“I’ll be in Salisbury later this week with some of our experts to look at The Charter of the Forest manuscript. It’s a companion document to the revised Magna Carta.”
“I’ve heard of it. Robin Hood returning the forests of England back to the people and all that,” Ralph replied. Having said it, he realized that he must have sounded flippant if not downright rude.
“Sort of,” Brendan said. “The reason I called is that they’re putting a version of it on display alongside the Magna Carta at Salisbury. It’s all part of the celebrations, you understand.”
“Thanks for letting me know. I was planning to go down later this week; I’ll look out for it.”
“Actually the main reason I called is because I’m taking our latest multi-spectral imaging equipment down there with me and thought that, what with your interest and all, you might want to see it in operation?”
“I’d love that.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At The Milford Hall. I’m not sure if it’s in the town.”
“I know it. I’ll leave a message at reception once I know the exact time that we’ll be checking the manuscript.”
“That’s very kind of you Brendan. I’ll look forward to it.”
While Ralph waited for the kettle to boil so that he could make some tea, he thought back over Ogilvy’s call. If the imaging equipment would be on site anyhow, he wondered if he could persuade Ogilvy to check the Magna Carta at the same time as he checked the other document. Presumably that would be after the exhibition had been closed for the day. As far as he could see, Ogilvy and whoever was in charge could have little or no objection. Then he stopped and put the kettle down. Was he being set up? He had not given Ogilvy his number. No one at the college would have given his number to an outsider. Janice would have taken the call and then phoned him at home, if she thought it was urgent or personal. And now he had even given him the name of the hotel where he was staying. The idea that Ogilvy could be working for Mankovich had crossed his mind, but he had dismissed the notion of Ogilvy being a crook as ridiculous. On the other hand, he did somewhat resemble the infamous be-speckled Doctor Crippen, Ralph mused. ‘No not possible’, he muttered.
He was determined to go to Salisbury in spite of what the doctors had advised. He thought of phoning the Colonel. “Stop being bloody paranoid,” he scolded himself out loud. Sod it, he thought. I’m going for a jog. Endorphins, that’s what I need. Then I’ll call Katie and sort out the trip to Salisbury, and this time I’m driving. He pulled on his running gear and went out. As he jogged towards the river he thought about the remark he had made to Ogilvy about Robin Hood. ‘He must think I’m a ruddy philistine,’ he muttered. If Stigart’s men are keeping an eye on me, then they’re ruddy well going to have to run, he thought as he jogged onto the Queen’s Promenade.
_________________________
Chapter 8
Peter had booked them in at The Milford Hotel, a wonderful warm red brick Georgian house that had been converted into a comfortable hotel. It was in Castle Street, about a 5 minute stroll from the Cathedral. As they walked up the broad, well-worn granite stairs, the bells rang out and echoed across the roofs of the ancient city.
The hotel receptionist welcomed them and handed Ralph a note. It was from Brendan Ogilvy confirming their meeting at the Chapter House at 10pm the next evening.
“You’re in the Bishop’s Suite, sir,” he told Ralph as the porter collected their bags and headed for the central staircase.
“Peter must have my number,” Katie exclaimed when she saw the four-poster bed and the rest of the period furnishings.
“He did say the hotel had style,” Ralph agreed as they set about unpacking.
Once they had showered and changed they decided to take a tour of the city before supper. Katie was a big Jane Austin fan and she wanted to see the early 18th century Mompesson House which had been used as the setting for Mrs. Jennings’s London house during the filming of Sense and Sensibility. Afterwards they walked across the river meadows to the spot where John Constable must have stood almost 200 years earlier when he made the sketches for his famous painting of the Cathedral. The scene had hardly changed. The stands of Cedars of Lebanon, clusters of limes and broad chestnut trees were almost exactly as he had painted them.
