The Celtic Serpent

by S. Robertson

  * * *

  Scotland: Scone

  Rumbling thunder declared the day. A threatening rainstorm would haunt their Scone trip. Complications were setting in. Fiona Stevenson, their next Guardian, had informed them that in 1918 her family gemstone had been deposited at the Scone Palace Presbyterian Chapel and never retrieved. She would provide more details when they met.

  The silver Range Rover with five passengers left the castle at 9am giving them plenty of time to navigate the morning commute for the fifty-four kilometer (thirty-four mile) drive. Andrew was now on map duty with Dylan leaving Angi, Dana, and Wolfram in the back seat. Skirting Edinburgh they eased onto the A90, crossed the Forth Bridge and headed north to Perth. Dark clouds hugged the hills with rumbling thunder in the distance.

  Wolfram was more relaxed. Gus’s phone call had given him a bead on Dylan. He was a commander of some crack British military unit trained to escort dignitaries through diplomatic quagmires. While Andrew used the service in some past mission, it’s presence at the castle remained a mystery. “I expect he’s paying a hefty price for their services. Antonino is certainly a factor but is that all? I’ve handled plenty of antiques, admittedly, nothing quite like this medallion but still. I’ll have to press this point with Andrew when we get back. Angi and I may be in more danger than I thought.”

  Angi wasn’t thrilled with Dana’s presence, but had no say in the matter. However, back on familiar ground, Dana’s personality had changed for the better. “Perhaps Ireland was unfamiliar territory, or she was upset that her expertise was not needed, and she’s still smarting from her divorce.” As Angi settled back to take in the Scottish scenery, she partially listened to Dana’s historical rendition of their next stop for, as she was discovering, she always had some valuable details.

  In a semi-lecture tone Dana began, “First, there are two Scones; the old and the new. There’s very little left of Old Scone, the village was demolished in the 1800s to create the new Scone. So we will be heading to the new site northeast of Perth, on the east bank of the river Tay and, some might argue, the geographical heart of Scotland. In the past Scone was the capital of Pictavia, the ancient kingdom of the Pictish king Kenneth 1 (d. 858) and the site of the 12th century abbey founded by Alexander 1 (d. 1124), but I’m getting ahead of myself. Since there’s time I’ll digress a bit to give you a more comprehensive picture.

  Before the Common Era, legend has it that Scotland obtained its name from an Egyptian princess, Scota, who, exiled from Egypt, travelled by way of Spain, eventually arriving in Ireland. There her descendants became known as the Scoti. Some time later, the Scoti left Ireland and settled in Western Scotland. In the middle ages they established the kingdom of Dál Riata, a name long forgotten in most history books. Among the possessions Scota took from Egypt was a 152 kg sandstone block which had been used as a pillow by Jacob, you remember the story of Jacob’s ladder in the Bible. This stone would become the seat on which the Kings of Dál Riata, and later the kings of Scotland, were enthroned. It is known as the Stone of Destiny or the Stone of Scone. Legends hold there is a direct connection between this stone and Lia Fáil, the coronation stone of the kings of Tara.”

  Angi was amazed at how often the Bible kept popping up, not that she was an expert on the subject. Recognizing another gap in her knowledge of history, she was pressed to ask, “Dana, I never heard of Dál Riata. This was a kingdom? Where was it and how long did it last?”

  Glad to find someone listening, Dana continued. “Dál Riata, some say Dalriada, was a Gaelic over kingdom on the western coast of Scotland with some territory on the northeast coast of Ireland. In the late 6th and early 7th century it encompassed roughly what are now Argyll, Bute and Lochaber in Scotland and County Antrim in Ireland. During this time in history the kingships of Gaels and Picts underwent a process of gradual fusion, starting with Kenneth 1, (known as Kenneth MacAlpin) the last King of Dál Riata and rounded off in the reign of Constantine II. As late as the 730s, armies and fleets from Dál Riata were reported fighting alongside the Uí Néill, the kings of Ireland. Around the middle of the 8th century Dál Riata slipped from historic records. But enough on Dál Riata, our main interest is Scone.

