He didn’t get a chance to answer his own question. He was looking at gravestones, a part of his mind reading the inscriptions. He stopped in mid-thought. The dates on the one in front of him were 1333 - 1390. But, that was not what grabbed his attention. The name was just two initials - CM. That also wasn’t what stopped him. The inscription below the initials might have frozen him – A Guard Until the End. It didn’t.
His eyes were riveted on four chiseled figures at the base of the stone. A stick figure of a man, and to the man’s right, three symbols created by a vertical line through an X. They looked like starbursts. A man and three suns.
Then it all made sense. CM. Colin Moffat. A Guard Until the End. His mission, his calling, and his purpose in life.
Chad sat down, his wrapper of fish and chips tilting forward, spilling out.
He had found a clue.
He felt relief. He expected euphoria. Doc’s months of effort. His own tiring journey had led to this. Moffat’s Secret.
It was several minutes until he realized he still didn’t know where the locator stone was to be found. In the grave? Somewhere else? Where Moffat lived? He tossed what was left of his lunch and went in search of church records.
After two disappointing hours working through church records and local civic records, he accepted that the records of 1390 no longer existed. The earliest records were in the 1500s. He looked for people named Moffat. There weren’t any. Were there no descendants or did Moffat change his name? So, why not list his new name. Why just the initials?
Chad went back to the grave. What would he have to do to excavate a grave that was over 600 years old? There would definitely be witnesses to the process of excavation. If the stone was there, how could he claim it?
“CM, what did you get me into? Where is the stone?”
Chad wandered and thought. A few rows a way, Chad’s eye was caught by the name Agnes Archer. The inscription read – A Terra Usque ad Caelum.
Chad spoke aloud. “From earth to what?”
“To heaven,” a voice said behind him.
Chad turned and saw the deacon he spoke with earlier in the church records.
“Your Latin is rusty?” the deacon asked.
“I didn’t know I knew Latin. I just recognized terra. She had the same name as me, Archer.”
“I see. She died in 1832. A relative perhaps?”
“I don’t think so. We were Irish Archers. I’ll make a note of it though.” He looked at the dates. They were written as Roman numerals. He scribbled them into his notebook. MDCCLXXXV to MDCCCXXXII, 1785 to 1832.
Then he realized what Moffat had done. His initials could be Roman numerals. CM. 900. The 900. There was the clue. It was right there on the road that ran east of North 170. The pub.
“Sorry, deacon. I have to go.”
Chapter 110
Archer could hardly contain his excitement on the short drive to The 900. A conversation with the owner revealed that there were remnants of an old building on the site. It sat about a half mile behind the pub, through the woods, down a grass covered path off the car park area. The owner had been there once. He told Chad it looked like it had been a farmhouse, at the edge of several open fields. He didn’t know how old it was. All that was left was a fallen down stone chimney and fireplace. He remembered what seemed to be a stone outline of the house.
Chad told him he was an archeologist and asked permission to poke around to see if he could determine its age and if there was any value in a small excavation. The owner agreed, saying that would be good advertisement for the pub. He also agreed that Chad could look closely at the twin columns near the road with 900 inscribed on the plates.
Chad grabbed his bag of tools. He carefully examined the well-constructed stone columns. A short stone wall led away from each pillar for about twenty feet. Chad could tell that the wall was a recent addition, added for effect. The 900 on each plate was painted white for visibility. The metal plate and the metal nails holding it to the stones could be from the middle ages. Chad took out one loose nail. He could have it analyzed later if the farmhouse didn’t work out. There were no clues on the columns of stone, nothing like a man and three suns.
He spotted the chimney as he left the cover of the woods. It was about fifty yards away. As he came closer he saw it was oriented east-to-west with the fireplace on the east end. Chad was approaching from the north. To the south and west fields were lush with tall grass. Sheep grazed lazily. Three-foot high stonewalls, typical of England, created three separate fields. The land rose to the west peaking in a small rise about a hundred yards away. A lone oak tree stood on the hill. The trunk grew straight for about ten feet and then split into a Y. It looked to Chad like a giant slingshot.
Painstakingly, Chad examined what was left of the chimney. It stood seven foot high and the stones that had once rose higher lay at his feet covering the hearth. He inspected the chimney. There were no markings on any of the stones.
Carefully, Chad moved the stones from the pile of rubble. He looked at each piece for another clue. He feared that if the locator stone was once a part of the chimney, it might now be broken in pieces.
Two hours later, he uncovered several large flat stones that made up the hearth. A metal ring was imbedded in one of the stones. He cleared away more rocks. The stone with the ring was the largest, about two-feet by three-feet. There was a second ring on the other end of the stone. The rings were connected to metal rods inserted in the stone. The end of each rod had a hole that a ring ran through. It must have taken some patient drilling to insert the rod through the hard stone.
From his tools, Chad took a brush and carefully brushed the loose dirt from the stone. In the center were four one-inch high symbols etched deeply in the stone. He brushed some more and stared at the man and three suns, just like the one on Colin Moffat’s gravestone.
