The Priests' Code

by B. B. Balthis

  I picked up the papers and my laptop, and put them in my leather shoulder bag. Men in France carried these all the time, but it still hadn’t quite caught on here in Britain. I slung it across my body, where I intended to keep it for the rest of the evening. If anyone broke in, they would find nothing of value, except perhaps my four remaining wine glasses, and I assumed that they would neither be looking for, nor wanting, these. There was no sign of Black Coat outside and we quickly got into the car and drove off.

  * * *

  ‘So, Benoît, where are you taking me?’

  ‘Well, there’s supposed to be a really good Indian restaurant in Stroud, which is about forty minutes from here. It’s been recommended several times, and I would like to try it. I’m just in the right mood for a spicy curry. Would you like to do that or find somewhere nearer?’

  ‘Ben, I’d love it. I often make a curry at home, but it’s never as good as the real thing and it would be nice to see some of the countryside. I hardly know this area at all, but from what I’ve seen so far, I really like it. I must say, I miss the mountains though, even after just a few days… they’re magical. No place like home, eh?’

  She was right of course. The mountains of home were magical and majestic, the history of the area seeming to constantly echo around them. They had been witness to so much over the last few thousand years, some of it brutal in the extreme, like the elimination of the Cathars and Templars, who had held such a strong presence in the region. I had heard hundreds of visitors over the years talk about the ‘atmosphere,’ but it was so difficult to explain. The lure towards one’s homeland was a strange phenomenon, but existed nonetheless.

  I pointed out places to her as we drove along the tree-lined roads. The fields and hedges were lush and green and bursting with life. One field was full of rabbits, and Caro spotted a deer in the distance. As we sped across the hilltops and an area of common land with stunning views of the valleys below, I began to feel better than at any point that day, and determined to make the evening a happy one.

  The inside of the restaurant was arranged in booths, like railway carriages, which made a cosy and intimate area for each set of diners. We ordered our food after taking advice from a friendly waiter called Babu, and sat back to relax with our drinks, chatting about our surroundings as well as one of our usual topics… food, which when it arrived, sizzling and fragrant, was fabulous. It had been a good idea to get out, and we began our drive home, almost dark now, in good spirits.

  ‘I think we’ve got a tail.’

  ‘It’s like being in a movie… I can’t believe this is happening. Thinking about it logically, who or what are you in danger from? What are you being protected against? If he is a protector, that is. Black Coat might be on the wrong side for all we know.’

  ‘Well, there’s the Italian with the parchments, whoever he is, Vatican, Mafia, or some other organisation, or maybe he is just a private collector. He might want to kill me now I’ve seen the documents, but then he said he would protect me. He could have been lying, of course, but I don’t think so. I’ve no reason to say that, but I don’t think he is out to get rid of me, not right now, anyway.

  ‘Then there’s the journal. Adrian Harcourt is definitely involved, and I don’t trust him at all. There’s the bishop, although that still feels like an awful thing to say. I’m pretty sure that he took the journal from my pocket, though. Maybe they are both in it together, but if they were, why would the bishop have asked me what I thought of him when I was in Oxford? Surely if they were in it together he would know more about him than I do! And I saw Adrian and Black Coat together, which is a bit confusing. The problem is that I have no idea who knows about the journal, or who knew about it before I bought it. They might have now heard of its existence and want to get their hands on it… and who else might know about the parchments? What would getting rid of me achieve?

  ‘The parchments allude to Jesus being sent away, not crucified, which is a massive thing because Christianity was founded on that story. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest, as you know, but it might bother a lot of people if it could be proved. I could almost see the whole world order change because of a revelation like that.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. Stable rational people would be able to see their way through it, but there are plenty of people in the world who are neither of those things.’ She paused for a moment, then continued. ‘And have you noticed how many people have tried to minimalize and discredit the stuff at Rennes-le-Château lately? I’m sure some of it is rubbish, but most certainly not all. I suppose there could be any number of people who would rather keep a lid on everything, or perhaps there’s money, greed, and blackmail involved? In fact, I’d bet on it.’

  At this point we arrived home. Our ‘tail’ had sped past us and we went into the cottage, and locked and bolted the door securely behind us. My bag was still over my shoulder, and I took it off to empty it of the papers and laptop. We were both tired, and Caro soon went upstairs to bed. Once again, I lay on the couch mulling things over, until I finally fell asleep at around one in the morning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I had several visits to do the following morning, and insisted that Caro lock and bolt the door after me, and open it to no-one. She was an independent woman and wasn’t used to being told what to do, but she didn’t argue, and as I left her I heard the bolts on the door being drawn across. As I started to drive down the road, Peter came around the corner, and I stopped the car and opened the window.

  ‘Morning, Ben, I was going to call you. How are things?’

  ‘Fine thanks. I’ve got my cousin staying at the moment.’

  ‘Yes, I’d heard… the village grapevine is very effective. We were wondering if you would both like to have a drink with us tonight, say seven-thirty?’

  ‘I’d love to, and I’m sure she would too, so I shall say yes for both of us. Thank you.’

