by Ken Fry
What the hell was she going on about? I’ve known her all her life and Kelvin Stallybrass is certainly not her brother, nor a member of her family. This is just too bloody weird.
“Fergy, I know what you are thinking, and it’s not weird.” Miriam reached out and placed her hand on his arm. “Perhaps you should be named Thomas.”
Fergy snapped. “Can you read my mind now?”
She knew it was unusual for Fergy to be angry with her, but there was little she could say to take that away. “I don’t know, Fergy. Impressions and feelings appear in my heart and mind. They seem so true, and as if I have known them all my life. Not just this life, but others, going back thousands of years. What you saw and heard in the tunnel was as true as us here sitting together. If you can’t believe it, I understand that, but there has been a seismic shift in my mind and body that I can’t deny. Science could not take it away from me.”
Kelvin joined in. “It’s true, Fergy. I have felt the same as Miriam. We both independently experienced the same visions. Call them archetypes if you wish, but they did happen. In some strange as yet unknowable way, we are related. Not as lovers, or husband and wife, but as brother and sister. We both experienced the same thoughts and feelings. It’s hard for anyone to believe or understand, but it’s there and I can’t deny it. I feel my Celtic roots as if they were only yesterday, and the presence of Jah and Magda as they are written on the stones and parchments we found. We were meant to find them.”
“Okay.” Fergy’s tone had softened. “I saw something as did those present in that tunnel. It went beyond immediate explanation. I agree, it was startling, amazing, and beyond belief for anybody who had not seen it with their own eyes. I agree there is much I do not understand nor can accept.” He rubbed his face before he asked, “What now of SOTA, the doors, the glass container, and the cup thing that was inside it?” He looked questioningly at them both, hoping they could come up with an answer.
Miriam gave a smile. “They are safe. They may not remain here for much longer. We should all remember that whether we like it or not, this quest had been given to Pope Adrian and not to us. We are in some way beholden to him for the honour of what we have discovered. I would like to meet him one day, as I’m sure you both do.” She squeezed Fergy’s arm.
There was a long pause and the tense silence returned, its vibrations affecting the three of them.
The professor stood and what he said was unexpected. “I’ve had enough of all this. I’m quitting. This project is, as far as I’m concerned, finished. I’m packing and I shall be leaving tomorrow to go back home and my studies, where I can feel normal once more… away from all this mystical mumbo jumbo.”
He turned and slammed the door as he left. Both were surprised at his stance but neither made any attempt to say anything to stop him.
Fergal strode away, and for the first time in his life, he understood the depth of feeling he had, and had always had for her. It was being taken away from him.
64
Rome
The unexpected rain had turned the cobbled road surfaces into a gleaming and slippery prospect for both pedestrians and vehicles. The police had sealed off a section of the surrounding streets, known as the sampietrini or the ‘little Saint Peters’ – close to the medieval renaissance building, the Villa Farnesina in the bohemian Trastevere area of Rome. Tourists and all other people and transport came to a stop. Inspector Rizzo had assured them it would not be for long. Integrated police work, with the help of modern technology, were able to pinpoint the exact location of Cardinal Nicholas.
The doorway to the hidden apartment was down another small alleyway. Two armed policemen stood guarding both ends. There was no other way in or out.
Rizzo wanted to confront the cardinal personally. As he approached the bright yellow door, it wasn’t difficult to notice the CCTV camera mounted on the upper ridge support. His visit would not be unexpected. Using the brass knocker, he rapped hard on the wood.
Silence.
He tried several times more and rang the doorbell persistently.
Nothing.
From his raincoat pocket, he produced a short, compact crowbar. Wedging it into the doorframe where the latch was mounted, he gave three hefty heaves and splitting the wood, the door cracked wide open.
He was in.
In front of him was a short flight of stairs leading up to a living area. He hesitated to gain his bearings. He was about to proceed upwards when a very English voice bellowed from the upper floor.
“Do come up, Inspector Rizzo. I have been expecting you.”
Rizzo responded. “I’m fully armed and on my way up. Do not try anything stupid. I warn you… cardinal or not.”
“Have no fear, Inspector. I shall not harm you in any way. I need to know much from you. Please, come up.”
Rizzo was taking no chances. He bounded up the stairs with his Beretta in his right hand. Upon entering a large room, he immediately adopted a Weaver stance, firing position. He was not prepared for what he saw.
At the far end of the room, standing as straight as his crooked leg allowed and next to a large desk was the cardinal.
He was stark naked.
On the floor around his feet were his priestly vestments – his zucchetto, his scarlet garments, including his cassock, mozzetta, biretta and white rochet.
“Please come no closer, Inspector. I was expecting you. I heard that Father Vincenzo had been arrested along with a Mr. Cracker, I believe. As you can see, I have defrocked myself. It saves the Vatican the bother.” He swept his arm around the pile of clothes.
Rizzo felt too startled to move. This was not what he had anticipated. “What are you playing at, Cardinal? I’m here to arrest you for compliancy in the murder of Bishop Vincent Fisher and the attempted murder of Pope Adrian.”
