The organ progressed to a final cadence, and then there was silence.
It was broken by three loud knocks on the door. Each blow boomed like a bass drum.
In the blue-gray misty distance, Liebermann saw a tall, gaunt man raise his hand.
“Venerable Master!” he cried out. “One knocks as a stranger.”
“See who knocks,” replied the venerable.
The bronze doors were opened again.
“It is Brother Master of Ceremonies and Brother Hansel, with the seeker.”
“Inquire of him if the seeker is a free man who has the good repute of his fellow citizens.”
More questions and answers followed, and a request for the sponsor to show himself. A man appeared between the two columns of the doorway and declared, “As far as I know, I believe that the seeker is worthy of my sponsorship, and I hope that he will persevere.”
His accent was Hungarian.
The venerable responded, “Now then, you will let the seeker enter.” He gave a single rap with his gavel and continued. “To order, my brethren.”
Again, the sound of the pipe organ filled the air, and a tenor voice began to sing a familiar refrain. “O heiliges Band der Freundschaft treuer Bruder…” Oh, holy Bond of the Friendship of true Brothers…
Liebermann recognized it immediately. It was the song that Kanner had been singing in the private dining room.
A young man with long black hair had been marched to the threshold of the temple. He was blindfolded and his shirt-the cut of which suggested the eighteenth rather than the twentieth century- flapped open at the neck and hung loosely from his shoulders. This, then, was the seeker: Prince Ambrus Nadasdy. Now that both the venerable and the prince were in the same room, Liebermann tensed.
Where is he?
The question made him peer into the darkened corners of the temple in trepidation.
As the music faded, the prince's guide proclaimed, “Up to now I have led you safely. Now I must turn you over to another conductor. Trust in his guidance.”
The guide presented the young man to the gaunt Mason.
“My Lord!” cried the venerable. “No mortal eye can gaze into the heart. If you were led here by some selfish motive, or if you had the hope of discovering supernatural information and hidden knowledge through us, which was unobtainable outside of our tie, then you would see deceptions in your expectations. Our craft is devoted to humanity. Our closest task is to cultivate the pure nature of man within us with a united effort. If you are determined to unite with us in the noble work of humanity, you will affirm it according to your conscience and on your honor by a distinct Yes.”
The prince responded as instructed: “Yes.”
“Will you submit yourself to our guidance?” asked the venerable. “Do you trust us?
Again, the decisive affirmative: “Yes!”
“Man alone,” continued the venerable, “among all terrestrial creations is capable and called upon to work on his self-improvement. Man is destined to a higher perfection. But the way thereto is difficult to find and beset with dangers. Brother Junior Warden, let the seeker try his strengths upon the travels he now enters upon.”
Kanner tugged Liebermann's sleeve. At once, all the Masons sat down.
The gaunt, willowy Mason addressed the prince-but in tones that could be heard by all of the assembly.
“In the ancient mysteries, allegorical journeys and tests were arranged for those who were to be admitted. Accordingly, we have retained these forms of the tradition. The journeys that you will undertake are representative of life. Masonry educates its youths by imprinting their lives through symbolic acts.”
Liebermann felt uneasy. Although nothing material had changed, he felt a disturbing prickling at the back of his neck-like the prescient discomfort that precedes turning around to discover that one is being stared at.
“Pay sharp attention,” intoned the junior warden, “and keep true in mind the admonitions that will be given to you on these journeys. Whoever travels in darkness to unfamiliar places, as you do, requires a conductor. Fortunate is he who finds in the darkness an honest friend as a skillful guide. Follow me, I will lead you safely.”
The gaunt Mason took the prince's left hand and walked him into the body of the temple. When they reached the three columns, the pair began a slow, stately circumnavigation of the carpet.
“The life of man moves in a circular fashion,” the guide continued. “But the eternal center of these circuits is the one God that Freemasons worship under the designation of the Great Architect of the World. Freemasons are worshippers of God, however different your conception of God may be.”
Since the brethren had sat down, Liebermann had been afforded a better view of the desks that flanked the venerable's throne. He scrutinized the seated figures. Then Kanner nudged him in the ribs to draw his attention back to the central drama. Clearly, something significant was about to happen.
The junior warden suddenly pulled the prince back a step. “Deprived of your eyesight,” he taunted, “you would fall into the abyss before your feet if the hand of a friend did not hold you back. The blindfold over your eyes is a representation of your ignorance, which does not know the dangers that threaten the paths of life.”
Liebermann returned his gaze to the desks.
One of the secretaries was not looking up.
His head was bowed and there was something odd about his position. He looked uncomfortable, awkward, angular. Liebermann realized why. The secretary's right arm was pulled back and his hand was gripping the hilt of his sabre.
Could it possibly be…
Liebermann's instinct was to act, but the formality of the initiation ceremony demanded caution, respect.
Olbricht? A Mason?
Liebermann felt bound, inhibited-unable to raise an alarm. What if he was wrong?
And yet…
The gaunt Mason was leading his royal ward up through the nave, toward the venerable's throne. They were drawing closer together. If it was Olbricht, then the venerable and the prince would very soon be in striking distance.
Sarastro and Tamino.
It must be him.
The suspect Mason raised his head a little, but the brim of his hat was wide, leaving most of his face in shadow. A candle flared-and for the briefest moment his mouth and chin were illuminated in sharp relief. Liebermann registered the wideness of the lips and the deep, distinctive creases.
“Bow yourself!” commanded the gaunt Mason. “Here is the seat for one who has obtained our free election to have administered the laws of the craft.”
The prince lowered his head.
Liebermann could delay no longer. He leaped up and propelled his body forward, interposing himself between the prince and the secretariat.
“Olbricht!”
His interruption caused an immediate furor. There were gasps and cries of dismay. The gaunt Mason advanced after glancing at the venerable, who responded by raising a hand, urging moderation. Olbricht, though, was sprinting down the nave and heading for the bronze doors-his hat tracing a wide arc around the three pillars in his wake.
86
Liebermann raced down the avenue of shocked faces.
“Stop him!” cried the venerable over the ensuing uproar. “Brother Diethelm! Stop him!”
Liebermann registered the name.
Brother Diethelm?
It seemed that the venerable was referring to Olbricht rather than commanding someone called Diethelm to intervene.
Two Masons who seemed to be acting as a ceremonial guard at the entrance of the temple jumped forward, their arms outstretched. Olbricht lowered his head and charged through their feeble blockade, knocking both men sprawling across the floor. His escape took him between the great Corinthian pillars and into the darkness beyond.
Liebermann ran faster, the soles of his shoes pounding the black and white tiles as he pursued his quarry. He was unable to stop himself in the vestibule and skidded to a painful collision with the central stone column of the stairwell. The impact left him breathless and brought him to a jarring halt. From below came the fading diminuendo of receding footsteps. A question, barely articulated, flashed into Liebermann's mind: Why didn't he go up? It was accompanied by a shiver of unease. He dismissed this odd presentiment and hurled himself into a stumbling descent, his top hat flying from his head in the process. He thundered down the stairs, made dizzy by the tight curves of the spiral. Down, down-deeper and deeper into the earth until the stone wedges vanished and momentum carried him forward, through an open door.