"I wish to be there when he hangs," Caitlin said. "That is essential."
"I understand." Treadwell nodded. "It is already arranged, and you will be present as an official witness for the Crown rather than for, ah, personal reasons."
"What about other governments who want him?" Indy asked. "Does anyone else get a crack at him in trials?"
"Germany wants him. So does the United States. And Austria, Italy, and other countries." Thomas smiled coldly. "We will let them haggle with one another as to who gets the remains. Neither Cordas nor Scruggs will ever leave England alive."
Treadwell poured tea for himself and Caitlin. "I'll take coffee," Indy said. Steaming pots stood on a table by a high window.
"You already know from that greeting of Di Palma that the coins are being returned to Rome," Treadwell told them. "The gold, to our immense pleasure and gratitude, is being sent by the American government to the Bank of England. It is remarkably generous on the part of the United States. There are positions they could take to retain the bullion. But they have worked it out cleverly on the grounds that the gold was payment for raw goods, mainly cotton, that delivery of those goods was never effected, and therefore the payment should be returned."
"Neatly done," Indy said.
"And a most generous donation is being prepared for London University," Treadwell added.
"Well, that might even bring a smile to the face of our curmudgeon in the next room," Indy observed. "Anytime the University receives a donation, Sir William manages a hint of a toothy smile."
Suddenly Indy sat up straighten "Wait a minute. Something's wrong here. Where's Gale?"
Treadwell hesitated, and immediately both Indy and Caitlin knew something was wrong.
"Out with it, Tom," Indy said impatiently. "It's not like Gale to just take off somewhere."
"Gale Parker is in South America."
Indy stared at Treadwell. "What?"
"Pan American is testing new routes with their Sikorsky flying boats. It's their feeling that if they have a woman pilot, it will build great confidence among their passengers. Gale Parker is that pilot. They are being quite generous, and I needn't tell you what this kind of flying means to Gale."
"There is more to it than that," Caitlin said icily. "Gale is my soul sister. For her to leave without a word to me, or to Indy... No, there is more than the flying."
"Level with us, Tom." Indy said, his face reflecting doubts and suspicion.
"There is, well, perhaps something else," Treadwell admitted.
"Tom, you're beating around the bush! Out with it, man!"
"I may not have the exact words," Treadwell cautioned.
"What is it you are afraid to say?" Caitlin said, staring hard at Treadwell.
"Gale wants you two to get to know each other better. Indy, she said she was feeling like a fifth wheel. And when Pan American made its offer, she jumped."
"So she just steps out of the picture?" Indy clenched and unclenched his fists. "The three of us were a team!" he burst out.
Treadwell looked miserable. "Indy, I'm only the messenger in this."
A long silence followed his words. Then they turned as the door of Pencraft's office opened, and the old man pushed his way into the room. "Get out," he said curtly to his aide, "and close the door behind you, and don't open it until I call you. Not for anyone, you understand?"
Pencraft pointed to the soldiers. "Clear them out of here, Treadwell. I want just the four of us in this room for a while."
Within moments they were alone in the room. Pencroft wheeled himself closer to them, stopping at the far end of the table. "Have you told them yet, Thomas?" he asked.
"I've told them several things." Treadwell parried the question.
"You know very well what I'm talking about!" Pencroft shouted, the effort bringing on a coughing fit.
Caitlin moved immediately to the old man, holding him erect in his wheelchair. "Speak gently," she said, her hand rubbing his back.
"And whatever you want Treadwell so badly to tell us," Indy said, still annoyed at the news about Gale, "why don't you do your own dirty work and tell us yourself?"
"Well, well, our unmannered guest from the colonies still has spirit, I see." Pencroft sneered at Indy. "All right, Jones, here it is. I have received a lengthy message that may have some slight interest to you as an amateur archaeologist and whatever else you putter about in."
