The three friends were taken to the big, circular, underground room where, protected only by a circle of salt, they had faced the horrors that the Prince had sent against them. It was no longer cold down there, but there was a strange smell of burning herbs.
Waiting for them were von Thumm and the long-haired Andean Indian. Both of them were wearing wizard’s robes of different colours, embroidered with various designs in gold and silver. The Duke recognised those on the Baron’s robe as the symbols of Earth, those on the Indian’s as symbols of Fire, and those on the robe the Babu was wearing as symbols of Air.
As the door of the chamber closed, leaving the two servitors outside, von Thumm limped forward to meet the prisoners Having eyed them for a few moments with grim satisfaction, he said in his guttural voice:
‘Mein Führer, the Prince, of your submission haf told me. After the ceremony with me to the Sala you will all come, there under me to live. My orders you take; ja, and no questions ask. Do so and it will be no worse for you than prison camp But make for me trouble and much pleasure I haf in teaching you good lesson. So! It is understood?’
They made no reply to this, so he went on. ‘Now, for what we make tonight. As you people Christians are, we hold service appropriate. For Muslims, Buddhists and others we haf different ritual. All amended are, so as to the True God to be acceptable. Tonight then we haf wedding Mass. Follow me now. Attempt interference and you are struck blind. Stay silent. One word and you are struck dumb.’
Walking to the wall that had the crooked Cross on it, he pressed a hidden spring and a large panel slid smoothly back, revealing a Satanic temple. The source of the smell was now evident. The atmosphere in the temple was slightly misty and two young boys, both naked, one white with golden hair and the other a coal-black Negro, were swinging censers.
There were no pews in the temple. The furniture consisted only of an altar raised up on a step, and so forming two stages; but the walls glowed with the colour of several beautiful mosaics. They portrayed the Seven Deadly Sins and under each in large lettering was the Satanic creed, ‘Do what thou wilt shall he the whole of the Law’.
The broad upper stage of the altar consisted of a single sheet of rough-hewn stone and had clearly been designed for sacrifices. About a foot from the left end of it, a groove had been cut, on the step below which reposed an onyx bowl, to catch the blood of the victim so that none of it should be lost. But now, upon the stone of this lower shelf, there had been laid out a shallow mattress about three inches thick, of quilted satin, the reason for which was obvious.
Upon the upper shelf were two seven-branched, gold candelabra, in which black candles were burning. Between them rose a hideous, bearded figure, which de Richleau at once recognised as Baphomet, the idol before which, in the Middle Ages, the heretical Knights Templar had been initiated into revolting rites.
The idol had the head of a goat with two great horns between which stood a black candle that burned with a steady blue flame, and gave off a stench of sulphur. On its forehead there glittered a pentagon, one angle of which pointed downwards towards its beaked nose that had monstrous, gaping nostrils. It had human hands, held up so that they pointed to two white crescents, above and below them were two black crescents. Its sexual organs were those of a hermaphrodite. Its belly was green and covered with scales like those of a fish or reptile. Its naked breasts were blue, and as full as those of a pregnant woman’s. Its lower limbs were covered in shaggy hair and ended in cloven hooves. It Was seated on a cube, the symbol of four, the square and foundation of all things. Its hooves rested on a sphere, representing the world. Its eyes were large, oblong and yellow. They gleamed with a malevolence which gave the impression that, utterly still though the creature was, it was conscious of what it saw, and was endowed with life.
As de Richleau recognised the figure of Baphomet, he recalled the fate that had overtaken the Knights Templar. Their Order had originally been founded to protect the Holy Sepulchre. They had become rich and powerful and, during the centuries of the Crusades, had protected pilgrims to the Holy Land by keeping at bay the Barbary pirates.
But their contact with the Saracens had led to their becoming Gnostic heretics. It was said that they uttered terrible blasphemies and conducted revolting rites in front of a Satanic idol. These rumours reached the Pope, who drew the attention of Philippe le Bel, King of France, to them. Philippe was in financial difficulties. He coveted the great wealth of the Templars, a considerable part of which they kept in their Paris headquarters, a fortress called the Temple.
At that time, early in the fourteenth century, Jaques de Morlay was the Grand Master of the Templars. The King invited him and his principal lieutenants to a banquet at the Louvre. There he had them arrested. They were thrown into prison, terribly tortured, then burned at the stake.