  When Kenneth 1st established the new kingdom of Alba (later called Scotland) old Scone became its historic capital. At one time Scotland itself was called the ‘Kingdom of Scone’. In the Middle Ages Scone was an important royal centre, used as a royal residence and as the coronation site of the kingdom's monarchs. Around the royal site grew the town of Perth and the Abbey of Scone. In 1210, Scone's status was further enhanced when the Parliament of Scotland met there for the first time. This would continue until 1450.

  The biggest change occurred near the end of the 13th century when King Edward I of England invaded Scotland and took the Abbey’s coronation relics, the crown, scepter and the stone, to Westminster. Alexander III would be the last Scottish king crowned seated on the mystic stone. However, Scottish Monarchs, and those seeking to become Scottish Monarchs, continued to come to Scone to be crowned. These included Robert the Bruce in 1306, James IV in 1488 and Charles II in 1651, James Francis Edward Stuart (The Old Pretender), in 1716 and his son, Bonnie Prince Charlie (The Young Pretender) in 1745.”

  “I’m fascinated, why was the Stone of Scone so important to the Scots?” asked Angi trying to understand such traditions.

  “A good question,” replied Dana. “Well, unlike the English, Scotland’s kings were crowned according to Gaelic tradition, on a coronation mound out in the open, not inside an abbey.”

  “So even when the Stone of Scone was removed, the site itself remained important to the Scottish people?” asked Angi.

  “Yes, the Scone Abbey remained and flourished for over four hundred years until 1559. During the early days of the Protestant Reformation, the abbey was attacked by reformers and almost destroyed. There was some restoration in the coming centuries but, by then, it had lost its grandeur. In time the estate was passed from one noble family to another, eventually becoming the property of the Murrays whose descendants are still there. In the early 1800s, as I said, new Scone was created where the present Scone Palace resides. We’ll see the palace today but will not be paying a call.”

  “Is the Stone of Scone still at Westminster?” asked Angi.

  “It stayed at Westminster Abbey until 1996 when it was returned to Scotland. There was an eight month hiatus in 1950, when the Stone of Scone was removed by Scottish Nationalist students but later returned,” replied Dana. “Afterwards, rumors circulated that copies had been made of the Stone, and that the returned Stone was not the original.”

  Wolfram interjected, “But I’ve heard that the Stone of Scone was never given to Edward 1st in the first place. The actual stone was hidden somewhere in Scotland. You’re saying that the substitution only occurred in the last century. The Scots had lots of time to substitute the original stone before handing something over to Edward.”

  “That’s been rumored for ages, but never proven,” replied Dana. “Perhaps Andrew might enlighten us?” There was silence from the front seat even though everyone knew he was listening.

  Dana finalized her narrative with, “Today at Moot Hill you will see a facsimile of the Stone of Scone at the chapel. Whatever existed at Westmin-ster was returned to Edinburgh Castle where it remains along with the crown jewels of Scotland in the Crown Room.”

  Approaching Scone, Andrew, with maps in hand, started to give Dylan directions to their first stop on Abbey Road.

  Fiona Stevenson lived on a street of large duplex gray stone houses, with identical low stone garden walls. Dylan eased the van between the pillared entrance the narrow space more suited to carts than cars. He parked in the small driveway near the walkway leading up to a side entrance. The four disembarked leaving Dylan with the van.

  A middle-aged woman with gray hair and a somber face opened the door in response to the ringing of the front door bell. “Welcome. I’m Fiona’s housekeeper, Audrey Babcock. At nin
ety-three, Fiona’s not as agile as she would like, but fully alert. She’s been waiting anxiously for your arrival.” Looking past the four she asked, “Will the other gentleman be coming in?”

  “No, we expect this will be a short visit,” replied Andrew.

  “Ah well, Fiona will insist on you having tea. I’ll make sure your friend is also accommodated,” said Audrey as she escorted the party into the front hall.

  They entered an elegant house of World War I vintage, a seven foot grandfather’s clock announcing their arrival. To the left of the hall a winding stairway rose to the second floor while several rooms fanned off to the right. The rooms, in shadow, were filled with expensive antiques, tokens of several generations. Audrey beckoned them to the Sitting Room where a once tall, angular woman with white hair, balancing herself on a brown and silver cane, walked slowly to greet them. In a deep voice with a soft Scottish accent, Fiona welcomed her guests, “Finally……. the day has arrived. I was sure it would happen in my lifetime but feared it was fanciful thinking. Please come in and find a seat while Audrey gets us tea.” Glancing towards Angi she said, “Brigit described you well, you are Angi.”