Chad’s excitement, kept in check these last few days and hours, bubbled over. He broke into a victory dance, hopping from one foot to another.
Two hundred yards away, Lupa lay prone, just over the hill, next to the lone tree. Her field glasses watched Archer. She dialed a number in St. Andrews.
It was answered. “Yes.”
“I think he has found it.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He’s dancing.”
The line went silent.
Chad went to work with vigor. He used his chisels to chip away at the limestone mortar sealing the large stone to the other smaller ones around it. Chad quickly realized the mortar was pozzolanic, not the typical mortar of just limestone and sand. This was waterproof and harder.
The minutes turned to hours. Millimeters of depth became inches. Finally after three hours and three inches, he stopped. He took a length of rope from his bag and looped it through a ring. Using his legs he strained to move the stone. No luck. He worked another hour. He had opened up a groove four inches deep. The next swing of his hammer broke through the mortar. He worked furiously now, clearing the hearthstone. It was supported on another stone or stones under it. As he hammered and chiseled he did the math. Stone is more than one hundred fifty pounds per cubic foot. This stone was at least three hundred pounds.
Once again he tried to lift one end of the stone. He could budge it, but it would take at least two men to move it carefully out of its resting place. He could get a sledgehammer and break it up. However, his plan required keeping it intact. Also, he did not want to risk damaging the locator stone he expected was under it.
Colin Moffat, you did not make this easy. Chad needed help.
There was four hours of daylight left. Chad returned to his car and drove into Skegness. He found the equipment he needed. He checked train schedules and made a plan. Returning to The 900, Chad found a pullover at a spot where he could walk through the woods. This time he carried an eight-foot stepladder, a hand operated winch, four lengths of two-by-four, and his bag of tools.
Chad placed the stepladder over the hearthstone. He bought the winc
h form a boatyard and for a few bucks more they cut out the cup in the top of the ladder. They also drilled holes in the top of the ladder to bolt the winch to it. Chad bolted the winch on the ladder and fed its hook through the hole. He took two lengths of rope, feeding each through the metal rings. He made loops on all four ends. Next placed the four loops on the hook from the winch. He stepped back and evaluated his eight-foot tall assistant. It was rated at four hundred pounds.
The cloudy day chose this time, just before sunset, to let the sun peak out. It was just over the horizon. The light shone through the Y of the oak tree. The shadows cast from the two trunks bordered the ray of light creeping across the ground to the left of the hearthstone. Chad watched as the sun sank lower. The shadow crept closer to the symbols of the man and three suns. It didn’t reach it.
Amazing, he thought. In another week at the summer solstice, it might line up perfectly. Colin Moffat, you were a man of many talents.
Chad cranked the winch slowly. The rub of rock against rock screeched. Finally it rose just above the ground. Chad cranked until the slab was a foot off the ground. He carefully placed his two-by-fours to support the stone.
Shining his light into the dark hole beneath the hearthstone, he saw the hole was lined with other stones, on the sides and the bottom. It was eight inches deep. Four stone blocks were positioned in the hole to support the hearthstone now hanging above it.
He stood still staring at two objects. The first was a metal box about one foot by one foot and three inches deep. The second was an urn about a foot long and four inches in diameter.
Archer put on a pair of surgical gloves and removed both items. He opened the metal box and peered in at the locator stone. He was overwhelmed by what he held. He recognized the initial location of the stone in Egyptian symbols. It was the same symbols he saw in Jerusalem. Several other coordinates were written under them, also in Egyptian. The front of the stone was filled with numbers. He turned it over. Now, the coordinates were written in Arabic numerals. The last three entries were in the range of thirty-four to thirty-seven degrees latitude and one hundred thirty degrees west. That was the Colorado-New Mexico-Arizona area, if the Great Pyramid was the reference of zero longitude. Above those last three locations was a twenty-eight degree latitude coordinate. Chad knew these coordinates. Gabriela Acosta gave it to him a few days ago.
Chad carefully wrapped the stone and the urn in bubble wrap and placed it in his bag. He removed an object from his bag, placed it in the box and put the box back into the hole. Then he lowered the hearthstone back into place.
“What the hell is he doing,” Lupa asked, quietly peering at him through binoculars in the waning light.
Chad pushed much of the rubble back as he found it, took all of his equipment, and left.
Chapter 111
Archer left the ladder and winch hidden well in the woods, and then drove the three hours to Stockport. He turned in the rental car and caught the last train to Buxton. The normal train route from Bath was through changes at Bristol, then Stockport. It would appear normal to arrive at the train station in Buxton. He expected watchers were at the hotel and the train station. It was nearly midnight, too late to pick up the rental car. That could wait until morning.
In his room, Chad started to sweat. He didn’t unpack. He was nervous, and he admitted a little frightened. His fear of masked men coming through the door came back to him. He ran the scanner over the room. He found two bugs. They had been there ahead of him. He knew what he had to do. He called Julie.
It was still early evening in Madison. The election was tomorrow. Her phone went to voice mail.
“Hey, Julie, it’s Chad. Just called to see how the election was going. I know you will win. It’s late here, so I’ll call tomorrow morning. I’ll be on the road. Headed to Mablethorpe to follow the clues.”
