'You look lovely, Tess,' Fulano said.
'Gracias, 'she told him, trying to look modest.
Fulano laughed. 'You're learning Spanish.'
'I'm afraid it's the only word I know. But really, thank you. These clothes fit me perfectly. They're gorgeous.'
'My pleasure.'
The doors to the windows of the dining room had been opened. The lowering sun tinted the room with crimson.
'I'm sure you're curious about the surprise I mentioned,' Fulano said.
'It sounds like a birthday party. I've always been fond of surprises.' As she smoothed her skirt and sat at the table, controlling her fear, Tess noticed that the two Secret Service agents positioned themselves near the door through which she and Craig had entered. She also noticed that outside the windows, armed guards patrolled a stone patio.
Gerrard and Fulano sat when Craig did.
A brief explanation,' Gerrard said. 'I get the impression that neither of you has been to Spain before.'
'Regrettably, now that I've seen it,' Craig said.
'One of the first things you have to understand,' Gerrard said, 'is that the Spanish have a daily schedule that's pleasantly different from what we're used to in America. They work from nine till one. Then they take a long break for lunch and what I'm sure you know is called a siesta.' He shrugged. They relax. 'Nap. Make love. Whatever. Then they come back to work at four and stop around seven, after which they greet their neighbors, eat, drink, and discuss the day's activities. What they eat is really a snack, because their main meal occurs very late compared to American customs. Around ten. The snacks they eat earlier are called tapas, and those snacks are one of the many glories of Spanish culture. The surprise we referred to is that you're about to experience tapas.'
Confused because she expected a confrontation, Tess watched Fulano tap his knuckles on the table. At once, three servants appeared, carrying trays from which they set down numerous dishes.
Not having eaten in a while, Tess couldn't help salivating from the aroma of the food on the ornate plates. It wasn't just that she was hungry. She knew she had to eat as much as she could in order to muster her strength in case she and Craig managed to find a chance to escape.
'First,' Gerrard said, 'calamari. Are you familiar with-?'
'They're deep-fried squid. Delicious.'
'Good,' Fulano said. 'And these are olives, and these are sardines. Not what you're used to in America. They're fresh and beyond compare.'
'And these,' Gerrard said, 'are delicate pieces of deep-fried chicken. And these are shrimp, and of course there's bread, and deep-fried potatoes with mayonnaise, and."
'Enough!' Craig chuckled, although Tess knew that his enthusiasm was forced. 'If this is what you call a snack, I can't imagine what the main meal could possibly be.'
'You'll be amazed,' Fulano said.
'I bet.'
Beyond the windows, Tess continued to notice the sentries patrolling. She quickly pretended to pay attention to the row of various foods. That stack of plates. How do we.?'
'One type of food to each plate,' Gerrard said. 'It's important to separate each taste.'
'Then let's get to it. I'm starved.'
There wasn't any red meat, she noticed, a significant omission given the dietary beliefs of the heretics. With pretended delight, she nooned olives, calamari, and whatever else appealed to her onto various plates, spreading them in a row before her. The tapas indeed were delicious, perfectly prepared, each complementing the other.
'Would you like some vintage wine?' Fulano asked. 'Spanish wine is superb. Or perhaps some excellent cerveza.'
'Excuse me?' Tess looked confused.
'The Spanish word for "beer".'
'Thanks.' Craig swallowed hungrily. 'But I'd prefer water.'
'The same with me,' Tess said. 'Alcohol and I don't get along. It makes me groggy.'
'I have the same reaction. Interesting,' Fulano said. He filled her ceramic cup from a pitcher.
Tess didn't drink until Fulano filled his own cup and drank the same water.
'My God, I think I'm full,' Craig said.
'Exactly when to stop.' Fulano chewed and swallowed an olive, placing its pit at the side of his plate. 'Remember, the main course is later.'
'And now we have another surprise.' Gerrard touched a napkin to his mouth.
Here it comes, Tess thought. The condemned have had their final meal.
'Oh?' Craig lowered his fork. 'Another? This valley. This castle. These tapas. We've been surprised several times already. And now you're telling us there's more?'
'Something truly special. Extremely unusual. It happens only one time each year,' Fulano said. 'But it does require another helicopter ride to see what I mean. I'm sure you're still tired from your trip, but I promise you won't be disappointed. Indeed you'll find it remarkable.'
'In that case, being tired doesn't matter. Let's go.' Craig stood.
Uncertain about Craig's strategy, Tess followed his example.
The Secret Service agents stood as well.
With another rap of his knuckles on the table, Fulano summoned his servants. While they gathered the remnants of the tapas, Fulano Pointed Tess and Craig toward the corridor that led outside.
Five minutes later, as the sun touched the rim of the mountains, its glow more crimson, they reached the helicopter. When Tess climbed inside, carefully watched, she felt troubled that she hadn't seen Gerrard's assistant, Hugh Kelly, since they'd arrived.
