by D C Macey
‘Long ago, 1943, ‘44, something like that, I don’t know. During the Second World War anyway. Well, the then vicar of St Michael’s, I think his name was Roberts, maybe Clive Roberts, anyway that doesn’t matter so much. He was completely moved by the young boys from the parish being conscripted, taken away to face the horrors of war. Well, I’m sure you can imagine what war’s like.’
Sam didn’t need to imagine, he knew from bitter personal experience, and didn’t wish it on anybody.
‘Well, to support the boys, he joined up too,’ continued Judy. ‘I think most regiments needed a chaplain of some sort; their title is the padre. Hence, our padre. Thing was, he didn’t come home. Poor man was killed while serving with his regiment.’ She sighed and looked around the company.
Sam tutted a little. ‘It happens; a bullet doesn’t worry what your faith is. Soldiers reckon if it’s going to get you, it’s going to get you.’
‘That’s a little fatalistic, isn’t it?’ said Jerry.
‘And how does the padre fit into your story?’ said Helen.
Judy smiled at her, glanced round at the others who all nodded encouragement. She continued. ‘So, when Reverend Roberts left for the war, the parish had no vicar. At that time, the war affected everything. There was a shortage of people in every walk of life and people had to make do and mend. The bishop in Hereford had no replacement available and so the neighbouring parishes had to shoulder Reverend Roberts’ pastoral duties for the duration. Neighbouring vicars shared out the workload, conducting services and so on until well after the war. There was quite a period of delay while the country came off a war footing. The vicarage here was locked up until well into 1947 when a new incumbent was finally appointed.’
Jerry leant forward and picked up the teapot. ‘Let me top up the cups while Judy tells the story. More tea, anyone?’ Without waiting for replies, he refilled the cups and offered round the scone plate again.
‘Thank you, Jerry,’ said Judy, taking one. ‘Now here’s the thing, it was all about the new man who was appointed to the parish back in ’47. He spent the rest of his working life serving the community here. Watkins, Tom Watkins, very popular in the parish. He got married some years later and his new wife,’ she leant forward again in a conspiratorial way, ‘who I believe was a good deal younger than him, had the whole vicarage gutted, top to bottom. She insisted on having everything new. And you will never believe what she found, hidden away in the attic.’ She stopped, left her audience hanging as she broke off for a mouthful of scone and a sip of tea.
This was a woman who could work a story for all it was worth, years of experience, thought Helen.
‘I wonder what it was,’ said Sam, dutifully.
‘Well would you believe it? She found a silver dagger.’
‘A what?’ said Helen.
‘Yes, a silver dagger. Apparently, it was hidden beneath the attic floorboards. Though what she was doing rummaging around up there is quite beyond me. Trust me, the attic in this house is dark and cramped and I for one wouldn’t want to spend any time up there.’
The information was falling into place for both Helen and Sam. They exchanged glances as they made links with the Lincoln connection, the Templars and the mapmaker’s links to Hereford Cathedral. And now, within the diocese an old Templar church and lands; and hidden in its vicarage, a silver dagger. Coincidences might happen for some people, but Helen, like Sam had come to recognise there were no coincidences where the Templars were concerned.
‘That sounds like a really exciting find, what does it look like? Where did it go?’ said Helen.
‘Oh, I’ve never seen it myself. Apparently, it’s very beautiful, simple, elegant even. I would imagine it might be a bit like the one you found on your expedition, but I couldn’t say.’
Helen tried to mask her urgent interest. ‘Did it go to a museum? It sounds just like the sort of thing Sam might like to see while we’re in the area.’
‘I don’t know. Jerry, do you have any idea what they did with it?’
‘Not the foggiest. I think everyone assumed it had belonged to the padre but I don’t think he had any family. Tom Watkins and his wife might even have just kept it as a memento. Maybe they sold it. Certainly didn’t leave it behind when they left, I know that for sure.’
‘Tom Watkins is dead now of course,’ said Judy. ‘About ten years ago.’ She noted the look of disappointment cross Helen’s face. ‘But if it’s important to you, his widow is still alive, Eileen. Jerry, do you know how Eileen is these days?’
