The Keeper's Cup: A Controversial Archaeological Thriller

by Ken Fry

  Still feeling wrong footed, Fergal found himself agreeing to the proposal. Once the phone was switched off, he continued to stare at it with surprise. The man sounded genuine, but he could easily confirm what he said. If he’s for real, Inspector Rizzo would be the only other person in Rome to know of his links with Pope Adrian. For an unknown reason, he felt a flutter of excitement. This assignment has more spikes than a porcupine.

  41

  The first thing Kelvin and Miriam noticed was the tranquillity of Trent Park. In spite of its urban setting, there was something about it. Kelvin described it as spiritual. That was a word she avoided. Spiritual, as far as she was concerned, was a feeling – similar to when people spoke of miracles. She had always pointed out that science was full of tangible miracles, and with modern day technology, more so. Yet as rational and logical as she wanted to be, she was unable to dislodge an indefinable essence of something that refused to be categorised. The word ‘sacred’ was another she had difficulty with and here was Kelvin telling her that many people thought Camelot Moat to be a sacred site.

  “Define ‘sacred,’ will you, Kelvin? Because I always have trouble with it.”

  “We’re here near the well, standing at the edge of Camelot Moat, very close to it. Be quiet, close your eyes and just be still. You will get what sacred means then, I am sure of it. Something that is sacred is dedicated or set apart for the service or worship of a deity or deities or pertaining to something considered worthy of spiritual respect and devotion. It inspires awe or reverence among believers. Its flavour is often ascribed to objects, or places, like the one we now stand before. Go ahead, close your eyes and just feel your surroundings.”

  Miriam did just that. She closed her mind to all else and reached out to everything around. The smell. The feel of the wind.

  “Now open your eyes. Is it not a wee bit different here?”

  At the back of her mind, she understood what he was referring to. But her academic mind resisted. “Yes, I agree. But I won’t be giving it reverence if that’s what you’re waiting for. That seems a bit primitive to me. I’m an archaeologist, Kelvin… a scientist! I believe in things that can be proven.”

  Kelvin gave her an enigmatic smile and nodded. “Then we’ll just have to get some proof, don’t we?” He continued. “I have a feeling that The Chalice Well at Glastonbury is connected to well here at the Chase. Remember the verses telling us to get to the Chase? Doesn’t it strike you as synchronistic that here we are at the Chase and in front of a well that so many regard as sacred? This is just not by chance,”

  She hesitated. “I can’t deny that.”

  “According to legend, this well was supposed to have sprung from the ground, at the place where the chalice that Jesus drank from at the Last Supper was rumoured to be located. Furthermore, the chalice is believed to have been placed into the well by Joseph of Arimathea. It’s all hearsay and I’m not so certain any of it is true. They’re mostly legends. My particular interest is the odd link this story has with the Druids. The well itself is thought to have been built by them and that the water gushing from it, reddish in colour and tasting of iron, has been claimed to have magical powers.”

  “So, being a Druid, you’ve heard of these legends before? I don’t believe anything without evidence. The likelihood of Jesus and Mary Magdalene’s presence in the UK, though, is in the realm of possibility. The Aramaic tablets, the scroll, the triskelions, the verses, and the stones, are all validating the writings of Thomas and Philip. We just need more concrete evidence.”

  “Yes. We Druids have a lot of stories and legends. They’re part of who we are.” Kelvin started getting excited. “This link between Jesus, Magdalene, their children and the newly discovered writings of Philip and Thomas… they are potentially volcanic! And may not just be stories told around a campfire.”

  “That we have been pointed in this direction is almost unimaginable… but here we are.”

  “Look at the well and the tree growing beside it.” Kelvin pointed to a strong looking beech tree. From its branches hung numerous scraps and small pieces of rag and cloth. “It’s not just a tree.”

  “What?” Miriam screwed up her face.

