The Priests' Code

by B. B. Balthis

  She agreed, and we took the back route, past the Jesus of Antugnac statue and stone cross.

  ‘Stop, Ben, just for a second – I’ve seen something.’

  I pulled over. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Look at the cross. Someone has put the inverted N back in. Two opposing forces… how fantastic that someone noticed, and how curious that someone removed it in the first place! What are they scared of, and how cowardly to remove something just because it threatens what you believe in?’

  ‘It’s good to know that someone was brave enough to put it back to how it was. Removing history is no way to carry on. It doesn’t work, as we’ve seen; in fact, it just adds fuel to the fire.’

  * * *

  We got back into the car, and were soon pulling into the car park by the side of the church at Rennes-le-Château. There were quite a few cars there, and as we walked to the church entrance, Pascal, the priest, was waiting for us, and I glimpsed several dozen people already sitting inside. The scent of flowers and incense was wafting out, and I felt an enormous pang of loss for Hortense. We slowly walked in to see the huge bunches of white lilies, red roses and candles everywhere. Whether distasteful or not, I took several photos. The coffin was at the front, covered in more flowers, and the Gregorian chants, which she loved, were playing softly, and reverberated beautifully around the church with their glorious sound. How she would have enjoyed seeing her most beloved building like this. Maybe she could? I would hang on to that thought and hope that it was so.

  ‘Let’s not be sad, Ben… she would have hated that. And, who knows, maybe she’s here, watching everything with Saunière? I like that idea, so let’s be glad for her.’

  She then gripped my arm, and leant in to whisper in my ear.

  ‘Look over to the right. Unless my eyes are deceiving me, it’s the bishop. What the hell is he doing here? You didn’t ask him, did you? What a cheek!’

  ‘I most certainly didn’t. What a cheek indeed.’

  * * *

  At that moment, Pascal indicated that we needed to begin, and stood in front of us, as we walked towards our bench at the front of the church. I could see quite a few people that I knew: the mayor, several of the shopkeepers, Couderc the lawyer, and a quite a few villagers. There was an elderly lady, beautifully dressed, and with a much younger man by her side; and several elderly men, once again impeccably dressed. They certainly put me to shame in my tweed jacket, even if it was a new one. I was, however, wearing a tie that Hortense had once bought me, with tiny bees embroidered onto the dark green silk, and Caro looked very fetching in a floral dress.

  Inspector Niort was sitting at the back, and he had slightly raised his hand as we walked by. A few rows to the front of him sat a tanned man in a beautiful dark suit that must have cost him several thousand euros. I would have bet on the fact that he was Italian and, for a second, I wondered if he was Franco D’Alessandro, or one of his men, there to provide protection?

  At this thought, and the absurdity of the situation, I gave a slight laugh, and Caro looked at me and smiled. She had seen him too. My mood lightened a little, and I was thankful to the man for this, Franco or not. Arnaud and Mathilde were near the front, and Arnaud held out his hand to hold mine for a moment before we sat down.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  Pascal welcomed everyone, and began with a few simple prayers, using the term Jesus instead of any references to God. He then nodded to me, and I got up to read the poem I had written called ‘The Sands of Time.’

  As the wind blows the sand dunes shift

  Each grain a life lived or story told

  Everyone a precious gift

  A mother, a king, or a warrior bold

  The moving sand lies never still

  Its voices whisper all the while

  With more to settle on the hill

  Or spread upon the golden mile

  All will come here when they die

  The sandy grave will take us all

  The hasty hands of time will fly

  Obedient, when we hear their call

  So think of me when I have gone

  Gone to the restless growing hill

  No pause for breath I must move on

  With shifting sands of time to kill

  Caro got up to give her eulogy. She spoke warmly and fluently about Hortense and her life, her involvement in the French Resistance, and working for the French government after that. She spoke about her as an aunt, a friend, a human being, the great sense of humour, which she had never lost, and her uncanny ability to know exactly what one was thinking and feeling at any given moment.

  By the time she had finished, there were quite a few rustlings for tissues, but I also saw some smiles and heard a couple of laughs, which I was sure was her aim. It was perfect.

  Pascal said a few more words, and another beautiful, simple prayer which he must have written himself.

  Jesus and Mary, we give our beloved Hortense to you

  for eternal safe keeping. We trust in your

  message of never-ending love.

  Hortense lived her life with this love and with

  dignity, kindness, loyalty, and courage.

  We are bereft in our loss, but we rejoice in our gain

  of having her in our lives for so long.

  We live in the hope of meeting with her once again.

  I got up to read the final poems that I had chosen. The first one, by Chekhov, was very fitting with my recent thoughts of fleeting time, and I determined to bear it in mind always.

  Smoke and Deception

  When after supper Tatyana Ivanovna sat quietly down

  and took up her knitting, he kept his eyes fixed on her fingers

  and chatted away without ceasing.

  ‘Make all the haste you can to live, my friends…’ he said.

  ‘God forbid that you should sacrifice the present for the future!

