Moffat's Secret

by J. C. Williams

  “Right here,” she answered withdrawing a bottle of Macallan 12 year single malt.

  “Aye. Pour me one, will you, Saundra? Join me?” he asked both of them.

  “A wee one, granddad. We have a drive in front of us.”

  “You’ll find some plastic cups in the drawer,” Brandon said pointing at the bureau.”

  They took seats and sipped the whiskey.

  “The story, granddad?”

  “Aye, the story I told to the wee ones. Me granddad told me. His granddad and so on. Once upon a time this land was not so tame as ye see it now. It was covered in woods. Dark woods. Dark woods where all sorts of animals lived. Animals that are not around anymore. People lived here, too. They had a hard time of it. Always moving, searching for food and shelter. The land went through many changes. For an entire year, for several years, it was winter. Always winter. Then the snow melted and rivers overflowed and the seas rose and there were floods. The people and the animals had to flee to higher ground. They had to fight each other for that ground. Then, that was followed by times when there was no water. There were droughts. Lakes would dry up. There would be fires and many of the woodlands would be destroyed. Nothing grew. People and animals were hungry. It was a constant battle to survive. Day after day.

  “One day the guardians were sent from the suns. The people needed help. The guardians each had their own specialty. There was a guardian for the sun. He made sure the sun awakened every day. There was a guardian for the moon to be sure there was light so people could hunt at night. There were guardians for the lakes, the hills, and the trees. There was a guardian for everything that needed to be watched over. The guardians protected the people. They rid the land of the terrible animals and protected the more docile ones. They showed the people how to clear land and make farms and plant things to eat. They taught them when to plant. They taught them about seasons and time. Back then, the people did not know there was a huge world and how it revolved around the sun. They did not understand the other stars in the sky. However, they constantly watched the stars, the moon, the sun, and the length of the days. They didn’t have any tellies to watch.”

  Brandon chuckled. Sandy smiled. Chad envisioned how the old man told the story to children.

  “Every summer solstice the Guardians from all over the land, from the many lands, would gather and meet. It was the longest day of the year. They would share their observations of the stars and planets. They would use this knowledge to foresee the next year and what troubles lay ahead. They took steps to avoid the troubles, or prepare for the troubles, or use their powers to make sure the troubles did not happen. No longer were there floods that covered all the land or fireballs from the sky that created fires and brought darkness to the land.

  “The guardians tried to teach the people and to share their knowledge. The site where they met was special. The guardians had healing powers. They had powers to send bodies to the heavens. They could make stones hum and sing. They had magical strength to lift stones and make tools out of stones and bones. The guardians knew they had to return to the suns, so they built a giant calendar and observatory for the people. It showed the people the count of moons, and days, and seasons. They gave the people the sightlines for stars and planets and instructions of when to plant. The guardians made this out of stone. We call it Stonehenge. It would last forever, and forever Stonehenge would teach future generations.

  “Then, one day, the guardians left. However, people still came to meet where the guardians met. At Stonehenge. Every summer solstice evening. And, every winter solstice morning. People tried to imitate what they saw the guardians do. The people tried to duplicate their magic. Today that has evolved into rituals and practices that are maybe just imitations of the guardians, but maybe contain real secrets. Perhaps, we just do not know how to read the signs and interpret them.”

  “Are you referring to the practices and ceremonies of the Druids?” Chad asked.

  “The Druids were very late comers to the party. Maybe they too imitate some of the ancient practices. But, it would be what they learned from other generations, centuries removed and distorted from the real thing.” Brandon’s eyes took on a distant look. Chad feared they were losing him to his dementia. He also wondered what this had to do with Doc’s quest, his quest. It was just another creation theory. One of hundreds he had heard from around the world.

  “Granddad,” Sandy asked, “What happened after the guardians left? Who guarded the secrets that they left?”

