by Ken Webster
Lukas, your loving friend
It was a collection of fragments rather than a poem. The other communicant said that it was all the help he could give Lukas, that there was a clue in there that would save his life. I rang Peter and asked if we could come and see him that night. It was now after 11.00 P.M. but Peter agreed. Time was short. It couldn’t wait.
Such a long night but Peter focused on the part of the ‘verse’ which dealt with telling the King about the cat as he saw that it had similarities with part of the poem we had received. What would the King like to know? Who could tell him? The sheriff was the man. And the only reason he’d get near to the King? Treason.
Peter remembered Bishop Mann who had been the subject of a comment in one of the early messages, the one about the dean Lukas knew who was ‘likend to a fissh’. Peter had been reading about this character recently. Mann, it turned out, had once been in touch with a condemned enemy of Henry VIII’s new church, the ‘Maid of Kent’.
It was after 2.00 A.M. by the time this was sorted through. We hoped it would be information Lukas could trade. If Fowlshurst was a King’s man he could report it to the King, it might bring reward. A dirty business. All we had was a little knowledge. As another revolutionary once said: ‘Knowledge itself is power.’ We’d try it.
As we cruised home in the car Debbie started laughing. I had a furrowed brow and was still thinking about Lukas. She spluttered and said: ‘We’re trying to save a man from the 16th century … Can I tell my friends? You know, when they ask what I’ve been doing. “Oh just trying to save a lovely chap who’s been dead for four centuries from this thicko sheriff. We were up all night finding out how to do it too!” What’ll they say?’
I couldn’t see the funny side but I was glad someone could. Deb saw that I wasn’t laughing and began to stare out of the side window in politeness. I could tell that she was holding back from being hysterical.
I left a message to Lukas when we got in:
MYNE GOODLY FREEND
PETER HATH LOOKED LONG AND WYTH CARE AT YOWR VERS IT BEE NAT ETHE TO REKEN AFT MANYE HOURS WE DID THINK THAT THER BE A CHAUNCE FOR YOW TO GOE BACK TO YOWR FARME. THYS BEEST THY VERS OR A PART THEROF WICH WE THINK MIGHT HELPE THEE
‘THY FOWLE MAN MUST SEE THY KYNG AND TELLE HEM OF THY CAT THAT DIDST AFRIGHT A MOUSE AND REMEDY YOWR SYK’
DO YOW THINK THAT THY SHERYFF WOLD GOE TO LONDON TO SEE THY KYNG IF HE DID HAVE SOM REKENYNG OF HOW HENRY MANN SOE LATELY RISEN IN IMPORTANCE DID ONCE WRYTE TO DOCTOR BOCKYNG CONFESSOR TO THY MAID OF KENT ELISABETH BARTON AND SAY (1533) ‘I BEG YOW TO ACCEPT ME AS YOWR SPIRITUAL SON AN ASK THE PRAYERS OF ELISABETH BARTON TO OBTAIN GRACE TO MORTIFY MYNESELF AND LYVE ONLIE FOR CHRIST’
THYS DOST HAVE THY TAINT OF ATTAINDER FOR BARTON AND BOCKYNG DID APASS AT THYBURN 1534
THUS MIGHT FOULESHURST AFRIGHT MANN AN GATHER MORE OF THE GRATITUDE OF MYNE CROWNE. 2109 SAYETH THAT THE VERS HOLD YOWR SALVATCION WE HATH SEEN NO OTHER PART THAT DOST HELPE BUT WE ARN NAT GODS AN TIS AL THAT WE CANST FYNDE YOW MAY HATH A BETTER REKENYNG THAN OWR WRETCHED SELVES.
KEN AND DEB.
28 April
Lukas replied towards noon. Deb was in, leaving the computer for about an hour each time. The first attempts did not produce results. It was never a certain business. We had expected him to write by the time we got up in the morning. No matter: as long as the bloke was still with us!
MYNE FREENDS
ME DIDST KNOWE NAT OF THYS THYNG OF MANN NOR DO I KNOWE OF A WIGHT THAT DOST FOR THYS BE WYTHSEYES HYS TROUTHE TO THY KYNG IF IT VERRAY BE THY CROWNE HE WILT BE A TRAITOUR BUT HE CAN NAT BE ATHRALD B’CAUSE IT WOLD HATH THY CROWNE ASHAYMD SOE WILT BE HEM TOLDE TO WRYE AWAYE FOR A TERME TIL IT BE YNOUGH WHYLE FOR NON TO HATH RECORDE OF SUCHE AN UNFAVOURABLE ACT FOR BE THYS REASONE METHYNKS FOULEHUSTS WOLD GLADEN TO KNOWE AN BE SURE TO STINTEN MYNE ROUTE THYS WOLD SEME A FYTTYNG ANSWER IT MAYE ALS BE MYNE RESCOUS
ME SHALT MAKES HASTE AN TELLEN HEM
LUKAS
My friends,
I did not know of this thing about Mann nor do I know anyone that does, because of this, deny his loyalty to the King. If it is true, according to the law he will be a traitor but he cannot be arrested because it would cause the authorities embarrassment, so he will be told to go away for a while till it is enough time for none to have memory of such an unfavourable act. For by this reason Fowlshurst would rejoice to know and be sure to stop [reduce?] my punishment [?]. This would seem a fitting answer. It may also be my rescue.
