by Kim Fleet
‘It wasn’t there!’
‘So you put the room to rights and left him to die,’ Eden said. She swung her arm up hard and smacked Luker with the reliquary. He fell back and she hit him again.
‘Jonathan Luker, this is a citizen’s arrest.’ Her throat was on fire and she panted with the effort of keeping him down. Luker was twisting and howling like a wounded animal. Both of them were bleeding from the glass, their blood slicking the floor. ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Lewis Jordan.’
‘He was alive when I left the room! He was groaning, for God’s sake!’
The door crashed back on its hinges and the Filipino man spun into the room crying, ‘Mr Jonathan!’
Close on his heels was Bernard Mulligan.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Eden croaked.
‘Giving you a hand,’ Bernard said. He hauled her to her feet. ‘You hurt?’
‘A bit. I’ll live.’
Bernard dragged Luker into a chair. ‘The police are on their way,’ he said.
‘That was quick,’ Eden said.
‘The butler chap had already called them when I turned up. Heard the rumpus up here.’
Eden tested herself for injuries. She could barely move her arm and shoulder, and there were cuts all over her hands and legs, but nothing seemed to be broken. Another week or so of bruises, she thought ruefully, fingering her throat. Luker himself looked terrible: his skin had turned to putty and he’d aged fifteen years. A tremor started in his hands and shuddered through his whole body.
‘My tumour,’ Luker said. ‘They gave me six months. The Holy Blood saved me.’
A police siren wailed up the drive.
‘Time’s up,’ Eden said.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
Monday, 9 November 2015
09:45 hours
A festive air hung over the Cheltenham Cultural Heritage Unit. A large tin of chocolates graced the table in the meeting room, an insensitive touch considering Mandy had not long been discharged from hospital, Eden thought, though Mandy herself seemed unscathed and was already digging through the tin in search of a big purple nutty one.
‘Leave over, Mandy,’ Trev said, barging her aside and trying to grab them for himself.
Aidan came into the room with a folder and the artefact known as the Holy Blood of Hailes. ‘Don’t eat all the best ones,’ he said. ‘Save some for me.’
His black eyes had faded and was now just the merest touch of green at his temples. Eden’s bruises on her arm, throat and shoulder were still developing, and she found it hard to lift her left arm.
Aidan took a seat opposite her, then the door opened again and Bernard Mulligan and Lisa Greene came in. Lisa had her head tipped back and was laughing gaily at something Bernard had said. He held a seat out for her, and tucked her in before taking the seat next to her. Seemed she’d made another conquest.
‘Right, everyone,’ Aidan called over the racket. ‘It’s been quite an exciting time. I’m sure I’m not the only one round here who doesn’t have a clue what’s been going on. Eden, do you want to fill everyone in on Lewis, then we’ll get to the archaeology.’
‘Sure,’ she said, looking round the table at everyone. ‘Jonathan Luker was a relic collector who believed the Holy Blood of Hailes would cure his brain tumour, but he needed someone dodgy to get hold of it for him. He paid Bernard to do background searches on everyone even remotely connected with the Blood, looking for someone he could bribe to steal it.’ She nodded at Bernard to take up the story.
‘Lewis Jordan had huge debts and was the obvious weak link,’ Bernard said, prodding a toffee from his back teeth with his forefinger. ‘Luker approached him with a deal. Thirty thousand down payment, then an extra two hundred thousand when Lewis delivered the Blood.’
‘Two hundred and thirty thousand pounds?’ Mandy echoed.
‘Small change to Luker. His family are the Luker sweet makers, worth millions,’ Bernard said.
‘So Lewis stole the Blood when you were all packing up after filming,’ Eden said. ‘Trouble was, Lisa was on to him, went to his hotel room, and stole it back.’ Lisa pinked and primped at her role in the drama. ‘Lewis didn’t have the goods to hand over to Luker that evening, but typical Lewis, he thought he’d use it to try and get more money.’
Eden paused. ‘Earlier that day, someone had gone into Lewis’s room and put oven cleaner in his eye drops. Revenge for him being a complete shit and ruining her sister’s family years ago. But when Lewis put his drops in and was blinded, Luker saw his chance. He bashed Lewis’s head in and searched the room for the Blood. When he didn’t find it, he worked out it must still be at the Cultural Heritage Unit, so came back to steal it.’
