The Temple Scroll

by D C Macey

  She watched the archway entrance into New College and through it the quadrangle, dominated by the glowering statue of John Knox. Suddenly, past the fiery reformer walked Sam, emerging from the archway to look cheerfully at little groups of tourists - a vanguard of the horde that would soon be appearing on the streets. Then he turned and headed briskly away towards the Old Town.

  Crossing the road, she hurried under the entrance archway and through the quadrangle. She ignored Knox’s frown as she passed his statue, and entered the college’s reception area. Collette made no attempt to evade security cameras; her initial reconnaissance had told her there were none. In protecting the façade of the historic building the authorities had given her a free pass to roam.

  ‘Hi there,’ she said, flustered, allowing the French in her accent to flourish, hinting at some possible language confusion. ‘Look, sorry, I’m late for a meeting. My boss asked me to join him here. His name’s Sam Cameron. The meeting must have started now, but I haven’t a clue who he had arranged it with. Could you help? Parking was awful.’

  The middle-aged man behind the reception desk had noted her stunning figure as she entered. Collette could do no wrong. ‘I know; parking can be hell at this time of year. Where did you get parked in the end?’

  ‘Down behind Waverley Station, it’s a bit of a climb up the hill.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he said looking at the meeting list. Then he referred to the visitor book. ‘I’m sorry, he’s been and gone. The meeting’s over.’

  The young woman frowned. ‘Oh, zut. Sam’s going to be annoyed with me. Look, could you at least let me know who he was meeting? I’ll be able to send them an email and apologise. That’ll placate my boss a bit.’

  Nodding, the man jotted down Sandi’s name and email address on a notelet, then passed it over the counter.

  Collette left, content that her next move would be equally as easy - there were no internal cameras either.

  • • •

  Sam hung up the phone and looked across the manse kitchen to Helen. She was watching him, realising that bad news had come again.

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  ‘That was Charles, the dean from Hereford. Eileen Watkins’ home was burnt down. She’s dead.’

  ‘Oh, Heaven, no,’ Helen felt a burst of sadness sweep over her. ‘That’s awful; she was such a lovely old lady - so much life. It’s tragic, I can’t believe it.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. The fire brigade are investigating; it was no accident. The house burnt down during Friday evening, when we were all out having fun. She was dead before the fire started. Foul play, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What? Oh, Sam, we triggered this didn’t we. That poor old woman, she wouldn’t have had a chance against that lot.’

  ‘We don’t know for sure yet,’ said Sam.

  ‘Oh, we do.’

  ‘There’s more. The dean mentioned an odd thing. The framed rubbing on his office wall that we took a photograph of, it’s vanished. It just wasn’t there when he went to work this morning. He hasn’t linked the two events.’

  ‘But we can. They’ve made her talk and then taken the rubbing. And her life was just so much nothing to be tossed aside. Sam! We’ve got to stop them. This isn’t just criminality, it’s pure heartless evil.’

  Sam gave Helen a hug, held her for a moment then pulled back. ‘The dean said her husband’s former church is going to hold a little service tomorrow to allow people to express their grief. The vicar, Jerry, has issued an open invitation to all.’

  ‘I would love to go, but I’m not sure there’s enough time for us to travel down for tomorrow and I’m not so sure it’s appropriate, knowing what we do about the cause.’

  Sam headed for the fridge. Experience told him that Helen would welcome a glass of wine. He didn’t bother asking, just poured the rosé.

  ‘I’ll send flowers though. It’s the least we can do… Thanks,’ said Helen, taking the proffered glass of wine. ‘I’ll send the flowers to Judy; she can put them in the church in time for the service. I don’t have the postal address but it’s St Michael’s, the florist in Hereford will be able to locate it easily enough.’

  ‘What was that you said?’

  ‘Flowers, for the service. You do agree don’t you?’

  ‘What? Flowers, oh yes, of course, let’s do that. But Helen, what else did you say?’

  ‘I don’t know. Let’s not start playing guessing games right now Sam. An old woman has just died, and we probably set her up.’

