It had been recorded that there was once a huge city of some thirty thousand people on the site of Rennes-le-Château and the slopes below, then known as ‘Rhedae.’ The Romans, Visigoths, Franks, Cathars, Knights Templar, and many others before and after had settled in the region, and in Rennes-le-Château, because of its hilltop position and being able to see for miles in every direction. It certainly made a great lookout post, and the atmosphere was still highly charged, although tinged, I often thought, with great loss and sadness.
It was a small village now, but the tourist trade was brisk, because of its history, tales of buried treasure, and the infamous priest, Bérenger Saunière, who had lived here more than a hundred years ago. His apparent discoveries of parchments in the church about Jesus and Mary Magdalene residing in the region and having a child, had made him a wealthy man for a time. Even now, it still fuelled a fierce ongoing debate, as well as another on treasure being buried in the locality.
* * *
Caro’s house dated to the early seventeenth century and had been in her father’s family for generations. Since her parents died she had modernised it throughout, but had kept many original features and almost all the charm of the old building. She had a large garden, and owned some of the fields and steep rocky slopes that ran down towards the valley.
Her father had been quite a few years older than her mother and they had made an unusual couple. He was an archaeologist; an odd but amiable man who had spent a lot of his time away on digs and explorations. He made up for this by sending Caro long letters and bringing her presents of scientific instruments, fossils, artefacts, and books on the most diverse of subjects. I once remembered him bringing her an ancient human skull. She must have been about seven at the time and it had sat in her room for years, gathering dust. He would often walk around the village with us both, pointing out various things of historical importance, and it was from him that we both imbibed our love of history and all ancient things.
When I thought about her mother, my aunt, I realised how like my own mother she was. They were non-identical twins, but had the same mannerisms, tone of voice, and urgency of speech. She was certainly around a lot more and cared for her family greatly, sometimes possessively, but you never felt like you really knew her. They were both so different from my grandparents, and I had frequently wondered what had gone so wrong that they had turned out like they did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
‘Benoît… Benoît… you’re miles away. What were you thinking?’
Caro was staring at me closely and gently shaking my arm.
‘Oh, I was thinking about our parents and how odd they were. It suddenly struck me; how could they have been brought up by our grandparents and yet have been so different? There’s something else too – you must have wondered it yourself. How did they both accumulate so much money? I’m not sure how much you have, but there are so many noughts on my bank statements that I often can’t make out what the actual sum really is. It’s beginning to bother me. It’s probably all this trouble with the parchments and journal, and being broken into and threatened, but it’s important, nonetheless.’
‘I’ve been thinking about it a bit too, and where it should all go when we’re gone. We’ve been ignoring it for too long. And, like you, the number of noughts is staggering. I was haggling at a flea market the other week over a pile of old plates, and I suddenly thought how insane it was to haggle over a few euros like that. I gave the woman twice the amount she was asking for in the end. She must have thought I was mad.’
‘She was right there, ma chérie; you’re as nutty as a British fruit cake. And, talking of cakes, I bought you this.’ I handed over the tarte tatin.
‘Ah, I see. Either you don’t trust my cooking, or you’ve brought a gift that you have every intention of consuming yourself. Very clever, Benoît… very clever indeed. And from old moneybags himself, so laden down with cash that he can barely walk. Ha!’ She thumped me on the arm and started laughing.
I wondered why people had started to thump me. I had noticed several bruises when I was in the shower this morning from Arnaud’s double assault yesterday, and now Caro was at it too.
‘Do I look like some sort of victim? Arnaud thumped me twice yesterday, and now you. I’m covered in bruises. As soon as this “situation” is over, I’m taking up bodybuilding!’
We both laughed at this and probably the hilarious, but unlikely, image of me becoming muscle-bound enough to scare people away.
‘Come on you weakling – let’s go inside and eat.’
She had roasted a chicken stuffed with lemon and herbs, and had made a large salad, grown in her own garden. A crystal bowl gleamed with bright tomatoes, slices of mozzarella, and large basil leaves, all drizzled with olive oil and salt crystals, which glittered across the top. Tiny baby potatoes with garlic butter were taken from the oven, and sat on the table steaming gently. As I sat down she pulled a hot, fragrant loaf from the old bread oven inset into the rear of the huge fireplace.
‘I had to light the fire to make this, and it’s so hot today. Consider yourself very lucky.’
‘Are you sure you can afford the fuel? Would you like me to pay for my share?’
She raised her arm to thump me again, and I quickly picked up a spoon and started to fill my plate. I was glad that the atmosphere had been lightened, and we chatted as we ate, eventually taking our coffee outside to the terrace with its glorious mountain views.
* * *
‘So, Ben, what’s happening? Tell me everything.’
I told her again about the break-in, the ash being removed from the grate, the shredded curtains, about Peter being there, the phone call from the Italian, and the potential danger we might be in. We discussed this for a while, our voices becoming quieter; all joviality now gone.
