by D C Macey
Slipping her hands from the base onto the stock, she turned it upside down and looked underneath, nothing. Then, just as she was deciding that Grace had imagined a change, her fingers sensed some give in the metal.
Helen shifted her grip and brought it closer to get a better look at the stock. Nothing. Had she imagined it? She gripped the stock more tightly as she turned it round. And there it was again, very slight, just as Grace had described, spongy. She looked and squeezed at the same time and her heart leapt. She squeezed again and felt the slight compression, saw a tiny sliver of metal move - sliding, silver over silver. It wasn’t a solid cast tube as they had all assumed. This was a coil of metal, wrapped tight, its end flap sealed against itself, and the metal then polished and worked until the join had become invisible. Once again, it was quite exquisite workmanship.
Helen did not know what it signified, but knew it was something to share with Sam at once. She stepped back into the stair, paused to close the doorway into the tunnel and hurried up into the manse.
• • •
‘Sam,’ said Helen, as she entered the manse kitchen. ‘Sam, I’ve got something for you to look at, what do you think?’
She placed the base on the table in front of him, rested her hands on the edge of the table and gently leant her weight on to them, her shoulders raised a little and, for just a moment, she seemed to loom over Sam.
He registered the tone of her voice and the earnest stare. ‘It’s the base of the cross; we’ve studied it several times,’ he said.
‘Yes, but it’s changed.’
‘Oh, how?’ Sam reached out and took the cross.
‘It’s like Grace said, the stem is spongy. In fact, I’ve looked, it’s actually springy, it’s a coil.’
‘Really? That’s an unusual construction method. I hadn’t noticed it before.’
‘No, me neither. I’m guessing that the coil and the leading edge were somehow sealed down tight. All the bashing at my father’s church must have broken or weakened the sealed edge. Once Grace started giving it a good polish, the seal has given up the ghost and opened a little. Squeeze the stock, you’ll feel it give.’
Sam did as she suggested and immediately felt the slight movement under his hand. Pulling the base closer to him, he studied it carefully. He ran his finger up and down the stock, held it up to the light and squinted along its length. Then began flicking a finger across what he suddenly knew could only be the leading edge of a scroll. He let his finger brush gently from side to side as though he were testing the sharpness of a blade - felt the slightest of resistance, there was definitely something.
‘This is very interesting,’ he said.
Sam pulled his phone from his pocket and took a photograph of the stock. He looked carefully at the picture and expanded it, zooming in.
Helen had circled the kitchen table and was now standing behind him, looking at the picture. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think this is very odd.’ He stood and leant over the stock to take a second picture. This time he took a cross-section of the tube-like stock.
He reviewed the picture, expanded it as much as possible and then almost shouted. ‘Yes. Look at this. Unbelievable.’ He twisted the camera to give Helen a better view. ‘Your Templars just keep on giving!’
He could see Helen looking at the image. There was no doubt that the stock was actually a tightly rolled sheet of metal. With his finger, he highlighted the faint spiral that now showed running through the cross section of the stock, marking the edge of a metal sheet tightly rolled against itself.
‘What does it mean Sam?’
‘I’m not sure yet. But I do know it means something. You see, rolling a sheet of silver so tightly and sealing it so carefully that nobody could see the join would be hard for silversmiths today, and hugely demanding at the time when this was made. There is no construction advantage to this method over a simple cast - it would take far longer and demand more skill for no obvious benefit, so it must have been done for a reason. I don’t know yet, but I’d like to take this into the university and have a closer look. What do you say? May I?’
‘Of course, I’ll come too. How do you unravel it?’
‘We don’t. It would wreck the metalwork and perhaps damage any message on the inside. We use a CT scan.’
‘Really? I thought that was for medical analysis.’
‘It is, but it does the same job for us, imaging the insides.’
