The Priests' Code

by B. B. Balthis

‘I agonised over it for ages. I was quite upset myself for a while. I was the one that they gave away don’t forget. I would have told you eventually, but the main reason I decided against it, was because I was worried about you becoming even more angry with your parents. I didn’t want you to have any more turmoil than you already did. Was I wrong? I’m so sorry if I was.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m glad I know now. What other secrets are going to come out of the woodwork, I wonder? Nothing would surprise me anymore. I mean, we’ve got a boot full of gold at this very moment. What other revelations does Hortense have for us? I don’t know whether to be excited or scared.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I think I’m excited and scared.’

  ‘Anyway, let’s collect your bags. You’re coming back with me. Your house is quite isolated and it’s not safe.’

  I braced myself for an argument, which I was determined to win, but it didn’t happen. Back at her house, whilst she packed a case, I gave her garden a good watering and filled two large baskets to the brim with various fruit and vegetables. With everything loaded into the car, the windows checked, and the alarm switched on, we began the winding decent down the mountain side. I had seen a car in the lay-by opposite the drive when we had come in, but this wasn’t that unusual, because of the many tourists that came up and down the road. However, the same car now appeared to be behind us.

  ‘I think we’re being followed. I saw them parked in the lay-by when I pulled into your drive earlier. Hang on tight… I’m going to try to lose them. There’s a narrow track a few hundred yards from here, which cuts around the side of the mountain and ends up on the main road below Antugnac.’

  She gripped the handrail above the door and put her other hand on the dashboard of the car. Within seconds, I took a sharp left and with dust flying we sped down the rough, gritty track.

  ‘Hang on,’ I said again. ‘Once we’re on the main road we’ll be fine, and so far, there’s no one behind us.’

  We passed a few farmhouses and a small cluster of cottages, the dust flying behind us in a thick cloud. They would think that we were lunatics to drive by at such speed, but I hardly cared, and we were soon at the junction of the main road at the bottom of the hill.

  ‘Wow, I enjoyed that. I knew that short course in rally driving would come in handy one day. I won it at the church raffle. Did I tell you, Caro? Caro? Are you OK? You look a bit green.’

  ‘I’m wonderful… just wonderful. Can we go home now please?’

  Five minutes later we pulled up outside my house, turning the car around so that, if necessary, we could drive straight out. There was no one to be seen and we quickly unloaded everything in silence and let ourselves in. I locked the outer metal door from the inside, which I didn’t normally do, and then the internal one too.

  There were no accessible windows at this side of the house and I thanked the foresight of builders in times past for securing the back of the house in this way. The walls were well over a metre thick and, without dynamite, getting in uninvited would be very difficult indeed. If someone was determined enough, the locks of the door could probably be smashed, but it would make a considerable amount of noise, which would at least give us some warning.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Caro took her suitcase upstairs. The house had changed a lot since my parents and grandparents had lived here. There were four rooms on the first floor then, with just one bathroom, and it didn’t really work for me. I had all the internal walls taken down and two large bedrooms made, each with a bathroom of its own, as well as a spacious study for me. The top floor was one room, and was so vast in width and height that I had no idea what to do with it. Apart from a new bathroom installed into one corner, it hadn’t changed at all.

  On the stripped floor was one of my parent’s huge Persian rugs, and a large bed, wardrobe, drawers, and dressing table that had belonged to my grandparents. On one wall were a few paintings done by Aunt Hortense when she was younger. She was a talented artist and had gained quite a reputation in the region at one time. They were mostly of the mountains and villages nearby and were beautifully executed and very atmospheric. The size of the room still dwarfed the pieces of furniture, though, and I hardly ever went up there since the rest of the house provided more than enough space for me and my belongings.

  I opened the shutters and windows at the front of the house, as well as the doors that led to the small terrace. The sun was out again, and it was still warm, even though it was nearly seven in the evening. I put the chest from Hortense on the table, opened the safe, and took out my laptop and the rifle and ammunition to check over and clean. I had no intention of dying myself, but my main concern was for Caro… my sister. How odd that sounded.

  I remembered again what the Italian had said on the phone before I left England. ‘Your sister.’ Somehow, he knew too. What else did he know about me and my family? I also wondered about the men who followed us earlier. It certainly wasn’t Black Coat. There were two of them, both with the obligatory gangster dark glasses, and they drove as close to my bumper as they could, which was an obvious sign of aggression.

  And what of Hortense? She said she had seen men around the village, and they had seen her. What did she mean? Was she at risk too? Surely, they wouldn’t hurt an elderly lady. I trusted her judgement, though, and picked up the phone to call her house. Angeline answered and responded to my questions carefully, trying to reassure me that all was well.

  ‘Please don’t worry, Father Benoît. Hortense is fine. We’ve just eaten dinner: the lovely chicken you brought and the potatoes, and Hortense had a slice of the tart too. She’s just settling down now to watch her favourite TV show.’

  I thanked her and rang off. Caro came down at this point and I told her about the conversation and what the Italian had said about her being my sister.

