‘Oh no, sir. I endeavour never to have too many balls in the air at one time, for you never know when one might require closer attention.’
‘A sensible option,’ Jardine smiled approvingly. ‘I, on the other hand, always seem to have half a dozen different projects on the go at one time, and look at me now, about to launch yet another into orbit. And I could not have done it without you.’
Puzzled, Horne looked again at the documents that Jardine had been perusing when he entered the room, maps and diagrams mainly, which appeared to have some connection with a fresh water well that was being sunk in an Afghani village.
Jardine followed his gaze. ‘No, no, no. That, I am pleased to say, has now passed out of my jurisdiction, into the hands of the Royal Engineers who will construct the edifice, and the missionaries who will watch over it. I am speaking of something far closer to home. Come, we can talk while we are walking.’
He collected his cloak; Horne, who had yet to remove his, simply followed the Reverend on to the street.
‘A very interesting letter,’ Jardine began without preamble. ‘Although not necessarily comprised of points that I have not considered in the past – myself and many generations of past and, dare I predict, future scholars. But as you know, just because we understand how and even why the Bible was constructed in the way it was, that does not mean we can step back in time and reverse what we now perceive to be its errors. For, who knows, in years to come, others might be forced to go back and revise ours. And then what do you have? A constantly shifting, constantly contradictory tale that would be of no use to anybody. The Bible is important because, no matter how society might change and grow, no matter how liberal ... or otherwise ... our interpretations of life’s meaning may become, one thing remains constant, immutable, unchanging. And that is the anchor by which our faith is secured. Uproot that anchor and we have nothing.
‘Learning, however, is another matter entirely. The Lord said many things, and performed many miracles throughout his short life on earth, and even the most stubborn bishop will agree that there are many that the Bible omitted. That is why we preserve those other texts that we talked about; that is why there is always such excitement when a new one emerges. And that, I’m afraid, is why the average man in the street knows so little, if anything, about their very existence. For if you were to offer him not four, but eight, sixteen, thirty-two different Gospels, every one of which can be vouchsafed as accurate as another, what would you have? Religious anarchy, and more brazen new cults arising than even the last two decades have witnessed.
‘The Church keeps these mysteries to itself then, to be shared only with those trusted outsiders whose interest extends no further than scholarship, and who would no more think of propagating their learning to the general public than you would consider flying to the moon on a tea-cup.’ He raised a hand in admonishment, a familiar gesture that instinctively silenced whatever interjection that Horne was about to deliver. ‘Whether this is right or wrong is immaterial. What you or I think about this policy is so beneath consideration as to be contemptible. It is what the Church believes to be in its best interest that matters, and this is the approach it has taken – has always taken, since the time of Bishop Irenaeus.’
‘So what is to become of the Gospel?’ Horne asked. ‘Locked away in a vault somewhere, to be pored over by men who would not know the difference between a cock and a clitoris, unless they were labelled in Aramaic and lost in the desert for a thousand years?’
‘It will be ... in fact, it already has been turned over to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who assures me that, once the parchment is authenticated and my translation is verified, it will become the latest valuable addition to our knowledge of our forefathers, and be available to whichever verified scholars may require access to it.’ He paused for a moment. ‘So it will be as you surmised. Locked away in a vault somewhere, to be pored over by men who ... oh dear, you do have a most confounding way with words, you know. Clearly, you spent much longer perusing than dictionary than I ever imagined. But wait, for I believe our destination is nigh.’
Horne looked around him. They had traversed the full length of Shaftsbury Avenue, beyond even Cambridge Circus, and now stood amid the row of tiny businesses and offices that lined the way to Covent Garden. Jardine gestured to one in particular. ‘You will forgive me if I do not accompany you onto the premises, but for reasons that you will soon understand, I feel I must distance myself as far as possible from this particular enterprise. However, introduce yourself to the proprietor – a somewhat shabby little man, you will find, but most of those who are able to undertake such commissions as this do tend towards that type. He is holding a package in your name. I will wait here.’
Horne did as he was bade, and instantly recognised, from the smell and sounds that emanated from a back room, that he was in a print shop. He had employed several of a similar colour himself over the years. He rang a small brass bell on the front desk; waited while the sounds abated, then handed his card to a man who fit Jardine’s description to the letter. Moments later, he was walking out again, a small paper-wrapped package in one hand.
Jardine was seated on a bench on the far side of the Circus, beneath a tree and away, too, from the handful of pedestrians that had their own reasons for frequenting that particular junction. Horne joined him, cut the string that bound the package together, and produced two slim volumes. Jardine took one; left Horne with the other.
‘Say the word, Ambrose, and that man is ready and able to produce as many copies of this book as you desire. I am aware of your own literary efforts, and the manifold avenues you have uncovered for their distribution. I ask, and I hope you will agree, that you apply that same knowledge to this little booklet of mine.’
The Erotic Mythologies of the Early Christians. Horne smiled as he read the title; smiled again as he opened the book and perused its contents. ‘It’s a very different translation,’ he murmured. ‘Very different indeed.’
Jardine glowed with pride. ‘I vulgarized my original work and, shall we say, elaborated upon some of the descriptions – with the help of my lady wife, of course. I could never have completed the work without her assistance.’
For a moment, Horne was caught completely off-guard. ‘I was not aware, sir, that your wife was a scholar?’ And then he fell silent as the Reverend emitted a guffaw that was positively ribald in its expression. ‘She isn’t, Ambrose, she isn’t. Do you think we would ever have finished the book if she was?’
Lady H_____ lay back, her arms wrapped tightly around Horne’s shoulders. ‘And you swear that, at no point, did you enter me by more than the merest fraction of an inch?’
Still struggling to catch his breath, Horne swore. ‘I wanted to, and I fought my every instinct to restrain myself from doing so. But no, not a fraction.’
‘Astonishing. There were moments, particularly towards the end, when I would have sworn you were all but forcing my stomach into my chest. And when you came, it was though you had turned a hosepipe on inside me. So tell me, where did you hear of this particular trick? Another unknown verse from the Bible, I suppose?’
‘Actually, no,’ Horne replied. ‘This one I learned from a priest.’
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The Erotic Return of Ambrose Horne Page 11
