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  Mathers handed Schaefer the folder.

  “Take this. I have copies of everything. Two sets of eyes will find more than one.”

  “Thanks,” Schaefer said, taking hold of the box of photos and documents. “I appreciate it.”

  Schaefer turned and walked back up the path towards the crowded Tube station.

  *

  The tube to London Bridge had been crowded enough to frustrate Schaefer’s efforts to examine the contents of the box Mather’s had given him. His early morning meet with Mathers had left Schaefer with plenty of time to reach Norwood Junction, so he bought a ticket for the slow train, and picked the quietest carriage. A mother with a toddler asleep in a pram, and an old lady were his only company. Schaefer sat as far away from them as possible, and opened the box. Inside were photographs of a number of European monuments, news clippings, and photocopies of books written in a dozen different languages. Schaefer selected a few items and spread them out on the rough fabric of his bench seat. A well-thumbed sheaf of photocopied pages caught his eye. Schaefer picked up the roughly stapled pages and read Mather’s note, which was written on the cover in blunt pencil, “Extracted pages of The Book of Clareno – Written in 1330. Translated in 1880. A good place to start.”

  Schaefer turned the page and started reading the closely typed, gothic script.

  EIGHT

  In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and by the authority of Sanctissimus Dominus Noster, His Holiness Pope Leo XIII, I, Johannes von Kuhn, faithful servant of the Lord, offer my translation of the stored journals of Angelo de Clareno, whose Order was united with the Observantists by His Holiness Pope Pius V. These journals, commonly accorded the name, The Book of Clareno, give an account of the daily life of the Clareni and their efforts to minister to the local populace. In keeping with much of the literature of the time, Father Angelo’s writings contain many references to dealings with the Infernal One, matters of possession, and widespread spiritual unrest, as the embrace of the Church was tested by the ignorance and obstinacy of certain elements of the populace. This translation is bound under the laws of Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana that it may only be read by members of the Congregation of The Holy Office of the Inquisition and such other individuals as His Holiness permits.

  *

  16 September 1330

  Our happy colony has been thrown into turmoil by the arrival of the man Brother Roberto calls Castoro. The name seemed appropriate since Brother Roberto found the man floating in the lake near the beavers’ lodge, but he has brought none of the good fortune associated with our bestial neighbours. Instead, he has caused much consternation among the brethren with his feverish cries and violent fits. Brother Ersted and some others, who share his outlook, believe that Castoro is possessed, and that we must send for assistance in ridding ourselves of the evil he manifests. Brother Roberto, who seems to have established a bond with his foundling, argues that Castoro exhibits symptoms of his fever, and that, with time, his madness shall ease.

  *

  25 September 1330

  It seems that Brother Ersted was correct in his concerns. Castoro’s fever has broken, and the man is even more violent and delusional than ever. We have removed him from Brother Roberto’s cell, and placed him in one of the empty grain storerooms by the outer wall of the Monastery. Brother Ersted mixes Root of Valerian into Castoro’s meals in the hope of subduing his wildest distemper. We have sent for help and have received word that Cardinal Fournier would meet with our strange guest. I have not spoken to the others of this development, but find myself deeply troubled by the news. His Eminence was Bishop of Parniers during the years of heresy, and I have heard tell that he pursued his hunt against the heretics with an enthusiasm that caused even his staunchest allies to blench. I fear the assistance we have sought may result in further difficulty.

  *

  4 October 1330

  My fears are as yet unfounded. Cardinal Fournier arrived two days ago with a small retinue and has embraced with warm civility the simple life we lead. He does not insist on special favour at meals, nor has he asked for preference during our services. His contact with Castoro has been tentative. He has seen the wild man twice, and both times simply watched as Castoro sprang about his room shouting. As head of the order, Cardinal Fournier has insisted on my presence, and has asked me to recount the story of Castoro’s discovery on at least four separate occasions.