  “Yes. The new guardians. There were some people who knew more than the others. That stands to reason. They were entrusted with information. They became the new guardians. They still met there, at Stonehenge. For centuries. For thousands of years. They came from all over. Stonehenge became well known. Chad, you might know this. Archeologists proved that people came from Sweden and from Germany. The Romans came, too. That accelerated the notoriety of Stonehenge. People came every summer solstice. It made the meeting of the guardians more and more difficult to hold there. That’s why they eventually moved their meeting.”

  As a story went, it had certain logic to it, Chad thought. A logic that was evidently leading somewhere. He felt that for some reason, Brandon expected Chad already knew where the story ended. He waited for Brandon to continue. Finally, Chad asked gently, “Where did the guardians move the meeting to, Brandon?”

  The old man looked strangely at Chad as if the student just failed the easiest question on a test. He looked over at Sandy. Standing, he walked to the dresser where the bottle of scotch stood. He poured himself a drink and said, “Ann and James, you know full well they moved the meeting to York Minster in 1265.”

  Chad couldn’t suppress his surprise. Nor, his concern about the names. Ann and James?

  Sandy leaned toward Chad and whispered, “Ann is my mother. James is her brother. I look like her.”

  “Oh,” Chad nodded. Still he couldn’t get past why Sandy dragged him all this way to hear a fairy tale that was evidently designed to give the children of York a sense of importance and mystery for their city.

  Chad imagined that the mention of Moffat’s Treasure earlier was another whimsical myth or story, something created for the sake of a good story, but he had to ask.

  “Brandon, that was an interesting story. How does it connect to Moffat’s Treasure?”

  The old man seemed to regain his cognitive abilities with the second whiskey. He sat down again. Brandon gave Chad a long look, glanced at Sandy, smiled, then, he looked back to Chad. “It’s Chad, correct? Archeologist?”

  “Yes,” Chad answered.

  “Good, good. Maybe an archeologist can solve the puzzle. Moffat’s Treasure. Moffat’s Secret. Some even say Moffat’s Disgrace.”

  He looked toward the door of the room and then leaned forward toward Chad.

  His voice became a whisper. “The Guardians, and the Moffat clan, and many others have sought the treasure for generations. For centuries. For over seven hundred years. Find it, Chad. East North One Seventy.”

  Chapter 89

  The Professor waited in his library at St. Andrews. He waited and he thought. Waiting was the hard part. Thinking was the easy part. A phone rang in his desk. Sliding open the drawer, he ensured it was scrambled and secure.

  “Hello?” He checked the readings on the monitor in the drawer. The caller was secure as well.

  “Professor. It’s me. I thought I should check in.”

  “Thank you. Go ahead.”

  “I got to his phone on the plane. There was already a chip in it. It would tap into the microphone and GPS, when the phone was powered on. Someone has been close enough to him to do this. I put in an active GPS to run off the battery even while it was off. So I could track him.”

  “Will he find it?” the professor asked knowing the detection technology.

  “I hoped he would become suspicious and he did. It went on and then went silent right away his first night in London.”

  “Did we lose h
im?”

  “Not at first. My tracker was still active. But, it went silent when they reached York. Not to worry though. I put a GPS tracker on her auto last night.”

  “Good work, Duncan.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there any risk with Archer’s contacts in Mexico City?”

  “I thought so. With the archeologist Juan Ramirez. I put Lupa on him. Also, maybe with a Dr. Gabriela Acosta.”

  “A risk we have to address?” the Professor asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “What about Stonehenge? Any risk there?”

  “I don’t know. The historian is a very smart man. I watched a video he did on Stonehenge. Impressive.”

  The professor concluded, “Put someone on him. We’ll find out.”

  Chapter 90

  Sandy promised Chad an explanation after they picked up his phone and were on the highway to London.

  Thirty minutes down the road, Chad couldn’t wait any longer. “The Moffat Treasure? The Moffat Secret? East North one seventy? What kind of family am I getting involved with?”

