The Green Stone

by Graham Phillips

  A pocket knife removed the deposits fairly easily, as a small lump fell away to reveal the dull-grey metal surface. It looked to be remarkably well preserved, with no signs of corrosion. It was covered by what appeared to be some form of resin, and it was this that had enabled them to easily remove the sediment. Whoever had hidden the sword had certainly ensured its preservation. They had probably immersed it in some kind of wax or lacquer. In places, this protective sheath had started to wear, and patches of minor corrosion could be seen. Piece by piece the sediment came away, gradually revealing the naked sword. It appeared to be cast metal, the hilt, cross-piece and blade forged together from what looked to be steel. It was certainly not gold or silver. They had half expected to find it encrusted with jewels. Instead, it was a single-cast steel dagger, the hilt decorated with rings and indentations. Simple decorative markings adorned the crossguard, and where this joined the hilt they could see two separate devices or crests on either side. One side could not be clearly distinguished, but the other appeared to show Roman numerals and an unidentifiable marking.

  ‘There’s something here,’ said Andy, excitedly, scraping away the upper section of the blade to reveal the grey surface. He tilted the sword into the light. ‘Look, there’s something written on the blade.’ He hurriedly picked off the remaining sediment as Graham fetched a table lamp. They examined the lettering closely and saw three separate words inscribed along the blade, less than an inch from the hilt.

  Andy spelt out the first of the words. ‘M... E... something... I... A. Good grief! Meonia. Meonia for Mary!’ he exclaimed.

  Meonia. The word Joanna had used for the Stone. The Meonia Stone. There could be no doubt that the words read MEONIA FORE MARYE.

  The sword after cleaning

  Graham shook his head slowly. ‘I’d half convinced myself it was a ridiculous coincidence,’ he said. ‘The sword being there. I mean it could have been an old builder’s trademark, or perhaps a good-luck custom. But the word Meonia on the blade, that clinches it.’

  They cleaned the rest of the blade and placed the sword on the table. There were no more markings or messages, so how did this short metal sword hold the key to the Meonia Stone? Was there perhaps something hidden inside the sword itself? It was solid cast, so it seemed unlikely. If the sword held the clue to the discovery of the Stone, then the key would very probably be the words Meonia fore Marye. But now it was too late to do anything more. Too tired to think, they retired to snatch a few hours’ sleep. Andy slept on the couch in the front room with the sword safely hidden beneath it.

  Graham could not sleep. For over an hour he stared from the bedroom window into the darkness of the early morning. After a time, he forced himself to sleep, but after only half an hour he awoke, unable to relax as a thousand questions rushed through his mind.

  He ran. His clothes were strange. She had never seen him before. He ran swiftly, glancing back to check he was not being followed. He must not be waylaid, nothing must hinder his task. She was close behind, following as he travelled, dragging his feet heavily through the marshy landscape. Then, leaving the boggy ground, he moved swiftly across fields, through waterlogged pastures and tall grass meadows. The rain cascaded from the dark clouds, billowing in sheets against the passing trees and hedgerows, driving down on the runner. Yet still he ran, over high fences and across flooded ditches filled with gushing waters. She knew he could not stop. But how, how could she know? What had brought her to this troubled place?

  He paused at a low stile, glancing anxiously along the muddy trackway. He must stay clear of the roads. It was too risky, too dangerous. He might be seen or caught. He must keep to the fields and unfrequented tracks, travelling cross-country as long as possible.

  He jumped from the stile and set off once more, following the narrow lane down a long avenue of trees from which the pounding rain sprayed viciously. He was cold and tired, his clothes stained and torn. But he must not rest, not even for a moment. It was not far now, not far.

  She knew that she must follow the lonely figure. There was something she must do, something she had to know.

  Again, he left the track, through a broken wooden gate and across the meadows, saturated and heavy with the smell of decay. His tired feet sank deep into the mud and he stumbled frequently, each step an almost insurmountable barrier of pain.

  He drove on, force of will taking him on to the high ground where it was firm. Continuing across the rain-spattered fields, through sheltered woodlands and again risking the dangerous trackways, he at last reached his destination.