Where was he? Why hadn't he joined them?
She had almost no time to analyze the possibilities. A minute later, as if on an urgent schedule, the helicopter lifted off, veered upward, and sped toward the northern mountains. The sun was now behind the peaks, its blood-red glow reflecting off a purple sky.
Her stomach already tense despite the energy-renewing meal, Tess clutched her tight, criss-crossing shoulder belt and expected that at any time the two Secret Service agents would grab her, unbuckle her restraints, and throw her, twisting and turning, into the valley.
Instead everyone stayed in position, the helicopter rising higher, nearing the shadowy mountains.
'Alan tells me that you've been threatened in America,' Fulano said. 'If it helps, I want to encourage you that what you're about to see will help take your mind off your troubles.'
The helicopter crested the northern mountains. Beyond, the sun had almost completely set behind farther ridges. A murky valley lay below them.
'We're approaching the Spanish-French border,' Gerrard said. 'We won't cross it, of course. Without advance diplomatic clearance, even I don't have the authority to violate French air space. But the surprise we want you to see is a custom in southern France that centuries ago drifted down to this area of Spain. It's quite remarkable.'
The helicopter sped over more jagged ridges, crossing another dark valley.
But something was different. As Tess peered down, she realized, puzzled, that this valley wasn't completely dark. Hundreds of isolated lights flickered throughout the murky basin.
'What are those.?' She shook her head. 'They can't be from villages, not with the lights so small and so widely separated. I can't see anything else, but it's almost as if. I'm sure of it. The lights are coming from fields.'
That's correct,' Fulano said. 'What you see are bonfires. The local farmers and villagers are conducting a festival.'
Gerrard pressed against his shoulder harness, leaning toward her. 'Do you know what day this is? I don't mean the day of the week. I mean the date.'
Tess had to think a moment. 'June twenty-second?'
'Very good. And some time between today and yesterday, the summer solstice occurred, the beginning of summer. What you're seing are flames in honor of the new precious season, the growth of the crops, the fulfillment of the fertile promise of spring.'
'The ritual is extremely ancient,' Fulano added. 'It's much older than Christianity, although of course like Easter, the true meaning of which is the resurrectio
n of nature, Christian elements have been layered onto it. Those villagers are praying to Saint John.'
Tess felt an inward jolt. In turmoil, she didn't know if the saint Fulano referred to was John, the Baptist, or John, the Disciple of Christ, but she was betting on the latter, the same John who'd written the final gospel in the Bible, numerous epistles, and the Book of Revelations.
Her mind focused on the photographs in her purse, particularly the photograph of the Bible she'd found in Joseph's bedroom, a Bible from which Joseph had cut out everything except the works of John and the theories that so matched those of the heretics, especially the war between good and evil at the end of the world.
'The farmers and villagers are praying around those flames,' Gerrard said. They're holding crosses made from wild flowers and wheat.'
Yet again Tess felt jolted. Flames. Wheat.
She recalled the grotesque statue: the torch bearers, Mithras slicing the throat of the bull, its blood cascading to fertilize the earth, the dog straining to intercept the blood, the serpent lunging to destroy the wheat that the blood caused to sprout from the soil. A war between good and evil, and depending on which side won, nature would live or die.
With shock, she understood that the sacred festival in this valley was a remnant of Mithraism, that the heresy was more deeply rooted, more widely spread than she'd ever anticipated.
Nests. Father Baldwin had said he'd been searching for nests, particularly in Spain, although his attention was directed toward the Picos de Europa to the west, not the Pyrenees to the east. What he didn't know was that the nests existed not just in the Picos but all along southern France and northern Spain, and that the villagers had so absorbed Mithraism into Catholic traditions that they perhaps didn't even know the true origin and meaning of the fertility ritual they now performed
Or perhaps they did know its true origin and meaning, and that made the ritual all the more awesome as well as terrifying. Like the villagers and farmers around the bonfires in the valley, Tess had devoted herself to nature, but Gerrard and Fulano - who'd devoted themselves to Mithras, the god of nature - controlled her, and maybe she and Craig would be the next sacrifices to the god.
The helicopter began to descend, approaching the isolated flames in the valley.
'We're not going back?' Craig asked.
'Not just yet,' Fulano said.
'Why?' Craig's voice deepened.
'We have a further surprise,' Gerrard said.
'This evening is full of them. I'm tired. I don't know if Tess and I can take any more,' Craig said.
'Believe me, this surprise is worth it,' Gerrard said.
The helicopter kept descending into the murky valley, and immediately Tess realized that some of the flickering bonfires had been arranged in a special pattern. They form a landing pad! she thought.
In the darkness, the helicopter's pilot used the squared-off section of flames to guide him toward a level section in the valley. As the bonfires flickered, the pilot eased the helicopter onto the grass, then shut off the engines.
'And now?' Craig asked.
