The Keeper's Cup: A Controversial Archaeological Thriller

by Ken Fry

  Rizzo calculated that Vincenzo was not used to being roughly interrogated. His estimation was correct.

  Vincenzo was tense and he couldn’t help fidgeting as he wracked his brain for a reply.

  “Inspector. I do not know about Mr. Cracker. I have only met him a few times.”

  Liar.

  “He seemed a pleasant man. He was sent to me by Cardinal Nicholas to assist in the recovery and protection of any items our excavations discovered. A week ago, he said he had business to see to and would return later. I have not seen him since.”

  “You are sweating, Father. Shall I open the window for you?” Rizzo knew the man was uncertain of what to say. “It seems most strange, Father, that an eminent cardinal should use a known criminal to work with you on what I understand is a very sensitive project. Did you know that he was a criminal?”

  Vincenzo didn’t answer for a short moment. Rizzo let him sweat in the cold silence. Eventually, he replied, “I know nothing. You best ask the cardinal.”

  “We’ve tried that, but he seems to have vanished too. Where he is, we have no idea. Would you have anything to say on that, Father? When did you last see him or speak to him?”

  “No. I cannot know or speak about what our cardinal says or does. You best find him and ask him. I have not spoken with him for some time now.”

  “Are you sure about that, Father?”

  “Are you suggesting I know more than I am telling you?” Vincenzo was sounding annoyed.

  “Buon Dio!” Rizzo suddenly exclaimed, and the priest flinched. “What a thing to think of. Of course not, Father. We just have to explore all avenues to get to our objective. I am sure you can understand that.” He closed his notebook. “Well, that will do for now, Father. I may wish to speak with you further and I know where to find you. Should you decide to go somewhere for a few days, I will need to know. Here is my card with my phone number. Am I being clear?” Rizzo gave a condescending smile and handed him the card.

  Without looking at it, the priest placed it in his pocket. “Of course.” His reply was strained, like a man lying at a job interview.

  Rizzo stood and without thanking or shaking hands, he muttered, “Buona note Padre,” and strode from the hotel. He knew a liar when he met one and this priest was as bent as a foetus in a womb.

  43

  Miriam lapsed into silence and she noted that Kelvin had a similar inclination. She was unable to shake off her experience at the Chase. Her previous dreams and visions were all connected with it and there seemed to be no room for doubt. What disturbed her most was that they were so real, but there was no scientific explanation that could be attributed to them. That voice rang clearly in her head and mind. She recalled every word and it hadn’t been her imagination.

  Kelvin had witnessed the apparition, a Mary-like figure. Mary who? Mary, The Blessed Virgin Mother? Mary Magdalene? She had never been religious in the accepted sense. What she believed was strictly a personal affair, and she kept well away from male organised, hierarchal structures. She had always viewed organised religion as a male dominated construction, designed to keep women in their place – behind a kitchen sink or in bed.

  God was always referred to as a man. That had forever grated with her. Man was the product of a woman, a union of male and female. There was no dominant partner in the act of creation. These thoughts she had harboured since the age of twelve.

  She thought of Karl Marx stating: ‘Religion is the opium of the people. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions...’ She had a small sympathy for that grand viewpoint but never fully subscribed to it. There had always been stirrings deep within her that rejected that belvedere, but to define what those feelings were, she had never been able.

  Her visions now confirmed in her an inner struggle manifested in a female form, both physically and vocally. She could not deny it.

  Miriam felt a metamorphic twinge in her power of analysis. Somehow, things were not going to be the same again with her. Science and spirituality, and she didn’t mean organised religion, were not going to be the same again. She never liked the word ‘spirituality.’ It had resounded with a wooliness used by those who disliked scientific explanations. Now she understood, and it didn’t need an explanation. It was okay. She glanced across at Kelvin who was absorbed with his driving.

