The Keeper's Cup: A Controversial Archaeological Thriller

by Ken Fry

  He walked back the way he had come, through concealed portals and into the night air. He had a mild feeling of reassurance. His uneasiness regarding the cardinal was assuaged by the thought that he had an ally in the professor. He could hardly wait to open the package. He was like a child waking up on Christmas day to see what he got.

  * * *

  Walking into his private chambers, Pope Adrian gave the guards instructions that under no circumstances was he to be disturbed. Once in, he activated the electric curtains and his desk lamps. From his pocket, he produced and switched on his portable anti- bugging device. The device searched for any hidden cameras or listening devices. He panned the room twice. The screen remained clear. It was safe. Reaching into his desk drawer, he produced a bottle of fine Hennessey Cognac and a brandy glass. It had been there for months, and he rarely imbibed. Right now, it seemed appropriate. Tonight, he sensed a gathering pressure around SOTA, and that very much involved him.

  He poured a moderate measure of the Cognac and reached across his desk for his gold and silver letter opener, complete with the papal seal embossed on the handle. For a moment, he paused, took a large gulp on the drink, allowing its hot flush to spread through his chest and stomach

  He carefully inserted the silver blade into the top end of the envelope and slit it from end to end. Once fully open, he pulled out a blue coloured file secured with a large paper clip. Opening, it he saw an introductory note plus a Word document prepared by Professor Christie, together with three coloured photographs. He read through the document first. It stated exactly what they had been doing, the pottery they had found and the way the mission was proceeding. Mention was also made of the Druid’s find of the triskelion. It described their meeting with the cardinal and Father Vincenzo and what they’d discussed.

  What he read next caused him to take another large gulp on the brandy. The cardinal had seen fit, without saying a word of it, to employ heavy muscle to oversee the project. What is he doing? It’s bad enough that Vincenzo is involved. I can’t tell him I know. He might suspect I have someone spying on him.

  He read further. The professor had outlined the episode between Stallybrass and Vincenzo and considered that the backpack was being searched. Christie went on to describe the tablet and where it was found and how old they suspected it was.

  What caught his attention was the professor’s note that the inscription was in Aramaic. Dr Sinclair’s translation and rendering into verse form were also there.

  Before my Parent you can only kneel

  From whose eternal cup you may heal

  Then seek the glass beneath the starry skies

  The grave wherein the hidden secret lies.

  Pope Adrian jumped out of his chair. His eyes were riveted to the photographs and the translation. His hands and legs were shaking.

  “But how can it be?” he cried out aloud. “That’s impossible! Oh Great God, it’s the language of Jesus!”

  He read and reread it many times, his mind whirling with a myriad of possibilities. He had never felt so excited.

  Aramaic…. in England!

  He took another drink and punched both his fists to the skies.

  14

  She lay locked in a deep dream of peace. The sands beckoned to her, as a zephyr in its wake whipped particles into a whirl. They, in unison, beckoned to her as they began their magical dance across the vast empty desert.

  Her hand reached out as she stirred beneath heaven’s moon to follow the enchantment. Across spaces of forest and of towns and villages, they spun across an ocean of blue and sparkling waters. A land lay before them and she knew that she, whom she sought, would be there.

  Her mother waited beneath the diamond sky. The nightingales in the branches sang before their unknown flight began.

  “Tarry, child, tarry. Thy cup I still do carry.”

  Their arms reached out for each other across the welcome grass and she handed her daughter the never empty cup.

  Miriam woke with a start, her arms outstretched. She shouted out one word, “Mother!” Her hand went across her mouth. She took stock and realised she was alone in her bed. Her breath came in short sharp gasps.

  That was so real. I can still feel it in my mind and blood. She took a deep breath and shook her head. Whispering to herself, she said, “That was like a separate reality or some sort of entanglement. First in one place and then instantly in another, and all at the same time.” She thought back to what she had learnt from her researches. One of the strangest aspects of quantum physics is entanglement. If you observe a particle in one place, another particle – even one light years away – will instantly change its properties, as if the two are connected by a mysterious communication channel.

  “Damn it! It was so bloody real.” Her mind revolved on the compelling and gripping aspects of her dream. She thought back to earlier years when she, as a lapsed Catholic, had formally rejected all religions. Yet that dream had cast a mysterious shadow over the interlinking of science, mysticism, and religion.

  Miriam accepted that both science and religion sought the truth, yet both used different approaches. Science was free of dogma and unprovable beliefs, although there were often dissenting voices concerning any theory until it was proven. Even legendary scientists like the mighty Isaac Newton were known to be tied up in alchemy, dreams, and Freemasonry.

  She was a scientist and researcher. That dream intruded on all her tightly held scientific paradigms. No more thoughts, it was time to get up.

  Jumping into the shower, she turned the heater up and stood motionless under the steamy torrent. How many minutes she remained like that, she didn’t know. Her mind was full of that dream. She attempted to forget it and think about the day ahead. There was to be a meeting between them all. She and Fergal wanted more details on where Kelvin had found the tablet. It could be a useful research point.

  It didn’t completely work.

