Gaynor stared at one of the towers, oblivious of the young girl riding towards them. Marion, however, watched the girl as she approached, a curious expression of recognition on her face. As the girl pulled up her horse, Gaynor was still staring up at the tower. Marion spoke to the girl as Graham, Andy and Janet investigated the old ruins.
When the child had gone, Marion explained that she had asked her about the ruins. The girl had said that it was only a mock castle, built in the late eighteenth century at the whim of a local lord.
Graham shook his head. ‘If it’s only that old, then the Stone can’t be here.’
‘No, it’s not,’ answered Marion, ‘but something else is.’ She turned and cast a final glance towards the young girl riding into the distance. ‘Gaynor’s been led here, I don’t know how or why, but something is here, something we need to know.’
‘You seem very sure,’ said Graham.
‘I am, because of that girl on the horse. Remember what I said about a white horse, just before I saw the avenue of trees? I’m certain that was a premonition, and the girl convinces me that our answer lies here.’
Gaynor suddenly announced that she must go inside the tower. One tower still stood in its entirety, a doorway in the side about six feet above ground level. They could gain access through a narrow opening, where some of the planks used to board it up had been torn away. Marion said the building looked unsafe, but Gaynor insisted. Eventually Graham, being the tallest, agreed to climb in and examine the interior.
It was dark inside; the only light came in from the opening through which he peered. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he was able to distinguish the first steps of the stone stairway that wound its way high into the tower. It looked sturdy enough. He squeezed through the opening, musty air filling his nostrils. Gaynor and Andy joined him.
Between the outer and inner walls surrounding the stairway, they peered up into the tower, their fading torch lighting only a few feet. They could see nothing of what lay above in the darkness.
But it was there that Gaynor felt her answer lay. Graham went first, following the spiralling steps, leading the way with his torch to ensure it was safe. Gaynor followed closely. Andy remained behind to relay any messages to Janet and Marion outside.
They had half ascended the tower when there came a strange crashing sound from above. Graham froze. He turned to face Gaynor. She was calm, unmoved by the noise overhead.
She wanted to go on. She knew her answer was above. An oppressive silence fell inside the tower. They climbed on. The noise came again, louder and more prolonged, a rough scraping resounding through the darkness, followed by dull powerful thuds. There was something up there. It was no natural crumbling of the masonry.
‘We’re coming down,’ shouted Graham. Another loud report filled the air. ‘Come on, Gaynor,’ he ordered. Reluctantly, she agreed. They turned and began the descent.
The sounds grew louder, like the agitated flapping of wings.
‘What the hell is it?’ Andy called out.
‘I don’t know, but it’s damned big,’ came Graham’s reply. There was a loud thud as a huge chunk of stone crashed down from above, smashing to pieces only inches from where Andy stood. Graham and Gaynor appeared round the foot of the stairs, rubble and dust falling behind them.
For a while they waited in the safety of the sunshine outside. They were sure it had been a bird, a large bird. But what bird could have shifted so much debris? An owl or a buzzard? No. Whatever it was it was much larger.
As they drove away Gaynor sat deep in thought. She had not been led to the tower for nothing. Something had been waiting there for her. Had they allowed her she would have seen it. She knew now that it would come to her.
The night of Halloween was only two days away. Joanna had said they must find the Meonia Stone by that day, but what would happen if they failed? Marion was now convinced that the dark-haired woman and her witch coven would meet at the Rollright Stones on the night of Halloween and everyone who had received psychic impressions felt that the evil force which operated through her would be free to wreak irrevocable havoc if the Stone was not found.
They could not help but remember the uncanny accuracy of so many of the other psychic messages. There was growing concern and anxiety. Their hopes had been dashed. For a moment they had thought that Gaynor was about to locate the Stone, since she had been so accurate about the ruined castle. Now they were still no nearer.
Both Gaynor and Marion believed that the sword itself would lead them to the Stone. Instead, it had led them to a ruin which was not nearly old enough.
‘We’re forgetting Pakington logic,’ said Andy, when they arrived back in Oakenholt. ‘Perhaps we ought to think again, and reason it out logically as we did before.’
It was then that Fred Sunderland made a constructive suggestion, after he had tucked Gaynor safely in bed. They should re-examine the map, and search for a possible name association. This had led them to the sword, so why not to the Stone? But where to look? He reminded them of Gaynor’s dream of the running man. She felt that he had already hidden something before making for the bridge, so surely that dream could help. They all agreed. But first they must find out from where he had originally come. It was almost certainly Huddington Court, since it lay only about nine miles from the pool, considerably nearer than Harvington Hall. The haste of Gaynor’s runner and the torrential weather conditions also indicated that the Stone had been hidden almost immediately.
Fred drew a straight line between Huddington Court and Knights Pool. He then pencilled in a broad ellipse between the two.
‘I think we can be pretty sure it’s still in this area,’ he said.
‘It’s still too big,’ Graham observed.
‘Then let’s narrow it down,’ he said, and went on to recall more details of Gaynor’s dream. When she had first seen him, the man had stumbled across some marshy ground.
‘Low ground. What about a river basin?’
