by Kerry Tombs
‘I am sure that you have, but no more. Let us forget the whole thing for a few hours.’
‘Perhaps the answer lies with your Sir Roger de la Pole, or whatever his name was.’
‘Oh, why do you say that?’
‘Well, he is, after all, the reason why your six suspects and the deceased man came to Tewkesbury. Perhaps if you were to turn your attention more to him than your five suspects, and try to find out more about him, then you might be able to discover what all this is about.’
‘My dear Lucy, yes of course!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft. ‘In all this conjecture, I have been forgetting the most obvious course of action. You have pointed me in the right direction. Am I not married to a genius?’
‘There, I told you that you would find inspiration. How will you find out more concerning your Sir Roger?’
‘There are no doubt a number of books in the local library, and the clergyman at the abbey may be able to throw some more light on our old Templar. Of course, Professor Salt! Why did I not think of him before? Yes, I know a man who I can consult; Mathias Salt.’
‘Mathias Salt?’
‘Mathias Tobias Salt, Professor of Medieval Studies, to give him his full title.’
‘And where does this Professor Salt reside?’ enquired Lucy opening the door to their bedroom.
‘In one of the darker corners of Oxford, hidden away from all view, and no doubt engaged on some great historical research. I remember that I had reason to consult him many years ago, when he was able to assist me in the solving of a very difficult case. Yes, I shall take the early morning train for Oxford. Tom can carry on the search for Ross and Anstruther. Salt may well have the answers to all this.’
* * *
Ravenscroft stared up at the imposing ancient building which cast long deep shadows on the neatly cut lawns before him. The journey by train to Oxford had been uneventful and he had enjoyed the pleasant walk along the busy streets of the town before entering the grounds of the college.
‘Careful, my dear sir!’ exclaimed a young man running into the quadrangle and colliding with Ravenscroft.
‘I am so sorry,’ began Ravenscroft. ‘I should have been paying more attention. I was admiring the architecture of your college.’
‘Not bad, is it?’ said the young man picking up a pile of papers which had dropped to the ground.
‘You are most fortunate to be a student here. Would that I had been granted the same opportunity in my youth.’
‘It’s not all that people would have you believe, you know. The rooms are freezing cold in winter, the food is barely passable, company is of a mediocre quality, and a great deal of the tuition leaves a lot to be desired. Anyway, can’t stop now. No time to talk. An interesting lecture on eighteenth century politics in the Sheldonian beckons.’
‘Could you tell me where I might find the residence of Professor Salt?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Over there, up two flights of stairs, knock on number sixteen.’ came back the hasty reply as the young man ran off at a brisk pace.
‘Thank you.’
Ravenscroft entered the building and began to make his way up the worn stone steps.
After a few moments, he reached the second-storey landing and made his way along the corridor, reading the numbers on the oak doors until he reached one that bore the number sixteen. Raising his hand he tapped gently on the woodwork and listened for any sound from within the ancient room. Receiving no reply he repeated the action in a louder fashion.
‘Come in,’ bellowed a voice, somewhere in the distance.
Ravenscroft opened the door and entered the room. An old, tall, grey-haired, bearded man was seated at a large desk in the centre, busily engaged in examining what Ravenscroft supposed to be some kind of ancient document.
Ravenscroft coughed.
‘What did you say your name was, my dear boy?’ asked the voice without looking up at the new arrival.
‘I didn’t. But my name is Ravenscroft.’
‘Ravenscroft?’
‘Detective Inspector Ravenscroft.’
‘Ravenscroft? I have certainly heard that name somewhere before. You look familiar. Have we met sometime in the distant past?’ said the questioner casting a brief glance in his direction before resuming his studies.
‘About ten years ago. I had need to consult you regarding the demise of Sir Charles Foulsome,’ offered Ravenscroft, hoping that the old man would recall their earlier meeting.
‘Foulsome, you say. I can’t say I recall the name.’