‘There have been theories about Jesus, and his not being crucified, for hundreds of years, especially in the past sixty years or so with freedom of speech, and so much media coverage available… but there has never been any tangible evidence. And, as you know, so much rubbish has been put out over the years, which gives the Vatican, and everyone else who has a vested interest in trashing the evidence, ammunition to do so. I’m convinced that a lot of the false clues and dossiers are more than just a few pranksters having fun. They’re deliberately put out to confuse, and stop people from seeing what’s right in front of their eyes. There are powerful people out there Caro, not just in the church and other vast financial organisations, which include the Vatican, but politicians too.’
I paused for a moment to collect my thoughts.
‘Actually, there’s more to it than that. People like you and I could cope with an honest base to construct our beliefs upon: to consolidate historical fact and truth with some form of internal knowing and faith. But there are a lot of crazy people in the world, who might thrive on the chaos that could be caused if the whole basis of Christianity was disproved. The word to focus on here is proved.
‘Anyone with an interest in the subject already knows that Christianity and its basic construction in the format that we know it was compiled by the Romans, namely Constantine, before, during, and after the Council of Nicaea in AD 325, including the construction of the Bible. It took a while to pull the thing together, of course, and there were several other split-off groups to contend with, but overall, he succeeded. As you know, he even condemned and excommunicated Arius, accusing him of heresy for his assertions that Jesus was an ordinary man and not a divine being.’
I poured myself more coffee and sat back in my chair.
‘I know my own beliefs might vary somewhat from other priests, but I also know that there are plenty of us who hold views that vary considerably from traditional doctrine.’
‘I don’t doubt that, Ben… not at all. In fact, I’m relieved to hear you say it. For myself, there’s no doubt at all that Constantine’s eff
orts were nothing more than a political manoeuvre to consolidate, control, and ultimately, create a massively powerful weapon, which he then presented to the people as a religion and an appeasement – both at the same time.
‘I view it as an incredibly clever construction of psychological warfare, like nothing ever seen or heard of before or since. A mass compilation of oral traditions, desires, and fantasies, as well as a web of huge complexity: intrigue, truths, half-truths, fables, and downright lies, whilst still leaving all control to Rome. And whenever any part of the Bible proved tricky or contentious, they just removed or changed that bit. Very smart indeed, so much so, that its power is still being exerted today. They may be gone as an occupying army, but they’re still in occupation – quite literally, if we think of the Vatican. And we view the threat of nuclear warfare as the ultimate control threat?’
‘Put like that, you’re right… it is rather impressive. Whilst nuclear warfare threatens to wipe out cities and hundreds of thousands of people at a time, religion controls with the promise of ultimate salvation. Suffer now, and you’ll get your reward in heaven. But look at how many wars are going on right now, supposedly based on religious and racial intolerance? Even after the horrors of the Holocaust, nothing has changed.’
* * *
Caro stood up. ‘Personally, I’d like to see organised religion disappear entirely. I’m sorry if that offends you, Ben.’ She gave a big sigh. ‘Anyway, I suppose humans would just find other reasons to kill each other… they always have. How very sad it all is. I could weep right now.’
It was hot, and I shifted my chair further into the shade.
‘It doesn’t offend me, but as a priest I know that having a faith can be a huge source of comfort to a person in difficult times. It helps people to make sense of the complex world they live in. Throughout history, and well before Jesus’s time, we were at it. Worshipping the sun, the stars, the moon, mother earth, constructing huge buildings of stone and attaching meaning to them, idols, Isis and a whole host of other gods and deities. Even devil worship, although the definition of the Devil is a massive area of debate as far as I can see. I can think of quite a few despots in the past century alone who would more than qualify for that badge. We’ve even gone in for sacrificing people to appease the gods, which no doubt made some sense at the time. Of course, politics and power play a huge part, often using the Church as a controlling body, like with Henry VIII and the dissolution of the monasteries. It’s not just religion per se. I feel like I’m lecturing you; you’re the historian, you know all of this. I’m just running it through in my own mind really.’
‘Carry on, Ben… it’s all very well turning out a load of academic books, but feeling it is what makes it really stick. I think that about all history. If you don’t feel it, it’s almost impossible to make any attempt at a decent interpretation. Without passion, it’s just a dead thing slipping through one’s hands like sand.
‘But where does it leave us? There are plenty of people out there who would kill for what we know, or, indeed, to suppress it – I don’t doubt that. And the Italian? He has the original parchments. Will he have to hide himself and them for the rest of his life? Where does it leave you as a Catholic priest? Is it enough to believe in Jesus as a man, even if he was a very special and inspiring one at that?’
‘You just don’t understand… you never did, did you?’
She looked hurt at this, and I apologised.
‘I have tried, really I have. But you’re right, I don’t understand.’
‘I’ve known a lot of priests, Catholic and otherwise, who speak of a calling. Some talk about visions, or voices, and a whole lot of other things that they have interpreted as an indication from God that they’ve been singled out for a special purpose. I haven’t had that, and used to feel very uncomfortable about it too. But it’s a feeling, Caro… a feeling. You spoke about that just now in relation to understanding history. Well, my feeling comes when I think about Jesus.
