by Tom Pugh
Longstaff listened more than he looked, only raising his head at intervals for another glimpse of this hell on earth. He saw Mathern Schoff, studying papers at a trestle table, and the big, muddy-faced monk entering a tent pitched between church and beach. Longstaff lay flat on his back; getting the rhythm of the camp, the taste of it sour in his mouth – bitter flavour of exhaustion, captors and captives going through the motions. Longstaff was surprised. From everything he knew about Gregorio Spina, he had expected more.
It was mid-morning before the dozing guard of the previous night came strolling down the steps. He drank from the water barrel, exchanging a few words with his two-man relief.
“Anything?”
“Nothing but stone and sky and boredom. Which of you has the temple today?”
“I do.”
“Wave to civilization for me, will you?”
The three men laughed. “For all the good it will do. There’s fish if you’re hungry.”
Which of you has the temple? Longstaff shook his head in wonder, imagining Il Medeghino’s reaction.
“Call yourselves the Hounds of the Lord? A one-armed whore could take this place in the time it takes you sons of bastards to say your prayers.” Was it incompetence or complacency? Both probably. Spina was Master of the Sacred Palace in Rome, accountable only to God and the Pope.
Lunchtime. Fish cooking in the open. Longstaff’s stomach began to growl. He ate a piece of black bread and drank from his water-skin. The Lübeck lawyer sat comfortably in the shade of the squat church; spitting distance from the chained villager, who lay in the sun like cured leather. It was getting hot on the narrow ledge, as well. Longstaff soaked the strip of cloth Giacomo had given him and covered his head. With the village quiet, he fell into a half doze.
The fishermen returned to land three hours before sunset and dumped their catch on the beach. Black-robed men came to escort them to the church, only releasing the women once the door was safely locked. More monks appeared from the caves beneath, piling lengths of knotted rope on Schoff’s table. They were mapping the tunnels, realized Longstaff. The lawyer unrolled his papers and questioned the men closely before making additions to the tangled confusion of lines.
Another monk appeared. Longstaff tried to count them; he’d seen fifteen ride south from the Villa Spina. He looked for as many different faces here, but it was hard to tell them apart. They were all dressed in identical robes and the heat had made him tired. The newcomer pushed a woman ahead of him, looking for the big, muddy-faced monk.
“She wants to see Spina.”
Longstaff saw him look towards the tent. Schoff raised his voice.
“She can talk to me, Chabal, if she has something worth saying.”
The woman walked woodenly towards the water barrel. Longstaff saw a fresh scar on one side of her face. She approached the man in chains, who lapped eagerly at her cupped hands. She stared down at his matted hair.
“Why are you doing this to us?”
“You know why,” called Schoff.
Longstaff saw the effort she made to control her expression before turning to face him.
“The man you killed. Give us his body at least, so that we can lay him to rest.”
Mathern Schoff shrugged. “What good will it do you? You need a priest to conduct a funeral.”
“He was our priest.”
“Then you should be pleased for him,” said the lawyer, stepping nearer. She flinched, spitting on the ground between them.
“He serves the Church in death, as he did in life, providing for our privacy,” Schoff’s voice grew dark. “Providing food for scavengers. Where he’ll remain until you give us what we want.”
She stared at him. “You’ve already taken everything we have.”
“Not everything,” smiled Chabal.
The headman stirred. “Leora, enough. Go back to the cave. Now.”
At dusk, two robed men came down the hill and one went back up, which confirmed Longstaff’s suspicion that Spina posted a guard in the temple during the day, but left the place empty at night. He waited until it was dark before leaving. The monks ate together at a long table beneath him. The glare of their torches would render him invisible, their conversation cover any noise he made. There was still no sign of Spina, but Longstaff had seen enough.
It was a hard climb, his limbs sluggish from the long day spent lying motionless. He left the single guard far to his left and took his time, making sure of every step, reaching the deserted temple shortly before midnight.
He paused to catch his breath. He didn’t think it would be difficult to signal the others. Durant would have remained as close to the hill as possible. Longstaff looked north, where the plateau of rock disappeared into a thick tangle of trees... and froze.
Something moved. A bird? A breath of wind? He crouched behind a broken plinth. The moon emerged from clouds, throwing the temple into ghostly relief. Longstaff remained absolutely still. Only his eyes moved, searching the silhouettes of scrub and statue for anything out of the ordinary. Long minutes passed before he was certain. Someone was there.
The moon slipped behind cloud. He crept through the ruins, spotting a grey figure standing beside the statue of Jupiter, musket held in the crook of one arm. Longstaff rose like a knife through shadow, one arm around the gunman’s throat to stop him crying out, one crushing the musket against his chest.
“Aurélie?” he hissed in disbelief. “What in God’s name? Where are the others?”
“Safe.”
He could feel her heart, beating fit to burst, body rigid in his arms. He stepped away.
“Fool,” he hissed. “You might have got us all killed.”
“There’s no one here. I was worried you wouldn’t find us.”
Longstaff curbed his anger. No harm had been done. He pulled Aurélie into the shadows behind Jupiter’s throne.