‘You were kind enough to translate an old will for me, which, as it proved, had a distinct bearing on the case,’
‘Ah yes, I do remember! Case of a forged signature and all that, and some dubious legacies if I recall. Ravenscourt, you said?’
‘Ravenscroft,’ said the detective, shaking the hand that had suddenly been offered.
‘And how can I be of assistance to you, Inspector?’
‘I wonder if you could tell me anything about the Knights Templar and about one of their number in particular, namely Sir Roger de la Pole of Tewkesbury,’ asked Ravenscroft, relieved that he had at last obtained the learned man’s attention.
‘Ah, the Templars! Interesting group of people. To give them their full title, Knights Templar or Order of Poor Knights of Christ and the Temple of Solomon — although many of them were far from poor. They were a kind of religious military order, formed around 1119, with the purpose of protecting pilgrims as they travelled to the Holy Land. They played an important role in the crusades. Pope Innocent II even placed them under direct papal authority.’
‘You say that many of them became quite wealthy. Why was this?’
‘As the various crusader states declined in authority, they increasingly found themselves in the role of financiers and bankers of the crusading enterprise. People often forget that many of the crusades might not have taken place at all were it not for the money provided by the Templars. Religious endeavour is all very well, but it is money that pays for food and weapons. Such a state of affairs could not continue for long of course. Philip IV of France and the Avignon Pope Clement V decided to suppress the order, claiming that they had become heretics, but really resenting the independence, power and wealth of the brotherhood. Money can often lead to corruption, Inspector, and even if it does not, jealousy can be a dangerous thing to countenance,’ continued Professor Salt, stroking his long white beard and staring at Ravenscroft through the lenses of his narrow-framed spectacles.
‘What happened to the Templars?’ asked Ravenscroft becoming more interested in the subject.
‘Many of them were rounded up by the authorities and put to death, but some did escape persecution. A number of them joined the order of the Knights of St John and fought against the Turks on the islands of Rhodes and Malta. Some, no doubt, returned home, like your Sir Roger de la Pole, where they were fortunate enough to die in their own beds.’
‘And the order?’
‘Completely extinguished, although some say that there are descendants who are intent on continuing with the order, in secret, to this day, though I hasten to say that if there are any remaining Templars I certainly have never come across them.’
‘What can you tell me about Sir Roger?’
‘Ah, a most interesting family, the de la Poles. The first one to achieve prominence was William de la Pole, a rich merchant and ship owner who helped to finance Edward III in his campaign against the French. A very shrewd business man by all accounts. Then there was Michael de la Pole, financier and royal servant who became chancellor to Richard II, before being forced to flee to France to escape impeachment on charges of embezzlement and negligence. Very careless to say the least. After him there was his grandson, William de la Pole, who fought with Henry V at Agincourt no less, but who fared less well under his son Henry VI, where he was sent to the Tower on charges of treason and corruption. He came to a rather bloody end, beheaded by a group of dissidents as he tried to escape the country. E
dmund de la Pole seems not to have fared any better, being executed by Henry VIII. They seem to have been rather intent in making a habit of annoying royalty and paying the ultimate price.’
‘And Sir Roger de la Pole?’ interrupted Ravenscroft, anxious to turn the conversation back to the Templar Knight.
‘Came from another, poorer and less illustrious branch of the family, I believe, who saw the prudence of keeping well in the background, thus avoiding any controversy and thereby managing to keep their heads.’
‘You seem remarkably well informed about the de la Poles,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Medieval history is my speciality, my dear boy, although you must have known that, or you would not have made the journey to visit me today,’ replied the professor moving his glasses further down his elongated nose so that he was able to stare at his questioner above their lens.
‘Of course,’ said Ravenscroft quickly, anxious not to cause offence. ‘And would Sir Roger have returned from the Holy Land with any kind of treasure?’
‘Ah, I see where this is going! You believe that Sir Roger returned bearing gold, frankincense and all kinds of precious goods.’