  * * *

  A pallor of Davidoff cigarette smoke drifted in lazy swirls around the room. Putting the lighted cigarette to his mouth, he took another deep lungful into his skinny chest and leaned back into his leather, swivel office chair. In his hands, Cardinal Nicholas held a downloaded printout of Vincenzo’s photographs, suitably enlarged so the script could clearly be seen. There was an accompanying note. It stated how he found the tablet and his suspicions that the team were trying to conceal the artefact. It further stated that the tablet was in the rucksack of Stallybrass and not the professor or the doctor.

  His observations are interesting but not proof enough. How this could have been found there, without causing any excitement, is unusual. Using an eyepiece, he bent closer to examine the script. He could make neither head nor tail of it. He decided he would have to get a linguist to check it out and then he would have a clearer picture of what it might be.

  The photographs are excellent. The tablet is interesting. But what is it? What does it say? If he took an educated guess, he’d say it was either Ancient Hebrew or even Aramaic. He chose Aramaic. He wanted to avoid any political or religious difficulties, so offering it up to Israel or the Middle Eastern countries was borderline. Instead, after some Internet research, he chose a Swedish Aramaic newspaper. He found it hard to believe, but it existed – called Bahro Suryoyo or The Syriac Light. It was published in five languages and available online. It championed the Aramaic language and the Syriac ideals and culture.

  Perfect. He immediately set about drafting an email to the editor, complete with attachments. In it, he outlined who he was and what had been found, without saying where. He would be honoured, he said, if they could reply and confirm if the script was Aramaic, and if so, what might it say?

  Once completed, he read it through. He checked the attachments and clicked ‘Send.’ It was done. Now all he had to do was sit and wait. If the results were what he suspected, it was unlikely he would be sending them to Pope Adrian.

  He sat back to finish his cigarette before making a call to Vincenzo. It was time
to tell him to get Cracker active. That might have a sobering effect on their attitudes.

  * * *

  Later that morning, both Fergy and Kelvin walked across the car park to the open doorway of Miriam’s LV 6.8 luxury motorhome. Inside, it was big enough to hold a conference. She had obtained it with the money from the sale of her deceased parent’s property, knowing that she would be constantly travelling in remote and distant areas. It had proved invaluable to her lifestyle. She adored it.

  Having cleaned up the various files and paperwork into orderly piles, she stood at the door waiting for them. They were on time.

  “Welcome aboard, you two.” She had prepared an enormous spread of coffee and biscuits.

  Kelvin spoke first as soon as they sat down. There was an angry look in his eye. “I’m not going to waste time about this. I need to say, I don’t like that priest and he was definitely photographing the tablet.”

  “Don’t worry, nor do we,” Fergy said. “If that was what he was doing, then his shots are on their way to the cardinal for certain.”

  “What’s he going to do with them?” Miriam said as she poured coffee into their cups. “If the pope is funding this enterprise, then I guess they will be reaching him too.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Fergy said. “As he requested, I’ve sent him all the details of our mission, including finding the tablet. I’ve even added your verse translation, Miriam. He doesn’t entirely trust the cardinal. In this respect, he is one jump ahead of him, whether the cardinal shares our finds to him or not.”

  “This is a recipe for a total mishap. Religion once again screwing up everything.” Kelvin thumped his fist on the table. “The Druids look like the real saints in these matters, caring for the environment and all that supports it. I believe in dreams and I had a dream that clearly showed me this is the way I should be treading. I never thought that it would be full of intrigue and suspicion.”

  Miriam looked up sharply. “You believe in dreams, Kelvin?”

  “Mainly when I can follow them through. Yes.”

  The professor interrupted. “Stop. We’re not here to discuss metaphysics, dreams, synchronicity, or clairvoyants. Kelvin, I’ll get to the point.” Leaning forward towards him, he looked him squarely in the eyes. “We need to know where you found that plaque. Believe me, it could prove vitally important. Will you tell and show us, please? Whether you like it or not, you have become part of this quest.”

  Kelvin sipped his coffee. He stared hard at the tabletop and the outline of his jaw visibly hardened.

  Miriam placed her hand upon his arm. She knew his mind was turning. “Kelvin, you were meant to be here, as is Fergy and myself. I too have had a dream about this whole thing. It defies explanation in real terms, but in unreal terms it seems so true. Ask yourself this… how is it possible that we met you and you have that tablet which is startling evidence that what we seek could be true? Kelvin, it was meant to be.”

  She paused and realised her approach was non-scientific, but with Kelvin, it was more than necessary.

  He shut his eyes and lowered his head. Miriam glanced over at Fergy. He nodded at her. It had been the right approach. Her hand remained on his arm.

  She saw his fingers quivering on the table. Without looking up, and with his eyes still closed, he spoke. “Thank you. I am a Druid, the Chief Druid, Iseldir of The Clan Taran, and have been so for many years. “What I found was resting amidst our grove and in its sacred waters. It is little known, and in many ways… it is secret. As such, its secrets belong to us and nobody else, least of all the Catholic Church. I have come to like and respect you both but am concerned about many things. Yes, I will show you, but if anything else is found, it is ours and not to be placed into non-Druid hands. That will include you both.” He lifted his head and opened his eyes, aglow and staring at them both with an intense fervency.

