“Led Zeppelin. A popular beat combo, Your Honor.”
We took a seat at the back. I kept my head down and looked through Phil’s copy of the catalog. Most of the lots were books, some of them very old. There was a facsimile of the Ars Moriendi, a kind of how-to guide for those hoping to avoid damnation after death, first published in translation by the Englishman Caxton in 1491, consisting of eleven block-book woodcuts depicting the deathbed temptation of a dying man. Claudia Stern clearly knew how to put together an impressive and enlightening sales package: from the couple of paragraphs describing the lot, I learned that the term “shriven” meant to be absolved of one’s sins; that therefore to be given “short shrift” meant being allowed little time to confess before death; and that a “good death” did not necessarily preclude a violent end. I also learned from a book of saints that Saint Denis, the apostle of Gaul and patron of France, was decapitated by his tormentors, but subsequently picked up his head and went for a walk with it, which said a lot for Saint Denis’s willingness to be a good sport and put on a show for the crowd.
Some of the lots appeared to be linked to one another. Lot 12 was a copy of the Malleus Maleficarum, the Hammer of Witches, that dated from the early sixteenth century and was said to have belonged to one Johann Geiler von Kaisersberg, a fire-and-brimstone cathedral preacher in Strasbourg, while a copy of his sermons from 1516 was Lot 13. Geiler’s sermons were illustrated by a witch engraving by Hans Baldung, who studied under Dürer, and Lot 14 consisted of a series of erotic prints by Baldung, featuring an old man-representing Death-fondling a young woman, apparently a theme to which Baldung returned repeatedly in his career.
There were also statues, icons, paintings-including the piece that I had witnessed being restored in the workshop, now listed only as “Kutna Hora, 15th century, artist unknown”-and a number of bone sculptures. Most of them were on display, but they bore no resemblance to those that I had seen in Stuckler’s book or in Garcia’s apartment. They were cruder, and less finely crafted. I was becoming quite the connoisseur of bone work.
People began to take their seats as one o’clock approached. I saw no sign of Stuckler or Murnos, but eight women were seated at a table by the auctioneer’s podium, each with a telephone now pressed to her ear.
“It’s unlikely that any serious bids will come from the floor for the more esoteric items,” said Phil. “The buyers won’t want their identities to become known, partly because of the value of some, but mostly because such interests still remain open to misinterpretation.”
“You mean people will think they’re freaks?”
“Yes.”
“But they are freaks.”
“Yes.”
“As long as we’re agreed on that.”
Still, I guessed that Stuckler had someone on the floor watching the other bidders. He would not want to be entirely cut off from what happened during the auction. There would be others too. Somewhere among the crowd were those who called themselves Believers. I had warned Phil about them, although I believed that he at least was in no danger from them.
Claudia Stern appeared from a side door, accompanied by an older man in a dandruff-flecked black suit. She took her place at the podium, and the man stood beside her at a high table, a huge ledger open before him in which to take down the details of the successful bidders and their bids. Ms. Stern rapped the podium with her gavel to quiet the crowd, then welcomed us to the auction. There was some preamble about payment and collection, then the auction began. The first lot was an item familiar to me by reputation: an 1821 copy of Richard Laurence’s translation of the Book of Enoch, twinned with a copy of Byron’s verse drama Heaven and Earth: A Mystery dating from the same year. It aroused some mildly competitive bidding, and went to an anonymous telephone bidder. Geiler’s copy of the Malleus Maleficarum went to a tiny elderly woman in a pink suit, who looked grimly satisfied with her purchase.
“I guess the rest of the coven should be pleased,” said Phil.
“Know thine enemy.”
“Exactly.”
After five or six more items, none of which created any great stir, the twin brother of the door ape emerged from the office. He was wearing white gloves and holding a silver box adorned with a cross. It was almost identical to the ones I had seen in Stuckler’s treasury, but appeared in marginally better condition once its image was displayed on a screen beside Ms. Stern. There were fewer dents that I could see, and the soft metal was barely scratched.
“Now,” said Ms. Stern. “We come to what I feel will be, for many, the prize lot of this auction. Lot 20, a fifteenth-century box in Bohemian silver, cross inlay, containing a fragment of vellum. Those of you with a particular interest in this lot were given ample opportunity to examine a small section of the fragment and to obtain independent verification of its age where necessary. No further questions or objections will be entertained, and the sale is final.”
A casual visitor might have wondered what all the fuss was about, given the relatively low-key introduction, but there was a definite heightening of tension in the room and a brief flurry of whispers. I saw the women at the phones poised, pens in hand.
“I will open the bidding at $5,000,” said Ms. Stern.
There were no takers. She smiled indulgently.
“I know that there is interest in this room, and money to go with it. Nevertheless, I’ll permit a slow start. Who will give me $2,000?”
The satanist with the long nails raised his paddle, and we were off. The bids quickly climbed in increments of $500, passing the original $5,000 starting point and moving up to $10,000, then $15,000. Eventually, around the $20,000 mark, the bids from the floor dried up, and Ms. Stern turned most of her attention to the telephones, where, in a series of nods, the bidding rose to $50,000, then $75,000, and eventually reached the $100,000 mark. The bids continued to climb, finally passing $200,000 until, at $235,000, there was a pause.
“Any further bids?” asked Ms. Stern.
Nobody moved.
“I’m holding at $235,000.”
She waited, then rapped the gavel sharply.
“Sold for $235,000.”
The silence was broken, and the buzz of conversation resumed. Already people were drifting toward the door, now that the main business of the afternoon was concluded. Ms. Stern, sensing the same, handed the gavel over to one of her assistants, and the sale resumed with considerably less excitement than before. Ms. Stern exchanged a few words with the young woman who had taken the telephone bid, then moved quickly toward the door of her office. Phil and I stood to leave, and she glanced down as we did so, her face briefly wrinkling in puzzlement as though she were trying to remember where she had seen me before. Her gaze moved on. She nodded at Phil, and he smiled in return.
“She likes you,” I said.
“I have that white-bearded charm that disarms women.”
“Maybe they just don’t see you as threatening.”
“Which makes me all the more dangerous.”
“You have a rich inner life, Phil. That’s the polite way of putting it.”
We were at the first landing when Ms. Stern appeared from a doorway below. She waited for us to descend to her.
“Philip, it’s good to see you again.”
She turned a pale cheek for him to kiss, then extended a hand toward me.
“Mr. Parker. I wasn’t aware that you were on the list. I feared that your presence at this auction might make bidders uneasy, were they to become aware of the nature of your profession.”
“I just came to keep an eye on Phil, in case he got carried away by the excitement and bid on a skull.”
She invited us to join her for a drink. We followed her through a door marked PRIVATE and into a room cozily furnished with over-stuffed couches and leather chairs. Catalogs for past and forthcoming auctions were piled neatly on two sideboards and fanned across an ornate coffee table. Ms. Stern opened a lavishly stocked bar cabinet and invited us to make our selection. I had an alcohol-free Becks just to be polite. Phil opted for red wine.