I shall make haste to tell him.
Lukas
29 April, 5.00 P.M.
The silence was unnerving, I had written on two occasions trying to prompt Lukas. Finally I had to get away from the cottage. It was too much. I needed some air. I drove just a few hundred yards west to the edge of the village. There I could see the sky, the clouds, the huge open countryside. If a damp south-west wind blows, then sometimes pearl-grey clouds at one altitude pass over the hills below slower-moving and darker clouds. It looks like the approach of an army: the dense ranks preceded by skirmish line, the clouds appearing to spread out towards and beyond you across the meadows.
It might have been raining in Hope or World’s End. While we were listening for the end of Lukas’s own world. I was watching clouds while he fought for his life. That such thoughts invaded this scene and that such events could be the result of our own tinkering, our own interference: I wished I could melt into those clouds.
The Jaguar bled streams of steamy exhaust into the darkness. The engine choked momentarily, cleared itself and the car flew down the lanes. I couldn’t just wait around for news, I had to shake myself free from melancholy. As ever it was to Dave’s in Penarlag that those four wheels took me. An hour later the phone in the hallway rang:
‘Ken …’ was all I said.
‘Come back now, Ken, OK?’
‘Why? Is it a sad message? Deb?’
‘I think so … Better come back anyway.’
I rolled the car slowly out of the estate. I must have appeared rude leaving with hardly a goodbye but Dave and Sian knew something of the situation.
It was so dark. I was not hurrying but I was feeling extremely anxious. The wheels rolled faster as I made into the straight between Hawarden Castle and the airfield. The lanes beyond Broughton seemed endless.
The car bumped up across the pavement and onto the back garden, stopping with a wheeze from the airpump. Without a clear thought in my head I brushed past Debbie, who was standing in the lobby. The kitchen was lit only by the light coming in from the corridor.
MYNE TREWE FREEND KEN
NAY ME HATH NAT SPAKE WYTH MYNE SHERYF AMOROWE ME DOST GO TO MYNE KYNGS COURTETIS THIR ME CANS NAT SCAPENE THY PYT THEM WYL LYSTEN NAT TO MYNE TALE O MANN TIS OONLY THY SHERYF THAT CANS HELPE BUT HYM CANS DOE NOUGHT TO SAVE MYNESELVE WEN ME BE WYTH MYNE COURTE I BE SO WEYKE THAT ME DOST FYND IT NONETHE TO THYNKS RIGHTLY ME HEER KATHRYNE AWEEPYNG FOR MYNE WRETCHED SELVE IT DOST CAUSE ME PEYNE SO SHE BE OONLY FOURE AN TENN TO YONGE TO BE BY HYR SELVE WYTHOUT A MAN TO GYE HER ME HOPES SHE BE NAT TAKEN AS A WITCHE LYK MYNESELVE FOR THYS BE THY WAYE OF MYNE UNFAVOURABLE CROWNE ME HAN THENKS MANYE DAYES WITH OUT MYNE SLEPES WOT COLDST SAVE MYNE SOULE IN MYNE AN YOWR VERSE BUT ME CANS NAT RECORDE ALLE O YOWR VERSE FOR ME BE ALOWED NON FLAT-SKYN TO WRYTES UN ME BEGGS THAT YOW THYNKS WYTH ME FOR ME AM SHORTE O TYME IF YOW DOST NAT SPEKE WYTH MYNE SELVE AGEYNE THEN ME ALS BEGG THAT YOW WRYTES MYNE BOKE AN PLASE IN IT THYS TO ALLE MEN O MYNE GOODLY
FREENDS KEN PETER DEBBY THO ME BE APASSED IN YOWR TYME ME WOLD LYK YOW TO THYNKS THAT MYNE FREENDS BE NAT FURIES NOR DEVYLLS BUT GRETE MEN AND GOODLY WOMEN WHO WRYTE THYS BOKE NAT FOR THEYMSELVEN BUT FOR YOWR REKENYNG THO MANYE FOOLYSH MEN WILT TURNE AWAYE AFROME THYS NONKNOWEN THYNG THEM THAT CANS BE LEARNED WILT FYND GRETE KNOWLEDGE IF YOW DO NAT TURNE AWAYE TO WOT BEEST TREWE MYNE MEN O MYNE TYME CANS NAT LEARN FOR WE ARN THREWN IN THY PYT FOR REASONYNG THY NONEXPOWND THUS WE LEARN OONLY WOT THY CROWNE WILT TECHE AN NAT WOT THIR IS TO BE LEARND ME BE A MAN O GODS BOKE BUT ME WILT DYE FO
RN THYS VERRY RESON I PREY YOW HATH REKONYNG FOR LYF BE TO SHORTE TO GO TO GOD WYTH NON THYNG LERNT FARWEL MYNE TREWE AN GOODLY FREENDS MAYE YOWR GOD HATH YOW AND LONGE LYVE MYNE OXENFORDE
LUKAS
My true friend Ken,
