by Tim Flanagan
‘This is true,’ replied Edgar patiently, ‘but maybe these will help convince you of my age and then, maybe you will believe the rest of what I say to be true.’
Sir Edgar now carefully lifted the family tree so that it was resting on top of the Order to Service to reveal some other smaller pieces of paper. Edgar picked up the first and passed it to Joe who was sitting to his right.
‘This is a copy of a page taken from an ancient book called Historia Brittonum which was written over one thousand years ago. It means “The History of the Britons” and in Chapter 56 the twelve battles of King Arthur are documented along with the names of the Knights of the Round Table as well as myself, Edgar Gorlois, Duke of Tintagel.’ Although the writing appeared slightly different to normal English, Joe could make out the letters that made up Edgar’s name amongst the rest of the text.
‘Are there any pictures of you with Arthur?' asked Scarlet, trying to think of a way to convince both herself and Max.
‘No,’ replied Edgar shaking his head. ‘Any illustrations showing King Arthur were done at a later date after he was dead and were based on the imagination of the illustrator and not fact. But, you may find this helps you believe what I say.’ Edgar passed an old photograph to Max, ‘this is an old photograph of all the staff at the Rolls Royce factory in Derby in 1908. I worked there until 1914 and if you look on the back row you can see me. Even if you don’t believe that I was alive in King Arthur’s time, you must agree that if that was me in 1908, I would certainly be dead by now.’
Max looked carefully at the picture. It was a brown photograph with one or two rust spots on it. It showed a group of men; the front row, who were obviously more senior, sat on chairs in their best suits and top hats, whilst the rest of the workers stood behind wearing identical grey suits, shirts and ties. At the back on the right hand side of the picture was a man with a short grey beard which Max had to admit looked a lot like Sir Edgar. He stood tall and stiff, looking directly at the camera, no different to the other men around him.
‘It really does look like you!' said Scarlet who had been looking over Max’s shoulder. Max remained silent.
Edgar passed another photograph to Scarlet. ‘This is me in the Home Guard in 1942 during the second World War. I was too old to join the regular army so volunteered for the Home Guard ready to defend Britain in case of invasion by Germany.’
Scarlet examined the photograph closely scanning the three rows of uniformed soldiers until she came across a now familiar face. Standing once again at the back was Edgar but this time he was clean shaven but there was still the sharp intense look in his eyes as he stared out of the black and white photograph from beneath his cloth cap.
‘You must admit it, Max, there’s no way he could have been in those photographs on those dates unless he was actually there. Edgar could be as old as he says he is’ said Joe to his friend.
‘Maybe,’ was all Max would say.
'If believing Edgar's story can do something to help find Peter, then I’m willing to take a chance,’ said Joe defiantly.
‘I want to help too,’ said Scarlet.
There was silence from Max. They all looked at him, his head down not wishing to look any of them in the eye. ‘Alright,’ he grudgingly said. ‘I’ll do it,’ he agreed, still unconvinced, ‘but how do you think we can find him, especially if he really has gone into this other world you talk about?’
‘Edgar said that the only way to get into the unseen world is by having The Sight, the Silver Bough, or an invitation, so the only real way for us to gain access is to find the Silver Bough and go through the portal to bring Peter back.’
‘Can’t we get someone else to do it, like the army or something?' said Max trying to think of an excuse.
‘They won’t believe us,’ Joe said, ‘and we can probably get in without being noticed, whereas an army wouldn’t be able to do that.’
Sir Edgar coughed politely trying to get the attention of Max and Joe. ‘You’re forgetting one important thing,’ he said. ‘We don’t have the Silver Bough.’
‘No, but your brother did,’ replied Joe excitedly. ‘You said that his remains are in a tomb beneath Edinburgh Castle. If he was sworn to protect the Silver Bough, he would have either taken it to the grave with him or left some sort of instructions for its safe keeping. Think about what most people do with something valuable when they die; you leave a will, or instructions, for someone you trust to keep it safe.’
