After some time they discussed an interesting possibility, a place name. A place that would remain unaltered. Perhaps a natural landmark with a meaningful name association.
Surely the Nine Worthies could give them the clue they were looking for?
Chapter 7
The St George Parry
Reasoning that the hiding place was likely to be somewhere relatively close to Harvington and Huddington, the researchers consulted a map of Worcestershire. Was there a place name that was in some way linked with the Nine Worthies? They could find nothing that seemed possible.
One of the names of the Worthies represented at Harvington maybe? Samson, Joshua, Arthur, Guy of Warwick. Could it be Warwick? It seemed doubtful. No, it had to be something more significant.
‘I think it could be Berry Ring,’ said Terry. ‘If the Stone was set in a ring as Alan said, then they may have buried it there.’
The others stared at Terry. ‘It’s logical, isn’t it? Especially if Berry Ring’s importance was known to them and the Rosicrucians. I know it might sound crazy but it’s what I’d do.’
It was a possibility. A play on words. Joanna had told them to go to Berry Ring, and Penny and Alan Beard had both seen it in visions. In Alan’s vision the ring was directly connected with the Stone. But Berry Ring is over forty miles from the central Worcestershire area, a long distance to travel in those bygone days.
‘I think we’re looking for something a bit nearer to where they lived,’ said Andy. ‘Especially if they had to hide it in a hurry. I don’t think they’d have gone that far. It’s also unlikely they’d have known about Berry Ring.’
Of course, it all depended on whether or not the Stone was where they had originally hidden it or whether it had been moved at some later date. If the former, then it would undoubtedly be near Harvington or Huddington.
They decided their best chance was to split forces. Terry would try Berry Ring, perhaps taking Alan Beard with him in case he received further impressions. They could also use a metal detector, or even enlist the help of a dowser. Graham and Andy meanwhile would follow the Worcestershire trail. They also decided to work from old maps rather than the modern Ordnance Survey ones.
Before Terry left, he made an observation. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘the Stone has already been found, recovered by the Rosicrucians years ago.’
‘If that were so, Joanna wouldn’t have us looking for it,’ said Andy.
The following day, Friday, 19 October, nothing new had been discovered, and so they decided to test the possibility that Gertrude Wyntour’s hand-made vestments might hold some clue.
That day, with Alan Beard and Terry Shotton they travelled to Kemerton. Speaking with an old priest in the presbytery he told them of their wasted journey. The ancient, beautifully embroidered vestments were indeed there, and they had been made by Lady Wyntour of Huddington, but not Gertrude Wyntour. The Lady was Mary Wyntour, a member of the Wyntour family in the latter half of the seventeenth century.
When he heard of their interest in Catholic history, he showed them some very old stained-glass windows in his chapel. The Catholic church was, of course, a modern nineteenth-century building, but in the porch were two small stained-glass windows which were many centuries older.
As they studied one of the windows, they were suddenly reminded of the Harvington Hall Worthies. The window depicted St George slaying the dragon, but it was the way in which he held his sword that caught their attention. Like the Nine Worthies St George wielded his sword almost horizontally above his head. What was the meaning of this unusual stance? The priest did not know.
That evening Andy again phoned various authorities on the occult to seek their advice. Did it mean anything to the Rosicrucians? Eventually he found an answer. Whether the Rosicrucians would have known of it or not, the position meant something in the traditional art of sword fencing. For centuries it had been called the St George Parry, the sword-held position associated in chivalry with St George the dragon-slayer. (1)
Vintage illustration from 1884 showing the St George Parry
In myth St George slew the dragon, but in Christian and occult tradition it has two different meanings. In the former it represents the ultimate power to overcome evil, the dragon being the power of evil, the Devil. But in occult tradition it represents the exact opposite, the path to mystical power. In pre-Christian pagan tradition, the dragon or serpent represents the higher spiritual forces of nature. The myth of slaying the dragon is to gain mastery over these forces. When the Christian Church superseded the pagans, the Christian authorities considered the pagan beliefs improper, and hence the dragon or serpent power became the work of the Devil. (2)
The pre-Christian pagan Celtic peoples believed that there were places where the serpent power, the mystical power of nature, could be tapped or evoked. Centres of spiritual energy, the places of the dragon. When the Christians took over and attempted to suppress the old faith and win over the people, they often sited their early churches and chapels on ground already sacred to the old religion. The most important of these sites were the places of the serpent power, and the simple churches were later replaced by more impressive medieval Gothic churches. Thus many churches still standing today are built on these old dragon sites. To display the power of the church over that of the dragon faith, the churches were often dedicated to the Christian dragon-slaying saints, namely St George and St Michael.
Examples include the old tower - all that remains - of St Michael’s church on Glastonbury Tor, long known to have been a pre-Christian sacred site. Brentor on Dartmoor Down in Devon, where St Michael’s church stands out high above the surrounding moorland: the old church is surrounded by the remains of an even older pre-Roman earthwork. The thirteenth-century parish church of Thriplow in Cambridgeshire dedicated to St George is yet another example, as it stands on an ancient mound sacred to the pre-Christian religion.
