CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
‘John was the first twin to be born and was given to be raised by Elizabeth. In the Bible, it says that Mary went to stay with Elizabeth when they were both pregnant, and that Elizabeth had a baby soon after Mary left. If the story has any semblance of truth, I would say that Mary went there to have her babies and left one with Elizabeth. Moving on with the theory, I would say that John, as the first child, married the smart and wealthy Mary Magdalene, and Jesus married Martha, her sister. As was the custom, their marriages would have been arranged when they were children. When John was beheaded, it would have been Jesus’s duty under Jewish law to marry his brother’s wife if she was childless, which he did. The first offspring they then had under that law must be regarded as the child of the dead brother. It would have been unthinkable at that time that either of them would remain unmarried.’
I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts, then continued. ‘There are so many paintings of them all together, Jesus, Martha, and Mary, and many references to their relationship, suggesting rivalry between them. Martha was the homemaker, and Mary much bolder and more overtly sexual in her relationship with Jesus. Everyone forgets that they were traditional Jews. They weren’t Christians, since it didn’t exist then. Jesus had no children with Martha, and Jesus and Mary had Sara.’
Caro started to click away at the laptop again. ‘There are also three cartouche-style paintings in the chancel at Brenac. I’ve got photos of them.’
I moved my chair to look at the screen.
‘Look, Ben… the first shows a pregnant Mary Magdalene holding a grail cup. The second I’ve assumed to be Martha. She’s dressed in green, which is how she is often portrayed, and is pointing her forefinger to symbolise that she was the first wife. The third one is Mary, Jesus and John’s mother, with a heart in her hand. It all makes sense and gives credence to what I said about the greatest conspiracy of all time. Lots of people have known throughout the ages, and left clues as best they could, and I’m convinced that many people know now.’
I nodded, and she continued.
‘The Cathars as Gnostics knew, and didn’t pretend otherwise. The Templars were also thought to be Gnostics of a type, but were much more covert and tried to keep up a pretence of being traditional Christians. They were certainly suspected of adopting Mandaean/Johannite beliefs and, like the Cathars, gave John the Baptist a higher status than Jesus. And they were accused of worshipping a bearded skull, which many say was John the Baptist’s, found at the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, where John was supposed to have been beheaded. That could be why, since medieval times, Mary has always been portrayed with a skull, because John, her first husband, was beheaded. The Bible twists it around to be Martha who returned home as widow, but it wasn’t her, it was Mary.’
‘Perhaps Roncalli knew about John the Baptist’s status, and chose his name because of that?’ I replied. ‘He certainly made some unusual speeches. One was about “promoting devotion to the most precious blood,” which included many references to Jesus being a man. And for the first time ever he publicly condoned Masonic involvement for Catholics. His papal coat of arms even had a Magdala-style tower on it, and the Fleur-de-Lys. It’s usually associated with the French monarchy, but the Templars are believed to have used it to symbolise a holy bloodline. Joan of Arc used to have it on her banner, and the Freemasons of today still use it…’
‘I’m intrigued, Ben… especially about Roncalli. And it’s interesting how it’s so often been mooted that Jesus was a disciple of John’s.’
‘That may well have been true, but I feel sure that Jesus would have had his own ideas. Maybe he couldn’t come into his own until John the elder was gone? Some even say that it was Mary who funded Jesus’s ministry. If that was the case, then she funded John’s before that. Have you come across Mathew 11:11? Jesus says, “Among those that are born of women, there has not risen a greater than John the Baptist.” Another 22. At the end of the day, who knows for sure? It feels so odd to be talking in this way. When I studied theology, and did a few years of teaching, there were conversations like this every day, but not since then.’
* * *
I opened the doors to the terrace and the sun streamed in. ‘To change the subject completely, I’ve been thinking a bit more about the Scottish clues that Saunière left. There’s Fleury the artist, who was initiated into the Scottish Rite Masonic lodge of Isis, the de Clares hailed from Scotland, and there’s a huge amount of speculation about the Templars hiding all their money on Oak Island, Nova Scotia, which is Latin for New Scotland. I’ve been wondering if Saunière knew anything about that too? Another unanswered question, I suppose.’
‘The story would be a book in itself. I think I’ll stick to this one for now!’
We sat outside to eat dinner, and finalised the details for Hortense’s funeral the next morning. It was to be kept as simple as possible. Caro had written a eulogy about her life, which she was going to read herself, and I had chosen to read a poem that I had written myself a few years ago. I was sitting on a bench below the Tour Magdala in Rennes-le-Château, with the mountains and valley spread out in front of me. I had felt deeply moved and had added it to a collection of poems that I had written over the years, with the hope of putting them together into a book one day.
