Stones of Fire

36

At finding himself seated in Sir Kenneth’s study, inundated with the twin scents of damp wool and musty leather, Cædmon experienced an unexpected burst of painful nostalgia. Striving for an appearance of calm, he glanced at the stained-glass window that dominated the room. A beautiful piece of medieval artistry, the three lights depicted that most famous of cautionary tales, the Temptation in the Garden.

Overtly phallic snake. Bright red juicy apple. Hands shamefully placed over fig-leafed genitals.

For some inexplicable reason it reminded him of his student days at Oxford — perhaps because he too had dared to eat the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. And if he was the hapless Adam, Sir Kenneth Campbell-Brown could only be the conniving Lucifer, although in his impressionable youth, he’d cast his mentor in a far more exalted role.

A brilliant scholar, rigid taskmaster and at times capriciously cruel bastard, Sir Kenneth demanded unswerving fidelity from his students. In return, he gave his charges an unforgettable academic journey. Ever mindful that Oxford had started out with groups of young scholars gathered around the most illustrious teachers of the day, Sir Kenneth maintained the tradition, hosting weekly tutorials within the stone confines of Rose Chapel.

For nearly eight years, he and Sir Kenneth had maintained a close relationship. Not unlike a father and son.

Initially, Sir Kenneth had approved his dissertation topic, intrigued by the notion that the Knights Templar may have explored the tombs and temples of Egypt during their time in the Holy Land. But when he dared to suggest that the Templars had turned their backs on Catholicism and become devotees of the Isis mystery cult, Sir Kenneth not only refused to countenance the notion, he took the rejection one step further, publicly ridiculing him for having ‘embraced rumours and passing them off as the truth’.

It was as if he’d been mugged in the middle of a dark and rainy night.

Thirteen years later he turned misfortune to advantage, his derided dissertation paper becoming the cornerstone for Isis Revealed.

Shoving aside old memories, Cædmon cleared his throat, ready to embark on what would undoubtedly be a bumpy ride.

‘Let us consider whether Galen of Godmersham did discover the Ark of the Covenant while on reconnaissance in Esdraelon,’ he carefully began, mindful that Sir Kenneth dealt in ‘fact not innuendo’. ‘Is there any evidence to support this notion?’

Leaning back in his leather wingback, blue-veined fingers laced over his chest, Sir Kenneth’s gaze narrowed, the old man undoubtedly deciding whether or not to reply. With a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, he finally said, ‘There are a few shreds of historical data to support your theory.’

‘Like what?’ Edie piped up, subtlety not her strong suit.

‘As you undoubtedly know, theories have waxed and waned as to how and why the Ark disappeared. However, if one carefully sifts through centuries of biblical silence, the Ark’s disappearance might possibly be laid at the sandalled foot of the Egyptian pharaoh Shishak, who conquered the holy city of Jerusalem in the year 926 BC.’

As his former mentor began to speak, Cædmon was reminded of the fact that Sir Kenneth never prepared for his tutorials, always speaking extemporaneously. And brilliantly. Most who flew by the seat of their pants eventually crash-landed. Never Sir Kenneth Campbell-Brown, his lectures also legendary.

Cædmon turned to Edie. Filling in the gaps, he said, ‘Shishak’s invasion occurred not long after Solomon’s son Rehoboam inherited the crown of Israel. Because the northern tribes had recently broken away during a power struggle, the kingdom of Israel was vulnerable.’

‘In other words, the opportunistic Egyptians swept down like vultures on roadkill.’

Sir Kenneth laughed aloud, clearly amused. ‘Well put, my dear! Well put indeed.’

On the far side of the room, the study door suddenly swung open. Without uttering a word, Mrs Janus, bearing a tray laden with Wedgwood and pewter, walked over to the tea table. Still silent as the grave, she handed each of them a tankard of mulled wine and a dainty plate with two small tarts. Watching the housekeeper depart, Cædmon thought he recognized the woman, unable to fathom why any domestic would willingly suffer Sir Kenneth’s mercurial ways for so many years. Clearly, the woman possessed the patience of Job.

‘The blasted Aga has been running full throttle since the first of December. If I’m not careful, I’ll put on a stone before Twelfth Night.’

Forgoing a beautifully incised dessert fork, Edie plucked a miniature tart off the plate with her fingers. ‘You were about to regale us with the story of Shishak’s invasion of Israel.’

‘So I was.’ Choosing wine over pastry, Sir Kenneth cradled his tankard between his hands. ‘According to the Book of Kings, in the fifth year of Rehoboam’s reign “Shishak king of Egypt came up against Jerusalem: And he took away the treasures of the house of the Lord, and the treasures of the king’s house; he even took away all.”’

‘Meaning that the pharaoh stole the Ark of the Covenant!’ When her exclamation met with silence, Edie’s brows puckered in the middle. ‘Well, what else could it mean?’

‘The Old Testament makes no mention of Shishak seizing the Ark. It merely records that the pharaoh managed to come away with five hundred shields of beaten gold.’

‘Solomon’s famous shields,’ Cædmon murmured.

‘There are some biblical historians who have theorized that King Rehoboam willingly handed over the five hundred gold shields to repay a debt of honour. Years earlier the pharaoh had granted the wayward Hebrew prince asylum when his father ordered his assassination. All that internecine rivalry between family members is what makes the Bible such a jolly good read,’ Sir Kenneth said in an aside, broadly winking at Edie.