They strolled around the shaded cloisters of the Cathedral. There were two huge cedar trees in the center, which, according to the guide showing a group of Americans around, had been planted at the time of the Battle of Waterloo. The entire area offered an oasis of calm away from the bustle of the tourists who thronged the city centre and old shops looking for souvenirs. They stared up at the spire towering some 400 feet above as the clock struck the hour.
“That houses the oldest working clock in the world,” said an old man who sat on a bench under a tree. “Built in 1386 and still going; a bit like me,” he cackled.
“You look pretty fit to me,” Katie offered.
“No good chattin’ me up, Miss. You best stick wiv your young man, if you want my advice.”
Katie smiled and waved as they walked on. “I guess you’re stuck with me, Ralph,” Katie said as she looped her arm through his.
“That’s not what he said,” Ralph replied, “but I agree with the sentiment.”
“About you being a young man or about us sticking together?”
“Both, of course.”
The hotel foyer was crowded as the London Philharmonic players booked in. Peter was in earnest conversation with a diminutive dark haired young woman, but when he saw Ralph and Katie he waved and pushed his way through the crowd.
“Boy that was some trip. I think my days of traveling on a crowded bus are long gone.”
“You seem to be getting on well with the young lady,” Katie chided.
“Oh, that was Cybil; French horn. Her mum’s Marcia’s best friend. They were at school together. That big chap’s Cybil’s husband.” He pointed to a tall red haired man who was regaling a small group by the window. “Second violin,” said Peter.
Ralph was relieved. For a moment he thought that Peter might have slipped back in to his old ways.
“We’re rehearsing all day tomorrow. I’ve only got a small part in the programme, but they want me along. Their regular organist offered to give me a few pointers. Some of these old organs have a mind of their own and he wanted to show me some of its idiosyncrasies.”
“What about tonight?” Ralph asked. “Are you free for supper?”
“Absolutely. The rest of the gang are going out on the town, but I told them I wanted an early night. Truth is, I think I might be getting a bit old for all of this boy racer stuff,” Peter Laughed. “Downstairs around seven-thirty?”
They agreed to meet in the foyer. It did sound to Ralph as though his old friend had turned over a new leaf; evidently Marcia’s warning had had the desired effect.
***
Ralph and Katie spent the next day looking around the city and drove the few miles out to nearby Old Sarum to see the site of the Norman Castle. The guide pointed out that the Domesday Book had been presented to William I in the Castle there in 1086 and that 800 years ago Elias of Dereham brought the Magna Carta from the ceremony at Runnymede to the Cathedral that had been on the very spot where they were standing.
“I always thought that a new church was built at the same location,” Katie said.
“No, I guess it wasn’t so different then than it is now when neighbours can’t get along. The monks were always rowing with the soldiers at the military garrison that was next door, and the Bishop had never liked the place anyhow, too bleak and windy for his taste, or so they say, so they decided to build a new Cathedral on the meadows by the River Avon.” He swept his arm in an arc that took in the Cathedral tower as it glistened in the afternoon sun.
That evening the Cathedral was packed as the orchestra and the young Cathedral choir captivated their audience. As Peter played the Mozart Fugue in G Minor, Ralph and Katie felt a glow of
pride as the organ music swelled and filled the ancient edifice. When the last ring of applause died out and the crowd dispersed, they made their way to the Chapter House and their appointment with Brendan Ogilvy.
***
“It’s a bit spooky in here at night, don’t you think?” Katie asked as they walked through the empty cloisters.
It had crossed Ralph’s mind that if Mankovich wanted them killed, this would be the place to do it. If he was that bent on symbolism, it would be right up his alley. They were relieved when they saw a light shining from the half open doorway of the Chapter House which led off from the cloister walk.
Inside the octagonal building they could see Ogilvy talking to a tall man over near the far wall. There was a camera and some equipment alongside. As they walked across the worn flagstone floor they looked up at the reliefs which filled the spandrels formed by the arches of the arcade; each depicted different episodes from the Old Testament. They reached the far wall just as Ogilvy was adjusting the camera which was poised over the cabinet that Ralph guessed housed the Salisbury Magna Carta.