I had also added a couple of short extracts to this, from books given to me by Hortense over the years. One was called ‘Smoke and Deception’ by Anton Chekhov and the other was called ‘Late Fragment’ by Raymond Carver. The church was going to be filled with white lilies and red roses, her favourite flowers. I had asked Pascal, the priest, if he could use some church incense, which she adored, and he had agreed. Expecting a few people to come back with us after the service, we had arranged for some food to be delivered in the morning by caterers in the nearby town. We could do no more.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
A few hours later, Caro dozed on the sofa whilst I got out my laptop. There were the usual church-related emails, which I dealt with first. There was one from Merry, saying that she and the boys were supporting each other as best they could and were making arrangements for the funeral, which would hopefully be next week. She wrote:
I still feel strangely numb. The boys have told me that they had noticed Peter’s behaviour becoming increasingly odd over the past few years. One thing I had noticed was that his sermons were becoming much harsher, and far less tolerant to those who strayed from what he considered to be the right way. I’ve looked through his desk, and there was little in there, but I did find a bundle of old papers and envelopes. I haven’t seen them before but the few I looked at were written in Latin. The others are still sealed. I’m no linguist, Benoît, so perhaps you could look at them when you get back? The police turned up this morning and took Peter’s computer and went through his desk, so I was glad I got them out first.
They haven’t told me anything, though, and I still have no idea why he was in France, nor why he intended to kill you. It all sounds completely insane, and I can still scarcely believe it. Bill came to the house earlier, limping a bit but thrilled to be up and about again. What a nice man he is. He brought flowers and a pie for us that he had made himself. He seems too young to be retired, but then teaching is a hard job these days.
When is your aunt’s funeral? How are you both? You are so lucky to have each other. I am an only child, and now my parents are gone, I miss having close family around. Thank goodness for the boys! The friend that I told you about the other day is coming down tomorrow though, and we’re all looking forward to seeing a fresh face. When you think that a couple of weeks ago, everything seemed fine, and now look at it? What has happened? Why? I look forward to hearing from you. Love to Caro.
Merry.
There was another from Bill saying he had been to the vicarage, could he help with anything, and he was keeping an eye on the cottage. The third was much more of a surprise, although I ha
d expected to hear from him at some point. It was from the Italian, or who I now suspected was Franco D’Alessandro, the colleague and friend of my parents.’
Benoît, I wish to apologise again for the difficulties that I have caused you. Please believe me when I say that I did not intend to do you harm. If we come through this I would be very grateful if we could meet. There is much for me to tell you. Meanwhile, you must take extreme care. I have been told about your aunt and am very sorry. From what I have learned she was an extraordinary woman, and you must feel your loss greatly. I can tell you that the men that entered her house had every intention of killing her, but she had a weak heart and died before they had the chance. I was also told that she shot one of them. I imagine this would have given her some satisfaction. She knew about the parchments, you see. Whilst they were still buried and the journal lost she was not enough of a threat as an elderly lady for them to bother with her. Bringing them into the open, as well as the finding of the journal started off a chain of events that neither of us could, nor can, stop.
The man you must now fear the most is Harcourt, someone I think you once considered to be a friend. He is no friend of yours, Benoît. He spent many years in the SAS and eventually they dismissed him because of concerns over his mental health. My view is that he is a ruthless psychopath and should be locked up. The times of keeping you in the dark are gone, and you need this information to protect yourself and your sister. Rather like your Asmodeus in Rennes-le-Château, Harcourt believes that the strong must govern the weak, and that control is everything. His ancestors were Templar knights and he considers himself to be above other people.
He belongs to a small group of men who were once part of the Vatican but have now been cut off. The others are as dangerous and insane as he is. As always, the main motivation is money. My view is that most officials in the Vatican believe they would be able to weather a storm such as the one that might break if the documents became public knowledge, without succumbing to murder. After all, they have survived thus far. A glance at history however shows us that there have always been, and always will be, power-crazed lunatics. Sad but true. I will do all I can to continue to provide protection for you, and will be in touch again very soon.
Franco D’Alessandro.
So, he had shown his hand too, although still with caution. There was no way of replying to the email, presumably because he feared being tracked down by the wrong people. I found it difficult to be angry with him and hoped that we would meet soon. I certainly had a lot of questions to ask him about my parents!
One of the things I was struggling with was that everyone seemed to know far more than me. Were there spies everywhere? Even Aunt Hortense knew everything that was going on. I had expected to hear more from the bishop, but there was nothing. The man that I thought I knew would have sent messages of kindness and offers of support. But then he wasn’t who I had thought he was. Everything, it seemed, had changed and I barely knew where my place was in it all.
At this point, Caro woke up, and I showed her the emails. ‘It feels like the fog is starting to clear at last. We’re beginning to understand who is who and what their part was or is. I thought that would happen in time. I can’t wait to see the documents that Merry found, but I’m surprised we haven’t heard from the bishop.’
‘You’re very like Aunt Hortense at times, you know. She may be no blood relative, but that hasn’t stopped her transferring part of who she was over to you. It’s a way of seeing things, and picking up what people are thinking. I hesitate to use the word psychic, so I’ll stick with perceptive! She certainly was, and so are you… you lucky thing.’
‘Nurture not nature, Ben? I did spend a lot of time with her. What a nice thing to say… thank you. What are we going to do after tomorrow? We can’t stay holed up here for the rest of our lives. An awful thought has just come to me. Do you think that Merry might have come across some of the documents that Hortense thought might be in your village church? And if she has, does that put her in danger? We need to speak to Niort, and perhaps get more information from him.’