‘She’s still doing well as far as I know.’
‘I’m sure we would have heard if something had happened.’ Judy stood and went to collect her husband’s telephone directory. ‘I’ll give her a call now if you want.’
Eileen wasn’t at home. Judy promised Helen she’d try again later and would pass on a message if she made contact. If she could set up an arrangement for the next day, she would. Shortly afterwards Helen and Sam made their excuses and left. As Helen drove, Sam phoned the hotel to confirm they would like to stay for at least one more night.
CHAPTER 10 - THURSDAY 15th AUGUST
The steward guided Helen and Sam into the Rowing Club lounge. Little knots of people sat dotted here and there. A few chatted to those around them. Others looked quietly out through the great windows that overlooked the Wye; some of the watchers idly traced the route of a straight four that had just powered up stream past the clubhouse. Now far in the distance, the spectators watched it slow, turn and seem to pause for a moment in midstream as the rowers steadied before the pull back downstream.
Glancing round the lounge Helen worried for a moment that their appointment had not shown. Judy had phoned her the evening before to confirm that Eileen had agreed to meet them. She and some old friends met for lunch at the clubhouse once a week - Helen and Sam were invited to arrive half an hour beforehand for a short chat. So where was she?
Helen had experienced a passing pang of concern during Judy’s phone call. Immediately after Helen and Sam had left St Michael’s, other visitors had arrived. Judy assured her it was quite normal. At this time of year, they could get several Templar tourists visiting the church each day, especially if the weather was good. She had not spoken to them but Jerry had commented that they did not seem to fit the normal profile, just a little more ‘corporate’ than usual. They hadn’t stayed long at all before dashing off.
A call from across the room attracted Helen’s attention. Seated at one of the window tables was an old woman. She was waving, beckoning them across.
‘Over here,’ she said. ‘Come and join me.’
They walked quickly across to her. ‘Is it Mrs Watkins?’ said Helen, weighing up the old woman. She must be eighty but had the bearing of a sixty-year old.
‘That’s me, but please, call me Eileen.’ The old lady waved a hand towards the empty seats beside her, inviting them to sit. They chatted for a while about everything and nothing, Helen and Sam ensuring the older woman had a chance to become comfortable in their presence.
Finally, it was Eileen that brought them to business. ‘Now what can I do for you? It all seems very mysterious.’
Helen explained their interest in the dagger and Eileen’s eyes misted for a moment.
‘It seems like only yesterday that we found it. But now I think, it was over half a lifetime ago. So much has happened since those days.’ She suddenly looked sad. ‘So much gone.’
‘I’m sorry. We hadn’t planned to upset you,’ said Helen.
‘Oh, I’m not upset. It’s just unexpected. I’m a bit taken aback, that’s all.’ Eileen gave a little chuckle. ‘Or should that be taken back? Believe me, once you get to my age it’s generally a lot more fun to look back than it is to look forward.’
‘So, the dagger?’ said Helen. ‘Can you tell us about it please?’
‘It’s beautiful, solid silver I believe, though no hallmarks so it must be very old. It had a Templar cross on it, the most intricate of l
ine patterns that made no sense to either Tom or me. Oh, and there was a number eight in Roman numerals. My husband and I often wondered what it was for, never really worked it out. Mysterious, but beautiful as well.’
Helen could hardly contain her excitement; they really had found another dagger, just like that. The thrill of this unexpected success grew in her as Sam explained to Eileen that he was an archaeologist and had also found a silver dagger with a Templar cross on it - he wondered if they could make a comparison.
Eileen’s face dropped. ‘I can’t help you I’m afraid. I don’t have it any more.’
‘Oh, is it in a museum now?’ said Sam.
