by Kevin Ashman
‘Perhaps, but how do you know it is our Virgin?’
‘I don’t, but the timeline fits perfect and besides, our man from Samothrace seems to have come to the same conclusions and he is much more closely involved than you or I.’
‘Okay, so let’s assume you are right and this Rubria came here, why have you brought us to this village, shouldn’t we be going to this Temple?’
‘We can’t,’ said India, ‘It’s not there any more.’
‘What do you mean, not there?’
‘Well, it used to be on a place called Weycock hill a couple of miles away, but over the years the locals, like in many cultures, stripped it bare for building materials. Most was used in the construction of the local church a couple of hundred years ago.’
‘Perhaps the Palladium is buried on the Temple site,’ said Brandon,
‘I doubt it,’ said India, ‘It has been excavated twice that I know of. No, if there was anything there then it was long gone before the archaeologists even got their trowels out.’
‘And you think the villagers know where it is?’ asked Brandon.
‘Not consciously,’ said India, ‘But I am very interested in the stories and fables of the village. There are grains of truth to be had in most ghost stories. There may be a lead there.’
‘So where do we start?’ asked Brandon.
‘Churches are usually goldmines of information,’ said India, ‘I think we should start there.’
‘So why did you bring me in here,’ asked Brandon looking around the pub, ‘Where’s the link here?’
‘No link,’ said India, nodding towards the approaching barman, ‘But in the rush this morning, I didn’t have time for breakfast and I think better on a full stomach.’ She beamed a disarming smile at Brandon who stared back at her in amusement.
‘What are you waiting for?’ she asked, ‘Pay the man.’
Sister Bernice poured cold water from the chipped enamel jug into the bowl and washed her face in the candle light. Though she did not own a watch, she knew that it was approaching four am and the bell for morning prayers would sound soon enough. She sat back on her bunk, and waited patiently.
Half an hour passed and the bell did not come. Bernice approached the door and peered out through the opening into the passage. She hesitated, as though the doors were not locked, it was forbidden to leave their rooms except at the sound of the bells. Still, this was very strange. In twenty years of service she had never known any time where the first call to prayers had been missed.
Peering out into the corridor, Bernice could see that several other Sisters had also left their rooms and were gathered in the hallway.
‘Sister Bernice,’ said one, ‘Do you know what is happening?’
‘No I’m afraid not,’ she said, ‘But wait here, I will see if I can find out.’
‘But you will be punished if you leave the wing without a Senior,’ said her colleague.
‘And deservedly so,’ said Bernice, ‘But I have to find out in case there is any emergency. I fear for the Mother Superior’s health and I have some medical training. They may need me.’
‘Surely they would have called for you.’
‘Perhaps so, but I will check nevertheless.’ She moved down the corridor, watched by the eleven Nuns behind her and paused before turning the ancient bronze knob and easing the creaking door outwards. She held her candle up higher and called out into the corridor.
‘Hello, Sister Agnes, are you there?’ When no answer came she continued down the corridor towards the great hall. Just before she reached the double doors she heard the mumbling sound of voices in hushed yet strained conversation and as she turned the corner she almost bumped into two of the Seniors. Both looked very worried.
‘Sister Agnes,’ she said, ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Bernice, what are you doing here?’ came the answer, ‘You know it is forbidden to leave your cell without being summoned.’
‘I know, Sister,’ said Bernice, ‘But I was worried. We all were.’
‘Don’t fret, Bernice,’ said the second Nun. ‘Everything is fine. Go back to your corridor and await instructions.’
‘Wait!’ said Sister Agnes before turning to her colleague. ‘It may be beneficial to allow Bernice to help,’ she said, ‘After all, she is the preferred choice to join us in the inner order when the time comes and we need all the help we can get.’
‘I am happy to help in any way I can,’ said Bernice.
Agnes’s colleague nodded her approval.
‘Explain what she needs to know,’ she said ‘But no more.’
Sister Agnes smiled and approached Bernice, lowering her voice so not to be overheard.
‘It’s the Mother Superior,’ she started,
‘Is she alright?’ interrupted Bernice in concern.
‘Well, that’s just it, we don’t know. She has disappeared.’
‘How?’ asked Bernice.
‘All we know is that her room is empty and she is nowhere to be found. We have checked all the usual places but there is no sign of her. The others are checking the other wings as we speak.’
‘Shouldn’t we ask the rest of the order to help?’ asked Bernice,’ Surely the more eyes the better.’
‘No!’ snapped Sister Adele sharply, ‘They will stay in their cells, until told otherwise. There is too much at stake here.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Bernice.
‘All in good time, Sister,’ said Agnes, ‘Now, if you can just check the upper corridors and report back to the great hall when you have finished, that would be a great help.’
‘Of course!’ said Bernice and brushed past to start her task.
For the next twenty minutes she checked every room, cupboard, and cubby hole in case the elderly lady had collapsed, but all to no avail. Finally she entered the last tiny corridor at the top of the convent but could see that the short corridor led only to a tiny leaded window. Though the passage was obviously empty, she paused and stared at the window. Light flickered across its surface and at four thirty am there should be no light. She approached the window and peered through its dusty glass.