  Sam grimaced. ‘I know. I feel bad about it too. Sick, in fact. But I think you just broke part of the puzzle.’

  ‘I did? What did I do?’

  ‘You said, it’s St Michael’s, the florist in Hereford will be able to locate it easily enough.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Look, churches, holy places, they don’t need addresses; the names mark them out. Remember the coincidence of Xavier’s church’s saint, St Boniface, being represented in your glass window and in the picture from the Hereford codex too. Now we find another coincidence with St Michael’s in Garway, St Michael features in the window, Garway hosted a dagger. Could the images in the window represent addresses of particular churches?’

  Helen thought carefully, took another mouthful of wine. She looked across at Sam. ‘It could be. It really could. This might be the break we are looking for. But how can we cross check the idea?’ She waved the empty wine glass in the direction of the fridge. Sam headed over to get her a refill.

  ‘We can’t cross refer to St Bernard’s. There’s no image for this church in the pictures,’ she said.

  ‘And we don’t know for sure where the dunes dagger was destined for nor exactly what the church link was with the museum dagger; that link was broken too long ago. I tell you what though, Helen. It should be possible to find out the name of the church in Norway - the Oslo church where Erling Karlsen’s uncle preached. If the saints represent the addresses of the churches, then his dead uncle’s church will feature as a saint in our window. I would guess it would almost certainly be St Olaf. What do you think?’

  Helen accepted the refilled wine glass. ‘Thanks. You know, I think we could just have cracked it, let’s check. Oh, no. You get on the web and check the Norwegian church name, I’m going to organise those flowers for Eileen’s memorial service.’

  It took Sam only minutes to confirm the name of the Oslo church. He gave Helen a thumbs up; it was St Olaf’s. She nodded an acknowledgement while completing her telephone flower order, all the while feeling more confident about their address theory - the florist knew exactly where St Michael’s church was.

  Sam pulled out his mobile phone and made a call; he heard the ring tone break as the call was answered.

  ‘Hello, Sandi speaking.’

  ‘Oh great, I’ve caught you, it’s Sam here.’

  ‘I know. The funny thing is I was meaning to give you a call just now. I’ve been giving a bit of thought to your little puzzle.’

  ‘Well, that’s exactly what I’m calling about. I wanted to sound you out on an idea. We think the individual saints in the illustrations might actually represent specific churches, scattered here and there but linked by the picture.’

  ‘Well, you could only know that if you knew which particular churches the pictures linked with,’ said Sandi. ‘Otherwise you’re faced with a huge elimination problem. Lots of churches are named after any particular saint, and are scattered at random all over the Christian world.’

  ‘I know that, but nonetheless, I think we might have spotted two or three that fitted the bill.’

  ‘I see, Sam, that’s very impressive, which ones?’

  ‘Well that’s not the problem. If the theory is to stand up, St Bernard needs to feature in the imagery and as you’ve already established he’s not in the frame.’

  ‘Ha, very droll, Sam. But I think you’re wrong. What you say fits in quite well with my thoughts, which is why I was about to phone you. You see
, and let’s run with your idea of a hidden list of churches for a moment; if it were a secret, overtly sticking an image of St Bernard in the middle of the glass would make it all too obvious. However, if you were to hide St Bernard inside the puzzle then only those in the know would even realise the other images represented a message or code to unravel.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sam. ‘But where is St Bernard? We can’t see him anywhere. I don’t see how he features.’

  ‘Oh ye of little faith.’ Sandi chuckled to herself. ‘Sam, that’s why you came to me in the first place, this is my area. Trust me, if you think it’s a cluster or gathering of churches, I can show you St Bernard. Have you got the pictures there?’

  ‘Yes, in front of me now,’ said Sam sitting himself at the table and pulling two printouts into position in front of him. Helen had finished ordering flowers and joined him at the table. He flicked his handset to speaker mode. ‘I’ve put you on speaker, Sandi. Helen Johnson is with me.’

  ‘Right, nice to speak with you, Helen.’