  There is youth, health, fire in the present; the future is smoke and deception!

  As soon as you are twenty, begin to live.’

  I then read the second one, written by Raymond Carver, which I also determined to think about more. I was not sure if I was beloved, but I was sure that I wanted to be.

  Late Fragment

  And did you get what

  you wanted from this life, even so?

  I did.

  And what did you want?

  To call myself beloved, to feel myself

  beloved on the earth.

  ‘Hortense was very much beloved by us, and everyone that knew her. We always believed her to be beautiful and special, and this is how she will remain in our memories. Thank you so much for coming to celebrate her life. For those who wish to accompany us, we will now move into the churchyard, and then we welcome everyone back to my house in Antugnac for refreshments.’

  The bearers came forward and carried Hortense out of the church and into the graveyard. We all followed and stood in the bright sunshine, a cool breeze blowing our hair into disarray as she was buried alongside Charles, her brother, and Christiane, his wife and our aunt. I thought about what she had said when we had last visited her.

  ‘Ma part est terminée. C’est fait!’ Then in English: ‘My part is finished. It is done!’

  She had known what was going to happen, but was fearless. As far as I was concerned, her part would never be finished whilst we lived. And after that? Who knew?

  We stood at the entrance to the graveyard and greeted everyone as they left. Except for a few of the villagers, all said they were coming down to the house. The last person through the gate was the bishop. He held out his hand, embraced me and said, ‘See you shortly.’ I assumed this meant he was coming to the house. He certainly wasn’t welcome, but I could hardly have told him he couldn’t come.

 
‘Keep your eyes on him, Caro. Everything’s in the safe, but he’s not to be trusted, as we know. Make sure you’re not on your own with him anywhere.’

  ‘I was going to say the same to you. What is he thinking of? Time for a bit of plain speaking, if you ask me.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  Back in Antugnac, people were parking up and were soon in the house. We uncovered the food, poured drinks, and I lit the fire. There were several elderly people there, and if they were anything like Hortense, they would welcome the warmth greatly. Anyway, it was very comforting after a difficult and emotional morning and we mingled, making sure that we spoke to everyone.

  Arnaud and Mathilde had brought a box of vegetables, eggs, and a large cake for the table. He said he had been worried since we seemed to be shut in the house a lot of the time. I made various excuses, but as a wise countryman, I could see he wasn’t fooled. He went to give me one of his thumps of affection, but I was alert and it ended with a less painful slap on the back. He offered help, ‘anytime Benoît, for anything,’ and I thanked him from the heart.

  Caro was now engaged in talking to the smart, elderly lady and her son, who had accompanied her and the two gentlemen to the funeral. They were ex-colleagues of Hortense, almost as old as she was, and Caro seemed enthralled by the stories she was being told. I would have liked to sit down with them too, but politeness meant that this was not possible. The Italian hadn’t come, and wasn’t in the graveyard either, so I assumed he had made a hasty exit.

  The bishop was sat on the sofa talking animatedly to the mayor, who had been a good friend to Hortense over the past few years. Inspector Niort held a large glass of my best cognac over ice and was ‘working the room.’ I watched him move slowly over to Caro’s group and sit down to join in their conversation. No doubt he was hoping to glean information. Good luck to him. I had caught him watching me a couple of times, and it had unnerved me. He was no fool and would no doubt pounce when he thought it was advantageous to do so.

  Pascal the priest had demolished two plates of food, and I encouraged him to take more. When he left, I intended to send him home with a large bag of goodies, enough to last him for a day or two. He was a very likeable man, and had many interests including wine, literature, and geology, in which he held a degree, taken before he had decided to join the priesthood. The mountains and diverse rock formations were some of the attractions of this area for him, but he admitted to finding his life too isolated and lonely, and thought a move elsewhere would soon be on the cards.

  Eventually, everyone began to leave, and it was nearly six when the only person left was the bishop. We were exhausted and collapsed onto the sofa, fresh drinks in hand. I looked over to him, just as he was putting his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket. For a second I thought he was about to pull out a gun, and moved quickly to grab Caro’s arm, but what he brought out was a small flat package, wrapped in brown paper, and tied with string.

  Then he spoke, quietly, and with a single tear making its way down his left cheek.

  * * *

  ‘Please forgive me, both of you. I’ve behaved like an idiot and am no more than a common thief. I’m so ashamed of myself… so very ashamed.’

  He handed the package to me and I undid the string. I knew what it was, of course; the copy journal, and the removal of the paper revealed exactly this.

  ‘Please let me explain,’ he went on. ‘I’m not making any excuses for what I did, but I hope if you understand a little more about who I am, and what I’ve come from you might feel more able to forgive me. As you know, Benoît, I come from a large Irish family. There were eight children, a drunken, layabout father and a beaten, crushed mother. It wasn’t good. We were half starved, and stole and scavenged to bring home a bit of food. We had a dreadful reputation for being a pack of thieving, lying cheaters and that was exactly what we were.

