Lords of Retribution (Lords of Avalon series)

by Richards, K. R.

  August nodded.

  “I agree with you, August. The lamb and cross could not have been original to the Saxon arch. It had to be added later,” Jack remarked as he ran his fingers over the carving.

  August nodded his head. “I would agree though I haven’t found any records telling how the lamb and cross came to be here.”

  “A. D. 933 is too early for this to be a Templar code,” Jack surmised as he moved his gaze upward to study the symbols between the dogteeth in the Norman arch again. “I was thinking of our trip to Egypt, Micah. There were symbols similar to this at Denderah. Do you remember?”

  Micah thought a moment. He nodded as he recalled. “Yes, I do. We both made rubbings of them. Mine are at Horethorne Hall.”

  “Mine are at Dartleigh Castle,” Jack said with a sigh.

  “Let’s get busy.” Creed rubbed his hands together.

  “Yes, let’s finish this. August, will you take us to the spot where it is believed Jesus and Joseph built a chapel dedicated to St. Anne on St. Anthony’s Headland after we finish with the arch? We can look to see if there is a marker hidden in the brush somewhere,” Micah asked.

  “I will take you, but the headland is fairly barren due to the high winds, so I doubt we shall find the old stone. My guess is it’s long gone,” August shrugged.

  “It won’t hurt for us to have a look at the site of the remains of the old St. Anne’s Chapel, in any case,” Jack said.

  “Well, let’s get the rubbings done. You can start on the drawings, Cleve,” Jack added as he clapped his hands together before opening one of the bags leaning against the stone wall of the church.

  Cleve removed a leather bag from his shoulder and gave his colleagues a nod. “I have my drawing supplies right here.”

  “Let’s get to it. If we finish early enough, we can search August’s library for anything regarding the history of the church. The south door in particular,” Jack posed.

  “It’s possible I might even have a volume containing the writings of Dunstan. I don’t think many volumes have left Priory Place over the centuries. I have three large bookcases filled with volumes written before the Dissolution, which were original to the Priory. Most of them are religious in nature.”

  “Wonderful.” Micah rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He grinned.

  “As a precaution, I think we need to make two copies of everything,” Creed said as he placed a thin piece of foolscap over the symbol nearest to where he stood. He took a piece of soft lead and began rubbing.

  “I agree, Creed. That is a very wise idea,” Micah said. He started making rubbings on the other side of the arch.

  Jack began making a rubbing of the lamb and cross on the Saxon arch.

  St. Anthony’s Head, was indeed windswept. They did not find a stone that could have been carved by Jesus. The day was sunny, and although breezy, it was warm. The gentlemen found what was left of the foundation of St. Anne’s Chapel. The erosion from the wind and elements over the centuries made it difficult to tell the original size, but the scant remains of the stone foundation hinted that it was a very small structure.

  They were able to enjoy a few minutes strolling along the beautiful Cornish coast, taking in the marvelous views and breathing the fresh, salty air. They walked along the beach for a time. The sun made an appearance and shone upon the brilliant, blue-green waters. August pointed out St. Mawes, Falmouth and Pendennis Point to them in the distance as they looked over Falmouth Bay. To the east was the Channel.

  The party returned to Priory Place following their visit to St. Anthony’s headland.

  After eating a fine dinner, the gentlemen lounged in August’s comfortable library. They searched the section of the library housing the old volumes original to the Priory. The library was once part of the Priory’s great hall. The Priory had been turned into a home following the Dissolution of the Abbeys. Large tapestries hung high upon the walls, flanked by ancient weapons and shields.

  They sat here and there in groupings of comfortable chairs and tables, perusing through the volumes they found.

  Jack was on the ladder, searching the top shelves. The author’s name on one volume caught his eye immediately. “What was the name of the monk who authored the latest Greek scroll again?” he asked.

  “Selgraver. Roger Selgraver,” Micah provided from his comfortable chair below.

  Jack grinned. He held up the book. “The History of the Roseland Peninsula was written by Roger Selgraver, a monk at St. Anthony’s Priory.”

  “Bring it down at once!” Micah stood.

  Jack climbed down the ladder. As he approached the waiting group, Micah eagerly held out his hand to receive the book.