No, I haven’t spoken with the sheriff. Tomorrow I go before the court. I can’t escape being condemned. They won’t listen to my story of Bishop Mann. Only the sheriff could help but he is powerless when I am in the court. I am so weak that I don’t find it easy to think clearly. I can hear Katherine crying for me. It pains me so. She is only fourteen, too young to be by herself without a man to guide her. I hope that she isn’t taken as a witch like me but this would be typical of this prejudiced government. I have thought for days and nights without sleep on what there was in these verses of ours that could save me but I cannot remember all of your verse as I am not allowed any writing materials. I beg you to think with me for time is running out. If you can’t speak with me again then I must also beg you to write my book and place this in it:
to all people concerning good friends Ken, Peter and Debbie. Although I am long dead in your time I would like you to believe that my friends are not furies nor devils but great men and a good woman who write this book not for themselves but for your better understanding. Although many foolish people will turn away from this unknown thing those that can learn will find great knowledge, if you do not turn away from what is true. The people of my time cannot learn for we are thrown in prison for thinking and reasoning on what is not explained so we learn only what the Crown will teach and not what there is to be learned. I am a man of God’s book but I will die for this very reason. I pray you understand me for life is too short to go to God with nothing learnt.
Farewell, my good honest friends, may your God receive you and long live Oxford.
Lukas
Oh Lukas! I shouted his name. I implored it to the mute screen. Tears of rage, of unhappiness welled up.
16
The following evening Debbie scanned the computer files and found these words:
NON PROGREDI EST REGREDI AD MOMENTO MORI DEUS VOBISCUM
LUKAS
Not to go forwards is to go back to the moment of death
God be with you. Lukas
She called me in. The kitchen was very still and we sat there quietly. These words we took to be his last. Debbie asked me again if we couldn’t have done something for him. I got up and walked out into the garden before some dreadful melancholy captured me.
Friends came round. Peter and Val Trinder came down too. Peter brought wine and proposed a toast to Lukas. It was straight from the heart – we all obliged, if self-consciously. Conversation then turned slowly but surely to what SPR might make of it.
We wanted proof but the business had come to a head abruptly, some would say ‘conveniently’, and there was nothing to work on. The Society for Psychical Research would file it under ‘no further action’. In a callous way, providing proof for SPR seemed to matter more than Lukas’s fate. Later I regretted feeling this way.
1 May.
A little secret housework had been undertaken. Fine grains of chalkdust mixed with a few sandy grains from the brickwork lay along the base of the pillar in a little ridge. The pillar was clean. Debbie’s eyes focused on a dark patch on the kitchen table. ‘Oh, the picture …’
The picture of Erasmus had been ‘returned’. It lay there fragile and discoloured, charred like the magazine picture before it. Symbolically at least there could be no surer knowledge that Lukas was gone.
How quickly life returns to its shallows, murky, slow-moving, tiresome. Shamefully, the state of my overdraft and the unmarked sixth-form essays loose on the back seat of the car began to assume spectral proportions. Lukas’s death and my part in it (I didn’t feel like sharing responsibility with anyone else) began to recede from my mind.
I turned my attention to the building work and for the rest of that week I forgot the contents of the red file which hitherto had meant so much. Peter was still keen that something should be written up and his constancy and enthusiasm were tremendous but, I reminded myself, he was at a safe distance. There was much Deb and I needed to forget.
The May bank holiday came and went, examination work held the foreground, bricks and mortar the middle ground. I could not see the rest.
To escape school, I walked the playing fields at lunchtime in the spring and summer. Large beech trees line upper Aston Hall Lane. I followed the high wall of the Convent of the Poor Clares, spiked with broken glass, past the magnificent oak adjacent to the tennis courts. If I walked wide of the oak the young ‘rebels’ smoking under the shadow of the pavilion remained unconcerned at my presence.
Many times I walked through the Penarlag Estate. If I stopped at Wirral View, Sian Lovell made me some lunch.