  ‘You too, Sandi. Go right ahead.’

  ‘Sam was just telling me you suspect that the images represent a cluster of specific churches, each identified by its saint’s name, well that would be very exciting. Quite separately, I had been thinking a bit more about St Bernard today. If we accept the premise that he was meant to be concealed in the picture - hidden in plain sight as it were - then the imagery used is actually quite clever.’

  ‘How so?’ said Sam.

  ‘Take a look at the codex picture first, which we believe to be a full likeness of the original window. Clearly, this predates the covenanter period, which was when Scottish austerity came to dominance and we think the glass was changed, ditching golden vines and blue seas for a burning bush and plain glass. So, even though I would contend the original imagery was formed in Scotland, I think that today the picture from the Hereford codex better represents the original drafting. The vine is set at the centre, see how its tendrils stretch out reaching to touch each of the other images, wraps round them and then seem to grow further stretching out to link each saint to the next. See, it’s not just a radial pattern reaching out from the centre to link with each saint. It’s transverse too, creating a perfectly linked network originating from the centre, the hub.

  ‘Yes, we’ve got that already, but it only works if we can put St Bernard in the image. But he’s not in the glass,’ said Sam.

  ‘Hmmm, well it’s a bit of a leap, needed a bit of digging, but our St Bernard was a man of many parts. Not content with being the spiritual architect of the Templars, I did mention that earlier, he fulfilled a further role for various bishops and even popes. Much of his time was devoted to travelling across the continent reaching out here and there, brokering agreements and drawing disparate groups together. Building a network of related parties. If you wanted to hide St Bernard in your tableau but still show his role to those in the know, I suggest that the vine or network would capture that role just about perfectly.

  ‘It reaches out to other places, links up, binds together; trusted with the secrets of others, brokering settlements - yes, the vine’s your man. Add in the gold colouring and heavy-laden fruits, which some might read as luxuriant and wealthy, while others might read as smart and highly valued. I’d go for the latter myself by the way.’ She stopped and listened into the silence.

  ‘That is interesting,’ said Helen. ‘I can follow your reasoning. Can see how that all comes together really well, certainly fits our concept perfectly. But Sandi, what about the burning bush, how does that fit in?’

  ‘Yes this is where the image changes. Remember, I would guess that the original glasswork was removed completely and hidden during or even a bit before the Covenanter period. Otherwise I suspect that it would have been destroyed as idolatrous or popish or some such. Whoever reinstated it, and you’re indicating that happened when the church was rebuilt during the eighteenth century, would have had to temper the imagery. Even then, the original would have been too rich an image to be tolerated. I think the bare minimum was included. Hence, the blue glass goes, the golden vine vanishes.

  ‘So, a burning bush in place of the golden vine. The connotations don’t align perfectly, but if somebody was trying to recreate a message, using less contentious imagery, then the burning bush was a good idea at a time when colourful thoughts were liable to suppression. Old Testament fire and brimstone, that suited the austere approach of the time, probably still does in fact. Then you pay your money and you take your choice. God speaking to Moses from within the burning bush has been interpreted in several ways. But one option that might fit your story is the idea that Moses, the leader of the chosen people, is being sent out from there to free the people, or perhaps to gather them in. What do you think?’

  Sam and Helen eyed each other silently. There was potential in Sandi’s line of thinking, a great deal of potential, but they didn’t want to drag her into the mix.

  ‘Sandi, I think that’s really interesting, something for us to work on,’ said Sam. ‘Thank you for your time. We really appreciate it.’

  ‘No problem, Sam. Thanks for bringing it to me. It was fun to think about something a bit different. If it really is a code and you need a bit more expert help, then you know where to find me.’

  ‘Thanks from me too,’ said Helen. ‘You put me to shame; perhaps I should have paid a bit more attention at theology college.’

  ‘No problem, and don’t feel bad. Some of this stuff is pretty esoteric. It’s not your everyday material.’

  ‘Thanks, but Sandi, just to be on the safe side, be a bit careful. There are people around who seem very interested in our puzzle. And they’re not so nice,’ said Sam.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me, I can look after myself,’ said Sandi as she hung up.