There. That was for whoever was listening. He called the desk and left a wakeup call for seven. Then he brushed his teeth, made some unpacking noises, and sang a song.
Finally, he turned off the light. He waited fifteen minutes and then slipped quietly out of the room, left by the back door, and walked to another hotel a block away, registering under one of his other IDs.
Feeling safe and settled, he looked at the stone again. The last few entries included a number that seemed to indicate the year the tablets were moved. The journey of the tablets continued progressively north from Guatemala based on the increasing latitude. The longitude moved slightly west. The last entry was dated 1369. The one before that was 1333. Didn’t the Hopi elder tell him the number 3 was special? It was interesting that the last three digits of 1369, were three multiples of 3 -1x3, 2x3, 3x3. Who updated the stone? The last coordinates were: 34 54 22 and 142 59 12. The first set had an up arrow. The second set had a left arrow.
He was anxious to know where the tablets were waiting. His hands felt clammy. Finally, twenty-five hundred years after leaving Jerusalem, the tablets were close to being discovered. Wow. Where were they? He subtracted the adjustment for the Great Pyramid reference point and looked it up. Unbelievable. It couldn’t be. Too coincidental? He checked his math. It was correct. He had been there. A certain cave near Sedona, Arizona.
Chad sat back in the chair, thinking. He knew his next step. Thirty minutes later he finished placing his on-line order for various equipment he would need. He made another late night call. This one to Gaige Mandl.
“Gaige. Those pastries were such a hit. I’d like to do it again tomorrow.”
“No problem.”
Chad gave Mandl the name of the hotel in Buxton.
Their conversation was brief. And, innocent.
Chad held the stone one more time then put it aside and looked at the urn. He struggled to open it. The lid had a very tight friction fit to the base. He looked through his bag for the small vial of penetrating oil that he carried. Carefully he applied a few drops and put the urn aside.
A hot shower later, he worked on the urn and succeeded in opening it. Inside were two pages of paper. They were rolled up. Carefully he inched them open and laid them flat on the desk, weighing down the corners. The urn was as airtight as it could be. A good thing or these pages would have discolored worse than they were and most likely would have fallen into pieces. He’d have to find a way to preserve these.
A date at the top was 1388. Two years before Moffat died. Chad looked at the last page. It was signed Colin Moffat and under it, Charles Martin.
At first, that was about all Chad could decipher. He recognized it as an old style English. He didn’t know it was Middle English, not Old English. He just knew it would take some time to read it. He remembered an English Lit class ten years ago. The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer. I wondered why that was part of a curriculum for archeology. Now I know why.
Chad procured paper from the front desk and proceeded to do his best at translating. He used the Internet and a side-by-side translation of Chaucer’s work to help. Funny that I have to translate English into English.
Ninety minutes later he sat back and read Moffat’s letter. It was the story of the group that left York with the locator stone.
Our group was small. Two Guardians. Myself, as a Guard for them and their treasure. Two knights accompanied us for protection. We were instructed and so followed roads north to Scotland. The Templars had other treasures hidden there.
They did not think I knew of the treasure that we carried, but I did. The Guardians do not realize what we Guard know. They see us as part of the walls and talk freely in front of us.
All went well for three days. Then I noticed the two Guardians arguing. A cold air sprung between them. One of them had secret talks with the two knights.
One night, while the others slept, the other Guardian took me aside and gave me much money and the stone that he carried. He urged me to leave. He told me to trust no one.
Do not return to York he said. Hide the stone. Where, I asked? He thought about it. He smiled. Use the location the thief t
old you. East North one seventy. You will figure it out. Others will eventually figure it out as well. They will find you.
Since they were going north, I went south and west to avoid York, the Minster, and the Chapter House.
I traveled for a week, always looking over my shoulder. I went through Liverpool and crossed the River Mersey on a ferryboat. I stopped in Chester and prayed at the new Chester Cathedral. I obtained a map. East North one seventy. I thought everyone would start at York, so I started at Stonehenge and mapped out the miles. God had guided me to where I was. I was on a line going north of Stonehenge. When I reached mile 170, I turned east. I reached the coast.
Here I am in Skegness. I pray every week at Saints Peter and Paul. But, no one comes. I changed my name to Charles Martin. I married and have a farm and five children. My sons helped me build markers on the road. I marked them with the number 900. The Guardians are smart. They often use the Roman numbers. They will recognize it as CM.
My family has promised to never sell the farm. They know that someday someone from York cathedral will come and ask about me. They will show them what is beneath the hearthstone. I pray that it will be a good man who comes.
If anyone in the future finds this hiding place it means my family is no more. I pray of you to take the contents to York. Take them to the Chapter House meeting that occurs on the summer solstice.
I wonder what became of my travelling companions and the good Guardian. I fear the worst for him. I fear also that my other companions pursued the location written on this stone.
It is a magic stone. A miracle stone. I check it every year. There have been two new locations added since I have had it.
God works in mysterious ways.
May God protect he who finds this letter and this stone.
Moffat's Secret Page 39