‘Sadly no. We were burgled years ago. Horrid experience. The dagger went, I’m afraid, along with so much else, the mementos of a lifetime. I think it was that incident that set poor Tom on a downward spiral. He never really got over the shock. It’s the intrusion you see. We weren’t harmed or anything; weren’t even at home when it happened, actually. But by that time, Tom’s health wasn’t good anyway and I think he just felt his life had been violated, couldn’t get over it. Never came to terms with it, he just started to fade away after that.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Helen. ‘We’ve come seeking your help and dredged up only misery for you. Please, accept our apologies, if we had known how painful this would be we would have acted very differently.’
Eileen waved her protestations away. ‘Hush there, you weren’t to know. You certainly weren’t to blame. Tom and I had a long life together. There were more than enough happy memories to wash over the bad times. I just regret I can’t help you. Our dagger was a mystery that always puzzled us. I know Tom would have loved to help you understand it, if he were here.’
‘What do you think happened to it?’ said Sam.
‘I don’t know, probably melted down. That’s what they do isn’t it?’
‘Sadly, yes, that’s often the case. I don’t suppose you have a picture of it by any chance? At least I could study the pattern on the blade, that’s one of the common elements I’m trying to understand.’
‘No. Nothing at all. These days you have your smart phones and take pictures all the time. In our day, most people bought a camera spool for the Christmas holidays and maybe one for the summer, and that was it.’
Eileen’s lunch partners had started to arrive; the little group of elderly ladies were now bunching up a few steps away from the table. Realising their time was up, Helen stood and thanked Eileen, Sam followed suit. As they started to move off, the old ladies swept to the table, passing Helen and Sam in a flurry of head nods and inquisitive glances.
Disappointed, the pair left the lounge and made their way down the stairs to ground level. They paused for a moment to look through the glass exhibition wall that provided a view through to the fixed rowing machines, each set in their oars-width pools of water. Empty now but Helen could imagine the energy that would be expended by the crews when training here. They started to move on when Helen heard a voice calling from the top of the stair.
‘Helen? Sam? Are you still there? Wait, I’m coming down.’ Eileen’s voice reached them from the top of the stair. Sam immediately turned back and Helen followed behind.
‘You stay up there,’ called Sam. ‘Save your legs, we’ll be up in a moment.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my legs, young man. I’ve always kept in good shape. I could probably still give you a run for your money.’
Helen smiled to herself as she caught up. This feisty old lady would probably be prepared to take him on if offered the chance.
‘Look, I can’t linger, I’ll miss my lunch, but you’ve created quite a stir with the girls in there. They wanted to know what it was all about. Thing is, one of my chums reminded me, there is a slight chance you could get a rough idea of what the dagger looked like.’
‘Oh?’ said Helen.
‘Yes, now I don’t know if it’s still there, but the dean, you’ve met him I think?’
‘Yes, Charles, we had coffee together yesterday morning,’ said Sam.
‘Good, that’s him, well it’s not a promise, but he’s a good friend of my daughter and might just be able to help. You see, the dean is my granddaughter’s godfather. Oh, that sounds a bit convoluted, and doesn’t it make me sound old?’
Helen assured her it did not.
‘Well I happen to know, some years back, at the time of my granddaughter’s confirmation, that she made him a gift of sorts and he displayed it in his office. He promised everyone he’d treasure it forever. It was certainly still there when the ladies and I got the special behind the scenes cathedral tour seven or eight years ago, I pointed it out to them all then, in his office. Do you think that might help?’
‘Well,’ said Helen, patiently. ‘What is it exactly?’
‘Oh, how silly of me, I haven’t actually told you, have I?’ Eileen gave a little laugh to herself and squeezed Helen’s forearm. ‘Old age, it can’t be helped, you know.’
‘You’re doing fine, Eileen, but what is it?’
‘It’s a brass rubbing; well, strictly I suppose it’s a silver rubbing, isn’t it? As I said, about the time when my granddaughter was confirmed she made a rubbing of the dagger blade and her father had it framed as a gift for the dean. I thought it wasn’t in particularly good taste but I suppose it did have that little cross and everyone else seemed happy enough with it. I can’t promise he still has it now but -’
‘He has.’ Sam cut in over her. ‘I saw it yesterday over coffee. It’s framed, hung on the wall beside the occasional chairs.’