‘There was talk of a golden goblet,’ offered Ravenscoft.
‘Not in any documents of the time, as I recall.’
‘So it would have been unlikely?’
‘Unlikely, but not impossible. Just because it was not recorded at the time, does not lead one to the conclusion that there was no such treasure. If Sir Roger was able to acquire something of value on his travels, or in Jerusalem, then he would probably have kept very quiet about it.’
‘If there had been such a golden goblet, said to be encrusted with precious jewels, what do you think it could possibly have been?’
‘Ah, I see thoughts of the Holy Grail are entering your mind!’ exclaimed Salt lifting his hands above his head and clapping them together.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand,’ said Ravenscroft, somewhat taken aback by the suddenness of the learned man’s strange behaviour.
‘All through history there have been strange fantasies concerning the Holy Grail, the cup or goblet which our Christ used at the Last Supper and which was said to contain His very own blood collected from His body at the Crucifixion. Nonsense, all of it! If such a cup, goblet or container had been used, let alone preserved, then it would almost certainly have been made of wood, or some other form of perishable material. Gold encrusted goblets indeed! A nonsensical idea carried forward through the centuries, later to be embellished by those stories made up about that vagabond King Arthur and his so-called Knights of the Round Table and their search for the Holy Grail. Nonsense — dangerous nonsense all of it,’ continued the professor becoming more animated during his discourse.
‘I see, then there would have been no golden goblet bought home by Sir Roger?’
‘Forget all this Grail nonsense. If Sir Roger did return with some keepsake or artefact, it would not have been a golden goblet I am sure.’
‘Do you think that if Sir Roger did return with something of value, it could have been placed in his tomb when he died?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Highly unlikely I would say. You would run the risk that someone would have helped themselves to the item either when he was entombed, or that someone would have returned within a few days to force open the tomb and appropriate it for themselves. More likely he passed it on to another member of his family before his death.’
‘Do you think he could have hidden it somewhere?’
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘We found some rather strange marks on the outside of Sir Roger’s tomb.’
‘Do you have a record of such markings?’ enquired the professor, his curiosity aroused.
‘My constable jotted them down in his notebook,’ said Ravenscroft, producing the item from his own pocket and handing it to the professor.
‘Most interesting,’ said the scholar readjusting his spectacles and bringing the book closer towards his eyes.
CR4 * Q1 * BR3 * CR4 *Q1 * Q2
BL2 * KL2 * +3 * CL2 * Q2 * CR1 * CL1
‘No one seems to know what it means.’
‘I can see why that has been the case. At first sight it looks quite perplexing,’ said Salt, twitching his nose so alarmingly that Ravenscroft thought the scholar might be in imminent danger of losing his spectacles. ‘I think that you had perhaps better inform me as to the nature of your case, my dear boy.’
During the next few minutes Ravenscroft narrated in some detail all the facts concerning the dead man found inside the crusader’s tomb and all that had followed on from his investigation, ending with the disappearance of Ross and the flight of Anstruther, during which the professor paced up and down in deep thought, pausing now and then to exclaim such phrases as ‘well I never’ and ‘how extraordinary’.
‘And there you have it,’ said Ravenscroft coming to the end of his discourse.
‘Well, well. An interesting state of affairs. I can appreciate your difficulties, my dear Inspector. Difficulties indeed. I must say that I am inclined to agree with your premise that your six suspects all decided to keep their appointment at the abbey in the expectation of discovering Sir Roger’s treasure. If we assume that the goblet, or whatever we like to call it, was not buried with Sir Roger, then it must be somewhere else, and that is where your strange markings come to the fore.’
‘I was hoping that you might be able to decipher the letters.’
Ravenscroft watched as the antiquary first bought the paper close to his face where he peered at the letters and numbers for some moments, before closing his eyes and clasping his forehead as if in pain.