‘That’s true,’ said Scarlet as they all nodded.
‘When did the other White Knights die?' Joe asked Edgar.
Edgar thought hard about Joe’s question, trying to recall from the numerous volume of events stored inside his head the exact information. ‘Sir Ceneard was the first to die in London back in 1665 from the Black Death and Sir Aldwyn was killed in 1832 by the sword of a highwayman in Surrey after he tried to defend a lady from being robbed. Sir Hadwyn died from Pneumonia during last year’s cold Scottish winter.’
‘So if Sir Hadwyn also knew of the other knight's deaths it's likely that he hid the very thing he’s been protecting all of his life. And if he knew that you Sir Edgar were the last surviving White Knight, he may have left you instructions where to find the Silver Bough and continue his task. We need to go to Edinburgh Castle.’
14. A Gruesome Discovery
After a quick visit to the local hardware store out of town, Steven and Georgia made their way to the lay-by Mr McRae had mentioned. They turned off the main road and parked the car in a cloud of dust that had been kicked up by the tyres. Beyond the wooden fence they could see a sign directing walkers along the public footpath.
Steven removed the new metal detector from its packaging as well as a spade whilst Georgia threw a small square canvas bag over her shoulder, then unfolded a map.
‘Ready?’ Steven asked Georgia.
They walked through an opening in the fence and onto a well worn track that led into the woodland. Steven noticed another car creep slowly into the car park. There was something vaguely familiar about the driver, and the suit he wore wasn’t practical for walking or sightseeing. They crossed the river via a wooden bridge with no handrails; thick bulrushes reached up on both sides, hiding the water. A couple of serious walkers wearing boots and backpacks strode energetically in the opposite direction as Steven and Georgia followed the path deeper into the woods to the land behind Mr McRae’s property.
Once there, they sat on a fallen tree trunk and began to plan the next stage of the search.
‘So, we are here,’ said Georgia pointing to an area on the map. She marked it with a small red. ‘If we walk through the woodland and start here,’ she pointed to another spot and made a second cross, ‘that is the boundary where the wood meets Mr McRae’s land. If you swing the metal detector from side to side as you walk you should be able to cover a width of at least one meter.’
They stepped off the footpath and into woodland that had not been trampled down by the heavy boots of numerous walkers. Branches of trees grew lower here and they would often have to duck slightly or snap them off to make their way through.
Georgia carefully checked where they were on the map. Once they had arrived at the point where the second cross was, Steven turned the metal detector on and began walking in a straight line. He swept the metal detector in front of him from one side to the other under the watchful eye of Georgia who made sure he continued in the right direction.
Occasionally a high pitched squeal would break up the gentle hum of the metal detector when it passed over a metallic object. That was when Steven grabbed for the spade and began to dig, but he found nothing more than old tin cans, or a few coins. Each time Steven walked up and down, Georgia marked it on the map and by the end of two hours they had found two other meteorites similar in size to the ones from Mr McRae’s garden. They carefully stored them inside Georgia’s canvas bag then decided to move to a different section of woodland beside the river.
Once again they searched i
n a methodical way, constantly referring back to the map. Whilst Steven walked along the river edge swinging the detector from side to side, Georgia removed two clear plastic tubes from her bag and took them down to the water to collect some samples for testing. She knelt down on the bank and leant forward. The thickness of the reeds and bulrushes in front of her hid the water below so she held them back like she was parting hair. The water quickly filled one of the plastic tubes. She tightly screwed the top on then held it up to the sky, looking at the little bits floating in the green coloured water.
She stood up, checked Steven’s progress, then moved further along the river to take a second sample. As she parted the reeds, she saw a soggy bundle of clothes slightly further out that seemed to be caught in the reeds. She took her water sample as before then walked to the nearest tree and snapped a branch from it. Using the branch she reached out over the water and hooked it onto the bundle of clothes and began pulling it towards her. Suddenly the clothing came away from the reeds and Georgia slipped backwards falling onto her back.
