As he squeezed her right nipple enough to make her wince with the sharp pain he induced in her breast Charlotte murmured in a mock display of arousal. She'd rather go to sleep, but then she felt his hand straying down towards her belly and beyond, to that warm and tender region between her legs, and she reached out and felt him growing harder by the second. Knowing that she had no choice and wanting to get things over with as soon as she could, Charlotte Raeburn rolled dutifully onto her back, opened her legs, and as the heavy figure of Malcolm Capshaw lowered himself onto and into her and began an animalistic grunting and thrusting, she could do no more than lie back and think of the big fat pay cheque that would be deposited in her bank account the very next day.
Chapter 10
After returning to his room at Meare Manor and making his call to Capshaw, Walter Graves placed the Ruger back in his case, locked it securely for the night and poured himself a large brandy from the bottle he always carried with him on his travels. After stripping to his undershorts and removing a pile of papers from his briefcase he climbed into bed and placed the brandy glass next to the bottle on the bedside cabinet. Before going to sleep that night he wanted to run through everything once again. He needed to make sure that the fabric of truth, half-truth and downright lies that he and Capshaw had woven together would hold up to the closest scrutiny by Cutler and his people. Though he doubted that Cutler had the intelligence to see through the subterfuge he wanted to be certain that there was no chance of any of the Strata Survey people suspecting their search for Excalibur was anything but genuine.
He'd checked and verified everything a number of times before arriving in Glastonbury, but Graves was a meticulous and methodical man. It never hurt to check again! The map and the historical document were beyond Cutler's range of doubt, of course. Produced at a great expense for Capshaw by Giovanni Santorini, one of the best forgers of historical artefacts known to the underworld, they would pass inspection by any but the most learned of scholars, and fool many. The rest of the story had been put together so expertly that Graves himself could almost believe in the authenticity of the task that had brought Cutler and his people to the ancient town. After reading through the mass of papers he'd assembled to add credence to this latest episode of misdirection and misinformation Walter Graves was satisfied that every `t' had been crossed and every `I' dotted. Unless Joe Cutler were a better historian than Graves himself was, there was no way that the survey master was going to be able to decode the fact that their search was a blind, a feint designed to cover up the real reason for their presence. Knowing that to be an unlikely occurrence, Graves was content to place his papers back in the briefcase and settle down for the night.
As he lay in his bed waiting for sleep to come he reflected for a moment on the double deception he and Capshaw had finally decided upon. In order that Cutler and his team kept quiet about what they thought to be the real reason for their search, the two of them had invented the idea of informing the local authorities that they were searching for proof of the visit and subsequent death of Joseph of Arimithea in Glastonbury. The Biblical connection had served to gain a degree of co-operation from those authorities, far more than they would have given to a search for an item belonging more to legend than to reality. This would also ensure that by making Cutler and his people believe they were involved in a small but necessary misdirection themselves in order to keep sightseers and treasure hunters at bay, the silence of the three surveyors was virtually guaranteed.
A smile played across Graves's sleepy face as he thought of the double misdirection ploy. It was probably his best yet, and though he might hate working for a man like Capshaw, he couldn't help but feel pleased with himself at the thought of his proficiency in this particular field of expertise. This was the fourth job he'd been coerced into performing for Capshaw, and he had to admit to himself, so far it was probably his best yet!
Just before sleep finally took him for the night Graves thought of the one weak link in the chain as far as Cutler and his people were concerned. If anything went wrong with Graves's plan and Cutler caught on to what was really happening, then Graves would have no choice but to exploit that weakness.
“Such a pretty girl, Miss Sally Corbett” thought Graves just before he fell into a sleep that would last until his alarm clock roused him the next morning. He hoped that if and when the time came, he wouldn't have to hurt her too much or cause her too much discomfort. That, of course, would be up to Joe Cutler and Winston Fortune.
Chapter 11
Three days of searching had so far yielded very little. The radar had enabled Cutler to locate two old prams concealed in the marshy ground, a doll buried by some poor little girl who had presumably been playing a game and forgotten where she'd put it, a number of tree holes and a line of smaller holes which indicated where several fence posts had at some time in the past been hammered into the ground. They had found not one single artefact of any age, certainly nothing to suggest that anything from the time of King Arthur was deposited in the area. Despite the hours they'd put in and the work involved, a sense of disenchantment fell over the little team.
“You'd have thought we'd have found something at least,” said Winston Fortune as he sat disconsolately in the rear doorway of the van parked at the bottom of a gently sloping hill about three miles from the Tor, not far from the tiny hamlet of Glastonbury Heath.
