by Chloe Palov
The behemoth raised his pickaxe.
Cædmon lurched forward but, anticipating the move, Harliss and Sanchez seized hold of him.
‘No!’ he shouted, violently struggling to free himself.
Not like this! God in heaven, not like this!
67
‘Last night you gave me sixteen hours to find the Ark of the Covenant! I have forty minutes left!’ Cædmon yelled, twisting and straining to free himself from his captors.
MacFarlane stared at him as he considered his appeal, Michelangelo’s stern-faced Moses come to life.
‘Colonel MacFarlane, I know you to be a man of your word,’ Edie croaked, her eyes flooded with tears, every limb in her body quivering with fright. ‘Please give Cædmon a chance. Without him, you’ll never find the Ark.’
Pondering it later, Cædmon decided that this last throw by Edie had swung it. MacFarlane nodded curtly. ‘You have exactly forty minutes. If you don’t want to see Miss Miller’s head split open like a Fourth of July watermelon, you will find the Ark of the Covenant.’ He glanced dismissively at the gleaming altar vessels in the still-open trunk. ‘I’m not interested in digging up any more golden trinkets.’
Stay of execution issued, Braxton lowered the pickaxe. Glancing at Edie, Cædmon battled the strong desire to bend over and retch.
It had been close. With one swing, the behemoth would have punched a gaping hole right through her skull.
‘I’ll find your bloody gold box,’ he muttered, glancing at his watch, the countdown already begun.
Christ. Forty minutes to find something buried centuries ago.
The clock ticking, he ignored the stricken expression still plastered on Edie’s face. They had to stay focused on the task at hand. To that end, he slowly turned, studying the wintry landscape that surrounded the cloister. Leafless trees. Dead grass. The shattered walls of the church.
There was something here that he wasn’t seeing. But what?
In the distance he heard a loud honking sound. A swan searching for its mate.
Bloody hell.
‘Swans and geese,’ he murmured, wondering if the answer to Philippa’s riddle could really be so simple. He turned to MacFarlane. ‘In the medieval lexicon, the two words are interchangeable, one and the same. And if you’ll recall, there were two geese depicted in the Canterbury window, symbolizing the fact that swans and geese mate for life.’
The older man’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m not following.’
‘The name of this place is Swanley. In the Middle English of the fourteenth century, a ley was a meadow.’
‘I got the clue!’ Edie exclaimed, realizing the significance of the place name. ‘“Swanley” would translate as “swan meadow”. Meaning that we need to start searching for a meadow. Or some swans. Or maybe even both.’
The furrow in MacFarlane’s forehead deepened. ‘What kind of bullshit are you trying to pull? Swans swim on the water; they don’t flap around on a grassy field.’ He gestured to the surrounding dell.
‘I’m the first to admit it’s a nonsensical word combination. But that doesn’t detract from the fact that it is highly significant. In the quatrains Philippa referred to herself as the “trusted goose”. At Canterbury we discovered a stained-glass window in which the Ark of the Covenant was depicted along with two geese in a basket. Now we find ourselves here at Swanley. Trust me. It does mean something.’ He turned to Harliss, the keeper of the GPS navigation device. ‘Is there a lake or pond in the vicinity?’
Given the go-ahead by his commander, the muscle-bound lackey consulted his hand-held device. ‘Yeah, I got a body of water about two hundred yards east of here.’
‘Then I suggest we proceed there with all haste.’
When no objection was raised, he motioned to Harliss to lead the way. Sanchez remained behind at the cloister to pack up the equipment. Braxton, the pickaxe jauntily swung over his left shoulder, a powerful Desert Eagle pistol clutched in his right hand, brought up the rear.
As they trooped off towards the new destination, bare branches rustled in the damp breeze. Whispering. Warning.
‘Please tell me that I’ve got more than thirty-some minutes to live,’ Edie said in a lowered voice, glancing furtively at MacFarlane.
‘Hold up,’ Cædmon answered in an equally hushed tone, not wanting her to dwell on the time. He knew from experience that it was best to deal with those variables one could control rather than to obsess on something beyond one’s grasp.
