by D C Macey
Steve was not happy. ‘Well none of us would have such a prob -’
‘Steve! Right now, I need you to be supporting your sister, not falling out. What’s done is done. We stand together, okay?’
Steve looked carefully at his mother, glanced ruefully towards Helen and then nodded. ‘Okay, Mom. Whatever you want. But how do we keep you safe with all this going on? I’m in New York and Chris is in Chicago. What can we do from so far away?’
Helen stood up. ‘I’m sorry guys. Sorry I ever brought this home. Sorry it got pop in the hospital. All I can say is, whoever attacked him got what they were after. They have no reason to return.’
‘And what about that?’ said Steve, pointing towards the battered communion set box which rested on the low table set in the space between their seats. ‘They didn’t get that.’
Helen followed the direction of his point and then nodded her head in agreement, the movement morphed into a headshake.
‘That’s not what they wanted; it’s only purpose was to conceal the dagger. It has no value now. Worthless.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Steve.
‘Well if they’d wanted it they could have taken it, couldn’t they? They took what they wanted and left.’
‘No, they beat pop around the head, took what they wanted and left,’ said Chris. ‘And it’s not worthless, that’s still one big chunk of silver.’
‘That’s just my point,’ said Helen. ‘If they were after material value, it would have gone too. They weren’t interested in dollars.’
‘Okay, that’s it. I said I didn’t want any arguments. What’s happened has happened. Now let it go. We need to think about your pop now; think about what’s best for him and what’s to happen next. Not what has been. But Helen, I think you should take that away. I know you say they don’t want it. I guess you’re right. But it’s a reminder of what happened. I don’t want your pop worrying about that too. Can you find somewhere else for it?’
‘You bet she can,’ said Steve. Then fell silent under his mother’s gaze.
‘I’ll take it back with me,’ said Helen. ‘It’s not a secret anymore.’
‘Well, still be careful. It may have lost its big value, whatever that was, but I’ll bet there’s plenty of other folk would like to take that lump of silver off your hands. Put it in the bank, or sell it, just don’t keep it lying about,’ said Steve. Chris nodded agreement.
CHAPTER 7 - MONDAY 12th AUGUST
Sam looked out across the water. The sky was shading to dark now. He noted how much earlier darkness fell in the south at this time of year. Back in Edinburgh, it would still be daylight. Still, the streetlights were on and things were bustling here at the quayside. The old industries and environment were gone. The docks had been refreshed, reinvented, and now everywhere teemed with people out for a good time as they dotted between the restaurants, bars and clubs. Dozens of little dinghies and pleasure boats were moored to pontoons that floated against quaysides where once the world’s merchant ships had tied up.
‘Lovely place,’ said Howard Vance. Tall, slim, grey haired, a worn tweed jacket, corduroy trousers and open necked shirt; he was every inch the off duty academic. The professor from Lincoln University was participating in the same workshop as Sam.
Sam nodded agreement, pointed towards a table outside a pub. ‘What do you fancy to drink?’
‘A pint of larger for me, please,’ said Howard, taking a seat.
‘Right, back in a moment,’ Sam disappeared inside to get the drinks.
A couple had been strolling arm in arm behind the two men; they chose to settle at a nearby table. The man disappeared into the bar behind Sam and left his partner to lookout across the water.
Sam emerged with drinks and sat opposite Howard, smiled and raised his glass. ‘Well, cheers, and here’s to a great workshop. If the next couple of days keep up to this standard we’re in for a great time.’
Howard raised his glass too. ‘Cheers. Yes, it’s got off to a good start and there are a couple of sessions I am really looking forward to tomorrow.’ He paused to take a drink.
‘Sam, I’ve been thinking about your little problem,’ said Howard, pulling from his pocket the printout Sam had given him that morning. He spread it on the table between them and traced out the cross with his finger. ‘As you’ve already noted, Templar, and quite late in style.’ He looked at Sam. ‘We’re agreed there I think.’
‘Yes, though it’s your period, I’m happy to take a lead from you.’