“You’re shivering,” he said, surprised. It was a warm night and he was sweating from the long climb.
She stared up at the ruined arch. “Only the initiated were allowed to pass this threshold.”
She had a beautiful voice. Longstaff traced the line of her short hair, unable to read her expression in the darkness.
“Has something happened?”
She smiled at him. “It feels as if we’re chasing a dream. A pair of adventurers, a woman, an old man recovering from torture.”
“The men below are chasing a nightmare. We’re dead if they find us here,” he looked at the distant trees, where Durant and Giacomo must be waiting. They’d need thirty minutes to cross the plateau, another hour to climb the hill.
“Sit with me a moment,” said Aurélie. “I know I should be more careful. Giacomo’s always telling stories about the terrible things that happen to women like me.”
She shook her head. Longstaff guessed she’d been here some time, growing pensive among the statues.
“He loves you like a daughter.”
“Is it possible to love something you don’t understand?” she took Longstaff’s rough, callused hand in hers. “Giacomo peers into my head. He tries to hide it, but he thinks I’m unnatural.” She stared at him. “You are a rare man, Matthew. You don’t care what I believe. You look into my heart and you still like me.”
Her hand was cold, but he resisted the temptation to take her in his arms. She reached up and touched his face.
“You’re blushing. Only humans can, did you know? It’s awareness of our own existence that lights the fire – when we’re nervous or ashamed, taken by surprise or flattered. And when we’re aroused,” she dipped her head. “There,” she said, “now I’m blushing, too.” Without looking up, she ran her fingertips along the line of Longstaff’s jaw.
“Aurélie...”
“Don’t talk.”
CHAPTER 34
She was falling asleep against him – his clothes for a mattress, hers for a blanket. Madness. Longstaff shook her awake. He shouldn’t have let it happen, not until they were far away
from here.
He disentangled himself, climbing onto Jupiter’s throne and looking at the distant trees. Aurélie sat up, makeshift covers falling to one side.
“That’s where they are?” he pointed. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure, Matthew. They’re waiting for your signal.”
Longstaff looked up at the clear, night sky – two hours until dawn – still time, if they hurried.
They gathered twigs and dusty weeds from the temple floor, before climbing a short way down the hill. Satisfied no trace of the signal-fire’s glow would be seen from the village, Longstaff took out his tinderbox and lit the small bundle.
“If they delay, we’ll send them back. Try again tomorrow.”
The flames died quickly. Aurélie held Longstaff’s hand in the darkness, sitting beside the charred sticks. It wasn’t long before they heard movement below – Durant and Giacomo, climbing up to meet them.
Assuming Spina’s man kept to the same routine, Longstaff reckoned they had an hour. He glanced at Aurélie, hands on hips, staring up at the statue of the moon goddess Luna. Her pale skin had turned golden on the journey south and he smiled, thinking of Onofrio Spina’s young wife – it was impossible to imagine Aurélie plucking her hairline or wrapping herself in so many yards of velvet she could barely move.
The goddess looked melancholy in the dawn light, but her pose was dynamic, left foot forward, right arm raised aloft.
“The scroll represents hidden knowledge,” said Aurélie. “The moon shows them the way, according to the palimpsest. Luna is the moon, therefore the scroll should point us to the Library.”
“Down to the village,” said Longstaff. “Where Spina’s looking.”
“Without success. What are we missing?”
Vescosi was sitting on a low wall, catching his breath after the long climb. He reached into his robe, producing Aristarchus’ slim volume: On the Planets, their characteristics and the Orbits they describe around the Sun.
“I took the liberty of retrieving it from your pack, Aurélie.”
He looked at Durant. “The key passage in Lucretius’ letter; have I remembered it correctly? The shining sun does never look upon them, but the moon shows them the way, and we, by Jupiter’s leave and damning Ptolemy’s eyes, journey with them into Hell.”
Durant nodded.
“Ptolemy believed the sun revolves around the earth, just like the Roman Church. Aristarchus believed the opposite.”
“Like Copernicus,” said Durant.
“Correct,” Vescosi gave the book to Aurélie. “Look for his description of the moon’s characteristics.”
She flicked through the pages. “The moon shields us from our worst instincts and urges us to reflect before we act. Her sadness comes from being so little heeded.” Aurélie looked at the statue. “The scroll,” she said. “It’s in the wrong hand!”
“Bravo,” applauded Vescosi. “Now tell me, when is a left hand a right hand?”
“When we see it in a mirror.”
“And urges us to reflect before we act,” repeated Vescosi, nodding.
“We need a mirror.”
“We don’t have one,” said Durant. “And it wouldn’t do us any good; not unless we know where to hold it.”
Longstaff approached the statue. Luna’s right arm was turned away from her body at waist height. He ran fingertips along the rough stone. He was a soldier and the word ‘shield’ echoed in his mind. The moon shields us from our worst instincts. He found two shallow ridges on the forearm, one above the wrist, one below the elbow. He moved away from the statue, walking with his eyes trained on the ground.
“She wore a shield,” he said. “A round shield, I imagine. Isn’t that an image of the moon? But I can’t see it anywhere.”
