Stones of Fire

34

‘Mind you, that was years ago,’ Sir Kenneth added, still addressing his remarks to Edie. Then, turning to Cædmon, ‘Water under the Magdalen Bridge, eh?’

Refusing to be drawn into that particular conversation — one could drown in a shallow puddle if led there by this don — Cædmon jutted his chin towards the far side of the pub. ‘Shall we adjourn to the vacant booth in the corner?’

‘An excellent suggestion.’ Smiling, Sir Kenneth placed a hand on Edie’s elbow. ‘And what is your pleasure, my dear?’

‘Oh, I’ll just have a glass of water. It’s a little early for kicking back the brewskies.’

‘Righto. An Adam’s ale for the lady and a Kingfisher for the gent. I won’t be but a second.’ Turning round, Sir Kenneth placed the order with a barmaid.

As he steered Edie towards the booth, Cædmon wondered how, after so many years, his estranged mentor still remembered his preferred lager. The old bastard always did have a mind like a steel trap.

Which meant he’d have to be on his guard to keep from ending up in the poacher’s sack.

As they sidestepped a jovial group arguing the merits of the new PM, Edie elbowed him in the ribs. ‘You didn’t tell me that you knew Sir Kenneth.’

‘Forgive the omission,’ he replied, failing to mention that the oversight had been quite intentional.

‘You also didn’t tell me that you were “booted” out of Oxford. Gees, what else are you hiding from me? You’re not wanted by the police or anything like that, are you?’

‘The police? No.’ The RIRA, yes. Knowing he’d only frighten her if he disclosed that titbit, Cædmon kept mum.

‘So, what happened? Were you “sent down”, as the highbrows on Masterpiece Theater are wont to say?’

‘No. I left of my own accord after it was made painfully clear to me by Sir Kenneth that my doctorate would not be conferred.’

She glanced at the curly-haired don. ‘I’m guessing there’s bad blood between the two of you, huh?’

‘Of a sort. Although in England we conduct our feuds in a chillingly polite manner,’ he replied, relieved when she didn’t pry further. He’d been a cocky bastard in his student days, supremely confident of his intellectual prowess. He’d had his comeuppance. And preferred not to talk about it.

He assisted Edie in removing her red coat, hanging it on a brass hook on the side of the booth. That done, he removed his anorak and hung it on another hook. He then motioned her to the circular table in the high-backed booth.

‘Do you mind grabbing that bag of crackers on the next table?’ Edie asked as she seated herself, not in the booth but in the Windsor chair opposite.

Cædmon complied, commandeering an unopened bag of crisps left by a previous patron. Handing the crisps to Edie, he seated himself in a vacant chair just as Sir Kenneth, juggling a small tray, approached the table.

‘Nothing like malt, hops and yeast to usher in a spirit of fraternal concord, eh?’ A man of mercurial moods, Sir Kenneth had forsaken his earlier condescension for a show of bluff good humour. Drinks passed out, he seated himself in the booth. Surrounded on three sides by dark wood, he looked like a Saxon king holding court.

Edie lifted her water glass. ‘I assume that I’m included in all that brotherly love.’

‘Most certainly, my dear.’ As Edie bent her head, Sir Kenneth slyly winked at him, Cædmon wanting very badly to bash him on the nose.

Although he hailed from the upper echelons of British society, Sir Kenneth wasn’t averse to mucking in with the common man. Or woman, Sir Kenneth being particularly fond of the fairer sex. The man had a voracious sexual appetite, an appetite that had evidently not diminished with age. According to rumour, the provost had once remarked that Oxford might do well to return to the days of celibate fellows, if for no other reason than to keep marauding dons like Sir Kenneth under control.

‘So, tell me, young Aisquith, to what do I owe the pleasure of this most unexpected visit?’

‘We’d like to ask you about a thirteenth-century knight named Galen of Godmersham.’

‘How curious. I had an appointment yesterday with a chap from Harvard, a professor of medieval literature interested in Galen of Godmersham’s poetic endeavours.’

