The Keeper's Cup: A Controversial Archaeological Thriller

by Ken Fry

“You’ve already heard? Heard what? Who from?”

  “It seems, Cardinal, he shot dead a policeman in Rome not so long ago and hasn’t been seen since. A policeman, Inspector Rizzo from the Polizia di Stato in Rome, is here. He has a European Arrest Warrant for him. He’s staying in Wells and trying to find Cracker. He seems to know of our connection with him. He was very suspicious and is looking for you as well.”

  The cardinal knocked his drink over. He thought he was going to be sick. His trip back to the UK, in just a few seconds, seemed like the worst move he had made in the whole business. “Vincenzo, how does he know all this? It puts us in a dangerous position.”

  “He would not tell me. I asked him but he refused to say.”

  The Cardinal put his hand to his forehead. “This is disastrous. He must not know I am here under any circumstances. If Cracker should appear, you don’t have to be too careful in letting Rizzo know. It’s him he’s after me, not me. If he finds him, he may be happy with that and leave.”

  “Cardinal, the man Cracker killed was close to Rizzo it seems. He is not happy.”

  “Okay, Father. There are other things I want to discuss with you urgently. You don’t mind some lively action, I believe.”

  “I enjoy it,” his reply was immediate and reassuring.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow to arrange a meeting. How are the excavations going? Any finds?”

  “You have everything they give me, apart from what I saw them find this morning. They have not told me yet. I watched them through my binoculars. They all got excited and hurried away. It looked like a crucifix and a placca.”

  “You mean a plaque, I think. Let’s see if they tell you about it unless they are trying to keep it for themselves and claim a handsome reward.”

  “Cardinal, I have sent you a report. They are going to another place near London. It is in my report. I cannot recall the name.”

  “I haven’t looked at it yet but will do so tonight. That will do for now, Father. Remember, you know nothing, nor do you know where I am or have spoken to me since I was in Rome. Capisce?”

  “Si, capisco.”

  The cardinal powered down his phone. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing around the bar area. To see Rizzo staring at him wouldn’t have surprised him. For him to be here means he must know of the excavations. I must not be seen. Meeting with Vincenzo is my priority. At least nobody knows where I am yet.

  Without thinking further, he ordered another drink.

  * * *

  Daniel Cracker experienced a sense of relief now that he was back in England. He had little idea where he should go from here. He had attempted to call Cardinal Nicholas but there was never a reply. There was no choice but to go back him, and then proceed to one of his favourite East London haunts, ‘The Blind Beggar’ pub. It was made famous by East End gangster Ronnie Kray’s murder of George Cornell at the bar in 1966, in a gangland dispute. Cracker felt at home there, but anyone looking for him would know that’s where he could be found. He made the decision to head back to Somerset instead. He had a bulging wallet of cash and credit cards, so there would be no financial difficulties. Easy access to Vincenzo in Wells was required, but not too close. His destination wasn’t difficult. It had to be Glastonbury.

  45

  Pope Adrian had been surveying the view across the Piazza San Pietro. He usually never tired of it. His gaze embraced the numerous colonnades, and the one hundred and forty Bernini studio statues that gazed upon both earth and sky. Forever in his view was Emperor Caligula’s Egyptian obelisk, which drew visitors from all across the world.

  This morning, his thoughts and feelings strayed away from his contemplative pleasures. They had a worrying edge. He had not heard from either Inspector Rizzo or Cardinal Nicholas, with whom he had to behave as if everything was normal. There was something else. His secret informers had hinted at a possible meeting of The Order of the Holy Cross and Sword next week, rumoured to be held in the city of Florence. The forces of reaction are gathering strength and it can only be a matter of time before they will abandon secrecy and become a viable force. God Forbid!

  He couldn’t stop thinking that of late, his prayers were confused – and that would not do for a pope. He had begun to wonder if God was punishing him for harbouring secret doubts about the Immaculate Conception, the various miracles, and other Christian concepts. He came to the conclusion that if he thought that, then he was no different from the far-right conservatives within the conclave and other places across the world.

