Glastonbury

by Brian L. Porter

  “Good morning everyone,” he called to the two men and the young woman who alighted from the van a few yards away. “I hope we're all ready for another day in our quest.”

  “Oh yes, we are,” Sally replied a little sarcastically, knowing how little the word `we' seemed to mean to Graves.

  “I've been doing a little more research overnight,” he went on, “using some of the books I brought with me, searching for tiny clues here and there.”

  “Oh, that's good, man” said Winston, “and have you found out where the sword is buried from this research of yours?”

  “Of course not Winston,” Graves replied, “but thanks to an obscure monk by the name of Talbert, I think I may have discovered a clue to the location of Livara.”

  At the mention of the name Livara Cutler and Fortune exchanged a quick knowing look. They could hardly wait to hear what Graves was about to come up with.

  “Oh, do tell us what you've found out, Mr. Graves,” Sally exclaimed excitedly, leading Winston to think that the girl would have made an excellent actress.

  “Yes, please do,” added Cutler.

  “Well,” said Graves, “As you know the name Livara has kept us all guessing as it doesn't appear in any of the texts which have survived from the Dark Ages,”

  I wonder why? thought Cutler.

  “Anyway, whilst I was reading an account of the everyday lives of the monks who inhabited the abbey all those years ago, written by this Brother Talbert I came across a reference to a hill known as Lyncarran, which was used as grazing land by the monks for some of the many sheep they kept for their wool and meat.”

  “Lyncarran doesn't sound too much like Livara to me,” said Winston, playing along with what he was sure was a ploy by Graves to keep them interested in the job.

  “But don't you see my friends?” Graves went on. “Gareth wrote his chronicle and drew the map in such a way as to confuse Arthur's enemies. It was surely intended that some day Arthur's heir would be led to the site where Excalibur lay perhaps to retrieve the sword and bring about the rebirth of a golden age for the people of Britain. He therefore wrote the chronicle in such a way that his fellow monks would be able to decipher the locations, but the chronicle was lost and disappeared for centuries so no-one in the modern age would have a clue what it was all about.”

  “I still don't see the connection, man,” said Winston, growing impatient.

  “It's simple really,” said Graves. “In the section of the chronicle where he tells of the sword being buried at Livara, Gareth goes on to say that `the lamb' will live and be blessed in this place for ever. At first I thought that `the lamb' was a biblical reference to Jesus Christ, meaning that the sword was blessed and would be kept forever safe by the spirit of Christ who lives in this place for it is, or was Holy Ground at the time. I now believe that he actually meant `the lamb' to mean just that, the sheep that graze on the hill. That's where the sword is buried, and that's not all. When you look at the ancient writings of the scribes in the time of Arthur, there was a diversity in the way they wrote certain letters, and one word could often be mistaken for another unless the reader were familiar with the lettering of the particular writer. In other words, Gareth couched his words in such a way that someone familiar with his writing, the monks from his own abbey for instance, would be able to decipher the directions he'd indicated. We don't know how or why the chronicle disappeared for so many centuries, but I'm sure if the monks of Glastonbury had had it in their possession all those years ago, then Excalibur would have been raised from the ground a long time ago.”

  God, the man was good. At least that was the thought that ran through the mind of Joe Cutler as he listened to Graves's new version of the story of Livara. Joe wondered how long Graves had stayed awake to concoct this latest fairy tale, as Cutler was certain it was. To anyone who didn't have the benefit of the information that he and his team were privy to, it might even be believable, but now it simply served to tell Joe that Graves was as crooked as they'd thought, and that they would have to be very careful from now on.

  “But how does knowing this help us to locate the sword,” asked Sally, seeming to hang on Graves's words like a puppy following its master.

  “She's damned good,” thought Joe, knowing that Sally was putting on a superb performance for Graves's benefit.

  “Well, you see, Sally, the good news is that though Livara is mentioned nowhere in the contemporary maps and texts of the time, we do have an approximate location for Lyncarran.”