"Amateur—"
Indy knew the old man. Every word he said, his mannerisms, his way of broaching this subject, spelled something big. Indy kept silent.
"I have taken the liberty of arranging for you to investigate," said Pencroft.
Indy shifted position until he was sitting upright, staring hard at him.
"Wait a minute!" he said. "You haven't even asked me if I'm interested in this crazy caper of yours!"
Pencroft smiled. He had set out the bait. Indy would bite.
"Is there really any doubt?" he asked.
AFTERWORD
In the story of Indiana Jones and the White Witch we have stopped at the edge of the historically recorded, stood and contemplated what lay beyond, and then made that "great leap" into wonder, magic, and wizardry.
Before venturing beyond "harsh and established reality," in the words of historians who want everything carved in stone, let us first visit the locales where such wonders are commonplace and as ancient as the oldest recorded events and names. A central locale in our story has been, of course, the New Forest in the southwestern regions of England. It is important that the reader be aware that every single town, village, forest, and plain described in this book is real.
The writer some years back was one of the pilots flying the Atlantic Ocean in an "ancient" Consolidated Catalina amphibian, a great lovely flying boat that was in wide use with the United States Navy and several commercial airlines well before the Second World War. In our resurrected Catalina, flying over the Azores in midocean to Portugal, Spain, and finally to a smooth water landing in Plymouth Harbor, we began a "second adventure" by personally visiting the very places you have encountered in these pages. Leaving Plymouth, we became guests of the Fleet Air Arm main airbase and its nearby town of Yeovil. Then, sometimes by air, at other times in "motorcars," and quite often on foot, we traveled through the Salisbury Plain and moved with no small sense of awe through the New Forest.
This was a return visit for me; I had been there after flying a Boeing Flying Fortress to England in 1961. One of my closest friends for many years was Dame Sybil Leek, the renowned "white witch" of Wicca and its adherents who lived not only in the deeps of the New Forest, but also in different towns and villages of this fascinating southwestern extension of the United Kingdom. From what Sybil told me, I located St. Brendan's Glen.
The trees, the particular foliage, the twisting roads and strange mists, the practice of magic, it is all there. The New Forest, and that magic place of St. Brendan's Glen, the Midlands and the Plains, the purple-hued hills and mountains, the Gypsies—they are all very real, most remarkable, and provide a keen and rich look into a past filled with wonder and mysteries.
Which led me directly to the great and wondrous tales of King Arthur and his beloved Guinevere. The legends tell of a violent, fierce battle at Camlin, in Cornwall. Here King Arthur was wounded, and his men carried him from the field of combat to a monastery, either in or close to Glastonbury, to be cared for.
Glastonbury and the local terrain is considerably different from what it was a millennium ago. The land has changed. Glastonbury lies along the foothills of famed highlands, such places as Tor, Chalice, Edmund's, and Weary-all. The Bristol Channel was a main thoroughfare for barges and boats and commerce. There was much more water over the land than at present, and all these towns were on the hills that actually constituted the center of an island. There were, in fact, many such islands in the sprawling water-divided land: Wedmore, Beckery, Athelney, and Meare.
What we know today as Glastonbury was in ancient times Y
nyswitrin, a tongue twister of a name that means Glassy Island. Ynyswitrin was settled, and farmed, and astonished its people with bountiful crops. Its reputation for productivity led to tales that its soil was so rich that apple trees, instead of taking years to mature and produce fruit, grew to maturity within days. Glassy Island assumed a richness that people believed could only come from the power of wizards and sorcerers. The names of Ynyswitrin and Glassy Island faded in time, and the rich farmland became known as the Isle of Avalon, the latter name deriving from Avalia—the apple.
Through the centuries, Avalon would become confused with legends of a faraway magical island of the same name. Arthur and his bride were transported by sorcerer's magic to this mysterious isle, to be kept in some form of suspended animation until the need for Arthur's prowess in battle would rouse him from his deep sleep and he would again march against England's enemies.