  Jack shook his head and grinned. “I found it! I’ll look through it,” Jack chuckled as Micah frowned.

  They all watched as Jack flipped through the pages.

  “Ah. Here is a section on St. Anthony’s Chapel.” Jack sat back in his chair. He read and carefully turned the old pages while all watched him. When he grinned, the others gathered around.

  “There were scrolls at the Priory when Selgraver wrote this that stated Jesus was here with his uncle. The documents dated from the pagan community that was here at Roseland before the Priory and Chapel were built.”

  Jack continued, “The monk, Roger Selgraver, speaks of the symbols on the Roman Arch. A knight on pilgrimage from a foreign land carved them in 933. The symbols tell the story from the original stone left by Jesus and Joseph of Arimathea. The chapel dedicated to St. Anne was in ruins at the time Roger Selgraver wrote this. He said that after the knight carved the symbols into the arch, the stone marking the old chapel of St. Anne was given to the Lord of the land, the Chenwith.” Jack looked up to August and Creed. “Is that a title? Chenwith?”

  “Of sorts,” August chuckled. “It sounds to me like the stone was given to the Chynoweth of Chynoweth, formerly known as the Lord of the Minions, or Lord of the Manor of Chynoweth. Nowadays he is called the Duke of Penrose. In ancient times Chynoweth was often spelled Chenwith.”

  “Chynoweth? As in the Chynoweths, who are under the care of our colleague, Trevan Chynoweth?” Micah asked as a huge grin lit his face.

  “Have you not heard the Cornish folk tale about the Chynoweths?” Creed asked. “Their line is rumored to be as ancient as Kernow, herself. According to the old tale, a Chynoweth walked Jesus and his uncle across Cornwall. The magic of Cornwall flows in their blood, and it is their duty to care for Kernow. There is more. Trevan has an old copy of the tale at Menadue.”

  “The tale also tells that a Trevelyan sold his soul to the devil and that’s why all the Trevelyan’s are blessed with devilish good looks!” August grinned.

  “That would explain why all of the ladies in London swoon at the feet of the Trevelyans,” Jack snorted.

  “That would be because of our charm,” Marcus grinned mischievously.

  “Doubtful!” Creed laughed. “The Trevelyans are nowadays renowned for their stoicism.”

  “The St. Germans aren’t known for much better,” August posed.

  “Brawn and hot tempers is what the St. Germans are known for.” Creed shrugged.

  “So this stone carved by Jesus could be at Menadue,” Cleve Griffith, Lord Templeton, posed thoughtfully.

  “In Roger Selgraver’s time, the twelfth century and prior, the Chynoweth’s ancestral seat would have been at Fairy Cross. I am not certain why, but in the fourteenth century, the Chynoweths moved their family seat to St. Cleer. Upon moving to St. Cleer, the Chynoweth of that time left Fairy Cross to his second son. His first-born, the heir, inherited Menadue upon his death. That is how that particular branch of the Chynoweths came to be split,” Marcus Trevelyan offered.

  “So the stone could still be at Fairy Cross in St. Mabyn. Surely Gabriel would know if it were?” Jack surmised.

  “Fairy Cross Court is an enormous, rambling old manse, with many wings added over the centuries. Gabriel’s grandfather began modernizing the place,
his father carried on and Gabriel himself is still working on modernizing some of the older wings. Trust me when I say it’s highly possible it could be there somewhere. The place is like a museum,” August offered.

  “And there are all sorts of standing stones, Celtic crosses and the like in his gardens. There are five gardens at Fairy Cross, three of them are ancient,” Creed added.

  “I have stayed at Fairy Cross many times. It is truly like a museum. It is an incredible house. I’ve always had a fondness for the place,” Micah remarked. He added, “I suggest we retire early and rise before dawn so we may set out for Menadue at first light. We will want to enlighten the others and get to Fairy Cross as soon as can be. This could be what the Knights of the Brown Order are after; a stone actually carved by Christ.”

  “It could be. They were definitely looking for something in Cornwall. Jack, you need to bring that book back with you tomorrow. We need to read the entire thing. I suggest we peruse August’s shelves for any other ancient tomes that might give us some clues before we retire. Remember to look for anything by or about Dunstan,” Creed suggested, as he headed toward the large bookcases housing the Priory’s most ancient tomes.