So here they had a two-fold meaning. The slaying of the dragon, a great power over evil, and a power to harness the highest spiritual forces of nature. They were looking for the Meonia Stone which, according to Joanna, had the power to overcome some great evil, in addition to other undisclosed powers. Presumably those who hid it knew or believed this to be so.
So could the St George Parry position be referring to the Stone, the serpent power of the Celts? Joanna had said that the secret of the Stone had been passed on through the heart of the British Celtic religion. It was all beginning to fit. Could this be what the Nine Worthies were saying? Were they really alluding to the Stone?
But there was still something else. St George holds much the same significance as the legendary King Arthur, who symbolises all who oppose evil. Arthur is symbolic of the force of the land, in other words the dragon force personified. Once again, they had a Celtic link. Guinevere in Arthurian legend was the Celtic Gwenhwyfar, but did the Rosicrucians know this? Certainly, one of the Pakington Worthy figures represented King Arthur.
Had they begun to crack the Pakington code? If so, where should they look next? What else was Pakington trying to tell them?
A St George’s Church perhaps? But where? Surely he would never have risked such proximity to the authorities. But maybe he did, choosing the least expected place.
Shortly after Terry and Alan left, Marion Sunderland phoned and spoke to Graham. She had been sitting at home watching television when a strong impression had suddenly flashed into her mind. She saw a sword, lying on a stone slab at the bottom of some water, and there was something else, a smell, a very unpleasant smell of rotting vegetation. This was interesting, since she knew nothing of the St George Parry discoveries. Could this mean anything? A sword under water. Immediately, one thing came to mind. King Arthur’s Excalibur, which was represented in the Nine Worthies. Excalibur, a sword above the head, the St George Parry position. St George synonymous with King Arthur, Celtic legends and Guinevere. This must be it!
‘Excalibur!’ Graham cried. ‘The St George Parry position. What doe
s it remind you of?’ He held a ruler above his head in an assumed stance.
Andy shook his head.
‘In the King Arthur legend what happened to Excalibur?’
‘It was thrown by Sir Bedivere into the lake.’
‘And?’
‘An arm came out of the lake and caught it,’ said Andy.
‘Exactly,’ Graham exclaimed, ‘like this,’ thrusting his hand overhead in the St George Parry position.
‘My God,’ said Andy, ‘you’re right!’
Excalibur is also representative of the force wielded by Arthur. A magic sword to overcome evil, the same as the Meonia Stone. So what was this telling them? They had already decided approximately where Pakington might have hidden the Stone, not too far from either Harvington or Huddington, and that it would certainly be represented by a landmark with a recognisable name association. But what landmark, and what name, if they were correct about Excalibur and the Lady of the Lake?
Suddenly they knew – a lake, a stretch of water. This must be it. Hurriedly they grabbed the map and spread it on the floor. A lake, but which of the several shown on the map?
Almost immediately they found it. A small lake just south of Worcester, about ten miles south-west of Huddington. Near enough almost certainly, and neither too near nor too far. Next to it stood a hill, Knights Hill. It must be! Knights. Knights of the Round Table, King Arthur, St George, knights slaying the dragon; the link, the final key connecting all the clues and symbolic indications. In some legends the Knights of the Round Table number nine. Other legends speak of the Nine Worthy Knights. (3)
Croome Court
But was the hill called Knights Hill in the seventeenth century? Next day, the researchers checked the maps at Worcester records library, but were unable to find any dating back to the time of Pakington. Nevertheless, it appeared that Knights Hill had been called that for many years, at least from Cromwellian times. They also discovered that the lake was known locally as Knights Pool. It stands secluded on the estate of Croome Court, once the home of the Earl of Coventry. If the Stone was there, where was it hidden? On an island in the middle of the lake, buried in the earth banks, or in an old building overlooking it? The only construction was the remains of an old mill house, a relatively recent building.
That evening, Monday, 22 October, at around 8.30 pm, the phone rang in the office. It was Alan Beard. To their astonishment, he said they were not looking for a stone at this stage, but something that would ultimately lead them to it.
They were looking, he told them, for a sword, and added that an old mill had once stood near the place it was buried. Alan’s psychic information was astounding. He knew nothing of the discoveries about Excalibur or the pool, or, in fact, anything of the past day’s findings. And, even more amazing, beside the pool there stood the remains of an old mill. Graham and Andy were flabbergasted by Alan’s accuracy.
Andy told Alan what they had discovered but said the journey to the pool could not be made until the following weekend.
Suddenly, Alan became uncharacteristically adamant. No, he said, they must go now. It couldn’t wait. Someone else was getting close, someone or something evil. In the turmoil of the last few days they had forgotten the opposition that Joanna had warned them about.
Finally, he gave them one last piece of information he was sure would help. Near where the sword was hidden there stood a solitary holly bush. Alan’s message was too accurate to be coincidence. If he was right about the sword and the old mill, then he could be right about the opposition. Suddenly they remembered Marion’s vision of a sword in water.
They could wait no longer.