“Professor Chalmers, I’m so glad you could make it. We’ve just finished studying the Forest Charter and are ready to take a look at Magna Carta now. I know that you were especially interested to see that one.”
Ralph glanced at the tall olive-complexioned man who had stood back while Ogilvy had been speaking.
“Sorry, but you haven’t met Dr Rajit Kumar, Professor Chalmers. He’s the Project Manager for the Salisbury celebrations.” Dr Kumar smiled and restrained for offering his hand. He looked expectantly at Katie.
“And this is?” He asked.
“Professor Eggleton, from London University,” said Ralph.
Dr Kumar accepted Katie’s extended hand. Ralph remembered his mother telling him that he should always wait for a lady to offer her hand first, not the other way round. Dr Kumar was obviously ‘old school’.
“So what happens now?” Asked Ralph.
“We use the multi-spectral imager here to take photos of the document at different wavelengths to those that permit sight in the human eye. Once we’ve done that, we use software that reconstructs images that form the various layers. In that way we can detect marks on the manuscript that may not be visible to the human eye.”
“Pretty clever stuff,” Ralph replied. “And expensive by the sound of it. I presume it has other uses than authenticating old manuscripts.”
“Quite a few,” Ogilvy assured him. “For example, in forensics, spectral imaging is used to detect blood stains on a garment that even a keen eyed detective could not see.”
Ralph had read up on the latest methods being used in satellite imaging and could just about grasp the concept.
Ogilvy had now turned his attention back to the equipment and adjusted the brightness of the screen on a computer that was set on a side table.
“What do you expect to see?” Asked Ralph.
“Nothing too spectacular. The exciting bit comes later when we can sit down and go through the images. There are hundreds of ways that we can structure the data that the system will capture.” He flicked a switch. “Well, let’s put it to work.”
For Ralph it was a bit of an anti-climax. When he thought about it, the document had been studied for years. Scholars had poured over the handwriting of the scribes and noted where they had made errors or omissions as they sat listening to the person who was reading out the complicated document. It seemed obvious now, but he knew that Janice had sometimes mistaken his meaning when he had dictated to her in the office.
“I can see how the documents might have discrepancies among them,” Ralph said addressing Dr Kumar.
“Yes, some scribes may have had a perfect ear for the Latin and others less so. Also, there’d be differences in the handwriting either because of individual style or they might vary because of a difference in the way they had been trained. It could be something as small as the slant of a ‘T’ or it might be in the way that words were spelled.”
Katie had not said anything since the introductions, but she had been taking it all in.
“So, what you’re saying, Dr Kumar, is that it would be possible to fool even the experts if someone got hold of a photo of the documents and used inks and paper from the right time period to make a copy?”
“Well, in theory, that would be true,” said Ogilvy, who had finished adjusting the equipment. “But with modern technology like spectral imaging, we can also determine the age and constitution of the ink. And, this is only a small point, but these particular documents are written on sheepskin, not paper. No serious forger would make that mistake.” He stepped back. “Some of the imaging is complete so let’s see what we have.”
They turned to look at the screen where the writing on the manuscript could now be clearly seen.
“This is perfect. Now the writing’s as sharp as in a modern book,” Rajit Kumar said, “or even on a Kindle Fire.” They all laughed and that broke the tension.
Ralph wondered what the scribe who had slaved over this manuscript would have made of all the brainpower and money that had gone into deciphering his work. No doubt he would think that they were all crazy or that they had little else to do with their lives.
Rajit started to translate from the Latin. His strong deep voice resonated around the ancient Chapter House.
“No free man shall be seized or imprisoned, or stripped of his rights or possessions, or outlawed or exiled, or deprived of his standing in any other way, nor will we proceed with force against him, or send others to do so, except by the lawful judgment of his equals or by the law of the land.”
He paused.
“Magnificent. The authors must have been very wise. It’s most humbling.”
Katie moved closer to the screen.
