The Cistercian Conspiracy

by Gill Jepson

  He knew they were waiting. He led them to his writing slope and sat down. He looked weary and older than Rob had remembered. He smiled at them and nodded.

  “Welcome both, ye are most welcome. I have been expecting you.”

  Ben nodded and returned the smile.

  “You have brought the chalice I trust?”

  This time it was Rob who nodded. He began to remove the back sack from his shoulders. The monk lifted a hand to stop him.

  “Nay, we must wait,” he shook his head sorrowfully. “We can only safeguard this treasure when none can witness it. Ye are both still in peril and thy futures… and past depend upon us reversing the evil which has been wrought by Silas Dixon in thy time Robert.”

  Rob was startled at hearing his full name. He opened his mouth to speak but the monk continued.

  “Damage has been done which can only be repaired in time… and by time. The chalice has been used for ill and we must pay the penance. I sense a great evil brewing which will affect thee and thine across the years. We can limit this damage if we can conceal the chalice forever.”

  “How do we do that Brother?” asked Ben.

  “We wait until the appointed time… and we must conceal thee till then. Follow me and be silent and reverent.”

  The two of them followed the monk, who led them outside. The abbey was quiet and deserted; the monks were now engaged in their daily tasks. They walked towards the infirmary. It was dark and silent, empty apart from an elderly monk who was being cared for in one of the cells along the long room. They left the building unseen and walked towards a number of scattered buildings in what was the amphitheatre. The Custodian’s cottage, which Rob had seen in various states was a large building, taller and more imposing. They walked past this onto a small workshop, surrounded by a luxuriant but tightly packed herb garden. They entered the wooden building; it was dark and musty inside. They could smell the faint aroma of herbs and potions and beams of light shone through the ill-fitting slats on the wooden shutter revealing the dust particles hanging in the air. The room had a workbench and stools, a fire and the floor was strewn with sweet smelling rushes. It was practical but there was not much comfort to be had.

  Stell beckoned them to sit and they obeyed. There was little else to do. He instructed them to stay until he returned at nightfall. When he had gone they whispered to each other. It was going to be a long few hours. The hut, for that’s all it really was, was stifling and dry. Rob sneezed and coughed, irritated by the pollen and dust.

  Later in the afternoon Brother John had brought a small draught of ale in an earthenware jug and two wooden beakers. The slight meal he provided consisted of a couple of raw onions, a piece of suspect looking cheese and even rougher bread than he had sampled at Tom’s house. Neither he nor Ben were very enthusiastic about the food and tried the ale instead. It was unlike any beer they had tasted. It was weak and a bit tasteless, but at least it was liquid and it served to quench their thirst. The sun beat down on the little hut and it became airless and stuffy. They grew drowsy, dozing and talking in intervals.

  A couple of times they heard voices outside and anxiously looked around for a place to hide. Luckily nobody came in and they were not presented with the problem of hiding. Eventually, the hut cooled down and dusk drew in. They risked eating the simple food John Stell had provided and finished off the ale. They were beginning to think that they would never see the monk again, when the door opened. Cool night air rushed into the small room. The monk carried a swill basket full of lavender, which he put down on the wooden bench.

  “I used this subterfuge in case I was seen,” he explained, “We must move speedily if we are to install the chalice safely.”

  They stood up and stretched, their aching limbs glad to move at last. They followed Stell into the darkness outside. The cooler air was refreshing and they welcomed it. The stars stapled the black cloudless sky like a spangled cloak. The wild garlic smelt pungent and quiet surrounded the precinct, disturbed now and then by a distant hoot or night call. They followed the spritely monk back into the abbey. It was silent and dark apart from a solitary rush light at the cloister door. Stell was like a mole, he was just as confident finding his way in the darkness as he was in the light. The monks were in bed, retiring early in the summer, because their first services were at 2.30 a.m. Stell had used this opportunity to bring them into the abbey unseen.

  They entered the undercroft quietly. It was deserted and the room echoed with their footfalls. Evidence of the work of the day was left unfinished on the trestle tables, shoes being mended, clothes to stitch and all number of everyday tasks. It was cold and dark, the fire unlit and no rush lights. They could make out the figure of Stell from the fraction of light, which broke through the windows; he made his way to the huge fireplace in the middle of the wall, half way down the room.

  “I have a safe place prepared for the chalice. It will be protected here, God willing,” he whispered.

  He knelt at the base of the hearth and pressed a carved tile. The tile had a carving, not of a sprig of nightshade this time, instead the simple shape of a decorative cross.

  “X marks the spot eh, brother?” smirked Ben.

  The tile slid back and revealed a deep cut hole. He took the chalice offered by Rob, carefully bound it in the wrappings and gently laid it in the gap. The tile slid back and the treasure was concealed once more.

  The three left the room and slowly walked to the tunnel entrance behind the abbey.

  “How do we know it will be safe? How do we know it won’t be found again?” asked Rob.

  “We must pray and hope it is not found. We can only do so much to protect it and evil has been done already. Each time the chalice is ill used, it weakens in its power.”

