by Jon Mackley
‘I was a fool. No, I was desperate. I let her come back.
‘We spent the night together, both uncomfortable with the familiarity, but a part of it was like we’d never been apart. She knew my ways, I knew hers. It’s impossible to break that intimacy.
‘She left that morning to tell her mother she was moving in with me. She’d take no arguments. She said I needed someone to be there.’
He took a mouthful of coffee and paused, uncertain whether to swallow it or not.
‘She never made it home,’ Will said finally. ‘I got a call. There’d been a car accident. That wasn’t the worst. Her mother held me responsible. Irrational, but she needed someone to blame. I tried to go to the funeral, just to say my goodbyes, but I wasn’t allowed to be there. Her father saw me off.
‘That was the last thing I knew. I wandered. I’d no intention of going home. I had my bank card, I could have wandered as long as I wanted. I walked. I don’t know how long I walked, or where. There were nights I slept under bridges, drunk, unable to face anyone.’ He let out a long exhalation. ‘This is the first time I’ve talked about this.’
‘What about those men?’ Unconsciously, Lara motioned towards the door. Will’s eyes darted there nervously.
‘They never talked to me,’ he said in a caustic tone. ‘They might if they’d caught me. Well, maybe not “talk”, maybe “inter-rogate”.’
‘What do they want?’
Will didn’t answer for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and serious. ‘When I looked for shelter, I found a maze of tunnels, just outside Bath.’ Now his voice had become a conspiratorial whisper. ‘There are places in this country we aren’t meant to know about. It was a storage area for ammunition used on D-Day. It’s supposed to be for storage now, but only a small bit is used commercially.’ He stared past her, remembering. ‘It’s hard to map. I think I found the back door. There weren’t many people there. Manual workers, a few security guards, except they weren’t regular security: they had guns. I stayed away from them, like Gollum, except I didn’t have the ring to make me invisible.’
He picked up his coffee cup again and glanced at his watch. ‘I should stop. Train’ll be here soon.’
‘Half an hour,’ Lara said defiantly. ‘Carry on.’
Will made a noncommittal gesture. ‘I got hungry. I got daring, looking for guards’ sandwiches. Instead of finding a mess hall, I found a storage chamber, except this wasn’t something you’d leave Securitas in charge of.’
‘What was there?’ Lara asked, breathlessly.
‘Ancient papyri. There were maps of Iraq showing where Babylon once was. There were medieval manuscripts of Gnostic gospels – books that never got into the Bible – and scrolls from the library at Alexandra.’
Lara held up her hand. ‘I don’t follow. What’s so special about them?’
Will stared at her quizzically. ‘The Alexandrian library had the most advanced collection of manuscripts for its time. It put the British Library to shame.’
‘So?’
‘It burned down a couple of thousand years ago and all the manuscripts were destroyed with it.’
‘So the tunnels contained rare antiquities? Maybe they were being catalogued?’
He shook his head. ‘Another thing – the bindings were in modern German.’
‘They’d been brought from a German museum?’
‘No. There’s a story that Hitler was mad about the occult. He thought supernatural powers might help his war effort.’ He glanced at his watch again. ‘I think this store room might have held some of the things Hitler found.’
‘So why are they following you? Do they want to know what you found?’ She shook her head. ‘No, this isn’t real. This sounds like a conspiracy, a corrupt and secret organisation …’
‘But that’s what it is. I saw some of the manuscripts. They weren’t supposed to exist.’
‘What did you see? What was so important?’
‘The completed Canterbury Tales,’ Will started. ‘Only one tale for each pilgrim, but it includes “The Ploughman’s Tale”, and tales from the Guildsmen, as well as what they did when they reached Thomas à Becket’s Shrine in Canterbury.’
‘What did they do?’
‘Got pissed, just like in the rest of the tales. And the Wife of Bath chose Harry Bailey as her sixth husband.’
Lara stifled a laugh, but then her face grew serious again. ‘How d’you know it wasn’t a forgery?’
