The Keeper's Cup: A Controversial Archaeological Thriller

by Ken Fry

  His thoughts were reinforced as he recalled the news of a creeping movement led by the pontiff himself, which aimed to steer women into the priesthood. By God, there had even been a pagan Amazonian ceremony held on the lawns of the Vatican, and some priests were observed to have joined in. Even worse, ninety-five-year-old Italian journalist, Eugenio Scalfari, recently caused shock among Catholics when he attributed to Pope Adrian the statement that ‘Jesus of Nazareth was not God nor divine at all.’ This pope has to go!

  As his blood pressure rose, he reached for the cigarette again, lit it, and took a massive puff before exhaling the blue coloured smoke from his nostrils.

  Just then, the unmistakeable ringtone of his cell phone blasted out a chorus from his favourite work, John Henry Maunder’s cantata, Olivet to Calvary. The short burst was the chorus – ‘Hosanna to the Prince who comes, to free a race oppressed.’

  A quick glance at the screen revealed a number not recognised. “Who can that be?” he muttered out loud. His number was only given to his most trusted colleagues and inner members.

  He answered in his most reverential voice. “Cardinal Nicholas speaking. How may I help you?” The short sharp reply startled him.

  “Cardinale Nicholas, sono lnspettore Rizzo della Polizia di Stato.”

  The cardinal understood – Inspector Rizzo from the State Police. “Inspector, my Italian is not great. May you speak in English, please?”

  “Si. Yes, I will speak in English.”

  “Thanks and may God bless you. Is there something I can help you with?”

  Rizzo felt himself cringe at what he perceived as a phoney stance of humility. He had had years of experience spotting such things. Pass me the bucket, please!

  Nicholas continued. “Before you speak, Inspector, may I ask how you got my number?”

  Rizzo’s reply was immediate. “No, you may not, Cardinal. That’s my business, and that is what the government pays me for. The first thing I need is to see you in person and I don’t mean tomorrow or next week. I mean now. I have a number of questions I wish to ask you in person, concerning the death of the English bishop, Vincent Fisher. Are you at your address near the Vatican?”

  The cardinal could only answer, “Yes, I am.” His mind whirled in confusion. How did he know where I am?

  “I’ll be with you in thirty minutes.” He terminated the call.

  For a brief instant, the cardinal felt a twinge of anxiety. How did the Inspector get his number and address, and why did he want to talk about the dead bishop? I thought that was over and done with. He turned to his desktop, acknowledged Vincenzo’s message, and switched off. He would contact him again after the Inspector’s visit.

  This is getting too close to home. I hope it’s simply routine work.

  Precisely thirty minutes later, the intercom buzzed, and the CCTV camera swivelled around and revealed the six-foot rugged frame of a sour faced Inspector Rizzo. He was holding a small leather briefcase and a prominent ID tag hung from his neck.

  “Come on in, Inspector.” Nicholas adopted his calm and serene posture, a manner he had found useful when conducting awkward confessionals throughout his long career. He clicked a switch and the doors to his rooms opened. He lit another cigarette. I might just need this.

  Inspector Leonardo Rizzo strode in with authority and extended his hand toward the cardinal. Kissing rings was not on his list of protocols. There was a slight hesitation before the cardinal stood, and for good effect, he leant on his stick more than usual. He reached out and shook the man’s hand.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Cardinal, and I’m sorry if I have disrupted your plans, but I believe murder investigations take precedent over all else. Especially when a bishop was the victim.”

  “Please be seated, Inspector.” He gestured toward a small coffee table and ambled to sit at one end. His half-filled ashtray was close by on the table. “Murder, you say?” He feigned surprise. “I thought the reports said he was decimated by wolves?”

  Rizzo’s successes often arose from his ability to never be gentle when interviewing somebody – no matter who they were. “Cardinal, I don’t make small talk. Neither do I beat about the bush, as you English say. The forensic and pathological reports clearly indicate the work of human hands in the bishop’s death. There were no traces of animal DNA but only those of unknown human beings. Strange, don’t you think?”