Two major river systems crossed the pencilled area, the Avon and the Severn. They quickly discounted the latter. It was relatively straight, and no marshy land was indicated. Secondly, the runner in Gaynor’s dream would have had to double back, highly unlikely considering his haste. However, the Avon meanders its way in a south-westerly direction, passing through their ellipse with marshes shown on both banks. If Fred was right, somewhere along that short stretch of river lay the Meonia Stone.
Martin Keatman and Gaynor Sunderland at the Swan Tower
They scanned the area and found something which struck a chord, a sweeping bend in the river near the village of Birlingham, called the Swan’s Neck. Marion was sure she remembered reading about Mary Queen of Scots having been referred to as the Swan, as a code name. Whether or not this was correct there is much to link the swan with Rosicrucian lore, enough to have made the symbol of the swan of central importance to mystics and Rosicrucians in the year 1605 when the Stone was hidden.
The swan has long been a symbol for occultists, alchemists, magicians and mystics alike, signifying spiritual purity and power; the power to overcome evil. (3) But why was the swan so important in 1605?
The year before, when the new star had appeared in the constellation of Cygnus, the swan, it was taken by astrologers and mystics to be a sign heralding political and religious changes. Many had believed that it signified the birth of a New Age. In the Rosicrucian Confessio of 1615, it is mentioned with the second star that appeared in the same year in the constellation of Serpentarius, the snake, saying:
New stars, which do appear and are seen in the firmament in Serpentarius and Cygnus which signify and give themselves known to everyone, that they are powerful signs of great weighty matters. (4)
It appeared that Catesby would not have had the Stone were it not for the Rosicrucians wishing to enthrone Princess Elizabeth. So the swan was of considerable importance to the Rosicrucians. Pakington logic therefore made the Swan’s Neck a likely location.
Gaynor retu
rned, as she knew she would. Once again, she climbed into the old tower. This time she would know what awaited her at the top of the winding stairway. Graham again led the way into the darkness. Then came the noise, this time louder, fiercer, the beating of huge wings. Graham urged her to flee. As before, they turned and ran, repeating the scenario. As they emerged into the moonlight she turned and gazed. The high tower loomed above her. From the top a great white swan launched itself into the sky. Then Gaynor saw what she had come to see. Around its long, graceful neck hung a leather pouch tied by a cord. She knew the pouch contained the small green stone.
She awoke as the dawn was breaking, knowing that the Stone lay about the swan’s neck. But what did it mean?
Far away in the Wolverhampton flat Graham also awoke. He sat up in bed and looked around. What was it? Something was on his mind, something important he couldn’t quite remember. It was just after 6 am. He had slept only a short time, but suddenly he was wide awake. For some unknown reason he was now sure that the Meonia Stone was hidden at the Swan’s Neck. But that was not all. He felt a sense of urgency, something almost telling him that he could not afford to wait. Was it impatience or intuition that made him decide to dress and leave there and then, or was something urging him on?
He woke Andy, but decided it was unfair to ask him to get out of bed at that early hour. He told him that he intended to drive across to the Worcester Records Library to find out something more about the Swan’s Neck.
Alan Beard was awakened by the telephone. The image he had seen in his dream was still vivid in his mind. The green Stone again, only this time inside a brass casket buried beneath the earth. But where? And only one day left.
Marion apologised for disturbing him so early, but it was of the upmost importance. She explained what they had worked out the previous evening and informed him that Gaynor had just told her about her new dream. She said that Gaynor had drawn a picture of a casket, which she believed contained the stone, a casket that she thought was made of brass. Realising that Gaynor’s description of the casket matched the one in Alan’s dream, they agreed it would be wise to check it out. Marion had already phoned Andy, who said he would contact the others and ask them to meet at the flat. They must be getting close; not only Gaynor and Alan, but Terry also had received a psychic vision of the brass casket. Alan decided to join them and take the day off work.
Graham arrived in the Worcestershire village of Birlingham, four and a half miles to the south-east of Knights Pool. His map indicated a narrow farm track leading from the village to the River Avon and the Swan’s Neck a few hundred yards distant. He needed to discover something about the area from the local farmer, who told him that the large bend in the river had been called the Swan’s Neck for many years, and the land on either side was common land where summer tourists sometimes moored their boats. So there was nothing to stop him scouting around and digging if necessary. The farmer added that there were no old bridges or ancient monuments in the vicinity.
The Swan’s Neck
Graham thanked him and set off along the dirt track leading to the Swan’s Neck. Soon he came to a bend in the muddy path, finding himself in a small wood beside the river. Here the slow-moving water meandered through grazing land and small wooded copses, until it came through the great bend called the Swan’s Neck, where he stood between the weeping willows that hung down on to the reeds at the river’s edge. He was on the outside bank of the meander, looking over to the opposite bank, which was bereft of trees. That side was almost an island created by the loop in the river and he could see why the impressive meander had earned its name.
He looked around in dismay. Even if the Meonia Stone was buried here, where on earth could it be? It would be an almost impossible task, the area of land around the Swan’s Neck was simply too large.
