St Paul’s Labyrinth. Jeroen Windmeijer

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      The bull is lying in the sand now, and the mactator straddles it with his knee on its right haunch and his other leg on the ground. He pulls its head back by the horn with his left hand and raises his right arm in the air. The falcata’s blade flashes in the sun. And then, with a masterful stroke, he brings the sword down and expertly slits the beast’s throat. Blood spurts out, soaking the sand with a powerful geyser of red until the bull finally succumbs. The curved sword is buried so deeply that the snake on the hilt appears to lick the bull’s wound.

      ‘Sanguis eius super nos et super filios nostros.’ The old man in the stands murmurs a hopeful prayer. His blood be on us, and on our children.

      The mactator rubs his bloodied hands across his face, as though washing himself with the blood. He is a terrifying sight now; the blood has mixed with sand and sweat, but he seems unmoved, and stares out at an imaginary point in the distance.

      ‘Et nos servasti eternali sanguine fuso,’ the old man whispers. And you have also saved us by shedding the eternal blood. The man pulls a hunk of bread from his sleeve and tears a piece from it as he stares intently at the spectacle in the arena.

      The taurarius takes up the blade once more, this time to cut a chunk of flesh from the bull. He shows this to the audience then puts it in his mouth and swallows it whole.

      ‘Accipite et comedite, hoc est corpus meum quod pro vobis datur.’ Take this and eat; this is my body which is given for you.

      The old man closes his eyes, puts the piece of bread into his mouth, and chews thoughtfully, as though he is tasting bread for the first time in his life.

      The mactator takes the chalice from the venator behind him and fills it with blood from the bull’s neck. This he also shows to the audience before emptying it one, long gulp.

      ‘Bibite, hic est sanguis meus qui pro multis effunditur.’ Drink, this is my blood poured out for many. The old man retrieves a small, earthenware jug of wine from under his seat. He twists the cork from it and takes a drink, swirls the wine around in his mouth then swallows.

      The euphoric crowd chants the name of the taurarius and he stands up to begin his victory lap. Meanwhile, a venator removes the bull’s testicles with a pair of scissors shaped like a scorpion. These are believed to be a powerful aphrodisiac and will be offered to the editor later.

      ‘Iste, qui nec de corpore meo ederit nec de mea sanguine biberit ut mecum misceatur et ego cum eo miscear, salutem non habebit,’ the old man ends his ritual. He who does not eat of my flesh and drink of my blood, so that he remains in me and I in him, shall not know salvation.

      A dog that has escaped from the catacombs seizes its chance to get close to the bull and lick at the blood still streaming from its neck. A minister delivers a well-aimed kick to its belly and it scuttles away, its teeth and muzzle red.

      The people stand on the benches, waving white cloths to show their appreciation of the taurarius’ bravery and the elegance with which he has fought. A group of men jump into the arena to lift the bullfighter onto their shoulders. They parade him past his audience as wreaths and flowers rain down on him. Two ropes are fastened to the hind legs of the lifeless animal. A portion of the applause is surely meant for the bull as it exits the arena, leaving a bloody trail in the sand. Its meat will be served at the tables of the city’s wealthy families tonight. A small fortune will be paid for its tail, a delicacy when stewed with onions and wine.

      The old man gets up and takes a last look at the arena behind him where the trail of blood in the sand is the only evidence that an unfair fight has taken place here today.

      ‘Consummatum est,’ he says, satisfied. It is finished.

       1

       CORAX

      RAVEN

       Leiden, 20 March 2015, 1:00pm

      Technically, Peter de Haan’s lecture was already over. He had given a brisk overview of Leiden’s most important churches in his ‘Introduction to the History of Leiden’ for Master’s students. It was part of an elective module, but it packed the small lecture theatre every year. He had stopped being surprised by it years ago, but it always did him good to see the theatre so full.

      Some of the students had started to pack away their things, but they hadn’t yet dared to leave their seats. One young man watched him like a dog waiting for a command from its master.

      An aerial photograph of the Hooglandse Kerk was projected onto the screen behind him. At the start of the fourteenth century, it had been no more than a small wooden chapel. By the end of the sixteenth century it had grown into a cathedral so enormous that it had become too big for its surroundings, like an oversized sofa in a tiny living room. The photograph also showed the Burcht van Leiden, the city’s iconic eleventh-century motte-and-bailey castle. This six-foot-tall crenelated circular stone wall was built on top of a man-made mound about twelve metres high.

      Peter raised his hand, and the quiet chatter in the room immediately stopped. ‘I know you all want to go to lunch,’ he said, with a hint of hesitation in his voice, ‘but which of you are going to watch the first underground waste container being installed at the public library this afternoon?’

      Most of the students looked at him politely, but none of them responded.

      ‘You know that there’s a major project starting in town at two o’clock today, installing these containers?’

      ‘I didn’t know about it, sir,’ said one young man politely, keeping his hand in the air as he spoke. ‘But why would we be interested in that?’

      ‘Well now, I’m so glad you asked,’ Peter said.

      This response drew some chuckles from his audience. The students stopped what they were doing and accepted that they weren’t going to be allowed to leave just yet.

      Peter grabbed his laser pointer and drew a circle around the church on the screen.

      ‘This might come as a surprise to you, but not much is known about Leiden’s origins or how it developed. There aren’t many opportunities to carry out archaeological research in the centre of town. The simple reason for that is that anywhere you might want to dig has been built on, as those of you who go into urban archaeology later will no doubt discover. We might, very occasionally, be given a brief opportunity to excavate when a building is demolished, but it’s extremely rare. This project means that we can go down as deep as three metres, at literally hundreds of sites across the city. Who knows what might be hidden beneath our feet?’

      ‘Or which skeletons will come out of the closet,’ said the young man.

      ‘Exactly!’ Peter replied enthusiastically. ‘Now it looks like we’d rehearsed that earlier, but it was actually going to be my next point. Look …’

      He traced a route along the Nieuwstraat with a beam of red light. ‘This street used to be a canal, but like many of the other canals in Leiden, it was filled in. Some canals were covered over, overvaulted, meaning that instead of being filled with sand and debris, they were just roofed over and then СКАЧАТЬ