by Ken Fry
“Nothing of the sort, Father. This has nothing to do with our excavation. Kelvin is showing us his favourite location around these parts and its view of Glastonbury Tor. Look.” Fergy pointed northwards to the hazy image of the Tor. He turned to regard the other man. “And who’s this with you?”
The man didn’t say a word but stood there with folded arms, his face wearing the look of a blacksmith’s anvil – hard and expressionless.
Before he could reply, Kelvin beat him to it, and added in sour terms. “Come to take more pictures then, Father?” His emphasis on the last word was laced with sarcasm.
It didn’t go unnoticed.
“You can’t forget, eh? Not to worry. This man is Signor Cracker. Please meet my helper. He is expert in many things.” Vincenzo’s last comment had a sinister ring to it.
“Why do you need a helper, Father?” Miriam didn’t fail to notice Cracker’s sullen air of menace, and the unmistakeable bulge of a weapon around his shoulder. She’d seen his kind many times in the Middle East. He’s like something from the movies. This is going from bad to worse.
Vincenzo shrugged. He looked nonplussed.
The professor broke the oncoming deadlock. “We’re about to go back to base, Father. Sorry you’ve had a wasted journey. We will contact you soon with our next location and plans.” He had an afterthought. He won’t know about it. I’ll get the others up at daybreak before this tub of lard is even awake.
With a grunt, Vincenzo swung around to leave. “Fammi sapere molto presto tuoi piani!” He gave a jerk of his thick neck and with a scowl on their faces, he and Cracker headed back the way they came.
“He wants our plans very soon,” Miriam said. “Have we got any?”
“I’ve an idea about coming back here but without him knowing,” Fergy replied.
“Well, how did he know about us earlier? He wasn’t about and made no calls to us. Could someone be watching us?” Miriam felt a tinge of fear creep in.
“I’ve no idea. It’s possible.” Fergy simply shrugged.
“I think I know the answer.” Kelvin looked positive as he tweaked his ear with an exaggerated gesture.”
“You do? What’s that then?” The gesture with the ear didn’t go unnoticed.
“The man’s a spy. He’s a funnel for the creepy cardinal. I think, somewhere, we’ve been bugged.”
For a few seconds, Fergy was silent. “I don’t see how he or the cardinal could possibly do that. I don’t believe it, Kelvin. You’re making this whole thing look like some TV thriller series. Look, I suggest that if we make plans, we’ll only let him know what we want him to know and take it from there. But I agree about one thing... we have to be extra vigilant. Agreed?”
They nodded their assent.
Miriam was somber as she spoke. “Fergy, Kelvin may have a point though. One thing I noticed, and we should bear it in mind, is that the muscle- bound, beef burger he brought along with him as a helper was carrying a gun in a shoulder holster.”
“Jesus!” Kelvin gawped.
“You certain of that, Miriam?”
“I’ve seen enough of them on my travels. As sure as eggs are eggs, I would almost guarantee it.”
“That shifts the perspective a bit.” He responded. “I can’t imagine so called men of God – priests and high- ranking cardinals – doing such things.”
“Start believing it then,” Kelvin said. “This is the Vatican we are dealing with. If they can string dodgy papal bankers up under London bridges, or be rumoured to have poisoned a liberal pope a month after taking office, then they can do practically anything they wish. Bugging us would be child’s play.”
The grove went eerily silent. Not a breeze blew, nor a bird called.
15
Gathering daylight, a primrose sky stretched its long fingers across the surface of the water and the infant sun shone upon it as a radiant jewel. The air smelled of fresh leaves wrapped in the mystery of the grove. The silence was broken only by the remote call of a curlew. In the distance, the Tor cast a shadow across its surrounds like black velvet.
“It’s not yet fully light,” Fergy said. “I’ll need a flashlight, most likely. I can see the waters clearing, though.”
“You sure you want to do this alone?” Kelvin asked.