'Something so sacred that very few have ever seen it,' Gerrard said.
'You worry me. I'm from New York. Mountains, valleys, bonfires? To me, they're like Mars.'
'Then we invite you to look at Mars,' Fulano said. 'I guarantee you'll be impressed. I correct myself. You'll be astonished. Open your mind. Prepare yourself for what will be the greatest memory of your life.'
'Since you're my host,' Craig said, 'I take for granted that I can trust you. I also assume that as a host you feel an obligation to your guests.'
'That goes without saying.'
'All right, then, as long as we've agreed, let's see the surprise that'll be my greatest memory.'
'Follow.'
They stepped from the helicopter.
ELEVEN
Tess felt cloaked with oppressive darkness while in a square that enclosed the helicopter, brilliant bonfires blazed. Their drifting acrid smoke conflicted with the fragrance of the grass and flowers in the night-shrouded valley.
Numerous villagers and farmers, all wearing festive garments, stood next to the flames, holding impressive crosses, woven from flowers and stalks of wheat. As the light flickered over those crosses, Tess faltered, stunned by the memory of what Priscilla Harding had told her. Before Christianity, before the tradition that the cross represented the execution of Christ, a prior tradition had associated the symbol of the cross with the glory of the sun. And now, with chilling certainty, Tess watched the flames reflect off the wheat of the crosses and knew absolutely that those crosses, composed from nature, were devoted to the sun - and to Mithras, the god of the sun.
Fulano took a torch from one of the villagers and gestured for Tess and Craig to walk to his right across the field. Gerrard took another torch and accompanied them as did the two Secret Service agents. But unexpectedly the group became larger, other men joining them from beyond the fires. These newcomers did not wear festive garments. They didn't carry crosses woven from flowers and wheat. What they wore instead was rugged outdoor clothing, and what they carried were automatic weapons.
Beyond the bonfires, the field became disturbingly black, illuminated in patches only by the torches that Fulano and Gerrard held before them. Tess fearfully recalled the torchbearers in the statue that she'd seen in Joseph's bedroom. Her feet and ankles felt cold, the dew on the knee-high grass soaking her sandles and the lower portion of her long skirt. Panic made her want to tug at Craig and run. They might be able to escape in the darkness, she hoped. But despair took charge, making her realize that the guards would hunt them, that the villagers would join in the search, and the odds were that she and Craig would lose their sense of direction, running in circles in this unfamiliar valley, trying to avoid the bonfires until they were captured.
The field began to slope upward. Guided by the torches, she and the rest of the group passed beech trees, veered around boulders, and continued climbing, the dampness making Tess colder. The hill angled higher, and now she smelled the resin of pine trees.
At once the slope leveled off. Grass became rocks. She peered ahead toward where the torches revealed a narrow gap, concealed by bushes, at the base of a cliff. Stepping closer, she saw that the gap was the entrance to a cave. But a few feet into the cave, a rusted iron door formed a barrier.
Fulano handed his torch to a guard, removed a key from his pocket, and released a padlock on the door. With effort, leaning his shoulder against the door, he shoved it open, its hinges creaking. The night became eerily silent, the only sound the crackling torches and Fulano's footsteps as he disappeared beyond the door. Five seconds later, the silence was broken by the sound of something being cranked, then the sputter of an engine, then a roar as the engine came to life. The interior of the cave was abruptly illuminated by a dim bulb attached to the ceiling, and Tess saw that the engine was a kerosene-powered generator.
Someone nudged her back. Turning, Tess blinked in surprise at Hugh Kelly, who must have joined them during the trek up the slope. Where had he been? What had he been doing? Like the guards, he too wore outdoor clothing.
'Go in,' he said. 'You'll find shoes and a jacket. The cave can be slippery. It's also cold.'
'I brought my sneakers,' Tess said. She took them from her purse and pulled them on, her feet at last secure.
No matter, she trembled. The torches were set on the ground, twisted among the rocks, and extinguished. When she and Craig entered the cave, followed by Gerrard, Kelly and the guards, she noticed woolen coats opposite the generator and put one on, buttoning it. Despite its insulation, she continued to tremble.
The narrow passage was barely head-tall. Proceeding, she stopped ten yards ahead just beyond a curve, frowning at another iron door.
While Fulano unlocked it, Hugh Kelly shut and locked the first door.
That's it, she thought. We're finished.
'Don't look so nervous.' Despite the roar of the generator, Fulano'
s voice reverberated off the damp limestone walls. 'That locked door is strictly for security precautions. After all, we're here at night, and remember, you're not the only ones at risk. Alan and I are attractive targets for assassins. I trust the villagers, but the darkness could very well hide enemies who may have kept track of our movements and would like nothing better than to catch us alone in this isolated area. Three guards have stayed outside to make sure that no one attacks us when we leave. As you may have noticed, Alan's Secret Service agents don't look happy about this trip.'
Covenant Of The Flame Page 45