“God, Ben!” she snapped. “Just what do you think we should do?”
I paused for a moment and then said: “I think we’ve got to level with him. We’ve got to tell him the whole story. We’ve got to tell him everything, every last detail.”
“Okay,” she replied a moment later. “If that’s what you want. But we can’t tell him where the chest is hidden. We’ve got to keep that back.”
“That’s for certain. We’ll only tell him that it’s in Beijing, and somewhere not too far away.”
“Okay, Ben. Call him back in. Let’s get it over with.”
We told him the whole story, right from when I had purchased the writing box and Sue had tried to talk me out of it. We told him about the unfinished letter from Captain Montgomery Jenkinson-Smythe to his wife, and of the other letter that he was going to send to her with the cross, with the jade, and with the gold pieces, but we didn’t tell him where Monty had waylaid the Boxers nor where he had hidden the chest, only that the items were meant to be in a metal box. And we told him about John Jenkinson-Smythe and Jackson Lee, and the break-in at the house in Martin’s street. When we had finished, he asked a few questions and then sat quietly, his hands folded on his lap. I could almost hear his brain ticking over.
“I need to make a phone call,” Joseph said, settling himself down on the edge of the bed again.
“Do you want us to leave?” Sue asked.
“No, that’s not necessary; everything should be open between us. Although I will be speaking in Italian, with Father Xavier in Rome, so I hope you won’t mind. His English is not as good as my Italian.” He smiled and picked up the telephone. He must have spoken for ten or fifteen minutes. Every now and then we could hear our names mentioned, and those of John Jenkinson-Smythe and Jackson Lee, but it was Jackson Lee’s name that predominated near the end of the conversation. He ended the conversation, flicked his hair over his forehead for perhaps the tenth time and then turned to us.
“Father Xavier is making enquiries,” he said in a quiet voice. “He agrees with me that the person you know as Jackson Lee is probably the one who is having you watched. That won’t be his real name of course. We don’t think that the descendant of the good Captain is involved, but the Church will look into him nonetheless.” He paused to see if we had any comment and, when we offered nothing, continued: “Father Xavier has instructed me to tell you everything we know about what might be in the chest. I trust that what I am about to tell you will be treated as a matter of confidence, in the same way in which we will treat what you have told us.”
We both nodded our agreement, although I was certain that if it was going to be for the Jesuits’ benefit, they would divulge any of the information we had given them to anyone they chose. He waited a moment and then cleared his throat.
“As far as we have been able to discover, and this has been obtained mainly from verbal accounts which were passed from mouth to mouth during the Boxer rebellion before being put into writing a few weeks later, a group of Boxers attacked our largest church just before the legations in Beijing, or as it was then known, Peking, were relieved by the combined foreign forces. This church had a secret room, known only to a few of the priests. The secret room contained certain sacred relics, the details of which I am not at liberty to reveal to you, although I can tell you that they are immensely important to our Church and to the Christian world in general.” He looked from me to Sue, and then back to me again. “Are you both regular churchgoers?”
“No, neither of us are,” I replied. “I’m a non-believer. I don’t believe in God. I don’t believe in any sort of God, although I think Sue does.” I saw her nod her head slightly. “But not me. It’s not something that I want to argue about with you, or even discuss. I’ve done that with other church people and the result has always been the same, nobody won and both sides got annoyed. You have your beliefs and I have mine, and let’s leave it at that.”
“But, Ben,” Joseph went on. “Do you believe that the Church is good?”
“I believe,” I told him. “That the Church is both good and evil, and probably more of the latter than the former.”
“What?” he exclaimed.
“Perhaps I should have put that a little differently. I believe that much of the evil that has occurred throughout history has been done in the name of religion. Wars have been fought between Christians and Moslems – the Crusades. At the present time there are Muslims trying to kill Christians in the name of religion. During history there have been thousands of people persecuted for religion, for having slightly different beliefs – the Catholic Church fighting the Church of England and them against the Protestants, and the Protestants against the Lutherans. Take the Spanish Inquisition for instance, or the burning of heretics.”
“Yes,” he said. “There have been dark times, and I can offer no excuse, other than to say that the motives of these people were well-intentioned, although misguided.”
“No,” I replied. “I’m not getting into that argument.”
“But you said that religion is both good and bad?”
“Yes,” I said. “The various churches and other groups do help the sick and needy, and presumably do many other good works, but then again the churches spend huge amounts of money, and usually money given to the churches by those who can least afford it, on building magnificent churches, cathedrals and edifices, and palaces for bishops and other church dignitaries. The money would be better off remaining with those who had given it, or used to build hospitals and schools.”
“Yes, what you say may be so. But we Jesuits believe in a more humble existence. We believe that the Lord God put us here to help his flock, to help them as they proceed along the path He has laid out for them.”