Curious indeed. Cædmon immediately wondered if the ‘chap from Harvard’ was working for Colonel Stanford MacFarlane. Or was it mere coincidence that an American scholar had been inquiring about an obscure English knight? Since Sir Kenneth Campbell-Brown was the foremost authority on English crusaders, it could be pure chance. Although Cædmon had his doubts.

‘What’s this about poetry?’ Edie piped up. ‘Are we talking about the same knight?’

His tutorial style having always been to answer a question with a question, Sir Kenneth did just that. ‘How familiar are you with Galen of Godmersham?’

Plucking several crisps out of the bag, Edie replied, ‘I know him by name only. Oh, and the fact that he discovered a gold chest while crusading in the Holy Land.’

‘Ah… the fabled gold chest.’ His eyes narrowing, Sir Kenneth directed his gaze at Cædmon. ‘I should have known this was about that nonsense.’

‘I assume the American professor expressed a similar interest in Galen’s treasure trove,’ Cædmon countered, ignoring the jibe.

‘If you must know, he never mentioned Galen’s gold chest. The chap’s field of expertise was thirteenth- and fourteenth-century English poetry. Recited reams of archaic verse. I almost nodded off.’

‘Time out,’ Edie exclaimed, holding her hands in a T shape. ‘I’m totally confused. We’re talking about a gold chest and you’re talking about poetry. Is it just me or did we lose the connection?’

Sir Kenneth smiled, the question smoothing the old cock’s ruffled feathers. ‘Because you are such a lovely girl, with your raven elf locks and skin so fair, I shall tell you all that I know of Galen of Godmersham. After which you will tell me why you are chasing after dead knights.’

‘Okay, fair enough,’ Edie replied, returning the smile.

Not wanting Sir Kenneth to know the full story, Cædmon decided to intervene when the time came to tell him the reasons for their interest. If mishandled, such knowledge could get one killed.

‘As your swain may or may not have told you, during the medieval period the entire Middle East, including the Holy Land, was under Muslim control. Given that this was the land of the biblical patriarchs and the birthplace of Christ, the Christian Europeans believed that the Holy Land should be under their control. The centuries-long bloodbath that ensued has come to be known as the Crusades.’

‘No sooner was Jerusalem conquered by the crusading armies than the Church moved in, organizing religious militias to oversee its new empire. The two best-known militias were the Knights Templar and the Hospitaller Knights of St John, the rivalry between the two orders legendary,’ Cædmon interjected, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. The Templars had been a point of bitter contention between him and his former mentor.

‘And it should be noted that the men who swelled the ranks of the Templars and the Hospitallers were anything but holy brothers,’ Sir Kenneth remarked right on his coat-tails. ‘These were trained soldiers who fought, and fought mercilessly, in the name of God. One might even go so far as to liken the two orders of warrior monks to mercenary shock troops.’

On that point, Cædmon and Sir Kenneth greatly differed. But they were there to learn about Galen of Godmersham, not to rekindle an ancient dispute.

‘As the crusading knights soon discovered, the Holy Land was rich in religious artefacts, relics being sent back to Europe by the shipload,’ Sir Kenneth continued, folding his arms over his chest, an Oxford don in his element.

‘Holy relics were a big fad during the Middle Ages, weren’t they?’

‘More like an obsession, many a pilgrimage made to view the bones or petrified appendage of a holy man or woman. St Basil’s shrivelled bollocks. St Crispin’s arse bone. Such oddities abounded.’

Beside him, Cædmon felt Edie’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, his companion obviously amused by Sir Kenneth’s bawdiness.

‘Christians in the Middle Ages were convinced that holy relics were imbued with a divine power capable of healing the sick and dying while protecting the living from the malevolent clutches of the demon world.’

‘Sounds like a lot of superstitious hooey.’ Indictment issued, Edie popped another crisp into her mouth.

Sir Kenneth pruriently observed the passage of crisp to lip before replying, ‘While superstition did exist, the medieval fascination with relics was more than mere cultish devotion. Given that we live in a disposable society with no thought for the past and little for the future, it is difficult to comprehend the medieval mindset.’