  Kelvin explained. “We Druids continued with the Celtic tradition. This well can be called a clootie well. The ‘cloots’ are scraps of cloth hung from trees surrounding a sacred well or spring. They were used for healing. It’s a source of clean water and have been used for millennia, coinciding with ancient Druid and Celtic beliefs in spirits and nature. The Christians absorbed the culture, and nature, sprites, and local gods were replaced with a retinue of various saints. There are at least ten thousand listed. For example, there is a saint for travellers, another for cancer and so on. The setup is a disguised pantheon of pagan gods. Yep, it’s good to see, even here in urban London, that the ways of nature, Celts and Druids are still in existence.”

  Miriam looked intrigued.” “That makes this well sacred, huh?”

  She got her answer. Kelvin had his eyes closed and his lips were moving in silent prayer. Her eyes scanned the waters of the moat. Perhaps these waters are hiding the answers. We need our scuba gear,

  * * *

  Later, they examined the woodland around the area. Miriam felt a familiarity she couldn’t explain. Pushing back some low hanging branches, they came upon what looked like a clearing. Kelvin stopped and looked up at the treetops and beyond.

  “This place looks like a Druid’s glade.” He turned a full circle to get a clear picture of what he was looking at.

  “It’s not,” Miriam whispered.

  “What?”

  “It’s a burial site.” Miriam was uncertain how she knew this, but without a doubt, a strong sensation told her it was. Not wishing to appear unscientific, she added. “My archaeological experience tells me so. Look at the slight undulations in the ground and their length.” She thought she had made up the story, but when she looked again, there were undulations that were almost imperceptible unless one looked hard enough. How did I know that? I haven’t even examined the ground.

  Kelvin looked. “You could be right.” He walked a few paces. “Hey, what’s that over there?” He pointed to an oak tree at the far end. “It appears to be some sort of shrine. And what’s that at the base of the tree? A figurine?” He moved closer.

  Her gaze was fixed on the small figure. As they drew closer, it appeared to shimmer in a dazzling white light that grew in size to form the shape of a bright, white-robed female figure. Around her head was a crown of hawthorn, white flowers, and red berries.

  Miriam and Kelvin were transfixed. She couldn’t bear to look at the apparition and closed her eyes, her head tilting back. In her mind, she heard gentle words – clear and distinct. Around her, she felt herself being embraced by an overwhelming sensation of healing love and comfort. It oscillated through every pore, blood cell, brain cell, sinew, vein, and artery of her being. It was the bliss of peace – one she had never before experienced… a state she had never known. A voice… soft, melodious, and clear, began to speak. She raised her hands to her ears. She did not want the words to escape.

  Miriam, your heart is pure. You are our seeker and you draw nigh to what you search for. The Mary Magdalene, Sarah, our countless descendants… they watch over you. There are dangers for you ahead and your path will not be easy. Persevere. Walk on with your companion… never cease. You are loved.

  The occurrence began to shimmer into a diminishing haze. Miriam reached out with both arms. “Wait, wait! Who are you?” There was no reply… and the next moment, the vision was gone.

  She forgot where she was, who she was, and who the person standing close by could be. Her breath quickened and she gasped with every shallow breath. Only when she felt Kelvin’s hand on her arm did a degree of normality return to her. With questions in her eyes, she stared at Kelvin. She was trembling.

  “Did you see that, Kelvin? What just happened? Did you hear it speak? I can’t believe it!” She moved closer
to the tree, but the figurine had vanished.

  “It’s gone, Miriam. I saw her but didn’t hear. Apparently, it’s a known phenomenon around here. She is known as ‘Our Lady of Camelot.’ Many people think it’s The Blessed Virgin Mary or the Holy Grail, which is why this area is considered a place of healing. Now, doesn’t that tie in nicely with our own findings? With what we’ve found so far, I reckon it’s the Magdalene and not the Blessed Virgin as many believe.”

  Miriam couldn’t answer. Her mind was in a whirl. She mustered a shake of the head. Her hands continued to tremble. That voice was real. I know it was. She took three deep breaths – one for the vision, the second for acceptance (she knew she was not imagining it), and one for her heart (she knew not why).