  “I’m no expert on such matters, Inspector, but I must agree with you… quite strange… and shocking also! If that is true, who could have done such a thing?”

  Rizzo snapped, “There are no ‘ifs’ about it, Cardinal. It was murder. How well did you know the bishop?” Rizzo’s casual question came across like a throw away stick of dynamite. The cardinal’s eye shift was almost unnoticeable, but it was enough to show Rizzo he was unsettled.

  “Hardly at all, Inspector. I met him once or twice in the past. If I recall, he’s one of the new breeds of liberal priests and bishops.”

  “Odd that you say that, Cardinal, because we know that you brokered a meeting between him and the pope himself. Saying you hardly knew him doesn’t quite ring true, does it? Why didn’t you mention that rather important fact?”

  Rizzo’s aggressive manner caused bursts of pain to stab at Cardinal Nicholas’s deformed leg. Stretching his thin lips, he grimaced at the suddenness of it. He paused to inhale on his cigarette “Of course I remember that situation.” He had to think quickly. “As the meeting never took place, it didn’t seem important to mention.” He tried a benevolent smile.

  Rizzo’s eyes flashed with danger as he leant forward and jabbed his index finger hard on the table. “Yet you still say you hardly knew him. Surely setting up a meeting with the pontiff would have required several exchanges between you and the bishop, what with all the arrangements required for such a meeting.”

  “Inspector, I have set up many meetings for people with the pope. It was part of my brief as head of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints and other offices. It was Pope Adrian who approached me, so I can only assume that it had something to do with a discovery.”

  “So, what you are saying is that you don’t know what the meeting was to be about?”

  The Cardinal lied. “No, I do not. The pope has many meetings with different people, daily almost.”

  Rizzo said nothing. For some reason, he wanted the man in front of him to sweat a little. He stared him squarely in the eye for an almost unacceptable length of time. “You say you hardly knew him, but would you know if he had any enemies?”

  “Inspector, as I hardly knew him, how could I possibly know that?”

  Rizzo ignored his reply. “Another question, Cardinal. Do you know who ordered all our police reports and investigation files to be sent to the Vatican? Was it you?” Rizzo saw Nicholas’s genuine look of surprise. Now that shook him. I wonder why since he has expressed so little interest in this matter.

  The cardinal’s reply sounded choked, as if something nasty had lodged in his throat. “No, it was not I, Inspector. Why would I want to see such things? I have no idea at all. Why are you treating me as a suspect of some sort?”

  The cardinal’s face had whitened by a degree or two.

  Rizzo could see that the cardinal’s discomfort over the revelation concerning the police files was genuine. Why should that worry him?

  “Rest assured, Cardinal, it’s normal procedure and nothing more – especially in cases like this. We must leave no stone unturned.” He fiddled with his mobile phone, pretending to read something. He wanted to make the cardinal squirm for a few more minutes.

  “One more thing, Cardinal. You said you fixed meetings between various parties and the pope. I’d like you to call His Holiness right now and arrange a meeting between him and myself. I’ll not be put off or side-lined, mind you. I will sit and wait here until it’s sorted. I have time. From what I hear, he’s quite accessible, and will be more so when you tell him what I’m here for.” Rizzo allowed a pause then spat out his next
words. “Do I make myself clear?” He banged the table with a curled fist for added effect.

  The cardinal visibly jerked back in amazement. Nobody had ever addressed him like that before, and clearly, the forceful Inspector was not a man who feared anybody’s rank or privilege. “I… I’ll see what I can do,” he stammered before standing up and reaching for a small, red, leather address book. “Pope Adrian has several private phone numbers, depending on his location. Let me try this one.” His bony finger jabbed at a number, as he squinted to read it.

  Rizzo stood and as he did, he appeared to stumble, and in doing so, sent the ashtray crashing to the floor. The contents dislodged and scattered into a small heap on the carpet.

  “Eminence, I’m so sorry.” Rizzo immediately apologised before bending down to pick up the contents.

  Hidden in one hand, he had a small pair of tweezers and a small plastic envelope the size of a credit card. In one rapid movement, a largish butt was grabbed by the tweezers and fed into the envelope. He closed his fist and placed the envelope back into his pocket. The whole episode happened in the blink of an eye.

