by D C Macey
He stepped back into the living room. ‘Tell me Eileen. One chance, one chance only or I’m going to be very bad to you. Where is this rubbing?’
‘It’s framed, hanging on the wall in the dean’s office in the cathedral. You can’t miss it,’ Eileen could hold nothing back. Then she was aware of the presence of a second person beside her, a young woman - tall and beautiful with long dark hair. For a moment she felt a surge of relief, she would surely help her. The moment vanished as the young woman pulled a clear plastic bag over Eileen’s head and tied the handles tight at her throat.
Through the plastic film, Eileen saw the young woman step back to stand beside the man. She saw them watching the bag inflate and collapse with her breath, watching her struggling body arch against its constraints. She knew they heard her little cries, gasps and the persistent echoey whimpering. Steadily, the inflations slowed, the bag settled then stopped and Eileen fell silent.
In her dying moment, she saw Cassiter’s nodded approval, and heard his words as she slipped away. ‘Get the boys downstairs now. Burn this place; I don’t want anything left standing come morning. Then we’re going to evensong at the cathedral.’
• • •
They all stood in silence, staring up at the great window behind the communion table - then referring back to Sam’s phone, then back to the window. Finally, everyone agreed; subject to a few specific differences, it was the same image. Where the photograph had a rich blue background, the church image contained clear, plain glass. Where the church image had a simple burning bush as the centrepiece, the book had a rich golden vine that spread out from the centre, heavy laden with fruit, its tendrils reaching out through the blue to link and bind the other eight images together like some jewelled necklace. For the rest of the imagery, it was as close a likeness as could be hoped for; the same images placed in the same positions within both compositions. To all intents and purposes they were the same.
‘So, have I got this right? We recognise St Michael, St Bartholomew and Mary Magdalene. Then, those two might be St Margaret and St Mungo - we’re not quite sure. And there are three images we don’t recognise at all,’ said Sam. His arm pointed up towards the great window selecting images in turn. ‘That’s one, the hairy guy with two beards. The skiing axe man, and over there, the book with a sword through it. And each cameo occupies the same position in both the glass and photo versions. Everyone agree?’
Sam looked round; it was clear all agreed.
‘Well done, Grace, you too, Elaine. I don’t think I would ever have noticed this connection,’ said Helen.
Sam stepped back a little. ‘With your permission, Elaine, I’m going to photograph the glass. On Monday I want to take the problem down to the university’s theology people, see if they can shed some light on the three we don’t recognise and on the wider issue.’
‘Good idea,’ said Francis. ‘Though, it’s a bit embarrassing that between Xavier, Helen, Angelo and myself, we four clerics can’t identify them all. I suppose the best we can hope for is that with enough clues we will eventually get a breakthrough. Though I don’t understand what the picture was doing in Hereford.’
‘I wonder if the Hereford picture was a backup, a failsafe in case things went wrong for the Templars here in Edinburgh where our message was stored,’ said Helen.
‘Could be, or the window could be derived from the picture. And backup for what? Either way, we’ve now got several dagger blades engraved with what might be strips of a map or plan that we can’t decipher, and on top of that a set of pictures, which we don’t understand. It’s not getting any easier. This is going to be tricky to resolve,’ said Sam.
‘To say nothing of the killers resurfacing,’ said Helen.
‘Well whatever else we need to think about, don’t forget we have a night out planned for this evening,’ said Francis. His role as the social organiser had long been accepted and his network of contacts always managed to identify the hottest shows. Having a parishioner who worked in the Festival Fringe booking office also helped, ensuring he got priority for tickets. ‘We will all need to get ready now. Don’t forget I’ve booked an early table so we can eat in good time for the first show.’
They were determined to make a good night of it. Xavier and Angelo would return to Sardinia in the morning. With all the trouble brewing again and his church’s saint’s day feast coming up soon, Xavier had decided to return to his parish to consider their problems without distraction and to oversee preparations for his church’s festival. Tonight was a chance to put their worries aside, if only for a couple of hours.
