The Legend of the Black Monk

by Nigel Cubbage

  ‘Well of course, my dear. Talking about things others don’t necessarily believe is how many people would say I make my living, ha! Erm, perhaps a cup of tea?’ They set off up the lane, Rebecca weighing up in her mind exactly how much she should divulge. As somebody presumably used to handling delicate situations, it was in her mind that the vicar might be persuaded to tell Gaston.

  * * *

  ‘What happened to Rebecca?’ whispered Rupert to Drew, as they were led at gunpoint along another of the monastery’s seemingly endless passageways. From somewhere in the dim recesses of this austere place a solitary bell was tolling the hour. Drew cast a cautionary look towards Brutus marching ahead, before answering. ‘She got away at the boathouse. For God’s sake don’t let on. They obviously haven’t noticed. Let’s hope she can get us out of here.’

  They were herded into a small chapel with tiny arched windows. ‘Watch them till I find out where the boss wants them,’ Brutus ordered Severus in the doorway, before leaving the room. Severus took up his position in the doorway, a revolver brandished in their general direction and a peculiar smile on his lips.

  ‘I suppose it is too much to hope we are put back in our old cell,’ murmured Von Krankl.

  * * *

  At the top of the hill overlooking the cove, James Hendricks pushed a small wicket gate and held it open for Rebecca. ‘Is this where you live?’ she asked in surprise. Before them in the corner of a field next to the woods was a gaily painted Romany carriage. The vicar laughed at her obvious astonishment.

  ‘Not quite the traditional vicarage is it?’ he joked.

  ‘It was my Uncle’s. He was born in it …rather a long time ago. I am the gypsy vicar!’

  ‘It’s great!’ enthused Rebecca, stepping lightly up the short wooden ladder into the cosy caravan which was surprisingly spacious inside. She flopped into a comfortable armchair full of cushions, as James Hendricks filled the kettle at the sink. ‘How cool!’ she grinned, admiring the beautiful décor and fine wooden carvings. ‘So you are a traveller, or the son of travellers?’

  ‘Don’t mention it to my flock, will you? Might be a bit of a shock that their quintessential English vicar is actually Romany by heritage! Now, my dear, what is it exactly that you want us to talk about?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rebecca sat forward, suddenly serious again, remembering the urgency of the situation. ‘It’s all a bit delicate.’ She proceeded to relate as concise an account as she could of the events of the past few days. When she finished, the old vicar sat for a moment in stunned silence.

  ‘Extraordinary! Poor old Bertie … but jolly glad to hear he is alive after all. The Lord moves in mysterious ways. And you youngsters have been very courageous!’

  Rebecca shook her head. ‘As a man of God, Reverend, how could people so evil dare to hide behind God, living as monks?’

  James Hendricks gave a wry smile. ‘What God wants, God gets, God help us all.’

  ‘Eh?’ Rebecca was taken aback.

  ‘Roger Waters – another rock legend from the dim and distant past, my dear!

  God wants crusades, God wants jihad, God wants good, God wants bad … perceptive lyrics. Message is that God is not perfect either. I should qualify that; man’s many myriad interpretations of him aren’t. You can’t blame God for what men think he is.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Rebecca.

  James Hendricks smiled. ‘Back to things more earthly and pressing. Don’t you worry, you leave Gaston to me. One of the advantages of being a vicar is that I am used to giving news, good or bad … in this case good, obviously. So, what is your plan now?’

  Chapter 33

  Emily

  The tall meadow grass between the farm and Morbed woods rustled gently in the light breeze as Rebecca walked across the fields to the old barn. Reaching the doorway, she turned to check she was not being followed. She climbed quickly up into the hay loft and removed the envelope from its hiding place, shaking the contents onto the floor.

  ‘Aha!’ she said, picking up the spare boat key. ‘Just where Rupe said he left it.’ She pocketed it with a satisfied look. A short while later she was inside the boathouse, untying and jumping aboard the little cruiser and turning the key in the ignition.

  She headed out into the estuary and turned towards Druid’s Rock, her plan to somehow rescue the others. Almost immediately another boat appeared around the point some way in the distance. The Mary Jane again, she was sure. She now knew she could not risk being discovered by Brough and his crew. Rebecca quickly altered course to head out to sea and was happy to see the other boat vanish from sight into the estuary from which she had just come. She was now in a quandary. She could neither continue on to Druids Rock, nor return to the boathouse. Either option ran the risk of being caught. She needed to find somewhere to hole up until the Mary Jane moved on.

  * * *

  Rebecca must have dozed off and woke up with a start. It was now pitch black.