Chapter 8
The Silent Pool
Quickly, they started gathering together warm clothes, torches, even swimming trunks and towels, in case they might have to dive into freezing waters should they find an island in the centre of the pool. Not really an engaging prospect, but they had to be prepared. The only digging equipment they had was their bare hands and a garden trowel, so they borrowed a spade from a neighbour.
As they travelled south towards Worcester, they began to wonder exactly what they might find once they reached Knights Pool. Not having had the chance to view the pool in daylight it would be doubly difficult to find their way by night. By deduction they guessed that the pool was only a few hundred yards outside the village of Severn Stoke.
Their first problem was how to avoid arrest for suspicious behaviour at the dead of night. Second, there was the pool itself. It was probably overgrown. The map indicated that it lay within a small wooded area. But how would they find their way in such restricting circumstances? Third, if the pool was on private land there would probably be no public right of way, or even access to it.
As they drew nearer to Severn Stoke, some forty miles away, they were in two minds whether to turn back and return to Wolverhampton. It was not yet 10 pm. A pint of beer in cheerful surroundings would certainly be welcome.
They sat next to an old log fire in a wayside inn.
‘D'you really think we need to go there tonight?’ asked Graham.
Andy explained his feelings. He reasoned that if Joanna was right about the Stone and the psychic messages were accurate, then there was no other alternative. So far everything had come true. Until that evening, neither had given much thought to the opposition of which all the psychics had spoken. Joanna had told them of a force of evil that the Stone could overcome, a power that had brought about the undoing of all those in history who had ever tried to oppose it.
‘Look what happened to the Gunpowder Plotters,’ said Graham. ‘This power that was supposed to be on their side didn’t do them much good, did it? We might find ourselves set up.’
‘By whom?’ queried Andy.
‘I don’t know, but what about this opposition that Joanna spoke of? Others are also looking for the Stone, but from the other side.’
They had to admit it. The prospect of delving around in secluded woodland at midnight was rapidly losing its appeal.
The main reason they were on their way at all was the uncanny accuracy of Alan’s message. He was right about what they knew, so the chances were that he was also right about someone else trying to find the Stone for themselves, or perhaps for this mysterious dark power.
Graham said: ‘Where are we going to dig and how deep? We don’t even know where to start.’
‘Well,’ said Andy, ‘we’ve got a few choices. An island, if there is one, or Alan’s mill house or holly bush, if it’s still there.’
This was still not precise enough, for it left out too many other possibilities. In the back of their minds they wondered if they might not perhaps receive some psychic impression when the time was right. This led to another important question.
If Alan and Marion had received psychic messages helping them to pinpoint the location of the Stone, or possibly a sword, from where had the messages originated? Joanna had claimed no knowledge of the whereabouts of the hidden artefact. And this was why they were searching for it in the first place, because it had apparently been lost. Where did the messages come from?
As the pub’s last orders were called it was almost as if they too were being called upon to make a decision. Should they go on? Of course. What else could they do? The decision was made. They would go ahead as planned and journey on to Knights Pool, prepared to face whatever lay ahead.
Severn Stoke. The black lettering on the white-painted metal road sign stood out in the car’s headlamps. Neither of them spoke as they drove through the deserted main street. Only the occasional light from an upstairs window in the scattered cottages showed any evidence of life in the sleeping village. They passed through, not stopping for fear of attracting attention. In the darkness, their thoughts returned once again to the opposition. Was someone else really searching for the Stone? Perhaps even at that very moment unseen eyes were following them.
They drove eastwards, following the rough dirt track that the map indicated led to the pool. Af
ter only a hundred yards it came to an abrupt end. The headlamp beams cast ghostly light on the trees ahead. This was it, the dark, unwelcoming woodland that surrounded Knights Pool.
Andy doused the lights as the engine cut out. They sat in the darkness, alone. Soon they left the vehicle, shining their torches round a small wooden stile next to it, leading to a narrow footpath through the dark trees into the wood.
Knights Pool
They set off along the muddy path, two dark silhouettes following the guiding light of a narrow torch beam. Suddenly, there were no more trees, only darkness. The beams reflected off the black water as they found themselves on the banks of Knights Pool. They felt the cold rising from the empty expanse before them. The air was still, not even a light breeze through the trees nor the calling of some night creature broke the undisturbed solemnity of the quiet waters. It could hardly be called a pool, more like a small lake. Their torch beams swept like searchlights across the water, but the glassy stillness revealed nothing. They could just make out the opposite bank, about thirty yards away, more marshy at the water’s edge than on this side. Bulrushes and water grasses sprouted through the silt; the occasional dead tree with strangely contorted branches rose from the still waters with strands of dark vegetation hanging from them, like streamers on some long-forgotten Christmas tree.
They stood a while on the banks, looking and listening. Everywhere silence, and blackness. By the light of their torches they could see that to the left the opposite bank came down to one end of the long, narrow pool. To their right the waters stretched away into the night.
‘Well,’ Graham whispered, ‘what do you suggest?’
Andy leant forward as far as he could over the water, attempting to shine his torch further towards the far end of the lake obscured by the overhanging trees.
The Green Stone Page 8