THE MASTER TRAVELED TO Cairo to speak personally with Balkis. The lodge was tense due to recent events, including the theft of the cryptographic code and the execution orders against Sephy and her German friend. However, the main reason for his visit was the rumor, spreading quickly in the obscure corners of the brotherhood, that Guardians of the Throne had resigned from their positions because of the latest decisions made regarding secrecy, and not only that, but that Balkis had considered Gregory Evans as Hiram's replacement to wash away the blood of the sacrificed victims.
In the mind of the Master of Masters, the cries of discontent from Gracchus and Hermes still echoed, for of all the masters, they were the most inflexible and orthodox when it came to the lodge's customs. Shimon sent an e-mail from Edinburgh, radically but without much emphasis. Nimrod and Hiram remained silent. And he, the master, remained unconvinced. He found it rash, even alarming, to entrust the Testimony of God to a man who had not even been invested as a second-order brother. Therefore, he needed to speak alone with his old friend, to hear from her lips the reason for this madness.
He had known her for over forty years, and always knew that, at some point in the future, she would surprise everyone with her character. When he first saw her at the lodge's Congress, held — in Cairo, to be precise — in the midst of the Six-Day War, he found her the most attractive young woman at the symposium, despite the burden of suffering she seemed to carry and the anxiety radiating from her eyes.
He approached her with the excuse of asking for advice. He told her, in near-perfect English, that he had recently finished his architecture degree and was torn between two choices:
Designing buildings or betting on wisdom and knowledge...
She then told him that there was nothing more important in this life than the knowledge of God.
That answer was decisive. He had fallen in love with her way of seeing the world, and also with her honey-colored eyes. Their meeting took place at the home of Siseq, the former Master of Masters and father of Hiram, known in the city, which was the country's capital, as a renowned Egyptologist who verified — for the Cairo Archaeological Museum — the authenticity of objects looted or found in excavations.
They were sympathetic from the beginning, although Séphora — her real name — had felt a certain estrangement from the Spanish ever since she learned at the kibbutz school she attended as a child in Ascalon that the Jews had been expelled from the Christian kingdom and deprived of their farms and wealth thanks to the decree of an arbitrary and capricious queen who called herself — the Catholic. —
He had to retort, saying that things had changed a lot in his country in the last five hundred years, although he acknowledged that Spain was not, again, a safe place to live when the Franco regime took hold and Freemasons were persecuted and imprisoned with fury as political prisoners.
They continued talking until dusk, and then had to say goodbye and retire to their rooms. They met again the next day at the gathering held by the Great Masters in honor of the second-order brothers who had come from all over the world for the Initiation Congress.
They were there, like the others, because they had managed to decipher the Masonic enigma and were, therefore, candidates for membership in the lodge. What they never suspected, in those days of spiritual sacrifice, was that three years later, after passing the test of silence, they would be elected to succeed the ancient Guardians of Knowledge. He became the Master of Master Builders, and she embodied the figure of the Queen of Sheba.
He also had fond memories of Hiram — or rather, Kja-lib Ibn Allal— who became a close friend since his first trip to Cairo. He met him on the same day he met Sephora, at the general presentation of the Masonic Congress.
From that moment on, the three became inseparable friends, to the point that old Siseq, in the closing ceremony, declared that his son had found two brothers in spirit from opposing cultures. He was not mistaken, for Christians, Arabs, and Jews constituted the vertices of God's triangle, according to their beliefs — and at the center was Wisdom, although several years passed before they realized that the three formed and, at the same time, protected the pyramid that hides the Creator's gaze.
The life they had led until then, and everything they had learned along the way, was irrelevant when they climbed the steps of the ladder.
The taxi that had picked him up at the international airport took him to a house surrounded by palm and sycamore trees, located in the Ataba neighborhood, in the heart of ancient Egypt. The master paid the driver after getting out of the car. He headed for the door, admiring the primroses planted on both sides of the path, which wound vigorously along the side rails of the iron frame until they reached the upper arches. He felt as if he were passing through a flowery tunnel that exuded a wonderful aroma of nature at its wildest.
At the entrance, he was waiting for Hafid, who welcomed him and let him in without even asking the reason for his visit.
As he walked down the narrow corridor, following in the footsteps of the faithful and circumspect butler, he made a structural reconnaissance of the building with the aim of keeping his profession alive.