‘Yeah, yeah, I know. I need to stand tall. Or stand my ground. Or some silly cliché.’ While she appeared composed, Cædmon detected a note of panic in her voice.
He reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘An opening will present itself. It always does. And when that happens, we must seize the moment. No time for hesitation, right?’
She nodded, a vengeful gleam in her brown eyes. Cædmon suspected that she entertained a gruesome fantasy that involved a certain behemoth and a very sharp pickaxe.
A few moments later they arrived at a fish pond that he estimated to be a good ten acres. Towards the centre of the pond there was a small island. The swan meadow. In the middle of the isle a simple stone cross had been erected. It appeared to have taken root centuries ago.
‘This is looking really, really good,’ Edie said, clearly relieved at seeing the rough-hewn cross. ‘As the priory cellaress, the fish pond would certainly have been Philippa’s domain. Do you think she had the cross placed in the middle of the island as a sign?’
Cædmon shook his head. ‘I suspect the cross was erected before the construction of the priory. However, Philippa would certainly have recognized its significance. As with the Ark of the Covenant, the cross is a point of direct communication between heaven and earth.’ He cast a quick sideways glance at MacFarlane, the older man staring intently at the lone cross. As though it were some sort of mystical beacon.
He’d made his case. Thank God.
‘It could very well be that even before the priory was built, this was a religious site,’ he continued. Then, gesturing to the surprisingly clear, glassy surface of the pond, ‘Undoubtedly the pond is fed by a natural spring. Such springs were often dedicated to a local saint.’
‘Making this a holy place, right?’
Cædmon nodded. ‘And that would have made the isle a fitting place for Philippa of Canterbury to hide the most sacred relic in all Christendom.’ He gestured to a quartet of small rowing dinghies moored to the nearby bank. ‘I doubt if the local anglers will mind if we make use of their boats.’
MacFarlane walked over and inspected the boats bobbing on the water. ‘Gunnery Sergeant, I want you to row across with the woman. Harliss, you wait for Sanchez to arrive with the equipment. Aisquith and I will take the lead.’ Orders given, he untied one of the boats, brusquely gesturing for Cædmon to precede him into the vessel.
‘Hopefully she’s still seaworthy,’ Cædmon muttered as he took hold of the oars and began the laborious business of rowing towards the isle.
MacFarlane made no reply, his unblinking gaze set upon the limestone Lorelei that stood sentry in the middle of the isle.
For the next several minutes the only sounds were the creak and groan of oars repeatedly slicing through the chill water and the occasional honking of the resident swans. The rain having stopped, wispy tendrils of white vapour hovered over the surface of the water, wrapping the pond in a cloying embrace.
No sooner did the prow of the boat ground against the small isle than MacFarlane disembarked, the older man hurriedly sloshing through the calf-high water that lapped the grassy shoreline. Clearly impatient, he motioned for Cædmon to secure the boat to a clump of nearby bushes. A few moments later, Edie and the behemoth docked beside them. Together the four of them made their way to the cross.
Well aware that he only had eighteen minutes left on the clock, Cædmon fingered the worn stone. If a clue had been carved into the cross, the rain gods and wind zephyrs had long since made certain of its erasure.
>
Undeterred, he walked around to the back of the cross. Treading on something hard, he sank to his knees, shoving aside the long grass.
‘What are you doing?’ MacFarlane hissed, hunkering down beside him.
‘There’s something embedded in the ground. I think it’s a… yes, a plaque of some sort. Do you have a handkerchief or something? I need to wipe the surface.’
MacFarlane gestured to the behemoth, wordlessly ordering him to remove the black knitted hat he wore on his head.
Cap in hand, Cædmon began to rub vigorously at what looked like a bronze plaque some ten inches square, years of dirt having accumulated on its incised surface. As he worked, a shadow fell over him. Glancing up, he saw Edie hovering over his right shoulder, an anxious look on her face. She knew that her life hung in the balance, that whether she lived or died could very well hinge upon this bronze plaque. Fear a powerful motivator, Cædmon rubbed that much harder.
It took several minutes of determined polishing to reveal a single line of Latin script.