• • •
Sitting in Sam’s office, Helen had watched his face change from optimism to dejection as this latest in a series of phone calls to the medical department played out. The one-sided conversation made it clear that while doing a CT scan on their roll of silver was technically feasible, it was just not possible right now. She had already known it was feasible; Sam had told her of several instances where the technique had been successfully used before. The problem seemed to be access. The scanner was fully booked for medical scans for the next few weeks.
Sam’s hand slipped across the handset and Helen watched as his eyes linked with hers. He was clearly frustrated.
‘Last chance saloon,’ he said, quietly. ‘Could we pay as commercial clients?’
‘Whatever it takes, just make a deal.’ She had a fortune at her disposal, when money was needed, she was happy to use it.
Sam’s phone conversation proceeded rapidly to a conclusion. Paying top commercial rates made them a priority and, provided the right operator could be encouraged to attend as overtime work, the CT scan could be done that night without interrupting the daytime medical bookings. Sam made an offer to be passed on to the scanner operator, a bonus that would be hard to resist. And the call ended with a provisional arrangement for 10.00 pm that evening.
‘Looking good so far,’ said Sam. He turned his attention back to his phone and started scanning through the numbers. ‘Ah, this is it.’
‘What?’
‘The CT scan team are very experienced, but on bodies. My friend Jay, from the computing department, is a bit of a wiz on imaging. He’s worked with my department before. I’d like him to come in and advise on the work, and we’ll need him afterwards to help interpret the data, convert it quickly into a useable form for us.’
‘Great, let’s get him in. Will he be available?’
‘Provided he’s in the country he’ll come in. He’s a decent guy; problem is he’s quite greedy. I’ll need to make it worth his while. He won’t see this as part of his university duties.’
‘If you think he’s the man then get him.’
Jay was more than happy with Sam’s offer and once it had been confirmed that the hospital’s senior scanner operator was prepared to work into the night for the bonus Sam had offered, the job was on.
CHAPTER 23 - SATURDAY 31st AUGUST
Morning found Sam sitting at the kitchen table in his flat. Once again, he was flicking between the pictures Helen had brought back from Switzerland, and, in particular, trying to make sense of the gold framed glass. He knew it was related to their problem but, frustratingly, just like almost everything else, it raised more questions than answers. And why all the crenulations? If you wanted to make feet to stand it on, four little legs in the corners would have done perfectly well. It didn’t need twenty odd legs. Or just a solid metal rim to rest on would have done. The maker seemed to have made its construction as complex as possible for no apparent reason. Except, of course, thought Sam, with these Templars there was always a reason. We just can’t find it.
He glanced at his phone - it remained silent. Jay had insisted on being left to work on the scan data alone. Working out what was inside a tight roll of metal was complex. He had promised to call Sam as soon as he had pulled it all together.
Helen was away finishing packing at her flat. He would help her bring her things round to his place once she was ready. There wasn’t that much left to do and she hoped to be finished over the weekend.
Sam’s thoughts turned again to the glass, and to the
gold thread that traced an intricate path across it. Then the ruby, set at a point along the thread. It seemed random, but couldn’t be. What did it mean? His thought train was interrupted by the ringtone on his phone. It was Jay. Sam grabbed the phone.
‘Sam? Jay here. How are things? Manage to get any sleep yet?’
‘No sleep, Jay. Been waiting for your call. What’s the news? Find anything?’
‘Oh yes. I’ve found stuff. You were spot on with the idea about a message.’
‘What have you found?’ Sam’s voice was as calm as ever. Inside he was thrilling. Could this be the breakthrough?
‘Well, it means nothing to me but I live in the digital world. Mostly looks like a bunch of engraved images.’
‘Any text?’
‘Yes, a few lines near the start, looks like Latin. But I’m bushed, the sooner I get into my bed the better - I’ve been up for way over 24 hours now. Tomorrow I’ll have another look, but call me first, let me know what I’m looking at, that might help me to focus on particular parts of the data.’ Jay stopped speaking. The sound of his voice on the line was replaced by a series of decisive taps as he sent an email. ‘There, I’ve sent you an attachment with the details; I hope it’s what you want. But I’m away now, let’s speak tomorrow.’ The line went dead as Jay headed for home and bed.