  ‘That is odd. If he had taken the trouble to find out that I was there, he must surely have known who I was, which at that time was your cousin. I get the feeling that he knows an awful lot more about you than he has let on, and I keep thinking about our parents. My birth parents, I mean, Celestine and Henrikas. They were away so much. Don’t you have any idea of where they went, Ben?’

  ‘No, not at all. The only thing I could think of that made any sense was that they worked for the government, or were spies or something. Otherwise, why wouldn’t they say? Every time I asked I was told to not ask questions that couldn’t be answered and, in the end, I just stopped asking altogether. As you know, when they died they were in Rome. They were in their seventies, so should have retired by then, surely. I never found out why they were there. There was no trace of any flights being booked, and their bodies were returned to France. All I got was a phone call to tell me that they had been killed in a car accident, and that they would be back in France at a certain time.

  ‘That’s really odd.’

  ‘I tried to call the municipal offices and various other places in Rome over several months, but no one knew anything about it, and so finally, I gave up. The other oddity was the huge bouquets of lilies all over the church. I had no idea who put them there, and still don’t. Do you remember them? They wouldn’t have looked out of place in a cathedral, never mind Esperaza. And why Esperaza? Why not here at Antugnac? It had been written into their will so there were no doubts about what they wanted. Their whole life was one big secret. I did know about them being in the Resistance; she used to tell me the odd story about that, but my father, or, should I say, our father, rarely did.’

  ‘Do you remember the stories he used to tell us about Lithuania though, Ben? Forests and fairies and goblins and bold knights. And he used to sing such beautiful and sad songs. He was such a handsome man too; it’s where you got your looks from. I think I look more like mother, but she was attractive enough, and I’m not complaining. I’m hungry! Make me some supper if I have to live in this fortress of yours.’
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  I did as I was told and rustled up a tomato salad, with olives, tiny cubes of strong cheese, finely chopped onion, anchovies, fresh basil, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper, and brown sugar. I tore some chunks of bread from a large loaf and put the lot on the table. She had discovered my favourite wine, and we ate and drank in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. Mine were about our parents, and I suspected that hers were too. We were both tired, and after clearing up we put the chest and its contents back in the safe to look at again tomorrow, and went up to bed.

  * * *

  I was back downstairs by seven the following morning and made a large pot of coffee. I drank the first cup on the terrace in the early morning sun and then went back inside to switch on my laptop and read my emails.

  There was one from the bishop’s secretary to say she hoped all was well, and that the bishop had called to say he wouldn’t be back for a while. She had found cover for the next few weeks, so not to worry. Bill had written to say he was coming out of hospital today, and was looking forward to a visit any time I could manage it. He said he had some information that might interest me about the church. I replied, saying I was away for a while, but could he tell me what the information was by email. The next one was from Merry. Again, she hoped all was well, that the boys were away with friends, and that Peter was also away, although she didn’t say where. She had been trying to find more information on why the archaeologist that had written the report about the church had not come back as he had said he would.

  Benoît, I was shocked to read that he had been found dead at his house not long after he had written the report. He died under suspicious circumstances, and I’ve searched everywhere online, but can’t find out any more than that. I’m concerned about Peter too. He’s been behaving very strangely lately. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you with that. I’ve begun to research possible master’s courses and am beginning to feel really excited about it, and motivated too, which I haven’t felt for a long time. I’ve been by your cottage a few times, and it all looks OK.

  I replied, telling her about the weather and Hortense, as well as encouraging her about her future studies. What she had said about the archaeologist was intriguing, and the bit about Peter too. I asked her, subtly, I hoped, about what concerned her. There were a few other emails that were easily dealt with, and I put the machine to one side in case any replies came in.

  Whilst Caro was still asleep, I cleaned my gun, which didn’t take long since it hadn’t been used since last cleaned nearly a year ago. Putting it back in the safe, I took out Hortense’s carved chest.

  It was a lovely thing; I wished I’d asked where she’d got it from, and would certainly do so next time we spoke. I took out the bag of discs and emptied them onto the table. There were one hundred and twelve in total, and all the same size, about four centimetres in diameter but with differing designs. Each had a horse with two riders on one side, which I recognised straight away as a well-known symbol of the Knights Templar. The impressions were clear and crisp, showing no signs of wear at all, and the detail was quite astonishing. I started to sort them into piles.

  At this point, Caro came down, and I made breakfast while she looked at the discs.

  ‘These are sensational… look at the colour. They quite literally gleam, don’t they?’

  ‘They do; there’s no need for electricity with these around. They must be of the purest gold possible. I’ve sorted them into groups, and there are four different impressions in all.’

  Putting the breakfast on the table, I sat down beside her. She picked up a disc from the first pile.

  ‘These are obviously Templar in origin. It would be impossible to mistake the two men on horseback, wouldn’t it?’

  I agreed. ‘And look at the scene on the back.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The image on the rear of the first disc was of an open boat sailing on the sea. Five people were inside it, all with halos: two men, two women, and a child. One of the women held a jar, and the man by her side had his hands raised up in front of him, palms forward, making them look large and out of proportion to the rest of his body.