The Isle of Avalon, on the coast of England, faded to give way to the name by which it is known today—Glastonbury. In the year 1705 it was incorporated as a municipal borough of England.
It soon became a world-renowned center of learning, where libraries and teaching flourished. It was also the first place in the British Isles where the name of Jesus Christ was heralded.
History and legend mixed here as well, for the ancient scribes recorded that Joseph of Arimathea arrived at Avalon as far back as 60 A.D. to spread the word of the new religion. At that time the old name stood strong, and Arimathea settled for a time in the Isle of Ynyswitrin.
Here is the direct connection between Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table, and their devotion to the new religion. It is believed without question by the descendants of the early settlers that Joseph brought with him to England the Cup of the Last Supper. He and his closest friends are reputed to have buried the cup in what is now known as Chalice Hill.
Many years after the legends say Arthur died with his queen, their coffin was removed from its original burial site and buried again in a church at Avalon. Some eighty years later the burial site was visited by Edward I and his queen. Disturbed that so great a figure should be left in the church burial grounds without proper recognition, Edward had the remains interred directly before the high altar of the monastery. This new resting place was then completed with an inscription that may still be seen today:
Site of King Arthur's tomb; in the year 1191 the bodies of King Arthur and his Queen were said to have been found on the south side of the Lady Chapel. On 19th April, 1278, the remains were removed in the presence of King Edward and his Queen to a black marble tomb on this site. This tomb survived until the dissolution of the Abbey in 1539.
Which brings us to the question of whether the swords Excalibur and Caliburn were in fact the weapons of wizardry wielded so famously by Arthur in his battles.
Consider that the ancients loved a world of magic, mystery, sorcery, and wizardry, and that the vast majority of the people of ancient times could neither read nor write, and lived in a world of wonder they could never truly understand.
To these people, history was carried by songs, poems, and storytelling around glowing fireplaces. The reality of Arthur as king was absolute and unquestionable. Along with this reverence for the king went the stories of his sword, which gave him a splendid advantage over his adversaries in combat.
The most popular tale of the fighting sword of King Arthur, from which thousands of versions have sprung, is of course the Sword in the Stone, which suddenly appears before a village that is host to many fighting men at a time when a new king is to be chosen. As the men gather in wonder about this huge lump of rock, staring at the sword with its blade locked within the stone, Merlin appears, and says that whoever is able to withdraw this magical blade from the rock is the true King of England. After a parade of muscled knights and other husky fellows fail, amid huffing and puffing and gnashing of teeth, the boy Arthur shows up, grasps the hilt of the sword Excalibur, and pulls it effortlessly from the stone. The boy demonstrates his rightful succession to the throne by sliding Excalibur in and out of the stone with giddy ease.
The volumes on the history of Arthur, Excalibur, Camelot, and the Knights of the Round Table disagree on how Excalibur came to be. According to one tale that solves this thorny problem, Merlin, in his mountain hideaway, mutters incantations and, with potions, powders, and secret ingredients, brings into existence Excalibur, the Sword of Flame, the Invincible.
In contrast to this tale is the equally well-known story of the Lady of the Lake, who represents the unsullied spirit of goodness. Arthur is somehow urged to go to the lake, where the arm of the Lady of the Lake thrusts upward in a dazzling light, holding the sword for him to grasp and accept as his own.
For some time it was believed that there were two swords. Excalibur was the ceremonial blade inserted in the stone (in other versions, in an anvil laid atop a great stone) and served its purpose by "selecting" Arthur as the new and rightful King of Britain. Caliburn, however, was the sword of combat. Over the centuries, Excalibur was either lost or, as most tellings go, was finally hurled back into the lake whence it had emerged, and was snatched in midair by the upraised arm and hand of the Lady of the Lake, then drawn down into the waters, never again to be seen.