Today, 5 May, she was quite excited, Dave was working at the cottage and had rung her at about 11.00 A.M. because he had discovered chalk marks on the kitchen floor. I listened carefully and thought, ‘Poltergeist.’ Sian continued, ‘He can’t read it because it looks like another language.’ My heart leapt. I left lunch and scrambled to the phone in the hall.
Tea-time: Peter paced up and down the cottage kitchen, avoiding the extensive chalk marks, and tried to make sense of the last words. He’d understood some of the earlier ones but the last of them were bunched up under the table. Peter was thrilled. The writing was entirely in Latin and was addressed to him. The hand was neat, flowing in the obsolete ‘cursive’ manner, a work of some care. It was not signed.
The message deciphered as:
Petrus
nimium postulas
Lucaque mortem obit
mortem sibi conscivit
di te era [ … ]
and with some difficulty translated as:
Peter
you ask too much
furthermore Lukas went to his death
he brought death upon himself
the gods will [ … ]*
If not part of a joke we guesed that it had to be Lukas’s friend from Stockport. It was a strange sight, a small group of us in the kitchen eagerly exchanging opinions on the mechanism and purpose of such an event. Taken at face value the implications for the phenomenon as a whole were important. Clearly Lukas had been able to interpenetrate our world and now, if we were right, so had John.
Naturally the computer was mentioned. It was to be brought back the following evening. I felt my senses sharpen little by little. Even if Lukas had gone, the phenomenon had not; SPR could perhaps catch something of it.
The writing on the floor was inconveniently placed. Everyone had to stretch and tiptoe from the living room to the bathroom to avoid disturbing it and every time they did I imagined them crossing a deep ravine, a crack in space-time. But no one ever fell down.
The machine was set up and a new file called up on the screen. In return just one word blinked at us. We had waited all evening for one word.
ERADICENT
But I realized that this was the word Peter couldn’t make out in the chalk ‘curse’. It now read, ‘Di te eradicent’ (‘The gods will root you out’).
Frustrated by the idiocy of another death threat from the past I took a chance on the future. I asked for information from 2109 about the author of the chalk message and whether to concern myself about it. Nothing more came until 10 May when we received this message:
YOUR QUESTIONS WILL BE ANSWERD
I wondered aloud, and on the computer: would the communications continue? I offered a brave face about poltergeist activity: ‘… there is nothing outside man which can harm him.’ I wanted to know more of Lukas, too. No reply, perhaps it was a dumb question.
11 May: one phrase –
NOT ENOUGH POWER
Puzzled I wrote back:
EXPLAIN … CAN WE HELP?
NAME POWER SOURCE PLEASE
KEN.
Another gap, this time almost exactly twenty-four hours. It was turning out to be a very difficult few days.
>
GO TO SLEEP
Curious idea. I talked it over with Deb. She agreed and typed in, ‘Later today’. We took the nap early that evening. One word arrived … what a bloody bore.
ALONE
OK, OK but who? I tapped in ‘ME? HER?’ An hour or so later the word ‘ME’ was deleted. It was now the evening of 12 May. Deb took a ‘rest’ (she didn’t want to). I went out.
PETRUS
STUDIIS VACAS NOCTES AC DIES QUID HOC SIBI VULT NON ME FALLIT ISTA CAVILLATIO
Peter
You are devoting nights and days to your investigations. This is what he wishes for himself. That trick of yours does not deceive me.
Even when translated it was just as obscure as the chalk message. There was a second part to the communication, separated by a few lines, unsigned and very strange – not only the content but in that the spelling was perfect.
FIRST, WHAT HELP DO YOU REQUIRE?.
IF YOU WISH TO KNOW LUKAS WAYNMANS TRUE NAME WE CAN SAY NO MORE THAN THE MAN NAMED PETER HAS IT PAGE 26
THE PERSON WHOM YOU REFER TO AS JOHN IS NOT TO BE TRUSTED. ALSO THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR OUTSIDE MAN, TRUE, BUT YOU ARE NOT FULLY CAPABLE OF KNOWING JUST WHAT MAN REALLY IS, WITHOUT KNOWLEDGE YOU HAVE FEAR WITH FEAR YOU CREATE YOUR OWN NIGHTMARES!
I tried again to get some details.
2109
THERE ARE MANY DISTURBANCES CAN YOU INDICATE THE SOURCE?
WE MUST KNOW ALITTLE MORE OF LUCAS. WHICH VILLAGE OR TOWN DID HE COME FROM PRECISELY? DID HE GO TO TRIAL IN CHESTER OR NANTWICH?
THANK YOU FOR THE RIDDLES … ! THEY ARE SO HARD! KING? MOUSE?
A LITTLE MORE HELP PLEASE …
KEN.
There was no signature to the following message but it seemed very familiar. We put it down to ‘John’:
MY FRYEND