Oliver Potzsch - The Dark Monk

The skull on the right was bent at an odd angle and looked up at Magdalena with a teasing grin.

Like a man on the gallows whose neck my father has broken, she was thinking. She reached out for the skull and tried to turn it straight.

It moved.

With a grating sound, the heavy stone slab moved back, revealing a steep, worn stone staircase leading down into the darkness. Magdalena held her breath and listened. From far below, she could hear men singing a mournful chorale in Latin.

Mors stupebit et natura, cum resurget creatura…Deus lo vult…Confutatis maledictis, flammis acribus addictis…Deus lo vult…Deus lo vult. God wills it.

There they were again, those strange Latin words her father had told her about, the ones used by the Latin-speaking strangers in the Altenstadt tavern and by the murderers in the crypt.

God wills it…

It was time to go down and see what this was all about.

Magdalena stuffed the purse with the herbs back under her dress and started down the steep staircase, one step at a time. The steps spiraled around a weathered column, and the singing grew louder as she drew nearer. She noticed symbols carved into the walls now-engravings of fish here and there, the letters P and X. She passed niches in which there were flickering oil lamps lighting her way. She had the feeling this stairway was much older than the cathedral above.

She finally reached the bottom. A narrow, domed corridor led toward the singing, and farther ahead she could make out a bright light. As she groped through the dark corridor, her hand felt something smooth and dry that crumbled at her touch. Pulling her hand back, she gazed down on a neatly stacked pile of skulls on the floor next to her. She had stuck her hand straight in the eye socket of one of the skulls. On the opposite wall, bones were stacked up to the ceiling. The singing sounded quite close now.

Iudex ergo cum sedebit, quidquid latet apparebit…Deus lo vult…

Magdalena had reached the end of the corridor. Kneeling down, she peered out from behind the little pyramid of skulls.

What she saw was terrifying. The high-vaulted room was the size of a church and had rough niches carved into the walls all around, reaching up to the ceiling and stacked full of bones. At the front of the room was a stone altar and, beyond that, a weathered cross on the wall. By the light of torches, Magdalena could see a group of at least two dozen men in monks’ cowls and capes gathered around the cross, some kneeling and some standing and singing their chorale. Over their black habits, all of them wore white cloaks adorned with crosses in the same shape and color as the one behind the altar.

The crosses had two crossbeams, painted blood red.

Tuba mirum spargens sonum, per sepulcra regionum…Deus lo vult…

After what seemed like an eternity, the men finished singing. Though Magdalena could feel her feet falling asleep, she remained crouched behind the pyramid of skulls, watching the proceedings. One of the cloaked men stepped up to the altar and raised his hands in blessing. He, too, had a cowl pulled down over his face. He turned around to face the group and spoke in a loud voice that echoed through the vault.

“Dear brethren,” he began, “honorable citizens, clergy, and simple pastors who have traveled from afar to get to this place. Our brotherhood has always made it our mission to destroy heretics wherever they may be and prevent the spread of the accursed Lutheran heresy!” A murmur of approval rose from beneath the cowls, but the man motioned for his listeners to be silent. “You know that we are also trying to save our Master’s treasures from destruction at the hands of heretics. Much has been returned to the fold of the Holy Catholic Church, the only church!” He paused dramatically before continuing. “I have convened this meeting to proclaim some happy news. We have succeeded in finding the largest treasure in all of Christianity!” Excited whispers coursed through the crowd. Their leader raised his hand again to silence them.

“The wretched Templars have hidden it in a place not far from here. But in his infinite mercy, God has sent us a sign that this treasure will soon be ours and we will soon be able to embark on our Holy War! We must not allow this Lutheran rabble to again sully the name of our Savior. It was here, in this city, that the heresy began to spread through German lands, and here it will end! I am certain that, with the help of this treasure, the Great War can begin again! Down with the heretics! Victory is ours!”

“ Deus lo vult! Deus lo vult! ” cried a number of the monks. Others fell on their knees and began to pray or flagellate themselves with their belts.

Again, their leader demanded silence.

“Most of you already know about the treasure, but now Brother Jakobus, a true servant of our brotherhood, will give you further details. I don’t need to stress how important it is to maintain strict secrecy about everything he tells us. Traitors will meet a fiery death.”

“Death to traitors!” someone shouted. “Death to the heretics and Lutherans!” Others joined in the shouting.

Magdalena gulped, crouching even lower behind the skulls.

Now a man dressed in a cowl and cloak stepped forward. As he started to speak, a chill ran up and down Magdalena’s spine. It was the stranger from the apothecary! Somewhere down below here in the vault, he must have donned the white coat with the strange cross. But it was his voice she recognized.

“My brethren! He speaks the truth. Victory is close at hand!” Though he had a slight lisp, Magdalena understood every word. “It’s a miracle, believe me! Many years ago, but just a few miles from here, the accursed Templars buried the greatest treasure in all Christendom. These heretics made up a few childish riddles to keep the secret from us, but just recently-”

Much too late, Magdalena noticed that she had leaned too far over the pile of skulls. She bumped one with her right elbow. Falling from the pyramid, it rolled noisily across the floor toward the vault.

Brother Jakobus paused and looked suspiciously in Magdalena’s direction. He was about to resume speaking when the other skulls started tumbling forward as well. Frantic, Magdalena tried to stop them, but it was too late.

A centuries-old equilibrium disturbed, the skulls now started falling on all sides with a clattering and banging. Soon Magdalena found herself standing in the corridor in plain view. For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

“Seize her!” the leader shouted to his comrades-in-arms, who were just as shocked as Magdalena. The man’s cowl slipped off the back of his head and Magdalena found herself staring into a spiteful face-the same face she had seen in the portrait up in the cathedral.

The bishop.

In a fraction of a second, Magdalena realized what this meant. The Augsburg dignitary was not the murderer of Andreas Koppmeyer. No, he was the leader of this insane group-a group presumably capable of far worse crimes, one that, barring a miracle, would torture her as a witch, strangle her, and commit her body to the fire. If she were lucky, they would tear her into pieces first.

Brother Jakobus was the first to get over his shock and run toward the hangman’s daughter, who was rushing down the corridor, stumbling over bones, getting back on her feet again, and racing up the stairs. Behind her she could hear the monk’s footfalls. She ran and ran, spiraling up the staircase as if trapped on a nightmarish merry-go-round, until she finally reached the door.

It was then she realized the door had no handle on the inside.

Gasping for breath, she threw herself against the stone, but this was like hitting her head against a wall. The door would not yield a bit.