The Keeper's Cup: A Controversial Archaeological Thriller

by Ken Fry

  “Well, what happened?” Cardinal Nicholas demanded. He only had so much patience to spare.

  “As I said, he’s ‘brown bread.’

  “Brown bread?”

  “Boss, wise up. It’s Cockney rhyming slang for dead. Brown bread, dead.”

  A gasp could be clearly heard from the other end. “What! Don’t tell me. You didn’t!”

  “No choice,” Cracker’s reply was phlegmatic. “He pulled a shooter on me. It was him or me. I got lucky. He lost. I was neither seen nor heard.”

  Cracker didn’t mention that he had fired a first shot out in the open air.

  A million scenarios pulsated through the cardinal’s whirling brain. Rizzo was probably aware that someone was following and assigned the other policeman to watch Cracker. The death of his colleague would reach him. God, he probably heard about it by now. The man would know who the killer was.

  It was too close... too close to me. Then he remembered that Rizzo didn’t know of his association with Cracker. Why would he come asking questions? Nevertheless, the cardinal decided it was time to get back to the UK… at once! He needed to get Cracker there immediately where Rizzo could not easily get to him. Breathing space was what he needed. Rizzo’s demise would have to take a back seat. Whatever… they couldn’t be seen together.

  Within ten minutes, he had arranged flights that afternoon and hoped he was early enough to jump ahead of anything Rizzo was planning.

  The pain in his misshapen leg was starting up again.

  * * *

  Two days had passed but Pope Adrian was still shocked by Rizzo’s revelations of a potential murder plot on Rizzo’s life and that of his own. It was surreal. No matter how rattled he was, he would abide by the Inspector’s request – mention it to nobody and carry on normally, as if he knew nothing. It would, he surmised, be difficult.

  Later that afternoon, a small package he had collected from his private mailbox was sitting on his desk. He knew it came from Professor Christie. He slit it apart with his silver letter opener. He read and reread it several times. There were also several photographs.

  Thoughts of the cardinal and Rizzo evaporated.

  The contents held translations of both the Aramaic and Middle English discoveries and the clues they contained. Outlined were the procedures they had used and everything the team had found, and their proposed future activities.

  God be praised! The story has to be true. Jah and Magda surely are Jesus and the Magdalene, and Judah and Sarah their children. Aramaic tablets in a Druid and Celtic culture says that there can only be one answer. But more proof is needed.

  Of particular note was that neither Father Vincenzo nor the cardinal were yet aware of the latest findings. It would be interesting to see if they would report it to him, once they knew.

  He sank to his knees and dropped into prayer.

  The distinctive ringtones of his encrypted phone brought his murmurings to a halt. It must be the Inspector. It was.

  An hour later, a grim-faced Inspector Leonardo Rizzo was sitting in front of the pope. He had informed him of the recent death of his assistant and friend, Angelo Florentino, who had been following the man named Cracker the previous day. He had been shot at point blank range in the back of his head. There was little doubt the killer was Cracker. A quick raid on his hotel revealed he had checked out the yesterday. Further checks showed he had left the country.

  “God rest his soul.” The disturbed pope made the sign of the cross.

  Rizzo continued. “I attempted to reach Cardinal Nicholas, but it seems he is nowhere to be found. I thought it was about time I confront him with my recordings, and all the implications that it held, including his possible arrest. I spoke to Francesca De Luca, his PA, and all she could say was he had gone away somewhere on archaeological business. She had tried ringing him, as so did I, but his phone was either switched off or he’s not answering.”

  At that moment, the pope seemed to age by decades. He was devasted. “Things have gone far enough, Inspector. A man has been killed and there could be more, and that doesn’t even include Bishop Vincent. Nicholas must be arrested.”

  “Yes, on suspicion of compliancy to murder. As my assistant was slaughtered on Italian soil and not on the Vatican’s, any arrest must be made by us and not by the Corps Gendarmerie of Vatican City.”