  *

  5 October 1330

  His Eminence has a mind that works in ways I cannot fathom. I myself have experienced the inner workings of the Inquisition, and have encountered men of the Church who were prepared to undertake extraordinary tasks to unmask heresy. Had it not been for the clarity of Friar Gaufredi, who saw that there was no malice in my heart, I might still be subject to the ministrations of such men. Cardinal Fournier is no such man. He does not make use of the rack or the brand. The Lord has blessed him with an insight into the minds of men that enables him to unlock the truths hidden inside. The afternoon was spent with Castoro. Cardinal Fournier sat quietly and watched the lunatic cavort around his room. To begin with I thought it would be yet another study of madness, that the Cardinal would simply watch Castoro in his ravings. Instead, after a few minutes, His Eminence stood suddenly, and struck Castoro full in the face. When the man fell to his knees, Cardinal Fournier clasped the sides of his head and performed an Exorcism with what I can only describe as a passionate clarity. The force of His Eminence’s incantation was unmistakeable, but there was no emotion, just a purity of motive and thought. Castoro fell to the floor, insensible. We carried him to his cot, and His Eminence sent for frankincense. The sweet smoke revived Castoro, and even though he had a wild look in his eyes, he was lucid for the first time since he arrived.

  Cardinal Fournier proceeded with the tentative steps of a newborn deer. He felt his way around Castoro with a sensitivity that I had not expected. His Eminence started gently with an inquiry after the health of the man. Castoro spoke in broken Italian, so the Cardinal offered to speak French. Conversing in his native tongue put Castoro more at ease, and he conveyed his apologies to His Eminence for his appearance and demeanour. Cardinal Fournier asked the man’s name, but Castoro refused to give it. He said the revelation would place us all in mortal peril. Cardinal Fournier pressed Castoro, but the man was obdurate. Rather than becoming angered by this affront to his authority, His Eminence assured the man that his identity was not important. The more pressing matter was how a French nobleman came to be in Armenia in a state of derangement. Castoro could not hide his surprise and asked why the Cardinal thought him of the higher classes. His Eminence replied that Castoro had made a fair endeavour with his clothes, but had neglected to address his boots, which were hand cut in the fashionable Parisienne style. The boots went no better with Castoro’s rags than wine might go with ale. So, the Cardinal surmised, Castoro either stole the boots, or they were rightfully his. His soft hands and face denied Castoro a history of hard labour. Castoro neither confirmed nor denied Cardinal Fournier’s assertion, and the matter simply rested as they moved on to other things.

  His Eminence danced with the man, and they stepped around one another for the next hour engaged in discourse on diverse matters. The weather, the price of gold, and some tales from the Court of Valois. When the bell chimed five, Cardinal Fournier asked for permission to withdraw. I could scarcely believe my ears, and could see the plain discomfort on Castoro’s face. He assented nonetheless, and we withdrew.

  His Eminence was disinclined to talk about Castoro as we dined, and withdrew to his chambers once the meal was complete.

  *

  October 6 1330

  Cardinal Fournier revealed Castoro’s true identity today. This encounter began much as the prior had ended, with some idle discourse of inconsequential matters. Then there was a pause, during which His Eminence studied Castoro with careful diligence, and announced that it really was necessary for His Grace, the Count Eudes of Burgundy to give ca
use for his flight from France in such meagre circumstances. Castoro, the Count, acknowledged the truth with a slight nod of his head. Perhaps, like me, he saw that in Cardinal Fournier he was dealing with one of God’s true servants, and that he would gain nothing from further falsehood.

  Count Eudes asked Cardinal Fournier for his good and holy word that he was a true servant of the Church. To ask such a question of a high bishop seemed impertinence, but His Eminence did not bridle and replied in a manner that seemed acceptable to the Count, for he began to recount his tale. I know not how much to believe of what follows. The Count’s testimony lacked not for passion and if that be the measure of veracity, then he was recounting the truth.