‘I disturbed him and he hit me, too, with Andy’s Roman amphora,’ said Aidan.
‘Which I’m now gluing back together again,’ Andy said, shaking his head at the injustice of it all.
‘So then you went to get the Blood back?’ Mandy asked, her fingers scrabbling in the tin of chocolates.
‘Bernard and the barman at the Imperial recognised a photo of Luker from a line-up of high-rolling relic hunters. And I remembered that the American couple next to Lewis’s room said they heard him shouting about money. I wondered if what they’d really heard was “Luker”.’
‘That’s what Lewis kept on saying when I was with him,’ Lisa said. ‘His phone was ringing and he laughed and said “filthy lucre”.’
‘Except it wasn’t money he was talking about, it was Luker, the collector,’ Eden said. ‘So I went to Luker’s house and stole the Blood back.’
‘And I turned up in time for cake and medals,’ Bernard added.
‘And here’s the Blood,’ Eden concluded, and all eyes switched their attention to the bottle on the table. ‘The thing that was worth killing for. Apparently.’
‘And so to the archaeology,’ Aidan said. ‘Mandy?’
Mandy opened her notebook. ‘The relic was supposed to have been destroyed during the reign of Henry VIII, but letters dated after that talk about the Hailes relic being taken to Catholic families,’ she said. ‘It seems the relic was known for miracle cures.’
‘Like our friend Luker,’ Bernard added. ‘Believed it would cure his brain tumour.’
‘When do the letters start to talk about the Holy Blood?’ Eden asked.
‘From the Dissolution,’ Mandy said. ‘There are small hints here and there from 1539 about a relic that survived the fire and was healing the sick. Then it seems the relic was a way to rally people to oppose Elizabeth I. One letter talks about seeing the relic and being asked to perform the Lord’s work. By that time the Pope had excommunicated Elizabeth and said that anyone who assassinated her wouldn’t be damned.’
‘And how long do the letters mention the relic?’
‘Nothing after 1571.’ Mandy shrugged. ‘Maybe the plot was uncovered and that was the end of it. They believed in it, though.’
‘But how could it be the real relic?’ Eden said. ‘And surely that was a fake, anyway?’
‘Let’s see,’ Aidan said. ‘We’ve got the results on the residue in the bottom of the phial.’
The room seemed to still and the air grew close as he pulled an envelope out from between the pages of his notebook and slit open the flap. He put on his spectacles and read the results, ran his hand through his hair and read them again. Then he put down the paper and breathed, ‘Well.’
‘Well what?’ Eden grabbed the results before any of the others could get there. She scanned the paper then glanced at the relic.
‘Come on, what’s it say?’ Trev said.
Eden cleared her throat. ‘OK, the analysis says that the substance in the artefact is human blood.’ She swallowed. ‘The DNA is too degraded to say more than that it is human. The residue also had traces of honey and saffron.’
‘That’s what was said about the original relic,’ Mandy said. ‘It was made up of honey and saffron.’
&
nbsp; They all stared in silence at the artefact until Trev said, ‘Come on, we’re scientists. This can’t possibly be the real relic, even if it does contain human blood.’
‘OK, so this is what we know,’ Aidan said, briskly. ‘The artefact resembles the relic known as the Holy Blood of Hailes; was found at Hailes Abbey and contains human blood, and we have documentary evidence that something thought to be the relic survived the Dissolution.’
Silence again.
‘The question is, what should happen to it now?’ Aidan said. ‘I think it, and the documentation, should go somewhere where it can be properly preserved and where lots of people can see it.’
‘Agreed,’ Mandy said.
‘How about the British Museum?’ Lisa suggested. ‘They already have one of the thorns from the Crown of Thorns.’
Aidan glanced at them all in turn. One by one they nodded their agreement.
‘I’ll call Hailes and check it’s OK with them, and make the arrangements,’ he said, gathering the papers together. He paused at the door. ‘Maybe a team outing to London? What do you say?’
