gut with the swirl of strong alcohol. I had heard whispers of a secret society of homosexuals, but I was sure it must have been a fantasy. I had never heard, apart from in antiquity, of men who worshiped semen and ingested to share wisdom and life. Why had young Leopold become mixed up in this nonsense?
“No matter what you decide, after the ritual, you will keep all that you have learned a secret. Our connections are a gossamer spider’s web running throughout polite society. We are quite prepared to ruin the reputation of any man who spreads slander.” Blake warned his peculiar eyes devilish while his mouth made a crescent of a smile. From the malevolent look in his two-tone eyes, I did not doubt that I would be in a great deal of trouble if I breathed a word of what happened tonight. I gulped and my thoughts swam. I felt an uncharacteristic lightness in my limbs and the judgment of what is right and wrong started to slip from my mind. The mantel clock sounded a dull ominous chime for nine-thirty. Lawrence Blake clapped his hands together.
“It is time. Come with me.”
I had not consented to anything, but I found that in my relaxed state I was curious as to what this ritual was, and indeed the identity of the Brothers of the Seed. What did Blake mean by ‘exchanging wisdom’ and what was this vessel?
I stood and with my limbs moving in what felt like a puppet fashion, I followed Lawrence Blake.
The Vessel
Blake led me from the anteroom and along an empty hallway as if he were tugging me with an invisible string. My head felt fuzzy and I was surprised that just one glass of that green liqueur could make me feel this inebriated. The walls in the hallway were tiled halfway and bottle green in colour. There was a smell in the air which poked and prodded at my memory…yes, it was from my school days—the pungent odor of sweaty armpits and feet—the scent of boys changing rooms.
Blake paused outside a pair of wide double doors. Above the doors, there was a line of Latin: Mens sana in corpore sano. I was the worst pupil in my Latin class and so when the study of the language was done, I seemed to have rid my memory of it. Therefore, for a devout man, my Latin was embarrassingly poor, but I was sure I could remember the phrase well enough. To the left of the double doors, there was a single door with a sign on it saying ‘Caretaker’s Closet’.
“You will observe the ritual from here,” Blake instructed. He opened the closet door and gestured for me to enter.
With automaton movements, I stepped in without question. Part of my mind was calling to me, asking why I had become so tractable! When Blake closed the door behind me I discovered I had not entered a closet at all, but a darkened secret passage. I saw a shaft of flickering light and ten steps in I found an open hatch in the wall at eye height. It was just wide enough for me to see into the large room within. The walls were half tiled in turquoise. There were strange timber bars, like ladders, and hooks in the ceiling. I did not know what this room was, but I understood now that I was to be a voyeur and bear witness to this ritual. I laid my cane against the wall, propping my hat on the pummel. I pressed myself closer to look into the room.
The set up was liturgistic, like something one would see for a religious ceremony, and the lighting was set purposely low. In the center of the room, a long table was draped with purple velvet fabric fringed with gold. Two items sat on the table—a purple and gold silk cushion at the head of the table, and in the center stood a silver chalice. I observed the chalice and from the shape of the cup and base, I knew it was old, maybe fourteenth century? I deduced that it must be the vessel Blake spoke of. Apart from standing candelabrum at each corner of the room, there was no other illumination and the dancing light cast ghostly shadows.
Hearing a noise I sent my gaze to the doorway on the left. The double doors opened and a procession of seven men entered the room walking at a slow gait while chanting in