  The Count asked if Cardinal Fournier had encountered Il Colletivo, a group he accused of unholy, demonic practises. His Eminence said that he had been fortunate enough not to have encountered the group. Count Eudes wept as he told the Cardinal that the group had been responsible for the demonic possession of his wife, Joan, Countess of Burgundy. She had become inconsolable at the death of her last infant during childbirth, the fifth to perish in such circumstances. In despair, the Countess had turned her back on the Church and sought assistance from practitioners of the dark arts so that she might carry a healthy child to term and deliver it into the world. In so doing, Her Ladyship exposed herself to the machinations of Il Colletivo. The group promised her a child in exchange for a price that the Count is yet to ascertain. Within a year the Countess had borne His Grace a son. Three months after the birth, Her Ladyship vanished for a period of fourteen days, and when she returned, His Grace asserts that she was different, full of licentiousness and wicked thoughts.

  Count Eudes confined the Countess to her chambers and inquired into her private affairs. Her Ladyship’s ladies-in-waiting, all of whom had been given notice by the Countess, had seen some of the Countess’s private dealings with the members of Il Colletivo, and recounted to the Count the unholy pact that had birthed his son.

  Troubled by his inquiries, the Count went to give the Countess the chance to refute the accusations levelled against her. As he entered Her Ladyship’s chambers the Count heard noises from within. He approached the curtained bed, and drew back the drape to discover the Countess’s intimacy with an ancient demon. The demon savaged the Count, and man and beast fought through the castle. Count Eudes, full of shame, and over-awed by the evil power of the creature, fled. As he ran the demon promised to hunt him for eternity so that he might complete the dark marriage and seize the Count’s rightful inheritance. The Count fled France and crossed Europe as a nameless beggar. The trials of his journey had robbed him of his sanity and any spiritual strength.

  Cardinal Fournier gave Count Eudes gentle words of comfort, and, once His Grace regained his composure, the Cardinal asked questions that illuminated the parts of the tale that were in shadow. His Eminence wanted to know the evidence the ladies in waiting had against the Countess, and asked the Count to tell him exactly what they had said. Finally satisfied that he understood the entirety of the dreadful affair, Cardinal Fournier begged leave to retire to his chambers to pray for guidance.

  *

  October 9 1330

  I beg the Lord for forgiveness. My wickedness had caused the suffering of these past days. I have not received sufficient punishment for my earlier rebellion against the Church, and the Almighty is giving me valuable instruction in humility. I plead with the Lord in my prayers that he would not inflict suffering on those innocents around me, who had no hand in my youthful transgressions. My prayers go unanswered. I cannot expect to be heard until I have attained spiritual purity and made true penance for my sins.

  Two nights ago Brother Roberto woke me well before the morning bell. We hurried through the darkness to the Count’s room and found horror. Cardinal Fournier and his retinue had produced the implements of the Inquisition and were making full use of them on Count Eudes. His screams were muffled by a scrap of fabric shoved rudely into his mouth. Cardinal Fournier made no excuses upon my arrival, and with righteous fury chastised our entire order for falling into neglect and heresy. Gripped by a holy frenzy, His Eminence made countless accusations of ways in which life in the monastery deviated from dogma. The Cardinal said that I had allowed apostasy to enter into our spiritual home, and that the ensuing darkness had forged it into a shrine for heretics. The Count was the first of many who would be drawn from across Europe unless the evil was purged. Cardinal Fournier instructed two priests to evict me and turned back to the Count. As I was dragged bodily, I heard his Eminence demand that Count Eudes recant his tale and withdraw the scandalous allegations he had made against his wife, the Countess.

  Brother Roberto, whose kindness brought strife to our peaceful home, counselled action. He said that we must wake the others and save the Count from such cruel interrogation. I said such a course was impossible, Cardinal Fournier was known throughout Europe as a pious man dedicated to the holy cause of the Church. If the Count was possessed of evil, and was spreading such improper accusations about his wife, then he was in need of the help of a man as dedicated and devoted as His Eminence. I instructed Brother Roberto to return to his cell and pray for peace.