  “You’re getting involved with my family? Cool. That raises the relationship a notch.” Sandy smiled at Chad.

  “Maybe not. I’m still evaluating this latest development. A treasure? A secret that’s over seven hundred years?” His voice was rising. “What is this? An old English curse? Will I see this on a television investigative program?”

  “Sh-h-h-h. Not so loud. It’s a secret remember.”

  “We should have brought your granddad’s scotch with us. I could use one now.”

  She was quiet.

  Chad realized she was thinking of her grandfather. “You were close to him,” he stated. “Still are,” he added.

  “Yes. I spent several summers with granddad. He has one of the sharpest minds I know. Had. It’s sad to see it slip. He was a policeman. Did I tell you that? Just like Colin Moffat.”

  “Who is Colin Moffat?”

  “There is more to the story. Granddad didn’t tell you everything. Colin Moffat was a constable in 1360. At that time law enforcement was made up of county sheriffs and town constables. The county sheriffs had the power for law enforcement. They had soldiers, like archers, horsemen, and knights in armor working for them.”

  “Like the evil sheriff of Nottingham?”

  “Exactly. The constables were a different law enforcement group. They were paid by town merchants or the church to keep peace. Drunk and disorderly, theft, property disputes. Constables could handle that.”

  “Okay. I get the picture. Constable Colin Moffat. What happened?”

  Sandy spoke low and ominously, “It was a dark and stormy June night. The summer solstice. A time of mystery. A time of magic. A time of murder.”

  Chad laughed. “You sound good. You should host one of those true crime drama shows.”

  “I wanted you to hear this story after what Jason said about churches and cathedrals. I wanted you to hear about York Minster. Granddad may be right about a tie-in between Moffat’s Secret and the guardians at York Minster.”

  “This should be interesting,” Chad said sitting back to listen.

  “The events for Colin Moffat started at York Minster, or near there. For a hundred years, since it was built, there had been gatherings at the chapter house during the mid-summer eve period. That wasn’t unusual. That time of the year was celebrated widely. I can understand the use of the chapter house.”

  “What is the chapter house? What is a minster?”

  “A minster is an important church or cathedral. The way the church was, and is, organized at the Minster is around a regional administrative group. The Dean of the Minster, along with canons and priests from the region, meet in the chapter house to discuss administrative matters for the Minster. Chapter houses were a usual part of monasteries, cathedrals, and even collegiate churches. We should visit it. Especially, if there might be a clue to your locator stone. We passed it the first night that we went out.”

  “I remember it seemed large. How big is it?” Chad asked.

  “York has a beautiful chapter house. It has no internal columns supporting the roof. It’s a fine piece of architecture. It’s as tall as it is round. I think about sixty feet. There are seven sets of six seats. Forty-two in all. Each seat has a unique carving or relief. Some are very funny faces. It’s a beautiful place. The stained glass windows and door hardware is original thirteenth century. I wish we had time today. We’ll do it next time,” she suggested.

  “Definitely,” Chad said.

  “I know some of this sounds storybook. Are you taking any of it seriously?”

  “Yes. Since Aman asked me about guardians, I have to take the idea seriously that someone thinks of themselves as guardians. I don’t know about a tie-in to Stonehenge or Moffat’s Secret. I will consider them facts. I am collecting facts. Maybe fantastic facts, but it is information at least.”

  “Would it be coincidence if in granddad’s story there were forty-two guardians? Like the number of seats?”

  “You’re making that up, aren’t you?” he asked with surprise.

  “I am. But I had you for a moment, didn’t I, Mr. Smarty Pants, doctor, professor?”

  “I have a feeling this story you are telling will establish that you are just one of a long line of crazy Moffats. Do you think there is a connection to the locator stone?”