‘I’ll give him a ring. I hope my emails aren’t being hacked, because she might be in danger if the wrong person reads them. But is the phone any safer? It probably is. I’ll give her a call and tell her to lock them up somewhere – I’ll do it now. What are we eating tonight? It’s your turn to cook. What about pasta with that puttanesca sauce you did last time I was home? I’ve got all the ingredients for it, and I love it.’
‘No problem. I’ll start now.’
I picked up the phone and dialled the number that Inspector Niort had given me. One of his colleagues answered, and said he would leave him a message to call me. I then dialled the number of the vicarage. It rang and rang, and I was about to hang up when a breathless Merry answered after running in from the garden. It was odd talking to her after what had happened with Peter. It would have been perfectly understandable if she felt anger or animosity towards us but this certainly didn’t appear to be the case.
‘I thought the body would be back by now, but it isn’t. I’m still hoping we can have the funeral next week. It’s awful having it drag on like this, especially for the boys. Everyone’s being very kind, and the freezer is filling nicely with food that’s being left on the doorstep.’
‘Do let us know if we can do anything to help. Would you like me to try and find out what the delay is?’
‘No, don’t worry. The police inspector said he would chase it up and call me later.’
‘OK. I also wanted to advise you to lock up the documents you found, especially in light of recent events. A burglary on top of everything else would be awful.’
‘I’m ahead of you there. Everything is locked in the safe. It weighs a ton, Benoît, so don’t worry. Peter kept the church silver in there and the very few valuables that we have. I told you that there was an attempted break-in at the church, didn’t I? So many churches have been robbed or vandalised, so I won’t take any chances. Any idea when you’ll be back? How’s Caro? I do hope tomorrow goes OK.’
I answered as best I could, and said that I hoped to be back soon. The situation was becoming more surreal by the moment, and I desperately hoped that Merry wouldn’t have any more trouble to cope with than she already had. The sun had disappeared and dark clouds were scudding across the sky, threatening rain for tomorrow. Whilst Caro cooked, I lit a fire which soon filled the room with the wonderful smell of apple wood. She came over, and we both sat on the rug, gazing into the flames. We had sat like this many hundreds of times when we were children, and used to play a game of looking for images in the fire.
‘Where have the past fifty years gone? It only seems like five minutes since you and I sat here playing games. Do you think that’s how Hortense felt…? Her life gone in a flash?’
‘Probably, but she lived it to the full. Did you ever read Tillie Olsen, Tell Me a Riddle? She captured it perfectly when she said, “The clock talked loud. I threw it away. It scared me what it talked.”’
‘What can we do? Try to enjoy every minute? Make the most of everything? That’s easier said than done. We get so caught up in the game of life that we don’t notice what’s happening. Then one night you go to bed aged thirty, and when you wake up twenty years have slipped by. What’s that smell? Is it roasting chestnuts? Can you smell it?’
I nodded. ‘I always think it’s grandmother. I usually smell it when I’m in trouble or upset; I guess it’s both of those at the moment.’
‘You never said. I’ve been giving it some thought, and have come to the conclusion that you’ve always kept things back… even as a young boy. I suppose that’s what happens when you grow up in a house full of secrets. Let’s eat, before we both start howling.’
The pasta was perfect, but we remained subdued. Caro went to bed early, but I stayed downstairs until the early hours, mulling things over… as deeply entrenched in my �
��house full of secrets,’ as Caro called it, as I had ever been. Would I ever find a way out?
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Caro was up earlier than me and had coffee ready when I came down. The caterers were due any minute, and we aimed to leave for the church at around ten. This would give us time to talk to anyone that was there, and make any final arrangements that might be needed. The church would obviously be closed to tourists for a few hours. The doorbell rang. If it was someone who had come to kill us, then so be it… I was sick of it all. Luckily, it was just the caterers and they set about their business with little fuss. Caro had already put out plates, glasses, and cutlery, and there was wine in the fridge and other drinks on the dresser.
The day had turned out bright, but there was a brisk wind and I quickly laid a fire in case we needed it later. Pascal had called to say everything was ready at the church. We were neither of us dressed in black; Hortense would have hated that – and we were soon heading out of the door and getting into the car.
‘Are you OK, Benoît? You look a bit pale.’
‘I’m fine apart from the obvious. I didn’t sleep well. I kept thinking about time, and how little we have. If you had asked me a couple of months ago, I would have said that my life was a happy and full one, but I’m not so sure now… I’m not sure about anything.’
‘Let’s talk about it more when today is over. Do you think there’ll be any murderous lunatics lurking around? I hope not. Surely we’ll be left alone for today.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that too. If at any point I shout GET DOWN, then do just that. Drop to the floor. Likewise, if you see something odd, or if it looks like someone is going to pull a gun, shout out too. Hortense wouldn’t mind, in fact, so long as we weren’t hurt, I’m sure she’d enjoy the drama and excitement. Keep your eyes peeled.’
The Priests' Code Page 28
