by David Wood
“We’ll start by checking out the door and take it from there,” Jade said. “Keep an eye out for anything with the three hares or the wise virgins.”
“What about the shrine you mentioned?” Angel asked.
“We’ll take a look at that too. Anything that looks promising. Just don’t draw attention to yourself.” Jade directed the latter comment at Bones.
“You know me. I always rise to the occasion.” Bones grinned.
Dane gazed up at the cathedral. In no way was it as magnificent as Kölner Dom. It was smaller and less elegant, and the massive repairs to the damage wrought by Allied bombers in World War II had deprived it of the aura of age that imbued so many structures of its kind. It did, however, have its own charm. The symmetry of the structure gave it an orderly feel that was pleasing to the eye, and the sand-colored stone put him in mind of home.
It was only a short walk to the cathedral’s western portal and the Bernward doors. Though impressive in photographs, the sheer size of the doors, which stood at nearly sixteen feet tall, gave him pause. The artistry of these thousand year-old castings was breathtaking. Assuming the role of tourist, Bones took out a camera and started snapping pictures of Angel. She positioned herself to screen Dane and Jade who, in turn, moved in for a closer look at the Three Kings.
The panel was much larger than Dane had iMagined. He had figured the doors to be closer to an ordinary size, and thus scaled down the image in his mind.
“I don’t see any hares here,” Dane said.
“The clue mentions the lion. Give it a twist.” Jade whispered.
“Seriously?”
“These doors are probably thick enough to hide something inside. Maybe the knocker comes off, or releases a panel.” She looked around, clearly nervous. “Hurry while we’re alone.”
Dane took hold of the handle, feeling the cold bronze through his thin glove, and twisted.
Nothing.
He tried the other direction with no more success. He tried pushing and turning, pulling and turning, and anything else he could think of, but no dice.
“It’s just a solid piece,” he finally said, rocking back on his heels.
“You didn’t expect it to be easy, did you?” Bones pocketed his camera and joined them at the door. “Pretty cool, though. This alone was worth the drive, but let’s check out the inside.”
They were disappointed to learn the cathedral was closed for renovations, though Bones declared it “no freaking problem” to slip inside after hours, should they deem it necessary, eliciting a roll of the eyes and a pledge from Angel not to post his bail, should he be caught in the act.
A break-in proved unnecessary. Angel located a foreman who spoke English and apparently liked flirtatious women with dark skin and big brown eyes, because, five minutes later, they were inside.
Like the exterior, the interior had a feeling of newness about it, though tempered by the classic works of art all around. The construction foreman was eager to give them an impromptu tour, showing them the high points, including the “Christ Column,” a millennium-old, fifteen-foot tall cast bronze pillar that depicted scenes from the life of Jesus, and a bronze baptismal font that rivaled the pillar in its artistry.
By the time they reached the Epiphany Shrine at the east end of the cathedral, Dane was ready to give up. They had found no representations of the three hares, the Magi, or the Wise Virgins. The shrine was their last hope. The golden shrine was reminiscent of the shrine at Kölner Dom. Among the many images on its face was one of the Wise and Foolish Virgins. And, like the Shrine of the Magi, it was sealed in a thick glass case.
“It holds the relics of the patron saints,” the foreman explained. “It is very old.”
Dane and Bones exchanged glances. If they wanted to see what was inside, they would have to blast it open like the men had done back in Cologne. The idea did not sit well with him. Also, something told him this was not what they were looking for. The door to the temple had been guarded by only three wise virgins, while this shrine depicted all the characters of the parable, both wise and foolish. It didn’t look right. He thought back to their sole clue.
“As the lion roars for the king...”
He had taken “the king” to simply mean Jesus, the “King of Kings.” But if the allusion to the lion had been literal, why not the king as well? He turned to their guide, who was having trouble keeping his eyes off of Angel. She was playing along, though Dane knew her well enough to see she was growing bored with the charade.
“Are there any relics or treasures from any kings here?”
The foreman cocked his head, thinking. They all fell silent, and only the distant sounds of workmen going about their business interrupted the quiet. Finally, he nodded.
“In the museum is the Kopfreliquiar of Saint Oswald. He was King of Northumbria.”
“A cop what?” Bones asked.
“Kopfreliquiar.” The man cupped his chin, struggling for a translation. “This,” he indicated the shrine, “holds all the bones. A kopfreliquiar,” he held his hands in front of him about eight inches apart, “holds only the head.”
Jade beamed at Dane. A reliquary that held the skull of a king? That was more like it. They thanked the man, who had managed to wrangle a phone number from Angel, and left the cathedral.
“Real or fake?” Bones asked his sister as they headed back out into the cold.
“Sort of fake.” Angel grimaced. “I gave him Crazy Charlie’s number.”
“That’s cold, sis. Dude was nice enough to let us in and show us around.”
“Nice? You didn’t notice his wedding ring?”
Dane and Bones looked surprised while Jade and Angel exchanged a “that’s a man for you” look.
“You two can find gold at the bottom of the ocean but you can’t find it on the hand of someone standing a foot from you.” Jade shook her head.
