Order of Darkness Read online

  ‘When you get there, you must go to the church of St Paul and ask for the parish priest,’ Brother Peter told him. ‘He will tell you his name is Father Josef. You can give him this letter. He will send it on.’

  Luca watched Brother Peter double-fold the letter, and light a taper at the dining room fire. From his little writing box, Brother Peter took a stick of sealing wax and held it to the flame, dripping the scarlet wax in three separate pools on the fold. While the wax was still warm and soft he took a sealing ring from a cord around his neck and pressed it into the hardening wax. It left the image that Luca had seen, tattooed on the arm of the man who had recruited him into the secret order. It was a drawing of a dragon eating its tail.

  ‘You will wait,’ Brother Peter told the round-eyed lad who looked at these preparations as a man might watch an alchemist make gold. ‘You will wait that night, and the next day. You will stay in the church house and they will give you food and a bed. In the evening you will go to the church again, see Father Josef and he will give you a letter to bring to me. You will take it, keep it safely, bring it to me without reading it. Do you understand?’

  ‘The boy can’t read,’ Freize said. ‘So you’re safe enough in that. Us servants know nothing. He won’t read your secrets, he would not dream of breaking your seal. But he understands what you’re saying. He’s a bright enough boy.’

  Reluctantly, Brother Peter handed the letter to Luca, who paused for only a moment to study the seals and then passed it to the boy, who knuckled his forehead in a sort of rough salute and went out.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Luca asked. ‘That seal? I saw it on the arm of the man who recruited me to the order.’

  ‘It is the symbol of the order that you know as the Order of Darkness,’ Brother Peter replied quietly. He waited till the door had closed behind Freize and then he rolled up the sleeve of his robe to his shoulder and showed a faded version of the design, tattooed over his upper arm. He looked at Luca’s shocked face.

  ‘It’s pale, because I have worn it for so long,’ he said. ‘I entered the Order when I was younger than you. I swore to it heart and soul.’

  ‘No-one has asked me to take the symbol on my body.’ Luca said uneasily. ‘I don’t know if I would.’

  ‘You’re an apprentice,’ Brother Peter replied. ‘When you have held enough inquiries, and learned enough, when you are wise enough and thoughtful enough: then they may invite you to join the Order.’

  ‘Who? Who will invite me?’

  Brother Peter smiled. ‘It’s a secret order. Not even I know who serves in it. I report to Milord, and he reports to the Holy Father. I know you. I know two other Inquirers that I have served with. I know no more than them. We look for the signs of God and Satan in the world and we warn of the end of days.’

  ‘And do we only defend?’ Luca asked shrewdly. ‘Or do we also attack?’

  ‘We do as we are commanded,’ Brother Peter said smoothly. ‘In defence or attack we are obedient to the Order.’

  ‘And the one that you call Milord – it was him who took me from my monastery to Castle Sant’Angelo, who spoke to me, who gave me this mission and sent me to be trained?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is he the commander of the Order?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know his name?’

  In reply Brother Peter showed Luca the blank reports in his writing box that were already addressed, ready for dispatch. They all read only:

  Urgent

  ‘No name?’

  ‘No name.’

  ‘He has no name but your letter will get to him? Just that? Just the seal of the dragon? It needs no name nor direction?’

  ‘It will get to him, if the boy gets it to Father Josef in Avezzano.’

  ‘This Father Josef – the parish priest of the church of St Paul, Avezzano – he is of our Order?’

  ‘He’s not called Josef. And he’s not the parish priest of Avezzano. But yes, if the boy gets the letter to him, he will open it, see the sign of the Order, and he will get it to Milord. Without fail. None of us would fail to pass on a report. We never know how important a report might be. It could be news of the end itself.’

  ‘So if there is a man in a small town like Avezzano, whose name is not Josef, who knows the seal and knows where to take the letter, there may be many men, other men serving like him, all over Italy?’

  ‘Yes,’ Brother Peter admitted. ‘There are.’

  ‘All over France? All over Spain? All over Christendom?’

  ‘I don’t know how many,’ Brother Peter said cautiously. ‘I know of those I need to know, to get my reports to Milord, and to receive my orders from him. Every time I leave Rome on a new inquiry he tells me who I can rely on – in any direction. He tells me who to ask for at each church along the way.’

  There was a tap on the door and Freize put his head inside. ‘He’s gone. I have sent him on my horse Rufino, who is a good horse, and he has promised to ride, take your letter, and wait for a reply, and then come back. It wasn’t easy to persuade him to go. Half the town swears that they will go on this crusade and he wanted to go too.’

  Brother Peter rose. ‘He is sure of the church and who to ask for?’

  ‘Yes, and he will wait there for the reply from Rome.’

  ‘You have told him he must not fail?’

  ‘He’s a good lad. He’ll do his best. And Rufino is a good horse and can be trusted to find the way.’

  ‘Very well, you can go.’ Brother Peter released him; but Freize leaned on the door to look in at Luca.

  ‘In deep,’ was all he observed. ‘In very deep.’ And then he picked up the kitten and went from the room.

  Inspired by Johann the Good, the people who had come into the little town for the market went back to their villages and farms and spoke of him to their friends and neighbours. Next day, hundreds more people came into Piccolo bringing food and wine and money for the children’s crusade, and to hear Johann preach. Once again he stood on the doorstep of the church and promised them all that if they would come with him to Jerusalem they would walk again with the people that they had loved and lost. These were people who had been orphaned young, who had lost their first-born children: when Johann spoke to them of the rising of the dead they wept as if for the first time. Isolde and Ishraq went to hear him preach, standing in the hot sun of the market square with the common people. Luca and Brother Peter stood inside the shadow of the door of the church with the priest and listened intently.

  ‘Come home,’ Johann said surprisingly to the crowd, who were all born and bred within about ten miles and whose homes were mostly unwelcoming hovels. ‘Come home to your real home. Come home to Jerusalem. Come home to Bethlehem.’ He seemed to look towards Ishraq who was dressed as modestly as a lady on a pilgrimage, her cape shielding her face, a gown down to her ankles, and strong riding boots hiding her brown feet with the silver rings on her toes. ‘Come home to Acre, those of you who were born with the taste of milk and honey. Come back to where your mother first opened her eyes. Come to your motherland.’

  Ishraq swallowed and turned to look at Isolde. ‘Can he mean me?’ she whispered. ‘Does he really mean that Acre, the beautiful Arab city, is my true home?’

  ‘I can hear your mother calling you,’ he said simply. ‘I can hear her calling you from across the sea.’

  A woman from the crowd called out: ‘I can hear her! I can hear Mama!’

  ‘When we get to Jerusalem and the Lord puts out his hand for us, that will be the end of sorrow, that will be the end of grieving. Then shall the orphan find his mother and the girl know her father.’ He glanced towards Ishraq. ‘Then shall the girl who has lived all her life among strangers be with her people again. You will be warmed by the sun that you saw first, when your eyes first opened. You will taste the fruits of your homeland.’

  ‘How can he know?’ Ishraq whispered to Isolde. ‘How can he know that I was born in Acre? How can he know that my mother promised me that