  The strength of it caused them both to take a sharp, inward breath. Iseldir had unknown strengths and depths, that they would never have suspected of the barman, Kelvin. The man was transformed.

  “Kelvin,” Fergy began. “We respect what you say and of course, anything found, no matter how remote its druidic connections are, you will decide what to do with it.”

  Kelvin looked deep into their eyes, searching. At that moment, his grey eyes gave him an unusual, solemn, reverential persona.

  Standing, he opened his arms. “Thank you. You are honourable.”

  Fergy and Miriam exchanged glances. Then, they too stood up and the trio embraced.

  Thirty minutes later, the group was seated in the Land Rover Defender, complete with their diving gear. Miriam was driving and following Kelvin’s detailed instructions.

  “Hey,” she announced. “We didn’t tell Vincenzo where we’re going.”

  “Shouldn’t worry about that too much. Look in your mirror.” Fergy tapped at the rear-view mirror.

  She did. Behind them, a red and black pickup truck had been following their every turn, remaining at a discreet distance. It could only be the priest.

  After a few more miles, Kelvin asked her to stop. To their right, they could see a dense mix of overgrown undergrowth, bushes, and trees. Miriam pulled over.

  Kelvin was the first to get off. “Follow me and take care.”

  They made no attempt to see what the priest was doing. That was entirely up to him.

  Kelvin pushed into the undergrowth and marched at a swift pace. Miriam and the professor attempted to keep up with him but were constantly stung by nettles and got caught up in thorny brambles. Kelvin seemed to have no such problems. They managed to keep sight of him, and after fifteen minutes of fast pace walking, they saw him come to a halt.

  “Thank god for that. My legs are killing me.” Fergy sounded breathless as he approached Kelvin.

  Miriam scurried in behind, hanging on to Fergy’s shirttail. Her arms were scratched.

  “This is it.” Kelvin’s voice had become quiet and respectful, as if he were in a church.

  Miriam took quick stock. They stood in some sort of glade, hidden away from any casual observers or hikers. Surrounding them was an encompassment of oak and ash trees which formed an uncanny, natural circle. Dotted around to form a smaller ring, was a circle of very ancient looking, flat-topped stones. They had the brush of antiquity about them and must have been put there a very long time ago. They bore no resemblance to any other rocks or stones found in the region.

  Fergal looked upward to the canopy and the natural, circular shape it formed over the grove. He began to take pictures of it and of the glade and its stones. Kelvin said nothing. He knelt on one knee with his head bowed. His lips appeared to be moving in prayer.

  Miriam gave Fergy a sharp glance and he stopped taking photographs. She was glad of that. For some reason, it didn’t seem to be quite the right thing to be doing.

  Kelvin stood. “This is my place. I call it the Grove of Taranus. This has been here for thousands of years. It is tri-formed of oaks. The middle tree is Taranus, the Bull, who is a divine strength and inspiration.” He pointed. “The branch to the right signifies Beli, the sun. To the left, the branch represents Esus, the being who inhabits the very tree. Look around here at the stones. Esus has been carved here amongst others, emerging from the tree and representing completed man. The root of the grove, directly at a point due South, represents the All-Mother, Ana – the proper manifestation of fire and water. The entire place is full of our symbolism, which would take hours to explain and explore, but trust me. Look ahead.”

  They followed the direction of his pointing arm. What they could see was a small, crystal clear lake, glistening in the noonday sun. “That is where I found the tablet, buried close to the water’s edge. Directly North of the tree… what do you see?

  Miriam shielded her eyes. “Wow, you can see Glastonbury Tor in the distance.”

  The mystical outline dominated the area for miles around. It seemed to Fergy that it was completely understandable why so much mystical energy seem
ed to be part of the place. “Kelvin, I appreciate what you are doing, but I’m not into the druid thing. However, I can’t deny this place makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Can you show me the exact spot where you found the plaque?”

  “Walk forward twenty yards and you will be right there.”

  Fergal mentally counted out twenty yards as he walked. “Is this it?”

  “That’s it.”

  The professor looked down. The water was lapping close to his feet. The ground was of a sandstone and shale mix. He crouched low and scraped at the soil with a small trowel.

  “You won’t find anything, Professor. I’ve done that a thousand times.”

  He looked up. “I accept that. How deep is that lake?”

  Kelvin shrugged. “I don’t know exactly, but it’s about thirty to fifty feet.”

  “Have you dived it?”

  “Not for years. It’s pretty uninteresting if I remember.”

  There was a loud crashing noise behind them, and they turned to see two men pushing through the brambles and undergrowth. It was Vincenzo, wearing his Vatican sweat suit. The other man with him looked like a bald, granite block, but wearing a zip- up bomber jacket and dressed in a pink T-shirt and denim jeans.

  “Father Vincenzo!” Miriam blurted out. “What are you doing here?” She wasn’t entirely surprised. She was certain now that they were the one following behind them in the pickup truck.

  He seemed out of breath and trickles of sweat ran down his blue- veined and throbbing temples. With his accentuated English, he replied, “I ask you the same question. You are to tell me where, when, and what you do. Si, no?”