At first she could not make out the detail of the scene in the cemetery below, except that someone had started a fire but as her eyes become focussed the horror of what she saw caused her to scream out in terror.
Within minutes two Seniors came running along the corridor and found Bernice sat against the wall of the corridor, sobbing uncontrollably. She pointed at the window and Sister Agnes looked out at the scene that had so terrified Bernice.
Two floors below, she could see the smouldering remains of a fire against the walls of an ancient mausoleum in the middle of the cemetery. Resting against the wall of the tomb was a large makeshift crucifix and fixed to the cross was the still burning body of the Mother Superior.
Agnes’s hand flew to her mouth and nose to block the stench of burning flesh. A movement near the cross caught her eye and she saw a man stood a few yards away from the fire, half hidden in the darkness, swathed in a hooded cloak staring up at her. Sister Agnes fell back against the wall in shock.
‘Holy Mother protect us,’ she intoned.
‘What is it?’ asked Sister Adele.
Agnes looked up and done some rapid thinking.
‘Call the Seniors to the great hall,’ she said, ‘We have to meet them straight away.
‘What about me?’ asked Bernice, ‘What should I do?’
Sister Agnes retrieved a set of keys from beneath her habit and gave them to Bernice.
‘Check the outer doors are all double locked,’ she said, ‘Then lock all the Sisters in their cells.’ Seeing the look of concern on Bernice’s face she quickly explained.
‘It’s for their own good,’ she said. ‘There is a madman out there and though the doors are solid, there is no knowing what lengths he will undertake to get in. Lock them in and then wait in your cell until we call you.’
All three descended the stairs and sep
arated at the great hall. The two Seniors entered the giant doors while Bernice hurried along the corridor to do as she was told. Within the hour she had carried out her instructions but before returning to her cell, realised that she had possession of the keys and, as the doors were now all locked, she should return them to Sister Agnes. She made her way back to the great hall and knocked on the heavy doors. When there was no reply, she knocked again only harder. Again there was no answer so she tried the handle but found it locked.
Bernice looked down at the keys in her hand and in particular the ornate hall key. With only slight hesitation, she placed the key in the door. At first there was some resistance but with another shove the key rammed home into the lock. She heard a metallic thud on the other side, but pushed the door open anyway and entered the great hall. Bernice looked around. The hall was well lit from the dozens of candles that were burning ready for the now abandoned morning prayers, and it took her only a moment to see the hall was empty. She realised the Senior Sisters must have gone elsewhere and turned to leave the hall but as she did, her feet hit something on the floor. Looking down, she saw another small bunch of keys and realised that she had pushed these out of the lock with her own set when she had unlocked the door.
She bent over to pick them up, stopping suddenly, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. If these keys were in the lock, that meant that the doors must have been locked from the inside, yet…
Sister Bernice looked around the hall again. It was definitely empty and there was no other door that she knew of. She did a quick circuit around the room, checking once more, passing the image of the Holy Mother on the way but as she already knew, there was no sign of anyone. In confusion, she hurriedly left the hall and locked it from the outside, leaving the second bunch of keys on the floor inside. Finally she returned to her cell, and locking her door behind her, sat on the edge of her bed, confused and scared.
Chapter 21
England 2010
Brandon and India sat at the back of the church, waiting for the service to end. It was a typical village church and the congregation was quite healthy bearing in mind the apathy to religion that seemed to be the norm across the country. Finally the service came to an end and the people filed out, dropping their donations onto a copper plate as they left. Eventually there were just the two of them and the vicar left.
‘Hello,’ said the vicar, ‘I don’t think I have seen you here before. Are you new to the village?’
‘No, not really,’ said India, ‘What I mean is, we don’t actually live here, we were looking to speak to you, if you have the time.’
‘What about?’ asked the vicar.
‘I am India, and this is Brandon,’ she said. ‘We are writing a book about the village history of middle England and were told you may be able to help in our research.’
‘In what way?’
‘We are interested in the Temple at Weycock hill. I believe it was built in the first century and some of the stones were used in the building of this church. Is that correct?’
‘Indeed it is,’ said the vicar, ‘Some of the masonry can be seen in the lower courses of the church walls.’
‘How old is the church?’ asked Brandon.
‘Built in 1672,’ said the vicar, ‘Though there was a place of worship here hundreds of years before that in many different guises.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Brandon.
‘Oh the village stretches back thousands of years,’ said the vicar, ‘The remains of a stone age fort have been found nearby, ‘As well as the Roman ruins. It has been dominated by Romans, raided by Vikings and supplied no end of archers during the Norman conquest.’
‘Is there anything you can tell me about the Temple?’ asked India.
‘Not much to tell, really. Experts reckon it was built in the first century AD. That’s a bit special in itself really, as there are no others from that era. Many were built in the few hundred years after that but it was thought the area was still too volatile at the time for a standalone Temple outside of any defended town, yet it seems it was still there a few hundred years later, until of course the Romans left.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Brandon.