‘If it’s a forgery then I’m Prince Edward,’ Will snapped. ‘Normally Chaucer’s scribes copied the manuscripts for him. He never wrote any in his own hand, except this one. I’ve seen his signature on the account rolls of the Smithfield Tournament of 1390. The writing is identical, even down to the nib he was using.’
‘That doesn’t explain why you’re being followed,’ Lara said, but then realisation dawned. ‘You took one!’
Will nodded.
‘Can’t you take it back? It’s not a crime to be better read in Chaucer than your average scholar. What did you take to make you a danger to National Security?’ When Will raised an eyebrow, Lara continued. ‘You must have something vital to them. That’s it, isn’t it? They don’t chase you with dogs because you’ve got an overdue library book.’
Will nodded. ‘It’s a manuscript, like everything else there.’ He reached into his coat. There was a large inner pocket. From this he withdrew a small battered codex. The cover was cured red leather; the folios cut from uneven sheets of vellum. Will held it like an over-protective parent.
‘What is it?’ Lara wondered.
‘A fourteenth-century poem called Gawain and the Green Knight. It’s a second copy of the text.’
‘What does that mean? What happened to the first copy?’
‘It’s in the British library. It’s so rare, you practically have to sign in blood to see it.’ He tapped the cover. ‘This one is pretty much identical. A second copy.’
‘Why’s it different from what I read at school?’ she asked.
‘You read Gawain at school?’ Will was surprised.
‘And Geoffrey of Monmouth,’ Lara added.
‘I’m impressed,’ Will said, opening the manuscript. Lara stared at the letters. They were a faded scrawl across browned pages, almost unreadable. Some of the characters were part of an alphabet she didn’t know. The version of Gawain she’d read was nothing like this: she’d been able to read that! She stared at it in frustration, trying to re-focus her eyes to see the writing. ‘This is definitely Gawain,’ Will said. He opened the manuscript carefully, the vellum strained, threatening to crack. Eventually, he found the place he wanted to read. ‘“Siþen þe sege and þe assault watz sesed at Troye,’ he recited proudly. Looking at her he said: ‘That means “Since the siege and the assault was ceased at Troy”. It’s easier when you recognise the characters.’ He reached into the inside pocket on the other side of his coat and pulled out a small notebook. He wrote on a fresh page: Gawain and þe Grene Kniᵹt.
Lara stared at it and started to read out loud. ‘Gawain and …’ she paused and stumbled over the next word. ‘Per?’ she asked, looking up at Will like a schoolchild expecting the teacher to tell her the answer.
‘The letter’s called “thorn”. They stopped using it in the fourteenth century. “Th”, like the beginning of … well “thorn”.’ He gave her a gentle, encouraging smile. ‘See? “Sithen the sege”. It’s not hard. Anyway, you can get past the next word. What about the last one?’
Lara sighed stoically. ‘It’s got to be “knight” by association. I don’t think the poet called his masterpiece, “Gawain and the Green Aardvark!”’
‘The letter’s called yogh. Pronounced “ch”, like in the Scottish word “loch”.’ He smiled, then concealed the manuscript back in his pocket. ‘So much for linguistics. We ought to get that train.’ He started to get up, but then he paused, glancing at her. ‘You don’t have to come. I’ve not kidnapped you. You can go anywhere you want.’
He patted his pocket. ‘But this is more than a book with fancy letters. I think there’s a trail to follow. The more I read it, the more I think the poet left codes. I think this might lead to something that’s been hidden for six hundred years. That’s why Hitler had it; if he’d invaded England he’d have set his troops to find whatever’s at the end of this trail and use it against America and become emperor of the world.’
‘Isn’t that melodramatic? Aren’t history teachers supposed to look for the truth?’
‘Truth is for philosophers. History’s written by the winning side. I want to know why this poem has been tied in with the linguistics.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s perfect, it’s too perfect. It’s like this text’s been divinely inspired.’
‘Now that really sounds melodramatic!’
Will regarded her coldly. ‘Maybe. But everything that’s happened today’s been melodramatic.’ His gaze was steady. ‘They almost caught me. Now I’ve got away, I’ve got time to work out why there’s another copy of a supposedly unique manuscript.’ He looked at his watch. ‘My train to Chester leaves in ten minutes.’