“Not necessarily,” said Graves, seated more comfortable on a camping chair he'd brought expressly for the purpose of these impromptu field conferences. “As I told you, after Sir Pelleas returned the mortally wounded Arthur to Glastonbury and the King's subsequent death, a conclave of senior Knights met and decided not to bury Excalibur with the King. They made this decision for two reasons. First, had they done so it might have led to a case of grave robbery with the Dark Age equivalent of the pyramid robbers looting the King's grave in order to get their hands on the legendary sword. Secondly, by burying the sword in a place unknown except to a few trusted and chosen Knights the chances of Arthur's enemies getting their hands on Excalibur were reduced to a minimum. Had they done so, and I think I've told you this before, they could have used Excalibur as a symbol through which to rally support for some pretender to Arthur's crown. Excalibur was placed in a lead-lined wooden chest, almost a coffin of its own, and taken to a burial place in Livara by the Knights Sir Geraint, Sir Palamedes, Sir Sagamore le Desirous and Sir Gingalain under the command of Pelleas, and Excalibur was laid in a place known only to the five of them. Each of the Knights vowed, under pain of death, never to reveal the location of Excalibur's `tomb', and so the great sword was lost and disappeared into the mists of time and legend.”
“Why is there no mention of this `Livara' in any other known record of the Arthurian legend?” asked Cutler joining in at last.
“Probably because, apart from it being the burial place of Excalibur and thus part of a closely guarded secret, Livara played no significant part in any other aspect of Arthur's life, or that of the Knights of the Round Table,” Graves replied.
“And there's no mention of a `Livara' on any known maps of the time,” Cutler continued.
“Again, that's no surprise,” said Graves. “Livara was quite possibly nothing more than a hamlet, or maybe something smaller, a settlement of no more than a couple of houses. There were no accurate maps at the time we're talking about, and most of those that did exist are no longer in existence. Livara could also have been a code name given to Excalibur's burial place by the Knights to disguise its real identity.”
“Now I think we're getting into the realm of fantasy land,” said Fortune, feeling less confident by the minute. He was beginning to believe the `wild-goose chase' theory again.
“I agree with Winston,” said Sally, “Let's not start getting into the world of codes please, Mr. Graves. I think you've been reading too many modern sensationalist novels.”
“I don't mean a code in that sense, Sally,” Graves replied, “but remember, you've seen the c
opy of the Excalibur document. It was written by Gareth, Sir Pelleas's scribe, and it's almost certain that as the location of Excalibur was such a closely guarded secret Gareth would have done his best to disguise the true location as best he could. He recorded the event because it was his job to do so, and almost all the events of the time were recorded in one chronicle or another, but it would have been more than his life was worth to reveal the true hiding place of the sword.”
“That makes sense anyway,” said Cutler, his response surprising his companions a little. “If the document was a fake then I'd have expected the precise location to be clearly marked and named. The fact that this Gareth character has hidden the name behind a veil of mystery does add some credence to its authenticity to my way of thinking.”
“I'm glad you see it that way, Mr. Cutler,” said Graves. “Believe me when I say that I have every confidence not only in the document and the map, but in your combined abilities to locate the burial place of Excalibur. We shall succeed, I know we will.”
“And exactly what use is the map when it refers to a topography that no longer exists?” asked Winston, still showing signs of scepticism.
“It's true, Mr. Fortune, that the land has changed much since the days of Arthur,” Graves replied, “ but the map is still important to us because it points us in the general direction of the burial site. Much of the land around us may have been under water in Arthur's day, and there may have been any number of small islands jutting out of the various marshes and bogs that existed then. It's even possible that Livara was such an island. If so its name would have disappeared many centuries ago as the land dried and new communities sprung up, bigger and more modern. It would have become historically redundant as many small places have become redundant as mankind developed and progressed. Some of those islands may even have sunk into the marshes, and their remains may still lie beneath the ground we now walk on. I'm asking you to have a little faith, that's all. Trust me, please. After all, the reason for me being here is to act as a guide and historical researcher, to solve the mystery of the jigsaw and put the pieces of Gareth's puzzle together in a modern context. If I can do it we'll succeed. If I don't then it won't be for the lack of trying.”
“Well, Winston,” said Sally, “I say we give Mr. Graves a chance. After all, we've barely scratched the surface yet, so to speak. We've got over a week left to go before we report to Mr. Capshaw, so why don't we just get on with it”
“That's just what we're going to do, Sally,” said Cutler. “We're professionals, after all, and we've been hired to do a job. I intend to do it to the best of my ability, and I expect you both to do the same.”
“Oh wow, the big bad boss man comin' heavy,” said Winston in his best Jamaican accent.
“Yes, boss, keep your hair on. Winston was only expressing an opinion,” added Sally, a little shocked at Cutler's uncharacteristically heavy-handed outburst.
“I know that, Sally. Sorry if I was a bit sharp, Winston. I guess the frustration is getting to me a little as well.”
“Hey, no sweat, boss man.”
Graves added: “Mr. Cutler is quite right in what he says. We should remember that we're all being paid to do this job, and we'll do it a damn sight better if we stop bickering and try to work together as a team.”
After a lunch of sandwiches and hot coffee from a thermos flask brought by Sally Corbett, they spent the rest of the afternoon in a companionable silence, each working at their allotted tasks, the radar showing nothing more interesting than it had all morning. It was Joe Cutler who brought the working day to an end as they completed their sweep of the area they'd marked out for that day's search. Graves agreed that they could do no more that day, it was too late to move on and begin marking out the parameters of the next search grid, so they packed up the equipment and went their separate ways: Cutler and his team to The Rowan Tree, Walter Graves to his rather more upmarket accommodation at Meare Manor.
