Even so, there was still an inordinate amount of work ahead and little time to do it.
26—Bonjour Saint-Pierre
“As tunnels go,” said the Countess, “there might be much more to say, later.
But talking to my friends in Chartres, I was reminded of a few interesting things. For example, Kidinnu or not Kidinnu, there is another date in August connected with Philippe le Bel, the nemesis of both Jews and Templars: in 1304, still covered in dust from the battle of Mons-en-Puelle (17 August 1304) Philippe le Bel kneeled at the feet of Notre Dame of Chartres, to offer thanks for his victory against the Flemish. The king gave his full battle armor, the one he had worn at that battle, as an offering to the Holy Virgin Mary, and he also instituted a commemoration service, under the name Notre-Dame-de-la-Victoire. This same man, Philippe le Bel, was ultimately responsible for laying the grounds for the Hundred Years War and the one who had Jacques de Molay executed on March 18, 1314. Fast forward to the War of the Jacques and the Hundred Years War, which were disastrous for the cathedral, especially after the defeat of Poitiers (19 September 1356), when King Jean II le Bon was taken as a prisoner of war: Chartres then had no revenues, no harvests, and properties were pillaged or burned by the English and the Navarrans.
And then, in the Capitulaire de la Purification in 1360, the canons of Chartres complained: “The persecution against the church of Chartres is comparable only to that of Jerusalem: it has no more friends; the people charged of our defense do more damage than our enemies…” Guess the unpopularity of the Templars lasted awhile.
And, when in that same 1360, Edward III, King of England, who also titled himself King of France, came for six days to discuss peace at Sours, 10km or so from Chartres, he came to the church, and a storm that looked like the end of the world exploded over the city, killing men and horses. The storm was so terrifying Edward III renounced any claim to the French throne, and finally returned to England.”
“And how does all this historical recapitulation help us?” asked Haim.
“Patience, cher Monsieur Haim,” replied the Countess, waving her index. “On another note, Sours was a Commanderie of the Templars, one of the most important in France. And there is a folk tale suggesting that a vaulted basement, part of a system of gigantic tunnels dug by the Templars, would reach from the Commanderie of Sours, all the way to the Château of Sours—or even further, even more insane, to the Cathedral of Notre-Dame de Chartres. If that were true, finding such tunnel, somewhere in the wheat fields, or under a clump of trees, or under an old house one could rent, be a far easier place from which to start digging.
So I spent some time making enquiries. Sadly, there seems to be no real basis for any of this. Hence, as tunnels go, we’ll have to stick to Saint-Pierre. That creates an additional problem: its grounds are like a cemetery—many illustrious dead are buried within the old abbey’s terrain, so…”
As the Countess was about to continue, the alarm sounded and Pierre stumbled and almost fell over as he quickly entered the room. “The castle’s new defensive lasers have fired up. Two of the dogs came back with human parts in their mouths. One of the arms had a piece of shirt with a Swastika. Since Monsieur Tony wanted to be informed the moment your dogs caught something unusual, Madame…” he said, mildly apologetically for interrupting, “...I thought I should let you know.”
“Thank you, Pierre. By my count, we now have over fifty spy drones destroyed, twenty-three intruders killed by our vampire friends, and five plastic-explosive bombs diffused. Not bad…” Tony said.
“Seems we’re under attack…” Siegfried hinted.
“More under surveillance and distraction/warning,” the Countess suggested.
“Why do you say that, Countess?” asked Tony.
“Well,” she replied, “my contacts in Chartres said people had made enquiries for open-ended permits to carry out a possible search for the Ark. When they were told permits would be project specific, subject to approval upon review, and would require areas and timelines as essential part of the project’s submission, the applicants said they would need ‘a few more days’, to provide a more precise description of the excavation timeline and to narrow down the areas they would like to explore…To me, that suggests…”
“…they are trying to find out what we know. Snoopers might then be what activated the lasers,” said Tony.
“Why would they not activate the EMPs, then?” asked Conrad.
