The Priests' Code

by B. B. Balthis

  When you add it to the other things I told you, about it being viewed as pagan, and bodies being moved in the night, alchemy, witchcraft, and the like, well, I would say something was being covered up. There’s a rumour that one of the bells is silver. I haven’t managed to find out why, but there’s no doubt at all that there has been Templar involvement in the building anyway. The only other strange thing I can think of is the sealed room. Have you ever been in it? Well, it has some interesting and ancient features that most certainly wouldn’t have been put in a priest’s quarters, which was what most of these rooms were for. There are old carvings and pillars, but the oddest thing about it is the huge ornate Norman door that is now blocked off. Why would anyone build such an ornate door on the inside of a priest’s room? It doesn’t make sense at all. Obviously, the church was a lot smaller in its earlier years. My view is that this door opened into a room that extended right across the church and was probably used for meetings or God knows what. It’s the only thing that makes any sense. There’s a tiny staircase in the wall now, as you probably know, but that was made in more recent times, just after the First World War I believe.

  I hope this is of use to you in your research. It’s so important that these stories are passed on, or they end up being lost for ever, which is a great shame. Let me know if I can be of any further assistance whilst you are away. I can get about a bit now, and can do anything on the computer if that would help at all. I heard your cottage had been totally trashed during a burglary. What an awful thing to happen. No wonder you felt the need to take a break.

  He signed off with best wishes, and I was reminded of the report that the archaeologist had written, saying very much the same thing. And yet, Peter had said that the priest’s room was sealed. I would definitely have gone up there if I’d been given the option. How come I hadn’t even seen the door since there must be one? I showed Caro the email and asked her what she thought, since she had read the guidebook too.

  ‘It’s mentioned in the guidebook but it’s a bit confusing, because it mentions a lost chamber and shows photos, but doesn’t say anything about a staircase. The email from Bill clarifies it, and I think his theory is probably correct too. Peter probably simply forgot to show you. Perhaps he’s got claustrophobia and didn’t want to go up the stairs. If they’re in the wall, they’ll be tiny. I must admit, though, it does sound like some sort of conspiracy. It’s interesting what he said about the piscina and the bell, and he’s right about the importance of writing the stories down. So much history has been lost for ever because of not doing that.’

  I went on to read Merry’s email.

  Glad all is going OK out there in France. Peter is still away, and I don’t know where he is. I thought he was at some Church do, but when I rang their office to find out what time it finished, they said it had already, yesterday to be precise. He texted me earlier to say he was going to see an old school friend for a day or two on route home, and would call me later, so I’m footloose and fancy free. I’m quite enjoying the freedom. I think he’s having some sort of empty nest crisis. I always thought it was women who got that.

  I’m not worried about the boys going at all. They’ll be here for years yet in the holidays. The church warden said someone made an attempt to break into the church last night. No real damage done, and anyway there’s nothing to steal. As you know, the relics are reproductions made of wax, and there’s never anything in the church money box. A few buttons and a sweet wrapper is fairly normal. Let’s hope they don’t come back. I’ve taken to locking up like someone with OCD since your burglary. I even wedged a chair under the back door last night. Love to you both.

  Caro read it too. ‘I thought he looked unhappy when we were round there. Very jolly and everything, but when he thought no one was looking his face dropped and he seemed to be worried about something. Let’s hope they get it sorted. We’ve got quite enough on our plates without taking on a depressed vicar.’

  At this moment, the phone rang. At first, all I could hear was a jumble of voices and what sounded like sobbing.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  ‘Hello? Who is this? Hello?’ Finally, I heard a female voice…

  ‘Father Benoît, it’s Angeline. Something terrible has happened and Hortense is dead. The house is a mess… please come! I’ve called the police and they’ve just arrived.’ Then a man’s voice came onto the phone.

  ‘Is that Father Benoît?’

  ‘Yes, this is he,’ I answered.

