The Priests' Code

by B. B. Balthis

  ‘I’ll let the bishop know when he comes back, although I’ve no idea when that will be. Will you be picking up your emails?’

  ‘Oh yes, of course.’

  She apologised for her sharpness although this wasn’t necessary, since as far as I was concerned, and given the circumstances, it was well justified!

  * * *

  The next thing on my list was getting to the airport. At that moment, the doorbell rang, and in response to my shouting out to ask the caller to identify themselves, Merry’s voice came back to me and I let her in.

  ‘Ben, I thought I should pop over to see how you were? What an awful thing to have happened. Did they steal very much? Peter said the place was quite a mess but, I must say, it all looks very ship shape now. What luck that he happened to be strolling by and raised the alarm. I was out for most of yesterday and didn’t get back till late, or I would have come straight up to help you.’

  ‘It was quite a shock, that’s for sure, and the house was a dreadful mess, but it all went back into place quite quickly. There really wasn’t anything here to steal, since I had my laptop with me. The TV’s ancient, and the radio isn’t digital, so the burglars must have been very disappointed indeed! The only things of any value were a few old wine glasses and they smashed those, so they clearly knew nothing about antiques!’ Silently, I wondered if they had been smashed out of anger and frustration at not finding the documents or journal, and thought this quite likely.

  I took her through into the sitting room where my suitcases were standing, packed and ready to go. I explained that I was taking a couple of weeks’ leave and was going home to France, but would be back soon.

  ‘I expect you’ll need a break after this. It’s such an invasion of one’s privacy, isn’t it? I was broken into once when I was a student, and it took me months to get over it. How are you getting to the airport? Do you have a lift arranged?’

  I explained that I would get a cab to the station in Oxford, and that the train from there should get me to the airport in plenty of time.

  ‘Ben, do let me give you a lift. I’ve nothing on at all today. Peter’s away for a couple of days and the boys have gone to stay with friends, so it really wouldn’t be any trouble. Do let me help.’

  I didn’t want to put her out at all, and said so, but she insisted, so I finally, and thankfully, relented and agreed to the lift, after insisting on paying for petrol. Vicars are not well paid, and with three boys soon to be at university they must be hard pressed for cash.

  ‘I’ll be back at eleven on the dot. Is that OK?’

  ‘Perfect. Thank you.’

  ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. I’ve got a card here for you and Caro to thank you for the flowers and wine. I enjoyed meeting her so much, and the flowers were lovely. I’ve put them in the front window and several people have commented on them. The friend that I went to see yesterday has just started up a greetings card company, and so I bought a few from her whilst I was there. This is the nicest one, I thought. I hope you like it.’

  I thanked her and closed the door… then I remembered what Peter had said last night. He said he had called round to drop a card off from Merry. But she had just said she wasn’t back till late, and had only bought the card whilst she was at her friend’s house yesterday. Perhaps he had written one himself and brought it round because he was lonely?

  Or perhaps he had wanted to talk about something? I remembered when he had spoken about the boys leaving home and had become tearful. I also remembered the look of annoyance he had given his wife when she offered to show us the archaeological report on the church. He was beginning to sound, to use Caro’s word, as ‘dodgy’ as the bishop. Nothing made sense right now, and I felt considerable relief at the thought of leaving it all behind, no matter what problems might be waiting for me in France.

  * * *

  I was waiting outside when Merry pulled up. The cottage had been left clean and tidy, with food from the fridge thrown out, water and electricity switched off and the door locked. I had my laptop and papers safely in my manbag across my shoulder and two suitcases, which I stowed in the boot of the car. I insisted that she pull into the nearest petrol station, where I filled her up her car, and bought her a bottle of wine from the chiller cabinet. It felt good to be getting away, and the further the distance grew between us and the village, the more relaxed I felt.

  ‘Did you get a chance to look at those papers I gave you about the church research done by the archaeologist?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet, but they’re in my bag to look at on the plane.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. As I said, he was a strange man – nervous, and not very friendly, but the report is quite interesting. The lord of the manor in the very early days of the church was instrumental in the setting up of the Knights Templar. Not many text books tell you that, but it’s true. I suppose it’s likely that he or one of his relatives brought back the relics, and goodness knows what else. I often wonder what other secrets are held in the place, walled up and silent.

  ‘I did a degree in the history of art at Oxford, you know. I wanted to do a master’s, but then I met Peter, and the rest, as they say, is history, albeit of a different kind. Sorry about the unintended pun! Now, of course, I cook. It doesn’t sound great, does it? It feels like such a waste of an education, and I’ve been considering doing a master’s now, especially with the boys all off to university.’

  I knew nothing of her academic past, but was glad that she had decided to pick up the reins again and do something for herself.

  ‘That sounds like a great idea, and you’re still near to Oxford, which should give you plenty of scope.’

  We spoke about Caro’s work, and the books she had published. It seemed like no time at all had passed when we pulled up outside the airport terminal. I got my cases out from the boot.