Staring at the plaque, Cædmon’s heart thudded against his breastbone, utterly staggered by that solitary line of Latin. Like a man who’d just seen a ghost flit past.
‘Hic amicitur archa cederis,’ he murmured as though it were a magical incantation.
‘What does it mean?’ MacFarlane demanded, shouldering him out of the way to examine the plaque.
Cædmon took several deep breaths, collecting himself. ‘It reads, “Here is hidden the Ark of the Covenant.”’
68
‘The corpus delecti is about to be uncovered. But not by me,’ Cædmon murmured, standing so close to Edie that she could feel his body heat.
She sidled even closer, a cold breeze setting her teeth chattering.
They were standing a few feet from where Braxton and Sanchez swung and shovelled in unison, the excavation already well underway, the stone cross upended in the frenzy that had ensued after Cædmon translated the bronze plaque. Believing the inscribed plaque to be no different to a giant X inscribed on a treasure map, MacFarlane hadn’t bothered with a ground scan, clearly convinced the Ark of the Covenant was buried beneath the stone cross.
‘Incredible to think that it’s been nearly seven hundred years since someone last set eyes on the Ark,’ she remarked, if for no other reason than to keep her terror at bay. According to her watch, there were six minutes left. ‘I now know how Galen of Godmersham felt when he found the Ark on the Plain of Esdraelon.’
‘If you recall, he had to fight to the death for possession of the relic.’ Like her, Cædmon stared intently at the deepening hole. ‘However, if it means coming away with our lives, I’ll gladly forfeit all claim to the prize.’
‘Somehow, I don’t think you’ll have much say in it. Which still leaves the matter of battling MacFarlane and the terrible trio.’ Having had to endure several minutes of threats while Braxton rowed her over to the isle, the man a blunt instrument in search of a victim, she was acutely aware of the fact that they were outgunned and outnumbered. ‘I’m not much of a military tactician, but I’m guessing that being out here, literally, in the middle of nowhere, is not to our advantage. Even if we could sneak over and untie a boat, there’s no way we can row to shore fast enough.’ At least not fast enough to elude the bullets.
‘Like you, I fear Philippa’s fish pond will become a watery grave should we attempt to escape.’
‘So, where does that leave us?’
‘In very dire straits,’ Cædmon quietly replied, not one for sugar-coating the truth.
Out of the corner of her eye Edie noticed that MacFarlane had carefully removed several items from the canvas equipment bag that Sanchez had brought over to the isle. Unzipping what appeared to be a waterproof garment bag, he took out a long white robe and some sort of striped apron. Unconcerned that he had two avid onlookers, he unbuttoned and removed his waterproof. Raising his arms, he pulled the robe over the top of his cargo pants and military-style sweater. Over that, he donned the apron, belting it at the waist.
Attired in the strange-looking garb, he next opened a padded container from which he removed a gemstudded item that Edie instantly recognized.
She nudged Cædmon in the ribs. ‘Look, it’s the Stones of Fire.’
With an air of rehearsed solemnity, Stanford Mac-Farlane donned the gold breastplate.
‘What in the world is he doing?’ she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, suddenly wondering if, in addition to being dangerous, their adversary might well be deranged.
‘Unless I’m greatly mistaken, he’s preparing to view the Ark of the Covenant. Which is why he’s attired in the garb traditionally worn by a Hebrew high priest.’
Edie squinted, the breastplate not quite as she remembered it. ‘It looks as though MacFarlane had the twelve stones reset. Maybe it won’t work and he’ll get blasted to the fire pits of hell. Just like the Nazis in Raiders of the Lost Ark.’
‘According to the Bible, it was the twelve stones, not the gold breastplate, that gave the high priest the necessary protection to interact with the Ark.’
MacFarlane, wearing what could only be called a patronizing sneer, approached them.
‘Steadfast faith and the Stones of Fire will ensure my safety,’ he announced, evidently having overheard Cædmon’s last remark. ‘For just as the Ark was constructed according to God’s specific instructions to Moses, so too was the breastplate. As you undoubtedly know, the twelve stones were God’s gift to Moses, the first guardian of the Ark.’
‘Implying that you have appointed yourself the new guardian of the Ark,’ Cædmon replied.