  “Iseldir,” she began after a few moments of silence. “The voice told me that Mary Magdalene, Sarah and our countless ancestors watch over me, and that there are dangers around me.” She looked deep into his eyes in earnest. “She said that I must walk on with my companion. Did she mean you or Fergal? Both of you are involved in this. And Kelvin… she called me by my name! Look, I’m a trained scientist and archaeologist and things like this don’t happen, and if they do, there has to be some sort of non-spiritual explanation.” The beating of her heart increased.

  It was Kelvin’s turn to look bemused. “Put like that, it is scary. I’ve never experienced a vision that called me by my name. What is this danger she spoke of?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe that man with Vincenzo, called Cracker. It could be any religious person who wouldn’t want any of this revealed.”

  “The pair of them are dodgy, even that Cardinal Nicholas. One with a gun and the others with a holy cross and fists the size of a crusader’s helmet.”

  Miriam shrugged and began walking back the way they came. “C’mon, let’s get out of here and head back to Wells. It’s too much to take in. We have a lot to talk about. I’ll give Fergy a call to tell him we’re heading back.”

  * * *

  Fergal switched off his phone. He had been speaking to Miriam, who was on the way back but stuck in a ten-mile tail due to an accident on the M4 Motorway. She seemed bothered by something. Glad they have made notes and taken pictures. Should be interesting. He headed for the bar for a much-needed drink. There had been a lot of manual soil shifting and mattock work, but the next step would be the removal of the brick walling. There was nothing further to relay back to Father Vincenzo.

  He was halfway through his cool lager when Stella, the lady behind the bar, approached him. “Professor, you have a visitor in reception. Here’s his card.”

  Fergal took it from her well-manicured fingers. Embossed lettering on the card read: Ispettore Leonardo Rizzo. Polizia di Stato (Roma).

  “God, I forgot all about him. Can you show him in, Stella? Thanks!”

  A few minutes later, she returned, leading Inspector Rizzo to where he was seated. The man looked impressive. Fergal was immediately struck by his blue eyes, which were unusual for an Italian He was immaculately dressed as most Italians are, in a black suit complete with a white, open necked shirt. Stella introduced him and the two men shook hands. Fergal felt at ease with him. “A pleasure to meet you, Inspector. Allow me to buy you a drink. What will you have?”

  Always the policeman, he replied, “Thank you, Professor. As I am staying nearby tonight and not driving, but soon to eat, I will have an aperitivo. A Campari and soda would be fine.”

  Fergal ordered the drink and went straight to the point. “Inspector, you have flown here from Rome after a talk with your Pope. I’m sure you’re not here to ask about my health. I can guess what this is about. How can I help you?”

  “Let me start from the beginning, Professor.”

  Rizzo explained he was investigating the death of Bishop Vincent Fisher, which was now a murder enquiry. Wolves did not cause his death. The lack of animal DNA and the presence of human DNA scrapped that theory. Next, he spoke of his conversation with Pope Adrian. “Professor, let me reassure you that the work you are undertaking for the pope and SOTA is safe with me, and unless required in court, it will remain secret. I have promised that to the Holy Father. I’m not sure if you know that the pope has expressed his concerns about the cardinal, who he suspects of heading a breakaway militant group comprised of clergies.”

  Fergal leant forward with interest. It was the first time he’d heard about this militant group. He suspected the Inspector was about to tell him more.

  He was right.

  Rizzo shared how he had managed to eavesdrop on a conversation between the cardinal and the man named Cracker.

  Fergal’s eyes widened. “What!” His astonished expression said it all. “He’s the man with Vincenzo! Are you saying Cardinal Nicholas has contracted this Cracker to kill you and the pope? Pope Adrian?”

  “Not only that, Professor. We have strong evidence that this man Cracker shot dead my assistant and friend. I was his intended target. I’m closing in on the bishop’s murderer, of that I’m certain.” He pushed a photograph across to Fergal. Do you recognise this man? Is it the same man you mentioned?” “This was taken by me as he had been following me for days. I have here a European Arrest Warrant for his custody and extradition back to Italy.”

  Fergal stared at it. “Without a doubt, that’s him, and as I said, he’s been assisting Father Vincenzo, who I report my findings to. The priest is here acting as the cardinal’s agent. We haven’t seen this Cracker or the cardinal for some time. They seem to have vanished. What about the cardinal? Are you going to arrest him?”

