'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.

The bull roared, even though its throat had been slit. It bellowed in a final outburst of pride and bravery. Its knees buckled.

In terrified awe, Tess heard its legs thunk onto the metal grate, its huge majestic body topple, sinking, thunking even harder onto the grate.

More blood gushed, soaking her hair, filling her ears, drenching her face, slicking her naked body, her bare feet immersed in a horrifying, ankle-deep, steaming pool.

She lost control. She sank to the floor. Craig tried to stop her, but he too was powerless, sinking from the force of the deluge.

'Oh, my God,' he said.

'Now do you understand?' Fulano demanded, his footsteps clattering as he rose from the corpse of the bull and clambered over the side of the limestone pen.

Assaulted by insanity, her body immersed in blood, no longer shivering because the sacred bull's steaming life force warmed her, Tess blinked upward through sticky crimson fluid and struggled to focus her desperate thoughts.

She couldn't speak.

'Tell me!' Fulano shouted.

'The sacrifice' – her throat didn't want to work – 'is supposed to teach us that life is precious.' Her voice became hoarse, her words an extended groan. The blood of the bull is so shocking that forever afterward we'll remember how truly final death is, and that nothing in nature should ever be killed unless it's absolutely necessary.

That's why you don't eat red meat. That's why you're mostly vegetarians, because the crops come back in the spring, but an animal, each and every animal, is one of a kind, and if it's killed, it won't come back in the spring. If we kill enough of them, entire species won't come back in the spring. The planet is finite. Its bounty can be exhausted if we don't take care.'

The chamber became terribly silent.

Blood dripped down Tess's body.

'You do understand,' Fulano said. 'Welcome. You're one of us.'

Tess wiped at her blood-streaked mouth, tasting the salty crimson fluid, nearly gagging. When she inhaled, blood spewed up her nostrils. She fought to breathe. Furious, she remembered the painting of the white bull with the spear through its throat. After the glory of existence comes death, and because that glory can never be replaced, death must always be respected. That was the message.

But death, she thought. You bastards had no regard for death when you killed my mother!

You're hypocrites!

You're goddamned-!

A far-away echoing whump interrupted her furious, vengeful thoughts.

The whump, although distant, had sufficient force to waver the rock floor beneath her, although at first Tess thought it was just her knees that were shaking.

'What happened?' she heard Gerrard ask above the pit. 'What was-?'

Whump! A second jolt, closer, sent shock waves through the cavern. Somewhere a rock fell, clattering.

'It sounds like…' Fulano gasped. 'A cave-in!'

'No! Explosions!' Gerrard sounded frightened.

'Find out!' Fulano ordered the guards. 'Here's the key! Unlock the door! Tell me what's happening!'

Numerous footsteps raced toward the chapel.

At once Craig grabbed Tess's arm and lunged toward the steps. She charged after him, slipped on blood, and fell. Her gymnastic training made her tuck in her arms and twist her body to absorb the impact. Even so, she banged her shoulder, wincing. Immediately she scrambled to her feet and continued charging upward, joining Craig at the top.