Stones of Fire

53

‘You might be interested to know that these medieval walls were built on Roman foundations. The original settlement was called Durovernum Cantiacorum.’

As they strolled along the ancient stone battlements that ringed the town of Canterbury, Edie was relieved that she and Cædmon had reverted to their earlier camaraderie. She wasn’t altogether certain, the male beast a difficult one to decipher, but she thought Cædmon had been angry in the alley because he hadn’t been able to protect her from MacFarlane’s goon.

The goon had a gun, why hadn’t he used it?

Seeing in her mind’s eye those massive shoulders, the scary buzz cut and the rivulet of blood zigzagging down a throbbing temple, Edie shuddered.

‘Cold?’ Cædmon asked solicitously, draping an arm over her shoulder.

Shoving the frightening image aside, she wordlessly snuggled closer to him. Although she couldn’t be one-hundred-per-cent certain, she didn’t think they were being followed. Having hitched a ride to London, they had caught a train at Victoria station, the trip to Canterbury taking only ninety minutes. The station being on the outskirts of town, they were now en route to the cathedral.

A damp breeze chilling her back, Edie flipped up the collar on her coat. Overhead the clouds hung low in the sky, casting a dreary pall over the town.

Taking a quick peek at the map they’d picked up at the station, Cædmon ushered her to the left, past the remains of an old tower that she guessed had once been attached to an equally old church.

‘All that remains of St George’s Church,’ he remarked, ‘the tower having somehow weathered the travails of history.’

‘Although it looks like most of the town fared pretty well.’ She gestured to the neat line of half-timbered structures that fronted the narrow street. ‘I feel like I’m walking through a medieval living-history museum.’

‘Indeed. Much of Canterbury is little changed from the days of Chaucer.’

Like Oxford, the town was dressed in its Christmas finery, fairy lights twinkling merrily behind shop windows. Although Canterbury had about it a magical air that the staid Oxford lacked. Probably on account of its fairy-tale appearance.

As they walked along Mercery Lane, the pavement teemed with tourists, the modern-day pilgrims undeterred by the chilly weather. With each stride Edie was very much aware that she walked in another woman’s footsteps, that woman none other than Philippa of Canterbury. Like most medieval women, Philippa’s life story had been written at birth. A man’s life in the fourteenth century was recorded on vellum, enabling changes to be made, but a woman’s life was carved in stone. Unchangeable.

Nearing the city centre, the thorny spires of the cathedral filled more and more of the skyline. To Edie’s surprise, she began to experience a sense of agitation. Cædmon evidently felt it too, taking her by the hand as they approached a massive three-storey gatehouse. Bedecked with tiers of carved shields and a contingent of stone angels, the Saviour stood front centre, welcoming saint and sinner alike.

Cædmon led her through the arched portal. ‘Christ Church Gate, the physical divide between the secular and the sacred.’

Emerging, Edie caught her first real sight of Canterbury cathedral. ‘Wow,’ she murmured, the cathedral so immense as to be downright daunting. One of those soaring Gothic structures purposefully constructed for maximum impact, everywhere she looked, there were towers and spires and statues. ‘Wow,’ she murmured again, yet to emerge from her awestruck state.

Cædmon remarked, ‘Of course, the magnificence of Canterbury is not surprising, this being the mother cathedral of the Church of England.’

‘More like the mother ship,’ Edie muttered, still overwhelmed by the sheer size of the place. ‘This is gonna take days. Particularly since we don’t even know what we’re looking for.’

‘But we know that whatever it is, it’s located inside the cathedral. And I suspect the clue has something to do with the Ark of the Covenant.’

‘But the clue could be anything. A piece of sculpture, a painting, a carving. Anything. It could even have something to do with Thomas à Becket,’ she added. ‘After all, he is the “blessed martyr”, right?’

‘I think Thomas is a peripheral character, little more than a reference to direct us to Canterbury. For it’s this colossus of stone and glass —’ raising his arm, Cædmon motioned to the cathedral ‘— that played a pivotal role in Philippa’s daily life before she left for Godmersham. Moreover, she —’

Cædmon stopped in mid-sentence and mid-step. Wordlessly, he stared at the façade of the cathedral. Like a man transfixed.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, grabbing him by the upper arm.

He turned to her, a beatific smile upon his lips. ‘The clue is contained in glass. Stained glass, to be precise. One of the greatest artistic achievements of the medieval world, it was the first modern medium of mass communication.’ His smile broadened. ‘Not to mention that stained glass forms a “veil between the two worlds”.’

Edie stared at the windows in the southern façade of the cathedral.

‘Stained glass was intended as a barrier between the secular world of the city streets,’ Cædmon continued, ‘and the sacred world contained within the cathedral. Illuminated by light, the first of God’s creations, stained glass can literally come to life before one’s eyes.’

As though an affirmation from on high, a bell tolled sonorously.

‘Come, Miss Miller. Destiny beckons,’ Cædmon said portentously, ushering her towards the entrance.

Following on the tail of an American tour group, they entered the elaborately carved doors at the western end of the cathedral. Immediately they were assaulted by the twin scents of incense and flowers and the twin sounds of clicking cameras and a Midwestern twang.

‘Above you, in what is known as the West Window, you will see a brilliant example of medieval stained glass,’ the American tour guide expounded in what was obviously a canned speech. ‘The sixty-three glass panels, which depict various saints, prophets and kings, is just a drop in the ocean compared to what you’re gonna see on the tour, the cathedral boasting hundreds of glass panels. Make no mistake, folks, this is one of the cultural treasures of Europe.’

Along with everyone else in the group, Edie peered up.

‘Oh God,’ she groaned, stunned. ‘It’s gonna be like finding a holy needle in a sacred haystack.’

Taking her by the elbow, Cædmon led her away from the group. ‘Admittedly, we have a daunting task ahead of us.’

Edie craned her neck, taking another gander at the sixty-three glass panels of the West Window.

‘You think?’