  Without looking at her, he spoke with a quiet voice. “Better now? Don’t fight it. I know it’s inexplicable, but it doesn’t need a reason or an explanation. It just is.”

  “I think I understand it better. Anyway, how do you know what I’m thinking?”

  Kelvin grinned. “That doesn’t need an explanation either. You keep forgetting I’m a Druid. Remember?”

  “How could I forget? This gets weirder by the minute. I don’t know how I’m to explain this to Fergy.”

  “Only do it when you are ready.”

  “How is it you understand without even batting an eyelid? It seems odd, and don’t take this the wrong way, Mr. Iseldir.” She paused to gather her thoughts so she could carefully phrase the next bit of what she was about to say. “Ever since I’ve got to know you, strange things have happened that never normally occur in my life. In a strange way, I feel I’ve known you forever, way beyond my lifetime. That can’t possibly have any truth to it, yet you’re never surprised at the odd things that have happened to me. It’s almost as if you were a part of them. I truly don’t understand.”

  “You will. If it’s any consolation, my own thoughts aren’t dissimilar to yours. That feeling of having known me forever is no different from what I think of you. Nothing romantic, I assure you, but just a solid understanding of you and how you feel.”

  Miriam smiled. “Has this search for a mystical, biblical cup somehow opened up channels we never knew existed?”

  “You, Miriam, are now finding out. I’ve known all my life, that there’s something beyond this plane that we cannot see. Be easy with it and it will unfold like a flower in the sunlight. Never try and force it. If you do, nothing will happen except frustration and annoyance.” Kelvin swung the car along the A303 route, back past Stonehenge. “Look, my ancient home.” He muttered and gave it a silent prayer and a nod of his head.

  She suspected he wasn’t joking.

  * * *

  Later that evening, they arrived back safely and found the professor waiting for them. Three large scotches were ordered, and they began to relate the events of the day and what promising signs they had found.

  Fergal held up his hand. “Whoa there, just a moment. There’s something I have to tell you.” He informed them of Inspector Rizzo visit and how Cracker was wanted for suspected murder in Italy. The case had possible implications for Cardinal Nicholas, which were highly unsavoury. The pope had been informed.

  “No wonder we haven’t seen Mr. Cracker. That’s amazing and frightening too.” Miriam shuddered.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again, and Inspector Rizzo will be around for some while yet. I will carry on normally until instructed otherwise. Now, your turn. What happened at Enfield? Let’s see what you got.”

  The professor looked at all the photographs and notes. He looked hungry for more. “These look great and you’ve done a lot of work and research. I can’t wait to go there with the proper equipment. That moat looks ready for me to jump right in and see if I can find another casket of some sort. The name Camelot is to say the least, intriguing. I never knew of it.”

  Miriam had opened up her phone and was speaking to the Council for British Archaeology, of which she was a member. She was in luck. There existed an agreement with the Borough of Enfield. Provided notification was given, with responsible work and appropriate safety measures, limited excavations would be permitted.

  Fergy agreed to submit the proposals to the correct person first thing in the morning. Miriam didn’t think there would be any problems considering their mentor was Pope Adrian, from Vatican C
ity – worldwide spiritual leader of an estimated one point two billion Roman Catholics.

  The three planned to meet at the Tor end of the tunnel and open up the existing brickwork tomorrow morning.

  Miriam looked at Fergal and knew she would be unable to relate her experience to him. She understood well that he would attempt to analyse it and ultimately dismiss the experience. It could wait for another time. She was certain there would be more to add to her story. She no longer felt afraid of it but was looking forward and hoping for the next one.

  The following morning, Miriam, Fergal, Kelvin, and the other members all assembled at the Tor end of the tunnel. The limestone brickwork was fully exposed. They began to hack and prise at the stonework. Piece by piece, it surrendered to the team’s steel and sweat. It wasn’t long before a large gap appeared in the brickwork and they were able to peer through. With a suitable flashlight, it was possible to see what lay inside.

  Nothing.