  The cardinal seemed not to hear. He was too busy talking on the phone to have noticed.

  The Inspector turned to look out of the window with a wry smile on his face, as he watched humanity outside jostling for space with countless pigeons.

  “Ispettore,” the cardinal raised his voice. “You have incredible luck. I have the Holy Father on the phone. He will speak with you. Please be quick.”

  20

  Miriam had spent hours bent low over the enlarged photographs of the scroll and its cryptic diagram of letters and numbers. She was looking for a vowel pattern a e i o u. There should be a repetitive order – either by number or letter – but that didn’t appear to be the case at all. A pattern didn’t exist.

  The circle was divided into eight equal segments by four lines. She decided to number them as lines one to four – starting with the north to south line, followed by line two which ran east to west. Line three would be the one that ran north east to south west – leaving line four, running north west and to south east. She tried making sense of it one line at a time. Starting with line one. If she could decipher one line, then the others would be a cakewalk. The scroll appeared old, and back then, complex codes barely existed. It was only a matter of time…

  She leant back on her chair clasping her third mug of coffee. What language can this be written in? English? Kelvin’s tablet was in Aramaic, written from right to left as was Hebrew. Unless I can reveal a couple of words, this is going to be difficult.

  At that moment, Fergy walked in. “Hey, Miriam, how’s it going?” He pointed at the piles of paper around her.

  “It’s not. I’m no closer than I was when I first started. It’s a mystery.”

  “Carbon dating looks like a walk in the park compared to this. Everything is readable. This looks like back to front double Dutch to me.” He waved his hand over her scribbles.

  She sat bolt upright, slopping coffee out of her mug. “Say that again, will you?” Her eyes shone with anticipation. “Go on, say it.”

  Confused, Fergy repeated what he said. “This looks like back to front double Dutch to me. Okay with that?”

  “You may have hit the nail on its head. Wait, don’t go yet. I want to try something.” She tore out an A1 sheet of art paper from her folder. “Let’s try this on line one.”

  Fergy poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed a seat beside her.

  In two straight lines, one below the other, Miriam wrote down the alphabet, from A to Z. Then beneath the letters, she wrote the corresponding numbers – 1 to 26. She then drew a red line under the numbers. Where letter A was, she inverted the number sequence and started with 26, going all the way down to 1.

  “Now look at line one and its letters and numbers.” She held it to the light so he could get a better view. “There are twenty-eight in all, divided into two groups. The first half of line one is: 22.8.26.19.C.25.12.15.H.22.13.O.19.5. Using this grid, we will substitute the number with the corresponding letter, and vice versa. Let’s try it on the first five numbers and see if it works.” She wrote down the translation.

  22.8.26.19 = V H Z S and then the letter C.

  “That makes no sense at all… but look, if I use the reversed numbering sequence, I get E S A H then the letter C. Reverse the word and I get CHASE.”

  Miriam sat back and stretched her aching back. She could see that Fergy looked sceptical but was certain he’ll be a believer soon. “I see what’s happening here, Fergy. It’s a sequence of reverse and counter reverse. Back to front and front to back, and then reverse the word again. I guarantee it. Much of Hebrew code was written in a similar fashion. We probably have the first recorded use of it in English. If that first word is indeed CHASE, it would be the last word in the sentence, overall. The next word will be written backwards but this time in a normal sequence. Let’s see if I’m correct.” She picked up her pen again. “The only real problem is that the words will have no space in between. I’ll have to figure out the reversal order. It may take some time but then we’d have a pattern to work with!” She was aglow with excitement. If she was right, it would be a significant breakthrough.

  She continued with the numbers on line one and the word HOLY came up quickly.

  25.12.15.H = Y L O and the letter H.

  With her theory proven, the entire line was deciphered in no time.

  22.8.26.19.C.25.12.15.H.22.13.O.19.5.

  9.L.23.13.26.15.20.13.E.4.9.M.13.I

  ESAHCYLOHENOSEILDNALGNEDIMNI

  She handed it over to Fergy. “Get going, Professor, and make sense of that.”

