Stones of Fire

66

‘Not to worry,’ Cædmon announced, affecting a tone of bluff good cheer. ‘The fact that the priory has been destroyed will not impede our progress in the least. In fact, it should make the task far easier.’

‘Do you think I suddenly went loco? There’s nothing here,’ MacFarlane argued, gesturing to the empty space within the three stone walls.

‘Ah! “They have eyes, but they do not see.”’

‘And what does King David have to do with anything?’

Knowing that he needed to produce a rabbit from his hat, Cædmon replied, ‘The king’s observation is most appropriate. For while the untrained eye sees nothing but overgrown grass and three stone walls, the trained eye sees the nunnery as it once stood.’

Several seconds passed in silence.

‘Go ahead. I’m listening,’ MacFarlane said, rather grudgingly.

Relieved that he passed the initial audition, Cædmon cast Edie a quick, reassuring glance.

Don’t worry, love. I can do this. I can buy us the time we need.

He gestured to the meadow adjacent to the walls. ‘If you care to join me, I would like to take what the archaeologists call a field walk. Since we don’t have the benefit of an aerial photograph, by slowly walking the site we should be able to detect slight fluctuations and anomalies in the ground surface. These fluctuations and anomalies will enable us to reconstruct the plan of the original nunnery. Once we’ve done that, we’ll be in a much better position to know where to begin the search.’

Although MacFarlane nodded his assent, a silent addendum was included — You better come up with something fast.

Cædmon commenced the tour. ‘First, a quick primer in monastic layout. The majority of medieval priories followed a standard prototype of three buildings, usually two storeys in height, arranged in a U shape. This U-shaped configuration would have abutted a church.’ He gestured to the three stone walls. ‘As you can see, the demolished church is all that remains of the Priory of the Blessed Virgin Mary.’

‘So, if I’m imaging this correctly, the church and the U-shaped buildings would have enclosed some sort of courtyard,’ Edie remarked.

‘Quite correct. The garth, or cloister as it is more commonly called, was the large open space within the enclosed buildings. The cloister was primarily used for gardening and the interment of the dead.’

A definite spark of interest in his eyes, MacFarlane clearly recognized the possibilities that the cloister presented. ‘I’m guessing that no one would have thought twice about a deep hole being dug in the courtyard.’

‘Precisely. Furthermore, only nuns and novices were permitted inside the cloister, thus making it the perfect place for Philippa to bury the Ark of the Covenant.’ Arms spread wide, Cædmon gestured to the open meadow that moments ago MacFarlane had been so quick to dismiss. ‘Here, Philippa could have secreted the Ark from the outside world and at the same time kept an eye on it. Shall we begin our stroll around the cloister?’

Taking the lead, he walked to the other side of the small meadow, MacFarlane on his heels, Edie and the rest in tow.

‘This, I believe, is where the refectory would have been situated,’ he said, gesturing to an area of overgrown weeds and tangled grass. ‘The refectory was, as you undoubtedly know, the hall where all meals were taken.’

‘Aka the penguins’ mess tent,’ one of MacFarlane’s henchmen snickered.

Ignoring this contribution, Cædmon marched forward approximately fifteen yards. ‘And this would have been the lavatorium.’

‘The wash area, right?’

He nodded at Edie. ‘That’s correct.’ He then walked another fifteen yards. ‘Here would have stood the kitchen area.’

‘And just how is it you know all this?’ MacFarlane asked suspiciously, glancing back and forth between the last two areas delineated.

Cædmon smiled knowingly, about to divulge how he had pulled a rabbit out of thin air. ‘If you look carefully, you’ll see a slightly raised area.’ He pointed to the ground. ‘That is what’s known as a kitchen midden. Or what the layman might refer to as a rubbish heap. And if you were to search the lavatorium, you would see a depression rather than a raised area.’

‘Caused by centuries of running water,’ Edie correctly deduced.

‘Satisfied?’ He directed the question to the man who held their fate in his hands.

Again, MacFarlane glanced back and forth between the ‘kitchen’ and the ‘lavatorium’. Appeased, he jutted his head at the small meadow. ‘Keep walking.’

Cædmon continued with the tour. ‘Across from us, on the other side of the cloister, would have been the nuns’ dormitory. And directly opposite the church would have been the chapter house and abbess’s quarters.’ Raising his arm, he motioned in four directions. ‘With each of the nunnery buildings accounted for, we can now extrapolate the cloister boundaries.’

MacFarlane surveyed the area in question. ‘And you’re certain that the Ark would have been buried somewhere within the cloister?’

Cædmon hesitated. ‘There are strong reasons to believe that Philippa would have deemed the cloister the safest place to hide the Ark. Although where in the cloister, I couldn’t begin to speculate.’

To his surprise, this admission was greeted with an unconcerned shrug. Turning to his men, MacFarlane commenced to give orders.

‘Sanchez, I want you on the metal detector. Gunnery Sergeant, you’ve got the GPR. And Harliss, you’re on guard duty.’ The orders met with a deferential chorus.

His input no longer needed, Cædmon was ordered to stand beside Edie, the two of them placed under the watchful eye of the unintelligible southerner. A man prone to toothy grins that conveyed a dark malevolence, Harliss let it be known that he had disabled the safety mechanism on his MP5 sub-machine gun. ‘Meanin’ I can shoot y’all all the sooner,’ as he had so obligingly informed them.

Scanning the landscape, Cædmon could see no avenue of escape, no farmhouse that he and Edie could run to, the Priory of the Blessed Virgin Mary situated in a remote spot. If they could somehow make their way to the country lane where the Range Rovers were parked, they might be able to flag down a passing motorist. But getting there amidst a hail of bullets was a remote possibility at best. Which left only one viable option: he had to disarm one of MacFarlane’s men — no easy feat given that all three were sturdily constructed and clearly knew how to handle themselves.