  Breathing heavily, he turned. Still he did not see her as she watched him, gasping for breath on the narrow stone bridge. This was the place. Only now did she catch sight of it, something hidden from view inside a bundle of cloth clasped tightly to his chest. Then he was gone. For a time, she was alone. His head and shoulders suddenly appeared over the side of the bridge as he fumbled and dragged himself back on to the pathway. He no longer held the cloth. She knew that he had hidden whatever it was that had lain inside.

  Gaynor sat up in bed. She felt her arms. They were dry, but how? It was raining. Raining? How could it be raining? She was inside her bedroom at home! It had been a dream. But something told her that it was no ordinary dream. She must tell someone. But why, what could it mean?

  It was still dark outside. Her little sister was fast asleep in her bed, breathing softly and deeply. Gaynor lay back, listening to the familiar sound. She felt sleepy. Not to worry, she would tell her mother in the morning.

  Graham and Andy had eventually managed to snatch a few hours’ sleep. After a hasty lunch they were again on the move, this time delivering copies of the Parasearch magazine to local wholesalers.

  Andy Collins with the sword on the day it was found

  In the early evening, they phoned Terry and Marion to say they would be over on the following day. But Marion was impatient to hear of the latest developments.

  When they arrived at Terry’s they were joined by Alan. The two men sat in silence as Graham and Andy recounted the events of the previous evening. Alan stared in disbelief at the sword.

  ‘What about the sword? D’you know what it’s for?’ asked Graham.

  Alan shook his head.

  Over dinner the main topic of conversation was the cryptic message Meonia fore Marye. What did it mean and how could it lead to the Stone? Who was Marye? Mary Queen of Scots perhaps? And what was the meaning of the word Meonia?

  They spoke openly in front of Terry’s wife Pat but were careful not to mention anything about an opposition or supernatural conflict. For the time being the discovery was purely the result of psychic archaeology. Terry’s concern for Pat’s disbelief was unfounded; in the coming months she too was to become involved in the ever more bizarre events.

  ‘We’ve got to be very careful,’ suggested Terry, his parting words to Graham and Andy as they left. ‘Careful who we talk to. For the time being, anyway, until we know more about this opposition.’

  ‘If they exist,’ Andy emphasised, leaning from the car window.

  ‘The sword exists,’ Alan said, as they drove away and headed towards Marion’s.

  They arrived around mid-evening, to be greeted with news of a still stranger twist to the affair. Before they had a chance to explain anything to Marion, she told them the details of Gaynor’s dream. She described the man, in old-fashioned clothes, running across country and hiding some unseen object in the foundations of an old bridge.

  Andy and Graham were astonished. Marion knew nothing of their find, and Gaynor herself had not even been told that they were searching for something. So Alan Beard was not the only one to receive psychic information about the location of the sword. Gaynor, too, had somehow witnessed the actual moment of hiding it, perhaps by Humphrey Pakington in 1605.

  The implications of Alan and Gaynor receiving such accurate psychic impressions were disturbing. It suggested that something appeared to have known the precise location of the sword and div
ulged psychic information to both of them. But if something really knew, why had they not been told? Where did the psychic visions, messages and impressions originate?

  They told Marion the whole story. Once again, she seemed to have been expecting it.

  ‘Any idea what it might mean?’ Andy asked her, as she examined the inscription. She was about to answer. But her expression suddenly changed, and she looked up.

  ‘There’s something here,’ she said, glancing about her. ‘Can’t you feel it?’

  They shook their heads.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Graham.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered, then fell silent again. Andy and Graham watched as she reclined in her armchair. There was silence as the two men exchanged glances.

  ‘Marion?’ said Andy. ‘Are you all right?’

  There was no reply. They waited. It seemed that Marion had fallen into a trance state similar to those that had resulted in the Joanna communications. Her face changed as an uncharacteristic frown tightened across her brow. The muscles at each side of her mouth began to twitch. She spoke, her voice unchanged except that her accent was gone.