‘Why Chester?’
‘The poet came from Chester. He was writing about what he knew.’ He chewed his lips. ‘I don’t have time to convince you about it all. Nor why those men might think I’ve cracked the code.’
‘Have you?’
‘Not yet, but I’m close.’
‘Then why should I come?’
‘Maybe because you’ve nowhere else to go? I’m running. I’m going to keep running until I’ve found out what’s behind Gawain. This is something someone’s been trying to cover up. Maybe they burned down the Cotton library just to stop this manuscript from being seen again?’ He glanced at his watch again. ‘I really do have to go now, Lara. Whatever you’re running from, they won’t find you if you keep moving. But maybe you might want to stay in Birmingham. There are worse places.’
Lara grimaced. ‘Not many.’ She shook her head. ‘Too close to Stamford. I need to get further away.’
‘Not too far away though,’ Will advised. ‘Whoever it is will look for you locally, then jump to quite a distance, hopefully missing you in the middle.’
Lara nodded. ‘All right, I’ll come. For a while, at least. But if you’re headed to Chester, won’t those men know that?’
‘No,’ Will said. ‘They’re grunts, soldiers paid to accept orders and not think for themselves. They can’t read this. They’ve no idea about the history of the manuscript or why I’ll go to Chester. But it doesn’t matter. They’ll find me eventually. They always do.’
3
Will had said nothing on the train as far as Crewe. Lara sat facing him. His dark-ringed eyes were closed. He was pale. And she drifted into memories of her childhood.
‘Regrets?’ Will said suddenly.
Lara started, surprised he was looking at her. ‘Not yet,’ Lara snapped, then flushed. ‘Sorry, that was rude.’
‘Not at all,’ Will said passively. ‘They’re your thoughts.’
He closed his eyes again. Lara watched him. She thought it was strange that he had spoken, and then avoided looking at her. But then, a lot about him was strange. He didn’t look like someone who’d been standing on a railway line only hours before. But then, what did someone with suicidal tendencies look like? ‘I was thinking about my father,’ she admitted eventually.
‘Aren’t you a little old to be running away from home?’ Will said without opening his eyes.
‘Not running away,’ Lara said. ‘Going back. ‘I was born near Chester, in a village not far away. A village called Beaded. Hardly a village. It’s so small it isn’t on most maps. SatNavs have a problem finding it.’ She shivered involuntarily. ‘Its only claim to fame is its thirteenth-century church.’
‘I thought you were looking edgy. Explains what you said about facing ghosts.’
‘I don’t have many happy memories of the place. My father still lives there.’
‘Just your father?’
Lara nodded.
‘No mother?’
Lara shook her head. ‘She died when I was born. My father never spoke about her, never showed me photographs. They were both older than my friends’ parents.’ She realised she was blushing, as if her parents’ age was a crime.
‘What did your father do?’
‘For a living? Teacher.’
Will smiled. ‘Now you’re talking shop.’
‘He was a good one, I think. Traditional. But he retired and practically became a hermit when my mother died.’ Her eyes glazed over; she almost felt she could look through the mists of time. ‘I remember sitting on his lap and he read me stories. Not adventure stories that my friends read, but Shakespeare. He was fond of Twelfth Night and The Comedy of Errors. So fond of them that I wasn’t allowed to read any others.’ She smiled. ‘I could recite them by the age of ten. But my father had a wonderful soporific voice. He used to play all the characters himself.’ Her face suddenly clouded over as if remembering a bitter memory. ‘Funny, those were the only plays he ever read to me. He almost went mad when I read Hamlet. He said it was too violent.’
Will said nothing. Lara laughed uncomfortably. ‘Well, enough trivialities. Tell me more about Gawain.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘What happens? It’s a long time since I read it.’
Will nodded. He brought the manuscript out of the inner pocket, opened it and showed it to Lara. She stared at the words on the page, peering at them as if that would help make sense of the language. ‘The version I read was very different. I could read that. This is all Greek to me.’
Will smiled. ‘Actually, it’s Middle English.’