  “Yes,” and Angi proceeded to do the introductions. “Fiona, this is Wolfram Stark from the United States, Andrew Sinclair and Dana Norcross from the University of Edinburgh. Dylan Gabriel, our fifth member, is in the van.”

  “Welcome to all of you.” Looking at Andrew she continued, “It has been many years since I’ve entertained gentry in this house.” Andrew shook her hand while the others proceeded to find comfortable chairs.

  Fiona was the last living member of an illustrious family who once owned a furniture business in Perth. Her only sibling, a sister, had died at seventy in 1985. Fiona was married in 1938 and lost her husband, a Royal Air Force pilot, over Europe in 1942. There were no children and she never remarried. She became an English teacher and eventual Head Mistress of a girl’s school in Perth, retiring at sixty-five. In her retirement she was renowned for her prized Brigadoon, hybrid tea roses and leadership in a number of charitable organizations.

  Fiona, not wasting time, proceeded in an organized manner. “First, I have this list of names you requested.” which she handed to Angi. “As I’m sure you’ve heard from the other Guardians, the reasons for the delegation of responsibilities by our ancestors in the 1600s have long been lost. So, I gladly relinquish this family responsibility to your safe keeping. Now, as a personal request, could you, Angi, come into the light so I may get a good look at the medallion? I expect all Guardians want to know what our families have been protecting for generations.”

  Angi got up from the huge upholstered chair and moved to where Fiona was sitting, under a deliberately placed bright lamp. But Angi discovered it wasn’t just the medallion that Fiona wanted to examine.

  After a few minutes Fiona commented. “Brigit was right you are indeed the perfect choice for this mission. Those emerald eyes are enchanting. Brigit and I had a grand chat on the phone after your visit. We’re both positive about the outcome however long it takes.” Then she turned to the medallion.

  “Its exquisite, much more than I imagined. There are still three missing gemstones, one belonging to my family. Our gemstone remained in this house until World War I. In 1917, my mother was quite ill, and my sister and I were young children. When father was posted overseas he hired a housekeeper to care for us. Concerned about the safety of the gemstone and knowing the Murrays, he got permission to place the gemstone in a secure place in the Presbyterian Chapel. Why the chapel and not the Palace was never explained. He obviously planned on retrieving it after the war but, unfortunately, he died in the global flu epidemic. World War 1 was devastating for many families. After the war my mother was left to run the furniture business in Perth. She hired a manager, but ran the business behind the scenes. Sometime in the 1930s, the business was sold leaving my sister and I comfortably off but not wealthy as that was the time of the worldwide economic depression. My father left only this small piece of paper regarding the hiding place of the gemstone with the words “The bairn will guide you to the stone”. Now in Scots bairn means ‘child’, but I have no idea what child, or whether this was some coded message. I wish I could be more helpful.”

  Angi, trying to remain positive asked, “Fiona, do you know what gemstone your family was guarding?”

  “Indeed I do,” was the quick reply. “It was an emerald, just like your eyes. As a young girl I loved the thought of guarding an emerald. Later I learned that an emerald is a healing stone, affecting the heart chakra. It’s known to enhance spirituality and consciousness, stimulate mental abilities, and helps in attaining deeper meditation. I once thought every Guardian had a similar stone but now I see they are all different. I’d love to go with you to the chapel, but that’s not possible. Nevertheless, like Brigit, I ask that whatever the outcome of this quest you will invite the Guardians to the final event. Brigit is certain it will be at the Hill of Tara. Since I have few remaining years, I pray you will find success in swift order.” And with a smile she continued, “I’m a stubborn old woman and will fight to be there.”

  Angi admired Fiona’s tenacity and determination. If possible, she would do her best to have the Guardians at their final stage, but already Fiona was presenting what appeared to be an insurmountable obstacle. She stored the papers in her large sac-like bag when Audrey arrived with tea, sandwiches and sweet breads. At this stage, Dylan joined the group. Relaxing they chatted about other things; their trip and Angi’s grandmother.

