The Keeper's Cup: A Controversial Archaeological Thriller

by Ken Fry

  He thought about the conversations he just had with both Miriam and Kelvin. He still thought it was imaginative rubbish. But it was so unlike Miriam. She had always been scientific, level-headed, and never prone to mysterious, imaginative wanderings. This mission was turning out to be like no other he had been on. The more he thought upon it, the more he felt she had experienced something that neither of them had previous knowledge of.

  He considered Kelvin’s role. He had always been passive in such discussions and only ventured an opinion when asked. He certainly had no part in her visions. However, he had never scoffed at Miriam’s tales and understood what she was going through. Something he knew he was lacking. Miriam didn’t even want to tell him about her experiences at first. But he told Kelvin. He felt the brittle touch of jealousy. That had never happened before.

  They had informed him it was time to go back. The moat was a series of large ditches and she said it wasn’t worth looking at. The tunnel they had uncovered at Glastonbury was of more interest. Oddly, he found himself agreeing with her. There was no scientific reason why, only a nagging prompt in the back of his mind.

  The Aramaic language should never be where it was, thousands of miles from its homeland. However, here it was in England, and in most mysterious circumstances. How? Not only was it in written form but spoken in Miriam’s visions. He believed her now. For those who chose to hear and see, it was a clarion call.

  Overriding all this, he wondered what Pope Adrian thought of it all. It was breathtaking for him, no doubt. Cardinal Nicholas and Father Vincenzo were not seekers of the truth. They were opportunists and would seize the best moment to use it all to their advantage. Fergal knew the pope could be in danger from many quarters.

  He agreed to terminate the Enfield mission for the time being and return back to the West Country. He called out to them both.

  “You two are right. God knows why I’ve reached that conclusion, but we are returning back to the Tor.” At that moment, his phone rang. He checked the screen. It was Inspector Rizzo.

  “Inspector?”

  “Professor, I have a dilemma.”

  Before Fergal could reply, Rizzo explained the warranty problem, and asked if they had seen any of his suspects. Then added, “Did you discover anything new?”

  “We did. Gold and old nails, and in very unusual circumstances. We are on our way back with it. We have already informed Vincenzo who is busting his gut to get a look.”

  “Excellent. I need to speak closer with you. Before you show him, I need to see you first. Agreed?”

  “Okay, Inspector. I’ll call you on my return.” Fergal paused. It was not every day he was asked to help a policeman. “I’ll do what I can, but it won’t be much. Talk later.”

  53

  Glastonbury

  The professor called Rizzo as promised. They were now fully updated with each other’s concerns and have shared the information they possessed. They agreed to keep Vincenzo in the dark, to a great extent. The priest was still unaware of the team’s early return and that Fergal was in communication with Rizzo. It would remain that way as long as possible.

  Fergal was respectful of Miriam’s call to return and the importance of the work they had started at the far end of the tunnel. He had noticed the discernible change in Miriam’s attitude and behaviour. She had become quieter and her usual chatter had ceased. When she did speak, it was positive, curt, and to the point. It was so unlike her. She was different now from the Miriam he knew.

  It became darker the further they moved into the tunnel. The walls were a mixture of soil, dirt, and surprisingly, polished stonework. Without asking, and out of character, Miriam gave a direct order. “Bring in and wire up the generators. We need more light here.”

  Fergal raised an eyebrow but said nothing. There’s no doubt she’s acting differently.

  The equipment was wheeled in and wired up, and powerful lighting illuminated the complex like it had never witnessed before. Never ever.

  Fergal stood straight. The structure they were in was over seven feet in height. Running his hand over the limestone walls, he was surprised to see and feel how smooth they were, and the perfectly aligned jointing and fitting. It was the work of skilled craftsmen.

  The initial tunnel appeared to be a series of chambers and passageways, just as the LIDAR had hinted at earlier. A series of rock carved rooms led forward to reveal amazing chairs and tables, roughly carved and hewn from the rock and stone. Fergal gasped. Miriam said nothing, as she remained stock still with Kelvin standing alongside her.

  * * *

  For what felt like an eternity, a thought swirled in her mind. I know this place. The recollection wouldn’t leave her. She closed her eyes, but the thought persisted.

  Fergal gave voice to what they were all thinking. “This place was used for something. Looks like a stone age pub straight from the ‘Flintstones.’”

  The quip raised a laugh amongst them all.

  Miriam didn’t respond. She remained expressionless.

  He carried on. “It looks like a secret meeting place, a witch’s coven or a Druid connection.”

  “No chance the Druids had a hand in this, Fergy.” Kelvin looked offended. “Druids hold everything in the open, in contact with the natural world. This place is not natural.”

  Miriam suddenly said, “The doors are ahead. Follow me.” Her voice was commanding and gave no room for argument.

  “Doors? What doors?” Fergal looked puzzled, but found himself obeying her, and following behind Kelvin and the others.

  They came to a point where the tunnel suddenly widened.

  “Oh my god!” Fergal was lost for words.

  There, at the widest part of the opening… were two large doors – aged by time but perfectly preserved in the constant cool temperature.