  “Maybe. Just keep an open mind. Where was I in the Colin Moffat story? Yeah. So. Gatherings. Chapter House. Midsummer’s eve. All that was fine, but this group was very secret. They came from all over. Not just England. Foreigners, too. There usually was a pretense to their meetings. A subject they thought would put off the locals. They were private gatherings. You can read all of this in some of the official records of the Minster. The townspeople would naturally be suspicious. Add to that the previous seventy years of York and English history, and you had a brewing cauldron of suspicion.”

  “What happened in those seventy years?”

  “Religious suspicions and antagonism. All over Europe Jews were being kicked out of cities. France, Germany, Spain, and England. It was a backlash of the crusades and the Jews’ defense of Jerusalem. Many people don’t know that when the Christians attacked Jerusalem, it was not just the Muslims who were there. Jews lived there as well, and they defended their city.”

  “Rather pushy of the Christians,” Chad commented.

  “Self righteous, certainly. Anyway, in 1190 all 150 Jews in York were massacred. Burned to death in the royal castle where they took refuge. Then there was a severe drought in the early 1300s followed by the plague, the Black Death. That was in the 1340s and 1350s. There was no cause or source identified. So, people blamed the Jews, gypsies, lepers, and anyone else with an infliction.”

  “The Black Death killed nearly half the population of Europe,” Chad said. “I got the picture. A brewing cauldron of suspicion.”

  “Hey, hey. Don’t mock. That night, an incident occurred at the Minster. At the cathedral. Witnesses saw a man running from the chapter house. A hue and cry was raised. The constable on duty responded.”

  “Colin Moffat,” Chad jumped in. “By the way, when I am in England, would it be possible to see a hue and cry? I’ve heard about them.”

  “It’s a good thing we have a four hour drive. This is only a twenty minute story,” Sandy scolded him.

  She continued. “Witnesses at the inquest said that Constable Moffat chased after the fleeing man. According to Moffat, the man was fast. The perpetrator was familiar with the back streets of York and ran them well in the dark. Moffat caught up to him because someone bashed the victim in the head with a rock. As the man was dying he dipped his fingers in his own blood and wrote on the ground. He wrote E N170. It became known as east north one seventy.”

  “I take it no one had an idea what that meant? Hence the Moffat Secret or Moffat Treasure?” Chad asked.

  “Correct. When the dead man was taken to an undertaker, they found a small roma
n gold coin in his pocket. So everyone thought the writing was the location for a treasure.”

  “Did they consider that Uncle Colin might have been the basher?”

  “They did. But a bloody rock was found a couple streets away. It was shown that Moffat could not have disposed of the rock and made it back to the victim before others found the two of them.”

  “Was there more than one witness to what was written?”

  “You’re asking if they just took Colin’s word for it? Could he have made that up? Sending others on a wild goose chase? Others saw it.”

  “Did they happen to take a picture with their cell phone?”

  “They had some bad luck with that. The battery was dead.” Sandy said giving Chad a mean look.

  “Uh huh.”

  Sandy turned serious. “They did have an artist come to the scene and sketch it. They had to hurry. It was starting to rain. No moon. It was dark.”

  “Is it still around? The drawing?” Chad wanted to see it.

  “In the York museum. It’s been the source of countless expeditions and scavenger hunts for centuries. Eight hundred years. I went on one once.”

  “It seems like there is a number missing after the E.”

  “That’s part of the puzzle and what makes it hard. People tried to walk it off in feet, in inches, in yards and even miles. Here’s the difficulty. The measurement that was used at the time was evolving. Take the foot. The Romans foot was 11.65 inches. The Anglo-Saxons changed it to 13.2 inches, like in Germany, but the Roman foot was used in construction. Then in the late twelfth century it was changed to the modern 12 inches. Which would you use?”

  “I don’t know. What about the east measurement?”

  Many assumed it was East 170 as well as North 170. One industrious team went North 170 then stopped at every curious point going east. They supposedly used every conceivable length, including feet, yards, and miles. The starting point was varied as well. Generally, people used the York Minster altar location. Some used the chapter house center point.”