Nevertheless, the Templars had the last word. As the funeral pyre that was to burn them alive was ignited, Jacques de Morlay put a solemn curse on the Royal House of France. He called on his Infernal Master to bring about its ruin and, nearly five hundred years later, the monarchy was brought to an end by the imprisonment of King Louis XVI and Queen Mary Antoinette in the tower of the Temple.
This recollection of the power of Satan, exerted in support of the cult of Baphomet, ran through the Duke’s mind in less than a minute, while he and his friends followed von Thumm until he halted in front of the altar, and made obeisance to the figure of Baphomet. The other two Satanic priests, who had brought up the rear, also bowed themselves down until their heads nearly touched the floor.
A silence of several minutes ensued, then came the sound of footsteps. Turning, they saw that the bride had entered the Temple. Her hand rested lightly on Rex’s arm, so it was evident that the Prince had given him back the use of his legs in order that he could stand while giving her away. Behind them came Silvia and Glasshill. She was wearing the pleated white linen dress trimmed with gold of an Egyptian priestess; he had on a wizard’s robe embroidered with the symbols of the fourth element—Water.
Miranda was wearing a bridal costume, but it was very different from the conventional white dress, tulle veil and wreath of orange blossom. It had a very full skirt that came right down to the ground, a tight waist and was almost topless, so that the whole of her beautiful round breasts were revealed. The priestesses of ancient Crete, who had worn such costumes, are always shown holding a serpent in each hand. Instead, Miranda’s mauve satin skirt was embroidered with gold snakes, and a gold snake was entwined in her dark hair.
To the great surprise of Simon and his friends her expression was serene and she displayed no reluctance to approach the altar. They were even more surprised that she showed neither fear nor revulsion when von Thumm announced the form the ceremony would take. With an air of relish, he said:
‘The Prince, our Führer, has been called away on a matter important. His place as celebrant I take. First we make prayer to our Father, the True and Only God. Next we perform Mass and urinate on Holy wafer taken from La Paz Cathedral. Bride and bridegroom then clothes remove and copulate on altar. Virgin blood most potent is. With it I anoint you all. Last, six of us in turn complete the work of in the bride passion arousing. The Lord God will determine the semen of which of us her pregnant makes. We are here eight males. After the bridegroom, our three other guests will possess her. Myself next and of my assistant priests two. There is, though, possibility that age has the Duke impotent made. If so, my third priest will his place take.’
Simon, Rex and Richard were all staring at Miranda. They were astounded that, on hearing this account of the ordeal before her, not a muscle of her face had changed. She was looking intently at the crooked Baron, and her lips were parted in a slight smile. The only possible explanation occurred to all three of them, that she must have been doped to prevent her from putting up any resistance or understanding what was going on.
The Duke’s thoughts were not on Miranda. His heart had leapt at the announcement that the Prince had been called away, because some other evil business required his immediate attention. De Richleau knew himself to be a more advanced adept than von Thumm, and had, down at the Sala, used his power to overcome him temporarily. It was just possible that he might be able to do so again. But it had been the united strength of Glasshill, El Aziz, and Benito, added to that of the Baron, which had reversed the position when the prisoners were in the cellar.
Here the Baron had three Satanists to support him and all of them Adepts, whereas Richard, Rex and Simon were not. The odds were, therefore, against the Duke; but there was one possibility, the thought of which gave him a gleam of hope. His friends on the Astral were aware of his situation, and their intercession with the Lords of Light might yet lead to his winning the uneven battle. But he was far from sanguine, for he knew that, as a general principle, those on earth were expected to fight their own battles, and that their Mightiness of Eternity rarely allowed themselves to be distracted from their own great work and brought from the remote Seventh Astral Plane, which they alone occupied, to intervene in matters on earth.
While he was ruminating on these hopes and fears, von Thumm, his head tilted towards his left shoulder, began to intone. He now spoke in Latin and recited the Lord’s Prayer backwards. The Mass proceeded in that language, the assistant priests uttering the responses. In due course, the Baron produced a Holy wafer from a gold, jewel-studded casket on the altar. Crying out, This is the body of the impostor, Jesus Christ,’ he spat upon it, threw it down, then urinated on it. His assistants followed suit. Crushing it under his heel, he said to Simon and Miranda:
‘Now we consummation of your marriage make. Take off your clothes.’