“That may be so,” I replied. “But I don’t believe in your god, or in any god, so, don’t ask me to help the Jesuits because of any connection to a god. I’ll help the Jesuits if your cause is the right one, if your claim is honest, and if nobody is likely to suffer, and provided that Sue and I get our fair share. Is that good enough for you?”
He looked at me for a good half minute, and then nodded. “It will have to be.”
“Yes,” I said. “It will. Okay, do you want to continue?”
“Yes, of course. Well, as I said, there were sacred relics stored in the secret chamber. You would have heard of the Shroud of Turin no doubt.” We both nodded our agreement and I saw Sue’s eyes widen. “Yes, well, these sacred relics were not the Shroud of Turin, but they were as important to the Church of the Society of Jesus and to the Catholic Church as the Shroud of Turin is to the Christian faith. As well as these most precious relics there were also certain pieces of Church regalia stored in the chamber, including the cross of which you are in possession. And hanging just outside this room, in the body of the church, were several paintings of former bishops and missionaries of the Church. The painting which the Lancer Captain describes in his letter could very well have been one of those paintings.”
He stood up from the bed and started to walk around the room, his feet sliding silently on the carpet, his hands and arms moving to illustrate his story.
“Unfortunately,” he continued. “Not all priests are infallible. The Boxers broke down the main door to this church and one of the priests sheltering in the church tried to escape the Boxers’ fury by running and hiding himself in the secret chamber. He was cut down as he turned to slam the door shut in their faces, and they took their anger out on the others. Only one priest survived the ferocity of the Boxers, Father Michael. He was terribly wounded, but lived on in what must have been absolute agony for nearly two days, at which time he was finally found by others of our faith. Father Michael relayed to them what had happened. I have with me a copy of the document in which his story was written down. I had been instructed earlier to reveal this document to you only if it became absolutely necessary. Rome agrees that such is now the case. Unfortunately, the original document was written in Italian over a hundred yea
rs ago, but I have a translation in English for you. If you know any Italian, you will be able to compare the two and see that the one is a faithful translation of the other, although the handwriting of the original is rather difficult to read in places.
“We don’t know any Italian,” Sue replied. “We’ll just have to take your word for it.”
Which wasn’t strictly correct. I’d done a year of Italian in senior school, and dropped it as soon as I could. I found that I was hopeless at languages.
Joseph picked up a large manila envelope from the bed and extracted two sets of papers. One was a photocopy, comprising two pages. The other was a single sheet of paper, in English. He passed them over. The photocopy was of a handwritten document, obviously made early last century from the style of writing. The other had only been typed recently. We scanned them both and proceeded to read the newer of the two. It started out with the date and the name and official title of the person who had composed it; and then told the story as it had been related to him.
I state firstly that Father Michael was nearing the end of his earthly life and was soon to meet our Lord God. But his words were clear and his memory strong. I write hereunder his description of the events that occurred as near as my humble memory and notes can recall. Father Michael stated thus:
“There was a fearsome noise coming from without the church and we all ran to the doors to see what was occurring. We saw that there was a large group of the Chinese known as Boxers or more particularly known as members of the Society of Righteous Fists outside of the church. They were yelling and rioting and waving weapons at the church. We knew what they were about. We knew of their hate for our religion, and that we would surely be attacked. There was nothing we could do to stop them. I went outside and faced them and gave them a blessing and asked that they leave us in peace, but knew that it would do no good.
They rushed forward, bursting the doors asunder and stormed into the church itself. I offered no resistance and called to my fellow priests to offer no resistance lest we anger them further and they should set the church on fire, destroying all of those things which we hold most sacred to the church.
We stood our ground, praying and giving them forgiveness for what we knew they would now do, but Father Martin, who was only newly arrived from Rome, and not yet accustomed to the East, became weak. I could see that he had begun to tremble so I reached out to touch him, but my touch was misinterpreted and he turned and fled. If he had fled to any place other than to that place, I would be able to forgive his actions, but I cannot bring myself to do so, and I pray to God to forgive my unjust thoughts.
Father Martin fled towards the secret chamber. I did not even know that he was aware of it, being so recently arrived, but one of my brother priests must have made him aware of it. He thrust aside the curtain and reached up and moved both of the hidden levers. The door sprang open and he dived inside that small room, then turned and tried to shut the door against the invading Boxers. But he was too late. I watched in horror as one of them brought a large cleaver down against his forehead, splitting his skull as though it were nothing more than a melon.
At this action we gave up our prayers and moved against the Boxers, hoping that the Lord God would give us the strength needed to evict these heathens from the sacred church and allow us to protect those items reposing in the secret chamber.
But the Lord God did not see fit to answer our prayers, or perhaps it was His will, and the battle against these unholy men was a short one. I saw Father Silas go down with a short Chinese sword thrust through his ample belly, and Father Augustus received a bullet to the head from an ancient but effective Chinese musket.