  ‘Great, I’ll see you later then. Off anywhere nice?’

  I assured him that my outing was strictly one of routine church affairs, and drove off, a whiff of his aftershave lingering in the car for good measure. I did two visits, one after another, and then drove towards the hospital in town to visit a parishioner who had recently had hip surgery. I stopped quickly at a fruit shop and bought a large bag of grapes and a coffee for myself from the café next door. I phoned Caro from my mobile to check she was OK.

  ‘Hi, Ben, yes, all fine here. Peter called by a few minutes ago. I didn’t let him in the house, so don’t be cross. He said we were going there later and to call if I needed anything whilst you were out. What a nice man, and he smelt gorgeous too. I’m really looking forward to meeting his wife. Can you buy a bunch of flowers whilst you’re out to take with us?’

  ‘OK, but make sure the door is locked, and don’t let anyone in, not even the vicar!’ I went back into the shop and bought a large bunch of rather unusual roses, which resembled raspberry ripple ice cream, placing them carefully on the back seat of the car. On an impulse, I darted over the road to a very upmarket jeweller and went inside. As a single man, I didn’t spend much time in jewellery shops, but my eye was caught immediately by a silver pendant of small descending circles with clear stones in their centres. The top circle was of rose gold, which finished off the whole piece beautifully. It was absolutely Caro, and I bought it straight away. I was very grateful for her company and support over the past few days, and hoped that she would like this small token of thanks, bought with her own money if her analogy was correct.

  Ten minutes later, I was at the local hospital. Bill had lived in the area his whole life, as had his ancestors for many generations. He was a lively and interesting bachelor in his early sixties, and I always enjoyed talking to him. He loved history, and had been head of a local grammar school for nearly thirty years until he recently retired. Greeting me warmly, he told me that he hoped to be back home by
the end of the week, and asked me to tell him the village news.

  ‘Well, Bill, there’s not a lot to tell really.’ Not that I can tell you about anyway, I thought. ‘I’ve had a few days off, and spent some time with my cousin. The vicar gave me a guided tour of the parish church, which was fascinating. Have you been in there?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Padre, lots of times. It’s a rum place, what with the tombs and Templars and secrets. It’s always had a bit of a reputation locally. My mother wouldn’t let me go anywhere near it as a child, but I did of course, I just didn’t tell her.’

  ‘What do you mean Bill, what sort of reputation?’

  ‘Oh, that it was only just this side of pagan until a few hundred years ago, that there were bodies buried secretly in the night, tombs moved, buried treasure, black magic, alchemy, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Gosh, Bill, I had no idea. What do you think – was any of that true?’

  ‘Well, in history, things like that often have some basis of truth and then the rest is made up, like Chinese whispers. It’s an odd place, though, with the weird tombs, graffiti, relics, and the strange piscina. There was an earlier church, and probably something Roman before that. I just find the whole thing fascinating; even talking about it makes me want to go and visit it again. I will do as soon as I’m up and about. Perhaps we could have a good mooch around together, although I might not be too steady on my feet for a few days.’

  I assured him that I would like nothing more. At this point the lunch trolley came around, and I made my farewells and left. It was almost two when I got back to the cottage. Caro had done some tidying up, washing, and ironing, and had also done more research on the village and its surrounding area.

  ‘The phone rang earlier, but when I picked it up it went dead. I did check the number in case it was a shocked parishioner not expecting to hear a woman’s voice, but it was number withheld. Sorry.’

  I supposed that it was most likely a church-related call and dismissed it from my mind. If it was important, they would call back. I put the flowers in water, and then went back into the sitting room and handed her the present. Opening it carefully, she seemed genuinely thrilled by the necklace, and put it on straight away.

  ‘I love it, thank you so much. It’s just the sort of thing I would have chosen for myself.’

  ‘I’m so glad. It’s part of a range, so at least I know what to buy you for Christmas and birthdays! I’ve got a meeting in the next village at six, which won’t take any longer than an hour, and then we can walk to the vicarage.’

  I had bought a loaf from the village shop and we made sandwiches for a late lunch. I told her what Bill had said about the church.

  ‘That’s interesting. Most of these things usually have some basis of truth, and the alchemy is particularly fascinating. It was a huge part of people’s lives centuries ago, although it wasn’t always about turning things into gold, well, not in the literal sense anyway. Most of it was about healing sickness, and using herbs and concoctions that brought about chemical reactions, things like that. That was the saddest thing about the witchcraft era, when so many healers and herbalists, usually women, were murdered, and all that knowledge lost. Even things like love, and cooking, and any type of simple transformative process was considered to be alchemy.

  ‘It’s one of the things that’s always fascinated me about my work. You simply can’t apply modern principles and ideas to times past. People thought differently, and their lives were based on ways and knowledge that is lost to us now. It’s sad, but it’s that obsession with the past that keeps historians going, and all people connected somehow. I’ve been writing about it in my latest book that I was telling you about. The desire for connection being part of the human condition. After everything that’s happened here over the past few days, I feel really fired up to get writing. When are you coming home again, Ben? I want to show you a few things that I’ve discovered locally.’