Simon swung round towards Miranda. Before anyone could lay a hand on him he had whipped out the carving knife with which they had cut up the tinned food in the ruined church. At his movement, Miranda turned to face him. His arm flew up to bring the blade slashing down between her breasts.
De Richleau, having impressed on Simon how great a sin it would be to kill himself, had thought no more of the matter. But he had also said that, given certain circumstances, the killing of another could be justified and, evidently, Simon had decided that, rather than allow Miranda to be defiled, he would kill her.
She was within an ace of death when the Duke acted. It was as though those long-time friends of his on the Astral had shouted in one great chorus:
‘Now! Now is your chance! If you can kill von Thumm, you will be the master down there.’
His right arm shot out from the shoulder. The first and second finger of his hand pointed at Simon. The Duke spoke no word. Simon was so placed that he did not even see the gesture. But, as though struck a violent blow from behind, his body turned in a quarter-circle. Caught by the light of the candle on the goat’s head, the steel blade flashed for a second, then it streaked down and half its length was buried in von Thumm’s chest.
The assistant priests uttered wild cries of rage. Glasshill had been the nearest of them to von Thumm. As the Baron, his eyes glaring, his mouth agape, collapsed on to the altar steps, the big Negro sprang forward. He raised his fist to strike Simon to the ground. That gave Richard the chance for which he had been waiting. Jerking his home-made knife from beneath his coat, he drove the big sliver of glass with all its force into Glasshill’s liver. The Negro gave one awful scream and pitched forward on to the dying Baron.
The shouts and cries had brought Miranda out of her trance. She cast one horrified look at the figure of Baphomet and the two men choking out their life blood on the altar step below it, then let out a terrified cry. Next moment she realised that she was half naked, made as if to put her hands up to cover her breasts, and fainted.
The two young, naked acolytes dropped the censers they had been swinging and made a dash for the door. Silvia had turned and was also heading for it as fast as her long legs would carry her.
The Duke did not even glance in her direction. There still remained to be dealt with the two fat priests of Satan: the long-haired Andean and the grossly-fat Babu. The Duke was praying desperately that, together, they would not rank in circles and squares a magical degree higher than his own. The Babu had already raised his left hand and opened his mouth to pronounce a conjuration. Instantly, de Richleau lifted his right hand, so that it pointed at him, and shouted:
‘Be silent!’
The Babu’s thick lips wobbled uncertainly for a few seconds, then closed, and his arm fell to his side.
Richard had turned his glass dagger in the fatal wound he had inflicted on Glasshill, and drawn it out. As he straightened himself, he could see over the Duke’s shoulder. The Andean was behind him. He had drawn a knife and was just about to stab de Richleau in the back. Richard gave a cry of warning. It came too late. The Duke heard it in time to make a sideways movement that saved his life, but the point of the knife pierced his left shoulder with such force that he was thrown forward on his face.
The fat Babu’s face suddenly broke into a smile of triumph. He lifted his left arm again and opened his mouth to hurl a binding spell on the Duke’s companions. But Rex was within a yard of him. Raising his ‘leg of mutton’ fist, he struck the Babu a terrific blow on the side of his flabby jaw. His head snapped back and he went down like a pole-axed ox.
With the agility of a panther, the Andean had gone down on one knee and raised his knife again, to finish off de Richleau. Richard flung himself forward bodily. His chest thudded into the kneeling man’s shoulder, deflecting the blow and sending him over sideways. Richard came sprawling on top of him. Like an eel, the Andean wriggled from beneath the body of his attacker, and came to his knees. Again his knife went up, this time to slash at Richard.
Simon had caught Miranda as she fainted and lowered her to the altar steps a few feet from where von Thumm was gasping out his life in agony. With one arm round Miranda’s shoulders, Simon was stroking her cheek and kissing her forehead, in an endeavour to bring her out of her faint. On hearing Richard’s cry, he looked up. A second later he heard de Richleau crash to the floor behind him. Swinging round he pulled himself away from Miranda to go to the Duke’s assistance. By then Richard had acted and the Duke was out of danger, but he himself was in imminent peril.