‘That’s it, just where we saw it all that time ago. Oh, the dear man, he must really have liked it after all.’
‘I knew there was something familiar in that room, but it was too vague, unexpected.’ Sam had spent weeks studying the blade patterns. Couldn’t believe he had not recognised it in front of him - hiding in plain sight.
Helen gave Eileen a hug. ‘Thank you, Eileen. You’ll never know just how happy you’ve made that archaeologist.’
‘I’m going to phone Charles now and tell him to let you have a copy of it at once. It’s not the dagger but if it’s of any use to you at all, you must have access. I suggest you go over there now while I call ahead. Then I’m going to have my lunch. And while you’re there Helen, take the opportunity to look at the Mappa Mundi; it’s quite famous, you know.’
‘Oh, I know all about it, Eileen. Sam has the guidebooks and the brochures; he spent half of last evening showing me this, that and the next thing about it. But while we’re in the cathedral, maybe I will go and have a look at the original myself.’
CHAPTER 11 - FRIDAY 16th AUGUST
Sam entered the manse kitchen carrying a sheath of notes, photo prints and sketches. ‘Sorry I’m late; the departmental administrator phoned and asked me to call into campus. It seems I’m the go to person until a new head of department is appointed to replace MacPherson.’
Helen smiled a greeting, now the whole gang was gathered at the kitchen table.
At the far end of the table sat Xavier, to his right hand was Angelo. As promised, the two Sardinian priests had come to Edinburgh for a Festival visit, which had now morphed into a council of war. Helen couldn’t help thinking these were not the circumstances anyone expected when the visit had first been organised. In the light of recent events, the two priests’ plans for a fun holiday were consigned to the dump. This was now to be only a fleeting visit - one night only. Still, Xavier’s presence was welcome, both as a dear friend and for the insights his long experience could bring. Following John Dearly’s death earlier in the year, Xavier was the last of the old task bearers; a dagger custodian, they needed his knowledge, Helen needed his knowledge.
To Xavier’s left was Elaine. Her steady recovery ensured she was getting stronger by the day but still not moving as briskly as she once had. Next to her was Francis. Opposite Francis sat Grace, Elaine’s daughter. She was keeping herself occupied by determinedly speaking to Angelo who, un
usually, was joining in the conversation.
‘Well, here we all are and it seems the old problem has come back too,’ said Helen as Sam sat in the empty place between her and Francis. ‘Everyone here knows the risks; it seems to me the only difference is the net is spreading much wider now.’
‘Yes, though at least DCI Wallace thinks they will be wary of stepping out of line on his patch. He did say he had tabs on them here,’ said Sam.
‘Uh huh, he did. But does Wallace understand the scale of the threat we face?’ she said.
Sam gave a shrug. ‘Probably not, but who could?’
‘My friends,’ Xavier’s warm and confident voice caught everyone’s attention. His heavily accented speech told of his Mediterranean roots. ‘My friends, it is clear that the police did not manage to bring this to a conclusion before. I don’t understand why, they had the guilty men and the evidence. What is clear is that we must once again try to resolve this ourselves. It seems there is little help to be found from the authorities.’ His left hand rose slightly from where it had rested on the tabletop, pushing back at Helen as she started to speak, silencing her. ‘Yes, yes. I know your detective is providing support here. But how far does that protection reach? The end of your street? Your city boundary? The Scottish border?’
Xavier raised his right hand to join the left; turning both palms out towards his audience as he gave an emphatic shrug of his shoulders. ‘From what Sam told me earlier, they do as they like in England. Your Wallace has no say there, no?’
‘Yes,’ said Sam. ‘But this takes us right back to the heart of the problem. If we tell the police, we put them in the line of fire. No matter what we say, they will not be able to appreciate the scale of the danger until it’s too late. Everyone who knows about this is eventually eliminated. Tell DCI Wallace and we sign his death warrant.’
Francis gave a sigh. ‘Don’t tell him and we leave ours on the table, signed and sealed, waiting for execution. What are our options, then, if not full disclosure to the police?’