“Oh dear! Is that Antichrist still alive? What a pity. He must be as strong as an ox. After this silly little episode is over, Inspector, I would not be appointing a lawyer to represent me. What I want to know, please, is if the miraculous cup was ever found.”
Rizzo, still in a firing position gave a brief nod. “It was and I saw it work. Astonishing to see. Sadly, you never will.”
“Yes, I’m fully aware of that. I would have liked to have seen it. It would have done wonders for my Holy Cross and Sword Order and the true faith.”
“Get dressed, will you?” Rizzo snapped at him and with his gun, gestured for the cardinal to move. “Be quick about it.”
“Oh I don’t think so, Mr. Policeman. My story ends here.”
The cardinal leant forward slightly and picked up a large hypodermic syringe. Before Rizzo could react, he had plunged it into a large vein in his own arm and began to press the plunger.
“Neat liquid ricin, Inspector. Twenty milligrams in this one. You need only two to kill you by injection. It won’t take long.”
“Don’t do it!” Rizzo shouted as he rushed at the doomed man. He grabbed for his arm but already, the cardinal’s eyes had rolled back, the empty needle still hanging from his arm. He gradually sunk to the floor.
Using his phone, Rizzo yelled for the guards to get an emergency ambulance, but he knew Cardinal Nicholas wouldn’t live another hour. The dose had been massive.
God damn it! Damn it! Rizzo clenched his fists and thumped the table. In front of him, writhing in agony, the whitened form of Cardinal Nicholas was going through his final death throes.
It was over minutes before the ambulance arrived.
Rizzo watched the body being removed. If he felt anything at all… he felt cheated.
65
Two years later…
Hardly a day went by when the professor did not think of the events surrounding Miriam and the cup. They would forever stay in his mind. He had refused monetary reward from the pope’s SOTA unit and all invites to meet with the Holy Father.
Miriam, who at first wanted to meet the Holy Father, now declined to do so. She did not want any of the organised religions
hanging their hats on her and her discoveries. He had felt the same way. They had shared everything with the pope electronically and had sent him written accounts of what they’d personally experienced – emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.
Pope Adrian had replied and said their finds and the events surrounding them had contributed to his recovery, which was now complete. He expressed sorrow at not being able to meet Miriam or to have set eyes on the blessed artefact. The truth of the chalice, he realised, was not his to announce. It would stir transformations in humanity in its own quiet way. There was no rush.
The universe was almost fourteen billion years old… a mere week in God’s design. He felt a new burst of hope and joy. Overall, mankind was not yet ready. They would be, long after he had passed away. In the meantime, he was content and supremely happy. The struggle had not been in vain.
Rizzo had maintained contact and had shown interest in their work. He and Fergy had become friends. The events surrounding SOTA and its mission had caused a dramatic change in his belief system.
At first, Fergal had felt bitterness and anger, but time had smoothed away the rawness. Much of the angst and sadness had been softened by the amount of work he was undertaking as the new CEO of the OxCam Archaeological Unit. Under his auspices, they had discovered two ancient British encampments close to the City of Bath – one dating back from the Bronze Age and the other from the early Celtic periods. In one way, he had wished he hadn’t found that. It reminded him of Druids and the presence of Kelvin.
Fergal had various other assignments in the UK. His home country was rich in undiscovered sites from the earliest days of recorded history. He had made numerous finds of importance, but none would ever match the Templar doors and Miriam’s performance with the cup.
It was not long after that episode, he remembered, that she announced she was giving up her academic work and taking a sabbatical to investigate the scientific validity of numerous spiritual and biblical events, mainly in Europe and the Middle East. Some days before that announcement and after Rizzo’s departure back to Rome, they had both revisited the site of the Templar doors.
As they approached, she had spoken to him. “You go on and push them open.”
“But I thought only you and the Druid could open them?” He had replied and recalled being unable to prevent his sarcasm.
His omission of Kelvin’s name went without comment. “No longer,” she replied. “Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Go on… push.”
He leant forward and gave a tentative shove. The door swung open with ease. He looked puzzled. “What has changed?”
She gave no answer but walked in with him close by. “Look.” She pointed to the area where the stone altar and glass case had stood. They were gone. All there was to see was a blank space.
He had gasped. “What in God’s name has happened here? How on earth could that be moved from this place and by who? I don’t believe it!” A frantic scour around began.
There was nothing to see.
He looked hard at Miriam. “I think you know something about this. Tell me.”
“I don’t know where it went, any more than you do. What I sense is that no earthly person came in here and removed it. It is where it belongs, but not in this place.”
“More mumbo jumbo. How are we going to explain this?” The professor sounded exasperated.
Miriam had looked thoughtful, as if she were choosing her words. “Fergy, sit on that rock over there for a moment.” She pointed to a large flat protuberance.
He sat. “Well?”
She had sat close to him and reached out for his hand. He looked surprised.