Jumping across de Richleau’s prone body, Simon landed a kick on the side of the Andean’s cheek. He dropped his knife and heeled over. A second kick from Simon and the Andean fell sideways, his head hitting the floor. With a ferocity utterly alien to his nature, Simon continued to kick and kick and kick until the evil priest’s face was reduced to a mass of blood and pulp.
For a few minutes nothing was to be heard in the temple but the sound of their panting, as they strove to get back their breath. Rex was kneeling by the unconscious Duke, anxiously examining his wound. As soon as he could speak, he gasped:
Thank God! … It’s only a flesh wound … and not deep. The point of the knife struck his … shoulder blade. It was either hitting his head when he fell, or loss of blood that caused him to faint.’
‘All the same. I don’t like it,’ Richard said anxiously. ‘He’s bleeding badly, and at his age he can’t afford to lose a lot of blood.’ As he spoke, he ripped off his jacket, then began to unbutton his shirt. Pulling it off he handed it to Rex, and added, ‘Here, take this. Staunch the blood with it and we’ll bind the wound up.’
Rex already had the Duke’s coat off. As he began to tear the coat-tail of Richard’s shirt into strips, Miranda gave a moan and opened her eyes. Simon bent over her again, took her hands in his and, sobbing with relief, murmured, Oh, my darling! Are you all right? Can you see me and hear me? Before, you acted so strangely. As though your mind wasn’t working.’
‘It wasn’t,’ she murmured. ‘But I’m all right now. I … I only became fully conscious of what was going on round me when you stabbed that awful priest. Oh, Simon darling! How can I thank you for saving me from these beasts?’
Smiling down at her, he confessed, ‘Nearly killed you instead, my precious. Had made up my mind to, rather than … well, seen you driven out of your mind. But we’re not out of the wood yet. That hell-cat Silvia got away. May be other priests up above. If so, she’ll be raising them against us by now.’
Miranda shook her head. ‘Silvia’s not a hell-cat. It was she who hypnotised me, so that I wouldn’t know what was being done to me. Even if she is a witch, I’m sure she’s not deliberately evil. She’s in this thing for kicks.’
As she was speaking, Miranda had got to her feet. Slipping out of his jacket, Simon helped her into it so that she could cover her breasts. Then he turned to look down at the Duke.
There was a lot of blood on the floor that had run from the wound in his shoulder, and some of it had stained red the white hair on one side of his head. But Rex had managed to staunch the flow and, with Richard’s help, got a tight bandage round his shoulder and under his armpit. As they sat him up to get him back into his torn jacket, he came to. His grey eyes were still half-closed as he looked about him, and his head wobbled unsteadily. After a minute or so, he said in a husky whisper:
‘So help was sent us. Praise be, and … and we got the better of them. But … but I’m out of the game for the moment. I feel as weak as a kitten.’
Between them they got de Richleau on his feet, and with his arms round the shoulders of both of them. Resolutely he began to walk forward, but they had to bear most of his weight. Simon and Miranda, their arms round each other, followed them out of the temple, across the circular ante-room beyond it and into the dimly-lit passage.
They were reluctant to go upstairs, as to do so meant that they would be taking a big risk of running into Silvia and some of the Prince’s minions. But they knew that there were several ways out of the ancient fortress. To find one was far from easy, as the stone-walled passages formed a veritable maze, with many chambers on either side evidently once door less storerooms, opening off them. Several times they entered cul-de-sacs, that ended in a barrier of roughly-cut rock. At last they found a door which, when wrenched open, brought in a sudden cold draught and gave them a view of the star-spangled sky.
Outside was a small stone terrace, from which a flight of worn steps led down. As they went towards them they could see the airstrip below, because it was lit up. That it should be lit in the middle of the night alarmed them, for it suggested that the Prince had left in an aircraft and was shortly expected back.
The stairs were too narrow for three people abreast, so Richard led the way down, while Rex picked up the Duke in his strong arms and carried him. As they descended, they saw that there was now only one aircraft on the strip, which confirmed their supposition that the Prince had flown off in the other.
They were about halfway between the bottom of the staircase and the ‘plane when a figure emerged from a nearby hut. In the glare of the arc lights they could be seen as clearly as though they were upon a brightly-lit stage. The squat figure was a man in Andean costume. He halted abruptly and gave a loud shout. His words were Chiquito, the language of the Bolivian Indian, so they did not understand them; but, obviously, he was calling on them to halt. His voice had barely ceased to echo in the still night air before he had pulled a pistol from its holster and was pointing it at them.