  Blackness.

  Fifteen minutes more of measured blows from pickaxe and mattock and the way was clear. Daylight flooded in on a darkness that had never seen the light of day for centuries. With the added aid of powerful flashlights, the interior became visible to the naked eye. It was clear that the tunnel was connected to the other end of the tunnel they had previously cleared. They made their way into the cool interior. A short stretch onward, they saw the shape of a square block of stone.

  “Bring that light over here.” The professor’s excitement was palpable.

  As the light shone on the object, his excitement increased. “Look at that!” He pointed to the top of the stone. On it stood two of what looked like granite crucifixes. They were mounted on both sides of yet another stone tablet, similar to the others they had found.

  “Don’t touch anything!” Miriam was surprised at the strength of her voice. “This looks important. Stand back everyone.” She pulled on latex gloves and asked for photographs from all angles and ranges to be taken.

  The cold silence was interrupted by the sound of camera shutters and the faint noise of flashes illuminating the site. She and the professor closely examined the find. After a while, Miriam was holding the tablet, careful not to contaminate it in any way, and Fergal the two small crucifixes. With care, they carried them out into the sunlight. There was an air of exhilaration amongst the archaeologists. “Miriam, I think you have more translating to do. Is it in Aramaic again?” Fergal eyed the stone in her hand.

  “It is,” she replied. “I’ll get these items back to my wheels so I can have a closer look.”

  From a secluded and unseen vantage point, Vincenzo, with his 16 x 50 high-powered binoculars, saw clearly what was happening. He could see their delighted faces and quite clearly two stone crosses and a plaque of some sort they were all staring at. He could make out vague writing on it, but it was too far to read. He didn’t doubt the possibility of the find being kept from him. This needed to be reported to the cardinal. The time is coming when I will have to take things into my own hands.

  At the thought of that, a surge of adrenalin swept through him.

  * * *

  Several hours later, the finds had been gently washed down in warm water, using both a dentist toothpick and a soft toothbrush to remove mud, dirt, and debris, before being placed on a drying tray. The etched markings now stood out, clear enough to read.

  “Can you read that now?” Fergy looked eager, rubbing his hands together like a kid in a toyshop.

  Miriam took out a foolscap folder, a lens, and began copying the script from right to left. “It’s amazing. It’s so clear. If our previous assumptions are correct, this script could be in the two-thousand-year range or thereabouts.”

  “What’s it saying?” Kelvin broke his silence, looking and sounding solemn in the presence of the tablet.

  After thirty minutes, she looked up. “That’s about it. It’s done. This is what I can make of it. Hope you’re ready for this. It’s shaken me somewhat.”

  Both Kelvin and Fergy gave her a reassuring hug.

  She gave a small gulp and read the translation in a loud clear voice.

  “I, Sarah, daughter of Magda and Yeshua, ask all thee that art unwell that ye will drink from this, their cup. So brothers and sisters, weep not that they are no longer with us. Be not distressed nor doubt, for their grace will be with you for all time. You should praise their greatness for they unite us as one and make us true human beings.”

  Miriam’s voice broke at the end and she began to weep.

  Fergy jumped up. “Why are you crying? You’ve done a great job.”

  Her sobs worsened. She managed to stutter, “Tell him, Kelvin. Tell him, please.”

  “Tell me what?” It was Fergy’s turn to look baffled as he turned to Kelvin.

  “Something happened at the Chase. Sit down, Fergy, and I’ll explain, and you will see the connections Miriam’s been having. She didn’t want to tell you as she thought you would dismiss it all as nonsense.”

  Kelvin began a lengthy and detailed explanation of all the things that had been happening to her recently, culminating with the vision at the Chase. When he finished, he gazed around at them both. A powerful silence filled the cabin.