The older man smiled. ‘No need for my input there anyway, you’re spot on.’ His fingers slid down the page and lightly stroked the text, almost a caress. ‘And you say this was found on Inchcolm Island? In the abbey? You’re quite sure about that?’
‘That’s right. I hadn’t really reached any conclusions about how it came to be there. But it’s the inscription I was really hoping you might be able to shed some light on.’
‘Well, your guess is as good as mine over the burial site. There would have been no safer place to inter a body than an isolated island abbey. As I’ve said, judging by the style of the engraved cross it must have been near the end of the Templar period. Perhaps he was an important man and they just wanted to put him somewhere safe. We may never find out for sure. But certainly, the Church always needed money. If your Templar’s friends had enough of the shiny stuff, anything’s possible.’
‘Yes, I can see that, but what about the inscription, does that tell us anything more about our man?’
Howard leant closer to the paper and carefully read out the inscription.
‘…e Be…
Ex Deo natus est
Vir pugnator
Filius Lindum’
He glanced up. ‘As you observed, the first line is a bit of a mess. But what about the rest? Now let me see again, what did you think?’ He paused to re-read Sam’s sheet. ‘Ah yes, Child of God, Man of war, Son of Lincoln. Well, we could chew that over a bit, but on the whole, I can live with your interpretation.’ He looked up from the paper. ‘Well, exactly how can I help?’
Sam saw Howard’s eyes sparkle, he knew something, was just going to make Sam work for it.
‘Howard, you are an expert on the Templars in Britain. I’ve only recently taken an interest. So you are miles ahead of me on this. The inscription references Lincoln. As a professor at Lincoln University, if anyone is able to cast any light on this it’s you.’
‘Oh, you’re just trying to flatter me, Sam.’ His eyes sparkled again. ‘Though as some say, flattery gets you everywhere.’ He took another drink from his glass, put it down and paused for a theatrical moment, perhaps collecting his thoughts.
‘And?’ said Sam.
‘So, let’s try and put some meat on these bones shall we? Not so hard really. From the design of the cross emblem we know it’s a Templar grave marker. Whoever he was, the very use of the engraved stone marks him out as very special. And it’s clear; his people didn’t want him disturbed. I suppose it was a time of war in Scotland. Nonetheless, burying him on a remote island abbey would have cost them a fortune in fees - today we might call them bribes. And it was certainly taking extreme measures to protect his last resting place. Why? Your note says the stone had been moved so we can’t link it to a particular body. If we could, we might have a better clue. In any event, the epitaph as a whole is what you might expect for a fighting man of that time.’
‘Yes, Howard, but can you cast any light on it?’ said Sam. ‘Or are you just spinning it out to get another drink out of me?’
Howard laughed. ‘No, one’s enough for me these days. That’s what age does to you. Anyway, I don’t believe you will want to cloud my thoughts until I’ve told you what I think.’
‘So you have an idea?’ said Sam.
‘Like I said, it’s not so hard - maybe. Let’s see what you think. So, our Templar, for all his Christianity, is still a son of Lincoln. Unusual for an individual Templar to keep that link alive for eternity, don’t you think? You c
ame to me because it’s my speciality, because the Templars were big over in the eastern part of the country, around Lincoln. It’s the Lincoln connection that needs to be explored. But to do that we need to consider who our man is.’
‘Agreed,’ said Sam. ‘But how do we work that out?’
Howard gave a little smile. ‘I think I can help you there. Do you see the first line of the inscription? In all probability, that may well be a name, long worn away.’ He touched the first line, read it out. ‘Something, e, Be, something. Even for a modern burial that probably wouldn’t be much to go on. You’d think it a lost cause. And you know, fourteenth century wise, I think it would be anywhere else in the country, maybe all of Europe.’
‘You think you have something?’ said Sam.
‘Well I gave it a little thought this morning and at lunchtime I called back to my research assistant at Lincoln. He spent some time following up my pointers and I am quite sure I have something of interest for you.’ He paused as a group of young women went by. There had clearly been plenty of drinking and, as they headed for a bar further along the quay, it seemed certain more was planned.
