‘We Topasses know many things we do not tell the Dominicans, Master Bunting. It is our reward for being neither accepted by the natives nor the Christians. I have observed you for many months and you have more in common with me and my kind than with the friar.’
‘Is my countenance so obvious?’
Philip waited for the waves to crash before responding. ‘Those of us who live between worlds and have secrets are transparent to each other. I speak Malay when making trade, Portuguese when praying and local Timorese to my family and friends. Each reveals only a part of me. I have a keen sense for the unspoken.’
Both men remained silent for many seconds until Philip spoke again, careful to speak only when another set of waves fell. ‘The question you have posed me is foolhardy in this place. What other man but myself could have heard it and not gone directly to the friar?’ He shook his head in amazement. ‘Yes, there is a place I know where there are no Christian men. It is a dangerous voyage, many days by sail to the south of this island. Only the natives and some of the Topasses know this place.’
‘Can you arrange this? I will pay you very well for this help. However, I beseech you not to talk of this matter to anyone.’
Another set of waves crashed on to the shore. ‘My silence is assured. However, let me dwell on this offer for some days. I will give you my answer on the Sabbath.’
38
Still early, Verity and Nick walked slowly arm in arm along Leibnitzstrasse, in the direction of the old city. It was dry but bitterly cold and the few other pedestrians they passed were muffled up with scarves, hats and gloves.
‘Let’s go here for a coffee,’ said Verity, pointing to an old-fashioned cafe. Nick ordered a traditional German breakfast and Verity the fruit and muesli combination. ‘It can’t be good for you, Nick. I mean, what is Liverwurst and Schlackwurst made out of?’
‘I just couldn’t get through a day on that,’ said Nick, staring at her bowl.
‘Well at least we both agree on black coffee.’
Nick had been in contact with Bronte back in London. Her parents had now arrived and the three of them had taken some solace from their joint grief. Inspector Kumar had spent time with the family, putting together a profile of Sarah. Was there a connection to Australia? Had Sarah ever had any involvement with drugs or drug dealers? Had Bronte noticed her sister mixing with anybody unusual? However pleasant Kumar was, it had been very confronting.
After speaking to Bronte, Nick contacted Inspector Kumar and told her about Jaeger and the video on YouTube. ‘It’s definitely him, Inspector. You can even see the scars on his face, just as I described to your Identikit people.’
‘Thanks, I’ll have a look at it. It’s a real breakthrough and by pure chance. Well, that’s a bit unfair as you were doing the detective work. Also, I should let you know that we found a listening device under Bronte’s kitchen table and more worrying, under your kitchen table as well.’
‘That is a worry! What are they after, for God’s sake?’ said Nick.
Inspector Kumar’s voice took on a serious tone. ‘It is my strong advice that you and Professor Merton come home and let us do our job. I assure you, one again, that we will follow every lead and track down the murderers, wherever they are. You must take care as they will probably have overheard where you were going.’ She then repeated her desire for them to return to London before hanging up.
Nick and Verity ordered more coffee and sat in the warmth of the café, trying to make some sense of all the strands of information.
‘I’m not sure we can take it much further anyway,’ said Verity. ‘Really, what have we got?’
‘Well, clearly the interest is in the Bunting maps published by De Jode in Antwerp. The stolen Amsterdam map and the one at my exhibition were both Antwerp maps, although at first glance, there seems to be no difference in the information or cartography on them, compared to the others. Where can we find another Antwerp edition?’
‘I wonder,’ said Verity, with some hesitation in her voice, ‘if the map in the Bunting book in our collection at Duke Humfrey’s is a De Jode Antwerp version. It’s been in the collection of the Old Bodleian Library for centuries.’ Verity picked up her phone and called Oxford University.
Nick stared mindlessly out of the café window onto Leibnitzsrasse. The travel agency opposite struck a vivid contrast to the freezing street with its window posters of warmer climes: Rio de Janeiro with the famous statue of Christ the Redeemer, Sydney Harbour Bridge, safaris and lions in South Africa. Clever advertising for a winter clientele, thought Nick.
He looked again at the poster of Australia. The Bridge took up most of the poster, but there were smaller insets of the Opera House, the outback with a kangaroo and her baby joey in the pouch, beautiful beaches. His eyes were drawn back to the inset of the kangaroo. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he said and stood up.
Verity was still on the phone, waiting for her research assistant to check through Itinerarium and confirm which edition map was in the collection. She looked up to see Nick leaving the café, walking across the road. She followed him out, still with the phone at her ear.
Nick was standing in front of the travel agency staring at the poster of Australia. ‘Look, the kangaroo,’ he said without turning around, and then repeated in his head part of the verse that had been troubling him. Where few trees can grow and no water runs / God has cursed the animal with two heads to bound. ‘I think he is talking about a kangaroo!’
‘What are you talking about, Nick?’
‘I think Bunting saw a kangaroo with a joey and thought it was an animal with two heads!’
Verity stared at the poster. Neither thought about the freezing cold and their coats left behind in the café as they contemplated the revelation.