After a hot shower and brandy in his room, Walter Graves put his feet up on the bed and phoned his employer with his daily report on their progress.
“At least each time we come up empty handed we eliminate another part of the grid,” he spoke into the receiver.
“Quite true, Mr. Graves. I have absolute faith in you and your ability to get the job done. I never expected instant success. If I had I wouldn't have needed to employ Cutler and his people. Speaking of them, how are you getting along with them? There's no chance of them working this out before we find it is there?”
“Don't worry. Cutler is actually being quite supportive of the whole enterprise, which surprises me a little. Then again, he's quite intelligent, and in their case I think his intellect will work against him. The `facts' as I've presented them are highly convincing, so much so that I could probably convince a roomful of scholars of the truth of the document. Cutler wouldn't think that anyone would go to such great lengths to deceive him, so it's a safe bet that he believes in what he's doing. The girl is no problem either, in fact I think she might be quite attracted to me, which is always a help. She'll probably reach a point where she'll believe anything I tell her. No, it's the Jamaican that may be a problem. Mr. Winston Fortune is a little harder to convince than the others. I thought he'd be the most romantic of the three, the easiest to convince, but I think he's bordering on the side of scepticism. I may have to take action in that direction if he becomes a problem.”
“As I said, Mr. Graves, you have my utmost confidence. If you think the Jamaican is a problem I'll leave it to you to deal with in your own, how shall we say, innovatively constructive fashion?”
“Of course, just leave it to me,” said Graves. As usual he never mentioned Capshaw by name on the telephone. It was an in-built reflex to the possibility of eavesdroppers, and one which Capshaw both understood and admired. Walter Graves was probably the only man on the planet who could get away with conducting an entire conversation with the millionaire without using the deferent Mr. Capshaw at some point.
As Graves was conducting his conversation with Capshaw, the Strata Survey team were enjoying a quick drink in the bar at The Rowan Tree before going up to their rooms to wash and change.
“So, what was the point of all that vehemence today, boss?” Fortune asked, knowing full well that Joe's outburst carried some hidden meaning. He'd known Cutler and enjoyed his friendship long enough to know that Joe's outburst was completely out of character, and that for some reason he'd used it as means of closing down the topic of conversation at the time.
“Yes, Joe, do tell,” added Sally. “You were trying to tell us something, weren't you? Something that you didn't want Graves to catch on to?”
“My, my, you two are becoming a pair of mind readers, aren't you? Yes, there was something, though you'll probably think I'm being stupid when I tell you.”
“Hey, man,” said Winston, with a huge grin on his face. “I might think you're a bit of a slave driver sometimes, and you like to play the big boss on occasions, which you are of course, but never ever in this whole wide world would I think of you as being stupid.”
“Me neither, do tell,” added Sally.
“Well, okay then, here goes. We've been with Graves for three days now, and I wonder if any of you two has noticed the same things I have.”
“What `things', man?” asked Winston.
“Come on, Joe, spit it out,” said Sally Corbett, the impatience of her youth beginning to show.
“It's not much to base a suspicion on I'll admit,” said Cutler, “ but you see, I just don't think he's entirely genuine. There's nothing wrong with what he's telling us, that much I'll admit. I've no real reason to suppose there's anything `iffy' about the job itself, but you see, I've been watching him very closely at times when you two have been placing markers or working away from the control point, and he seems to keep himself quite well away from me and the actual work until we complete a section of search area. Add to that the fact that he seems to spend an inordinate amount of time on his m
obile phone, talking to God knows who, and what that has to do with the search is anyone's guess, but, guys, and this is where you'll think I'm stupid, I just can't believe in or trust a so-called historian who turns up in the field every day wearing the most expensive Armani jeans!”
Both Winston and Sally broke into peals of uncontrollable laughter at the seemingly preposterous reason for Cutler's suspicions regarding Walter Graves. When they finally managed to straighten their faces, Cutler added the final card to his hand.
“Oh yes, there was something else. I sort of came up behind him earlier today, and he was little surprised when he heard me approach. He turned to face me quite quickly, perhaps a little too quickly, and as he turned and his jacket flew open for a second, I could swear I saw the butt of a handgun protruding from the inside pocket.”
Winston and Sally looked at Cutler, and then at each other, followed by a long unbroken silence. This time there was no laughter.
“It was Joe Cutler who finally broke the silence.
“Listen,” he said. “I've got an idea. Let's all get changed and then meet in the bar. We'll talk some more over dinner. Graves is safely tucked in his room this evening. He told me he has some research to do to finalise the parameters of the next search grid, so we'll have plenty of time to talk.”
Nodding to their boss, Fortune and Corbett rose with him and made their way back to their respective rooms.
Chapter 12
After showering and changing out of their work clothes the three workmates once more joined forces in the bar. Joe Cutler bought Sally a half pint of lager, Winston a large rum, and a whisky for himself and within ten seconds of them settling around the small table in the corner of the room Winston raised the subject that had merely been placed on hold while they'd been apart for the last hour.
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