  He looked at it and turned to her with a wide smile. “Miriam, you’ve cracked it. You should be working in GCHQ (Government Communications Headquarters). What you have here is CHASE HOLY ONE LIES ENGLAND MID IN. Reverse it and you have… In mid England lies one Holy Chase.”

  “Rubbish! A child could do it, it’s so simple. The letters mark the first or last in the given word, but all in duplicitous reverse sequence.”

  “You’ve lost me there, Miriam. Carry on though.”

  “Remember, most people in ancient times were illiterate. It wouldn’t mean a thing to someone who doesn’t know codes. Somebody working at GCHQ would fall over laughing at it. It’s hardly The Enigma Code, is it?”

  “You did well there, and you know it. Now get to it and do the other lines. I’ll unravel the word structure.”

  She moved on to line two and repeated the process.

  5.3.1.12.P.8.18.19.T.14.I.13.22.19.W.18.5.

  23.15.P.22.19.T.20.2.21.15.D.7.12.N.15.D

  ECALPSIHTNINEHWREWOPEHTTBUODTONOD

  “Fergy, I’m done with the second line, see what you make of it.” She handed the paper to the professor.

  “Simple. PLACE THIS IN WHEN POWER THE DOUBT NOT DO. Shift it around and you have… Do not doubt the power when in this place.”

  She gave a thumbs up sign, busy with the next translation – line three.

  “It’s beginning to make sense. What’s the next line?”

  She was already matching the numbers with the letters on the grid. After a few minutes, she was done.

  13.6.R.20.19.21.M.6.12.Y.18.15.T.22.19.T.15.

  T.22.13.12.D.20.5.Y.7.12.N.8.3.18.1.5.S

  NURTSUMUOYROTEHTOTENODTEYTONHCRAES

  “Fergy, this is what it came out as.” She handed him the paper with the deciphered code.

  The professor stared at it for a few seconds and had it written down and placed in sensible array in no time.

  “It says:

  RUNMUSTYOUTORTHETODONEYETNOTSEARCH.

  Search not yet done to the Tor you must run,” he read out loud. “The Tor! This is getting more interesting.”

  Miriam gave him a big smile. “Now for the last line.”

  Fergy stood up and went to the coffee pot to refill their cups. I wonder what the last line will say. He was extremely pleased with how well th
is was all turning out.

  Miriam gave a shout, “That’s it. All done!” She dropped her pen on the table

  13.6.20.22.B.20.19.1.H.6.12.Y.15.T.11.6.

  C.5.8.T.7.6.O.7.14.9.8.3.1.5.R

  NUGEBTSAHUOYOTPUCEHTTUOGNIHCAER

  BEGUNHASTYOUTOCUPTHEOUTREACHING

  Fergy returned with her coffee and stared at the last line. He sat down and took the pen, and after a few seconds, he said, “Wow… listen to this. It says… Reaching out the cup to you hast begun. I’ve combined the translated lines. Here’s what it says.” He read the entire stanza in a measured tone.

  In mid England lies one Holy Chase.

  Do not doubt the power when in this place.

  Search not yet done, to the Tor you must run.

  Reaching out, the Cup to you hast begun

  For a moment, a silence fell between them, bound by mutual looks of amazement.

  “That’s astonishing,” Miriam gasped. “It’s full of clues.”

  “It’s not specific but do remember Kelvin’s script on the tablet. I think they’re incredibly similar in their references. What did his verse say exactly?”

  “I have it right here in my notes… hang on.” Miriam rumbled through various notebooks before pulling one out. “Here it is.” She opened up the correct page and recited the lines.

  Before my Parent you can only kneel

  From whose eternal cup you may heal

  Then seek the glass beneath the skies

  The grave wherein the hidden secret lies

  The professor could barely contain his excitement. “They couldn’t have been written by the same hand. The scroll is considerably younger than Kelvin’s tablet – which is in Aramaic – and it’s written in Middle English. Yet the suggestions in both are pointing in the same direction.”