“Yep,” he nodded. “I need some peace and quiet. I work better that way. This mission is turning into impossible.” He laughed at his own quip. He then slipped into his full diving kit and apparatus.
Miriam helped him with his tank while he adjusted his face mask. “I’m looking forward to this!”
Behind them, Kelvin was staring upwards at the clearing skies. His lips were moving, and his arms opened wide.
Hark O Grove. It is I, Iseldir
Forgive us our respectful throng
The distant subject of the druid’s song,
We seek to find that which beneath these waters lie
Once more a tribute to the Gods from our sky.
Miriam stopped what she was doing. The words Kelvin was saying was being carried toward her by the wind. Without understanding why, she bowed her head. She knew the words by heart.
“What are you doing?” Fergy barked at her.
“Sssh! Be quiet for once, will you?” She pointed toward Kelvin.
Fergy shrugged. She’s having one of her moments. He gave her the thumbs up sign and slipped into the lake, swam out for a bit, and then dived down and was out of sight.
“Wait!” Miriam shouted after him. It was too late. He was gone and beneath the waters. She was going to give him her customary cheek kiss when he dived alone. Oh well. Another time.
Kelvin’s prayers had ceased, and he had moved to stand alongside her.
“Reckon he’ll find anything?”
“Well, let’s hope so. The professor knows what he’s doing. In his world, he’s become a bit of a legend, and he’s better than most at finding hidden things. Did you know? He found an ancient Chinese box, still sealed, dating back to the Shang Dynasty. It contained scripts and pictograms of that era. Guess where he found it? If you don’t know, you’ll be amazed. It opens up numerous possibilities, just like your tablet does.”
“Wow. I’ve no idea. Where?”
“Caballo Lake in New Mexico, USA!”
“Holy shit! How did it get there? That’s extraordinary.”
“So, I’m reckoning if there’s anything to be found, he will find it.” She shifted her gaze to where he disappeared.
* * *
The first thing he noticed was how peaceful the lake appeared to be underwater. He’d done countless dives over the years, and the silence imbued into this one was striking. The early sunrays were beginning to penetrate, and the waters were becoming clearer by the minute. In front of him, as he struck out and downwards, he could see the firm sand and shale walls. With his flashlight strapped to his arm and his headlamp, he had no trouble surveying his surroundings. He swam from one width and followed the banking downward.
It looks like Kelvin was right. This entire lake looks barren. I can’t even see any marine life.
The lake was not huge. Checking his chronometer, he gauged how much time he had left and began exploring. A few more downward kicks and he touched the bottom. It was about forty-five feet to fifty feet in depth. The area was strewn with minute pebbles and stones of varying sizes. A few water plants clung precariously amongst the stones, many of which were strangely flat in shape. Using his knife, he unearthed a few and placed them in the pouch strapped to his waist. He spent another fifteen minutes attempting to find anything of interest.
Tugging at one rock, it refused to budge. Odd, he thought. Using his knife in one hand and the small trowel in the other, he began to clear the silt and sediment around it. This should come out easily, but it’s not even moving. As he struck harder, the rock began to loosen. Then he saw what was causing it to be so obstinate. Part of it was jammed by something else. What’s that? He saw the edge of something that could only be a rectangular
or square construction. He lost interest in the rock and began a careful clearing of the rest of the sediment around it. This is man-made. There could be no doubt about it.
More scraping, prodding, tugging…
His heart rate increased whenever he found something that he sensed could be of importance. Right now, he felt alive and on the verge of making a discovery. The feeling flooded through him. How long has this been here?
It looked remarkably well preserved – due to being submerged for God knows how long. What ever its original colour was, it had now changed to a brownish, yellow hue. With more knife and trowel work, he finally released the object from its watery grave.
It seemed to be a box of some sort. A quick measurement and he ascertained it to be thirty centimetres long by thirty centimetres wide and fifteen centimetres deep. Intriguingly, it appeared to be sealed.