  “And that is?” asked Winston.

  “Right here,” Graves exclaimed, spreading his arms out as if to enfold the land on which they stood. “Well, not exactly here, but certainly within a two mile radius of where we're standing. The hill that was once the home of the sheep has disappeared over the centuries and is now probably one of the rolling strands of countryside we see all around us, maybe just a gentle slope, a bump in the ground, I can't say for sure, but what I can say for sure is that we are on the threshold of finding what we came to look for. All I can ask is that you redouble your efforts and we may find what we came for well before the five days you granted me in your deadline, Mr. Cutler.”

  Graves ended his presentation of the new `facts' at that point and stood back as though to allow his words to sink into the minds of his audience.

  “Well! What do you have to say to that then, Winston?” said Joe Cutler effusively.

  “Man, that's some story,” said the big Jamaican. “So what you're saying” he addressed Graves, “is that we don't have far to go and we're all gonna be rich, yeah?”

  “Quite possibly, Mr Fortune, quite possibly,” replied Graves.

  “How exciting!” Sally exclaimed, managing to continue her Oscar winning performance. Joe almost wished she'd tone her enthusiasm down a bit, in case Graves got suspicious at her sudden display of exuberance.

  “I think, Mr. Cutler, that you'll agree it's in our best interests to `get the show on the road', as they say,” Graves went on.

  “It's time to get to work, people,” said Joe, and the three surveyors moved to extricate their equipment from the van as Graves lingered by the side of his BMW.

  “That was the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard,” Winston whispered to Joe as they unloaded the radar and various markers and poles from the back of the van.

  “Amen to that, Winston,” Joe replied.

  “Does he think we're stupid enough to believe all that?” asked Sally.

  “He thinks that we think that we're searching for Excalibur, remember that, Sally,” Joe replied.

  “You don't think he knows we're on to him then, boss?” asked Winston.

  “Why should he? He might think we're a little sceptical about the whole thing, but then who wouldn't be? Anyway, he must think we believe in it to some extent otherwise we wouldn't be here conducting the search, would we?”

  “I hope you're right, Joe, I really do,” said Sally, now back to herself after dropping her act.

  Their whispered conversation was ended by the sound of Walter Graves's voice calling to them from his position by the car.

  “You fellows make a start laying out the grid,” called Graves as he took his phone from his pocket. “I've just got a couple of calls to make then I'll join you.”

  The three surveyors began transferring their equipment from the van to the field where the search would begin, leaving Graves holding one of his many mysterious telephone conversations. As soon as they were out of sight, however, Graves quickly snapped the clamshell phone shut and moved across to the van. No-one saw him dip his right hand into his jacket pocket from where he removed a small packet containing what appeared on first sight to be a small microchip or transistor, something that might have come from the inner workings of a modern personal computer perhaps. Still no-one saw him as he snapped the packet open, bent down as though to scrape some mud off the surface of his shoe, and quickly placed the microchip under the arch of the nearside rear wheel of the van, quick
ly rising to his full height, peering around to make sure he was alone.

  Walter Graves knew that his story leaked credibility as a sieve leaks water, but it was the best he'd been able to devise in the space of one night and morning. He was sure that the Strata Survey team suspected that all was not as it should be with the search for Excalibur. The small radio transmitter he'd just placed under the wheel arch of their van might go some way to confirming that thought when they finally left for the day. If he'd suspected that they were becoming a liability sooner he might have placed the bug on the van much earlier and saved himself some time, but now at least, he had an ear in the enemy camp.

  The rest of the day proved frustrating for Graves as the survey team seemed to be incapable of detecting anything whatsoever, not even a buried rusting old bicycle revealed itself to the radar. He wasn't to know of course, that Joe and Winston were being very careful not to admit to any soundings they did receive from the radar, though in truth, the day did in fact reveal absolutely nothing to their scanners.