  NO, he would steer the course he had planned, and if successful, he would guide the church into modern, sane, clear, liberal, and open waters, where men and women would be on equal terms and footings. Patriarchy and matriarchy would cease to exist.

  He prayed silently for the courage to push ahead. He paused a moment, inhaled deeply and then remembered he had not opened the package from Professor Christie in England. A few swift slices with the papal letter opener and the contents were revealed.

  Whenever the professor’s reports arrived, he experienced a tremor of excitement, and he hoped that this would be no different.

  It wasn’t. It was more so.

  There were clear photographs of all they had found, complete with Miriam’s translation and the possibility of the cup’s location at The Chase in Enfield, a London Borough. Early medieval records believed that the area could be part of Arthurian legends – Camelot and the Holy Grail. The names on the previous files had astonished him and this was equally so.

  The Aramaic was astounding and posed what would be uncomfortable questions for many. It appeared to have been written by Sarah, the alleged daughter of Yeshua and Mary Magdalene. He felt close to tears, more so when he read the account of Kelvin and Miriam’s encounter with the female entity wearing a hawthorn crown at the Camelot Moat, close to the clootie tree. Could she be the Magdalene or Mother Mary? His mind began to race. He read through further and the professor’s own personal analysis was most interesting as he outlined Miriam’s reactions and experiences to the mission generally. He didn’t disagree that if this became public knowledge and with the finding of the additional writings of Philip and Thomas, it could bring many people to stop and think. That alone could cause a major upheaval in the Church. This will need careful thinking. He concluded that should this magical vessel be discovered then that would seal the matter. Much would depend on the result of their excavations. He wished he could go and see for himself, but his papal duties here took precedence.

  In his excitement, he had forgotten about his secular troubles, until the ring tone of his cell phone brought him to a stop. He looked at that screen and knew it was the inspector.

  Rizzo was never great on formalities, and quickly told the pope what he was up to.

  “Holy Father, I’ve spoken with both Professor Christie and Father Vincenzo. Neither have seen or heard from Mr. Cracker or Cardinal Nicholas. However, I suspect Vincenzo is being economical with the truth. To a certain extent, he has lied. I am watching him closely and am staying at a hotel nearby. Where he goes, so will I. If you see or hear from the cardinal would you please inform me? It would be of considerable help. I suspect he is around somewhere and most eager to see how much advantage he can get from your SOTA work here. The professor is a likeable man and he has agreed to cooperate with me fully.”

  “Of course, Inspector. I heard a rumour that there is to be a meeting next week of the secret society he is said to run. I hear it may be held in Florence. I will keep you informed. I am almost certain he will be there.”

  “Thank you, Your Holiness. I will check that out and will speak to you again when I know more. Arrivederci.”

  * * *

  Using his laptop, Cracker checked hotel availability in Glastonbury. There wasn’t much to choose from, and none was what he fancied at all. He opted for one, gave it a call and booked himself in for several nights. The George & Pilgrim looked like the best out of a mediocre selection. From here, he would call Vincenzo and
devise a plan of action. If there was anything of ancient value found in the excavation, it could fetch big money in the antiques markets. A solid gold goblet would set him up for life, especially if some biblical story could be hung around it. He had to steer clear of the police, especially those in Italy. He doubted he could ever go back there. He had to wonder what had become of the cardinal and the detective, Rizzo. He hadn’t spoken to the cardinal since he left for the UK. Cracker knew he needed to lie low for a while.

  Once he’d checked into his room and unpacked, he decided it was time for a decent drink and headed downstairs to the bar. Dressed in a denim jacket and brushed velvet trousers and loafers, he felt relaxed and comfortable. He ordered a large Tequila and soda. The pressure was off. It was in these more relaxed moments, especially with a few drinks inside of him, that he would question his motives and the implications of murdering people. He didn’t give a toss about the religious side and burning in hell bit. What he did find himself thinking of was the consequences of his actions on those intimately connected with his victims – the wives, their children, and companions, even their pets. He reckoned he’d done about six altogether. This was him, at his most maudlin. In these rare moments he would feel a degree of remorse… only a small degree, mind you.