  “Miriam, I’m so sorry.” Fergal meant it. “I admit that things have got to me a bit around here. I’ve never been on a mission as weird as this one. I’m beginning to understand the pope’s motives and all those involved. These are powerful visions, Miriam, and I know you wouldn’t invent them. I’ll talk with you later. That tablet is amazing in what it says. It mentions Jesus, Mary Magdalene and implies that Sarah was their daughter. It mentions a cup, which surely is the one we are searching for. So where is it?”

  Kelvin answered. “It’s either at the Chase or here somewhere. In the Druid tradition, the story of a healing cup is told, brought by travellers from far away, but at some place in time… it disappeared. I think it was here, but with the Dissolution of the Monasteries by King Henry the VIII, sometimes referred to as the Suppression of the Monasteries, it could have been hidden away, maybe in the tunnels between 1536 and 1541 – possibly by the Druids.”

  “Clearly, if your analysis is correct, Kelvin,” the professor said, “then Mary Magdalene did not spend thirty solitary contemplative years in a cave at Saint-Baume near Marseille in France. There are those who believe that and there are shrines to testify to it. What we have found here debunks so much legend and myth. The discovery of The Gospel of Mary begins to make sense. If accepted, it would turn the Church on its head several times over. Holy crap! Think of it! It is possible and more than likely that they have descendants living amongst us this very day.” His eyes were alight with his passion for discovery. “Wow! These are remarkable finds. I will inform Pope Adrian immediately before I pass this over to Vincenzo. I won’t hide it and then we can’t be accused of anything. No doubt, information will find its way to the vanished cardinal.”

  “Vanished? Where to? If there are no charges against him, why vanish?” Miriam looked puzzled.

  In the middle of an explanation, Fergal’s phone began ringing. It was from the Enfield Borough Council. A few minutes later, he hung up. “Good news, everyone. We can start a dig in three days’ time. Subject to safety regulations and provided we return the area to its previous state when we’re finished. That call for drinks all round. Let’s do it guys!”

  Miriam looked across to Kelvin and mouthed the word, “Thank you.”

  “You’re more than welcome,” he replied with a smile.

  44

  He needed some space and time. Too many possibilities and scenarios were passing through his mind. At times, he felt a mild panic attack creeping up on him, but he was able to supress it. Direct action was the obvious answer, but with Cracker a wanted man, he could no longer rely on him. He could not take the risk of being seen or associated with him in any way. He was to be denied, if needs be, as Simon Peter had done so at the arrest of Jesus Christ. Right now, he had no idea where he was. Th
at left him only one choice. Father Vincenzo. He thought about it in more detail and warmed to the idea. It was not such a bad choice. If apprehended, as a priest, any suspicion would be hard to believe. He’d have to be caught red handed for any charges to stick. Besides, I have a sneaky feeling he might enjoy my propositions. The world, for Cardinal Nicholas, began to glow once more and his heart soared… soared just a little.

  With a feeling of relief he made the decision to book into another hotel in the area and make contact with Vincenzo. He did not wish anybody to know where he would be staying. It became important to change into discreet, secular clothing. His cardinal’s attire was too conspicuous and would only be worn again at the next assembly of The Order of the Holy Cross and Sword. This was scheduled in one week’s time – but not in Rome – in Firenze, Florence.

  His net was spreading. Discreetly, he made a booking for a week at the George & Pilgrim hotel situated at the start of the High Street in Glastonbury. He needed to contact Vincenzo as soon as possible. The last person he thought he wanted to see was Cracker.

  Once checked in, he barely noticed the delights the hotel had to offer, and that included his four-poster bed. He went to the bar and ordered a Vodka Martini. With all that was happening, he reasoned that God wouldn’t mind the odd indulgence. After all, he was working for Him and his beloved Son. Once the drink arrived and he had taken a swallow, he made the call to Vincenzo.

  Vincenzo sounded relieved to hear from him. “Where are you, Cardinal?”

  “I’m not saying right now. I wanted to talk to you about Cracker.”

  “I thought you might. I’ve already heard.”