“Hey, just because I haven’t settled down doesn’t mean I’ve started checking to see which dudes are single,” Bones protested. “Besides, we need to find Ichabod Crane.” They had arrived at the museum, and he opened the door and ushered them in with a mocking bow.
“Ichabod Crane?” Jade frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“The Headless Horseman. Am I the only educated one here?”
“Ichabod Crane was the...” Jade threw up her hands and stalked inside. Bones winked at Angel, who gave him a rueful look.
“You’re such a jerk,” she said, “but at least you’re pestering someone else for a change.”
They paid the modest entry fee and found themselves alone in the museum, save for a lone employee who reminded them that the museum would close in twenty minutes. They made a show of examining various displays, but quickly found themselves at the glass case that held Saint Oswald’s head reliquary. The circled it, scrutinizing the piece. The golden artifact was an odd-looking: an octagonal base with a domed cover, topped by a sculpture of Oswald’s crowned head. Writing ringed the bottom, with etchings in the panels.
Jade squeezed Dane’s hand and he could feel her excitement.
“Look at the crown,” she whispered. “Do you see it?”
Etched in a white stone on the front of the crown was the sign of the three hares!
“Okay.” Dane kept his voice level. “So how do we get to it?”
“Leave it to me,” Bones said. “You three spread out and don’t act so interested in this thing.” With that, he sauntered over to the museum docent and struck up a conversation. In typical Bones fashion, he soon had her laughing. The two of them soon headed out to the lobby, Bones returning a few minutes later with a slip of paper in his hand.
“You got a number too,” Angel said. “What’s your plan, charm her and talk her into bringing you back here later?”
“Nope.” Bones reached into his pocket, pulled out a key ring, and tossed it to Dane. His eyes scanned the room as he leaned in close. “Museum’s about to close,” he whispered. “Call us when you’re out.
”
“You’d better take my backpack,” Jade added, slipping it off her shoulder and handing it to him. “Just in case you find something.”
Dane had to laugh at his friend’s resourcefulness. This just might work.
Careful not to be spotted, he slipped around the corner in the direction of the men’s room. The door was propped open and a sign with the international symbol for “don’t slip on this wet floor and fall on your butt” guarded the entrance. Good! He could hide inside without being found by the cleaning crew. He hurried inside, found an uncomfortable seat atop a toilet and waited for the lights to go out.
Forty long, boring minutes later, he pulled up the hood of his jacket to shield his face– he hadn’t seen any security cameras, but better safe than sorry– and moved out into the darkened museum. It had been at least ten minutes since he’d heard a sound. Though he knew only a handful of German words, he was fairly certain he’d heard Bones’ new friend complaining about her missing keys. He supposed she’d hitched a ride with a co-worker, because he heard not a sound as he moved through the dark hallway.
It took several failed tries before his clumsy, gloved hands found the key that opened the protective case around the Oswald Reliquary. Heart pounding, he reached inside, took hold of the cover, and lifted the lid.
It was heavy, but it slid free easily. He gingerly set the lid aside and peered down into the reliquary. The dim glow of the security lights were more than enough to show him what was inside.
The reliquary contained two skulls.
One was unremarkable, but the other was topped with a bronze crown. Unable to breathe, he lifted it out of the case and held it up so he could take a look at the head of one of the legendary Magi of the Christmas story.
The crown was fused to the skull so perfectly that it looked to be one with the bone. Aware that he should get out while the getting was good, he opened Jade’s backpack and made to put the skull inside when a faint glimmer of light caught his eye.
An opaque, white gem was set in the front of the crown and, though it defied logic, a band of light seemed to glow from within the stone itself. He frowned, turning the skull in his hands. The light flickered, but did not go away. He was intrigued, but instinct told him he was fortunate to have gotten this far without being caught. He slipped the skull into the backpack, replaced the reliquary lid, and locked the case. At the front door, the flashing lights of the security system gave him pause, but there was nothing for it but to hurry. He chose what he thought was the front door key, let himself out, locked the door behind him, and tossed the keys beneath a shrub a few feet away. Maybe the owner would find them in the morning.
By the time he reached the street, the tightness in his chest had eased and his heart had stopped racing. Even if he had set off an alarm, what would the police find? The museum locked up tight and everything in order. Even if they found the keys and concluded someone had been inside, nothing was missing, as far as they knew. If a security camera showed a shadowy figure messing with the reliquary display, St. Oswald’s head was still in its resting place. He wondered if this was what a thief felt like when he committed the perfect crime.
He told himself it wasn’t really a crime. The skull belonged to the cathedral at Cologne, and he would see to it that it was returned. But not until they solved the mystery.
Chapter 9- Lazarus
The knock came again, louder and more insistent. Andre sighed and closed his eyes, inhaling a deep, calming breath. This was his time for prayer and contemplation and the church was closed. Whoever was at the door would have to come back in the morning.
He counted to ten in his head, waiting to see if the knock would come again, but it did not. Satisfied that he would not be interrupted he returned to his prayer.
A crash shattered the momentary silence and seemed to rattle Andre’s very bones. He sprang to his feet and hurried from his study.