‘Doesn’t matter. I still can’t read it.’
Will leaned back. ‘It’s set when Camelot’s in its infancy. It’s Christmas. Arthur’s put a downer on the evening. He won’t eat until he’s heard a tale of valour or seen a battle to make his blood run. Anyway, a Knight rides in. His clothes, skin and beard are all green. He’s handsome and terrifying, carrying a massive axe. The Green Knight challenges Arthur; he says Arthur can hit him as hard as he likes with the axe and he’ll match that stroke a year and a day later.’
‘Sounds daft,’ Lara said. ‘Why’d he do that?’
‘A show of power. After all, no one thinks he’s going to deliver the return blow. Not if he’s dead. So, it puts the fear of God into them. Then Gawain steps in and cleaves the Green Knight’s head from his shoulders.’
‘Primitive, but effective.’
‘Absolutely, or so Gawain thinks. The Green Knight picks up the severed head, which speaks to Gawain and tells him to look for him in a Green Chapel to receive the return blow a year later.’
‘Not Gawain’s day then,’ Lara said, smiling. ‘I bet he wasn’t expecting that.’
‘I bet he wasn’t,’ Will said, returning her grin. ‘So off rides the Green Knight. A year later, Gawain sets out to find the Green Chapel. He travels through Wales and Northern England until he sees a castle. The Lord makes him welcome, tells him to stay a while: after all, the Green Chapel is only a couple of hours ride away. Then the Lord offers Gawain a challenge: the Lord will go hunting in the forests and give his spoils to Gawain, while Gawain stays in the castle and Gawain will give whatever he receives to the Lord. Gawain agrees.’
‘Sounds too good to be true. You’d have thought he’d’ve learned from the first challenge.’
‘Rule of thumb in Medieval England: if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is, so never accept challenges. You might be called a coward, but you might keep your head on your shoulders.’ Will smiled again. ‘Anyway, the following morning the Lord hunts a pack of does. Gawain has a lie-in and is woken by his host’s wife. She tries to seduce him. Gawain shies away from his reputation of shagging anything in a skirt and seems embarrassed by the situation.’
Lara raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds like every man’s dream. To be seduced and not do any of the work.’
Will ignored her. ‘Eventually he concedes the lady a kiss, and when the lord returns, Gawain gives the kiss to him.’
Lara choked back a laugh. ‘He kissed the Lord? What kind of writer was this medieval creep?’
‘It’s called the Exchange of Winnings. Gawain kept his word and gave up everything he received during the day; but he didn’t have to explain where the kiss came from. It’s the same the next day. The Lord hunts a wild boar, and the Lady’s advances become bolder. She persuades Gawain to give her two kisses, which are given to the Lord on his return.
‘By the third day, the Lady realises Gawain isn’t going to take advantage of her body, so she gives him a silk girdle. Gawain only accepts it because the Lady says it’ll make him invulnerable to the Green Knight’s blade. It’s not a love token. Meanwhile, the Lord is out hunting a fox. Gawain doesn’t surrender the girdle in the final exchange of winnings; it’d be dishonourable to tell the Lord his wife was giving out love tokens and contemplating adultery. Instead he gives the Lord the three kisses he won from his wife.’
‘Sneak,’ Lara said. She considered this, ‘Priceless silk would’ve trumped the dead fox. Gawain conceded the game?’
Will nodded. ‘The following morning, Gawain sets out to the Green Chapel. The Green Knight is waiting for him. Gawain accepts his Fate and bares his neck for the axe. Twice the Green Knight feigns the blow and the third time Gawain receives a slight nick in the neck. The Green Knight explains each attempt represented a day Gawain spent in the castle. For two faultless days Gawain resisted the Lady’s temptation, but on the third day he concealed his prize, not a love token, but an attempt to save his own life.’
‘That doesn’t sound very fair,’ Lara said. ‘Sounds like Gawain was trapped between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea.’
‘That was the point. Gawain couldn’t abuse his host’s hospitality, and it would be discourteous to offend his host’s wife. Handing over the silk girdle might have meant the Lord could have killed his wife for contemplating infidelity.’