‘Let me tell you Sam, I’m really excited about this. If we’re right, then it really opens up some new lines of thinking to develop our understanding of that era.’
‘How so?’
‘First of all, we apply a simple process of elimination. In our Lincolnshire records for the time, do we have any names that our letters might fit with? There’s the first letter e. The ruling elite of fourteenth century Britain were pretty well all of French stock, with French rooted names. So, the e is almost certainly part of de.’
‘Yes, yes I can see that. Makes perfect sense.’
Howard tapped the paper again. ‘Right, but what about the Be…? That might seem a bit trickier. But I think we’ve got it for you. There is one particular Lincolnshire family that seems to have had two names. Well, one main name while a particular branch adopted a change that would have been perfect for your Templar: de Bello or perhaps it’s de Bella, there’s some debate over that.’
That name triggered a memory sequence for Sam - something he had heard earlier in the summer. A story Xavier had told. ‘I know that name,’ he said. ‘Heard it recently. Of course, de Bello, Henri de Bello, he was an important Templar knight, based at their preceptory in the village of Temple, outside Edinburgh. In fact, I’m sure he was involved in some stuff I’ve been working on, quite separate from this inscription. Could they be linked? It’s the right time and place.’
Howard raised his hands, shrugged and reached for his drink. ‘There you are then, it all falls into place, I think.’
Sam’s elation at closing in on an answer was tempered by the slightest nagging feeling. Did everything need to be linked to their troubles? It seems he just couldn’t shake them off.
‘I’m pleased you’re pleased,’ said Howard. ‘But there’s more.’
‘Do go on.’
‘Well, if the name is right, and I rather think it is, because my assistant could not come up with any other Lincoln names starting with d Be at that time - assuming we are going with the very late style of the engraved cross, it’s got to be around 1300. Though we’ll be checking through the records again of course. If it’s right, it creates an entirely new family link and I hope you will allow my people to engage with you, supporting the research.’
Sam hesitated; only a week ago he would have had no qualms about letting Howard and his staff from Lincoln University share in the investigation. Now those sinister clouds were gathering again and he was mindful of the suffering that could befall any who engaged with their quest - knowingly or otherwise.
‘What else have you got?’ he said, avoiding any commitment.
Howard chuckled.’ You’re cautious, can’t say I blame you. But if I’m right, this is bigger than you think. You’ll be pleased to share the load.’
‘How so?’
‘The names de Bello or de Bella seem to get muddled up in the record somewhere, that’s families for you. And they definitely have very different meanings - war or warlike, and pretty, or some such. You pay your money and you take your choice. But if we’re talking Templar, I guess pretty doesn’t quite capture it. Anyway, it’s the other family name de Bello is linked to that interests me. So, in certain quarters, de Bello and de Haldingham are taken as interlinked. At that date, we do have a Richard de Haldingham in Lincolnshire. He would almost certainly have had a familial link to your de Bello - cousins, uncle and nephew perhaps, that sort of thing. Certainly would have been quite a close relation. You probably don’t know the name but he is credited with a piece of work that you will know.’
Howard paused and glanced over Sam’s shoulder. He smiled acknowledgement at somebody. Sam turned in time to see the smiling young woman sat at the table behind him glance away. She was remarkably beautiful, quite stunning - though she was sitting, Sam could just tell she was tall and shapely. Her long dark hair shimmered in the quayside lights while framing a perfectly symmetrical face with full lips and dark, dark eyes. Her boyfriend was heading away into the bar to get more drinks.
‘Someone from the workshop?’ said Sam.
‘No, I don’t know her, she sat down at the same time as we did - that’s all.’
‘Right. Now, you were saying Richard de somebody.’
‘Ah yes. I see the name means nothing to you, just as I thought. But I know you will have heard of his work. Richard de Haldingham is generally credited with having made the Mappa Mundi.’