  He shouldn’t have been following me anyway. What else was I to do? Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but it’s done now and what’s done can’t be undone.

  He took a large gulp of his drink and savoured the taste and warmth spreading through his mind and body. Pulling out his phone, he decided to ring Vincenzo. It was then he saw a familiar figure seated at the far end of the complex, dressed in a black, rolled neck sweater and grey slacks. Next to him, his walking cane was propped up against the table. He stood to get a better view. Without a doubt it was him and not wearing his priestly robes.

  He picked up his tequila, took another mouthful, before advancing across to the seated cardinal, who was absorbed in writing notes. Cracker moved in closer. The cardinal had not seen him yet.

  “What’s a holy man like you doing in a place like this and drinking cocktails?”

  The cardinal visibly gave a start and his head gave an upward lurch. He found himself staring into the smirking face of Daniel Cracker.

  For a moment, as recognition registered, there was a look of astonishment followed by disbelief. “Cr…Cracker?” he stuttered.

  “I’m not easily forgotten, old fruit. Let me guess now… you’re checking up on your holy brother, Mr. Vincenzo, or you’re hiding from either the long arm of the Vatican or that detective Rizzo, or even all three. What’s it to be?”

  Nicholas’s surprise was short, and he regained his composure with speed. “Mr. Cracker, you’d better sit down and quick. There are things you need to know right now before you say another word.”

  The smirk remained. Sitting down, Cracker pushed his glass forward. “Before you start, I’d like another one of this.”

  The glass got refilled and the cardinal revealed all that had happened since they left Rome, and details of Rizzo. It was Cracker’s turn to appear shocked, when Nicholas mentioned that the inspector was in nearby Wells, had located Vincenzo, and was asking questions as to where he and Cracker might be.

  Cracker’s words spat out with fury “Holy mothers!”

  This was what he wanted to avoid. He didn’t know how the inspector knew so much, but he was starting to connect the people involved. This is not good. The man is hunting me. he wondered again if he should have murdered that policeman following him.

  “See it another way, Daniel. It’s a God-given opportunity given to us to complete the mission.” Nicholas’s words poured out like honey squeezed from a plastic bottle. “You know the area and your way around. Rizzo doesn’t. I don’t want Rizzo to know we are both here at this hotel. The implications would be disastrous for us. With Vincenzo’s help, you should be able to devise a plan, locate the inspector, and finish the job. Do that and there will be a bonus for you.”

  Cracker wasn’t entirely stupid. He sensed a desperation emanating from the cardinal. He wanted the job done and done quickly before the inspector discovered more.

  “How much bonus?”

  “Two thousand sterling.”

  Cracker gave the cardinal his hard look. “Make it five or no job will be done.”

  Nicholas noticeably gulped as the suggestion of a white pallor drifted across his bony face. The pause was not long. “Agreed. Five thousand it is but not a penny more. Now, we both have to contact Vincenzo urgently. Let’s leave it at that. I want to make one thing clear. Keep away from me, for obvious reasons. I will contact you whenever needed. Understood?”

  “Understood, boss.” Cracker stood and moved back to his original seat.

  Ninety minutes later, a meeting between all three had been arranged.

  46

  The entire team and all their equipment, including scuba diving gear, stood within an area that was roped and taped off – the well, the glade and the entirety of Camelot Moat. As he didn’t want another confrontation, Fergy had got Miriam to give Vincenzo the full details of where they were going. It was up to him to come along with them or wait for their report on return. It could take up to a week or more depending on what was found… if anything. Vincenzo elected to remain at his hotel but required daily reports. He couldn’t tell her that he had other meetings planned.