‘Are there any historical records aside from the Old Testament that mention Shishak’s invasion of Israel?’ Cædmon asked, wishing the other man would keep to the point.

‘The only other account is an inscription at Luxor inside the Temple of Amun-Ra. According to this, after he attacked Jerusalem, Shishak apparently stopped on the Plain of Esdraelon, where he had a commemorative stela erected. The custom of the time mandated that Shishak show his gratitude to the gods by leaving behind a sizeable offering. As with the taxman, one must always appease one’s god. And to answer your next question, there is no record of what Shishak did with his ill-gotten gains once he returned to his capital city of Tanis.’

‘I thought the Ark was placed in Shishak’s tomb. At least that’s the theory put forth in Raiders of the Lost Ark,’ Edie conversationally remarked.

To Cædmon’s surprise, rather than berate Edie for introducing a fictional movie plot into the discussion, Sir Kenneth smiled. ‘You are absolutely charming, my dear. But you have jumped to an erroneous conclusion regarding Shishak and the Ark of the Covenant. As I earlier mentioned, there is no evidence that Shishak took the Ark.’

‘It stands to reason that if the pharaoh’s army took Jerusalem, Shishak would have looted Solomon’s Temple,’ Caedmon argued. ‘After all, the sole purpose of invading Israel was to come away with as much treasure as they could pocket.’

‘And what proof do you have that Shishak actually laid his greedy hands upon the coveted prize?’

‘As you have already stated, there’s no direct biblical evidence. However, it stands to reason that —’

‘Rubbish! It does not stand to reason!’ Sir Kenneth loudly exclaimed, punctuating his rebuttal with a fist on the arm of his chair. ‘Your assumptions are unwarranted. You would be well advised, young Aisquith, to refrain from fantastical deductions.’

Warning issued, the woolly-headed don surged to his feet and strode over to a nearby window. Despite the December temperatures, he threw open the window, letting in a burst of wintry air. The centuries-old glass caught the midday sun, cloaking the older man in a silvery-grey nimbus.

‘Reginae erunt nutrices tuae!’ he yelled to the bare trees that bordered the chapel yard.

Edie’s jaw nearly came unhinged, so great was her astonishment.

Having witnessed the performance many times before, Cædmon rose to his feet, walked over to the tea table and took two pecan tarts from a Wedgwood plate. He handed one of the tarts to Edie. ‘“Queens shall be thy nursing mothers,”’ he translated. ‘Taken from the Book of Isaiah, it is the Queen’s College motto.’

Munching on his tart, Cædmon gazed beyond the woolly head at the window, espying the small stone terrace that overlooked the knot garden. In the blossoming profusion of Trinity Term, Sir Kenneth liked to gather his favourites on the terrace. For some inexplicable reason, the memory of those lush spring days was especially poignant. And especially painful.

Edie put in, ‘I know Sir Kenneth will jump all over me if I suggest this, but what if Shishak dumped the Ark of the Covenant at Esdraelon just like the Philistines dumped the Ark at Bethshemesh? Shishak might have done that if his soldiers started to complain of tumours and lesions. Or, better yet, what if the pharaoh witnessed one or two of his soldiers tossed in the air because of the electric current produced by the Ark? I’d think that’d be reason enough to hide the Ark, say a prayer, and get the heck out of Esdraelon as quick as possible.’

Thinking this a likely scenario, Cædmon reseated himself, the maudlin mood instantly lifted. ‘You are a woman after my own heart.’

He also thought it probable that Shishak’s offering was, centuries later, happened upon by an English crusader, the dimensions listed in the Feet of Fines for Galen’s gold chest an exact match for the dimensions given in the Old Testament for the Ark of the Covenant. And Esdraelon, the site where Galen of Godmersham had discovered his gold chest, was where the commemorative stela had been erected by Shishak.

‘Sir Kenneth said something about Galen being the proud owner of a number of objets sacrés. Are you thinking what I’m thinking, that Galen also happened upon a few of Solomon’s shields?’

‘It’s not outside the realms of possibility that Shishak left a number of shields as a peace offering to the gods. Although I wouldn’t broach the notion with our host.’

‘Gotcha.’

Closing the window, Sir Kenneth strode back to his desk.

‘Nothing like a full-throated bellow to clear one’s mind, eh? You should try it, my dear. I suspect you have a healthy pair of lungs.’ Pronouncement issued, he turned to Cædmon. ‘While this has been a most entertaining discussion, young Aisquith, your original supposition is not unlike a fart in a wind tunnel. Ephemeral at best.’

‘And thus “A terrible beauty is born,”’ Cædmon drolly murmured.

‘You were always fond of a literary flourish. Had you studied medieval literature rather than history, you might have gone far.’

‘Um, speaking of literary endeavours, I’m curious about the poems that Galen wrote prior to his death,’ Edie interjected, taking upon herself the thankless job of referee.

‘Yes, I thought the two of you would be interested in Galen’s poetry. The originals are kept at Duke Humphrey’s Library and do not circulate. But luckily for you, my dear, I’ve got a copy right here.’

Still standing, he shuffled through a pile of papers on his desk. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he impatiently rifled through the next pile. And then another, all the while muttering under his breath.

‘This is unconscionable!’ he angrily exclaimed, slapping a palm on the last pile. ‘Someone has pinched the blasted quatrains!’