  ‘Father Benoît, this is Chief Inspector Fabrice Niort. I am sorry to say that there has been an incident with your aunt, Hortense de Morny. We were called by her helper, Angeline. I must tell you, sir, that your aunt is dead. Please could you come to her home, and we can talk further. We need to ask you some questions.’

  Caro had come close to the phone when it was clear there was something wrong.

  ‘What is it, Ben, what is it? Is it Hortense? Tell me please… what is it?’

  ‘It’s the police. Angeline found Aunt Hortense dead and they want us to go up there. We should have forced her to come here. We should have dragged her if needs be.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. We could hardly drag an elderly woman screaming her head off down the street. I refuse to take blame for that and so should you. But what an awful shock. She knew something was going to happen, didn’t she? Let’s get up there quickly. Is everything locked away here?’

  We put anything of value back into the safe, checked all the locks and, within minutes, were driving up the steep hill to Rennes-le-Château. Parking as near to the house as we could, we walked through the open door. There were several officers inside, and Angeline was stood in one corner, crying. She threw herself on Caro, who had also begun to cry.

  * * *

  Hortense was sitting in her favourite armchair. I had expected a horrific scene, but this wasn’t the case. She looked serene, and appeared to have a smile on her face. In her hand was a small pistol.

  ‘I’m so sorry to have to call you in circumstances like this. Forensics will be here soon, so please don’t touch anything. The doctor is on his way to give us an initial examination and hopefully tell us how your aunt died. She fired the gun, you know. Were you aware that she had a gun in the house?’

  ‘The whole family certainly had guns in the past, inspector, but I’ve never seen her with one.’

  ‘There are a few drops of blood on the floor over there, and some outside, so I imagine she hit her target. The area is being looked at now and samples taken. Clearly there was some attempt to burgle; drawers have been emptied out, but I noticed a jewellery box upstairs with a few rings and necklaces in it, which doesn’t appear to have been touched. Perhaps you can tell us if you think anything is missing? Did she keep any other valuables or cash in the house that you know of?’

  Before I had a chance to answer a car drew up outside, and several men got out with black bags. They introduced themselves as the forensics team, and without another word started to get out their apparatus and take samples and photos. Within minutes the doctor also walked through the door. He was from Couiza, a few kilometres from Antugnac, and we knew him well.

  ‘Benoît, Caro, I’m so sorry. Hortense was a great lady and so full of spirit. I shall miss her a lot.’ He looked towards the inspector. ‘May I make a quick examination?’

  ‘Please do. We’re interested to know if there are any obvious signs of injury or restraint.’

  Whilst he did this, Angeline gave her statement to the inspector and, encouraged by us, she left. I felt very sorry for the poor woman, who was obviously deeply shocked. As a priest, I met with death frequently, and therefore coped with it better, but my hands were shaking and I tucked them into my pockets and took some deep breaths. We carefully walked around to see if we could identify if anything had been moved or was gone. Neither of us had any idea if Hortense had kept money in the house, bu
t it was obvious that this wasn’t the work of a petty burglar. The jewellery box was in full view, and its contents intact.

  We quickly looked around the ground floor and went back into the sitting room, where the doctor had just finished.

  ‘Looks like her heart gave out. She’d had problems for years. I checked her over last week, and to be honest, I’m amazed she’s lasted this long. I see a lot of dead people, as I’m sure you do, Benoît, but she looks happy, doesn’t she? I wouldn’t recommend an autopsy. It would be pointless, since there are no signs of physical injury at all. It will be up to the coroner in the end though. Shall I call the undertakers?’

  He looked at Caro, myself, and the inspector. We all nodded, and thanked him, and he stepped outside with his mobile in his hand, to make the call.’

  ‘Didn’t any of her neighbours hear anything? You would have thought a gunshot would make a fair bit of noise.’