  Her eyes opened wide and stared at them. For some minutes she spoke without faltering, addressing them directly and by name but allowing no time for any replies.

  There was much they and others would be called upon to do, she said. Those who were to find and possess the Stone were to prepare for a task to oppose a force beyond their capabilities to understand fully.

  ‘Who are you?’ Graham urged.

  The voice did not reply.

  ‘Do you know where the Stone is?’

  Still she did not reply.

  ‘Can you tell us why we have been called upon to do this?’

  ‘I can only tell you this,’ she said slowly. ‘The seeds of destruction lie within.’

  The trance was over. Afterwards Marion seemed partly to remember what had occurred but was at a total loss to explain it. She was worried at having fallen into an involuntary trance, although she felt no ill effects.

  What had spoken through Marion Sunderland? Was this yet another guise of the chameleon intelligence that lay behind the whole affair? And what was meant by ‘the seeds of destruction lie within’? It seemed like a warning.

  A little later Marion agreed to attempt to ‘tune in’ to the source of the psychic messages in an effort to obtain more information on the whereabouts of the Meonia Stone.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, but it doesn’t seem to work as simply as that.’ She closed her eyes again, attempting to clear her mind. ‘Yes, there is something,’ she began. ‘I can see something now. It’s a horse, a white horse . . . and something else I can’t make out.’ She shielded her eyes with the palms of her hands. ‘Yes,’ she half shouted. ‘It’s a row of trees, an avenue, over there…’ she indicated with her hand, ‘…stretching away. There’s an old track between them, and water, it’s near water.’ She suddenly gasped. ‘It’s here, I’m sure of it. The Stone, it’s here!’

  Around this time some important historical facts about the Gunpowder Plot and the Rosicrucian era were discovered, which enabled the researchers to theorise as to why the Rosicrucians had wanted to become involved with the English Catholics. And more importantly how Robert Catesby might have come to possess the Meonia Stone that meant so much to a Protestant Order in Germany.

  From what they could discover, it seemed that the Rosicrucians of 1605 considered Princess Elizabeth, the nine- year-old daughter of James I, to be a long-prophesied leader, the future Queen who was to lead a newly-enlightened Europe. Elizabeth, however, was not the immediate heir to the English throne. (1)

  For many years, mystical and occult texts had circulated throughout Europe announcing that the New Age was at hand, an age of intellectual freedom. These manuscripts were often accompanied by illustrations depicting the New Age as a young woman or girl riding on horseback to oppose tyranny. (2) The Rosicrucians, it seems, considered Elizabeth to be the personification of this symbol. Some years after the Gunpowder Plot, in 1613, when Elizabeth married Frederick V of the Palatinate, the Rosicrucian Manifestos proclaimed this as the grand alliance. The New Age was at hand. But the dream collapsed with Elizabeth and Frederick’s rash attempt to secure the throne of Bohemia and so oppose the Habsburgs, one of the greatest of the sovereign dynasties of Europe. (3)

  In 1605, however, Elizabeth was still the ‘chosen one’, the embodiment of hope for the reformist Rosicrucians, since during the previous year two new stars had appeared in the constellations of Cygnus, the Swan, and Serpentarius, the Snake. This was interpreted by the Rosicrucians to be additional proof that the New Age was at hand. (4)

  It had been Princess Elizabeth whom the Gunpowder Plotters had wanted to place on the English throne. She had been the cornerstone of the entire plot. Was it possible that the Rosicrucians had come to an agreement with Catesby and the other English Catholics? A plan to enthrone Elizabeth with the promise of religious freedom and toleration, necessitating Catesby having the Stone to assure his success? Had Catesby, overwhelmed at possessing the Meonia Stone, devised his own outlandish scheme, the true extent of which was unknown to the Rosicrucians until too late? Catesby failed to realise what he was planning. A rebellion, yes, but to murder the King and his entire Parliament? Never!

  For the first time since the strange events had started, Alan was afraid. He felt he recognised the opposition, or at least what was involved: Witchcraft. Graham, Terry and Andy could not believe it, but the more they considered it the more likely it seemed. If the force that the Stone could overcome was evil, it followed that such a force would use those practising the black arts.