And then it was my turn. I did not see from whence it came, I only know that my head seemed to be forced into my shoulders and I sank to the stones which are the floor of our sacred church and I felt the warm stickiness of blood trickling down my neck. My head was turned to the side and I saw another of these unholy men raise his axe to deal me a final blow, when he was distracted by his fellow Boxers calling excitedly from the secret chamber.
I watched as from a distance and then all was silent as the power of my hearing deserted me. I watched as though through a haze, a mist, as they rampaged in and out of the sacred chamber. I saw them remove the caskets containing the sacred items but my vision was diverted by their numbers as they crowded around the entrance to the sacred room. And then they departed and all was still for several minutes until a second group of these Boxers, these heathens, descended on the church and I watched helpless, for I could move neither arm nor leg, watched as they stripped the holy paintings from the walls and tore down the statue of Our Lady.
And then the haze enveloped me and I saw nothing until you found me. Praise the Lord that I have lasted these long days and have been able to impart that which I have passed to you. I wait now for my Lord.”
These are the words of Father Michael, written by me within two days of him having imparted them to me.
Father Giovanni.
“It is a sad and horrific tale,” Joseph said quietly. “You can see that Father Michael believed that he had seen the Boxers remove the caskets that contained the sacred relics, and the regalia, from the secret chamber, and he had watched as they had ransacked the church. But he also says that there were others who had come into the church after the massacre, and he could not be certain whether they might have helped themselves to whatever had been left by the Boxers. The relics in themselves were not intrinsically valuable, although each of them is in its own casket. The caskets are made of silver, embossed with gold. It is possible that the Boxers emptied the caskets after they had left the church and threw the relics away, discarded them as being worthless. The relics may have been taken by these other people. But we can only believe that the Lord made certain that they remained closed up in their caskets, and that the caskets were found by the good Captain.”
“Did this priest survive?” Sue asked.
I wasn’t concerned about the priest. I just wanted to know what was stolen and what might be hidden in the chest that Captain Monty had buried.
“Father Michael died several days later from his wounds,” Joseph replied quietly.
“Oh,” we both said.
And then, I don’t know why, but I laid both documents on the bed and studied them for a moment.
“Is anything wrong, Ben?” Joseph asked.
“Well, I’m a little puzzled by one thing, or two really.”
“What’s that?” he asked innocently.
“Well,” I replied. “There are two references in the translation to items. One of them refers to the items in the sacred room and the other refers to sacred items.”
“Yes, that is so.”
“Well,” I said again. “If you look at the original Italian document, there are at least a dozen words that have been translated into English as simply items.”
“Ah,” was all he could reply.
“So,” I asked. “What do those words actually say, and is that the only part of the document that has been incorrectly translated?”
He thought for a moment or two and then said: “Perhaps I should have explained that to you before you started to read. Yes, they are the only parts of the original document which have not been strictly translated.” He picked up the photocopy of the original document, folded it and put it back inside the envelope, giving me no chance to try and remember what the original words were in Italian.
“So,” I said. “What should the translation have said?”
“The original document describes more particularly what those items actually are. They are both sacred and secret to us. If we were to give you an exact translation, we would be revealing that secret. This is something which we simply cannot do. They are relics. That’s all I can tell you. Please excuse us this slight subterfuge.”
“Suze?” I asked. “Are you okay with that?”
She thought for a second or two and then said: “Yes, I can go along with that.”
“So,” I said after we had settled down. “You’re not even certain that what you’re looking for is in this chest that Captain Monty hid.”
“That’s correct.”
“But you think that they might be.”
“We hope, and pray, that they will be. We have taken the appearance of the cross as a sign from God that the relics are close at hand.”
“What about the gold medallion, and the two other Chinese gold items, and the jade?” I asked. “Were they part of the regalia stolen at the time?” We had already described them to him in some detail.
“I think there is a possibility that the medallion is part of our regalia, but not the other two pieces of gold, and certainly not the jade.”
“So,” Sue asked. “What exactly is it that you want from us?”
“We want the relics and the cross.”
“Which is the most important?” I asked.
“The relics.”
Sue and I both looked at each other, and I knew what was going through her mind. It was going through mine as well. If the emerald in the cross was worth several hundred thousand dollars, there could only be gems worth much more hidden in the silver caskets the Boxers had stolen. Joseph saw the look on our faces.
“No, my children,” he said, hands clasped against his chest. “The sacred items have no intrinsic value. They are not made of gold, and contain no precious stones, but to us they are worth more than the sum of all of our churches in China.”
Did we take him at his word, or should we wait and see? There was no use arguing it now. There would be time for that when we recovered the chest.
“What about any other valuable items that might be in the chest?” I asked.
“Yes, if they are part of Church regalia, we would want those as well, and we are prepared to pay you a substantial reward if you would pass these back to us.”
Dark Eye of the Jaguar Page 14