  Sitting quietly watching the proceedings, Dana was deep in thought, “Good God that damn thing is real. How many carats per stone, maybe two or three? A broad estimate of the gold and gems means that stupid looking pendant could be worth a fortune, added value, if you include the antique factor. What’s all this about Guardians ………likely some Knights Templar jargon. I never understood that nonsense. But this medallion could be my ticket to fame. That American is obviously a courier, whatever that old woman thinks. This belongs to Britain.”

  As they prepared to leave, Angi asked, “Fiona, do you have any information on the two Guardians that you were in contact with over the years?”

  “Unfortunately, the news is not good. Communications ceased on both fronts some years ago. Late in the sixties my Welsh Guardian, Morag Williams, stopped writing. I expect she died suddenly. I waited hoping that she might have passed the gemstone to a distant relative. All my inquiries failed. My second contact, Judith Gardiner of Mull was a descendant of the oldest couple, the Campbells. She lived into her eighties but she also stopped writing. From the beginning our ancestors knew this might happen and requested the families either pass the gemstone to a trusted relative or, failing that, take the gemstone to Iona. What little I know of the Iona location is a confusing partial comment from my father who said, ‘It’s not what it appears’………I realize this seems little to go on but if you’ve come this far, don’t give up.”

  About noon they said farewell to Fiona, their last sight of her was waving good bye from her walkway. Their next stop was Scone Palace Chapel. As the signs and Palace gateway loomed into sight Dana’s unstoppable historic dialogue continued.

  “Moot Hill, which is where we’re headed, is quite unique. It is said to have been created from soil brought by Scottish clan chiefs from around the country to pay homage to their new king being crowned on the Stone of Scone. Recently, two archeologists, using radiocarbon dating of an excavated item from the Moot Hill ditch pushed back the origins of this ancient site by a thousand years. It’s like uncovering the ‘birth certificate of Scotland’.”

  “In North America we talk about something being old when it’s in the hundreds, here you talk about thousands of years. This difference seems more pronounced being here. I’d like to thank you Dana for all this information, it’s a great help,” said Angi.

  “Thanks, Angi,” replied Dana, not accustomed to such gratitude.

  Dylan parked near Moot Hill to let
his passengers out as the continuing thunder and bending trees kept signaling an approaching storm. He took off to find a parking spot.

  As the four walked up the steps toward the Mausoleum and Chapel, two peacocks strutted across the grounds, declaring their ownership of the property. Angi, Dana, Andrew and Wolfram stopped momentarily at the replica Stone of Scone, Angi and Wolfram seeing it for the first time. “It’s not quite what I expected,” thought Angi, “but then it’s not like we have such stones in America as a comparison.”

  Next, they passed the Baptismal font, heading towards the chapel entrance where a man in a navy uniform stood waiting. The chapel was a small twin towered, pink stone building. The man smiled as Andrew approached.

  “Welcome Andrew, it’s a good day for your visit. The site’s been booked for a major conference at the palace. Since the attendees are mainly from Perth, most will have visited the chapel and with the approaching storm will not be too willing to venture outside. I expect you’ll have a free hand. As requested, I’ve opened the interior gate. Give me a cell call when you’re finished. I’ll pop back in an hour.”

  “Thanks,” replied Andrew, “It’s hard to know how long this may take.” As the caretaker left, he took charge. “Why don’t Angi and Dana survey the inside while Wolfram and I look around the outer grounds. I’m sure it’s inside but it never hurts to be thorough. Give us a shout if you find anything.”

  The inside consisted of one large room with minimal furniture. Two walls were decorated; one with a pink and white, huge, marble memorial for the Murrays, the other, a smaller memorial with a Grecian urn. The Murray wall consisted of beautifully sculptured hovering angels, with two medieval knights in full amour standing guard over a kneeling knight reading the Bible. An altar stood in front of the memorial, draped in a gold cloth with two sets of brass candlesticks, one larger than the other. The sparse furniture consisted of a straight-backed wooden chair and bench against a stone wall. Dana broke the silence