‘Unbelievable! He didn’t travel to the Holy Land, Nick … he went to Australia!’
They both stared at each other and started to talk at once.
‘It makes sense when you think of the whole paragraph,’ continued Nick.
Herewith is the path to the Words of the Lord.
At a time when thy soul is prepared,
They can be revealed for all to behold.
He who was the keeper, no longer holds the key,
The map is the guide to the place across the sea.
In a land beyond the faith where no cross has shined,
The Words are hidden in this Godforsaken land.
Where few trees can grow and no water runs,
God has cursed the animal with two heads to bound,
One who knows, he will never reveal,
His soul was damned for eternity.
He paused for a minute, and repeated the phrase that had so been bothering him, ‘In a land beyond the faith where no cross has shined / The Words are hidden in this Godforsaken land.’
‘Of course “no cross has shined”, it’s bloody Australia in 1576! Yes, and when you think about the phial of sand in the cathedral and the words on the plaque … This sand has been collected from the hidden place of our saviour’s true expression.
‘Nick, I don’t think the sand is holy sand … more like Bondi Beach or Cottesloe Beach sand,’ said Verity, recalling her student trip to New South Wales and Western Australia. Hold on a sec,’ she went on, pointing to her ear and the phone, as her research assistant came back online. ‘Okay, that’s great, Simon. Can I get you to send the book to me, express? I’ll text you my address in Magdeburg.’
After hanging up, Verity smiled at Nick. ‘It’s an Antwerp edition – how about that for a hunch?’
They briskly walked back to the warmth of the café and after finishing their coffee, decided to have another look at the phial in the cathedral.
‘We should try to get it tested to confirm where it comes from,’ offered Verity.
‘I don’t think the cathedral will take kindly to the idea that their Holy Land sand from a famous pilgrimage may actually have come from the beaches of Australia,’ said Nick.
�
��Good point. It certainly wouldn’t be in their interest to have the phial taken apart to check its origins.’
As they approached Am Dom Street they were deep in discussion and did not notice the Polizei Sachsen-Anhalt in their familiar blue and white vehicles, parked close to the main entrance.
‘Would it be wrong to borrow the phial without asking?’ asked Verity, mischievously.
‘Now you’re talking,’ said Nick. ‘We could sneak back here later tonight, climb in a window, remove the plaque and phial with specialised equipment and Bob’s your uncle!’
Their conversation was abruptly halted by someone shouting and gesticulating at them. It was Carl, the tour guide, clearly agitated and pointing in their direction. A few seconds later they were surrounded by police.
With Carl translating, they learned that the plaque and phial had been stolen sometime in the night. Carl had told the police about his interaction with them the previous day and their unusual interest in Heinrich Bunting. The police had gone to their hotel earlier in the morning but they had already left.
They spent a further hour with the police, recounting their movements during the evening. Slightly embarrassing were their alibis for each other’s whereabouts during the night.
The security video showed Nick, Verity and Schroeder entering the building and fast forwarded to them leaving, accompanied by Carl. The video was then fast forwarded to later in the same day.
‘Do you know these men?’ asked the detective, in broken English.
Nick gasped as he recognised the ungainly gait of the tall, thin Jaeger and his offsider Robertson, or whatever their real names were. ‘They stole the phial. My God, can you believe it?!’
Both Nick and Verity’s minds were racing. They stared at each other, before exclaiming at the same time: ‘Professor Schroeder!’
39
Dom Letizia knew they were coming. It was only a matter of time. He hadn’t spent his life tracking down leads not to know that. He would be ready.
He had organised himself in the proper manner, completing the protocols and procedures expected of a visiting priest. Now in the comfort of the Archbishop of Perth’s limousine sent to collect him from the airport, he noted overhead power lines similar to American towns, the many older vehicles comfortably mixing with shiny new four-wheel drives, and he noticed that, like in England, they drove on the left.
‘Cars don’t rust here,’ said the driver. They continued along the Great Eastern Highway, passing the casino and hotel complex leading to the six-lane causeway and the vast expanse of the shimmering Swan River. Contemporary white and glass buildings rising to a crescendo stood regimented to his right, with the water on his left divided by a vast green grass belt, lined with palms.
Impressive, wealthy and modern, he thought, an old country with new people. It was less than two hundred years since the arrival of the British in Western Australia. The Aborigines must have found them a strange breed: white, clothed and busy. How confronting would it have been to a people with thousands of years of history already etched in this place?
They turned right into Victoria Avenue. The recently renovated Saint Mary’s Cathedral stood proudly on the hill, a few hundred metres in front of them. His thoughts wandered to the Church bringing God and European enlightenment, Catholics and Protestants competing for unsaved souls.