  Graham and Andy had investigated many stories about the beliefs of modern witches, but until now they had not given serious thought to the claims of the witch cult. With the growing confusion of the past few weeks, they were no longer quite so ready to scoff. Could their opposition include a group practising witchcraft? Any thought concerning this possibility might have rested there, had Andy not paid a visit to a London bookseller.

  On Friday morning he called in at a bookshop specialising in the paranormal, where he ran across a magazine feature about a witchcraft murder that had taken place on St Valentine’s Day in 1945.

  He already knew some of the details of this unsolved crime: a man found dead in a field in the Warwickshire countryside. The victim, Charles Walton, a resident of the village of Lower Quinton, was discovered pinned to the ground by his own hay fork, with the sign of a cross slashed across his throat. The style of this savage murder caused the police to consider whether Walton had been ritualistically murdered by a sect of witches. Scotland Yard detectives called on the country’s leading occult authorities to help identify the murderers. However, after many months of investigation the case remained unsolved.

  The Meon Hill murder has remained unsolved for decades

  When Andy was reminded of the name of the hill on which Walton had been found he bought the magazine and hurriedly left the shop.

  Walton’s body had been discovered on Meon Hill. Meon - Meonia. Coincidence perhaps? He could afford to ignore nothing when so much was at stake.

  For two weeks everyone had tried to discover the meaning of the word Meonia. Why was it called the Meonia Stone? Since the mysterious engraving read Meonia fore Marye, they all felt that Meonia held the key for which they were looking. But nowhere was such a word to be found.

  Now Andy had been reminded of Meon Hill. What did Meon mean? More interesting still was the proximity of Meon Hill to Huddington, the home of Gertrude Wyntour, a mere fifteen miles away.

  Meon Hill had been so named long before the Gunpowder Plot, and therefore it was likely that Pakington and Gertrude would have known of it. So here was a recognisable name association on a permanent landmark: Pakington logic. But was the Stone hidden on Meon Hill? The idea was tempting.

  The magazine feature stated that there had been much speculation about Walton hav
ing been a member of a witch coven, which had murdered him, and that he had been killed because he had refused to return something he had been entrusted with. And the object was a gem, a mystical stone.

  They all now harboured the same inescapable thought. Had somebody already located the Meonia Stone, possibly a coven of witches around Meon Hill many years ago? Had this group already found the stone, while all they had was Pakington’s indicator, probably hidden as an afterthought? But if it had been found, why did Joanna not know? They were certain on one point. If a coven of witches had located the Meonia Stone in the 1940s, it was unlikely to be the coven now working for their unnamed adversary. Joanna would have known this.

  Alan’s message about a witch coven was reinforced by Marion, who had herself received powerful visual images of strange ceremonies and satanic rites. But she had seen even more. She felt she had been given a glimpse of their chief rival, a woman in her forties, with long black hair. John Avis and John Ward also said that they had psychic impressions of a woman of similar appearance, who was the High Priestess of a strange and fanatical sect. These new and disturbing messages, plus Andy’s findings about the Meon Hill killing, made them want to give it all up. Forget the quest and the messages and leave well alone. But how could they? Fate had already taken them too far. How long would it be before their adversaries glimpsed psychic impressions of them?

  For the first time, they took Joanna’s plea for urgent action very seriously. They had until 31 October to find the Stone. It was now the twenty-sixth. Time was desperately short.

  Andy introduced Alan and Terry to Marion and Fred at their home on the evening of Friday, 26 October. Joined by Graham and a friend, Janet Morgan, they talked into the early hours.

  Where was the Meonia Stone? Time and time again they examined the sword. What did the inscription mean, what was it indicating? The possibilities were many, but clearly Meon Hill was their best lead. They also discovered that the area surrounding Meon Hill and Lower Quinton had an ancient tradition of witchcraft. There were rumours of a coven near Meon Hill, which occasionally met for ceremonies at a prehistoric stone circle called the Rollright Stones.