‘There was a stone coffin found in one of the excavations with the inscription 474 AD inscribed on the lid. It was obviously the burial of someone important as it was within the boundary of the Temple, but in order to be buried there, it must have been still standing at that time.’
‘But how did it last so long?’ asked India.
‘Who knows?’ said the vicar, ‘But the Romans weren’t always tyrants to the locals you know. And by then, the population had probably become Romanised anyway. Probably even worshiped at the Temple themselves.’
‘Who would have been the Gods at that time?’ asked Brandon.
‘Some people say the whole Pantheon would have been worshiped there?’ said the vicar, ‘But the locals insist it is a Vestal Temple. An early one I agree, but a Vestal Temple nonetheless.’
‘Why are they so insistent?’ asked India.
‘I don’t know, really,’ said the vicar, ‘But it has always been so. There are even mentions of the Temple in the parish records going back hundreds of years. And of course, the legend of the white lady goes back long before that.’
‘What do you think?’ asked Brandon.
‘Oh I believe it is a Vestal Temple,’ said the vicar.
‘Really?’ said Brandon in mild surprise, ‘Any particular reason?
‘Not really, but it is so embedded in the local Psyche then it just seems right. Of course, there’s also the carving.’
Both heads span towards him
‘What carving?’ asked Brandon, a little too quickly.
‘Many buildings were built from the stone of the Temple said the vicar and over the centuries anything of archaeological value has been lost but there is one carving that survived showing a Priestess.’
‘Can we see it?’ asked India.
‘Oh it’s not here,’ said the vicar.
‘I suppose it’s in a museum,’ said Brandon.
‘I doubt it,’ said the vicar, ‘It is built into the walls of the church of St Giles in Tockenham.’
‘Where’s that?’ asked Brandon, hardly daring to breathe.
‘Fifty miles or so away,’ said the vicar.
Despite their excitement both India and Brandon managed to keep the pretence going a bit longer before making their excuses and leaving. A couple of hours later they were stood outside the gates of St Giles, reading the opening times displayed in the notice board.
‘Closed!’ said India in disappointment. ‘Open again on Thursday morning for a private christening and next week for Sunday service.’
‘What sort of church closes on a Sunday?’ snapped Brandon in frustration.
‘Well, it is five o’clock,’ said India, shaking the gate in vain, ‘Besides, it’s a sign of the times. We are turning into a nation of atheists.’
‘Come on,’ said Brandon.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Inside,’ said Brandon. ‘We can’t afford to wait another week.’
‘We can’t break into a church,’ hissed India.
‘Who said anything about breaking in?’ asked Brandon, pulling out a strange looking tool.
‘What’s that?’ asked India.
‘Swiss army lock pick?’ he suggested sarcastically.
‘You are not going to pick the lock?’ said India in disbelief.
He raised his eyebrows briefly before vaulting up onto the wall.
‘You coming or what?’ he asked and held out his hand.
She paused momentarily before taking his hand and clambering up the dry stone walling. They dropped down into the cemetery beyond and made their way around the wall to the arched doors of the main entrance. Brandon quickly knelt down and fiddled around with the strange tool before selecting a suitable candidate.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ mumbled India. She looked around nervousl
y while Brandon fished around in the keyhole with his lock pick. A few seconds later they heard the satisfying clunk of a falling lever and Brandon smiled up at India.
‘Sign of a disaffected childhood,’ he said, and pushed the door slowly inward.
Chapter 22
England 2010
The Nuns gathered in the great hall, eating their meal in relative silence. It had been two days since the tragedy and though they knew the Mother Superior had died, they had been told it had been natural causes. Sister Bernice had been sworn to secrecy, the explanation being that there was no need to worry the rest of the order. None of the Nuns were allowed outside of the walls after dark, and Maximillian and his son, Jacob, patrolled the corridors at night. Despite all this, Bernice still felt uneasy. She had never questioned the way of the order before but could not understand why they just didn’t call the police. Agnes had spent a lot of time with her in the last two days, trying to convince her that it was in everybody’s interest to keep the tragedy within the realms of the order, though despite Bernice’s protestations, she would not tell her exactly why. All she would say is that they nurtured a sacred secret and if the outside world came snooping around, then that secret could be lost forever. Bernice was also reassured that steps had been taken to protect the order and that very soon she would be initiated into the senior order, and, when that happened, everything would be revealed to her.
The meal continued in silence. Every thought was with the mother superior, now laying at rest in the order’s crypt beneath their feet. The seals had been replaced on the crypt and the Sisters were partaking of their last meal before a day of fasting. Once again Bernice sat alongside Sister Suzanna.
‘How are you coping?’ asked Suzanna in concern.
‘Not very well, in truth,’ she answered.
‘She had a good life,’ said Suzanna, ‘And it was her time. You even said yourself she was not looking well.’
Bernice stared at her friend, desperate to blurt out the true horror of what she had seen yet keeping her silence due to her loyalty to the order.
