‘You will recall, when we had our talk at the Swan, that I mentioned Father Lacy hid the church registers in the stables of the parsonage.’
‘Indeed.’
‘He took that precaution on the morning of his death after the visit of a stranger. I now learn that this stranger bore a marked resemblance to Mr Quycke, right down to the possession of a mule.’
‘What of it?’
‘Why has Mr Quycke never mentioned this meeting?’
Sarah took her cue from Fairfax. ‘And as I was just observing: why would his visit cause Father Lacy to hide the books?’
Hancock looked from one to the other. ‘Well, this is quickly settled. Let us ask him.’
He marched towards the area where they had dug the previous night. Shadwell was holding a skull up to the light, pointing to various marks upon the cranium. Quycke had his sketchpad and was making a drawing. No one was near them: Fairfax guessed that Hancock’s men were giving the grave a wide berth. He exchanged a quick look with Sarah behind the captain’s back.
‘Mr Quycke, sir,’ boomed Hancock, when he was still a dozen paces from them. ‘Will ye settle a question for us?’
Quycke paused in his sketching. ‘Why certainly, Captain Hancock, if I can.’
‘Did ye or did ye not meet Father Lacy in Addicott St George on the day he fell to his death?’
‘I did, sir.’ His expression was innocent. ‘What of it?’
‘Why have ye not mentioned it before?’
‘Surely I did?’
‘No, sir,’ said Fairfax. ‘I would have remembered it.’ He laid down his bags and folded his arms.
‘Well then, it is no great matter. I shall give the details now. I rode a mule first thing that morning from Axford to Addicott with the purpose of arranging a meeting between Father Lacy and Dr Shadwell. It seemed unwise for Dr Shadwell to make the journey himself, on account of his health.’
‘And a meeting was arranged?’
‘Yes, it was settled that Father Lacy would join us for breakfast in the Swan at Axford the following day. We waited for him but he did not keep the appointment, and on the day afterwards – the Thursday, I believe – we learned the circumstances of his tragic death.’
Hancock said, ‘Is this your recollection also, Dr Shadwell?’
Shadwell was still examining the skull. He frowned at Fairfax, irritated at being disturbed. ‘It is.’
Fairfax turned back to Quycke. ‘Your talk with Father Lacy – it was friendly?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Did he seem uneasy?’
‘No.’
‘Why then, I wonder, did he take the trouble to hide the church registers directly you left him?’
Quycke spread his hands – an overly emphatic gesture, Fairfax thought, such as might be made by an actor on the stage to convey sincerity. ‘How is one to know? A habit of secrecy, given the law against antiquarianism? A sensible precaution, given what he thought he might find? I can tell you only that he was looking forward greatly to meeting Dr Shadwell, and expressed much gratitude that he had taken the trouble to come all the way to Axford from Wiltshire to talk to him.’
‘You must have been one of the last to see him alive. Did he mention his intention to come up to the Devil’s Chair?’
‘No.’
‘After making the arrangement for the meeting, did you return directly to the Swan?’
‘I did.’
‘Mr Shadwell – again, is that your recollection?’
Shadwell sighed and lowered the skull. ‘Oliver returned to the inn before the curfew. The precise time I cannot say. Might I ask why we are being questioned in this manner? Is there some suggestion Oliver was complicit in Lacy’s death? If so, you may dig without us. I would sooner go back to jail than listen to such slander.’
‘Not at all,’ said Hancock quickly. He smiled his humourless smile. ‘The questions arise only because Mr Quycke – by accident of circumstance, I am sure – neglected to mention his visit to Father Lacy. All confusion over the matter is now cleared, is it not, Fairfax?’ He gave the priest a meaningful look. Fairfax nodded, unconvinced. ‘Good. We shall speak of it no more. Let us return to the task in hand.’ He pointed at the skull. ‘Ye have spent a long time examining that poor fellow’s head!’