Mandy tore the foil from another chocolate. ‘One thing I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Did Luker send those poisoned chocolates?’
‘No,’ Eden said. ‘That was someone else entirely, and I’m sorry you got caught up in it, Mandy.’
Unwilling to be questioned further, she slipped from the room and went to Aidan’s office, where she found him with his head in his hands.
‘Aidan?’ She went over and rubbed his back. ‘You alright?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, his voice muffled. ‘Just don’t know what to think right now.’
She crouched down beside him and gently took his hands from his face. ‘That Catholic upbringing doesn’t let you go, hey?’
He shook his head. ‘Those Catholic families, risking their lives for their faith. Plotting to kill the Queen because they believed it was what God wanted.’ He sucked in a deep breath and visibly composed himself. ‘To be honest, I wanted the DNA to prove the Blood was real.’
‘Hey, God doesn’t work like that,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t lay it all out in black and white, you know that. The thing is what you believe.’
‘I’m a scientist,’ he said.
‘One who wants to believe that relic is real,’ she said, quietly. ‘You certainly did your bit in the Hailes story. Getting a bash on the head trying to defend it. My hero.’
He attempted a smile; it came out crooked. ‘You want to come to London, too? If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have the Holy Blood at all.’
‘Sure, I’ll come along,’ Eden said. ‘I have some unfinished business of my own to attend to.’
CHAPTER
THIRTY
Winchcombe, September 1571
The mare stood shivering, head hanging low between her front legs. Lazarus ran his hands over the animal’s hide, feeling the bones beneath her skin. Yesterday’s ride had broken her. Enough was enough, Lazarus thought, he’d take her to the knackers’ tomorrow. He filled up the feed trough and fetched a bucket of fresh water for the beast and slapped her side.
He wrapped his cloak tightly about him against the chill and trudged along the main street and out towards Ashford Grange. His leg was stronger today, but after five miles he was forced to stop and rest, massaging the muscles to ease the pain.
When he eventually got there, the boy Edgar was alone in the yard, rubbing beeswax onto a saddle with a rag. He stood when Lazarus entered.
‘Master John isn’t here,’ he said, twisting the rag round and round his fingers.
‘It’s you I want to see,’ Lazarus said. He glanced about him, checking the manor house windows in case they were overlooked. ‘You met a man in the woods the other day.’
The boy flushed. ‘I didn’t!’
Lazarus stepped closer and spoke in a low voice, ‘We work for the same master, boy.’
‘I … I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Maybe this will refresh your memory,’ Lazarus said, and pressed a coin into the boy’s hand.
The boy eyed him warily, like an unbroken colt about to run.
‘When do you next meet him?’
‘I … I leave a sign that I wish to speak to him,’ Edgar said.
‘Do so. And when you meet, give him this.’ Lazarus took off his glove and tipped out the folded scrap of paper he’d stolen from Brother John’s house.
‘What is it?’
‘Read it.’
The boy glanced at the paper and shook his head.
‘Better if you don’t know,’ Lazarus said. ‘What I can tell you is that this is important, and he will pay you handsomely, but you must act fast. Do you understand, boy?’
Edgar nodded. His shoulders trembled as he pocketed the square of paper. ‘I will leave the sign at once,’ he said.
‘Good. Tell your friend that he must get this paper to Cecil at once.’
‘Cecil at once,’ the boy repeated. His eyes met Lazarus’s. ‘Who is Cecil?’
Lazarus sighed. They’d duped the boy, told him a pack of lies to get him to do their work and likely they’d forget him when it came to dividing the guilty from the innocent. These were dangerous times, when a man needed his wits sharper than a rapier and the suspicious nature of a snake to keep his head on his shoulders.
‘Make sure he gets it,’ he said again, and headed back to the road for the long trudge back to Winchcombe.
The Abbey ruins loomed as darker shadows against the black sky. It was a moonless night, the stars obscured by clouds; a thin rain falling and turning the track into a slippery mire. Lazarus had borrowed a staff from the innkeeper to help him to walk. After his long journey to and from Ashford Grange that day, the wound in his leg had reopened and each step was torture, but he had to see Brother John.