A familiar rush of archaeologist’s adrenaline surged through him. It had been some time since that happened. He dug and trowelled around the area some more, but there was nothing else to find. He placed the box into the side net tied around his waist Must get this to the others. This could be important. Let’s hope so.
The discovery was not heavy, and he powered his way up to the surface where he saw Kelvin and Miriam looking out for him. He gave a wave and struck out towards the banking.
Once there, he stood up, removed his tank, facemask, and fins, and gave his two colleagues a grin.
“Well? You look happy. Did you find anything?” Kelvin asked with more than a degree of eagerness.
Miriam nodded. “Of course he did. I know that grin. I’ve seen it countless times when he’s on to something. C’mon, show us.”
The professor reached into his bag and produced the flat, time- worn stones. “There you are.” He handed one to each of them.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Kelvin looked at the stones in his hand. “These are stones I’ve seen many times.”
“Of course he is.” Miriam laughed. “I know him of old. C’mon now. Show us what you really have.”
“You have to let an old man have his fun.” Fergy smiled as he pulled out the box from the netting and held it aloft. “Behold!” He announced with some drama.
“What is that?” Kelvin demanded with an annoyed edge to his voice.
“Don’t worry, Kelvin.” Fergy replied, sensing the druid’s irritation. “Remember? Whatever we find here is ultimately yours.”
“True,” he nodded. “But it’s annoying that the first time you come here, you find that.”
“Well, I’m not here for some sort of debate, Kelvin. This is what I do.” Fergy started putting the box in his rucksack. “Let’s get this back to the university laboratory and have a good look at it. I can see it’s sealed, but I have no idea how old it is. The sealant appears to be bitumen, also known as asphaltum or tar. That, we can confirm in the lab. If so, it’s an oily form of petroleum, made up from very, very old by-products of decomposed plants. Whoever threw this into the lake knew what they were doing. The stuff’s naturally waterproof, and here’s the clincher, it has been used for tools, sealants, and a range of tasks for at least forty-thousand years!”
The others could feel his excitement. It was infecting them both.
Fergy dressed up in a hurry. “That little beauty has been nesting down there for God knows how long. What it is and what’s inside it, we will soon discover. Let’s get going.”
In a rush, they gathered up their gear and headed back to the Land Rover.
16
Ynis Wydryn, The Isle of Glass
She pointed to the thorn which had begun its slow blossoming. “My husband, look! The hawthorn seed we planted from Joseph begins to show its beauty.” A wind caused her to brush the grey hair from her eyes as she gently held a burgeoning petal. Above them, the winter’s sun had initiated its watery descent to herald in the approaching dusk.
He reached out with his scarred wrists and hands, now with the wrinkles and blemishes of age, announcing the decline of flesh and blood. The dreadful scars remained as fresh as they were on the day it happened. He reached out to touch the flowering. “They have a wonder of their own and will be a reminder to humanity of our Parent, and what we can achieve if we care to look and seek. It will take time to come to fruition. Many, many thousands of years, I fear.”
They stared at the joyous sight before them, as a common feeling of intuition passed between them both.
“Let us talk, Mary, in the warmth of our roundhouse. I have been feeling much of late that our time is nigh.”
“Yes, beloved. It is almost time. I have felt this, too.”
Once inside, away from the eyes of villagers, they embraced and held each other closely.
They knew.
Mutual understanding, acceptance, and a lack of fear wrapped around them and into every sinew and atom of their bodies.
Smoke drifted lazily from the central fire, up and through the hole in the rooftop.
“Our work here is done, Jah.” She used the name he was known by in the community.
He responded in kind. “Magda, Keeper of the Cup, I am certain that our time here is done. Our children are across this land and Sarah will take the cup, with Judah to protect and care for her. Our work will go on and this land will soon follow our Parent, God, in whose name we live and act.”
“Is it now?”