‘What’s going on?’ Edie asked, nudging him with her elbow. Sanchez’s sweep of the cloister already underway, the ground was littered with several small flags.

‘Each time his metal detector finds any buried metal, it beeps. The spot is marked with a flag. I’m guessing the colour of the flag indicates the type of metal detected.’

‘Oh, I get it. So… grey is for silver, orange for bronze, black for lead and yellow for gold?’

He nodded. ‘ I should think so. Since a metal detector can’t tell what a buried object actually is, Braxton will use his ground-penetrating radar to survey all the areas that show gold. The assumption being that the Ark of the Covenant was indeed made of pure gold.’

Edie raised a quizzical brow. ‘Radar? You mean like they use at airports?’

‘Not exactly. Rather than sending radio waves through the air, these waves are directed into the ground. The electronic signals then bounce back to a receiver.’ He nodded towards the laptop computer that Braxton had set up on top of the GPR receiver. ‘A computerized map will be generated based on the density and position of the returned signals. It should enable them to determine the size and depth of any buried object.’

‘Normally, I’d say, “Way cool,” but I’ve got a funny feeling this ground-penetrating radar is going to make or break us.’

Cædmon made no reply, having reached the same conclusion. He stared wordlessly at Edie. At the curls covered in a bridal veil of morning mist. At the mottled purple bruise on her right cheek. He thought she resembled nothing so much as a bedraggled street urchin. Something straight out of Dickens. Brave and vulnerable in the face of danger.

‘I’ve got something!’ Braxton suddenly yelled.

Hearing that, Cædmon inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I’d say we’re bang on target.’ Then, his interest getting the better of him, he called out, ‘May I have a look?’

When MacFarlane nodded his assent, Harliss escorted them over to the laptop, prodding them forward with his sub-machine gun.

‘I’m getting a whole bunch of small objects,’ Braxton said, pointing to the computer screen.

Cædmon studied the monitor, the computer-generated image resembling nothing so much as a black-and-white photograph of the moon. And the dark side of the moon at that.

He tapped several small spots on the computer screen. ‘These are probably stones scattered when the nunnery was destroyed. But this looks promising,’ he said, pointing to what appeared to be a large, solid object buried some two yards below the surface.

‘Whatever it is, it’s a big mother. Sir, you want me to dig it up?’

A definite gleam in his eyes, MacFarlane nodded.

Moments later, pickaxe in hand, the behemoth began swinging like a brigand in search of gold doubloons, no thought whatsoever given to properly excavating the site, of carefully slicing away section by section in order to recover any historic artefacts that might be nestled in the soil. For these men, there was only one artefact of any import.

While Braxton attacked with his pickaxe, Sanchez assisted with a shovel, the two men making fast work of it. Donning a pair of knee pads, MacFarlane perched himself on the edge of the hole. His gaze intent, he peered into the deepening chasm, putting Cædmon in mind of a large bird of prey about to swoop upon its quarry.

Overhead the clouds fused together to release a cold drizzle on their uncovered heads. The light rain soaked MacFarlane’s grey hair, the spiky tufts clinging to his head like a skullcap. Seen in profile, he resembled a fierce Celtic warrior come to life.

‘Yeah, boy! We got it!’ Braxton shouted jubilantly.

Sanchez heaved himself out of the hole and rushed over to one of the canvas equipment bags, retrieving some rope. He tossed the coiled length at his digging partner.

Edie slipped her hand into Cædmon’s. ‘I can’t believe it… They actually found it,’ she whispered.

As Sanchez and Braxton pulled their find to the surface, Cædmon held his breath, about to set his eyes on the most sought-after relic in the history of mankind.

It could have been mine, he thought jealously, had I played the game differently.

After several loud grunts and a muttered curse, a box was hauled out of the hole.

Its appearance met with a stunned silence.

‘I don’t think it’s made of gold,’ Edie said at last, the remark provoking a glare from Stanford MacFarlane.

‘No, it isn’t gold,’ Cædmon agreed. ‘A lesser metal. Bronze perhaps. Difficult to say, under all the grime.’ The box was secured on the outside with a large lock.

Braxton ran the back of his hand over his dirt-smudged brow, still panting from his labours. ‘Maybe the Ark is inside.’

‘Open it,’ MacFarlane ordered.

With one strong-armed swing of the pickaxe, the behemoth broke the lock.

His jaw tightly clenched, his gaze resolute, MacFarlane threw back the lid. Everyone stared wide-eyed at the uncovered treasure.

Everyone save Stanford MacFarlane.

‘What are those?’ MacFarlane pointed an accusing finger at the golden objects that filled the box.

Extending a hand, Cædmon lifted a finely wrought candlestick from the chest. Next, he examined a jewelled gold chalice.

‘These are the altar vessels from the destroyed church,’ he said, running his hand over an exquisitely fashioned paten. ‘No doubt the nuns had advance warning that the king’s men were en route to the priory. I imagine they hid them so they wouldn’t be confiscated.’ He gestured to the gold objects. ‘Not exactly a king’s ransom, I admit, but still valuable. You should have no problem finding a buyer for —’

‘I’m not interested in earthly profit,’ MacFarlane interjected. ‘My reward will come in the next life.’ Turning his head, he looked pointedly at Edie. Then, like an Old Testament patriarch, he very quietly and calmly said, ‘Kill her.’

The behemoth raised his pickaxe.

Cædmon lurched forward but, anticipating the move, Harliss and Sanchez seized hold of him.

‘No!’ he shouted, violently struggling to free himself.

Not like this! God in heaven, not like this!