  ‘Thank you so much for the lift; it was a real help. I should be back in a week or two, but I’ll send you both an email.’

  I waved as she drove off. The check-in desk was open and I soon moved into the departure lounge and bought a much-needed sandwich, water, and coffee, and sat down to wait for my flight. The past week had been very intense and I wondered what would happen next. Nothing, I hoped, but I needed to be prepared for the worst.

  I couldn’t think of anything that would make my house in France more secure. Unless an intruder was a skilled climber, there was no way of entering from the front, since there was a thirty-foot drop down from my small terrace to the river. Without doubt, this had been deliberate when the house was built, to prevent easy access for any marauders. The river also ran around at least half of the current buildings in the circulade, although these days it was usually shallow unless there had been heavy rain.

  Both sides were blocked off with my neighbour’s properties, and the only accessible point of entry was the rear door, which was made of solid oak and was hundreds of years old. There were two very sturdy locks and a cast iron outer door, which was common to the area. It would take a huge effort to get through, and I thought that this was unlikely given the amount of noise it would make. My neighbours were elderly, and in most of the time, and without doubt would hear any major commotion and call the police.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Once up in the air, I took out the archaeologist’s report that Merry had given me. The author started by giving a description of the exterior of the church building, which he described as very early Norman, possibly in part late Saxon. He described several layers of building, which he believed meant that the present church stood over an earlier one, and he described many of the features that we had seen for ourselves, including what he described as Norse/Viking symbolism throughout. There were several pages about the Knights Templar, and their involvement with the building, and he waxed lyrical about the relics and the piscina, which he described as the ‘most bizarre and odd’ he had ever s
een. He continued by saying;

  It is quite clear that there is a purpose to the unusual design of the piscina, and further research is required to determine what that purpose is. Undoubtedly the person who placed it there had a message to leave, and I have some thoughts about what that message was. However, I intend to consult further with colleagues who have specialities in this field.

  Likewise, the graffiti and symbolism around the church appears to be purposeful and significant, much of it based on the idea that the building is holding a secret of much importance. Some are aware of the secret and appear to embrace it, and others do not embrace it at all.

  A room in the tower was sealed many years ago, but a veteran of the First World War set a tiny stone staircase into the wall to allow access to the room again.

  I stopped reading for a moment. Peter had most definitely told me that the room was sealed up. How very odd. Why would he lie like that? I read on.

  What is most curious is the huge ornate Norman doorway leading from this room to nowhere. It is blocked up now, and if one were to unblock it one would fall right down to the ground at the front of the chancel. There are also a host of other strange carvings in there, which would be most unusual for a room destined to be seen only by a priest.

  I strongly suspect that, at one time, the door must have led on to further rooms. I shall consult with a colleague and will hopefully bring him with me on my next visit. Records may tell us more, and the vicar has agreed to make available any old records that he has at my next visit, which may give further explanation. My expectation is, however, that the records will not go back far enough to explain this anomaly.

  There are two tombs in the graveyard that are most unusual, one in fact is unique as far as I am aware. The first one is a huge Roman structure, thought to have come from a nearby earlier burial ground, and supposedly found quite by chance.

  The second is most rare indeed, and shows a man and woman of medieval style atop a tomb, their lower parts swathed by a blanket or covering of sorts. To find something like this outside is rare enough, but the blanket covering is extraordinary and urgently needs further investigation. ‘Conservation’ work apparently revealed early medieval pottery and mortar, giving the tomb a similar date to the piscina. Altogether, the church is complex, intriguing, and of great importance historically. I will revisit the building as soon as possible with specialists.

  Just as I finished reading this page, the seatbelt light came on and the plane began its descent. I put the report away, deciding to read it again when back home and less tired. I had no idea what the next few weeks would bring, and knew that I was most certainly in danger, but how much? Enough to be killed for what I know? Surely not, but then Caro was convinced that the hit and run, and the attempt to push me under a train, were not accidents. I didn’t think they were either, especially the thump on the back in Paris, but if they were attempted murder, why? And by whom? Would they hurt her too?

  I had no time to continue this train of thought, and it wasn’t long before I walked through passport control and saw Arnaud scanning the people passing by, looking for his old friend Benoît. Finally, he saw me and shouted my name, before embracing me in a firm, garlic-scented hug.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I woke up to find myself still lying on the sofa. I had been here for the entire night, and from my position, still flat on my back, it didn’t look like I had moved at all. The sun was slanting in through the window and terrace doors, which had been left open the whole night. Even at this early hour it was warm, and I slowly got up to make myself a coffee. I decided to do it properly and began to grind the beans with an old wooden grinder that had belonged to my grandmother.

  A few minutes later, and I was outside on the terrace, sitting on an old bench set against the front wall of the house, sipping the sweet, aromatic brew. The air was fresh and clean and I could barely contain my joy at being home. I closed my eyes against the morning sun, and for the first time in what seemed like weeks, I prayed.