There was now something quite different staring from amongst the reeds.
A disfigured hand seemed to be reaching out of the water.
At first she was confused. The hand looked larger than she thought it should do, almost like it had sucked in lots of the river water and Georgia thought for a short moment that it was not real at all. The skin appeared white and waxy, but there were patches of it missing revealing the grey-brown flesh beneath the skin. The edges of these missing patches were uneven and thicker, almost like it had been melted away. As an operative assistant Georgia had never actually seen a dead body before, she was much more familiar with writing reports and doing research.
‘Steven!’ she said in a broken voice trying to take air into her lungs. She couldn’t help but stare at the hand and its ghostly white fingernails, fixed in a disfigured grip like the hooked talons of an eagle clawing at its prey.
‘Steven!’ Georgia said once again, without looking round.
‘What is it?’ he asked, casually strolling beside her. ‘Have you found another meteorite?’
Georgia pointed a shaky finger towards the river. Steven followed her gaze and saw the hand in the water. A cold shiver crept across his skin followed by a wave of sickness in his stomach. Steven tried to remember his training. He pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and immediately called the police, then helped Georgia onto her feet and helped her up the bank where she could see the hand. He sat down next to her, put his arm around her still shaking shoulders and waited for the police to arrive.
15. Unlocking the Key
That afternoon Sir Edgar and the children took the train to a rain soaked Edinburgh. The damp clung to their clothes making them feel cold and heavy to wear. Each of the children had lied to their parents, saying that they were staying at a friend’s house for the night, but instead, had secretly agreed to meet Edgar at the local train station for the connection to Harrogate then on to Edinburgh.
They had spotted Edinburgh Castle high up on the hill as the train approached Waverley Station and now they stood waiting along with other tourists to get inside.
Once they had their tickets, they walked across a bridge and through a tall gatehouse with two rigid stone statues standing guard either side of the entrance. The stone walls of the castle were grey and black, soaked by the rain-water which also made the well worn flagstones slippery to walk on.
They continued up a grey stone slope with high walls towering around them. Ahead they could see another archway to walk through which seemed to go beneath a house.
‘Wait here,’ said Edgar and he dashed through a red door without any explanation.
The children stood at the side of the walkway feeling uncomfortable from suddenly being left on their own in such an unfamiliar place. Other tourists walked past them pointing at the different parts of the castle as they went. Max couldn’t help but feel guilty that he was there without his parents' permission and the inside of his stomach felt like a tight knot. He hadn’t been able to eat any lunch and was beginning to feel sick.
Suddenly Edgar came out of the red door with a guide-book in his hands.
‘Won’t get far without this,’ he said cheerfully opening it to a map of the castle.
‘Haven’t you been here before then?' asked Joe as they continued towards the next gate.
‘Yes, just the once, but that was in 1566.’ One of the tourists turned round and looked disbelievingly at Edgar who seemed oblivious to their stares and continued. ‘My brother had been working as a Captain in the Scottish Royal Guard for Queen Marie de Guise until her death in 1560. He then continued under the employment of her daughter, Mary Queen of Scots, who seemed to look favourably on Hadwyn and promoted him to Major. This allowed him certain freedom and privileges around Mary, and at the birth of her son James in 1566 he invited me to join them in the celebrations held inside the Royal Palace.’
They walked through a stone archway and underneath a metal portcullis which, when lowered, would have kept out any invading force, but today allowed the friendly tourists to roam freely about the castle grounds. As they came back into the light again into a wide open space bordered by a series of black guns that pointed through small gaps in the thick stone wall towards the town below.
‘It’s all changed so much since that time,’ continued Edgar thoughtfully. ‘It was a working castle back then. Around here soldiers would be parading and practising at regular intervals. Even sheep and pigs would be running round freely and if you didn’t see them, you could certainly smell them. It was like a small enclosed town, self-sufficient and heavily protected.’