  Miriam stood still and perfectly straight. She said nothing but pointed to the clearly visible symbol spanning the double doors.

  The party was struck into silence. All they could do was stand and stare.

  Miriam clasped Kelvin’s arm. She recalled the voice of Ganna in her head: We have waited so long. Go back from where you came. You are worthy. Through the doors you may go. Your light shines brighter and your time here is done. The way has been shown.

  A sense of peace descended upon her and she was happy just to be there.

  The professor’s voice broke the spell. He spoke in an excited but hushed whisper. “I know what this is. It’s the Portuguese Cross, the Templar’s symbol for the Order of Christ! What’s a Portuguese cross doing here in an English tunnel beneath Glastonbury Tor? I’m trying to get my head around this. The Order was ruthlessly annihilated in 1312 by the then Pope Clement V. They eventually fled to Portugal, and King Denis of Portugal refused the pope’s commands and gave them refuge. It was rumoured that they brought with them much wealth – secret and sacred objects. Their military zeal and love of Christ was legendary. They survived and are still around today, I hear.”

  “This is the door she told me of.” Miriam stood transfixed.

  “Your vision voice?” Fergal sounded irritated. It was not easy to change a lifetime’s opinion overnight. “Well, let’s get it open.” He moved toward the door.

  “No, you do not!” Miriam turned and blocked the door with her body, her arms spread out. Kelvin turned with her and stood beside her.

  Fergal came to a sudden and bewildered halt. “What?” Without waiting, he ducked behind their arms and pushed at the doors. They refused to open. Other team members came to his assistance, but the doors refused to budge.

  For a moment, both Kelvin and Miriam looked annoyed. Their command had been ignored. Their anger soon turned to amusement. Fergal was straining and searching for a way to prise open the doors.

  “Move over, Fergal.”

  As frustrated as he was, Fergal found himself obeying her once again.

  She shook her head at him. “You have no idea at times, have you?” Inwardly, she felt as if her entire m
ind and body were experiencing a complete transformation. So many mysteries and unanswered questions were falling into place.

  He stepped back with a puzzled look on his face. Miriam moved closer to the door and again, Kelvin followed beside her. As everyone looked on, silence filled the area. She nodded at Kelvin, before uttering a prayer to the woman she had first seen.

  I am here. Allow Ganna’s words to be true.

  For a moment, all that could be heard was the encompassing silence. Then, without a sound, both doors moved inward and began to open.

  The way was clear.

  54

  A few hours had passed since Pope Adrian had finished his pausa prenzo – his daily lunch break. It was his customary fare – a dish of pasta, a second of fresh fish, and a side dish with cheese followed by several cups of coffee. Of late, he thought his digestive system was getting to complain too much. He’d been experiencing severe stomach cramps, nausea, sweaty breathlessness, and diarrhoea. He didn’t know what to put it down to. It frequently attacked after meals. He began to suspect, as the doctors had suggested, that he had developed an ulcer – probably caused by his concerns over SOTA and the situation revolving around Cardinal Nicholas.

  The inspector had not been able to produce any further evidence of the cardinal’s role in the murder of Bishop Fisher, although he had damning material on the cardinal’s role in a plot to dispose of Rizzo.

  Obeying Rizzo’s request, he could only marvel at the workings of the police, but he had carried on with the cardinal, pretending there was nothing amiss. Cardinal Nicholas had reappeared and said he’d been in England checking out the SOTA activities. He had nothing to report except that he was off to Florence for a private engagement. Pope Adrian knew for certain what that was. It was a secret rally of the cardinal’s supporters. Their agenda, he knew was the ultimate overthrow of his papacy, and a return to a medieval structure of Catholic beliefs and actions.

  In the midst of these thoughts, another crippling surge of pain sent him scurrying to the bathroom. The half-digested remains of his lunch disappeared down the toilet. He stood bent over the bowl as a dripping cold sweat broke out across his entire body. Minutes later, he stood upright, wiped his face clean, and staggered back into his main room. His hands were trembling, but the pain was beginning to subside. His smartphone was ringing, and the screen showed Rizzo’s name. He took a deep breath as he quickly assessed his body.

  “Inspector Rizzo. What can I do for you?” The last wisps of pain had evaporated.

  Rizzo related his conversation with the professor and the on-going situation regarding Cracker. “At the moment, Holy Father, I am powerless. All I can do is watch and wait. You may be receiving good news from SOTA soon. I see they have been remarkably busy and excited. I will keep in contact and if I have more information on Cardinal Nicholas, I will let you know immediately.”

  “May God bless and keep you safe.” The pope spoke quickly and thought, me also, as another burst of pain stretched itself around his stomach. He placed his phone down and made a mental note to summons his doctor the following day.

  * * *

  Rizzo was not good at doing nothing. He had run and rerun the circumstances concerning Vincenzo and Cracker. He decided to set up his own plan and lure both men into playing their hand. In doing so, they would risk being exposed and arrested by the UK police. All he had to do was stay alive and uninjured. He had one major advantage… he knew what they had planned and discussed. It was risky, but if successful, he would get closer to implicating and arresting the cardinal. He picked up his phone and with a determined stance and voice, called Father Vincenzo.