‘What? The Mappa Mundi? In Hereford Cathedral?’
‘The very same, it’s the definitive Christian map of the medieval world. You can see why I’m interested, I’m sure. The map has some attribution to Lincoln too. I’ve been over to Hereford many times to study it.’
‘Of course, I see.’ Sam was making a series of links that went way beyond anything Howard could imagine. ‘Tell me then, our Richard de Haldingham, he’s the main man when it comes to fourteenth century maps?’
‘Oh yes, he’s what some might call the big cheese.’
‘I need to see the map as soon as possible.’
‘Well, I’ve got to know the dean at Hereford Cathedral very well; I’ve been such a frequent visitor, we’ve become good friends. I could set you up with a meeting. You can see the map anyway, it’s on public display, but I’m sure Charles will give you all the background you need.’
‘Would you fix it up, please?’ said Sam.
Howard hesitated for a moment. ‘You mean now?’
‘If you could it would be a big help.’
Howard recognised the signs of an academic on a hobby horse and decided it would just be easier all round to make the call, late hour or not. ‘When do you want to see him?’
‘As soon as possible, I’ll fit in with any time he suggests.’
‘You won’t want to miss any of the workshops,’ said Howard. Then fell silent, it was clear that Sam suddenly didn’t care about workshops. Howard pulled out his phone and made the call.
Fifteen minutes later, Sam had a meeting with the dean arranged for Wednesday morning, at the cathedral - and in return, Sam promised to keep Howard in the loop.
They finished their drinks and stood to stroll along the quayside before heading for their hotel rooms. A little way along they stopped to look at the boats. The evening was now turned to night, fully dark but still warm. All the bar and restaurant lights shining on to the water created a beautiful backdrop, perfect for courting couples. Sam tensed a little; the courting couple closing on them were becoming too familiar for his liking. They had followed them into the bar’s outside seating area, had sat behind them and now were following them again. Sam had long since abandoned the idea of coincidences. He had to assume the worst.
Just to Sam’s left was a little foot ramp. It sloped gradually down, dropping below the level of the quayside to where it reached a floating pontoon that ran parallel to the quayside for fifty metres or so. Along the l
ength of the pontoon were tied small cruisers and pleasure craft. Sam watched an older couple gently guide their inflatable dinghy across the dock to reach the far end of the pontoon. He saw the man tie up the craft and the woman cut the outboard engine. They strolled along the pontoon, heading for the up ramp and a drinks date with friends on the quayside above.
‘Come on,’ said Sam. ‘Let’s go and take a closer look at some of the boats.’
‘Whatever you fancy,’ said Howard, ‘though I’m not a big boat fan myself.’
Sam led the way down the ramp and paused at the locked access gate. He fumbled in his jacket pocket as the elderly couple reached the other side of the gate; they released the night latch and pulled the gate open. With a smile, a nod and some muttered word of thanks, Sam hustled Howard through the gate and on to the pontoon, then he slowed, making a point of admiring the assorted boats. The elderly couple let the gate close and lock behind them, then headed away up the ramp. Sam took the opportunity to glance behind. The courting couple had not followed them down; instead, they had settled onto a quayside bench, appeared to be absorbing the romantic atmosphere. Sam was still unsure.
‘Fancy a boat ride?’ said Sam.
‘No,’ said Howard.
‘Come on; let’s try this one out for size.’ Sam stepped into the elderly couple’s dinghy, taking Howard by the arm.
Howard shook him off. ‘What are you doing, Sam? We can’t just take a boat.’
Sam had been monitoring the courting couple as he stepped off the pontoon. They were standing now. The man was making a phone call as both walked towards the ramp.
Sam tugged on Howard’s arm. ‘Come on man, we’ve got to go.’
‘It’s not our boat.’
Sam pointed towards the quayside ramp where the couple were moving as quickly as they could without actually breaking into a run. ‘You see them? They were behind us earlier, sat behind us at the bar. They’re following us now. And it’s not to get a famous archaeology professor’s autograph. We’ve got to go now.’