‘Guess you could call us the here and now generation,’ Edie remarked, seemingly unaware of the effect she was having on the Oxford don.

‘Indeed. But the generation that set out for the Holy Land, clad in mail and armed with sword, full-heartedly believed that the land of their biblical forebears was their birthright. To these stalwart knights, biblical relics were a tangible link between the past, the present and the unforeseen future. Thus the obsession with uncovering the treasures of the Bible.’

‘The most sought-after prize being the Ark of the Covenant,’ Cædmon pointed out, deciding to broach the subject in a roundabout manner. ‘No less a thinker than Thomas Aquinas declared, “God himself was signified by the Ark.” Other Church fathers likened the Ark to the Virgin, the mother of Christ.’

‘Ah, yes… Faederis Arca.’

Edie tugged at his sleeve. ‘Translation, please.’

Secretly pleased that Edie had turned to him, Cædmon replied, ‘It’s the feminine form for the Ark of the Covenant. Faederis Arca was used to convey the religious belief that just as the original Ark had contained the Ten Commandments, the Virgin Mary had contained within her womb the saviour of the world.’

‘So where does Galen of Godmersham fit into all of this?’ Edie asked, proving herself an attentive student.

‘As with many younger sons with not a prayer of inheriting the family estate, Galen of Godmersham decided to earn his fortune the old-fashioned way, in this case pillaging the infidels in the Holy Land.’

‘Rape and ruin — the stuff of English history,’ Cædmon mordantly remarked.

Grinning, Sir Kenneth banged his palm against the table, causing their half-empty glasses to rattle. ‘Ah! Those were the days, were they not?’ Then, his voice noticeably subdued, ‘Both the Knights Templar and the Hospitallers were actively engaged in seeking the Ark of the Covenant. As a Hospitaller, Galen of Godmersham would have joined the hunt. Ultimately, the knights’ hunt proved the wildest goose chase known to history, but this is where our story takes an intriguing turn.’ Leaning forward, giving every appearance of a man taking a woman into his confidence, Sir Kenneth said in a lowered voice, ‘While Galen of Godmersham did not uncover the goose, the lucky lad did happen upon a very fat gold-plated egg.’

In like manner, Edie also leaned forward. ‘You’re talking about the gold chest, right?’

Sir Kenneth nodded. ‘In 1289, while patrolling the region between Palestine and Egypt, Galen of Godmersham was leading a small contingent of Hospitaller knights through the Plain of Esdraelon. There, in a village called Megiddo, he —’

‘Discovered a gold chest,’ Edie interjected. ‘But this is what I don’t get.’ She paused, a puzzled expression on her face. ‘If no one has seen this gold chest in nearly seven hundred years, how do you know the darned thing ever existed?’

‘My dear, you are as mentally nimble as you are beautiful. I know because the local Kent records from the years 1292 to 1344 tell me so.’

‘Of course… the Feet of Fines,’ Cædmon murmured. When Edie turned to him, a questioning glance on her face, he elaborated: ‘The Feet of Fines was the medieval record of all land and property owned in England.’

‘And the Feet of Fines clearly indicates that Galen of Godmersham had within his possession a gold chest measuring one and a half by two cubits. The Feet of Fines also indicates that the gold chest was kept in Galen’s personal chapel in the grounds of his estate. In addition to the gold chest, Galen owned a king’s ransom in miscellaneous gold objects. “Objets sacrés”, as they are listed in the official records.’

‘So when Galen of Godmersham discovered the gold chest, he went from rags to riches, huh?’

The Oxford don nodded. ‘Like many a crusader, Galen of Godmersham profited from his sojourn in the Holy Land. Although he seems to have had a generous streak. In 1340 he bequeathed to St Lawrence the Martyr church several “vestiges d’ancien Testament ”.’

‘Old Testament relics,’ Cædmon said in a quick aside to Edie. Then, to his former mentor, ‘Bound by his vows of celibacy, Galen would have had no legal offspring. Who inherited the gold chest and all the objets sacrés when Galen died?’