“It is. Let it be. Magda, our children, are no longer so. They are adults and are due to return here soon. I am content. The seeds have been sown. They may feel sadness, but we have prepared them for this moment since they were born to us. The people here now know God, our Parent, known to others by many names in countless lands far away.”
“Jah, have we not shown them God and one of many ways to find him? There are many routes up a mountain, and none are easy. Let us be humble. We have shown them the true way in all things, through the spirit, and not by religious rules or instructions invented by men. All people thirst for truth, understanding, their place in our universe, and the answers are there before their very eyes. It is all around them.” Magda sat down on a pile of soft blankets. Her eyes were tired but her zest for life never wavered. She continued. “The people here are wonderful, and their Druids understand God better than did our own priests and Pharisees back in Judea. We are a favoured pair, Yeshua. True, we have suffered much, but such is the way. How do you define pleasure if there is no pain, cold without heat, beauty without ugliness?”
He interrupted, “Mary, my beloved, all is as One. A crack in a pot is no less perfect than the pot. The crack is nothing but perfect, as a broken pot is perfect in its brokenness. We two have known this. Opposites are of no matter what ever name you use. We are ready for this moment. Come, let us hold each other this one last time and have no sadness. Our children will understand. Let us drink from the cup and leave it, as promised, for Sarah and Judah to continue our work – the work of our Parent.”
Mary retrieved the cup from its storage place, unsealed it, and raised it in offering to the heavens. Her plain beauty, her red hair now streaked with silver, shone as a beacon on a dark night. “Thank you, beloved Parent. We are ready.” She took a sip and passed it to her husband.
He held it tight and felt the pain of the spear of Longinus in his side. He raised the cup. “Dear God, we are ready for this cup to pass on. We thank you for our lives and the chance to spread the eternal message of life and death and your abiding love. We have done as you asked. The people here know of you. Protect and keep them safe from harm and evil.” He drank a mouthful and returned the vessel to its safe place.
They sat together in silence. Old age had forged its mark upon them. Their bodies had become frail, wrinkled, and their hair, grey. Yet their eyes shone with an everlasting youth. The time for them to leave their earthly bodies had arrived. There was no fear… only a peaceful joy. Their task was done. Magnificence shone from their eyes.
Mary looked at Yeshua as they stood facing each other, holding hands, “We,
husband, are to become as one.”
“Beloved, we are and will always be… one. Let us return to our Parent with universal mind and compassion for all.” He kissed her forehead. She responded in kind.
Locked in an embrace of never-ending love, they were wrapped in a descending, shimmering white light, which by degrees, transformed into one of radiant gold. Behind it could be felt and heard… the flutter of wings.
They had gone beyond.
17
Rome, Italy
That morning, he’d lost count of how many times he had checked through the reports on the circumstances of Bishop Vincent Fisher’s death. Ispettore Leonardo Rizzo of the Polizia di Stato maintained a nagging doubt.
The thirty-nine-year-old inspector had been in the State Police for nineteen years and had always trusted his intuition. At a burly six feet in height, his unusual blue eyes gave him a rough handsomeness many women found attractive, but he had never married. He believed it would interfere with his work and not be fair on a family. He had a reputation for having explosive temper if subordinates failed in their tasks – but he was also, when needed, magnanimous and eager to praise those who truly tried. He had risen through the ranks without a university education, and because of that, he was debarred from any further promotion. With that fait accompli forever in front of him, he vowed that he would do what could for his subordinates to be recognised for their abilities. Men worthy of promotion who had no university education could and should be promoted beyond that barrier. He had that chip on his shoulder, but others said he was well balanced – he had chips on both shoulders. These were his driving spurs. Throughout the force, he was equally feared and respected.
He suspected there was a hidden agenda behind the bishop’s death. The wounds, pathology and forensics maintained with one hundred per cent certainty, had been made by a man or men. His death was no accident, and definitely not by a wolf pack. The mutilations had been made with metal blades and hooks.