The Temple Scroll

by D C Macey

  ‘And let’s not forget, last time around, Helen, Elaine and Grace had to withhold information from the police. If we tell now, they could well end up in jail for obstructing justice,’ said Sam.

  Xavier pointed at Helen. ‘You and I must fulfil our obligations as task bearers; we must protect our responsibility -’

  ‘Hold on now,’ said Sam. ‘We’ve been over this last time; Helen did not know what was involved when she took over from John Dearly. You can’t force retrospective responsibility on her now.’

  Xavier gave a wry smile. ‘I know, I know. This we have talked about before, yes?’ He let his gaze range across the group, finally settling on Helen. ‘Do not forget what Sam said last time the troubles came, which we all agreed. The best protection is publicity. We solve the puzzle; then tell all the people, and then these, these Mafioso, have nothing to gain and everything to lose by staying involved. My view now is that the only protection for ourselves, and the best protection for what we hold in trust, is still to solve the puzzle and then to share it with everyone.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Helen. ‘If the alternative is to let these killers snatch the prize, whatever it is, then that is not fulfilling any commitment, that’s just surrender. And I’m not up for that.’

  ‘And until the mystery is solved and made public, we are still targets,’ said Elaine, her gruff voice stressing each point. ‘I’m with Xavier though and we are in a better position than before. At least this time around, we know there is a threat. And will have a solution if we can solve the puzzle.’ She looked at Sam. ‘Over to you for that.’

  ‘So are we all agreed to try to solve this now? Or do we run for the hills?’ said Sam.

  ‘No way,’ said Grace. ‘After what they did to my mum before, there’s no way I’m letting anything go. Count me in.’

  Helen gazed around the group. ‘So if we are to solve the puzzle we all need to understand where we are today and then get thinking. Sam, sum up for us. Show us what we’ve got so far.’

  Sam paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. ‘Xavier told us earlier in the summer about Henri de Bello. He was based in the Templar preceptory at Temple. It was he who split the Templar secret into parts. He had each part engraved on to a different blade drawn from a set of nine matching daggers. The daggers were then carried away by trusted knights who scattered and hid them across Europe - we think the secret is a map, perhaps to the Templar hoard. To reassemble the message and understand its secret requires possession of all the daggers.

  ‘The first dagger, the key, was kept hidden here in Edinburgh, in St Bernard’s parish. It has a blade engraved with a list of Roman numerals, one to eight; placed in a seemingly random order, but which we think may be the order that the other eight blades must be laid in to recreate the map. It has been snatched from Helen’s home in the States. So we know the number sequence and now so does our enemy.’ He paused for a moment and rifled through his sheaf of papers, lifting a photograph of the stolen blade and holding it up for everyone to see.

  ‘Are we sure it was the engraving that was important?’ said Francis.

  ‘Well, let’s hope so, otherwise we’re stuffed.’ Sam gave a rueful grin. ‘I believe it’s the number sequence on the parish blade that’s most important, it provides a place order for the other eight daggers. Using that we can align them all together in the correct sequence to form the message or plan, whatever it is. Other than the number sequence and Templar cross insignia, the parish dagger had no features. Each of the other daggers has its Templar cross, an individual number from the sequence and a unique section of engraved pattern too. On its own, each pattern remains quite unintelligible. And each was sent away without knowledge of where the others were going.

  ‘We have a copy of the dagger found on the dig in Fife; it’s engraved with a number three. They killed to get hold of the original. We have a photo of the one we found in the National Museum of Scotland; it has a number four. They have that now and they killed to get it too.’ Sam paused. He felt Helen’s hand rub gently against his forearm; some comfort, a prompt to continue.

  He pressed on. ‘We have the dagger from Norway and once again, they killed for it, but this time they didn’t get it: that’s a number five and it’s sitting safe in a bank vault in Norway until Helen’s Swiss banker gets it moved for us. Then we have a picture of the rubbing from Hereford cathedral, which the dean gave us, that’s a number eight. And finally, we have Xavier’s in Sardinia: number seven.