  ‘Things went from bad to worse after mother died. I was just nine. My two brothers had already gone to join the army, which left me and my five sisters. There were no social services in those days… parents did what they liked with their children, even if it eventually killed them. The following year, one of my sisters died from drowning in the sea. She was trying to catch fish and a big wave bowled her over. They found her washed up on the beach the following day.

  ‘Eventually, the priest arranged for us to go to the local children’s home, run by nuns. They were hard women, and it was no bed of roses, but at least we were fed, kept clean, and sent to school, and were grateful for that. Father finally drank himself to death the following year. The two youngest were adopted, and the older three were put into service until they married. You might remember that the eldest died a couple of years ago, but I still have the four, all happy and well, which is wonderful.’ He continued.

  ‘The priest took me under his wing, and with his guidance I decided to join the priesthood. It could have been a lot worse, and it’s a decision I’ve never regretted, but even then, I never felt good enough. No matter how hard I worked or what I achieved, inside I was still the lying, thieving vagabond… as you see.’

  He paused for a moment, and took out a large striped handkerchief to wipe his face. My heart went out to him, and I saw Caro slip her hand into his and hold it tight.

  ‘To finish the tale; many years ago, because of my position, and people that I became involved with in Rome, I heard about some parchments that had come from Rennes-le-Château that totally dispelled the crucifixion of Jesus. They had been found by your Bérenger Saunière. He kept the ones he found, and hid them, but the Vatican still has the copies. That’s why they didn’t kill him. He made it clear that they would become public knowledge if anything happened to him. We knew that two of the original parchments had duplicates and had been hidden somewhere in Rome for many hundreds of years.

  ‘Your parents had been pulled into Rome on the pretence of finding them, but that wasn’t true. They had served their purpose, knew far too much, and were killed – the car crash was no accident. I had nothing to do with it, I’m not a murderer, I hope you believe that. Recently we heard that the parchments had been found. I had a crazy idea that if I found them, or discovered where they were, that this might bring me some advancement. I’ve been a bishop for years, and began to think that this was a far as I would ever go. If you know the right people just about anything can be found out, and I discovered that you had copies of them in your possession.’ I nodded, acknowledging what he had said.

  ‘Then the journal turned up. Its existence had been known about for some time, but it became lost… until you found it. You see, if it all became public knowledge, there would have been nothing in it for me. It links Rennes-le-Château, the parchments, and your village in England, doesn’t it, Ben? I haven’t worked out quite how though, nor why, and I no longer want to.

  ‘I’d had a rough night; bad dreams about when I was a child, and it suddenly came to me that I was behaving like a complete idiot. The reason I hadn’t advanced any further in the church was because I didn’t have it in me. No parchments or anything else would change that, and it’s quite something that I’ve got this far. I’ve resigned, and leave at the end of the summer. I’m going back to Ireland to live near one of my sisters. I think I told you she had a cottage by the sea.’

  He shifted his position, and sat forward, wiping his face again, and letting go of Caro’s hand.

  ‘So, there you have it. I understand if you want no more to do with me, but I hope you will find your way to forgive my foolishness.’ He looked at us both in turn.

  ‘Do you think you can?’

  We both spoke at the same time. ‘Of course.’

  Caro continued. ‘We all do stupid things… and I don’t mind saying that you caused us a lot of upset and worry, but in the overall scheme, it’s not the worst that we’ve been through over the past week. Let’s top up our drinks. Are you driving? Have you booked
anywhere to stay?’

  ‘I have a hire car, and no I haven’t booked anywhere yet. Is there a local B&B?’

  ‘You must stay with us, August. There’s a spare room the size of football pitch at the top of the house.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure. I must be away first thing because I’m meeting a friend in Narbonne late morning. It’s a shame I couldn’t have come here in better circumstances, although I did get to have a quick look around Rennes-le-Château. What a delightful place it is!

  ‘I’m so sorry about your aunt. You’re still in danger, though, you know that? Not from bumbling fools like me, but lunatics like Adrian Harcourt. I’m told he’s part of a ruthless gang of now excommunicated Vatican officials. In fact, ruthless is putting it mildly. They would stop at nothing to get their hands on the parchments or anything else that can be turned into power or cash, preferably both. They were the ones who killed your parents, and intended to kill your aunt, but she beat them to it, I gather. I’ve still got a few contacts at the Vatican from the old days, so if there’s anything I can possibly do to help, do ask. Mostly they’re good people, but everyone has their own agenda, I suppose. The truth is usually the least popular one!’

  ‘I need to ask you something, bishop. Did you manoeuvre me into the area to keep an eye on me because I might potentially be useful?’

  ‘I knew you would ask that, so here’s the answer. When the job came up, I did think of you because it would suit both you and the Church, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t cross my mind that you might have information that could be useful, because of your parents’ past involvement. Once again, I’m so sorry; I’m a weak and stupid man. But, Benoît, please believe me when I tell you how much I value your friendship. It means so much to me.’