Sam did not get the opportunity to object. He’d told Jay not to use email, but it was too late now. They’d all just have to hope it was not being monitored by any third parties.
• • •
In a cool office set above the Rue de l’Université, a technician opened a file attachment and looked at it with puzzlement. He had been monitoring the university’s network, watching for any emails and connections to Sam Cameron. There had been very little activity and now there was this, some text he didn’t recognise and a meaningless image. It meant nothing to him. He quickly typed a covering message and forwarded the mail to Cassiter - presumably, it would make sense to the boss.
• • •
Sam stared at his laptop. Jay had done a good job - meticulous work and absolute attention to detail. He had aligned each strip of scan with the next to create a single, simple to view, seamless image that represented exactly what the original engraver would have seen seven hundred years ago, just at the moment before rolling the silver into a scroll.
After a few minutes’ study, he decided the screen was too small. He switched his work into the living room where he could display the image through his ultra-high definition TV. He gave a little laugh to himself - this might be the first time he would actually see a real benefit from it.
Sitting back, he looked carefully at the whole scroll, displayed larger than life and in all its glory. Quietly, he assessed the image. Then, after much silent thought, he stood and moved closer to the screen, staring intently.
Bits of the iconography he recognised; most of it was meaningless, yet strangely familiar for all that.
At the top was the Templar cross; clear confirmation they were on the right track. Beneath it and to one side was the Templar seal, two knights riding a single horse. Perhaps, thought Sam, it was an indication that this scroll carried the full weight of the Templar hierarchy: serious stuff. Alongside the seal was a peculiar spiral design. He knew it, not sure where from.
Then some text. He scanned it and moved on, a Latin prayer. If it carried any deeper significance, it would be for Helen and Francis to fathom.
Beneath the Latin text was engraved a band of simple repeating vine pattern. It separated the imagery and text at the head of the scroll from the body and then spread down both edges of the scroll and across the bottom, creating a distinctive frame that enclosed the main message on the scroll.
Sam recognised the vine leaf as identical to that in the Hereford codex picture. They were on the money.
Engraved within the frame were a range of separate images, clear but somehow distorted, like the tiny toy houses and castles a child might have. Each image was distinct from the next and yet each one was too small to include all the lifelike features that might be expected. Perhaps with just a little door or a single window or a tower - some engraved with a battlement or a flag. Some were just distinct shapes but without any internal features added.
Then he saw the bigger pattern; nine elements, one in the centre, eight scattered round it. It was the church window again. At the centre must be St Bernard’s; though the little image used had no obvious link - was it a little tower of sorts? Perhaps, but tenuous. The other images meant nothing. Frustratingly familiar, but nothing.
Just as Sam was getting ready to admit he could not make any further links there was a sound from the hallway, a key unlocking his front door. ‘Hi Sam, I’m back. Are you home?’ It was Helen.
‘In here, we’ve got the scan back from Jay, come and see.’
Helen came in and looked at the screen; she sat beside Sam, kissed him briefly and turned back to the TV. ‘That’s a really clear picture, what have we got?’
‘Well not much I’m afraid. The top part’s clear enough - the cross and the seal, not so sure about that spiral though. That inscription is a Latin prayer. Then there’s that vine-like border, we know that design already. But so far, the main imagery has me stumped. There are nine images: one central, the others placed around it. I was thinking each engraved image on the scroll might be positioned to correspond with an image in the church glass - establishing links between them, forming pairs. What do you think?’
‘It’s possible, but let’s face it, Sam, you’ll know better than me.’