CHAPTER 12 - MONDAY 19th AUGUST
It was already a good while after nine and the rush hour had subsided. Sam’s walk into the city centre had taken him past several of the council’s street cleaning squads. They were working overtime to clear up the Festival’s litter before tourists and performers started to emerge for another round of festivities. Every now and then, he would pass sheepish looking individuals heading home, eyes down and bedraggled, still in last evening’s glad rags; the walk of shame.
Pausing on the Mound for a minute, he took in the scene before turning towards New College, the University’s school of divinity. Built on the Mound, it both enjoyed the views across the New Town and was part of the imposing vista for those gazing back up to the Old Town.
Exactly on time, Sam tapped on Sandi McLellan’s door. She called him in and greeted him warmly. They had never met but each knew of the other’s reputation and she was happy to help. Greetings and formalities over, she listened carefully to Sam’s puzzle, jotting notes as he spoke. Then she closed the blind to throw her office into shadow and switched on an interactive wall screen. She plugged Sam’s USB stick into her computer and tapped in a key sequence. The display screen suddenly projected Sam’s photographs of the Hereford codex and the church window, side by side.
Sandi McLellan sat in silence for several minutes while studying the pictures.
‘Now then, Sam, this is quite a puzzle you’ve set me. I agree with what your friends suggested in explanation, as far as they went. Some other things are worthy of comment though.
‘Firstly, it’s clear both images contain the same set of characters. I can understand why one or two might have been a little hard to identify, but I think I’ve sorted it for you.’
‘That’s great. I’m not sure what to make of it all. Any pointers you can give would be gratefully received. And it all seems quite violent, lots of weapons, not like the Church we know.’
‘Well, times change, but these messages remain consistent. Your three completely unidentified images first. I can confirm they do all represent saints.’
‘Even the image without a person in it?’
‘Oh, yes. Look, let’s take that one. It’s a fairly hefty sword piercing the bible. It’s actually quite straightforward. It represents St Boniface, or perhaps we could say the killing of St Boniface. The saint can be in the image too, his absence might have thrown your friends a little. Interestingly he is considered to be an English saint but did all his spiritual work in Europe. Our saint was evangelising to the Franks when he died. You know they were in Belgium, Northern France, parts of Germany. A big tribe, very important for Christianity’s early development in Europe.’
‘How did he die?’ said Sam.
‘Good question and that informs the imagery. It happened when he and a group of followers were hosting a conversion meeting. Unfortunately for Boniface, a bunch of robbers turned up instead of the potential converts. The robbers killed him and opened his strong box to take the expected gold. They were very disappointed to find it contained only holy books. So in a fit of anger they stabbed the books, killed them. Hence the imagery.’
‘I see; does it have any particular relevance to the Templars?’
‘None that I’m aware of. In fact, I have to say, if you had not told me that one of the images came from a medieval book of Templar records and works, I would not have made any connection with
the Templars at all.’
‘Oh. For none of it?’
‘None at all. Now let me address these other two images. It’s not really surprising that your friends couldn’t identify these. They’re not very prominent at all from a modern British perspective. You’ve got the big pious looking man on skis and carrying a battle-axe, simple when you know, impossible if you don’t. That’s Saint Olaf. One time king, he helped to establish Christianity in the north. The axe, well that is the land of the Vikings and they were still pretty warlike during his day. Again, no Templar link there either. He’d be based in Norway, as king, Oslo perhaps.
‘Now this last one is harder. There are only two clues. He’s holding a book, which can indicate thinking or knowledge but there was a lot of that. It’s the second clue that really helps, look at the man’s face. See the split beard? That combined with the book takes us straight to St Athanasius.’ She looked at Sam expectantly.
‘Never heard of that one, I’m afraid,’ said Sam.
‘No, he’s bigger in the east though.’
‘East?’