  He promptly answered. “Inspector, I was just thinking of you.”

  I bet you were. “I’d like to take you up on your offer of showing me the place where the finds are being made. To see what is causing such interest could be helpful in my investigations.”

  The silence was lengthy, and Rizzo was not going to break it. He thought he could hear Vincenzo’s brain doing somersaults.

  Vincenzo replied, “Of course, Inspector. I have a couple of matters I must attend to but let me call you back later today and perhaps, we can arrange something for tomorrow. Yes?”

  “I look forward to it, Father. I’ll except your call later.” That will give him time to call Cracker.

  Later that evening, Rizzo received his call. Vincenzo was not so available.

  “Inspector, I have to make my reports tomorrow and check on the excavations, and that may take a while. After that, we can make firm arrangements. That is ok?”

  “I await your call, Father.” He replied sourly.

  He expected trouble and guessed a trap was being fixed. But he was as ready as he could be for it. He set about his next task. He unpacked his Beretta, before expertly dismantling it. He ensured all parts were functioning and smooth running. It was standard Italian police procedure. There would be less chances of the gun jamming or misfiring. The anticipated meeting would be interesting.

  55

  The gloom of centuries flooded from the exposed area. Everyone present gaped, expecting riches to be revealed. But before them, there was only an all-embracing, womblike darkness, punctuated by what seemed like the sound of rushing water.

  “Lights, please.” The professor broke the spell.

  Two sets of generator powered arc lights were wheeled over, until they shone brightly into the forgotten area. The brightness cast shadows of them all across the perfectly smooth walls, where fiery torches had once hung.

  Everyone was frozen, waiting to see what the lights would uncover.

  A beam of light cut through the central area and a square shaped room revealed itself. Fergal did a quick assessment. The area covered about fifty square metres and every surface, including the floor, was completely smooth. He checked his thermometer. The temperature stood at ten degrees centigrade and must have remained that way since it had been constructed. A thousand thoughts rushed through his mind. The Portuguese Templar symbol on the door would indicate that it was these knights who had constructed this remarkable edifice. But how and why?

  The lighting was wheeled closer and began to pan slowly around the entire structure.

  Miriam and Kelvin had not moved. They stood motionless, wrapped in their own all-knowing quietness.

  The lights continued its exploration and swung down to the far end. There before them stood a grey coloured block of limestone the size of a park bench, but taller at chest height. The lighting pivoted on to it, first to the right and then to the left. Clearly visible were numerous stave-like indentations. There was no doubt they were runic. Intermingled with these were undeniable etched crucifixes.

  When all the lights picked it out, it was unremarkable. What stood on it was not. That caused a gasp all around.

  “Nobody move!” Miriam’s command echoed around the chamber as she spread out her arms wide in both directions. It had the desired effect. Not a foot moved and that included Fergal.

  She approached with care. Kelvin remained where he stood, spreading his own arms out wide as she moved forward. The closer she got the clearer it became.

  Three metres off, and she was able to see what had riveted everybody’s attention. In front of her stood an oblong glass container, each side held in place by what looked like gold struts on each corner angle. It measured about eighteen inches in height and about twelve inches both in width and depth. The glass surround was blemished and covered in the dust and detritus of centuries passed. She could not see what it contained, but whatever it was, it was an object of veneration.

  The voices of both Ganna and the lady in white returned to her mind. She could not prevent it nor was she surprised. She both welcomed and wanted them. As the seconds ticked by, the more she understood what was happening around her. Everything was falling into place.

  A dawning certainty, without rules and guidelines, began to envelope and soften her cemented science. Her logic began its inevitable collapse.

&nb
sp; She found herself resisting until the end, but it was useless. She surrendered.

  You are near… You draw close.

  An intensely personal experience began to transcend all that she had ever learnt. She felt she was going beyond… on a never-ending journey. There was nothing to know, nothing to learn. It was all so simple, and it had been staring her in the face from the time she was born. Only at this moment, after all these years, was she able to see it. Her memory took her back across the centuries and it was only then she knew from where she came.

  She moved closer and reached out to touch the glass. Her head rolled back and a well of laughter erupted from her which soon became a bubbling sob.

  Not a sound came from the team behind her. Transfixed, puzzled, and for a reason they did not know… they were awestruck.

  Kelvin remained as a tree with arms that did not tire – outstretched, forbidding anyone to approach. Nobody dared.

  Her hand rubbed gently at the tarnished glass surface. She knew what she would find there. Disconnected biblical quotes rippled through her mind. Religion had never been part of her make up, but she could remember various parts of the Bible.

  My cup runneth over. Drink ye all of it.

  What lay beneath the glass slowly came into view. It had the shape and size of a goblet made of wood, perfectly preserved. It appeared to have a tight lid screwed on the top. Without any thought or consideration, Miriam found herself kneeling in front of it. It seemed the natural thing she should do. She bent her head. There was little need to speak. Her thoughts were all that was required.