  The thought was sobering. The monk smiled. Dawn was rising and melting away the night. The birds heralded its appearance and the bell rang for Lauds.

  “We must say our farewells, ye will see me more, but for now thou must depart. God bless thee my sons.”

  Ben and Rob shuffled through the tunnel in silence. They had returned to Ben’s time, which was at least slightly safer than Rob’s. The mood was subdued as they made their way back through the gate to the cart. Mason nodded and raised a quizzical eyebrow as they passed and Ben acknowledged with a slight wave.

  “So lad, what’s your plan now?”

  “Dunno… got to get back home…”

  “Aye it’s a bit of a pain till tha gets used to it… you’ll be back right enough, it always happens when you least expect it.” Ben spoke with authority.

  “So has this always happened to you… moving through time, seeing the monk and everything?”

  “Aye. As long as I can remember. When I was a lad at Ravenglass I used to see the owld monk but he never spoke. I reckon it’s a gift some of us have and some of us don’t.”

  They travelled back towards the town. It was quiet and was growing dark. It took some getting used to – starting out in one season and ending up in another, all in a few hours. It was like a weird sort of jet lag… and you always seemed to have the wrong clothes on. It was still November in this time and he was not as warmly dressed as he would have liked. They trundled on down to the Strand, a commercial road, which led to the original heart of Barrow village. He wondered where they were going until Ben drove the horse into a yard through a brick built arch. He jumped down and unhitched the horse to take him into the railway stable. Rob followed and watched him gently tend to the needs of the old nag. Once fed and watered Ben rubbed the horse down. Rob was touched by the man’s tenderness and his heart swelled with pride. Something of his inner nature shone through and Rob was pleased to have met him. He was wondering what he would say if he told him who he was… it surely couldn’t harm. As though he could read his thoughts Ben glanced at him, his blue eyes fixing on him. A shiver went through Rob as he suddenly recognised how like George he was… and of course George – well, he was in no doubt now as to his true identity. Drowsiness
made his eyelids heavy and he yawned.

  He was overcome by an intense need to sleep and though he fought it he could not keep his eyes from closing. He fell into a deep slumber, cushioned by his dreams and away from harm.

  “Did ya do it then?”

  “Wake up! What ya doin’ in bed?”

  He shook himself awake and found his brother and sister leaning over him. He was fully clothed but was beneath his duvet. He was startled to find himself back home, let alone in bed.

  “Did you? Did you do it? The chalice? Is it safe?” demanded Rebecca impatiently.

  “Er…yeah! I think so…” he said vaguely.

  His head spun with cluttered memories and thoughts.

  His siblings looked eagerly for his response, hoping he would elaborate. He briefly told them what had happened and as he spoke he did not feel confident that the solution was the best.

  “So it’s back in the abbey? But is it safe there? Why didn’t John Stell take it to the same place the sword went to?” asked Nate.

  “Well the sacred book is in a museum, so maybe it doesn’t matter where it is once it’s been taken from the bad ones!” Rebecca offered.

  “I don’t know, but he seemed to be happy that it was in the abbey again… I was a bit worried though… because how does he know it will survive until now?”

  “Only one way to find out…”

  “Anyone else feel like we are going round in circles?” Nate sighed. “It’s like a game of hide and seek – through time.

  CHAPTER 23

  SAVING THE FUTURE

  Something strange had happened, nothing felt right. They were gripped by a sense of inertia. Rob fell into a malaise and became quiet and withdrawn. He could not even muster the energy to tease his brother. Rebecca was irritating everyone with her incessant chatter and questions, none of which either boy could answer. Nate was grumpy and he retreated into a TV world of science fiction and vampires. The days were growing warmer and although the weather was fine none of them left the house except to go to school and work.

  Rob frequently caught himself looking at his great granddad’s photo. It was Ben alright, but in uniform seated on a big black horse, wielding a lance and sporting a heavy moustache. He stared at it intently, hoping he would find answers. He even found pictures of George and looked at every aspect closely, trying to find clues or something they had overlooked. Nothing revealed itself to him.

  They went about their business, but didn’t go near the abbey. Each one of them watched for birds or strange creatures, but nothing seemed to be unusual. The lone raven nested nearby and gave them some solace. He was their sentry and protector, or so they hoped. The odd thing was they didn’t want to discuss the situation either. Rob began to despair as to whether they would discover if their efforts had been successful.

  Rob was struggling to sleep again, as he had for many nights since his last adventure. The strange experiences he and his brother and sister had been through re-ran in his brain like an old movie. He analysed the final meeting with John Stell and Ben over and over, but could find no peace. The night was close and airless and a full moon shone into his room producing an unsettling effect. The room was bathed in silvery light, leeching the colour and definition from everything, the dark corners hiding unknown secrets. He looked around nervously. Suddenly, he was reduced to childish fears of the dark and monsters under the bed. He argued with himself not to be so silly, reasoning that after the amazing things he had seen, he should be fearless.