“The EMPs activate only for larger probes, say that snake drone yesterday…”clarified Tony. “Mosquito surveillance drones have more limited range. But we see them on the dark web, poorly encrypting photos of the area or the Galileo/GPS/GLONASS/BeiDou coordinates. Then our lasers triangulate their precise position and zap them. There would be too much mayhem if the EMPs fired each time a swarm crosses inside our perimeter. Lasers target very precisely, spare us a castle-wide instrument reboot every so often,” Tony explained.
“I, for one,” said Severian, chuckling, “am glad you are on our side…”
“Seems, for now at least, those who send them, and clearly are not on our side, are a bit…clumsy? Why?” quipped Sól, a bit suspicious.
“The reverse be rather tragic,” commented the Countess.
“It would be,” sighed Tony. “However, as much as I know their tricks all too well, someone among them might know mine. What has been happening reinforces my suspicion that Conrad’s first blood-son might be very influential within my Order. He might be one of my bosses. If that is the case, and we prevail, I might need to find a new job when this is over…” he finished, clutching his head as he shook it, his face stern. “In summary, from now on we will, literally, have to watch our shadows…”
“We shall, then,” interjected the Countess. “Anyhow, another thing we will have to watch is the number of dead people buried there at the church. My friends in high places were quite adamant: they are fine with us attempting to reinforce the structure—but they won’t tolerate any serious damage to it. If the structure fails, we will have a colossal problem. And it is verboten to disturb the dead! Apparently, Saints Savinien and Potentien built a church in the honor of Saint Pierre, and on the III century A.D., Sainte Soline became a martyr and was buried there. At the VI century, Clovis I, king of France built an abbey over this primitive church. Queen Clotilde in 511 considerably endowed the abbey, and in 543 made it a Benedictine abbey. The Normans, lead by Hastings, arrived at Chartres in 857 and burned the city and the abbey, which was outside the city walls.
The monks had to flee to Auxerre and Hélie, Bishop of Chartres, stole their possessions. When they tried to come back, Hélie pursued them, and they had to go back to Auxerre. In 858 the new bishop, Giselbert helped them rebuild—so he too, was buried there, in gratitude.
In 911 the Normans, again, now under Rollon, attacked the abbey, but couldn’t take the city. The then bishop, Gantelme, helped the clerics and canons rebuild—so he too was buried there, near the great altar. Aganon, another bishop, was buried there too in 941, to the right of the grand altar. Another one, Abbot Alvée, was buried there in 955. Wuphald, another abbot, was buried on a separate chapel, to the east of the dormitories, which was demolished in 1659.
Legarde, wife by her second marriage to Thibault the Treacherous, apparently was buried in Saint-Père’s chapter house in 981. On the wall that separated the cloister and the chapter house there was a plate commemorating her entombment.
In 1005 her grandsons Thibault II and his brother Theodoric were also buried in the chapter house. In 1020, Hildegarde, viscountess of Châteaudun was also buried in the cloister. In 1020 as well, when Fulbert was bishop of Chartres, the cathedral burned. He was the driving force to rebuild the cathedral, and when he had just finished the crypt in 1029, he died—and was buried in Saint-Père as well. There are a few more skeletons there—so, our excavation will have to be done scrupulously respecting all the tombs. To the powers that be, I gave my word—and the de Foehns de Groslac never give the
ir word in vain,” finished the Countess, finally taking a breath.
“True,” admitted Conrad, “there are quite a few burials there. But not all are causes for concern. Some are reference points. Let me explain: in 1047, Théodoric, Fulbert’s successor, died and was buried to the right of Fulbert. In 1031, Arnoul, Richard I of Normandy’s—not Lionehart’s—confessor, was buried there; and in 1037, Robert d’Evreux, Richard’s son was buried there too. In 1130, abbot Guilhaume was buried under the great altar. More importantly, in 1143 both Notre Dame de Chartres and the Saint-Père abbey burned down.
The next abbot—not the one at the time of the fire—Foulquer, elected in 1150, rebuilt Saint-Père and was buried there in 1171, in front of the grand altar by the choir of the new church. See, many of these tombs can serve as reference points as well!
Back to the inventory of the dead, the architect of this rebuilt church, Hilduard, in 1165, had the construction crew dig all the way to the bedrock, to build the shear wall separating the nave from the choir. During that excavation, the remains of Saint Guilduin were reportedly found; and that, helped collect funds to rebuild the church. Saint Guilduin was eventually laid to rest on a chapel named after him—one that, falling to ruin, was abandoned in 1666.”
