‘But what?’ Her question was hushed – yet fierce. ‘What’s it got to do with you, with you and…with José? And the Cagots?’

‘He saw the map in José’s house.’ David was working it out even as he spoke. ‘Maybe he realized we were on the same trail. Following the same route that got my mum and dad killed. So he has to kill us too.’

Amy was looking out of the window at the stars. ‘I suppose…And José knew – he knew that if we pursued the same puzzle, Miguel would come for us too. He was trying to save us from his son. My God.’

David nodded, feeling almost foolish. It was as if he had been marvelling at some little corner of a painting, not realizing that the actual painting was ten times the size. Now the full horror was revealed: a grotesque and Biblical tableau of the cruel and invincible son: killing mothers and fathers.

‘But why?’ Amy said. ‘What mystery could be so bad that Miguel has to kill for it? To keep it quiet?’

‘It must be something to do with his father. And the war,’ said David. ‘He was in Gurs. The traitor in Gurs…?’

The sign from Campan flashed past, momentarily red and white in their headlights. Then the car slowed.

Eloise talked, for the first time in half an hour.

‘It gets difficult…from here.’

They were driving over a bridge. In the half-light David recognized the mournful spire of Campan church across the slated roofs; he glimpsed one of the rag dolls lying next to the bridge, smiling happily in the headlights; but now the car was headed deep into the bad side of the river, into the cagoterie. Ruined cottages with empty black windows stood on either side, tumbledown barns, derelict allotments. Thick woods approached, slowly reclaiming the ancient ghetto of the untouchables.

The road worsened, stones and branches littered the way. In the chilly darkness David got the sense they were driving underground – a ravine was rising on either side. The humble cottages were more scattered now, low grey shapes through the trees; a ghostly white owl flapped across the headlights’ dazzle.

‘Voila.’

It was a very large, very old stone house. Possibly medieval. And yet, despite its size, it was concealed with great efficiency: massive bushes hid the turning, thick trees formed a perimeter wall, the maze of the cursed cagoterie lay all about – and they were halfway down the black ravine.

‘My grandparents brought me here only once,’ said Eloise. ‘To show me the house where the Cagots used to hide during the worst persecutions. This is the refuge of the Cagots. There are caves and passages beyond…under the house. Les chemins des Cagots. So the Cagots could escape here.’

They got out of the car. The night air was almost frosty, tangy with the savoury scent of the woods.

David tensed.

There was a light inside the house. A flickering light, a lantern, or a candle, inside the house. Someone was in there.

Fear fought with curiosity. David motioned to Amy and Eloise, his finger vertical to his lips, shhh. He approached the window and peered inside.

He started back. Two people were huddled inside the humbly illuminated room.

It was José Garovillo and his wife.

20

‘I was hoping you would…explain the Serpent Seed.’

Emma Winyard smiled; they were sitting in a restaurant near Smithfield meat market. Then she turned to an approaching waiter, and asked for some more water, giving Simon a chance to appraise Ms Emma Winyard, the Walden Professor of Church History at King’s College London.

She was pretty, elegant – and personable: in her early forties, she evidently favoured discreet jewellery, very smart shoes – and fashionable restaurants. It had been her idea to meet here at St John’s, because, as she said on the phone, ‘It’s rather nice to lunch there when I’m doing research at the Guildhall.’

‘Serpent Seed, yes…’ She smiled again. ‘This is a highly controversial teaching. It says that the snake in the Garden of Eden had intercourse – ah, here’s my starter. That was quick.’ She leaned back and accepted the plate.

Simon couldn’t help staring at her food. It looked like a small bobbly rubber inner tube of meat, with a nosegay of parsley at the side.

Emma picked up her fork, and continued, ‘The doctrine says that the snake in Eden had intercourse with Eve, and that Cain was the progeny from this bestial copulation.’

‘The snake and Eve had sex?’

‘Yes. That is to say, Satan in the form of the serpent had sex with Eve. And therefore Cain was the son of the Devil, and all who descend from him are tainted.’

‘Rrright…’ The journalist didn’t know quite what to say. His embarrassed silence was interrupted by a phone call; he glanced at the screen. It said Fazackerly. What did the old professor want? Nothing that important, surely. The journalist leaned to the phone, and refused the call, forwarding it to voicemail; then he switched his attention back to his lunch partner. ‘Sorry about that…’ He wondered how to get the dialogue going again; he gazed down at her plate. ‘What is that you are eating?’

‘Chitterlings,’ said Emma. ‘Fried intestines. Very salty, but quite delicious.’

‘Intestine?’

‘Oh yes.’ She smiled. ‘The chef here, Fergus Henderson, is famous for reviving old English meat dishes. World famous. Smithfield meat market is just down the road, of course. Been there since the thirteenth century. Do you mind if I eat my starter? It’s not so good cold. Yours has yet to arrive.’

‘By all means. Please.’

Simon looked on as she downed a mouthful of rubbery-looking intestine, then he pressed the question.

‘Who believes in Serpent Seed?’

‘A small selection of cranks, minor sects, splintered cults.’ She chewed thoughtfully, and added: ‘That said, the doctrine has some…Biblical authority.’

‘Such as?’

‘The idea that Eve mated with Satan, and gave birth to Cain, is hinted at in various places in the Bible. For instance, in the New Testament Epistle of John 1, Chapter 3, it states, “Not as Cain, who was of that wicked one, and slew his brother”. The idea of the Serpent Seed can also be found in some early Gnostic writings.’ She took another forkful of intestine and chewed. Then added: ‘Things like the Gospel of Philip. However, the teaching was rejected as heresy by the church father Irenaeus, and later by mainstream Christian theologians.’

Simon absorbed this. Cain who was of that wicked one. He thought of the two brothers, the sons of Adam and Eve: Cain and Abel. Like him and Tim. And which one of them was Cain?

He felt the gulf of sadness, and a piercing desire for a drink. So he fixed his eyes on Emma Winyard. Concentrating.

‘It’s a load of rubbish then? Serious Christians don’t believe it?’

The waiter arrived once more, this time presenting a plate with a bone on it. Just a bone. Like a roasted kneebone.

As he was new to this strange restaurant, Simon had allowed Professor Emma Winyard to order his lunch. But he hadn’t expected a bone.

Emma pointed decorously with her knife.

‘The food is…inside.’

‘Ah, sorry?’

‘It’s roasted bone marrow, Mister Quinn. That’s why you have a little fork, to dig the marrow out of the bone. Then spread it on those slices of toast. Delish.’

He picked up the tiny fork. And put it down.

‘Call me Simon.’ He stared at the knee joint on his plate. ‘I’ll have a go at the bone in a minute.’

‘Fair enough.’ Emma was happily working her way through her grey-brown intestines. ‘Shall I go on with my theology?’

‘Please.’

‘The importance of Serpent Seed is this: the actual doctrine might only be affirmed by the tiniest Protestant sects, like Christian Identity in America, or by Midrashic strains of Judaism, but it ties in with a variant Pentateuchal interpretation which does have great significance.’