, last one remaining, while leaving Chartres defeated in 1944, and all neighboring houses with it as well. We, being French, obstinate and insanely in love with history, have now rebuilt that one.

  In any case, the first comprehensive plan of Chartres we have, dates back to the XVIII century—and most accept it is not all that different from the city on the XIII century. So, let’s hope our charts of present day Chartres still allow ‘Conrad’ to find his way there.”

  “So, the Cathedral dates back to 1194, right?” asked David.

  “Well, in its current form, yes,” replied the Countess, lifting her cup so Pierre would pour some more cognac in it. “The original one was right beside the Gallo-Roman wall. It lasted from the IV century AD to 743, when the Duke of Aquitaine destroyed it. Danish pirates destroyed the second one in 858. Bishop Giselbert then rebuilt and enlarged it. In 962 there was another fire, and some more reconstruction. In 1020, after a mysterious fire, Bishop Fulbert decided he wanted a new cathedral, donations were received, and it was built. In 1194—on June 10 according to most, and June 22 according to others—it burned; a fire so colossal Fulbert’s cathedral’s frames and roof collapsed, and so intense that liquid lead rained from the roof, the molten lead preventing people from getting in and fighting the flames.

  When the disaster was over, only the crypts had been preserved, thanks to the thick vaulted ceilings. Providentially, the façade of the narthex had been recently moved, twenty meters or so away from the church’s main entrance, from which it was separated by the thick belfries. No cynical comments allowed, please.

  Then came another providential event: two clerics emerged with the ‘Sancta Camisa’, the vestments Holy Mary was supposed to be wearing when she gave birth to Christ, unscathed. Needless to say, that was then interpreted as a sign that the Virgin Mary wanted an even bigger cathedral. And so, yet again, funds were rapidly secured to rebuild and expand,” finished the Countess, now chomping on a brioche.

  “Quite a feat, indeed,” commented Siegfried, “especially in those days, when peasants ate sparsely, and the Crusades were leaving everyone shirtless,” his irony earning him a censorious look from the Countess, and a complicit chuckle from Sól. Undaunted, he continued: “In fact, if one searches, after 1187—year when Jerusalem fell to Saladin—there were reports of fires in Amiens, Auxerre, Beauvais, Chartres, Provins, Tours, and Troyes. Whether that was some psychotic pyromaniac, punishment for Christians having left Jerusalem fall, or…” he hesitated for a moment, studying his mother’s reaction, “some serious PR campaign to incite the Crusaders to go crusade—and bequeath everything they wouldn’t need, or couldn’t take to the Holy Land, to churches in need of funds to rebuild or expand—is anybody’s guess. Of course, there were lots of other fires before and after; but, statistically speaking, their frequency in France after 1187 is a bit…of an outlier.”

  “In any case,” said the Countess, clearing her throat and helping herself to another slice of chocolate cake, “it is true that Melior of Pisa, the Papal Legate was there when the church burned. In any case, the main altar of the cathedral has been moved so many times I hope Conrad does not plan to use it as a reference point….”

  “I was studying the plan of the Cathedral,” said David, attacking with his fork another piece of tarte aux pommes, as Irène poured him more coffee, looking affectionately at his lap and making him turn redder than a maraschino cherry, “and, if I’m not mistaken, Conrad said the hole in the vitrail of Saint Apollinaire—Irène chuckled and the Countess stabbed her with her eyes—present number 036 in the Corpus Vitrearum, was originally in what is now number 026, the ‘Annonciation de la Vierge’. In 1328 a canon wanted to build an altar, so the two lower rows of the vitrail were removed. Let’s hope that whatever was there isn’t essential either.

  Now, if one were to trace a line…”

  “My computer did that,” jumped Ton
y, leaving his madeleine de Commercy with just one bite on it on the plate, to open his laptop, “if one could point a laser from outside, across Saint Apollinaire’s hole…I’m sorry…the vitrail’s hole…all the way to something on the sculptures representing the Ark…one would end up near the old Porte Saint-Jean, the area where the Templar house was around at the time…”

  “Well,” said Haim, lifting his cup to request a refill, “there are also the Urim ve Tumim, which were twelve, like the twelve tribes of Israel, like the twelve points in the stickman, that ‘message of origin’, associated with asking questions, divination, cleromancy, two sets of objects which helped the High Priest reveal the will of G-d.