Then the Countess started laughing, uncontrollably, and crying. Most of the others thought it might have been the undiluted pastis finally getting the best of her. But she had spent the entire day on champagne and petit fours.
“Sorry!” she suddenly exclaimed, you probably think I’ve gone mad or am drunk as a skunk. Neither. “Dodging skeletons will be inescapable, won’t it?” she asked.
“Yes, Maman Chloé” replied Sól. “Rather crude, but true. Your point?”
“When we had to do the last great renovations on the Mausoleum,” she replied, suddenly overtaken by emotion, “after Siegfried’s father died, we called reputable contractors. Among them, there was this man, Adolphe—what Thor and Jamie Lannister would have as a baby, if that were possible. Irène immediately got desperately drawn to him. She wanted him more like starved bees would want all fields of lavender in Provence. She followed him like a dog after filet mignon. But then, one day she discovered Adolphe receiving a rose from Loïc, our studly gardener; and then, the two of them, going to the Mausoleum to ‘dodge skeletons’ together. She followed them, curious and disappointed of her now obvious loss, to confirm her suspicions. Let’s say they were ‘amply confirmed’. Fast forward, Adolphe and Loïc now live together in the gardener’s house, Adolphe is our resident ‘maçon’ and the two men became Irène’s best friends. She felt ‘protected’ by them, not ‘judged’—like she was by others working at the castle. And since Adolphe and Loïc are certainly very monogamous and clear about who they are, they didn’t ‘compete’ with her either—in the sense other maids, who are sometimes as voracious as pauvre Irène, would. In short, Irène had finally found a new family, two brothers really. Two brothers she would have followed to the end of the world without hesitation,” finished the Countess.
“I see,” replied Conrad, visibly incommoded by the unnecessary digression. Severian didn’t comment, but, noticing Conrad’s discomfiture, just cleared his throat and said, “So, you were saying?” clearly addressing Conrad.
Conrad then continued, as if Irène’s interruption from the grave had not happened: “That takes care of most that had happened there until 1193, although there are a few more tombs and such. Now, here’s the good news: at the time, Simon de Bérou was a canon at Saint-Père-en-Vallée—and he seems to have taken the secret of any existing tunnels and excavations to his tomb. He died in 1220.
In 1856, while doing restoration work, diggers found his tombstone, a tombal slab, perfectly preserved, identifying him. Underneath it, they found a sarcophagus carved from one single stone. The lid, found in five or six pieces, was removed, to inspect the tomb, and inspection showed it had never been opened. By then, only the bones were left in it.
The document detailing this went to the Chartres Library, and burned in 1944.
Still today, though, Simon’s sepulchral slab reads:
“VERUS CATOLICUS ET DEVOTUS TIBI, CHRISTE,
CARTIS CANONICUS ET PRESBITER EXTITIT ISTE,
SIMON DE BERO, SOLUS BONA PUBLICA CLERI,
AFECTU VERU MULTOQUE VIGORE TUERI:
HUIC VENIAM TRIBUE, VENIE DATOR, HUIC MISERERE,
ECCLESIEQUE TUE TUTOREM, CHRISTE, TUERE.” Simon de Bérou, a true canon of scrolls who was a staunch defender of Christ’s church, whom they asked Christ to guard.
And it is Simon de Bérou who will guide us.
In 1729, trying to find the tomb of Fulbert, the canon Brillon notes that during the excavations in the choir, an old crypt and a cave or grotto connected to the church was mentioned: a. in 1421, by Dom Aubert, excavating the vault to rebuild the old chapel of Saint-Étienne; b. in 1672, talking about the cave next to the sacristan’s lodge; and it was also again ‘in 1804, Auguste…demolishing the house of Saint-Père’s bailiff, between Saint-Hilaire and Saint-Père…found a sort of underground, next to the walls of Saint-Père and below the level of the floor or street’. Those are some of ‘our’ tunnels.
Saint-Hilaire ceased to be a church in 1791. In 1793 it became an asylum for the poor, then barracks lodging a regiment, and, eventually, was destroyed, in 1804. In 1803 Saint-Père-en-Vallée (now Saint-Pierre) was restored, having degraded horribly when used to store and handle saltpeter.