  ‘So that leaves three missing daggers. They should be numbered one, two and six. To solve the mystery we need to find those three daggers - before our enemy does. And that’s where our problems really start. We don’t know where to look and Xavier thinks it’s highly likely one of the missing daggers is held by a task holder, just like him and Helen. Someone with the knowledge, someone who wants all the daggers, that’s where our threat is coming from. Even if we did know where to go to, we might just blunder into the arms of the very people who are gunning for us. And finally, even if we did have all the daggers, it’s still not exactly clear how the individual markings will fit together; we’ve had no luck so far in piecing together the parts of the pattern we already have.’

  ‘Well, there you go,’ said Francis. ‘We’ll get that lot solved by teatime, I’m sure.’ He looked round the table. ‘Perhaps running for the hills is a better idea. I don’t see how we can solve this. Not at all.’

  ‘Let me finish taking you all through what we have got,’ said Sam. ‘Then you can start to worry.’ He looked at Grace. ‘Could you switch the TV on please; I’ll show you all the picture sequences I’ve tried to work on, perhaps one of you will have a better eye than I do.’

  Grace stretched behind her to switch on the TV. Then as Sam worked his smart phone, she slid her chair to one side, close to Helen, allowing everyone a clear view.

  Sam began to guide the group through his workings, experiments and struggles to align the blade patterns. He was not confident anything concrete had been established. After twenty minutes of show and tell, it was clear that nobody had an insight into the patterns or code.

  ‘I think that’s about it, I’m afraid,’ said Sam, flicking through the remaining pictures on his phone. ‘None of this is relevant.’ He was about to abandon his picture show when something caught Grace’s attention.

  ‘Whoa, whoa, go back Sam,’ said Grace. ‘There was something there I think I know.’

  Sam gave her a questioning look. ‘Which one?’ he asked, as he started to flick back. Everyone focused on Grace’s claim, wondered what it could be.

  ‘Back again, back again,’ said Grace, prompting him to scroll faster back through the images. ‘There! Stop, that’s it. I don’t know what it is, but I know it, I’m sure.’

  Sam shook his head. On the TV screen was the photograph he had taken in the cathedral’s chain library. ‘No, you’re mistaken, Grace. I took that in Hereford, you can’t have seen it. I just thought it was interesting and Helen would be able to explain the iconography. Haven’t had the chance to show her yet, that’s all.’

  The others looked disappointed. ‘It’s very beautiful, Sam, where exactly did you find it?’ said Helen.

  ‘I do know it,’ said Grace, staring intently at the screen.

  ‘It was in one of the medieval books from the chained library at Hereford. It’s contemporaneous with our daggers and events,’ said Sam.

  ‘Grace is right, I know it too. Just can’t place it,’ said Elaine.

  ‘Well my friends, let’s not argue. Perhaps if we try to understand the picture it will help Elaine and Grace recall where they have seen it before,’ said Xavier.

  Sam looked doubtful. ‘Look, I told you I took the photo from the back of a medieval codex at Hereford. Unless Elaine and Grace have been browsing in the cathedral library at Hereford there is no way they could have seen it before.’

  ‘And yet, they say they know it. So, let’s take a moment to think,’ said the old priest, quietly. />
  ‘Be my guest, I stand ready to be corrected,’ said Sam.

  ‘Well,’ said Helen, ‘what exactly are we looking at?’

  Francis leant forward, staring intently at the screen. ‘It’s a series of eight classical images. Each sits alone, like islands spread around in a circle on a wide sea-blue background and each is linked to the next by a golden vine whose tendrils reach out from the centre. I think they represent various saints. Now who have we got here? Hmmm… Some of them seem a bit obscure; some seem quite familiar. Well, there’s St Michael - see, he’s armed and slaying a dragon.’

  ‘I thought it was Saint George who slew the dragon,’ said Sam.

  Francis did not take his eyes off the screen as he replied. ‘Yes, you’re quite right. Only, if you look closely, you’ll see the figure in our picture has wings. That’s an angel and it’s the archangel Michael, who we call Saint Michael. He leads the host of heaven against the devil. Often he’s depicted as slaying a serpent, which represents Lucifer.’