  Helen gave Sam a look that morphed into a smile. ‘Well, is this progress?’

  ‘It is. Well actually, perhaps not so much progress, more a second puzzle.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, first, we believe the daggers represent a map or message. We don’t know of what and can only put it together once we’ve gathered them all in. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Second, we now think the church window, which is also repeated in the codex from Hereford, represents a list of churches.’ Sam paused and watched for her agreement.

  Helen nodded.

  ‘But we don’t know where the churches are. For instance, across Europe how many Mary Magdalene churches do you think there are? Hundreds, perhaps thousands. I don’t know. So, to find the missing daggers we have to find the correct churches and we don’t have the slightest idea where to look for the churches concerned. It’s still a needle in a haystack. Though, granted, maybe now we know which haystacks to search. I can’t help feeling we’re still missing something else; we’re not seeing the whole picture. I’m going to need to sleep on it. In the meantime I think I’ll give Xavier a call and keep him posted - Francis and Elaine too. Everyone needs to be up to speed and this is a new perspective.’

  ‘Okay, you do that. I said I would phone home and see how everyone’s doing there,’ said Helen.

  • • •

  Lying on the floor of the cleaning store was a woman. Her face quite tranquil, only a slight speck of blood showed on the front of her tabard to signal where the slimmest of knives had slipped under her ribcage and pierced her heart. At that moment, she had felt nothing but surprise as Collette pressed the steel into her body; she would feel nothing ever again.

  Now dressed with a similar coloured tabard, Collette pushed the cleaner’s trolley along a corridor and parked it next to a lift entrance. Taking a brush and duster, she set off to search for Sandi McLellan’s room. Moving steadily along a wood panelled corridor, she allowed the brush to sweep across the black and white flooring. Suddenly she stopped, furious: tucked up high in a corner was a security camera. That has to be dealt with she thought.

  At that moment, there was a
bustle behind her as a little crowd of visitors made their way into the broad black and white tiled corridor and on towards the performance space; The Church of Scotland’s Assembly Hall, which linked directly to New College, was a Festival venue, hosting evening events. The cleaner did not register in the consciousness of the passing crowd and she was effectively invisible as she retreated out of the corridor.

  A little while later, Collette smiled to herself. In spite of the inconvenience of the camera, this was no big challenge. By keeping the building open into the evening, the management might just as well have handed her the alarm codes. She paused outside a door marked Sandi McClellan. This should not take too long; her computer records for the day would quickly reveal whatever she was working on with Sam Cameron.

  The door was locked and she used the cleaner’s passkey. Once in, she powered up the computer and broke the code to search the day’s activity. There was a new folder named Sam Cameron, which she copied. Then she searched the office carefully - cupboard by cupboard, drawer by drawer, everything, everywhere. She unearthed printouts of the computer images, saw they had notes jotted here and there across them, they all went into her pocket.

  Search over, she rolled her trolley out into the corridor, locked the office and took the lift down, headed back for the cleaning store to deposit the trolley beside its owner and then jam the door locked. No one would find the cleaner until next day at the earliest. By which time she would be long gone.

  She had one final task to do before leaving; the CCTV camera recording from the black and white corridor had to be deleted.

  Having picked up a floor plan on her travels, she knew now where she needed to go. Moving quietly through the building, she reached a balcony from where she could look down on to the reception. Behind the reception desk sat her target, a man. Then she saw a second man standing beside the desk. From the men’s direction of gaze and the mix of quiet voices reaching her she could tell there was at least one other standing out of her line of sight.

  There must be extra staff on duty tonight for the Festival. She was good but she did not think she could take out the three men without risking an alarm being raised. Anyway, right now, festival goers were buzzing to and fro in the quad outside the reception windows - there was no privacy for her to work in. For now, she just could not access the recording. Thinking a curse, she eased back from the balcony and retraced her steps, using the cleaner’s swipe card to let herself out of another exit at the rear of the building.