  ‘Before you say it, yes, I know. We’ve seen the image before, and not a million miles away either.’ My hand shook as I placed the disc back down on the table, and an image of that terrible day, some forty-two years before, flashed through my mind.

  ‘Exactly. In the painted room, right underneath our feet. The past is most definitely coming back to haunt us, whether we like it or not. It’s not exactly difficult to decipher… Jesus and Mary, their child, and I would say Joseph of Arimathea and his sister, Martha. Did you ever see the Magdalene frescos in Assisi by Giotto di Bondone?’

  ‘Yes, they’re amazing, but you mean the Magdalene boat scene arriving in Marseilles? The resemblance between the two is striking, I agree. Look it up on your laptop.’

  ‘I was already doing it. Here it is.’ She turned it round so that we could both see it. I had seen it in situ several times and, like the one in the cellar, it showed a boat on a choppy sea, with the same five people inside, arriving at a port during the night.

  ‘It’s so atmospheric, and I love the dark colours that he’s used, particularly of the sky and sea.’

  ‘I always thought it odd that he did the boat scene in such a public place, since it hardly fits with the religious doctrine of the time. Perhaps he was a secret supporter of the Templars? It’s dated to 1320, so it wasn’t that long after they were condemned.’

  ‘You may well be right, or perhaps he had a patron who was? We’ll probably never know?’

  * * *

  The second image was of a jar and, on its front, was a symbol that I recognised straight away. It was an alchemical glyph called ‘Squaring the Circle.’ It comprised a circle within a square, within a triangle, within a circle. As well as being a symbol for alchemy in general, it also had many esoteric, mathematical, and geometrical meanings, its origins dating back thousands of years with links to many cultures.

  ‘Squaring the circle. One of the greatest conundrums of all time and so apt, on the front of Magdalene’s jar like that. And look what’s written around the side of it, Ben: Beata Maria de Rhedez. It’s the church at Rennes-le-Château… I can’t believe it. I’ve got goosebumps all over. Pour me some more coffee… I need it.’

  She continued to talk as she examined the disc. ‘Symbolically, the circle represents infinity, femininity, and the spiritual realm. As you know, in alchemical terms the union of a woman and a man was believed to be a merging of physical and spiritual elements, often represented by a triangle, symbolising the union of mind, body, and soul, or male and female and the result of their union: a child. The square or cube represents solidity, stability, truth, the physical realm, and a numerological 22: the master builder and the most powerful of all numbers. In runic symbolism, the 22nd rune is representative of the square, as well as that of the Holy Grail.’

  Twenty-two and four were numbers that had come up time and time again, in our research of Rennes-le-Château and the surrounding area. I thought for a moment of the many square symbols in Peter’s church. Variations of this symbol were often found in old churches, and were still used today in various forms, by the Freemasons.

  Interestingly, carved on one of the massive, ancient stones surrounding a rear window of my house were the numbers three and four, and according to my grandparents they had always been there. We had studied alchemy in some depth when we were younger, initially because of the many symbols we had found in Rennes-le-Château. It fascinated us both, and Caro’s father, Charles, was always enthusiastic and encouraging. I supposed that these days, we might be called nerds or geeks, but neither of us cared about that, not then, nor now. I had gone on to research symbolism in some detail whilst I was at university studying theology, as had Caro during her many years as a historian, and it was a subject th
at we still found fascinating.

  * * *

  I picked up a disc from the third pile and studied it carefully. The impression was of a classic standing figure of Jesus with halo, also with enlarged feet and hands, palms forward, one hand with the first and second fingers raised. I had seen stone carvings like this before, of Saxon and early Norman date, the hands strangely large, but in this instance, it was clear that there was a point being made.

  ‘Look at the hands held out in front like that, palms forward with no crucifixion wounds. That’s quite a statement. And the huge raised heart? It wouldn’t look out of place on a Valentine’s card. The detailing is quite perfect, and clearly, they’ve never been used as currency. Let me see the last one.’

  * * *

  I passed her the fourth golden disc, this time impressed with a Fleur-de-Lys surrounded by a triangle, with a vine twisted all around it. Written around the edges was a Latin inscription, ‘Amor Vincit Omnia.’ Love Conquers All. I had seen this one before, also in the cellar room below. It was painted on the wall above the opening and was an almost exact replica.

  ‘It’s so beautiful, and like the painting down in the cellar. It reminds me of Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland. Do you remember when we went there? What an extraordinary place, but I was thinking of the earl’s poem: “Love, truth and life in triple union stand.” The three sides of the triangle, but based on human reality rather than the traditional holy trinity. Rosslyn has love quotes everywhere. If these are Templar in date, and I’ve seen nothing that might make me think otherwise, can you imagine what they must be worth? And Hortense just had them in a cupboard. Where did they come from? She said she would tell us everything in her will, so let’s hope we find out one day. Anyway, you know what she’s like. It would be pointless to push her any further now.’

  She was right. If Hortense had made up her mind about something, then no amount of persuasion would change it. Her frailty also bothered me, and I had no intention of inducing a stroke or heart attack through bullying.