  ‘It would appear not. The cottage on the back is a holiday home, but it’s empty this week. The one across the lane is lived in, but they were out at work, I believe. That type of pistol has a built-in silencer; it’s very unusual. I can’t think where she would have got it from. It’s a very specialised thing, and not something you would expect an elderly lady to have.’

  Caro now spoke up. ‘Hortense was no ordinary lady, inspector. She was very active in the Resistance during the Second World War. I don’t know much about it, but I think she held a fairly senior position around here. Sometimes people don’t let go of times like that, do they? People hang on to the parts of their lives that were the most emotive or important. I’ve seen it happen quite often.’

  The inspector was silent for a while whilst he took this in. ‘Yes, I’ve seen this too. Did you see anything unusual in the house? There’s no sign of a break-in, so either the door was unlocked or she invited them in.’

  ‘Nothing unusual at all, and she often left the door unlocked during the day. We told her not to, but Hortense always did her own thing, inspector. Still, with the blood you would be able to identify the intruders, wouldn’t you? And someone else may have seen something?’

  ‘As you know, Father Benoît, it’s mostly tourists here these days, and we have no way of tracing them. But we’ve sent an alert out to all the hospitals for several hundred miles around in case someone turns up with a gunshot wound, and we’ll make further enquiries of course, you can count on that. I have your address and phone number, and yours too, Professor de Morny. Please rest assured I shall do all I can to find out who the intruder was. I’m very glad that your aunt wasn’t injured in any way though. That would have made it so much worse for you. Here’s my number in case you need to reach me – any time at all. I’ll be in touch. Ah, the undertaker is here. We’ll take the gun for now. May I call you if I need access to the property after today?’

  We assured him that he could, and went outside to let the undertaker do his work. Half an hour later he had gone, taking Hortense with him. The police stayed for another hour, and it was dark when they finally left and we closed the door after them. Caro turned to look at me.

  * * *

  ‘Oh, Benoît… Benoît… Hortense has gone. What are we going to do now?’

  She started to cry, and I put my arms around her and we wept together. Hortense had played a considerable and important role in our lives. As was the case with our parents, there were parts of her life that we knew nothing about. I trusted that that this was soon to change, and that the shadows from the past would begin to lift and reveal some truths about the people we had grown up with, but barely knew. I knew that Hortense would continue to influence our lives, even though she was no longer here but, in this moment, we felt nothing but the intense loss of our last living relative.

  We were bereft.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  It was almost ten in the evening when we got back to Antugnac, and the village was silent as we let ourselves into the house. I poured us both a Calvados over ice, and its fiery, apple-scented warmth was soothing after such a traumatic day. We were exhausted, and Caro lay down on the sofa whilst I made toast.

  ‘She knew something was going to happen, but how? Thank goodness she gave us the discs and cube when she did or they may have been gone for ever. I’d give anything to have her back, but the one consolation was the look on her face. I’ll never forget it. She shot one of the intruders and I think that gave her enormous satisfaction. It does to me as well. She was an amazing woman. I wish we knew more about her and her life.’

  ‘She was amazing, it’s true. Maybe we’ll learn more when we get the documents that she told us about. I hope so. It’s like all the family around us have held secrets and kept us apart from them, and yet we’ve become involved anyway, which was inevitable, really. I think they thought they were protecting us, but it didn’t work. Their secrets refused to be silent, and now the opposite of what they thought they were doing, has happened. It’s like a genetic encoding. Even though nothing is said, it gets passed down the line anyway. What a waste; all that time lost, and for what?’

  ‘I can only assume that what they were doing meant a lot to them. Or perhaps they knew how dangerous it all was, whatever “it” is. Maybe if it wasn’t for your involvement with the parchments and the journal, we would still be out of it. Except for Hortense, of course. She intended to tell all and involve us, no matter what. We just have to hope that her decision to do so was the right one, but it will be up to us to decide what to do with it. We might even wish we didn’t know! But there’s more to it. What about the Italian knowing we were brother and sister, and the failed attempts to kill you?’ She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped at the few tears that were creeping down her cheeks.