  They are first mentioned in Exodus 28:30, when prescribed for Aaron’s sacred priestly garments. Now, to end quarrels about priestly rights, G-d commanded each of the tribes of Israel to provide a rod; and, of the twelve, only that of Aaron, of the tribe of Levi, ‘put forth buds, produced blossoms and bore ripe almonds’ as per Numbers 17:8. In short, a sign G-d had chosen Aaron to be priest. On your Christian Bible, in Hebrews 9:4 it says Aaron’s rod was in the Ark of the Covenant also…”

  “So,” commented, rather innocently Irène, as she removed crumbs of cake from the table, “if you, Monsieur, connect Saint Apollinaire’s hole with Aaron’s rod, you will get the exact location…”

  Instantly, a strange, slightly uncomfortable, silence descended on the room, like an angel, riding on a space shuttle, riding on top of an Antonov An-225.

  Repressing a chuckle, the Countess shook her fingers commanding Irène to leave at once. The awkward stillness lasted the brief time it took Irène to vacate, head lowered. But then, equally innocently, Tony added: “Indeed, that would be an ecumenical connection…” so ending everyone’s inordinately long breakfast. During the unusually light lunch that followed shortly afterwards, both incidents provided some unintended yet welcome levity, as damages to Aaron’s rod’s tip effects on parallax, when attempting to determine the Ark’s precise location, were discussed.

  After the siesta, which David spent in the Grotte—once again fighting his claustrophobia while enjoying a naturally fresh environment on a rather scorching early Provençale afternoon—Irène was nowhere to be seen. Pierre had also ordered any of the other maids, gardeners, orchard workers, pantheon keepers, pool boys, equestrian instructors and horse keepers, vine attendants, wine makers, mushroom pickers, cheese makers, landscapers and anybody else on the castle’s rather numerous maintenance crew, keep their distance from the Countess’ guests—and their mouths shut, unless specifically asked for assistance by them.

  Alas, in a castle where even a bit excessive familiarity by the help had often been tolerated, this new iron discipline paradigm did not sit too well with the help. At first, none of the guests did much notice—at least not while enjoying much-needed relaxation at the pool. Gradually, things deteriorated so much that, later that afternoon, the entire help looked irritated, the hosts miffed, and the guests tense. Predictably enough, dinner went by in a rigid, oppressive atmosphere, with guests seemingly on edge, waiting for Severian and Conrad to return. All along, the Countess kept a stern regard over all employees. Sól and Siegfried arrived minutes before dinner started, citing Conrad’s exhortation to keep working on the golden sheet and the silver tube as much as possible as justification.

  Shortly after starting dinner, while spreading her tapenade on a slice of baguette, Sól decided to break the tense impasse, asking Haim: “Could you, or David, please tell the rest of us exactly why is it that Jewish people put stones instead of flowers on tombs?”

  Haim cleared his throat and replied: “Well, the Talmud mentions spices and twigs as permissible, but most Jewish people see such ‘mementos’ to the departed as…pagan. True, flowers wilt and die, an apt metaphor for life. But stones endure; and altars, built to reach out to G-d, are nothing but piles of stones.

  Now, until Tony came to visit me, a few weeks ago, I would have said ‘superstitious people’, mostly from Eastern Europe, believe stones on tombs keep souls ‘weighed’ inside their tomb, ‘forcing them’ into their new ‘permanent abode’, so to speak. After all this, I don’t know what to say anymore.

  The most ‘romantic’ explanation, if you will, is that, to avoid getting confused because of repetition, déjà-vus and such, shepherds, who would possibly take different number of sheep to graze day in, day out, would put in their bag, to use also for their sling, stones in number matching that of their sheep, to tally their flock and make sure none was lost that day. Since G-d shepherds us all, the stones symbolize His being our Guide, and Protector.

  Finally, since stones do not die, a phrase, usually translated to English as ‘may his soul be bound up in the bonds of eternal life’ is very often engraved in Jewish tombs.

  Judaism also refers to G-d as the “Rock of Israel.” In that sense, the placing of stones on the grave is a way for the living, to express, in the presence of G-d, that the departed shall be welcome home. So, now you know. Can I ask you why is it you want to know?”