‘Why everyone who has sought to obtain meaning from these symbols has failed, is because they have tried to solve the problem from their own perspective and time,’ pronounced the professor eventually, waving the paper in the air.
‘Go on,’ urged Ravenscroft, hoping that his words of encouragement might bear fruit.
‘What we must do, if we are to solve this problem, is to look at it from Sir Roger’s point of view; after all it was he, one presumes, who gave instruction for the message to be written on his tomb. Why did he do this? He wanted to make sure that only someone of sufficient intelligence, of a similar background and experience as himself, who came after him, would be able to work out what the message means. Sir Roger was clearly a man who enjoyed a good sense of humour. I rather like him, I must say!’
Ravenscroft smiled, but wondered whether all the professor’s deliberations would eventually lead to the solution he was hoping for.
‘Sir Roger had recently returned from the Holy Land. Out there he would have encountered another world, where the sights, smells and sounds would have all been different — more important even the language, both written and spoken, would have been unusual. Arabic writing is read from the right. It proceeds across the page until it reaches the left-hand side.’
‘So we have been reading the message the wrong way round!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft.
‘Exactly.’
‘But it still does not make sense, even when you read it backwards.’
‘Ah, that is where the second element of the puzzle begins. Chess!’ announced the old man triumphantly. ‘You play chess, Mr Ravenscroft?’
‘Not for many years.’
‘But you are no doubt aware of the rules. Chess is an ancient game, stretching back over two thousand years. When Sir Roger went on his crusade, chess was completely unknown in England, but in the Holy Land it was already established. Sir Roger must have seen the game and decided to work it into his little puzzle. By adopting both the Arabic way of writing and the game of chess, both of which would have been unknown to his contemporaries at home, he was ensuring that only someone like himself, a crusader knight, another Templar, would have been able to solve the clues and work out what the message says.’
‘And would have been rewarded for his efforts,’ added Ravenscroft.
‘Exactly!’<
br />
‘Like a gentleman’s club?’
‘A very select gentlemen’s club, my dear Ravenscroft.’
‘So do you think we could now solve the puzzle?’
‘Ah well, that may be difficult — but not perhaps impossible. Here, take this large sheet of paper and this ruler — and with this pen draw a chessboard, eight squares across and eight the other way.’
Ravenscroft did as he was instructed, as the antiquary, stroking his flowing beard, continued to stare hard at the paper before him.
‘Good. This will be our chessboard. Bearing in mind that Arabic script is written from right to left, I want you to place each letter of the alphabet, in order, in each square, commencing with the “a” in the bottom right-hand square and so on.’
Ravenscroft did as he was instructed, ending the first bottom row of the board with the letter ‘h’, the second row ending in ‘p’, the third with ‘x’.
‘There are two letters left over, “y” and “z” — where shall I place those?’
‘In the first two squares of the next row,’ replied the professor leaning over his shoulder. ‘Good, now do the same with your opponent, starting again with the ‘a’ in the last right-hand square of the back row, and then moving leftwards across the board.’
‘Surely one’s opponent would have been facing the other way,’ corrected Ravenscroft.
‘True, but I believe that the board is meant to be seen by one person, namely the reader of the inscription and, as such, the letters would again run from right to left.’
Ravenscroft again wrote in all the letters on the paper.
‘Excellent, my dear inspector. So we now have both the ‘a’s facing one another and so on. Now mark on the paper, outside the main board, the names of the pieces.’
Ravenscroft wrote ‘castle’ facing the square which bore the letter ‘a’ ‘knight’ facing the letter ‘b’ and so on, until he had completed the back row.
‘Now do the same with your opponent’s side of the board. Excellent. Now we are ready to begin. What we clearly have is two words, one written underneath the other. If we assume that white begins the game first, at the bottom of the board, then we can conclude that the first word on the inscription is played by white and that the second word, is played by black at the top of the board. Now remembering that the word is written from right to left, we look at the first group of letters and numbers, namely Q2—’