So, what have we done with all this information? We’ve gone over all of it and its inventoried locations, known and probable, we have mapped, as precisely as possible. We have even had the luxury of visiting the place at night, where we tried a form of GPR (ground penetrating radar) combined with multi-frequency electromagnetic profiling, to detect underground metal deposits. Taking advantage of the nocturnal noise in the summer—and relying as little as possible in glamorizing witnesses—that part of our investigation went perfectly fine. We suffered no attacks, and Tony’s camera surveys showed no spy drones surveying us,” Conrad reported. Tony nodded.
Then Conrad continued: “My blood-son would recognize my mind’s imprint; so, Severian and Mircea did the few glamorizing honors, and they even grazed the prey—so, if Geoffroy notices, he would think some vampires came to town to mark their new territory, instead of concluding we are interested in the place per se,” explained Conrad, looking a bit apprehensive as he briefly glanced, again, in the direction of Tony. “We then acted as watchmen, and Oskar—Siegfried’s brother—provided his archaeological surveying expertise to improve our 3D-imagery of the underground. Tomorrow, he will wake up with a horrible headache, and remember nothing of either the matter or our visit to him.
In summary: now our maps are as complete as they would ever be.
On the humorous side, we have confirmed we will have to dig under the public toilets for tourists, so our excavation could get messy,” finished Conrad, smirking as he signaled that area in the map of Chartres. Hearing that, the Countess chuckled. At the same time, David paled: his claustrophobia was suddenly threatening to come back with a vengeance. His face became like wax. Sól looked at him, shook her head, glanced in the direction of Siegfried, and rolled her eyes. The Countess glared at her and shook her head.
Conrad waited long enough for the now fouled atmosphere to dissipate a bit, and then continued: “Prisons at the Château des Comtes, were in its southern part. Interrogations, of course, happened at the dungeon; but those punished were exhibited at the Grosse Cour,” he said pointing here and there on the plans. “The tower was an ugly square thing, with no moats around. The tunnels, both the one leading to Saint-Père Bridge—at the time, a wooden bridge—and the one leading west,” he said splaying his hands, “bifurcated…right there,” he indicated, placing his finger on the map.
“So, you know how to get in,” said the Countess. “Hopefully you also know how to get out, without making the news at 8PM on TF2?”
“Yes. At first, we thought we sho
uld continue all the way to the Parc Gagnon and emerge from the underground there once out mission was complete—but there might be a simpler alternative,” Conrad said.
“How so?” asked Haim.
“It would be simpler, yes,” agreed David, “but for it to work smoothly, we would need almost one of those Formula Truck drivers Brazil had until 2017 to get us out of here fast—and hopefully, with discretion. It would also require Tony hacking much of the city, for about twelve minutes. If we can do that, after feeding all data available to the artificial intelligence unit at the castle, seems we can complete the mission and leave Chartres without being in the national TV news. That last part of the plan, Severian will now explain.”
Severian’s brief explanation ended the meeting.
Still, there was plenty left to do at the ‘logistics war room’ and at one of the large storage rooms. There, harvest produce, wine barrels, equestrian equipment and all manner of castle’s maintenance equipment had been reaccommodated, to permit loading two trucks—which should allow their ‘expeditionary force’ to arrive and depart inconspicuously and fast.
“During Summer,” said Siegfried, “all sorts of spectacles require all sorts of equipment installed on the streets, parks and squares, oftentimes brought—and taken away—by truck. And archaeology has many adepts in the Beauce—and, in particular, in Chartres. That should help us blend in nicely as well.”
“One more day,” said David, finally overcoming another claustrophobic bout. “I’ve always said that, better than complaining about being prosecuted, one should act, do everything one can to end that prosecution. Tomorrow night, at crunch time, I’d better take a piece of my own advice. I shall sure need it.”
“Indeed,” said Severian, adjourning the meeting.
Everyone went then back to work on endless to-do lists. Through the night, the work continued, uninterrupted, at times shrugging minor bouts of panic, as the entire power grid at the castle—ordinarily very stable—kept blinking, rather unsettlingly.
Quest for the Ark Page 28