‘The head is female,’ corrected Shadwell, ‘and indeed it is true – I have given it a thorough examination, for hers was not a natural death. Do you see?’ He inserted his little finger through a perfectly round hole in the back of the skull. ‘I missed the detail in the dark last night. Either someone took a drill to the bone post mortem, or more likely she was shot by a firearm from behind, which would explain the damage around the eye socket. That was where the bullet departed the brain. I have seen such wounds before.’ He held the skull out to face them, his little white finger wriggling in the cavity like a maggot. Fairfax felt the bile rise in his throat.
Sarah said, ‘Poor creature, to be murdered in such a spot.’
‘Best say naught of this to the men,’ cautioned Hancock. ‘They are skittish enough already.’
Shadwell went on. ‘Such violent deaths were not of course uncommon at that time. Perhaps she ventured too far from the others, was murdered, found, and then brought back here for burial. Or she was sick and suffering and this was thought a merciful end. More digging may provide the answer.’ He broke off and eyed Fairfax’s sack. ‘I see you have kept your side of the bargain, Mr Fairfax, and fetched the books.’
‘Yes, sir. All that I could find.’
‘May I see them?’
Shadwell placed the skull carefully on the ground and watched closely as Fairfax untied the knot and opened the top of the sack. He put his hand to his mouth as if to stifle his excitement, then held out his palm. Fairfax took out a volume of the proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries and passed it to him. The old man kissed the binding and showed it to Quycke as if he could not believe it still existed. His hands shook as he opened it and turned the pages. No father, Fairfax thought, had ever beheld his long-lost child as fondly as Shadwell did that book. But as he leafed through it, his expression slowly altered from delight to suspicion. He took off his spectacles and held a page very close to his eyes, and when he took it away, his face was screwed up in bewilderment.
‘But this is my book!’
‘Yes,’ said Fairfax, ‘the book you published.’
‘No, sir, this book is mine. It comes from my own library. These markings are in my hand. Am I not right, Oliver?’
He gave it to Quycke, who nodded in confirmation. ‘These marginalia were all made by Dr Shadwell.’
Fairfax said, ‘I had assumed the notes were made by Father Lacy.’
‘No, Fairfax. If you please?’ Shadwell flexed his bony fingers urgently, beckoning for another volume. Fairfax rummaged in the sack and pulled out the Antiquis Anglia. Shadwell rested the heavy book in the crook of his arm and quickly examined the contents. ‘The same! Here – do you see? – and here!’ He looked up, his eyes bright, his gaze flickering this way and that. ‘Bishop Pole told me my books were burned in the public square, but that was a lie. He must have packed them up and sent them off to Father Lacy.’
Fairfax said, ‘I thought it odd that a country parson should possess such a collection.’ The more he considered it, the more baffling it seemed. ‘And yet why would the bishop behave in such a fashion? He must have known Father Lacy extremely well to trust him so. They were at the seminary together. Some bond must have existed between them.’
Shadwell was exultant. ‘Does this not merely confirm what I told you last night about the bishop, Mr Fairfax? When he arrested me he touched the forbidden fruit and acquired a taste for it. Clearly he could not bear to part with the knowledge. But rather than risk keeping my heresy in the chapter house, where some might see it, his preference was to store it far away in the parsonage of some obscure clergyman.’
Hancock had been listening with mounting impatience, as he always did whe
n he felt himself excluded from a conversation. ‘What does it matter? Bishop Pole’s a hypocrite, like most of his kind. Doubtless he reserves to himself all manner of pleasures he denies to others in the guise of piety. But time is pressing. Ye wanted the books, Dr Shadwell, and now they’ve come back to ye, and we should begin our digging. Tell us where to start.’
Now that the transfer of supplies from the base camp had been completed, Hancock gathered his men at the foot of the tower. It seemed to Fairfax that there were fewer than when they had started. Doubtless some of the more superstitious had taken fright at the sight of the exposed mass grave and had slipped away back to the village, where they would surely even now be spreading tales of what they had seen. The whole valley would know by nightfall. And then what? It seemed inescapable that their enterprise was doomed, and he and Sarah along with it. She caught his eye and smiled at him. He smiled back as reassuringly as he could, but in his mind he was already trying to devise a plan for them to escape.