That, of course, left Caliburn to be passed on from one generation to another. Caliburn, the fighting sword, thus survived and eventually was placed in the care of the clan or clans who lived in the New Forest. In our specific instance, the clan of St. Brendan's Glen.
The deeper the research, the harder one scrabbles down through the torrent of words and stories, the clearer it becomes that the sheer variety of versions of this story obscured the single most enduring fact about Excalibur and Caliburn.
Which is that they are but one sword, and known by two names.
Stonehenge at Wiltshire is famed the world over, and the subject of more stories, investigations, studies, and changing conclusions than perhaps any other man-made structure on this planet. The collection in a circle of mammoth stones, topping a gently rising hill, is but the centerpiece of colossal stone structures radiating outward in absolutely straight lines for miles. The incredible feat of manually tugging and heaving these monster pieces—as long as five hundred years ago—boggles the imagination. There are arguments yet raging as to whether Stonehenge was religious in origin, or employed for astronomical readings, or perhaps served a mixture of purposes.
Our interest here, as referenced in this book in one of Indy's misadventures, is personal. I have been there and seen people react strangely to whatever energy collects at and/or emanates from Stonehenge. It has a powerful effect upon certain visitors, who seem to be possessed of a body field of energy attuned to that of Stonehenge. Some people have become faint from the energy field; others have been struck as though with a blast of electricity. This is not a fanciful tale, but a reality this writer has witnessed and felt. The nature and characteristics of Stonehenge as portrayed in this book are not fiction.
Which brings us to a journey that smacks more of fiction than reality: the joumey of the Graf Zeppelin from Friedrichshafen to New York City. Every word, every detail, every description of the Graf Zeppelin is accurate. On one voyage, battered by a severe storm, the Graf was so badly pummeled that the winds smashed part of the tail structure and the crew discovered to their dismay (and the horror of the passengers) that the great port fin had been torn, as if shoved into a giant shredding machine. Behind the great airship there now streamed and fluttered huge sections of fabric. If the damage was not repaired, there was every chance the fabric would get tangled in the external control surfaces, jamming the rudders and elevators and ripping control of the Graf from its crew.
Captain Hugo Eckener sounded the call for volunteers from the crew to go outside the vessel, still hammered and pounded by severe turbulence, cut away the torn fabric, and make swift repairs to the tail. Four men volunteered, among them Knut Eckener, the captain's son. They crawled outside along exposed structural girders and repaired the
damage!
Consider that the Graf Zeppelin kept flying until it was retired in 1937, and that it was the first airship ever to exceed one million miles of flight. During its commercial life of nine years, it often flew from Europe to North and South America, cruised around the world, crossed the Atlantic 144 times, and carried more than thirteen thousand passengers in perfect safety.
How did it end its time with us? Under the direct orders of Hermann Goring, head of the German air force, in 1940, engineers emptied the gas cells and dismantled the Graf—and used its duralumin girders to erect a radar tower pointed at England to detect oncoming British fighters and bombers.
Now we come to the little-known details of the attempted alliance between the American Confederacy and England in which the British were to exchange gold and convoy protection in return for immediate shipments of raw cotton. The story told in this book is just the way the "deal" was attempted between the two governments. The exact figures offered in gold have not been revealed, only that an enormous amount of money was involved, and England also promised to meet the needs of the Confederacy in weapons, ammunition, and those materials of which the South was in short supply.
The flight from New York to Port Jacksonville in the U.S. Navy Sikorsky S-38 required no invention of detail. It did fly as a navy patrol bomber, enjoyed tremendous success with Pan American, and was used, in fact, by several other airlines as well as industrial and exploration firms. The routes and the countryside covered by Indy, Gale, and Caitlin, across the pine barrens of North Florida, are exactly as they existed in 1864.
Finally, we come to the sweeping movements of cavalry, artillery, and infantry of both combatants in the Battles of Olustee Station and Ocean Pond. Here again, every description is accurate.
Indiana Jones and the White Witch Page 27