  I knew that I was, perhaps, not your average priest, and that my beliefs differed from many, but prayer had always baffled me, and had been one of the most difficult things for me to grasp. It had always seemed to me that ‘prayer’ was, in general, a long list of requests and favours asked for, and as such was totally anathema to me. Who would want to listen to that, or feel inclined, in any way, to answer?

  Trying to pray without asking for anything was a discipline that took an immense amount of thought. Giving thanks was always a good start and not just to a God but to anyone who had had an impact on the day, either positive or negative. It was a massive subject of debate amongst the theology students that I had once taught, and one that I found endlessly stimulating.

  * * *

  I could have stayed outside for the whole morning, but I had a lot to do. Climbing the tall, twisting stairs, I unpacked and took a much-needed shower. Feeling a lot better for it, I was soon back downstairs, and lifted the phone to call Caro. It was early, but I was sure she would be up.

  ‘Morning Benoît. I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you home. Are you coming up later, or have you got other plans for today?’

  ‘I’ve got quite a few things to do this morning. I need to pay Arnaud and Mathilde what I owe them, and then I must go shopping.’ This meant a trip to the nearest small town, and probably the supermarket, since there were no markets until Sunday, nearly a week away.

  ‘I’ve got a few emails to write and appointments to cancel, but I can come up after that, say around one, if that suits you?’

  ‘The prodigal cousin has returned!’

  ‘Yes, and I shall expect a good meal waiting for me. Three courses, and the best wine in the house. In fact, I’m so glad to be home, that I wouldn’t care if you gave me a bowl of cabbage soup. I’m even looking forward to the shopping and putting petrol in the car!’

  ‘It’s good about the cabbage soup, since that’s what you’ll be having. I might stretch to some stewed apples for pudding if you’re lucky.’ We both laughed.

  Was it possible that it was less than forty-eight hours since I had seen her? It felt like weeks had passed. Then I remembered the words of the Italian and his warnings. I was supposed to be in hiding. I had to bear this in mind, and began to think about the preparations that should be made, ready for any eventuality that might possibly lie in the days ahead.

  * * *

  I switched on my laptop to deal with any emails and cancel all appointments made for the next two weeks. I wrote a cheque to pay Arnaud for the car and the insurance he had arranged, and put it in my wallet. I stowed my documents and laptop in the safe, noting the hunter’s rifle in the corner that had once belonged to my grandfather. As a countryman, or ‘peasant’ as Caro might say, I still held a licence and was trained in the use of the rifle, although I hadn’t shot anything living since I was a boy.

  I did enjoy clay pigeon shooting though, and had done this several times over the past year at a local range just outside Cirencester. I fully intended to clean it, making sure it was ready for use in extreme of circumstances. There was plenty of ammunition stacked in boxes, and I would check this too, and make sure it was still fit to use. I took some of the euros from the pile stacked in an old cigar tin, and once again I thought about ‘Benoît le paysan.’ No peasant worth his salt would be without a stack of money hidden somewhere, and I always topped this up each time I came to France. I felt another huge rush of joy in being back here, and whatever the future held, I knew that, right now, this was where I was meant to be.

  With everything locked up, I jumped into the car and drove up the narrow road towards the mountains. Arnaud’s house was just a few hundred yards on the right, and I pulled up outside. Their front door was open and, business attended to, I accepted the offer of a coffee. Within half an hour I was heading in the opposite direction, stopping at the nearest garage for pet
rol, including filling a metal can and checking the spare tyre. Some of the roads here in the mountains were strewn with small pieces of grit and rock, which sliced through a tyre with ease, and I needed to be prepared.

  After the bank and boulangerie, where I bought a beautiful pear tarte tatin to take to Caro’s as well as bread, I was soon in the small supermarket on the other side of town. I had almost nothing in the house, and, with a siege mentality, stocked up on everything I might need over the next few weeks.

  ‘Are the Nazis about to occupy France again?’ Asked the checkout operator. ‘Please give me an early warning, and I’ll stock up too,’ she laughed. I laughed with her, but wondered what the response would be if I told her that the Mafia were after me and that I might have to hide in the mountains for a while. Whilst packing the bags, I pondered on how unpalatable the truth was and how often we avoided it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Back at the house, I sorted out several boxes of items to put back in the boot, including water, biscuits, and other non-perishables, a couple of thick old blankets, candles, matches, torch, sturdy boots, and my ancient rucksack. It felt like a fantasy thriller movie, and hiding out in a cave for a few days sounded so ludicrous and surreal that I couldn’t believe it would ever happen. Putting everything else away, I stacked the cash in the safe. I would see to the gun when I came back from Caro’s.

  I arrived at her house just before one and she rushed out to greet me. The sky was bright blue, and the Pyrenees were in clear view, as was Bugarach mountain, renowned for its supposed alien activity. There were several fortresses nearby, built on the tops of steep, mountain peaks, and I had great admiration for the people of those times and their staggering strength and ingenuity.