“Fergy, since we started this, so many strange things have happened around us – not counting murderers, dodgy cardinals and a sick pope. One of the most amazing is my connection with Kelvin. Yes, I believe that we were brother and sister once, related to Jah and Magda. I know you do not believe that, but just a little bit would please me so much. Can you do that for me?”
He looked into her eyes. “I will keep an open mind, I promise you.”
“Thank you.” She moved her head and kissed him on his cheek.
He bent his head low.
She continued. “As for the cup you saw in that case, it will never leave me. I don’t possess it, but now I know it is always with me, metaphorically speaking. It will appear when it is called or needs to. Kelvin knows that and he will never be far from me, as it guides him as it does me. I have plans, which I will tell you in a few days.”
Her departure hurt him more than he could have ever imagined. As he had expected, the years rolled by and he received no news of her or where she had gone. Miriam, Kelvin, and the cup had vanished – as if they had never existed.
He missed her so much.
66
Many years later…
St. Maximin la Sainte Baume
Var, South France
July 2nd, Feast day of St. Mary Magdalene
A tall man with silvery flowing hair walked slowly up the long meandering slope. Beside him, a woman with auburn tresses, beginning to grey, walked in step with him. Around them were countless lesser paths heading in all directions, through thick woods and forests. The air was fresh, cool, and clear. The only sounds breaking the hushed silence was that of birds calling and the gentle sounds of rainwater dripping from the trees after a recent shower. They were over halfway through the ninety-minute hike to the top. Their destination was a mountain cave, now a hidden monastery – the grotto and Sanctuary of Mary Magdalene. Its guardians were Dominican monks and had been since the late thirteenth century.
Both walked in silence.
They reached the approaches and could see the one hundred and fifty steps leading up to the oak door entrance to the huge cave.
The man spoke. “This place was used by the Celts centuries before Christians absorbed it into this setting.”
“I know, Iseldir,” Miriam whispered to keep the sanctity of the place intact. “Pilgrims have been coming here since the fifth century.”
“Miriam,” Kelvin continued. “The people here believe the Magdalene lived here for thirty years before she died, but we know differently, do we not?”
Seconds passed and she didn’t reply. Miriam was gripped by the reverential atmosphere of the place – the candles, the lingering incense, the darkened stone walls and roof. It was a place of intense spirituality “We do know but nobody here would believe us. The cup was with us for a time, although in one sense… we never had it. It was hers and always will be. It appears when I ask it to, and that’s the way it has been for over two millennia… and that’s how it will always be. Who our children will be, we will never know, but they will always find each other as we had found each other, as those that came before us had found each other. The mystery is vast and knows no dogma or religion.”
“I know that is true. I’m sad to think that these people believe she used to dwell in this place.” Iseldir sounded distant. “But it doesn’t matter. She is here in every way, physically or not. What matters is the love and inspiration such legends generate across time. The truth prevails and is assisted by such wonderful folktales. Do you remember your old friend Fergal? I wonder what he would make of all this?”
She laughed. “Fergy never breaks a promise, and the last one I heard from him was that he would keep an open mind. Who knows? I have hope.”
Ω
Thank you for reading The Keeper’s Cup.
If you enjoyed it, please leave a review on Amazon to encourage other readers to get a copy and to share your thoughts with me. This author will greatly appreciate it.
LEAVE A REVIEW
If you want to read more archaeological / supernatural thrillers, you’ll find free chapters of my book, The Patmos Enigma, in the next pages.
You can also visit my Amazon page for more of my novels.
~ KEN FRY~
Surrey, UK
July 2020
FREE CHAPTERS from The Patmos Enigma
PROLOGUE
Beit-Guvrin
Judea, AD 100
DEATH DESCENDED UPON him fast. Its blood lust grasped out to seize his lifeforce.
His heart hammered in his chest as he forced his exhausted body across an unforgiving terrain. He prayed for the courage to accept the kiss of his nemesis, and that its embrace would be short, sharp, and quick.
They were right behind him, gaining fast. He could hear their steel swords clashing.
Pushing himself forward, he gasped in pain. But … he must keep running. To stop would surely seal his fate. One swift blow and his head would be a gift to the sand beneath his feet. His sandals slipped and turned with every agonising stride across rocks and spiky shrubs. There was nowhere to go but upwards, and there could be no return.
His obedience to his mentors, the Guardians, had transformed him from law-abiding husband and father, into a man condemned. But he must obey his vows … must fulfill his purpose.
Behind, an elite troop of armed Roman legionnaires were in pursuit. One mounted soldier astride a white Arab stallion urged his panting steed to a faster gallop and began closing in on him like a cheetah pursuing a deer. From the way he pointed his javelin at Koury’s sweat-stained back, his intent was clear. “Ya! Ya!” The soldier spurred his excited mount onwards.
Koury bit his lip and subjected his twenty-two-year-old body into extremes it had never experienced before. Zigzagging, staggering, and reeling across the stone strewn earth, he crashed through the thorny shrubs, ignoring the ripping of his flesh. He knew what they were after. He gripped the bag slung across his back closer to his body. Even he, Adil Koury, had scant knowledge of its contents.