The house's cold, limestone walls were beginning to crack with the passage of time. A few damp patches could be seen on the ceiling, confirming his suspicion that the roof would only last a couple of decades, but the structure remained standing despite everything. And this was because the building, he was told, dated back to the late 19th century. Several interior renovations and cement reinforcement in the early 1950s had made it a beautiful place, where he had lived until now as a couple, in the eyes of society, his close friends Khalib and Séphora.
— It would be best if you waited here — the young Arab told him in English, indicating a room reserved for visitors. — Hiram will be here in a few minutes, when he finishes his prayers.
— And Balkis? — he asked, before the employee left.
— The lady went out, but she will return around seven.
The master checked his wristwatch. He had forgotten to change the time when he got off the plane, adjusting the time, but he calculated that it must be around six-thirty.
— Thank you, Hafid — he said softly as he said goodbye.
The boy left with a slight bow. Alone, the master sat amidst the cushions spread across the floor, before a cedar table.
As he waited, he closed his eyes to think clearly, resting his head against the wall.
Balkis had the power to choose the best for the lodge — and so it should be, if they wanted to keep the Widow's name alive. Ancient Masonic laws stated that the Queen of Sheba could dictate any resolution without consulting the Council of Seven, and that her Sons were to obey her in all things, without showing distrust. She represented Wisdom — which means the same thing as the knowledge of the Great Architect — so it would be difficult to contradict her wishes. However, he would try to understand her reasons if he could not convince her to change her mind regarding Gregory Evans. As for replacing Balkis herself, he was beginning to imagine what would happen. And this was something that worried him greatly.
— I knew you would come.
The sound of that voice startled him and made him instinctively open his eyes. It was Hiram.
He wore a reddish tunic with gold and silver brocade that reached to his feet. The bristling hairs of his beard were streaked with white, only a few retaining the dark hue they had displayed in his youth. From his sad expression, it was clear he was going through one of the darkest moments of his life.
— I felt compelled — the master said finally, without moving from his spot, — especially after facing the Council's criticism. — Gracchus was yelling, and he had plenty of reasons. It's one thing to accept Gregory Evans as a novice, and quite another to have him take his place and inherit the name of Hiram Abif.
— That's it... — the other raised his palms in a gesture of tolerance, then sat down on the cushions to the left of his guest, concluding resignedly:
We have a new generation of instructors passing through.
— In the store, there are brothers who deserve more than him.
— It's true... — after sighing, he agreed with her — but it's not up to me to decide.
— I suppose Balkis will continue to be irritated by the fact that I took certain initiatives, anticipated events, and hired a hit woman to end the paleographer's life.
The master, like everyone in the lodge, condemned violence, and even more so, the need to resort to it. But sometimes a blood sacrifice was necessary so that man would not tarnish the mysteries of God with his ambition and ignorance. The Sancti Quattro Coronatti knew the consequences well, and so they did not yield to the whim of a tyrant, despite being punished atrociously, even with the worst torture. They were a paradigm, the example for those who defended the Testimony to follow, martyrs of knowledge capable of losing not only their lives, but also their very souls, rather than confess the secret that the Liberal Arts held.
Putting an end to Viana, Candice, and that unscrupulous criminal named Sephy was an attempt to protect the heritage of the ancient builders, endangered ever since the Toledo manuscript appeared on the scene. Iacobus had found a way to spread his Masonic legacy through time. And it was his obligation, the master, as Master of Masters, to stop the mason's madness.
Hiram looked at him condescendingly. His friend was tormenting himself over something he had no fault in.
— We can say that the Widow disagrees with the old methods
said the Egyptian, without adding anything else.
— Yes, perhaps you're right... — the visitor acknowledged. — ...our customs flourished in the darkest and most tenebrous age of humanity, and as men, we made the mistake of allowing ourselves to be corrupted, but on the other hand... how can we allow Wisdom to become vulgarized? Evil cannot be eradicated by offering pearls to swine! — he exclaimed resentfully, as if seeking an excuse for his actions in the general stupidity of the people.
— Only a few of us ever ask ourselves what our mission in life is, something that should be important to everyone. Most people only seek to satisfy their own needs.
— I see the seventh echelon continues to trouble your mind. — Hiram's voice, kind and counseling, led the master to reflect.
He felt ashamed of himself for having let his pride get the better of him. That was the reason he had lost Balkis.