  ‘Sounds like we could do with him on our side right now,’ muttered Sam.

  Helen nudged him. ‘I’m sure he is,’ she said.

  Francis continued. ‘Now, that’s an easy one, see, top right of the screen, a woman standing beside the cross? That has to be Mary Magdalene.’

  Xavier and Angelo nodded agreement.

  ‘Okay,’ said Sam,’ accepting Francis’ judgement. ‘But opposite her you have another woman, who’s that then? The Virgin Mary perhaps?’

  ‘I don’t think so; it’s not the right imagery. See the gold band? That’s a crown not a halo. So, it’s a queen and she’s dressed in white. If that image were found in Scotland and not the Welsh borders, I’d say without any doubt it was Saint Margaret, wife and queen of King Malcolm III. Anyone got another suggestion?’

  ‘Beats me,’ said Helen. ‘What else have we got?’

  ‘What about that one? The guy with three daggers?’ said Grace. ‘I know I’ve seen him before.’

  ‘That is my church,’ said Xavier. ‘St Bartholomew.’

  ‘Ah yes, agreed Francis. St Bartholomew, I see it. They are not daggers; they are skinning knives. Very nasty way to go, flayed alive, poor man. Horrible.’

  ‘What do you mean by your church?’ said Sam.

  ‘My church is dedicated to St Bartholomew, he is our saint,’ said Xavier.

  ‘I see, but surely there must be hundreds of churches dedicated to St Bartholomew, he’s not yours exclusively.’

  Xavier shrugged. ‘As you say: hundreds. But he is still our saint.’

  ‘I don’t care what you say and you can pull it apart all you like, but I still know this picture and I’ve never been to Hereford, much less in the cathedral there,’ said Grace.

  Helen looked away from the TV screen and smiled at Grace. ‘We hear you; all we’re trying to do is understand the picture. It almost certainly has nothing to do with our problem, but the Templars created it and if it really is from the same period as our own puzzle, then understanding it just might give us an insight into their thought patterns. Perhaps by understanding this picture we will get a steer on how they devised the puzzle that really is our problem. Remember, we think the Hereford mapmaker was related to the Templar up here who created the secret of the daggers and he must have used a map to plan where to hide the daggers. Maybe he even used the Mappa Mundi, who knows?’

  ‘There’s a man with an axe, I think he’s on skis. What’s that one all about?’ said Sam.

  ‘Beyond me,’ said Francis looking round for help. Helen and Xavier shook their heads and Angelo remained silent. ‘Though, that one is familiar. A robin in a tree, a fish beneath, a ring in its mouth. I would guess at St Mungo, but strange, there’s no bell. Every representation of Mungo I’ve seen has a bell; perhaps it’s not Mungo after all. And the last couple have me stumped - a book with a sword through it, and a hairy man. I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Well I guess we’ve got enough on our plates trying to solve our own puzzle without spending any more time on this. Let’s push on now,’ said Sam as he flicked his phone screen to advance the pictures, settling on one of the dagger blade patterns. ‘Let’s have another look at this -’

  ‘I know it, I know it,’ said Grace, gripping Helen’s arm in excitement. ‘Go back Sam, bring the picture up again.’

  Sam swiped the picture back on to his phone screen and it reappeared on the TV screen. He looked expectantly at Grace as she looked carefully at the screen, weighing her thoughts carefully. Meanwhile, Helen gently pried Grace’s squeezing fingers off her arm.

  ‘It’s the church window, almost. Not quite the same, but almost.’

  Elaine nodded instant agreement. ‘She’s right. That’s where I’ve seen it too. Almost the same but in this photo all the plain glass is missing, filled in by the blue. Then our burning bush is replaced with that great vine spreading out to loop round each of the cameos.’

  ‘I think you might be right,’ said Sam, trying to recall the stained glass montage he had studied just a few days before.

  ‘She’s right, for sure,’ said Elaine.

  ‘We must go and see,’ said Xavier. ‘If this is the same, then the picture Sam took in Hereford Cathedral is linked to the church here.’