  “I can arrange to have him defrocked but there has to be sufficient evidence to do so. Neither you nor I have that yet, Inspector.”

  “What exactly and how does defrocking work?” Rizzo had to be certain of every aspect to make sure any charges would have a chance of success.

  Pope Adrian’s mood was somber and his eyes had lost their warmness. “It’s a function that may be applied on grounds of criminal conviction. Defrocking, Inspector, implies a forced laicisation for misconduct. Do we have that?”

  “All we have at the moment, Holy Father, is the recording.” Rizzo displayed some dismay. “It’s not enough to implicate him. I have nothing else. No crime has been committed as yet, and there’s a good chance the cardinal knew nothing about the murder of Florentino. It seems like an unprovoked attack by this man Cracker. The way it stands, any decent lawyer could get him off. His neck noose is tightening, though. There must be a reason why the cardinal and this Cracker both left the country. Maybe they’re scared of something.” He rubbed his face, thinking through the dilemma. “I have an idea,” he said after a minute or two. “Your Holiness, can you give the details of all those involved in the excavations in the UK? I think I need to take a trip. In the meantime, should the cardinal show up, please call me or my colleagues in the force if I can’t be reached. I’ll keep you informed of all my movements.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Rizzo left the Vatican. His briefcase contained all the latest details of the excavation team in the UK, including Father Vincenzo. With rapid strides, he headed for his driver waiting across the Piazza. Rizzo began planning his trip to the UK.

  39

  At three-thirty, her alarm gave an unwelcome wake up call. Is this really necessary? She groaned. Even though she had gone to bed early, Miriam had found it hard to sleep. Memories of her strange visions and dreams of Celts and Druids gave her little rest. Unlike most dreams, they did not disappear once awake. Of late, they had remained with her throughout the day. It looked as if this day would be no different. She was aware, although she still resisted it, that transformations in her perceptions were forming. She didn’t know the reasons and had no time to dwell on it.

  She headed for the kitchen. On her way out, she stuffed a couple of bagels into her bag with a knife and a tub of cream cheese.

  She met up with Kelvin as arranged and they started their long journey towards Cockfosters and then into Enfield Chase, which was located in nearby Trent Park.

  “How’re you feeling?” she asked Kelvin as he put his foot down on the accelerator and sped the car along the empty roads.

  “Excited, there’s a lot at stake here. There’s supposed to be a druidic atmosphere around the place, and I can’t imagine what we shall find.”

  “Me too. I already feel drawn to the place although I’ve never been there my entire life. When you spoke of it the other night, I knew I had to come. I felt the place was inviting me.”

  “Funny, that,” Kelvin said with the concentrated look of a driver going beyond the speed limits. ‘I had a similar feeling.”

  The dark sky had begun to surrender to the encroaching light of a new day. They barely noticed Stonehenge as they sped along the A303 towards the east. The hours passed by and the motorway approach roads were looking busier. Kelvin routed to the M25 and then onto the M4 before taking the A4 turning to Hounslow. Once there, Kelvin parked and they walked to the Tube station, both locked into their own thoughts and expectancies. There existed between them a common and as yet unspoken bond. They both felt it, but neither could define it nor mention it to the other.

  The Tube journey would take about seventy-five minutes and it gave Kelvi
n plenty of time to relate to Miriam what he had uncovered “Miriam,” Kelvin began, like an excited academic who had just made an awesome discovery.

  “Iseldir,” Miriam, without thinking, used his Druid name, “I’m all ears.” She had to be, as the tube trains rattled noisily both over the ground and under, until it reached London city where it would be subterranean for most of the journey.

  He reached into his pilot’s briefcase and produced a thick A4 folder. “This is where I have listed my findings, amongst other stuff.” He flicked through his notes and found the file he wanted. The page was marked in red ink as CAMELOT. A large question mark can be seen beneath it.