A loud bang unexpectedly ripped through the air in front of them, followed by a plume of white smoke which looked bright and clean in comparison to the grey clouds that hovered low around the castle. They instinctively reached up to protect their ears from the noise, but there were no further explosions. Ahead they could see the long black barrel of the gun that had just been fired.
‘Who are they shooting at?' asked Max nervously.
‘That’s one thing that hasn’t changed,’ Edgar exclaimed excitedly. ‘It’s called the One o’clock gun and it’s fired every day at one and has done since Mary’s day. It’s sort of like a clock so that ships in the Firth of Forth knew what time it was.’
Edgar passed some sandwiches round whilst they stood looking over the roof tops of Edinburgh. After a few minutes Edgar was eager to continue.
‘Next stop is Saint Margaret’s Chapel, just there,’ he said pointing to a building above a grassy bank.
They all followed Edgar across the stone covered ground as it curved upwards and under yet another archway. Ahead of them they could see a very plain square building with a name plate informing them that they had reached Saint Margaret’s Chapel.
Edgar strode through the doorway followed closely by the three children. Inside was just one room. The chapel walls were all painted white and there were small wooden seats running along both sides of the outer walls. At the far end was a separate section seen through a stone archway that was supported by carved pillars. The table beyond the arch was covered with an ornate purple and cream coloured cloth and a small stained glass window cast what little light there was into the chapel. Inside, a group of tourists were admiring the stained glass at the far end whilst Edgar and the children waited patiently around the doorway.
‘Is this where Hadwyn’s tomb is?’ whispered Max to Edgar, hoping the day would end soon and he could get back to Parsley Bottom before anyone noticed he wasn’t where he should be.
‘No,’ replied Edgar as if Max should have known better, ‘this is where the key to Hadwyn’s tomb is kept.’
Edgar pretended to be studying the structure of the roof inside the chapel whilst he waited for the tourists to leave. Eventually they made their way to the doorway and exited the building leaving Edgar and the children alone.
‘You two stand next to the door and let me know if any
one comes in this direction,’ Edgar instructed to Max and Scarlet as he moved further down the chapel towards the archway. Joe watched as Edgar lifted one of the small wooden benches and positioned it beneath the centre of the arch. Standing on top of the bench he traced his fingertips along the zigzag pattern that was carved in the arch and counted quietly under his breath. He removed a small penknife from his trouser pocket and began to scratch away some of the dirt and cement from underneath one of the sections. After a short amount of time the scraping sound of the knife on the stone changed as the blade slipped deeper between two flat surfaces.
Edgar let out an excited laugh which echoed inside the chapel. Joe stood directly beneath Edgar, watching closely.
‘What are you doing?' asked Joe.
Edgar looked down to Joe, then across to the door where Max and Scarlet were standing, but neither were watching for tourists; they had been curious to see what Edgar was doing.
‘Keep watch. We can’t have anyone coming in while I retrieve the key,’ he instructed to his two guards at the door.
To Joe he said: ‘Twenty-five is an important number relating to King Arthur. In Winchester Castle hangs a wooden table painted with the names of the twenty-five knights from King Arthur’s court. You may know it as the Round Table. In order to retrieve the key I need to press the correct sequence of stones to release a hidden drawer.’
Edgar pointed at the pattern that joined one side of the arch to the other then continued to scratch a groove all around the stone he had been working on until the blade slid freely all the way around.
‘This stone represents the twenty-five knights that stood on the right side of King Arthur. We also need the ninth stone from the left,’ explained Edgar as he counted across from the left-hand side. ‘King Arthur was one of the “Nine Valiants.” These were a group of nine figures who best demonstrated the values of chivalry and became role models for all medieval knights. The Nine Valiants can be seen in paintings and tapestries, and even in the Houses of Parliament in London.’