The animal strained its neck and thrust with one horn, as if despite the distance it believed with proud desperation that it could reach and impale its captors.
'Dear God,' Tess moaned.
'Yes,' Gerrard said. 'Dear God. That's the meaning of the statue. This white bull represents the moon, and because the moon brings light to the darkness, it symbolizes the triumph of good over evil. Obviously the moon is a counterpart to the sun, and so, too, this bull is a counterpart to – a substitute for – Mithras, the God of the sun.'
Tess couldn't stop moaning.
'Your fear is understandable,' Gerrard said. 'But I hope that you also moan in reverence. After all, sacred rites have no effect if they don't induce profound emotion. Obviously this is a test. The two of you are about to be changed. I guarantee it. By all means, one way or another, life opposed to death, agreement opposed to defiance, you're about to be changed.'
Tess trembled.
'Step closer,' Fulano said. 'Over here. Facing the bull.'
Tess and Craig didn't move.
'Your hesitation doesn't encourage me,' Fulano said. 'You have to prove yourselves.'
Hugh Kelly and the guards crowded Tess and Craig closer to the pen, compelling them to obey Fulano's orders. Ten feet from the face of the bull, Tess stared at its wrathful eyes.
But this time, when the animal snorted in outrage, hot mucus from its widened nostrils struck her face.
In horror, Tess rubbed at her cheeks, frantic to remove the burn of the acidlike specks. But something else horrified her even more.
Her bladder muscles threatened to fail. Peering down, she saw that a narrow stairwell had been carved within the cavern's floor and that murky steps descended toward a dark enclosure beneath the bull.
Gerrard rubbed his right eye, which was weeping again, the irritation having returned. He pulled a small plastic container from his pocket, bent his head, and propped open his eyelids, dropping contact lenses onto one palm. After placing the lenses into the plastic container, he raised his head.
His formerly blue eyes now were gray, glinting from the reflection of the torches.
Tess shuddered.
'Another secret. An inheritance from our ancestors,' Gerrard said.
'Recessive genes. I know.'
'Then you've learned a great deal. More than I expected. But now you'll learn even more. Much more. It's time. Step into the pit,' Gerrard instructed.
Fulano had also removed contact lenses, revealing that his brown eyes actually were as gray as Gerrard's. They gleamed as brightly.
Tess shuddered with greater force.
'Take off your clothes,' Fulano said.
'What?' Craig scowled. 'Now just a minute.'
'I assure you, the request isn't prurient,' Gerrard said. 'We have no interest in sex. It's an impure impulse that contaminates the spirit. We indulge in it reluctantly, only for the sake of producing children. To us, your nakedness would be no more arousing than seeing the natural nakedness of animals. But we do respect modesty. There's no need for you to undress before us. Take off your clothes away from our sight. In the darkness of the pit. Then throw your clothes up the steps. Otherwise they'll be sullied when you put them back on.'
'Sullied? Why?' Craig glowered. 'What are you talking about?'
'Because of your baptism,' Fulano said. 'Your reluctance continues to disturb me. Prove yourselves. Prove that you're worthy. Do what you're told. Step into the pit. Remove your clothes.'
Hugh Kelly and the guards continued to crowd against Tess and Craig.
'We don't need your men to force us,' Tess said. 'We agreed. We told you, we want to stay alive.'
'But only if you respond to the power of the baptism, and whether you do will soon be obvious,' Fulano said. 'Either you'll understand and appreciate the significance of the ritual, or else…'
'We'll be killed,' Tess said.
Mustering her courage, Tess descended, leaving the wavering light of the torches.
Too soon, pressed against Craig, she reached the bottom. The pit was black, damp, and cold. Narrow. Constricting. Their arms bumped against each other as they reluctantly took off their clothes and tossed them up the steps.
Her eyes adjusting to the darkness, Tess raised her head, seeing reflecting light from the torches tnrough gaps in the top of the pit. Thick bars in an iron grate, wide enough so that the bull's hoofs couldn't drop through them, were braced securely in the limestone rim.
Craig murmured, 'What's supposed to happen? What kind of baptism…?'
'You've seen the statue.' Tess strained to keep her voice low. 'Don't you realize?'
Abruptly Craig did.
She felt him tremble with horrified understanding.
One of her breasts bumped against his arm as she stared apprehensively upward. Despite her effort at a muted whisper, Gerrard must have heard.
The blood of the lamb,' Gerrard said above her. 'According to Christianity, you have to be washed in the blood of the lamb. That's something else they stole from us. Their version of baptism. Then they substituted water for blood. But the blood of the lamb was originally the blood of the sacred bull. The white bull. Regardless of Christianity's changes, our tradition is pure. We still retain the sanctity of the age-old rite. It goes back to ancient Iraq. It reappeared in Greece, particularly in Crete, where legend has it that a pure-white bull arose from the sea and was eventually sacrificed by Theseus to the sun god – they called Him, Apollo – on the mainland at Athens. Later, in Roman times, converts were initiated into Mithraism through this baptism. Here, in Spain, the bullfight is a latter-day version of the sacrifice. In fact, at Merida, a bullfight ring was constructed above an ancient Roman chapel devoted to Mithras, and in the bowels of that chapel, there existed a pit similar to this one, called a taurobolium, in which Roman centurions disrobed and were rebaptized before each battle – to give them strength in their fight with their enemy. The rite persisted in secret beyond the fourth century despite Constantine's conversion to Christianity. It persisted in the Middle Ages despite the efforts of the Inquisitors. It still persists. As long as nature endures, the rite will endure. Because of the rite's eternal majesty and power.'
'Then do it!' Tess screamed. 'Get it over with!'
Fulano's voice echoed, interrupting. 'As the direct descendant of the man who guided his small group of survivors from Montsegur, I take the place of my ancestor. I take the place of Mithras. I sacrifice the counterpart of Mithras.' His voice became a chant.
Above, Tess heard the white bull rear and stomp in fury. She couldn't see but knew what was happening. Fulano – at the risk of his life – had mounted the imprisoned bull.
Gerrard's voice intruded, so calm that it was dismaying. 'At the vernal equinox, this sacrifice represents the return of life to the planet. At the summer solstice, however, the sacrifice intitiates youths from our sect into its mysteries. And on occasion, rare converts. They experience the power of baptism, and if they're worthy, they understand the necessity of the baptismal sacrifice.'
The frightened bull continued to snort, stomp, and rear in outraged protest.
Tess imagined Fulano straddling the bull, struggling to avoid its thrashing horns, to grab its twisting snout and thrust its head upward, exposing the neck, to plunge his blade in and slice it across, severing arteries, spewing…
A shower of blood cascaded. Hot, repulsive, thick and heavy, steaming, pungent, salty, bitter. It flooded in an unbelievable quantity through the bars of the grate. It plummeted, viscous, scalding, drenching, drowning, suffocating.