  At 5 p.m. Cutler and the others packed away their equipment and bid Graves farewell for the night as he lounged against the BMW. They had decided that this was not the night for Graves to be introduced to Lucius, though the conversation that took place in the van as they drove back to town did serve to confuse Walter Graves as he sat in his car and switched on the portable receiving unit he'd kept hidden in the glove compartment until now.

  Chapter 29

  “What a waste of a day,” Winston said dejectedly as the van bumped off the rough surface of the track that led away from the farm and onto the smooth blacktop surface of the road back to town.

  “I can't disagree with that,” Joe agreed.

  “Did either of you actually pick anything up on the radar?” asked Sally as she tried to remove the dust that had accumulated in her hair with a fine comb.

  “I got six readings,” said Winston, but none of them were big enough to be the box we're supposedly searching for, if indeed it is a box. Anyway, the readings were no larger than tree holes, probably where the farmer or his predecessors cleared the land before turning it over to fields. How about you, boss?”

  “Much the same, a couple of tree holes and nothing else. At least Graves kept out of our way and let us get on with the job.”

  “Didn't you find that a bit strange?” asked Sally. “I mean, you'd have thought he'd have been on our backs wanting us to find the thing as soon as we could, wouldn't you?”

  “He trusts us to report to him if we find anything, that's what it is, Sally,” said Joe. “Remember, he thinks we're still convinced we're looking for Excalibur.”

  “Speaking of Excalibur, what did you think of that tale of his this morning?” Winston asked the question, his eyes never leaving the road as he drove at a steady thirty miles an hour.

  “You know, until he came up with that ridiculous fairy tale about Livara I might still have been prepared to believe that Graves at least was on the level,” said Joe. “At least now we know that whatever this is really about, he's up to his neck in it as much as Capshaw. I also know why they picked us as opposed to real archaeologists or students to carry out the search.”

  “Do tell, boss man.”

  “It's simple really. We're surveyors, not historians. Our knowledge of the subject is so sparse that neither Capshaw nor Graves would have thought us capable of working out that we're on a wild goose chase. Graves is a professional historian, as well as whatever else he does, and Capshaw obviously thought that he'd be able to keep us fed with enough pseudo-historical information to keep us believing in the quest for Excalibur. Their plan might just have worked if I hadn't seen the gun in Graves's pocket and become suspicious. That screwdriver ploy didn't fool me for a minute. A gun is a bloody gun, I'm not that stupid. I just hope they don't know we're on to them, or things could get very uncomfortable for all of us.”

  “Don't you think my sucking up to him this morning was convincing enough then?” Sally asked. “Surely that should have convinced him that we believe in him.”

  “Hell, Sally girl, I almost believed that you believed in him” Winston quipped, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Yes, your Oscar's in the post,” Cutler joked.

  “Very funny,” she said haughtily. “At least I did my best to make him think that we were hanging on his every word.”

  “And a very good job you did, Sally, no joking, really you did,” said Joe.

  “Anyway,” said Winston, changing the subject, “I wonder what Lucius and his friend Marcus have discovered while we've been chasing shadows around the fields of Somerset.”

  “Hmm, I've been wondering that, too,” said Joe. “It should be an interesting evening, assuming of course that he has something to tell us.”

  “We're nearly there, folks,” said Winston. “So we'll find out soon enough.”

  Lucius Doberman wasn't at the Rowan Tree when they arrived, however. Mrs. Cleveley informed them that he'd arrived back at the guesthouse just after eleven that morning and had left soon afterwards. He'd asked her to tell Joe that he'd be back later that evening, and that he'd meet them in the bar at about seven thirty, if they'd be so kind as to be there when he returned.

  “Well, there's not much we can do until he comes back, so I propose we all get changed and meet in the bar at seven,” Joe suggested.