  “It seems local historians have been able to define the origins of the Chase from approximately the late eleventh and early twelfth century. That suits the age of our scroll and stone findings and fits perfectly with Chaucerian Middle English. The term Camelot or Camlet referred to a moat that I believe we shall see later today.”

  “Sounds very Arthurian, and that name – Camelot or Camlet – is definitely Celtic.” Miriam pointed to his file. “Do you believe all that stuff?”

  “Without a doubt.” Kelvin was looking and sounding more like his Druid persona, Iseldir, by the minute. “Remains of Roman artefacts have also been found there. They’re guessing it used to be a settlement or a strategically important place back then. There’s loads of historical records of previous owners, from the early Middle Ages up until the present day. Accompanying these records are stories of buried treasure, hidden wells and dungeons.”

  “Indiana Jones is alive and well.” Miriam sniggered.

  “I know it sounds contrived,” Kelvin said as he stared at the file, “but excavations in the twenties revealed an enormous drawbridge that seemed to have formed part of a castle, with thick, colossal walls. With that sort of information, it is highly possible that the holy cup could be buried in that place, if it exists. There’s also a famed well that remains, although it’s been extensively searched.”

  “So, are we looking for another similar well? If one existed, since that area has been thoroughly searched, they would have found it by now.”

  “That’s what they said about Tutankhamen. I believe from my intuition, which rarely fails me, Miriam, is that there is something to be found in this place. I have a feeling that the moat could possibly hold an answer.”

  “I know what you mean, Mr. Druid. There has been too much of Carl Jung’s synchronicity going on around us. I’m sure we’ll discover the truth of that or otherwise.” Miriam gave him a rueful smile. “So where are we so far? We’re looking for evidence that Jesus and Magdalene lived amongst the Celts. What we have found so far goes a long way to validate that possibility. The names we have are Jah, Magda, Judah and Sarah, and of course referrals to Magdalene’s miraculous cup.”

  The train plunged into the darkness of the underground and the lighting automatically switched amidst the rattling and noise of crossing over points.

  “Yup, and that’s more than anyone has ever found on that topic.” Kelvin raised his voice to overcome the sound of the train as it sped along. “I’ve studied lots of odd things. One of them is the Celtic and Druid god of healing, Noden. Oddly enough, old maps around Chase refer to a Noden’s Well. It could be significant and connected to the cup we’re looking for.” The sudden slowing of the train alerted them that they had reached their destination. They stood, and when the doors slid open, they stepped out onto the Cockfosters platform.

  They glanced at each other.

  “Our adventure begins.” Miriam had a determined look in her eye. “Let’s go!”

  40

  Inspector Rizzo leaned his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes. He had had little sleep. His face was unable to conceal the sadness and guilt over of the death of Angelo Florentino. It was me who put him in that position. I am to blame. He attempted to console himself by thinking that dying was one of the hazards of police work. That was a creed that had been drummed into him since the first day he had joined. Yet, when it happened to someone close to you, it was a difficult thing to accept.

  Flight AZ 204 was on time and the roar of the A319 blasting down the runway for take-off broke his gloom. The flight would be under three hours

  With his Chief Superintendent’s blessing, Inspector Leonardo Rizzo, in his business class seat, was looking forward to reaching his destination. They were arriving in London’s Heathrow airport and arrive at Terminal 4 on time. From there, he had a car booked and was planning to drive himself to Wells in the county of Somerset. It had been some years since he had been in England, and that was with his previous Superintendent, when they investigated the fake wine and vinegar scam that had been going on for years. This visit was potentially more dangerous.

  He knew charges against the cardinal at this stage would not succeed. The man, Cracker, who was working with the Cardinal on the UK project, was a different matter. It seemed a good bet that where the excavations were happening, there he might find one of them, or if lucky, both.

  The flight was uneventful, and the inspector used the time to study road maps of the UK and the route to take down to the city of Wells. One thing he had to do when he collected his car was to make a call to an unsuspecting Professor Christie.

