The Black Sun Conspiracy

Chapter Thirty-Two

The door to the salon slid open without a sound. Purdue did not turn around. His attention was fixed on a painting on the wall in front of him, a triptych on wood panels. He was busy scrutinizing a detail on the right-hand panel.

“This figure here,” he said, still not moving, “the one being strangled on the riverbank. Would I be correct in thinking that this is just the first stage in her execution?”

“Yes,” Renata replied, standing at his shoulder. “The two men carrying out her sentence will next immerse her in the river until the life is almost gone from her, then they will deal the death blow to the back of her head. It is a time-honored way of doing things.”

Purdue nodded, but made no further response. He continued to study the painted figures. Renata watched him. “You like my little gallery?” she asked.

He glanced around casually, paying scant attention to the display spread out across the walls. “I seem to recall that your standards of curation used to be higher. This collection is less well-organized than it could be.”

Renata smirked. “Then you haven’t spotted the thematic link? Come. Let me tear you away from Provoost for a moment and talk you through it.” With a light touch on his shoulder she guided him to an early example of Flemish Primitive work. God, long-haired and long-bearded, surrounded by red-feathered angels, was depicted in tempera on wood. The breath of God emanated from him in a long and wide golden line, and his head and shoulders were surrounded by what looked at first glance like a halo. On closer inspection Purdue noticed that beneath the intricate gilding the paint was black, and long, black lines zig-zagged outwards from it. “Do you recognize it?”

“Melchior Broederlam?” Purdue guessed.

“That’s right. I got it from the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Dijon, where an excellent copy now hangs — minus the most important detail, the Black Sun itself. You’ll also see here the painting that prompted me to start this little collection.” She pointed towards a panel from the Ghent Altarpiece which Purdue knew to be called The Just Judges. “This one was passed on to me a few years ago, when I became Renata. It has been in the Order’s possession since 1934, when the legendary Arsène Goedertie stole it from St Bavo’s for much the same reasons as you undertook your failed quest. Here you see Philip the Good and the Van Eyck brothers depicted, but also a number of men who were prominent members of the Order in the 1430s. Are you beginning to grasp the theme of my collection?”

Knowing the significance of the first few paintings, Purdue looked again at the jumbled collection. He began to understand why Renata had Flemish Primitives sharing wall space with Ensor and De Smet. “All of these works have some connection to the Order of the Black Sun,” he said. “Some depict moments from its history, presumably including the woman being strangled in the Provoost triptych. Some must be allegorical, like Ensor’s skeletons… and others portray significant members, is that correct?”

“Quite,” she smiled. “The Provoost Diptych is a particular favorite of mine. From time to time I like to visit the Groeninge Museum and listen to the guides there describing it to the tourists as Death and the Miser, while I stand and nod politely and know that every word they say is nonsense. The man in the left panel is no mere allegorical figure. He is Markus van der Beck, the man who purchased the building that originally stood upon this site. Were it not for him, the Order might not exist in its current form today. This place, this city, gave us a focal point for our activities. Our headquarters have always been here, and we have succeeded in establishing a city run entirely for our convenience.”

She pointed to the Black Sun medallion around the neck of a clergyman standing behind the “Death”. “This was altered for the later copy, of course. But what you see is a Member of the Second Level taking the instructions from the dying de Beck regarding the appointment of his successor — this lady in the pink, Maria di Canossi. She was the first woman to lead the Order, the very first Renata.”

“And the woman being killed?”

“Her twin sister, Marta. De Beck’s instructions were that they should share the leadership. Maria was married to de Beck’s eldest son, and it was his intention that Marta should marry his youngest. Their children would intermarry, and by this means a dynasty would be founded which would rule the Order. He had studied the rise of the Carolingian dynasty and intended to be the founder of a line that would eclipse their achievements. He intended to be the progenitor of a ruler who would put Charlemagne to shame. Unluckily for him, Maria was not a woman inclined to share. Her spies had informed her of de Beck’s intention to name both her and Marta, so she sent her guards to kill her sister. In the end she had only a daughter who died in childhood, and de Beck’s dreams of ruling forever through his bloodline burst like a bubble.”

“Why not appoint one of his sons, then?”

“History does not tell us. Presumably he had some reason for thinking that they were not up to the task.” She glanced at the elegant Cartier watch on her thin wrist. “Now, as much as I would love to take you through my entire collection, there is something we have to keep an eye on.”

They moved over to a small area of blank wall at one end of the gallery. “Room 3,” Renata said clearly, and the inlaid screen lit up at once. It showed Nina’s room from four different angles, the images coming from the cameras in each corner. Renata selected one to highlight. It showed Nina, a little disheveled in the same clothes she had been wearing since they were caught, staring in horror as Steven Lehmann walked into her room.

The expression on her face changed from shock to anger and indignation. There was no sound, but she was clearly shouting at him to get out. He laughed and took a couple of steps forward. Involuntarily she backed away, her posture defensive.

Purdue turned to Renata, his face white and his eyes blazing with fury. “You promised me that she would be safe,” he said through gritted teeth. “You gave me your word, Mirela. If Steven Lehmann lays so much as a finger on her, if she comes to the slightest harm, I will—”

“What?” Renata’s smile was full of scorn. “You’ll what, Purdue? Do you forget how little power you have here?” Purdue backed down, but as he looked back at the screen Renata saw his fists clench in mute frustration. “Don’t worry about it, Dave. Your girlfriend will be safe. I am prepared to make sure of that. Of course, there is nothing I can do if she decides to rekindle whatever she had with Lehmann of her own free will, is there?”

She laughed, enjoying Purdue’s discomfort, and commanded the screen to activate sound.