The Orphic Mystery

“All a man can betray is his conscience.”

Joseph Conrad

1 The Sorcerer

It was a hell ride. The monk and the soldiers had taken the last coach out of the village, and were now being followed by every hostile Indian in the valley. The captain had demanded that the monk leave the heavy chest behind, but to no avail. The monk would not yield, and simply said the chest, “contained mysteries too important to be explained or left behind.” Thus, it was loaded on the stage under the protests of the soldiers.

As they slowly swayed up the mountain pass, the Captain prepared himself to throw the chest, and if necessary the monk, out of the coach, for his survival depended on it.

“We leave the chest here Friar.”

“Then you leave me here too, and let my blood be on your hands Captain.”

“If that is how you want it, then that is how it will be. Stop the coach driver!”

The coach clattered to a halt and the monk opened the chest. “I will take the most valuable book with me.”

“I do not care what you take as long as you do it quickly brother!” The captain shouted.

“Captain we surely cannot leave the monk to just die?” questioned the guard.

“If he will give up the chest, he can come with us Mendoza.  But if we stay here on this road another minute discussing it, we will all die… the Indians are close. “

At that moment a burning spear fell out of the night sky and set ablaze the canvas roof of the coach.

The captain said, “Too late, they are upon us!  Leave everything and follow me.  Arrows filled the air, buzzing like wasps. The coachman fell with two arrows in his neck. 

“We go now…into the night.” The Captain said as the soldiers ran with the monk and his precious book.

 

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They ran all night up and across the mountain side. They could hear the Indians moving through the pines and the mesquite, patiently tracking them from where the coach still burned.  At times they thought they had escaped their hunters but then an arrow would pass close by, as if to remind them to keep moving.  The Captain felt like they were being toyed with, that the Indians were deliberately herding them somewhere of their own choosing.

Dawn found the three men in a high arroyo near the mountain’s summit.  Only the Captain, one guard and the monk were left.  The captain addressed the tattered group.  “We have two choices, we can stay together and make it easier for our enemies to track us and kill us.  Or we can split up and go in three directions.  Maybe one of us might make it to the Santa Fe garrison…but probably not,” he sighed. “It is likely that we will all die right here on this mountain…so far from our homes.”

He stood up and stretched, surveying the tree line below them.

“But in any case Monk, since I am now about to die… because of you, your chest, and your book. I think you owe me an explanation.  At least tell me why this book is so important that we have to risk our lives for it.”

“Captain this book has been protected by my monastery and by The Sacred Order of the Orphic Brothers for over a thousand years.  That alone should make you appreciate the importance of your mission. “

“I appreciate that Monk. But unless that book is made out of pure gold I do not think it is worth my life or the life of my soldier here, Javier Mendoza.”

“Then I fear for your immortal soul Captain.” 

The Captain laughed loudly. “Good! Glad to hear it. Well that is nice of you monk. I truly am glad you do… but regrettably, I do not.  I know that when I die…which will very likely be before the next sunset, I will be going straight to hell.  God will never forgive me for what I have done to these Indians. I have known that for a long time now…and I am prepared to answer for it. So tell me, what is in the book?” He rested his hand casually on the hilt of his dagger.

Before the monk could reply an arrow pierced the Captain’s eye and he was dead before he hit the ground.  Mendoza stood up with his hands empty and turned placating, towards the trees. “I surrender! Please do not kill me!” Three arrows pierced his chest, and he fell.

The monk began praying as he crawled on his hands and knees up the rocky arroyo, “Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb…”

 

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A rattlesnake lay coiled around an egg on the ground in front of him. It was a bad omen. Could the symbols be mere coincidence? The monk did not believe in coincidences.  He had reached a flat, barren mesa. Had he eluded his pursuers? He was too tired to run anymore.  He slowly walked to the edge of the mesa and saw that it was a sheer cliff that fell straight down below him for at least two hundred feet. 

He had run out of room. 

He looked across the valley and could see the distant adobe walls and cathedral that was Santa Fe, but he feared he would get no closer because he could hear steps approaching from the rocks on the other side of the mesa.  He turned and saw his pursuers.

Roughly, thirty Indian warriors were lined up against him.  Their bodies glistened with paint and sweat. One stepped forward from the group and even with his elaborate feathered headdress and war paint, the Monk recognized him. 

“You!  The sorcerer!  The one we trained.  We taught you Latin and Greek. You, who broke bread with us and worked at the Mission in the fields with us, how you could betray me and the church that nurtured you…”

The warrior turned his back and dropped his cape. His back was deeply crossed with red, half-healed scars. 

“The church that nurtured me?  And also the church that flogged me until I nearly died?  I begged for the release of death to escape your church! You see these scars Monk?  Are these the stigmata of the church and how she loves and forgives her people?”

“Po’pay.  We did not do this, it was the soldiers! It is not too late to be forgiven for all that you have done against those who raised you.”

“Monk, it is you who should be asking for God’s forgiveness because it is you who are about to meet Him.  But first give me the book. “

“I will die before I will give this holy relic to the likes of you. “

The priest stepped to the edge of the mesa praying silently, his mouth forming the familair words, and stuck the book deep in his sash. He knotted his robe about him and ran.  He leaped into the abyss chanting, “Holy Mary mother of God, pray for us sinners now at the hour of our death.”