A narrow slice of light knifed between the shutters of Brother John’s house. Lazarus rested upon the staff for a moment, then rapped on the door with it.
‘Matthew,’ Brother John said, when he opened the door. ‘I have been expecting you.’
‘We must leave at once,’ Lazarus said. ‘There is no time to waste.’
‘Leave? I have work to do.’ Brother John waved his hand at the shelves of jars and ointments.
‘You can tend the sick anywhere in the world,’ Lazarus said. ‘But your work isn’t physic any more, is it, Brother?’
‘Are you in a fever, Matthew? I can’t understand what you’re saying.’
‘I heard you, I heard the plans you made at Ashford Grange. Treason, Master John.’
Brother John rubbed his lips together. ‘You followed me.’
‘Aye, and heard it all. And we must leave now, before it is too late.’
Brother John’s eyes burned like sapphires. ‘I cannot. I have made promises.’
‘Forget them and save your life!’ Lazarus said. ‘Hurry! Grab what things you need and we’ll be gone.’
‘Who sent you, Matthew?’
Lazarus leaned heavily on the staff, easing the weight off his leg. ‘I was taken out of Newgate to find you and kill you.’
Brother John spread his arms wide. ‘I’m still alive.’
‘Because it was not my wish to kill you.’ Lazarus scraped his nails down his beard. ‘We can make it to Bristol and get a ship there to France.’
‘Neither of us has papers allowing us to leave.’ Brother John’s voice was cool.
‘We have coin, that is enough for most men,’ Lazarus said. He pulled the blanket from the bed and started to load Brother John’s linen into it.
‘Stop.’ Brother John stilled him with his hand on his arm. ‘I cannot leave.’
‘But you must!’ Lazarus cried. ‘Don’t you understand, they are coming for you. I gave them the paper, the list of people you are to visit with the Holy Blood.’
‘Perhaps I should change your name,’ Brother John said. ‘Judas, not Lazarus.’
‘I’m here to save you, God damn you!’ Lazarus cried.
‘By the time they come for you we can be far away. They’ll take the others but they won’t find us.’
‘No.’ Brother John shook his head. ‘I’m no coward, and it is God’s work I’m doing.’
‘Treason? God’s work?’
‘I must do His will.’
‘Brother! Please!’
Brother John planted himself squarely and folded his arms. ‘You must go alone.’
Lazarus searched the shelves with his eyes. ‘Where is it?’
‘What?’
He grabbed a jar and threw it to the floor. It smashed into tiny shards and a puddle of pungent ointment leaked into the earth floor. A bottle of physic joined it. A box of dried herbs, a salve, a wash to remove lice.
‘Stop it!’ Brother John cried, dashing over and hanging onto Lazarus’s arm as he reached up to the next shelf.
‘Where’s the Blood?’
Brother John wrestled him away from the shelves and the two men fell on the broken glass and pottery. When Lazarus pushed himself to his feet, a shard of glass stabbed through his palm. He roared with pain and yanked it out. His palm gushing blood, he set about clearing the rest of the shelves, grabbing at bottles and jars in a frenzy and smashing them on the floor. The smell of wormwood permeated the hut, making him choke.
‘Where is it?’ he bellowed. A second shelf was emptied. He started on the third, then turned to see Brother John burrowing in a box under his bed. Lazarus launched himself across the room and barged him aside. Tossing out linen and bandages, at the bottom of the box he found a dark glass phial with a carved silver stopper. For a second, the sight of the Holy Blood froze him to the spot, then he rammed it inside his shirt and headed to the door, wrenching it open and hobbling into the black night.
Brother John roared and hurtled after him, flinging himself at Lazarus’s legs. The two men fell heavily to the ground. Lazarus crawled away on all fours, kicking at Brother John as he grabbed at his ankles. With a huge effort he regained his feet and lurched away through the infirmary ruins, tripping over broken stones and skidding on wet moss. He clambered over the wall, and set across the field, skirting the old Abbey fish ponds. His foot slipped and he began to fall, putting out his hand to brace himself. He righted himself and set off again, then a blow to his shoulder stopped him dead. Pain knifed through his body and his knees buckled.