‘While it’s true that Galen of Godmersham had neither son nor daughter, it wasn’t for lack of trying. No sooner did he return to England than Galen left the Hospitallers, taking up worldly pleasures with a vengeance.’

‘So who inherited the gold chest?’ Edie enquired, playing the wide-eyed ingénue to perfection.

‘That, my dear, is a mystery, a mystery that has confounded historian and treasure seeker alike. Bear in mind that when the plague struck in the middle of the fourteenth century, its effects were devastating, one third of England’s population succumbing. As you can well imagine, chaos ensued, record keeping thrown into a state of complete disarray. It has been suggested that Galen, who was nearing his eighty-fifth year when the bubonic plague reached English shores, took the precaution of removing his precious gold chest from the family chapel in order to safeguard it from the looting that followed in the plague’s wake. Generations of treasure hunters have focused on Galen of Godmersham’s deathbed burst of creative inspiration, the wily old knight having composed several poetic quatrains just prior to his death in 1348.’

‘Oh, I get it!’ Edie exclaimed, nearly falling off her chair in her excitement. ‘The clues to the whereabouts of the gold chest are contained within the poetic quatrains.’

‘Possibly,’ Sir Kenneth replied, refusing to commit himself. ‘Although Galen’s verse is cryptic in nature, there is reference in the quatrains to an arca.’

‘Arca being the Latin word for chest,’ Cædmon said, taking a moment to consider all that Sir Kenneth had divulged. If clues to the gold chest’s whereabouts were contained within the quatrains, it would explain why a Harvard scholar had expressed an interest in those very lines of verse. And if the scholar was in Stanford MacFarlane’s employ, it meant the bastard had a twenty-four-hour head start in solving the centuries-old mystery.

‘Is there any chance that the gold chest discovered by Galen of Godmersham was the Ark of the Covenant?’ Edie enquired abruptly.

No sooner was the question posed than Sir Kenneth’s woolly head swivelled in Cædmon’s direction. ‘Is that your purpose in grilling me, so that you can chase after a myth?’

Cædmon opened his mouth to speak, but Edie beat him to the punch.

‘We thought there might be a slim possibility that Galen of Godmersham had discovered the Ark of the Covenant.’

‘A fool’s errand, my dear. The Holy Land fair brimmed with golden gewgaws, more than one impoverished knight returning to England a wealthy man.’

Undeterred, Edie said, ‘If Galen didn’t discover the Ark of the Covenant then —’

‘I didn’t say he didn’t.’

‘But you just said —’

‘I said that Galen of Godmersham discovered a gold chest. It has yet to be proved whether the gold chest is the much-ballyhooed Ark of the Covenant. I am a scholar not a conspiracy theorist, and as such, I deal in fact not innuendo,’ the older man brusquely stated. As he spoke, he locked gazes with Cædmon. Then, his expression softening, he returned his attention to Edie, ‘Did you know there’s an old Irish legend which claims that not only did a band of intrepid Hebrews take refuge on the Emerald Isle, but that they brought with them the Ark of the Covenant. Supposedly they buried the blasted thing under a hill in Ulster. Nearly as preposterous a tale as that of Galen of Godmersham discovering the Ark on the Plain of Esdraelon.’

Just then the door of the pub opened, a gaggle of giggling women crossing the threshold, a birthday cake held aloft.

‘It would appear that the lacy-frock brigade has taken the field,’ Sir Kenneth dryly remarked. ‘Shall we continue the conversation at Rose Chapel?’

Not bothering to wait for a reply — it being more of a summons than an invitation — Sir Kenneth rose to his feet.

Leaning towards him, Edie whispered in Cædmon’s ear, ‘He wants to go to church?’

‘Not in the sense that you mean. Sir Kenneth resides at Rose Chapel.’

‘Just like a medieval monk, huh?’

Cædmon watched as Sir Kenneth appraised the cake bearer’s backside.

‘Hardly.’