‘Listen to me, men,’ said Hancock. ‘This gentleman is Dr Nicholas Shadwell, a most eminent scholar of the ancient world, and that there is his secretary, Mr Quycke. They have much experience in these matters, and they will guide our labours. Dr Shadwell, will ye give us your instructions?’
Shadwell stepped up beside him. ‘Thank you, Captain Hancock.’ His voice was wheezing. ‘First, I congratulate you all on your attendance here. This is a scientific expedition of the most singular importance, and I believe you will one day be proud to tell your children and grandchildren of the work you do today.’
The effort of addressing the few dozen men seemed to strain his lungs, just as it had done in the Corn Exchange. The wheeze turned into a cough, the cough into a convulsion. He doubled over from the pain of it as if he had been punched in the stomach, and fumbled with his sleeve. Out came the red-spotted handkerchief. He spat up blood. Quycke took his arm. The men looked at one another uneasily. It was a full minute before he was able to continue, and then he spoke so hoarsely they had to move in closer to hear.
‘You may ask: what was the function of the tower? I cannot tell you. Its purpose is lost in the great fathomless mystery of time. But some place hereabouts, beneath the ground, I warrant lies another structure, and our task is to dig down and uncover it. I count three dozen of you, so my plan is this – to divide our labour into four groups of nine and make four trenches running out from the tower: north, south, east, west. Each trench to be two paces wide and thirty paces long. At a depth of six feet each trench to be shuttered by timber to prevent collapse.
‘One further point. As you dig, you may encounter various artefacts. In such a circumstance, send for me or Mr Quycke, that we may record both the object and the spot. The discovery will then be removed and stored according to its provenance: north, south, east or west. By these means, we may both make an estimation of the nature of the settlement, and judge which areas are fit for wider excavation …’
His voice expired into another coughing fit. Hancock regarded him with a mixture of concern and distaste and then addressed the men himself. ‘Sort yourselves into teams of nine and choose your compass point. Father Fairfax, would ye be willing to step over here for a moment and bless our enterprise?’
‘Of course.’ It was the last thing he wished to do. The small crowd parted to let him through. ‘Let us pray.’ He expected them merely to bow their heads, but to his surprise, they got down on their knees – Hancock too, along with Sarah, Quycke and even, with some difficulty, Shadwell. The only sound in the silence of the Devil’s Chair was the wind rustling in the trees. There was a curious sacredness about the place.
He surveyed their bent heads and searched his memory of the Book of Common Prayer for some appropriate words, and they came into his head as if the Holy Spirit had decided to visit him in his sinfulness. O God, whose nature and property is ever to have mercy and to forgive, receive our humble petitions; and though we be tied and bound with the chain of our sins, yet let the pitifulness of thy great mercy loose us; for the honour of Jesus Christ, our Mediator and Advocate. Amen.
‘Amen.’
Afterwards, as the men congregated into their groups and chose their tools, Hancock drew Fairfax aside. ‘That was nicely spoken, Parson.’
‘Thank you.’
‘The more we convince the men it’s God’s work we’re doing, the more we may keep. I reckon ten have gone already. What did ye make of Quycke’s story?’
‘He did not convince me entirely.’
‘Nor me. Ye know I have a nose for liars? There’s too much of the female in him for my taste – big strong-looking fellow though he may be. We’d best keep an eye on this “secretary” of Shadwell’s.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The dig begins
KEEFER HAD TAKEN charge of the team that was to dig out from the western side of the tower. Fairfax went over to join them. The church clerk smirked at the sight of a priest offering himself for manual work. ‘Thy hands are very white and soft, Father.’
‘I am quite used to gardening in the chapter house, Mr Keefer.’
‘Gardening? ’Twill be harder work than gardening!’
Some of the men laughed.
‘I know it,’ said Fairfax, rolling up his sleeves, ‘but I wish to do my part. Our Saviour was a working man. He is example enough for me.’
A small wiry fellow with a carbuncle on his cheek said, ‘Ye cannot argue wi’ that, George!’ He handed Fairfax a machete.