‘Hmmm, sometimes we need fresh eyes to see what’s in front of us. One thing I’m struggling with is this; we have a hugely elaborate concealment of the scroll, made by the very best of craftsmen. At the top we have exquisite engraving, the cross and seal, the spiral design, then the intricate border pattern, yet look at these images in the main body of the scroll, hopelessly out of proportion, incomplete buildings or whatever they are.’
‘I see what you mean,’ said Helen. ‘But I guess as everything else has been so carefully done it’s not an accident. They must have wanted to do that.’
‘Yes but why? Look how carefully they have done the vine leaf borders, look at the cross and seal above. Look at the spiral pattern, and I have no idea what that represents either, by the way.’
Helen looked again at the screen. ‘I see what you mean, but surely that’s not a spiral, Sam. It’s a maze isn’t it? I’ve seen it before too. You showed it to me.’
‘I did?’ Sam looked back at the screen.
‘Yes, in those guidebooks and leaflets you showed me when we stayed in the hotel.’
‘You’re absolutely right. I did, in Hereford. It’s not a spiral, it’s a maze.’ He stood up while speaking and leant sideways to kiss her in the passing. ‘Helen Johnson, you are a genius.’
‘I am?’ she said while getting to her feet. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Because you have just told me where I have seen these images before - all of them. Now I know why they are so distorted.’ Sam left the room, rummaged in a hall cupboard and returned with a plastic tube. ‘Remember this?’
‘Oh yes, that’s your copy of the map from Hereford, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, the Mappa Mundi. I think we might have cracked this.’
‘How’s that?,’ said Helen warming quickly to Sam’s enthusiasm.
‘Well, remember the first link we found, our Henri de Bello and Lincoln? Then we found the de Bello name has a family link to the mapmaker who created the Mappa Mundi? Back in the 1300s that map was state of the art. If you were going to plan something back then what better map to use? And made by a trusted family member too.’
‘I’m with you so far.’
‘The task bearers’ destinations were planned and plotted on something. Imagine if this map was used.’
‘I can accept that but how does it move us forward. We still don’t know where the other daggers are hidden.’
‘I think we d
o. Look,’ said Sam while unrolling the map and holding it up.
Helen came to stand beside him. ‘What have you got?’
Sam waggled the top of the scroll and Helen took it from him, freeing one of his hands to point. His finger traced across the map. ‘See, that’s Jerusalem right in the middle.’ He tapped his finger on the spot. ‘And look here, it’s the maze you recognised. It represents the labyrinth on Crete, of course. It’s a classical icon that any self-respecting medieval mapmaker would include, if only to show their education and culture. Now it gets trickier. Remember, its presentation is all back to front for us today. East is at the top, not north. So Europe and Britain are offset - north is to the left and west to the bottom. See, there’s Britain, down here on the bottom left edge of the world. And look closely, that little turret thing is Edinburgh, Scotland.’
‘Right,’ said Helen cautiously, keeping up but not knowing where Sam was going with the map theme.
Sam stepped across to the TV screen and pointed to the image in the centre of the scroll. ‘And that is the same image right there. Edinburgh’s Mappa Mundi icon, bang in the middle of our Templar scroll and surrounded by other icons that I bet represent the places where the other daggers were sent. I’m going to check right now.’
Helen moved to join Sam at the screen. ‘Is this it? Have we done it?’
‘I think,’ said Sam. ‘And I think it was you that made the breakthrough by recognising the maze.’
‘Well, I didn’t actually recognise it.’
Sam ignored her self-deprecation as his mind raced on making links where a few minutes before none had been.
He tapped the map. ‘Look, there’s Hereford, see the little icon?’ and then pointed at an image on the TV screen. ‘And there it is - Hereford on the scroll.’
He stepped back and looked at the screen again. ‘Once again, I think we have struggled from the outset because we have been coming at it from the wrong end. Trying to identify the daggers. They are the last step in the chain and easy to find once you sort the first two steps. And that is remarkably easy if you know the steps, as your predecessors would have done right from the beginning.’