‘The Eastern Church. He’s more popular with the Orthodox churches really. Of course, he was bishop of Alexandria, so that’s his part of the world.’
‘Could there be a link with the crusades then? At least that’s getting us closer to Templar country.’
‘Not that I can see, Athanasius lived long before that period. He spent much of his life falling out with Roman emperors.’
‘Can you see anything that links the images together?’
Sandi shook her head. ‘Sorry, they are clearly all quite early saints but there is no obvious linkage. In fact, we might say they are determinedly distinct. And again, nothing Templarish at all.’
Sam stood, stretched out his hand. ‘Sandi, thanks for your time. At least we can understand what each part of the image represents now.’
Sandi avoided Sam’s hand, pushing her own palm out in a stop sign. ‘Whoa there, mister, not so fast. Sorry I can’t find the deeper meaning for you, if there is one, but we haven’t considered the chicken and the egg yet.’
‘Chicken and egg?’ asked Sam.
‘Which comes first - the chicken or the egg?’ Sandi’s arm swept in an arc between the two pictures projected on her wall screen. ‘Chicken, egg. Egg, chicken.’
‘You think you might have something for me?’
‘I can’t comment on any Templar links, can’t see anything to do with the Templars at all, though you seem to have taken that one for a given, so I won’t debate it further.’ Sandi turned back to the screen.
‘Now, we can both recognise the common content within the two images but here’s a puzzle. You’ve got St Margaret, I do agree with that ID, by the way, Oh, and St Mungo too. Both as Scots as you like. However, if we accept the date as early fourteenth century then it’s unlikely that St Margaret would have been included as a key image in an English or Welsh work. So I think her inclusion almost certainly moves the place of conception north, probably to Scotland. So the Hereford codex picture is replicating the original glass imagery.
‘Then things get trickier. Why the differences? Look at the beautiful colouring in your codex picture; see the rich blue background, the golden vine, heavy fruited, luxuriant foliage. Contrast that with the austere plain glass and the fiery burning bush isolated in the middle of the glass.’
‘Yes, I see they don’t seem to sit so well together.’
‘And why? I guess that our shared history has got in the way.’ She glanced at the table, taking a moment to refer back to her scribbled notes. ‘The church that the window is in today has been rebuilt in the past and the glass transferred to it from the earlier manifestation. Something over two hundred years ago you indicated.’ She watched for Sam’s agreement.
‘Yes, and it was rebuilt in pretty much the same spot as far as I understand,’ said Sam.
‘That would put us in the late eighteenth century. I’m afraid it doesn’t quite fit. You’re out a hundred years and more.’
What, how can that be?’ asked Sam.
‘Scotland during the mid-part of the seventeenth century was in the grip of the covenanter conflict, a war between King Charles on the one hand and the Scottish Presbyterian Church on the other. Charles was all bishops, pomp and circumstance; the Scottish Presbyterians were altogether more austere in their approach to religious worship. I guess we would refer to them in the modern vernacular as being very hard core. I know you know the history of the war so I can leave that.’
‘Yes, I know it well enough,’ said Sam.
‘So you will recognise that any seventeenth century Scottish church with ornate and colourful glass decoration like the codex picture would have been trashed, possibly burnt to the ground.’
‘Of course. I’ve been so close to the problem I couldn’t see the obvious.’
‘Exactly. The original church glass may well have been the same as your picture from the codex. But it’s almost certain somebody removed the glass from display in the original church at some point during the seventeenth century, perhaps even earlier, to protect it from the righteous wrath of the covenanters.’
‘And come the rebuild of the church during the eighteenth century, Scotland is a more tolerant society, with the Scottish Enlightenment and so on,’ said Sam.