‘I am the ordained guardian of the Ark.’
‘How interesting.’ Folding his arms over his chest, Cædmon smiled mirthlessly, Edie sensing that he was about to use the only weapon left to him, his superior intellect. ‘Were you aware of the fact that the Stones of Fire once belonged to Lucifer?’
MacFarlane’s eyes narrowed, his angry expression near-comical.
‘Ah! I can see that you are familiar with the tale,’ Cædmon blithely continued. ‘Then you undoubtedly know that contained within the pages of the Apocrypha – those being the twelve books omitted from the Protestant Bible – the story is recounted of how God presented to his favourite, the beautiful and arrogant Lucifer, the Stones of Fire. Proudly Lucifer wore the breastplate as a symbol of his elevated status amongst the heavenly host.’ Tilting his head to one side, Cædmon examined the gem-studded relic. ‘Curious to think the same breastplate that you now wear once adorned the Prince of Darkness.’
In unison, MacFarlane’s three subordinates glanced at the Stones of Fire. Edie could see that Cædmon’s remarks were unnerving more than one man among them.
If they could flip one of them, they might have a shot at escaping with their lives.
While Braxton was loyal to a fault, she thought Harliss or Sanchez might be persuaded to swap teams. Assuming she and Cædmon could push the right buttons.
Hoping the relic’s infamous lineage would create some dissension in the ranks, Edie asked the obvious. ‘What happened to the Stones of Fire when Lucifer was cast out of heaven?’ As she spoke, she noticed that all three of MacFarlane’s henchmen cocked an attentive ear.
‘The Stones of Fire then passed to the archangels Michael and Gabriel. Not only did they have joint custody of the breastplate, but it is their two images that supposedly adorn the lid of the Ark.’ Picking up Edie’s intention, Cædmon glanced pointedly at Braxton, Harliss and Sanchez before turning his attention to MacFarlane. ‘Do you think it’s safe for your lads to be in such close proximity to the Ark? Unlike you, they have no protection should an accident occur.’
‘Yeah, I hear tell that skin cancer can be difficult to treat,’ Edie piped up. ‘And as far as I know, there’s no cure for the plague.’ Seeing Sanchez’s slack-jawed expression, she decided to push the fear button for all it was worth. ‘Oh, and let’s not forget about those poor guys at Bethshemesh. Not a pretty story
, let me tell ya.’
Craning his head, Cædmon peered into what was now a five-foot-deep hole, directing his comments to Braxton and Sanchez. ‘Did your commander mention that the Ark of the Covenant is, in fact, a weapon of mass destruction, once used to slaughter the enemies of Israel? My own theory is that the Ten Commandments were inscribed upon pieces of radioactive –’
‘Lies! Every last word of it!’ MacFarlane bellowed, his face having turned a distinctly unhealthy shade of madder red.
Nervously gripping his shovel, Sanchez came to a standstill. ‘But, sir, what if –’
‘Keep digging!’
‘Yes, sir!’ Sanchez replied, applying spade to dirt with a renewed vigour.
Realizing the momentum had just swung the other way, Edie’s shoulders slumped. ‘So much for converting one of the faithful.’
‘There is a reason why they are called true believers,’ Cædmon replied. While he didn’t show it, she knew that he too was dismayed by her near win.
At hearing a loud metallic clunk!, MacFarlane rushed over to the hole.
‘Sir, we just hit some sort of metal box,’ Braxton declared excitedly.
Edie swallowed a nugget-sized lump of fear.
‘I think they may have actually found the bloody Ark of the Covenant.’ Like a man possessed, Cædmon stared intently into the hole.
Repeating the procedure from the cloister, Sanchez fetched the coiled rope. After a little more digging he and Braxton were able to secure it around the buried object.
MacFarlane, smiling indulgently, turned his attention to Cædmon. ‘Do you by any chance know the meaning of the words “apocalypse” and “tribulation”?’
If Cædmon thought the question odd, he gave no indication. ‘Apocalypse is taken from the Greek word apokalupsis, meaning revelation. And tribulation is from the Greek thlipsis, meaning affliction. Did I pass?’