Simon still had the carving knife with which he had killed von Thumm, and Richard his glass dagger. But the man who was holding them up was a good twenty paces away—much too far off for them to attempt to rush him. Inwardly they groaned In two minutes they could have been in the ‘plane and an another five in the air. To have come so near to escaping and now to be marched back and locked up until the Prince returned was a most bitter pill to have to swallow.
Through their minds raced sickening thoughts of what now lay before them. When he learned that four of his principal henchmen had been slain, the Prince’s fury and malice would know no bounds. They would pray in vain for an easy death, but they knew him to be merciless. He would extract the last quiver of agony from their mutilated bodies before they slid into the peace of death.
It was only a matter of seconds after the challenge rang out when de Richjeau cried. ‘Rex! Put me down.’
Rex did as he was bidden, but kept a hold on the Duke, in order to support him. For the second time that night de Richleau extended his right arm, with the first and little fingers of his hand thrust out; but this time the movement was slower and cost him a big effort.
The effect of his gesture made them catch their breath. Invisible power streaked from his pointing hand at the man who was holding them up. There came a burst of flame, followed by a loud report. De Richleau had exploded the bullets in the magazine of the pistol. What remained of the weapon dropped from the man’s shattered hand. With a shriek, he reeled away, blinded and bleeding, to fall backward on the ground.
But the effort had taken the Duke’s last remnant of will power and physical strength. He suddenly sagged in Rex’s arms. His bloodstained head fell forward, and he again became unconscious.
Now fearful that the sound of the explosion would bring other retainers of the Prince on the scene. Rex, carrying the Duke, ran towards the little aircraft. Richard raced him to it and yanked the door open. Between them they got de Richleau into it and sat him on one of the rear seats. Miranda and Simon scrambled after them and the latter closed the door.
Rex switched on the light and looked down at the instrument panel. With a curse, he announced, ‘Nothing like enough gas to get us to the coast. What’ll we do?’
‘Couldn’t fly through the mountains during the night, anyhow,’ Simon said quickly. Take us down to that church near Potosi. Well be safe there.’
‘What then?’ Rex snapped. ‘No gas to be got there. Well be stranded, and at any time that bloody Prince will be after us.’
‘Fly us to the Sala,’ Richard suggested swiftly. ‘Von Thumm and his chums came up here for the wedding; so it’s unlikely we shall meet with any opposition. We can refuel on the airstrip and take off again at first light.’
‘Good for you,’ Rex threw back, and switched on the engine.
‘Get her off! Get her off quickly!’ Simon shouted. Glancing through the window he had seen three men who had just come out of the hut, running across the tarmac towards the ‘plane, and one of them had a Sten gun. They’re after us!’ he cried. ‘Get her off, or we’ll all be riddled with bullets.’
Rex revved up the engine for a moment, then the ‘plane ran forward. As it lifted there came a burst of fire. A spate of bullets ripped into the tail of the aircraft. It shuddered, dipped steeply, then lifted again. They were off.
The flight down to the settlement in the Sala entailed an agonisingly anxious twenty minutes’ flight through the moonlit mountains; but, in all, took only three-quarters of an hour. During this time de Richleau came round, but he was very weak, and his friends were very anxious about him. At the Sala airstrip the lights were on and, as usual, Rex brought the ‘plane down in a perfect landing. Four aircraft were parked on the strip, but No one was about. Richard and Simon climbed out and lowered de Richleau to them. Two minutes later, all five of them were on the ground.
Suddenly they caught sight of a solitary figure walking towards them. ‘Not to worry,’ Richard said in a low voice. ‘We’ll tell him that the Prince sent us down here, and take a meal off them in the house. That will kill time till we can fly off again.’
He had hardly finished speaking when the face of the man who was approaching was lit up by a beam from one of the pylon lights. The hearts of all of them jumped, then sank. It was the Prince.
His voice was sharp with anger, he cried, ‘So you thought you would cheat me, eh?’ Then he raised both his hands above his head. ‘Down on your knees, all of you. Get down!’
For an agonising moment the muscles of their calves were seized with cramp, then the strength drained from them, and they sank to their knees.