  “Yes, there may be other tomes that give us more information,” August agreed. He joined the gentlemen searching the shelves of Priory Place’s library.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The translation of the scrolls and the Secretum Domini was finished. There was additional research to be done on particular words and sections, but the majority of the task was completed. The party was in lively spirits at dinner in the Long Gallery at Menadue that night. The Avalon Society members and their ladies would soon retire to the library and go over the now completed translations.

  Rowena was especially animated.

  “You look like a cat, who just ate her cream,” Harry whispered near her ear. There hadn’t been time for much talk while they readied themselves for dinner. He had joined his wife in the large tub and one thing had led to another. They had to dress hastily to make it downstairs on time.

  Rowena grinned at him. “Perhaps I did?” She lifted a mischievous brow.

  “You are not going to tell me what information the last pages of the Secretum Domini held?” he asked in a wounded tone.

  “No. We ladies made a pact. We are holding on to our information until we reach the library. You just have another half hour or so to wait, Harry. Dinner is almost at an end. You’ll live through it, I assure you,” Rowena said sweetly. She patted his arm lovingly.

  Harry frowned. He spoke to Lyon across the table. “Lyon, I’m not certain I like the ladies uniting and keeping secrets from us.”

  “What secrets? Ouch.” He nearly dropped his soupspoon. It appeared to those looking his way that someone kicked him beneath the table.

  “Oh, about the Secretum Domini.” He flashed his notorious wide grin and said to Harry, “I suppose some of us are more adept at gleaning secrets from our wives than others.” He raised a mischievous brow and looked at Sophia. “Ouch,” he mumbled again as he leaned down to rub his shin a second time.

  Sophia merely smiled and proceeded to eat her soup.

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t try,” Harry muttered under his breath.

  Rowena flashed him a triumphant smile.

  “Some of us gentlemen have our own secrets about the scrolls,” Owen provided with a teasing smile.

  Grace turned to look at her husband. She arched an inquisitive brow. “You are keeping secrets from me?”

  “Not really dearest, for you will find out directly after dinner.”

  Her liquid brown gaze narrowed upon him.

  “I would have told you, Grace, just as I am certain you would have told me your secret, but if you recall, we were rather busy before dinner.” Owen grinned and simultaneously winked at her.

  Grace blushed and nodded. “Yes, I do recall, my Lord.” She returned her attention to her meal.

  Marrek looked at Catherine. She gave him a brilliant smile. He had kept her beside him the entire day in the library and had her look up information he needed as he was translating the Aramaic scroll. It had been a good day for them both. He was certain she had enjoyed being in his company as much as he enjoyed hers.

  Trevan sat at the head of the table grinning while he observed the banter farther down the table. His deep blue eyes rested mischievously on Wenna. He laughed when she gave him a stern don’t you dare look, which in turn, brought a hearty chuckle from him. He could not insinuate he and his future Duchess had shared a bath before dinner until they were duly wed on Tuesday.

  Tuesday and Libby talked amongst themselves.

  “How is Senny feeling, Gabriel?” Marrek inquired.

  “Senny is feeling much better. I think she shall be able to come downstairs on the morrow. She is gaining her strength back.”

  Elowen spoke, “She will be weak for a time, for she did lose much blood, but she is eager to join us again and quite unhappy being confined to her room.”

  “That is good to hear,” Trevan’s mother Morva said with a pleased smile. She added, “It is good these translations shall be completed this evening. We only have two days to get three ladies and the house ready for a wedding.”

  That was all it took for the ladies to take over the conversation. Ideas flew around the table. The ladies chatted enthusiastically. The gentlemen concentrated on finishing their meal while wedding preparations were discussed.

  When their dinner was coming to an end, Diggory, Menadue’s butler presented Trevan with a message upon a silver salver. “I was instructed to inform you the message was urgent, Your Grace.”