The front door stood open and a veritable bear of a man loomed in the doorway. Silhouetted against the moon, he was scarcely more than a shadow blotting out the light but, as he closed the door behind him, the sight of the intruder turned from frightening to horrifying.
Though it was evening, he wore wraparound sunglasses that did not conceal his badly scarred face. He looked like a man who almost lost a battle with leeches. What had done this to him? Some sort of plague?
The man must have seen the horror in Andre’s eyes, because his pockmarked face split into something between a sneer and a grin.
“This is the church of Saint Victor.” The words, spoken in heavily accented French, formed a statement, not a question. His voice was a cold, low rumble from deep within his chest and sounded to Andre like boulders crashing down a hill.
“It is.” Andre swallowed hard. “What can I do for you?” He supposed it was possible the man had no ill intentions, and was merely here to see the church. Andre was wrong to judge him by his appearance. He was a child of God, the same as any other. And yes, it was rude of the man to intrude, but entering a church during prayer time was far from the most grievous of sins.
“Take me to the head of Lazarus.”
“You can see all of him right here.” Andre nodded to the statue of Lazarus of Bethany. The venerated saint stood with his face lifted toward heaven. In his left hand he held a crosier. “You might be interested to know that, beneath this stature, are two stones from the saint’s sepulchre in Bethany.
“Don’t mess with me. I don’t want a statue. I want the real thing.”
Andre frowned. “I do not understand.”
“The skull!” The man seemed to blot out the light as he came closer. “I want to see the skull of Saint Lazarus.”
“The bones of Lazarus are not here.” Andre felt the blood drain from his face and his stomach grow cold. “The saint died in Cyprus and his remains were later taken to Constantinople. Perhaps if you look...” The man snatched Andre by the neck, squelching his words in a vise grip.
“We know the truth. The grotto, the three hares, all of it.” He pulled Andre near enough that the priest could feel his hot breath. Up close, the scarred face was even more disconcerting.
Andre steeled his nerves, reminding himself that he was a man of God and the Spirit would protect him.
“It is a common misunderstanding,” Andre gasped. “Many confuse Lazarus of Bethany with the bishop of Aix, Lazarus.”
“You aren’t fooling me, and if you waste one more minute of my time you will die a slow and painful death. I want to see the head of Lazarus. Now!” He gave Andre a shove, sending him hard onto his backside. The man opened his jacket to reveal the handle of a weapon. Andre knew nothing about firearms, but the sight of it was all he needed to confirm the danger he was in.
Andre had always considered his own mortality with a serenity grounded in his assurance of salvation. Of course, he had always iMagined meeting his maker at an advanced age, lying in his sick bed. The life of a priest was a secure one, at least physically. Now, for the first time in his life, he felt death staring him in the face. This man oozed evil.
“I will take you there.” Andre slowly crawled to his feet. “It is not far.” His heart pounding and his bowels threatening to empty, he led the man to a door on the south side of the nave. It opened onto a staircase descending down into the ancient subterranean church beneath Saint Victor. This church, untouched after nearly two thousand years, had been built by Cassianite monks in the third century. Behind him, the man switched on a flashlight and Andre began his descent. The cold air chilled him to the bone, as did the feeling of great age and power. While many people found the fortress-like exterior of Saint Lazarus dark and intimidating, it was down underground where the true darkness lay.
Andre did not care that this place had once been a church. Something was wrong down here. Perhaps it was that this place had the feel of a dungeon. Or, maybe it was the grotesque carvings, so many of which should not be in a place dedicated to Christ. No matter how many times Andre came down h
ere, he always felt vulnerable and unwelcome.
He passed beneath the high ceiling supported by a few round pillars, the silence broken only by the footfalls of the man behind him. Each step sounded to him like the ring of a hammer nailing the lid on his coffin. He forced himself to keep moving, and soon came to the entrance to the ancient grotto that had been the original first-century church of Saint Lazarus. A tangle of carved vines wound its way around the entrance, adding to the forbidding nature of this dark recess.
“It is in here.” Andre stepped back and motioned for the man to enter.
“You first.” The man’s tone made it clear he would accept nothing less than total obedience.
Andre stepped inside with only the greatest reluctance. It was as if invisible hands held him back. His fear of the crypt, however, was nothing compared to his fear of the man behind him.
“Which one is Lazarus?” The man swept his beam across the two stone sarcophagi. Between them lay a stone rectangle where a third sarcophagus had once rested.
“Neither,” Andre stammered. “These were too large to move. Lazarus is here.”
He hurried to the back wall, cursing himself for cowardice. Keeping the secret had been a simple thing when it was only a matter of misleading researchers, but an armed man was more than he had ever bargained for. His fingers searched the rough, shadowed surface until it found what he was searching for- the odd carving of three joined hares. Some said it was a symbol of the Trinity, but Andre knew it to be an evil pagan symbol. Grimacing, he pressed his hand to the hateful symbol and pushed. The stone slowly gave way. When he heard it click, he turned it to the right once, twice, three times. It locked into place and, behind him, Andre heard a grinding sound. He turned to see the foundation stone slide back, revealing a dark hole the size and shape of a grave.
The man shone his light down into the darkness where the beam fell on a small stone box inscribed with the same three hares symbol.