He set to work at once, before the others started, hacking away at the undergrowth, dragging clear the tangle of brambles and clinging ground elder. He worked in a blank fury, relieved to lose himself in the effort of hard labour. Of course, Keefer was right about his hands: they were soon bloody with scratches.
The afternoon heat was sullen, storm-threatening. Clouds of midges danced frantically in the heavy air. Some of the men stripped to the waist. Fairfax’s cassock became damp with sweat. Mosquitoes whined in his ears and bit his neck. He gathered a heap of wet greenery in his arms, carried it to the big bonfire about fifty yards away, twisted his torso in an arc and flung it on to the flames. Through the haze he could see Sarah Durston on the other side of the fire raking stray leaves and branches back into the smouldering pile. I will tell him, but not yet, she had said. Let me find my moment. The wind caught the smoke and coiled it around his face. His eyes smarted. His hair and clothes stank of soot. He wiped his face on his sleeve and went back to work.
After an hour, when they had cleared their patch of ground according to Shadwell’s direction, Fairfax went to where the equipment had been piled and collected stakes, string and a hammer. He began marking out the lines within which they were to dig. Even before he had finished, Keefer was handing out pickaxes and shovels. The church clerk shrugged in apology. There was none left for him. Fairfax went in search of spare tools.
The teams on the other sides of the tower had already started digging. A near-continuous ring of metal striking earth and rock echoed around the Devil’s Chair. Hancock was working in the northern trench. He too had removed his shirt. The massive muscles of his back and shoulders flexed as he wielded his double-pointed axe as easily as if it were a walking stick. Fairfax noticed he had tattoos on his upper arms: a cannon on one, crossed swords on the other.
‘We seem to be making good progress, Captain Hancock,’ he said.
‘Aye,’ replied Hancock, raising his axe, ‘and the men are happier now they have hard work to occupy them.’
He brought the blade down once more with a blow that shook the ground and buried the metal head up to the shaft. He was working it free when a voice called out, ‘Captain!’
One of the men at the end of the trench furthest from the tower had stopped work and was holding up his hand. Hancock dropped his axe and wiped his palms on the sides of his trousers. Fairfax followed him as he picked his way along the trench. Half a dozen men were staring at an object in the ground. It was part of a sheet of glass, only partia
lly uncovered. Even so, what was visible was almost a yard long and a couple of feet across. Hancock kneeled beside it and wiped away the clinging earth with his fingers.
Fairfax said, ‘I’ve never seen a piece so large. I’ll fetch Shadwell.’
‘Must ye?’
‘He was most particular.’
‘Aye, very well,’ muttered Hancock. ‘But tell him to hurry. We can’t stop work every time we find a bit o’ glass.’
The man who had discovered it protested. ‘’Tis more’n a bit, Captain! And nothing normal, neither – I caught her with the shovel and she didn’t even crack!’
Fairfax walked quickly up the slope to the site of the mass grave. The top of Quycke’s head was just visible above the shallow trench. He was on his hands and knees with a trowel. A row of half a dozen skulls rested on the lip of the excavation, as if the skeletons had all sat up together and were peering out of their grave. A seventh was in Shadwell’s hands. He was examining it with a magnifying glass.
Fairfax called to him. ‘Dr Shadwell!’
‘Mr Fairfax – look at this!’ He showed the skull to Fairfax and inserted his finger into the hole at the back, near the base. ‘Another – and a man this time.’ He gestured to the row of heads. ‘All of them the same. This wasn’t death by disease or starvation. This was murder – a massacre, in fact.’
Fairfax crossed himself. ‘Poor souls. May they rest in peace.’
‘Rest in peace they may have done, but there was nothing peaceful about their way to it.’ Shadwell glanced towards the tower. ‘And now I am concerned for our dig.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if it was a mass execution of prisoners – which it surely must have been – it’s more than likely that their sanctuary was ransacked or destroyed by their attackers. Which means we may dig here for days and find mere ruins.’
‘We have in fact found something just now – glass: a large pane and very strong. Captain Hancock wonders, do you want to see it?’
‘I do, most certainly. Oliver, bring pen and paper.’
The Second Sleep Page 24