  Trevan frowned as he read the message. He folded the note and placed it inside his coat pocket. He dismissed Diggory. He rose and looked to Marrek, Harry and Owen. I will meet the Avalon Society members and the ladies,” he winked at the little pixie, Lady Glaston, “in the library when everyone has finished. I must answer this at once.” He offered Wenna an apologetic smile before he left.

  Minutes later, Owen assisted Grace from the table. Marrek assisted his wife and his sister from the table. Gabriel led Libby and Tuesday out of the dining room. Harry, Rowena, Lyon and Sophia followed, as did the rest of the Avalon Society members.

  Everyone was settled in the library when Trevan entered the room. He removed the missive he had received. “Deveril Pendarves and Rheese Carlyon have had their men watching the suspected Knights of the Brown Order. They don’t have any conclusive information in that area as of yet.”

  Trevan sighed, “Since the Brown Coat attack on Wychcombe House in London where Percy Davitt perished, they have been trying to locate, George Whitely’s, former wife, Amelia, who assisted Davitt in his flight from Glastonbury. They finally tracked her down. She was murdered.”

  Rowena gasped.

  Trevan continued, “An empty wooden box was on her bedside table. They were able to track her down because she sold the sapphire we substituted for the real Glastonbury Sapphire. If you remember, Percy had taken the substitute sapphire and the fake ampullae from Stonedown the night he was wounded. She told the jeweler her husband had died and she wanted to leave London. We have long suspected she knew of, and took, the journals or letters that the Davitt’s ancestors he left behind. I remind you that Percy Davitt’s lodgings were cleaned out by the time Wyldhurst got to them after Davitt was killed at Wychcombe House.”

  Trevan continued, “Pendarves and Carlyon actually discovered her body. There was an address to a nearby tavern written on a piece of foolscap. It was folded up very small and tucked in her pocket when her body was found. Pendarves and Carlyon talked to the Tavern Keep. He said a woman of her description had been in nearly a week before. She said she was meeting someone very important. That person never showed and she left in high dudgeon about an hour later. She carried a bag with her, larger than a normal sized reticule that appeared to have a book inside it. That was the last time anyone saw her.”

  Trevan added, “Dev tells me sh
e had been dead for some time, possibly a week, when they found her. He was certain it was she. She had bright red hair. There were also items taken from George Whitely’s house in her lodging including a locket with her initials on it. The landlord knew her as Mrs. Percy. He told Dev her lodgings were originally let by a grey-haired gentleman who said Mrs. Percy was his recently widowed cousin. It was a Mrs. Percy who sold the sapphire.”

  “How…how did she die?” Rowena asked. She was the only one in the room who had actually known Amelia Whitely in person, though not well.

  Trevan looked to Harry.

  Harry nodded.

  “Her throat was cut by a long blade, Lady Glaston. Deveril mentioned the murder weapon could have been a sword.”

  “Oh dear.” Rowena lifted a hand to her throat.

  Silence fell upon those gathered.

  Harry rose. “We can assume that someone within the Knights of the Brown Order, most likely the Leader, now has Davitt’s journal, letters or both in their possession. They might know more than we do about what we are looking for with the acquisition of those documents. The Brown Coats were one step ahead of us in Glastonbury and Templecombe, most likely due to the information left behind by Davitt’s ancestors. The watch shall be increased, and I am sorry to say that it is still not safe for you ladies to go outdoors; not even for a short stroll.”

  Senny woke to darkness. She must have fallen asleep after eating her dinner. She had encouraged Gabriel to dine downstairs tonight.

  As she left the dressing room, she thought she heard voices. She looked about. No one was in her room. She opened the door. There was no one in the corridor. She moved to the window and looked outside. She saw nothing. Perhaps she had just been dreaming.

  She paced the floor. Then she heard it again. It sounded muted and far away, yet it seemed to be the sound of men’s voices. The drapes were closed but she parted them slightly and studied the dark grounds beyond, once more. She saw Menadue’s men on watch below, but none seemed to be conversing.

  The foreboding feeling stayed with her. She could not shake it. She looked out the window again. This time as her gaze roamed the grounds of Menadue, she saw movement atop the small hill that stood far beyond the side garden. There were men on horses, about twenty of them. She could barely see their silhouettes. She closed her eyes and focused, trying to tune in to the riders.