“This bit at the end is in English.”
She read it out.
“ELIAS FACTOR– 2015. Ralph it’s the name of that organization!”
“No.” said Rajit. “It’s from the Latin. A Factor means a doer or a perpetrator. In business it means an agent, a merchant who buys and sells on a commission.”
“But what about the 2015?” Gasped Ogilvy. “And the Imager suggests that it was written in blood. That’s the range it’s in. Look at the manuscript.”
They peered into the glass case. There was no trace visible.
“It’s a fake,” said Ralph, realizing as he said it, that he was stating the obvious.
Everyone went quiet.
“No one must know of this travesty,” said Rajit in a subdued tone. “At this point in the celebrations t would be a disaster for the country. Museums, schools, towns; they’re all in the midst of promoting what the Magna Carta stands for around the world. We must keep this a secret.”
“But isn’t that a bit like closing the barn door once the horse has escaped?” Asked Katie. “Even if it is a fake, people will still want to come and see it; and don’t forget, there are still the genuine ones at Lincoln and the British Library, if anyone’s bothered about seeing the real ones.”
Ralph felt a cold chill as though someone had opened the door to the Chapter House and let the cool night air blow in.
“Is it possible that this is an original that someone’s tampered with just to show how clever they are?” Ralph asked.
Ogilvy turned back to the equipment.
“No, it’s modern all right. It’s showing here that the inks are of the constituency of those used in the 12th and 13th Century, but that they’re modern. This magnification shows that the inks haven’t penetrated the sheepskin. And the sheepskin itself isn’t of the time. No. The whole thing’s a fake. Damned clever, but whoever did it knew that we’d be bound to check once they demanded a ransom.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Ralph. “Maybe no one’s planning to ask for a ransom. What if it was a collector who commissioned the whole thing?”
Ralph thought about Colonel Stigart’s theory that Mankovich wanted to get hold of the manuscript to
influence the upcoming trial of his syndicate pals. Now he wondered again if Ogilvy was mixed up in all of this. Perhaps he had set the whole thing up as a prelude, so that when Mankovich demanded a ransom, Rajit, he and Katie were witness to the proof that the document here was a fake; it would be a smart move on his part.
“How on earth could anyone manage to swap the fake with the original or tamper with it?” Exclaimed Rajit. “Our security’s the best in the world.”
Ralph looked across at Katie. They both knew that it had to be the container that he had found at the factory at Maidstone. For now that had to be their secret.
“We don’t know,” said Katie.
“Like I said we must keep this to ourselves,” said Rajit.
“But we can’t simply keep it to ourselves,” Ralph said. “I understand why it can’t be revealed to the public right now, but we have to at least let someone high up in the police know about it. That way he, or she can take it to Ministerial level. It’ll be up to them to decide what to do with the information once the ball’s in their court. It’s not our decision to make.”
“Whoever did this must have carried out the swap when the manuscript was being moved to the London exhibition,” said Ogilvy. “First that courier, then the man from the British library who was killed at Euston; it all fits.”
But then another thought flashed across Ralph’s mind: why would Mankovich only steal the Salisbury manuscript?
“We can’t do much more here tonight,” said Ralph. “I have a contact at Scotland Yard. He’s a good friend and he’s very discreet. He’ll know what to do and who needs to be involved. And Brendan, perhaps it might be a good idea to check the manuscript they have on exhibit at Lincoln.”
Ogilvy was shocked, but he saw the logic. He added that no matter what he discovered at Lincoln, it would be prudent to check out the two manuscripts on exhibition at the British Library.
***
Ralph and Katie found Peter slumped in a deep red velvet armchair in the lounge when they got back to the hotel.
“I’m exhausted,” he said as they walked in. “I know I should be able to take these events in my stride. That bus trip down probably didn’t help, either. What happened to you two after the concert, anyhow? Was it that bad you couldn’t face me?” He laughed.
The Magna Carta Murders (The Ralph Chamers Mysteries Book 12) Page 9