  The others raised no arguments, a hot shower and a change of clothes were just what they needed to raise their spirits after the day spent in pretending to be searching for the mythical sword of King Arthur. They each went up to their separate rooms, and allowed the hot water from their respective showers to wash away the dust and grime of the day.

  Lucius, Marcus? What the hell were they talking about? Walter Graves had been concerned, though not overly surprised to hear the first half of the conversation in the van after the Strata team had left him. He'd suspected that they were more than sceptical about the whole affair, now they'd simply confirmed it. What did worry him though, was that they were only too aware that they weren't searching for Excalibur. He'd failed singularly in his attempts to keep them believing in that one. That being the case, why were they going on with the search? It could only mean that Cutler knew exactly what they were looking for, (which he found highly unbelievable), or they were naïve enough to believe that they find out the truth behind the search and either keep the secret for themselves, or turn him and Capshaw over to the police. Knowing Cutler as he did from the last few days, Graves was prepared to bet on the third option. Cutler, Corbett and Fortune were all boringly law-abiding, and they would have no qualms about calling in the police if they knew what was really going on. Now there was the added mystery of Lucius and Marcus. It sounded as if the surveyors had called in a couple of members of Caesar's legions to help them, but what exactly were these cohorts doing for the Strata Survey Systems people? In what way could they also pose a threat to Graves, and thus to Capshaw?

  It was obvious that Cutler and his people were up to something, and Graves knew that Capshaw would lay any blame squarely at his (Graves) feet if anything were to go awry with his carefully laid plan. Walter Graves needed to investigate these newcomers, find out who and what they were, but he'd have to do it without Cutler's knowledge. He could always drop in to the hotel and see if these newcomers were there with Cutler, but that would be too obvious, and could also prove counter-productive. He'd be playing his hand too soon, letting the opposition know he was on to them, and that wouldn't help him one little bit. No, he'd have to be clever, make his enquiries in a way that wouldn't raise Cutler's suspicions, and Walter Graves suddenly hit on just the means of checking out the mysterious Lucius and Marcus; Mrs. Annette Cleveley. He knew that he'd charmed Cutler's landlady on their first meeting and that she'd been impressed by his being a history professor, so Graves planned to make some excuse to leave the search area the next morning, drive back to Glastonbury, and carefully question the proprietor of the Rowan Tree. As long as he was cautious with his
words, she'd never know that she was being interrogated.

  “Damn them,” he thought aloud. He was frustrated that their conversation had ended where it did. The bug in the van had become useless to him the second they'd exited the vehicle and disappeared into their guest house for the evening. He'd get nothing more from that source until the morning, and he wished that he could find a way to plant a similar device in Cutler's room perhaps, or at their regular table in the bar of the Rowan Tree, but there was too high a chance of being discovered that way. Walter Graves wished that he could be a fly on the wall of the Rowan Tree's bar that evening when the surveyors met up for a couple of drinks before dinner as he knew they always did.

  Meanwhile, though, he had to find a way to relate the latest news to Malcolm Capshaw in such a way as not to antagonise the millionaire too much. Graves didn't want to become the fall guy if this all went wrong, and whichever way he put it to the man, he knew that Capshaw would be very unhappy with the latest developments., even if, as Graves believed, it was Capshaw's poor preparation and planning with respect to his choice of Cutler and his team that had directly led to this situation developing.

  Had Walter Graves been that previously mentioned fly on the wall of the Rowan Tree's bar, the conversation that took place between Cutler and his team, not long after he emerged from his own room at Meare Manor to savour a pre-dinner brandy would most certainly have given him cause for concern.

  Chapter 30

  Lucius Doberman swept through the door to the bar of the Rowan Tree, his aura almost preceding his body into the room. Such was the presence of the man that Joe and the others seemed to sense his arrival even as his tall frame burst through the door, his long black coat flapping in his slipstream, revealing the rich red silken lining. Their heads turned in perfect synchronisation as the smiling professor of history held his arms out in greeting as though to encompass them all in a single hypothetical bear hug.