  * * *

  Fergal’s mobile phone began to ring. He glanced at the time. It was nine thirty AM. Miriam’s cheerful voice was a welcome distraction from his impending report to Father Vincenzo.

  “Hi, Fergy! Just to let you know we’ve arrived safely and are about to go into Trent Park. Kelvin filled me in with masses of information. It’s interesting and I certainly think we could be on to something here, but all we can do at the moment is snoop around. We need you, the others, LIDAR and the drone, to really search. How are things down there?”

  “That’s good to hear. We’re digging at the other end of the tunnel where you started. We’ve got as far as we can as it appears to be bricked up. We were hoping to find a way through from the other side. I’ll let you know. I was about to meet with our saintly minder and let him know a few things, but not all, as we discussed.”

  “Okay, Fergy. Keep cool with the priest and best of luck with the dig. I’ll get back to you later.”

  Thirty minutes later, the professor was about to face an affronted Vincenzo.

  * * *

  The professor waited, as arranged, in the hotel reception area. It was a meeting he was not looking forward to. Five minutes later, an unsmiling Vincenzo arrived. He was dressed in a blue T-shirt and jeans.

  He dispensed with any formal greeting. “What is it you bring?”

  The professor handed him a file detailing their work on the tunnel, the triskelion, and photographs of the ink-inscribed stone, but with no translation. “Dr. Miriam has gone to London with our other assistant, to follow up some clues about a twin location of our work and see if there’s a connection. I will let you know what they find.”

  “Where do they go? The cardinal will want to know.”

  “It’s an extension of London called Enfield and a park known as Trent Park. It’s all in the file.”

  “Where is this stone?”

  “It’s being examined at our laboratory,” Fergal lied.

  “I wish to see it soon. How do I know you will tell the cardinal or me what you find? You may be keeping things to sell and make money, for all I know. You pushed me, a priest. You pushed me hard. That says a lot about the sort of man you are.”

  Fergal ignored the insult, but he felt his anger rise. This idiot is as thick as pig shit. “Well that’s something you will have to work out for yourself, Father. Goodbye for now.” He turned to go but not before Vincenzo’s hand had grabbed his arm and swung him around.

  Vincenzo’s face was flushed and scrunched up. Fergy was taken aback. “You give me no respect. I am a man of God, but you insult me. Where I live, you will make an apology or I can have retribution. Capisci?”

  Fergal understood perfectly. He stared down a
t Vincenzo’s restraining hand, grabbed it with his own and forcibly removed it. “Does the cardinal know what you are really like? I’m sure he would be most interested.”

  Vincenzo’s echoing laugh was not what the professor expected as he strode out of the hotel. He knew instinctively that it was not going to be the last he had heard of the matter.

  * * *

  Back at the excavation, from the Tor end of the tunnel, the small team had unearthed a similar bricked up limestone entrance that the southern end had possessed. Fergal was certain it would lead to the other excavation site. LIDAR indicated it did just that. Even with all the activity, he remained uneasy about his encounter with Vincenzo. Surely a priest wouldn’t act like that. Then again, the cardinal’s direct verbal attack on the dead bishop wasn’t that illuminating. I don’t understand these priests… men of God, hah!

  His phone rang again and brought him back to the present. It was a number he didn’t recognise. It could be a student. He answered it. “Hello, Professor Christie speaking.”

  The Italian sounding voice surprised him. The English was good.

  “Hello Professor, I am Inspector Leonardo Rizzo of the Italian State Police. I am driving down to Wells to hopefully meet with you. I’m investigating the death of Bishop Vincent Fisher in Rome. I understand from our pope that you are now in charge of archaeological operations, looking for evidence and relics. Yes?”

  Fergal was taken off guard. “What? Can you repeat that?”

  The voice at the other end did so. “Pope Adrian gave me all the details and I have some highly important matters I wish to talk to you about. May I see you tonight? I know where you are staying.”