  “Well, I read and re-read those cuneiforms. Three stones, one for the past, one for the present, one for the future: they symbolize all souls that were, are, and will ever be in turmoil—called ‘the sheep slaughtered by evil beings posing as shepherds’, when they, in fact, were, or acted as, executioners.

  Since I am not very much a mathematician, but have a decent idea of how mathematic minds in Sumer or Akkad worked, I tried to understand a few things about geometrical things referenced there as well. Those things, in the end, seemed irrelevant—dead ends, put there to confuse all but those well versed in the history of Sumer and Akkad. Skipping a fair number of steps, to summarize my best assessment of what’s in the plate and the cylinder, I’d say: given that Kidinnu, possibly the most famous Chaldean astronomer, was killed by the sword most probably on August 14, 330 B.C., within a week of August 14, the stones for past, present, and future should be placed forming an acute angle, closely similar to the tip of a Chaldean sword, in which the stone for the present is the point at the very tip; the three stones should be obtained from places as close as possibly to the execution chambers; and all those angles should pointing towards the ‘epicenter’ at Auschwitz, when sewn forming the stickman and fastened to the cloth.”

  “So, that’s it?” asked David.

  “Well, yes and no,” Sól admitted, looking a bit scared.

  “Why yes and no?” asked the Countess, looking as stern as ever.

  “Well, ‘kidinnu’ is also divine protection, of the type city temples and their host cities could claim from their gods. Now, in one Mandaic—a form of liturgical Aramaic—magic scroll, one ‘practitioner’ casting a spell—as done similarly in Egyptian spells, using, of course, different gods—identifies himself as Marduk, called ‘Bel’, or simply, ‘the Lord’, that god being the main one in Babylon.

  He says he stands “on the copper earth, at the Great Gate of the House of Life”. Now, on another part of this spell the incantations say that he stands on “golden earth, at the Great Gate of the House of Death”, shepherding the demons back to whence they came.

  At first, I thought this Mandaic sorcery should not concern us. But then, the ‘practitioner’ talks about creating winds to take the demons back into the House of Death, and opposite winds to protect the just and guide them back into the House of Life. Two winds of opposite directions could generate a non-supercell tornado, can they not, David?”

  “Yes. Indeed they can,” David replied, mildly taken aback.

  “Well, similarly, whoever is creating this winds, and enslaving souls—deceiving them as someone shepherding them to Olam Ha-Ba, maybe sending other condemned souls to “salvation”—has so, implicitly, claimed being the Lord, the King of Heaven. But, of course, since this is all a big deception, it has to be…quite the opposite. In short, whoever is casting such spells is…unafraid of…pretending to be the Lord…so…” almost whispered Sól, afraid of finishing her train of
thought.

  “So, where does this abomination lead us to, then?” asked Tony.

  “Well, to obtain ‘kidinnu’ in the protective sense, the precise shape of the sword’s tip is engraved in the golden sheet,” Sól replied. “Using laser measurements, stones obtained from any piece of land, at any scale, can be retrieved that form precisely the same angle, at the original extermination camp and set to scale, when sewn onto the cloth. I can’t say I am one hundred percent sure, but that is the best I can do with the information we have,” she sighed. “The details of what to do with the splinters of the Tables of the Law seem to suggest they will have to somehow be returned to the Ark, which would require finding a means to open the Ark—and how and who should do that, I am, for now, not sure either.

  In short, I must re-examine all of this. But now I am very tired. Strangely, it seems reading from these engravings is far more draining than what one should expect from a simple translation of cuneiform texts, no matter how complicated…”

  “Not surprising,” said a voice, surprisingly emanating from behind a very heavy curtain separating the section of the smaller reception room, where dinner had been served, from the small ballroom. Practically all at the same time, as someone lifted the central part of the curtain to join them, heads turned in the direction of the now familiar voice.

  It was Conrad’s. He had arrived first, alone. “The sun hasn’t totally set yet, but I am old enough to start fighting it. Severian, on the other hand, might need an hour more or so to fully break his slumber, if he’s to avoid excruciating pain.

  Let me say you have done a marvelous job, Milady Sól,” he added. “With lasers, we should be able to pinpoint the place where the Ark was buried; with lasers we should be able to obtain the stones required from the right places; and with lasers we should be able to dig our way to the Ark, without creating massive commotion in Chartres.”