In any case he was probably on the wrong side of the river. Pakington logic told him that the opposite side was a more feasible location. He would probably have buried the Stone somewhere in the centre of the loop on that side. Even if this was correct, they would still have a terrific job finding the exact centre. Besides, how deep would they have to dig?
He was about to leave when he turned and noticed the trees behind him. Alongside the Swan’s Neck was an avenue of trees, between which ran the remains of an old cart track. The avenue was exactly as Marion had described when she had ‘seen’ where the Stone was hidden. She must have been right. The Stone was there somewhere. It had to be.
He paced back and forth along the avenue reasoning that obviously it would not have been there in Pakington’s time, yet Marion had somehow seen it in her vision. So she must have seen it as it stands today.
Suddenly he was struck by an intriguing possibility. If Marion had mentally projected to where the Stone lay, then it might follow that she was describing the avenue of trees from the position where she had been standing. If he could discover the spot, then he would know approximately where the Stone was buried.
Marion had looked along a nearby avenue of trees. Nearby. So she was not among the trees. But where? He moved around, seeking to look down the avenue from any position other than between it. The only view that tallied accurately with her description was from the end nearest the cart track, the opposite end being blocked by trees and a tall hedge. And besides, this end took him away from the Swan’s Neck itself. The position from which he could clearly see placed him in the grassy pastures right next to the river.
Perhaps he was now in the approximate location. But it was still possible to walk many yards to either side, and a considerable distance along the line of sight, having a clear view down the avenue. There was only one thing to do. He would have to fetch Marion.
As he reached the car, fully intending to drive away, a strange sensation overcame him, the feeling that something was telling him, urging and pleading with him to go back. He tried to ignore it, but it grew stronger. How would going back help? Again, something told him, he could find the Stone. He would know. Surely this was ludicrous. Marion had seen the avenue of trees, so she should be the one.
He decided to relent. He would return, although he still believed it was his imagination. A most unpleasant feeling of urgency stayed with him. It grew stronger, as if he were being told that time was running out. Something was telling him that their adversaries were at that very moment on the point of finding the Stone, coming for it at the Swan’s Neck. Quickly, he fetched his spade and trowel, again pacing along the bank from where Marion had seen the avenue. His mind raced. Where the hell was it? Minutes passed as he ran out of ideas. What to do? Where to dig?
He leant resignedly against one of two lone trees and again looked down the avenue. He would have to give up and fetch Marion. No, that would be too late. The feeling was overpowering. He turned and saw a slight rise in the earth, a low grass incline.
And then he knew. This was where he had to dig.
Gaynor knew. She knew where they would find the Meonia Stone, and what they must do. But she also felt the danger. Inside the brass casket they would find two stones. They must touch neither. The second stone was for protection, a guardian. To touch it meant death. To touch the Meonia Stone would mean that the opposition would know it had been found. Not until the last possible moment would it be safe to touch it. Not only would they know, but they would also be able to trace it.
Marion lost no time. Now only too familiar with the accuracy of the psychic messages, she telephoned the Wolverhampton flat where Janet, Alan and Terry had met Andy and were awaiting a call from Graham before they set off for the Swan’s Neck. When they arrived, they would know where to dig, but when they found the brass casket containing the Stone they must touch nothing inside. She suggested that they did not open it until Gaynor saw it.
Marion replaced the receiver.
They decided to wait a little longer until Graham telephoned to arrange a rendezvous.
Graham had dug two holes, but each time he felt he was in the wrong place. Now he was certain. He
dug almost frantically, continually glancing round as the feeling mounted that someone else was drawing ever nearer. Then his trowel hit something. A large stone? As he dug, he could feel its shape. Too uniform to be a stone or rock. The trowel struck again. It felt like metal, something hollow. Whatever it was, he had found a man-made object. Digging deeper into the black earth he saw it at last, a rectangular box!
He pulled the box into the daylight, finding it thick with mud and heavy for its size. It was about eight inches long, five inches deep and five inches wide.
His mind reeled. Could this be it? Did the Meonia Stone actually lie inside this box? He dared not think. His stomach was heavy with tense expectancy. He had to know. His hands trembled.
The deposits came away fairly easily and he found the box covered in a black resin. Beneath it he saw the dull sheen of the metal. As he feverishly picked away the remaining deposits, he revealed a humped lid. He took his penknife and prised it between the lid and the main body, twisting and turning, breaking the seal that must have held it together for so many years. With a final twist it came open. Inside was a small silver box about three inches square, adorned with a simple criss-cross design.
It opened easily. A shudder ran through him as he beheld the small green stone: The Meonia Stone. It was unreal. A dream! He stared in disbelief, stunned and shocked, unable to accept what he saw. The only thing his shocked senses registered was the simple, half-egg-shaped Stone. He sat on the grass, shaking his head while he continued to stare.
Good God! The Meonia Stone really existed. Small, only three-quarters of an inch long and half an inch wide, a stone passed through time from an Egyptian Pharaoh, to Gwevaraugh the Iron Age Queen, to the Knights Templar, the Rosicrucians and the Gunpowder Plotters. And now to them. What power could such a simple jewel hold? It looked so ordinary, a two-tone shade of pale sea green.
The Green Stone Page 12