  “I know of this Vincenzo from the information the pope gave me. As for the cardinal, there is not enough evidence and there is no further proof he has committed a crime, but that will come, I am certain. Where can I find the priest, Vincenzo?”

  Fergal wrote down Vincenzo’s phone number and the name of the hotel he was staying at. “Here… I think you might find this helpful Inspector. I have to mention that I’ve had an encounter with this priest, and he did not act priestly at all. On the contrary.”

  “Grazie professore, grazie. You have been most helpful. Do not worry. I will call him tonight and surprise him.” He grinned.

  Fergal then wrote down his own details and those of his team.

  Once he was alone again, Fergal took stock of their conversation and all that he had learnt. He didn’t doubt there was to be a lot more action to come.

  42

  Father Vincenzo felt a niggling unease. Two things bothered him. On a personal level, he disliked the professor and wanted nothing more than to punch his face in. Men like that he had disliked all his life. Typical of university idiots who sat around talking big all day long, and always getting others to do their dirty work. He vowed. I will take the smirk off his face, the bastardo arrogante! I can’t wait.

  His other concern was the news that Cardinal Nicholas, on an earlier phone call, had told him Cracker had gunned down a police officer and had fled Italy. He guessed he would find his way back to Wells. The cardinal couldn’t afford to be seen associating with a wanted man and nor could Vincenzo. He didn’t doubt that Cracker would find his way to him. What then? Caution will be needed.

  A phone call ten minutes later added a third concern. One he least expected. This one was he knew, major. A voice speaking perfect colloquial Italian jolted him.

  “Padre Vincenzo, questo è l’Ispettore Rizzo della Polizia di Stato Italiana.”

  Vincenzo felt hot all of a sudden. How did he find me? Their conversation was in Italian. “Yes, Inspector, this is Father Vincenzo.” He had to think quickly and not give anything away. “What on earth can I do for you? Has one of my colleagues died?” He attempted to convey concern.

  “Not so, Father. I am in England looking for a man who seems to be a close acquaintance of yours.”

  Vincenzo’s brain struggled for a reply. He must be looking for Cracker. But how could he have known my phone number? Only the cardinal and the dig team know of it.

  “Who
are you looking for? This is most unusual. I know a lot of people.”

  “Father, I am not discussing this on the phone. I am in Wells and I know where you are staying. I shall be about ten minutes and I expect to see you when I arrive. Arrivederci.” The inspector’s tone was abrupt and far from friendly.

  Vincenzo felt a tremor pass through him like an electric shock. The Inspector’s knowledge and presence was baffling and highly worrying. There was little time to prepare, and the only thing he knew he could do was to play innocent and ignorant.

  Vincenzo, to create the right impression, changed into his clerical cassock – complete with a crucifix and a rosary around his wrist. He made his way down to the reception lounge. The last thing he wanted was a detective snooping around his room. He didn’t have to wait long, and a tall man soon walked in. Vincenzo knew it was him. He had police written all over him.

  * * *

  Rizzo spotted him at once. He didn’t like what he saw. Coming towards him was an unsavoury looking individual clad in priestly attire. Un lupo in veste di agnello. “A wolf in sheep’s clothing, if I ever saw one,” he muttered to himself.

  Vincenzo offered a half smile and held out his hand. “Ispettore Rizzo?” He asked.

  “Yes, that’s me, Father. Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.” Without asking, Rizzo sat in a comfortable chair and indicated to Vincenzo to be seated. It was a simple trick to let someone know who was in charge.

  Vincenzo looked wrong footed, but he sat down.

  Rizzo produced his police ID and laid it down in front of Vincenzo. “Before you ask, Father, I know you must be wondering how I know of you. That’s police information and will not be divulged, nor form part of this conversation. I’ll get to the point. You have an association with a man I am seeking, a Mr. Daniel Cracker. He is wanted on suspicion for the murder of a police detective back in Rome a short time ago. How do you know this man? What was he doing here?” Rizzo’s face had a hard look as he bent forward and opened up his notebook. “Take your time and think carefully before you reply.”