  My own efforts in this regard proved futile, and I was awake as the cock crowed. Had it not been for my disturbed state of mind, I would not be alive. I thought I heard a stifled cry through the stone wall that separated my cell from the next. I went to the door and saw the lock turn. Possessed by fear, I hid behind the door, and watched one of Cardinal Fournier’s priests creep toward my bed. The priest had a bloodied sword in hand, raised to strike. I ran from my cell and saw the corridor full of Fournier’s men, doing bloody work. I turned and ran for the stables, where I hid while Fournier committed bloody murder. I heard men yelling to each other as they searched the entire monastery for me, and knew that I would not be safe. I crept from the stables to the outhouse and lowered myself into the foul mess that was the product of so many holy men. The acrid vapours made me gag and wretch, but I was safe. My hiding place had the advantage of proximity to the courtyard, and I heard Fournier order his men to give up the search for me. He instructed them to prepare for their journey to Dijon where Count Eudes would be reunited with his wife.

  I watched as Fournier’s men set fire to the monastery. They left in their carts as my home and the mortal remains of my brothers were consumed by flame. I waited as long as I could, but the heat soon became intolerable. I ran from the outhouse and it collapsed behind me. I fled the surrounding inferno, running until I collapsed near the very lake where Brother Roberto had found Count Eudes. Far ahead of me on the distant road I could see Fournier’s train. Behind me a high column of black smoke marked the destruction of all that I had held dear. I slipped into dark oblivion.

  I do not know how long I slept, but when I woke the monastery was no more than smouldering ruins. The sun had only recently crested the horizon. The walk to Gavar took most of the day, and when I arrived at the village, I said nothing of what had happened. I sought refuge with an old woman I had shown kindness to the previous winter. I had laid her son in the earth in Christian burial even though there were questions over the manner of his death. The old woman and her husband took me in without question, and it is in their home that I write in my trusted journal. I thank the Lord that I always keep it with me, or else all record of these terrible days would have been lost.

  I have prayed for guidance, but thus far none has been forthcoming. I am left to my own fallible conjecture. I cannot believe that a man of true faith would so coldly murder so many good monks. I have come to question Cardinal Fournier’s true allegiance. The manner in which he spoke of Count Eudes return to Dijon and the reunion with the Countess gave me reason to fear that he is in league with the dark forces that have so ravaged the Count’s life. I cannot with good conscience do nothing in the face of such evil and atrocious crimes, but find myself lacking the clarity of thought that would enable me to know how I can unmask a Cardinal of the Church as a
heretical deviant. My own troubled past, and the manner in which my entire order perished would immediately raise suspicion even in the minds of the purest men. I feel that the Lord has placed this before me as a test, and with His guidance and eternal love, I will find a way to right the terrible wrong that has befallen so many innocents.

  *

  An automated announcement informed Schaefer that the next station was Norwood Junction. He had time to read a footnote to the translation, which said that Angelo De Clareno died in Dijon in 1331. Testimony from a servant in the household of the Count of Burgundy said that the impoverished, mentally unstable friar had been caught trespassing in the house armed with a dagger. He was slain during a struggle to disarm him.

  Schaefer considered De Clareno’s words as he put the papers back in the box. The Middle Ages was a dark and superstitious time that was not tempered by science or reason. If Schaefer had read De Clareno’s account a few weeks ago, he would have dismissed it as the fantastical ravings of a religious fanatic. But in light of his own experiences, and the fact that the document mentioned The Collective, Schaefer found himself questioning the stable, logical ground on which he stood.

  As the train drew to a halt, Schaefer picked up the box folder and got to his feet. When the doors opened, he stepped onto the slick, rain covered platform and headed for the exit.

  NINE

  The grand houses of Norwood were no more. Those that had not been demolished by German bombs or late Twentieth Century planners had been converted into flats. Once a village separated from London by farm and field, Norwood had been a destination for rich Victorian Londoners who wanted to summer in the country. With high hills that offered clean air and expansive views, those same rich Londoners soon built large houses and estates all over Norwood. Within decades, the area was subsumed by the growing sprawl of the city, and the rich Londoners moved further afield for their clean air, leaving behind their huge houses, which were beyond the means of most. The houses were torn down or carved up and Norwood’s condition deteriorated from desirable destination to run-down suburb.