  ‘Probably not for a couple of months, but I certainly intend taking a month off around then.’ We chatted for a while, and as I got up to go to the meeting I warned her again to lock the door and not let anyone in, no matter who they were. I waited outside until I heard her draw the bolts across, and then set off.

  The meeting was quickly dealt with, apart from one awkward moment when I was asked about Adrian Harcourt and his disappearance. I said, quite honestly, that I knew no more about it than they did, but that he had probably gone somewhere on business and forgot to tell anyone.

  ‘Funny things going on around here at the moment, Father. Strangers snooping around for one thing, and there was another break-in last night in the village. It’s not good, and the police haven’t caught anyone. It’s a strange world we’re living in, isn’t it?’

  I agreed – it most certainly was, but for this evening anyway, even if it was a strange one, I drove back to the cottage to pick up Caro. I got my Frenchman’s handbag out again, put my laptop and the papers in it, and slung it across my shoulder. Luckily the laptop was a small one, since I would be keeping the bag on for the rest of the evening; I didn’t want to take any chances. It was a lovely warm evening, and we enjoyed the walk to the vicarage.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘What a beautiful garden. It’s so different from the Languedoc… most of this wouldn’t survive in the heat.’

  ‘The back’s super too. I’m sure Peter will show you around… he’s very proud of it.’

  The door opened, and we were warmly welcomed.

  I handed over the flowers and a bottle of my Lacryma Christi, and we sat on the rear terrace with our drinks and dishes of delicious nibbles which Merry had made. We were both hungry since we hadn’t yet had any dinner.

  ‘Please – eat the lot. There’s plenty more where that came from. I love cooking, you see, it’s like an art form for me. Putting the ingredients together and creating something special – it’s like alchemy.’

  I was a little startled by her use of the word alchemy. It was the third time I had heard it that day, and I told them about my visit to Bill, and what he had said about the church in times past.

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard similar things too. I can assure you that we haven’t taken to grave robbing or witchcraft yet, or turning water to wine, or two pence pieces, which are placed in plenty in the collection bowl on Sunday, into gold. It might be a good thing if I could, though. The ongoing maintenance costs a fortune, and there’s never enough money.’

  Merry jumped in at this point.

  ‘Oh, Benoît, I almost forgot. I dug out the report that the archaeologist did on the church some years ago, and copied it for you.’

  She handed over a sheaf of papers. I might have been mistaken, but I thought I saw a momentary flash of irritation and disapproval on Peter’s face as she did so. Caro looked at me questioningly. She had seen it too. He got up.

  ‘Caro, would you like a tour of the garden? I’m creating some new flower beds for the open gardens scheme in a few weeks, which might add a few pounds to the church fabric fund.’

  ‘I’d love to. I like gardening, and have a large plot at home, but I must admit it’s becoming a bit of a chore these days.’

  We wandered around the beautiful garden, listening to his plans for more trees and shrubs. Back in the house some thirty minutes later, he showed us around the ground floor.

  ‘It’s so nice to see original features. So many are stripped out and lost for ever.’

  ‘I know, and it’s nice to show them off. We don’t get that many people coming in, at least not those that are interested in the house. The cellars underneath are older than the house, and there’s a blocked-up passage or two, probably leading to the church. I’ve always wondered why so many passageways end up being sealed. I would love to be able to nip up to the church in the dry, especially in mid-winter. So many crypts are blocked up too. It makes me think of secrets and h
idden things, or else why would they do it? But what secrets, and what hidden things? The mind boggles! Perhaps we should try and open them up? What do you think, both of you?’

  Caro picked up this question to answer.

  ‘Sounds like a great idea. I suppose they might have collapsed by now, though. Most old houses in France have cellars beneath them, although they’re usually for the storage of food and wine. You know how it is… food and drink first, and everything else after!’

  We all laughed at this, and I caught Caro’s eye, to thank her with a wink. A quick look at my watch told me that it was nearly nine thirty. We thanked our hosts for a lovely evening, and Merry kindly handed us a parcel of the remainder of the snacks she had made for us. They both waved as we walked down the lane, and we agreed that it had been a pleasant evening.

  ‘But, Ben, did you see the look of annoyance on Peter’s face as Merry handed over the report to you? What on earth was that about?’

  ‘I did notice, yes. It was like he disapproved somehow. Maybe we imagined it? Anyway, I’m starving. Let’s go straight into the kitchen and get something to eat. I’ve got some gnocchi that I bought a few days ago. They only take a few minutes to cook, and I can quickly make up a sauce with other things in the fridge. Does that suit you?’

  ‘Need you ask? I love it.’ She poured us a glass of wine apiece and started to set the table. I quickly made up a sauce from various bits and pieces that were in the fridge, including asparagus, ham, cream, and lots of pungent, grated parmesan. Piling the lot into two plates, I poured swirls of truffle oil over the top and we sat down to eat.

  ‘Ben, I have eaten in some of the best restaurants in Paris, and never had anything as wonderful as this. It’s fantastic!’