  * * *

  I poured us both more of the Calvados. ‘But where do we go from here? I keep thinking about who to ask for help, but there’s no one. One of the first people I would call under normal circumstances would be the bishop, but given that he stole the copy journal I certainly don’t feel inclined to do that, and we’ve got no family left. When I was in England, I did think that I might make more of an effort to forge stronger friendships. I thought I might do that with Peter, but I’m not so sure now. I’m not convinced that he’s entirely stable, and I’ve got more than enough problems already.’

  ‘What do you mean “not entirely stable?” He seems like a nice enough chap, just a tad depressed.’

  ‘Yes, I thought that, but I keep thinking about when we were there the other evening, and he gave Merry that weird look when she mentioned the report from the archaeologist. He wasn’t pleased, I could see that, and you mentioned it too. And he said that you couldn’t get into the old priest’s room in the church, when you quite obviously can. And he was in my cottage straight after it was broken into. Or that’s what he said, anyway. He said he had a card for us from Merry, but he didn’t give me any card, and when I next saw her she gave me a card she said she had just bought, so that was another lie. I might be wrong, but there’s something amiss there.

  ‘I even thought of telling Inspector Niort everything, then the cat would be totally out of its straightjacket, and we would have no control of the outcome at all. Perhaps that shouldn’t matter, but somehow it does, for now, anyway. I thought Adrian Harcourt was a decent bloke, but he was desperate to get his hands on the journal, and I’m sure it was him that broke into the cottage the first time. And I saw him talking to Black Coat. That’s really confusing and anyway, no one’s seen him for days.’

  I sipped my drink, and looked at Caro.

  ‘Do you know what…? I think the only person I would ask for help right now is the Italian. I’ve no reason to trust him really, but at least he called to tell me I was in trouble, which considering it’s all his fault isn’t such a great thing, I suppose. And Black Coat works for him, I’m sure. We could certainly do with a bodyguard right now.’

  ‘And we’v
e lost Hortense, which is a real blow,’ Caro added.

  * * *

  Everything was silent for a moment apart from the ever-present ticking of the clock and the chinking of the ice in our glasses.

  ‘I keep thinking about her and wondering what she would advise us to do. She knew we were in trouble, but didn’t seem all that concerned. I think we need to sit it out. Anytime soon, someone will show us their hand. They’ll have to. I mean, if we needed to, we could stay here for weeks. The freezer’s full, there’s loads of dried food, and I’m sure Arnaud would bring us something if we asked him. He’s very discreet. Somehow, though, I don’t think the men that are after us will be that patient. If we must, we can take to the mountains. We know them better than anyone. Yesterday, Hortense said something that really struck me; “everything is connected.” I think she was telling us something. It will all play itself out; things always do in the end, one way or another.’

  I hoped she was right. It was now almost one in the morning and I didn’t feel tired at all.

  ‘I feel numb. Perhaps it’s the shock combined with the alcohol. I don’t want to go to bed though. Do go up if you want to, Ben, but I’ll stay down here for a while yet. Could you get my papers and things out of the safe please?’

  I did as she asked, also picking up the few gold discs to look at again. It felt quite chilly so I made up a fire, which was soon crackling away. Arnaud had brought me a load of apple logs from a tree that he had cut down in his garden, and the aromatic smell began to permeate the room which, along with our Calvados, was very comforting. It reminded me of times past, and I sat gazing at the flames whilst Caro flicked through her papers.

  We would have to think about Hortense’s funeral, but we needed to see her will first in case she had any special requests. I would refuse an autopsy if possible, since it was quite clear from what the doctor said that she had died of heart failure. Maybe this might still constitute manslaughter, though? I was unsure. Anyway, I would call the solicitor in the morning and let him know that Hortense had died, and no doubt he would take it from there.