Giacomo clapped his hands. “Of course. But we don’t need to find the actual shield. Any flat object will do.”
Longstaff strode to the top of the stone stairway, listening for the guard’s approach. They still had time, but it paid to be cautious.
“Hurry. And keep your voices down.”
It took them forever. They tried and discarded a dozen flat stones, cloaks, even Aristarchus’ book, before Vescosi pronounced himself satisfied with a sword. Durant held it tight against Luna’s right arm as the Otiosi leader used a stick to extend the line of the scroll. They were completely caught up in the work, oblivious to the danger.
“There,” said Vescosi, pointing to a patch of earth a few yards from his feet. “Not literally, of course. The position of the scroll and set of Luna’s arm indicate a straight line, but without the shield we can’t be sure of the angle. Aurélie, fetch the cloth roll from my bag.”
“There isn’t time,” said Longstaff.
Vescosi ignored him, lying flat on the ground with one eye closed, peering north towards the distant trees.
Aurélie came running back. “So you were right. Spina is looking in the wrong place.”
“Fitting, don’t you think?” Vescosi smiled. “A prince of the Church defeated by a heliocentric view of the universe.” He unrolled the cloth, selecting a compass from the collection of instruments, each held in place with a slip of ribbon. “We have the line,” he announced at last. “No way of knowing if the entrance is fifty yards or fifty miles from here, but if we keep to this heading, we’ll meet it eventually.” He rose to his feet, beating the dust out of his robe. “Now we can leave.”
Longstaff shook his head. “We’ve missed our chance to cross the plateau before the lookout arrives.” He herded them across the temple courtyard, pushing them towards the tall columns on either side of Jupiter. “Hide, all of you. Not a word.”
He left them in the shadows, returning alone to lie in wait.
The guard was whistling a tune, eyes on the sky. He was armed – a short, double-edged sword swung from a wide belt – but walked with his left hand on the hilt.
Longstaff let him pass before he stepped out from behind the statue, to wrap an arm around his throat and choke him until the body went limp. He shifted his grip, about to break the man’s neck when the others emerged from hiding – Vescosi lost in thought, Durant tapping fingertips against his teeth. Neither approached. Aurélie gave him a sad smile before she closed her eyes. Shaking his head, Longstaff dropped the unconscious guard – there had been too much killing, too much of it weighed on his conscience alone.
Durant drew near, seeming to read his mind. “I shouldn’t leave you to shoulder so much of the burden.”
“You haven’t been yourself, the last few days.”
“Just tired. I’m with you now.”
Longstaff smiled. “See if you can find a rope.”
“Safer to kill him.”
“He won’t be missed before evening. We’ll be far away by then.”
CHAPTER 35
The sun – and the threat of discovery – lay heavy on their backs as they cantered across the plateau. Longstaff breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the forest of stunted trees running along the northern edge. He took the lead, with Durant bringing up the rear, trees growing closer until the small party was forced to dismount and walk the horses. The birds stopped singing. The track petered out and they continued in single file, picking their way through the undergrowth. Vescosi tapped Longstaff on the arm.
“Do you think you could help me climb one of these trees?” he nodded at a gnarled trunk, damp with moss and lichen. “I can’t see the sun. I need to confirm our heading.”
Longstaff looked past the philosopher. The undergrowth seemed to blur ahead of them.
“What in God’s name...” He drew his sword to hack a path through briars and brambles, startling a family of crows. Seven flew past with a great beating of wings. Longstaff bit back a curse. A thin and twisting coil of smoke hung in the air ahead. He cut his way closer and found himself staring into the jagged mouth of a cave. Longstaff muttered a curse; it was like looking directly into the Devil’s black throat.
“No need to go cli
mbing trees.”
Vescosi was still at his shoulder. “By Jupiter’s leave and damning Ptolemy’s eyes,” he murmured, “journey with them into Hell.”
They left the horses in a nearby clearing. Durant emptied his pack, searching through the contents until he found a jar of lamp oil. Longstaff split several long sticks and collected bundles of moss. Durant soaked them in the oil and bound them to the sticks. He found candles, gave Longstaff a handful and tucked the rest in his doublet. He stared at his possessions lying on the hard earth – bone saw, phlebotomy cups, herbs, powders, phials – then threw the empty bag over his shoulder.
“Ready!” he said.
“What’s the bag for?”
“One of us has to think ahead,” Durant smiled. “How many books can you push down the front of your jerkin?”
Longstaff looked at the Frenchman’s slim sword. “I’ve never seen you use that thing.”
“Pray you never have to.”
Vescosi stood among the tumble of roots and stones, peering into the opening. Fumes danced in the sluggish air. “Time to cover our mouths again.”
“Wait here,” lighting his torch, Longstaff took a deep breath and squeezed between the narrow jaws. The air was warm inside, damp walls and a rough stone floor, a perfectly rectangular opening on the far side, taller than him and barely as wide. The cave was natural, but men had been here, fashioning it according to their needs.
“Come in,” he shouted.
One by one they came, a reluctant Sparrow last of all. Aurélie walked directly to the dark opening.