— I don't deny that pride blinds me sometimes — he commented in a muffled voice, a little calmer, after recognizing his worst flaw. — It's because I've only been in God's presence once, like the other members of the lodge. I suppose if I'd been a Custodian, like you, I'd have no time for sin, only wonderful days in the service of the Great Architect.
Hiram detected a hint of resentment in his Spanish friend's words. It could be said that, besides arrogance, he also sinned out of envy. He ignored this. He sensed the reason for his uneasiness.
— And Azogue... how are you? — he decided to change the subject of conversation. The master was startled when he heard his protégé's Masonic name. He hadn't expected that question, especially from the person who had come.
— She stayed in Rome, awaiting my return — she replied dejectedly. — She's not ready to meet them yet.
Hiram made a meaningful gesture of provocation. Then he pulled a thick woolen cord that lay beside him, and Hafid appeared. He asked her to bring them tea and appetizers before serving dinner, adding that as soon as the lady returned, she should tell him they were in the guest room.
The butler left, after bowing his head slightly.
— What do you think Greg is doing? — the Egyptian asked again.
— I suppose he must be burning his midnight oil — he smiled as he replied. — I have to admit, however, that he was smarter than us.
— Explain what you mean better — he replied succinctly.
It was difficult for the master to admit that the detective had an advantage over them.
— See... — he frowned. — ...not only did he manage to find the crypt where Iacobus wrote his message, he also changed the DVD before we knocked him unconscious and stole his digital camera. The recording we have is useless. It's practically blank.
— That means he could decipher the hieroglyphics and find a way to get here.
The host spoke concisely, although he was visibly worried.
— Isn't that what Balkis wants? — the Master of Masters scoffed at his friend's inference.
— Maybe, but I'm not sure.
— What I won't allow is for anyone to descend into the crypt again — he said firmly. — I've ordered a group of brothers to permanently seal the entrance to the seven rooms. That way, we'll be able to keep the secret hidden for another five hundred years.
Hiram wasn't so sure. He'd heard that the original manuscript was in the hands of the assassin hired by the Master.
— And what will happen if they decipher the cryptogram again?
— This problem has already been solved — The master was blunt in his response.
— I ask God daily to forgive our mistakes — said a familiar voice, which sounded from the door.
Both men turned their heads toward the hall, rising immediately, as if by mutual agreement. It was Balkis, a pained expression on his face as he realized the consequences of being the Keeper of Knowledge. He didn't need to be told that blood had been shed again. He read it in his old friend's eyes.
— I cannot let the secret fall into the hands of ignorance — said the master, going to greet his hostess. He had failed the lodge and its martyrs.
At that moment, Hafid arrived with a tray on which was a huge bronze kettle with three crystal glasses, and also a plate overflowing with cinnamon and sesame pâtés.
They decided to wait for him to leave before continuing their conversation. Shortly after, the servant silently withdrew after the customary bow. They sat back down among the softly textured cushions, but this time, Balkis was in the center, facing the table.
— I'm glad you're here — the woman said, pouring tea. — Now everything will be easier.
Easy? How obvious it is that you don't have to endure the discontent of the other members of the lodge! — thought the guest. He made an ironic grimace.
Balkis read his thoughts immediately, but acted as if he hadn't noticed anything.
— The truth is, I've come to change your mind — the master finally said. — I don't think it's a good idea to let others take your positions.
— You have to admit we're too old for the ritual. — Balkis wouldn't give up.
— Of course! — he admitted, agreeing with the Widow's observation. — But we have young people willing to sacrifice themselves within the store. We shouldn't expose the secret to a stranger. That would only increase the distrust between us.
— You'll recall that I only considered Gregory Evans as Hiram's replacement. My position will fall to a second-order sister.
The old woman's forceful words startled him. He sensed that his suspicions were beginning to take shape.
— May I ask who the lucky one is?
Balkis maintained a prudent silence. Hiram, who had remained silent, spoke in his place:
— I think you already know...
The master shifted uneasily, looking again at his old friend.
— Tell me it's not true! — the master begged, exasperated. — Tell me the candidate for your position isn't Azogue! — he added, irritated.
Balkis nodded.
— It's best for both of us... — she said in a low voice, before adding, — Greg won't hesitate to take on the challenge of climbing the stairs if he's accompanied by Candice. I'm sorry, Umbert... but your niece is the only option we have to right our wrongs.