  • • •

  With a groan, Eileen Watkins stirred in her armchair. It offered her a lovely view out through the open French windows and across the gardens to the bottom of her lawn where the Wye ran gently past, glistening in the early evening sun. It should have been perfect, but it wasn’t.

  Eileen had decided on just a cup of tea and a couple of crackers for her evening meal. The cup sat upended on the carpet where she had dropped it; the crackers lay all broken and crumbed on the floor nearby. Sitting on the sofa was an intruder; he was lounging back and smiling serenely at her, at ease as though this were his own place.

  She was in awful pain, didn’t want to acknowledge the man’s presence, but she could not help but turn her eyes to glance again at the madman. Just like the people searching upstairs, he was dressed from head to toe in a white disposable forensic suit. She glanced away quickly, desperate to avoid any eye contact with the man. Too late, he had spotted her glance.

  From upstairs came the sounds of searching. Rough uncaring sounds, smashing ceramics, tearing cloth, breaking furniture. She didn’t know what time it was, just knew she had passed out for a while and knew she was on her own. Nobody would miss her tonight. Her children all lived independent lives; they would not expect any contact with her until Sunday.

  ‘Good, I see you’re awake again.’ Cassiter crossed the room to where Eileen was tied into her armchair. He stood behind her; she felt the fingers of his hand slide through the soft silver grey hair on the crown of her head. She flinched and jerked away and his fingers tracked her movement, maintaining contact, ensuring she understood where control lay.

  Eileen had been unconscious for the best part of an hour. Now revived, she shook as his hand slipped onto her shoulder and tracked down her arm. The hand’s journey paused, stopped at the elbow. Or she thought it did, below that point was a wall of pain that dominated everything else. Nervously, she glanced down at her hands, immediately shut her eyes in horror. What had once been elegant fingers that had danced across piano keys were now twisted and deformed like broken stumps in a storm-ravaged forest. Eileen moaned quietly.

  ‘Now, tell me again Eileen,’ said the voice behind her. ‘I don’t understand.’ The voice fell silent. There was a thump in the room above as a wardrobe crashed over on its side, then the sounds of kicking and the splintering of wood. Every possible hiding place was being explored.

  ‘I told you, I don’t have a dagger. It was stolen from us years ago. It’s not here. Why are you doing this to me? Please stop. I can’t take it anymore.’

  ‘And I can’t understand why you would be so careless with such a valuable piece, it’s just not plausible.’

  ‘I told you, I told you everything. My husband didn’t know it
was important. It was an interesting novelty, that’s all.’

  ‘And yet the churchwoman and her friend who you met yesterday left you very happy; smiles on their little faces. They would not have been happy if you had told them the dagger was stolen. So what aren’t you telling me? Why were they looking so pleased?’

  In despair, Eileen searched for some reason, anything that would make the monster go away. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know. How can I tell you what I don’t know? Please…’

  Cassiter let her arm go and stepped round from behind the chair, moved closer to the French windows. Now he was just a black silhouette.

  ‘What a lovely view you have here, Eileen. My own home looks out over water. Very calming, don’t you agree? It certainly helps me think.’ He paused for a moment, as the banging sounds from above peaked.

  Then, as the sound dropped again, he continued. ‘Eileen, I like to think I’m a reasonable man. If you can’t tell me where the dagger is, tell me why those two seemed happy that there was no dagger to be had. If I’m content with what you say, fine. If not, well, I’m not always so reasonable.’

  ‘I don’t know, I just don’t know.’ Eileen sobbed. ‘They were disappointed that the dagger was stolen, but not desolate. Not… maddened. They seemed more than happy with just getting access to the rubbing. That’s all I know.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The rubbing, it’s a reproduction of the pattern on the blade, like a picture. They really didn’t care about the dagger going. I promise you.’

  ‘And what is this pattern for?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it was what they wanted, not the dagger. I’m certain of that.’

  Cassiter stepped out through the French windows into the still evening air. Interesting, it was the information on the blade that was important, not the blade itself; another little snippet that Parsol had omitted to mention or perhaps he didn’t know either. Now, it was time for action.