‘It started when I was a young boy. I can even remember the first time that it happened. We must have been about eight, and we were with your father, Charles. He was giving us one of his guided tours of the church here at Rennes-le-Château, and his interpretations of what Saunière’s revamped interior symbolised. He began talking about Jesus and I felt warm all over. That’s the simplest and most accurate way of describing it. And the more I learned about the man, the more I warmed to him, in every sense of the word. As for him being a human being, and not some form of deity or God… that made not the slightest bit of difference, quite the opposite, in fact. It affirmed and added to how I felt. The other day you said you thought I might be gay? I even asked myself that, but I’m not, I can assure you of that.’
‘Thank you, Benoît. Thank you for explaining it to me. I don’t feel like you do, but I do understand it a little better now. I recognise the danger that we’re in too; I even feel uncomfortable out here, in full view for any sniper to have a go at.’
‘Let’s go back inside and discuss tactics.’
We got up and went into the now cool interior of the house. With tall glasses of iced lemon tea, we sat with the windows and doors open to allow the breeze, and any murderer, I reminded her, in.
‘The thing is, Benoît, I don’t want to be silenced by fear. That’s what has always been done, and I won’t be a part of it. I’m an academic and a historian, not a puppet to be controlled by a bunch of morons flexing their muscles. We’ve got masses of research that we’ve done in the past on the subject, and a whole lot more that I’ve done recently. The parchments that were sent to you add to what we already know, and the journal adds to it again. I want to explore it further, and I’ve had some ideas that I’d like to run by you. I’m writing a serious book, not some rubbish to send people off on a wild goose chase around the mountains looking for hidden Templar treasure. And whilst I don’t want to make a point of antagonising dangerous people, or creating chaos, I must be allowed to speak. You do see that, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do, but you might need to wait for a while. And you don’t have any right to use the Italian’s parchments without his permission, you know that.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
Caro had promised to go and see Hortense, her father’s sister, that afternoon. It was a hot day, and there would be quite a few tourists milling about in the village. This was good for us, since it was unlikely that we would be the focus of an attack in those circumstances.
Hortense lived in a small cottage not far from the church. She was very elderly, but still managed to live alone with a little help from Caro, her neighbours, and a home help who came in every day. She always had her finger on the pulse regarding village affairs, missed nothing, and had a memory as sharp as a knife. Wanting to take some food for her, as well as a basket of vegetables from the garden, we decided to take the car, and drove up the steep hill to the car park. The view was magnificent from here, reaching as far as the Pyrenees, and we stood for a moment to take it in before walking into the centre of the village.
A few steps later and the church of Saint Mary Magdalene was in front of us. There were quite a few tourists milling about, and I stood back to let some walk by. We had been here many hundreds of times, but never tired of seeing the beautiful little church, which wore its age as proudly as anything that was well over a thousand years old should. It would be impossible to say exactly how old the place was, but I was quite sure that parts of it dated to at least twelve hundred years ago. Given the amount of times that invaders had sacked the area, this was quite an achievement.
Without doubt, another church had stood in its place before, and quite possibly a Roman site of worship before that. It was known that in the early ninth century Guillaume de Gellone and his sons had built a castle on the land to the side of the church, and Caro’s father had found many artefacts relating to that time, and earlier, which he loved to show to us.
Subsequent Gellone generations had gone on to become Templars, and it was true that the now tiny village was steeped in history like a sponge in water. If it could only be squeezed as easily to extract everything that it held, then one would surely have a spellbinding story to tell. The passage of time was so tangible here, more than anywhere else in the world that I had been, and most people, tourists and locals alike, were quiet as they walked around, as if in reverence to those that had gone before.
Caro lead the way and we walked inside. The last group of tourists was just leaving, and for the moment, we were alone.
‘The place is still amazing, isn’t it? It has the same effect every time I come in. Even though we thought we had combed every inch of it, I’ve still found a few new things of interest that link to both the parchments and the journal. And I keep thinking about the painted room under your house. We left it out of our research before, but I do think we should add it to what we know, even if its location is kept secret. What do you feel about that, Benoît? It’s your house, after all, and we haven’t set eyes on the room for more than forty years.’
‘Well, my house is never going to be turned into a theme park. And before you get on your high horse I know that’s not what you were suggesting. You’re right, though: we could look at it again and use it for research, and I promise to think about it. But this won’t be like any other history book you’ve written, will it? There’s already so much information out there, granted a lot of it deliberately false smokescreens. I’m just not sure how it can be done without turning it into another treasure hunt. I don’t want my name on anything either. Luckily you have a different surname to me; de Morny and Balthis are about as different as you can get! Oh, and you seem to have forgotten something. We’ve been warned by several people that we’re in danger, and I think we need to pay some attention to that, don’t you?’
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