Sandi smiled an agreement. ‘And the glass is reinstated. Though the term tolerant is relative. An easing of the national mood did not mean acceptance of all the English frippery, certainly no gloss or pomp and absolutely no rich serpenty fruit laden vines. I think when they restored the glass to its place on display in the new built church some editing was done. All the blue background is replaced with plain clear glass: much more Scottish. The rich golden vine goes and is replaced by a harsher, more austere, burning bush.’
‘You know I think that can explain the difference between the images. It certainly makes sense. The starker imagery would be more palatable to the community at that time,’ said Sam.
‘That’s good, I’m glad I’ve been able to cast a little light on the image for you. Now, going back to your assumption they are both Templar productions, I have to stress again, there is absolutely no evidence in the image itself to support your assumption.’
‘The picture from the codex in the chain library at Hereford was a Templar source.’
‘I’ll take your word for that. But the image itself contains nothing. I don’t know what you are searching for but you’ll need to look elsewhere for the clue I’m afraid.’ Sandi flicked off the wall screen, a signal to Sam that she had other things to do. ‘And do feel free to get back to me if you find anything else that you want me to look at. Perhaps you’ll find your link elsewhere.’
Sam smiled at her and made for her office door. ‘Well, thanks for your time. I really appreciate your help. I’m going straight over to St Bernard’s now. In the light of your explanation I want to have a closer look at the glasswork.’
‘Sam, wait! Where are you going?’
Sam paused and turned back. ‘St Bernard’s, where the glass is displayed.’
‘Oh, Sam, Sam, Sam.’ Sandi shook her finger at him, chiding him. ‘Sam, why didn’t you say it was from a church called St Bernard’s?’
‘You know it?’ said Sam.
‘Not particularly. Just by name. But Sam, that’s not the point. If you’re looking for a Templar link, that’s it.’
‘St Bernard’s?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She gave him a little smile of triumph. ‘St Bernard was involved in conforming and defining the role of the Knights Templar.’ She stopped speaking for a moment and stooped over her keyboard to do a quick computer search.
Sam joined her, keen to see what she was looking for. ‘Why wouldn’t anyone else have made the link between St Bernard and the Templars?’
‘Why would anyone think to? St Bernard is not one of your fashionable saints and, let’s face it, the Templars have been out of the loop for a very long time. Only people like me would
know to make the link. And only then if prompted to do so.’ Sandi paused to review a page. ‘Here you are, St Bernard, very big in the twelfth century; pious, Godly and the arch mediator. But most importantly for you, he participated in the Council of Troyes, which establishes the role of the Templars. If you are searching for a Templar connection, you already have it. It’s St Bernard.’
She stood and smiled at Sam. His grin in return confirmed she had delivered the goods.
• • •
Flanked by two of his team, Cassiter stepped out of the arrivals zone and into the public reception area. He crossed to the exit, passed by the taxi and bus lanes and made for the public car park. He did not have to wait. Even as he exited Torp Airport’s doors, a black 4x4 was manoeuvring through the car park; it halted next to him. Cassiter and his men got into the car and it pulled away, heading directly for Sandefjord.
He had decided to take personal control of business in Norway. His contacts from Oslo were good but now he understood that there was something more to these blades than a rich man’s whim, he wanted to oversee this collection personally. Their little informer from inside the bank had confirmed the dagger was still there. Unfortunately, the man was too junior to get access but the information he had supplied was useful.
Today he would survey the situation. Tomorrow they would act.
He thought about Collette again. His French office had been right. Collette had real talent. A good operative and, importantly, a face unknown in Edinburgh. She had slipped into the city unnoticed. Now she could do some work there without any risk of it being traced back to him.
• • •
Collette leant back against the wrought iron rails fixed beside the pavement opposite the entrance to New College. Behind her, and far below, at the foot of the Mound were the imposing National Gallery of Scotland and the rocket shaped monument to Sir Walter Scott, thrusting skyward. Beyond them, the line of Princes Street stretched out in either direction and the distant rooftops of the city dropped away towards the port of Leith and the silver shining waters of the Firth of Forth. Collette was interested in none of it.