He had read avidly on the flight to Australia, thoroughly dissecting Memorias Historicas Sobre La Australia, y Particularmente Acerca La Mision Benedictina De Nueva Nursia, y Los Usos Costumbres de Los Salvajes. The rare book library at the monastery had many books relating to the Benedictine Mission in Australia but the Abbot Primate had insisted on two only. This edition had been published in Barcelona in 1853 and a French edition was published a few years later. It was the memoirs of Dom Salvado, who with Dom Serra had been sent to Australia to establish the monastery in New Norcia. The book understandably did not divulge the true reason for the mission but offered a comprehensive overview of Australia, covering a wide range of topics including entomology, the convict system, political history, astronomy, natural history, progress of the Catholic missions and a Spanish-Aboriginal vocabulary.
The engraved plates illustrated the missionaries giving care and preaching to the Aborigines, with portraits of Salvado and Serra. If he understood the Abbot Primate correctly, then by the time these images were drawn, both men were living with the knowledge of a terrible crime. He stared at their faces for a long time. There was nothing to discern.
The French edition of the book also included a detailed plan of the early monastery and its surrounds that was not included in any other edition. The Abbot Primate had impressed on him the importance of this plan, as it specifically indicated the resting place of the Holy Words. ‘Francesco,’ he had whispered, ‘we have worked tirelessly to obscure information about the Lutheran’s map. We have also deflected interest in the monastery at New Norcia by discounting it as a backwater, or a minor mission in the grand scheme of Benedictine interests. To muddy the waters further, we authorised many different accounts and editions of Salvado’s memoirs. However, it is only these two editions which are of value to you.’
Within an hour of arriving he had met the Anglican Archbishop, the Chief Rabbi, the Imam and representatives of all the Perth religious communities. ‘Sorry about that, Dom Letizia. I forgot we had our quarterly interfaith meeting this afternoon. It’s that type of town,’ said the Archbishop apologetically. ‘I thought it only proper that a visitor from the famous monastery at Monte Cassino should be introduced to our provincial gathering.’
Dom Letizia smiled pleasantly, hiding his irritation that protocol and good manners had spoiled his plans for a quiet arrival in Australia, and presented the Archbishop with a letter from the Abbot Primate and a gift of a rare engraved print of the St Mary’s Cathedral in 1866, one year after construction.
Still dark, he woke early from a deep sleep. For a few seconds he couldn’t quite grasp where he was. A deep apprehension rose through his body as awareness returned that it was his destiny to uphold the five-hundred-year Benedictine Oath of Perpetual Assistance. He remembered his words to the Abbot Primate: ‘I will do what has to be done,’ and it filled him with fear. Would he be able to do whatever it took to keep the Holy Words hidden?
He struggled out of the unfamiliar bed and knelt for his morning prayers. ‘I offer Thee all my prayers, works, and sufferings in union with the Sacred Heart of Jesus, for the intentions for which He pleads and offers Himself in the holy sacrifice of the mass, in thanksgiving for Thy favours, in reparation for my offenses, and in humble supplication for my temporal and eternal welfare, for the wants of our holy Mother the Church, for the conversion of sinners, and for the relief of the poor souls in purgatory. I have the intention to gain all the indulgences attached to the prayers I shall say, and to the good works I shall perform this day. I resolve to gain all of the indulgences I can in favour of the souls in purgatory.’
The fear began to subside as he recited the ancient prayer, ‘The Apostles’ Creed’. ‘I believe in God, the Father almighty, Creator of heaven and earth and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell; the third day He arose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven, sits at the right hand of God the Father almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen.’
His strength returned as he concluded with ‘The Glory Be’.
‘Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.’ He crossed himself and quietly repeated his parting words to the Abbot Primate: ‘The Benedictines do not break their oaths.’
He and the Archbishop enjoyed a hearty break
fast together. The Archbishop enlightened him on the challenges facing his community in Western Australia. Dom Letizia sympathised with him regarding falling attendances at church, similar to the situation in western Europe; however, the conversation finished on a more positive note, when they discussed the huge growth in Catholic observance in Africa and both agreed, that it was only a matter of time before a black African would become Pope.
On one level the conversation had been pleasantly distracting for Dom Letizia, but the seriousness of the situation was just below the surface, like an earthquake deep under the ocean bed – the resultant tsunami could only be a matter of time.
He had insisted on taking the short walk along Adelaide Terrace to the car hire establishment by himself and thanked the Archbishop for his kind hospitality, promising to keep in touch during his sojourn at New Norcia.
However, after he was out of sight of the waving Archbishop, he doubled back and turned into Hay Street, walking briskly past the Perth Mint – an impressive colonial-style building surrounded by wrought iron fencing – and continued east away from the city centre. Five minutes later he arrived at the entrance to Queens Gardens.
He slowed his pace as he searched for his destination: the bronze statue of Peter Pan. The statue was an exact replica of the original in Kensington Gardens in London. Paulo stood there, waiting … Another lost boy, thought Dom Letizia wistfully. ‘Ciao, Paulo, when did you arrive?’
Paulo motioned for them to sit on a wooden bench, a few metres away, next to the lake. ‘I arrived yesterday, Dom Letizia. I have what you asked for.’
The Bunting Quest Page 20