  * * *

  The professor read and reread Miriam’s translations of all the Aramaic and Middle English verses and writings. Once he had surveyed the area, he sensed that they were in the correct place.

  “Miriam, what can I say?” He sounded apologetic. “You were right, this place has an atmosphere. I can’t quantify it, but there is definitely something here. It’s almost spooky.”

  “Speak to Kelvin. He’ll tell you it’s the Druid connection.”

  Kelvin pointed towards the well. “Look, Fergal there’s a clootie tree next to the well.” He indicated the tree with branches from which were hanging strips of cloth – some of which must have been there for some time. “It’s an old Celtic and Druid healing practice. Let me explain. An offering of silver, a coin, or whatever, is dropped into the well. The cloth is then made wet and applied to the part of your body that needs healing. With a prayer given, the strip is then hung on a branch. As it deteriorates over time, so will the bad condition of that person who hung it there. They are still common in Celtic areas here and in Europe.”

  “Not quite up to the qualities of the cup we’re looking for, eh Kelvin?” Fergal retorted with a smirk on his face.

  Kelvin was on the defensive. “Maybe not, but it works, believe me. I’ve tried it in the past.”

  Miriam came to the rescue. “I think we should scan in the area of the burial ground before we try the moat.” She was aware that she was allowing herself to be guided by her natural instincts. She was now beginning to trust them much as her scientific inclinations. She didn’t want to sound weird in front of Fergy or the other archaeologists, but she could feel the pull of the place and had become aware of a soft repetitive whispering in her mind. It had been communicating with her since they had arrived.

  Be still, listen and you will see. You will know, and you draw close.

  She kept this to herself but would talk of it later with Kelvin. What does it mean, be still, listen, see? She had no idea and moved off to assist in setting up the LIDAR.

  The professor had decided they wouldn’t be able to use it in conjunction with the drone over the waters of Camelot Moat. The problem was water penetration. The majority of topographic LIDAR sensors used a wavelength in the infrared – typically in the 1550 nanometer range, which theirs did. They needed a wavelength that wasn't absorbed rapidly by water. That they didn’t have that equipment. Scuba diving was more fun anyway, even if the water was not deep and muddy looking.

  After a series of adjustments, they were ready for the initial passes across the ground. Miriam knew that the elongated mounds, twenty
in all, were burial mounds. Fergy disagreed. He said they were ancient medieval ridges and troughs that had been ploughed up in the Middle Ages for crops. They retained their structure since they have not been ploughed since. The ridges helped increase soil depth and drainage. Obviously, previous excavations had left them alone.

  She didn’t doubt her intuition. She knew enough about excavations, although Fergy’s knowledgeable observation was also right. A week ago, she would have agreed with him. Things had changed around her dramatically since that time, and when they had embarked on this mission. She felt compelled to trust her newfound instincts. It was as if she was dowsing, and the metal rods were in a mad spin.

  She watched as Fergal made several lengthy passes over the entire area on and around the mounds and out beyond. All that was needed was now to process the information. Once the data was accessed and interpreted, what was beneath the soil could be analysed and accurately interpreted. This was not a quick task but would definitely save them hours of unnecessary digging.

  * * *

  Kelvin and the others headed off for Camelot Moat. It was more out of curiosity than work. There was no doubting the spiritual pull he felt for the place. It was equal to what he experienced in his Grove of Taranus back at Glastonbury. He sensed that somewhere in this place they would find what they were looking for, or at least a strong clue.

  He was soon standing on the banks of Camelot Moat. It was situated on the northern side of the park, accessible only by a solitary crossing point. It was an isle – and roughly square in shape. The entire area had a chequered history. For Kelvin, the well, the clootie tree and the moat, were dripping with Druid influence. The name Camelot was pure Arthurian and that couldn’t have happened by accident. All around were groves and small shrines people had erected. Some were older and others had been made recently. All had been left with decorative items and ornaments. It pleased him to realise that the old ways still survived. Clearly, the place generated a wide-ranging spiritual impact.