  His eyes were itching with tiredness and he ached for sleep. As he fought with insomnia a tiny blue crackle burst in the darkest corner of the room. His eyes opened wider and he held his breath.

  Crackle… crackle…

  A larger burst of energy fractured the darkness. Blue light spat and sputtered like a roman candle, gaining size and intensity. From within its centre a familiar figure emerged.

  The boy looked pale and ill. It was George. He was gaunt and thin. He was ill. He smiled weakly and waved.

  “George?”

  “I’m ill…”

  “What can I do?”

  “I haven’t long… you have to help… the chalice is still in danger.”

  Rob caught his breath. His heart sank and he felt sick.

  “But it’s at the abbey.”

  “But they are looking; they want the rest of its power… I can’t get better while it’s in danger… and I can’t help you.”

  “What do we have to do George?”

  “Get it before they find it… if they use it again our lives are forfeit… they will change the passage of time forever.”

  Rob was silent.

  “But where will we take it? How can we save it?”

  “Others will help you, find Mason, he is waiting… but don’t…”

  His voice dimmed, as did the light surrounding him.

  “Don’t what?”

  The boy tried to make himself heard, but faded gradually. His strength was waning. He reached out to Rob but it was too late the magic was trickling away. The light snapped off leaving dark silence.

  Rob determined to return to the abbey and retrieve the chalice. It was like a game of cat and mouse, but it was impossible to know who was actually winning. The others would have to be told and the mission was on again. He felt better than he had for weeks, at least there was some movement and they might be able to settle things for once and for all. The treasure was safe for now, but they would need to move quickly before Dixon and his cohorts had the chance to discover where it lay. He sensed a change in the atmosphere. This was more important and more dangerous than any of their other adventures.

  CHAPTER 24

  AWAKENINGS

  Fingers of bright moonlight picked their way across the sleeping stones of the Chapter House and rested upon a crude carving inscribed into the wall. The light etched the features of a face, a face frozen in fear, its mouth forever open in a petrified scream. The eyes were holes bored deep and fathomless into the stone conveying a desolate horror. Dixon emerged from the shadows and drew parallel with the small carving. He craned his neck so to see the face more clearly and he tentatively reached up with a black-gloved hand. He covered the face with his claw like fingers, obscuring it from view.

  An owl screeched, signalling an alarm throughout Abbot’s Wood, the night creatures heard it and crept away quietly into the undergrowth, camouflaging and removing themselves from sight. There was a hum of energy emitting from the abbey and the very stones vibrated ominously. Dixon became as inert as the walls and his black silhouette increased in density. The tension and silence met in an uncomfortable union and great power flowed from Dixon’s hand into the wall. The sandstone shifted and shimmered with an electrical current, bringing vibrancy and life to the masonry. A purple glow held the stones and grew in brightness until man and wall became one. An enormous surge of power cracked and echoed through the Chapter House and Dixon was flung backwards onto the ground. The wall throbbed and pulsed hypnotically and the low hum resonated threateningly. The face shifted and contorted, mouth and eyes moving manically as they emerged from the stone.

  The head pulled away from its rigid prison, flashes of amethyst light sparked and flashed as the head forced its way out, shoulders following. Arms pushed and struggled to attain freedom, finally followed by torso and legs, an unnatural birthing of a resurrected, unholy soul.

  The creature landed heavily at Dixon’s feet and he bent to raise him up. The figure was emaciated and crooked from his long sojourn encased within the sandstone. He winced as he stretched and uncurled, every bone and sinew creaking and snapping into place. With superhuman effort he stretched and resumed his normal height and stature. He stood rigid and statue-like, his eyes the only thing to betray his life force and energy. His eyes were oily black pools, slick and alert, darting around him and taking in the surroundings. His gaze fell upon his saviour and settled for a moment. The recognition was immediate and triumphant.

  The two embraced
and all fell silent. It was a sinister, menacing silence, heavy with dread and expectation. The birds fell silent and the air was thick with malevolence. The red walls of the abbey shuddered and resonated with an uneasy hum, protesting against this unnatural and sacrilegious reunion.

  “Ambrose Steele, welcome! You are once more free. Free to avenge our family and complete our quest for power and treasure. Together we will be strong, we will be invincible… and will take back that which is ours by right and in time!”

  On the hillside above, the dark magic had awoken three older and malevolent souls. The evil-doers awoke from their long sleep, cast into the sandstone, banished for an eternity to expiate their dreadful sin.

  At the same instant a dart of lightening pain shot through the very hearts of Nate, Rob and Rebecca. They were alerted and uneasy, filled with dreadful anticipation, but as yet, not knowing why. They knew without speaking their thoughts that the last battle was joined and that they must face their old foes and vanquish or fade away themselves.

  AFTERWORD

  In a different time, not so long ago, a young girl awoke abruptly. Today was going to be an important one. It was July, hot and sunny and it was her eleventh birthday. Her two best friends, Kevin and Susan were going to spend the day with her at Furness Abbey and take a picnic. They had been lots of times but today would be different. She could feel it in her bones-something exciting would happen today.