  She was afraid that she might have been asleep too long and cast an anxious look at her watch. There was still some time before dawn. The boat was rolling gently on its anchor, the comforting sound of the waves lapping gently against the side. She stretched and stood up, squinting into the gloom. She had anchored a few hundred metres off the Horns of Lucifer which gradually took shape before her, eerie and foreboding. A cold breeze blew across the boat, taking her by surprise. And now she could see nothing. It was as if things were closing in around her.

  Rebecca felt as if she was being watched.

  ‘May you never forsake us!’

  She looked round with a start. She could not pinpoint where the voice had come from but it had seemed very close. This time, though, it was a woman’s voice, plaintive, beseeching.

  May you never forsake us! Rebecca recognised the familiar words of Emily’s entreaty to Nathan from the parchments Grendel Baverstock had sent. She clutched the handrail on the side of the boat but let go instantly. It was ice-cold.

  ‘Emily?’ Rebecca ventured tentatively into the dark, half in hope, half in fear. Somehow, she was not as unnerved this time. She tried to rub warmth back into her hand.

  The Claw started to emerge again from the gloom. Surely the voice could not have come from there? Emily had been abandoned on the Horns to perish but people said it was impossible to set down on the Claw. But from somewhere on the dark bulk of the rocks, a strange glow now became visible. It came and went, as if somebody was passing something in front of a dim light. Rebecca squinted but it did not help.

  And then the voice again. Her heart started to thump.

  ‘He will find us, he will not leave us here. He will come.’

  For a split second, Rebecca glimpsed the outline of a woman, arms out, beseeching. The light died again. This time, it did not come back. Rebecca was more and more certain that this mystery involved more than simply the monks and their gold.

  Something had been disturbed, something deep-rooted that seemed to link the Black Monk, Nathan Trevellyan, his lost love Emily and their time here in this place with what was going on now. Rebecca’s fear began to give way to resolve.

  More than ever, she was determined to find out what was happening.

  Chapter 34

  What’s in the Box?

  ‘What a gloomy, depressing place,’ muttered Drew, scowling at the dank, bare walls of the Cistercian monastery. ‘I thought serving the Lord was supposed to lift the spirits.’

  ‘To reinforce the merits of a plain and simple life?’ suggested Laura, brightly.

  ‘Silence!’ barked a voice from behind her.

  They emerged into a panelled Hall, where stood Daedalus, flanked on either side by monks armed with pistols. On the floor before him was the crate the Admiral and Drew had recovered. Daedalus smiled at them, flourishing the metal crowbar, evidently determined to savour every moment of his triumph. ‘I thought we would enjoy watching this. You can see the finality of your failure.’ He held out the bar to the monk called Brutus. ‘Open it!’<
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  Brutus stepped forward and put the bar against the lock of the crate. He yanked down hard, the lock splitting and shattering under the pressure. There was a sound of air escaping as the air-tight seal was broken. Daedalus waved him back and grasped hold of the lid, staring straight at the Admiral. He lifted it up, smiling.

  There was a breathless pause as everyone looked inside. The smile froze on Daedalus’ face.

  The chest was full of bones.

  * * *

  Gaston was standing in the garden training a pair of binoculars out to sea. As Rebecca came through the gate he turned, dropping the glasses instantly to his waist. ‘Rebecca!’ he called, evidently relieved. He hurried over and reached out to grasp her by the shoulders.

  ‘Jimmy Hendricks has told me everything! I haven’t slept a wink all night … been watching for you. Are you okay? Where are the others?’

  Rebecca told him everything, hugely relieved she did not have to break the news about his father. Gaston ushered her inside to the kitchen where he quickly produced steaming mugs of tea. He sat down heavily, giving her a broad smile before his face became serious again.

  ‘I was about to go to the Manor. My father left something there for times like this. He said there is a number in the safe if he was ever in dire need. Never explained what he meant. He never told us anything about his work … couldn’t, I suppose. Top secret and all that.’

  ‘So we’d better go and find it?’ asked Rebecca. ‘Is it a phone number?’

  ‘Do you know, I have no idea!’ Gaston laughed, before becoming serious again. ‘Sorry, this is all a bit surreal. Nazis, Gold bullion, submarines, the dead coming back to life … The old rascal! Is he going to cop it when I see him!’

  * * *

  Daedalus was apoplectic with rage. His lips shrunk to a thin, creased line, veins bulging on his temples, his eyes ablaze with fury. For a few seconds he shook uncontrollably, until his eye fell on the Admiral.

  ‘So?’ He screamed, his voice echoing off the walls, shocking in its intensity. ‘Where is the gold? What have you done with it?’

  Admiral Dewhurst-Hobb shrugged his shoulders, his surprise genuine. ‘I have no idea,’ he said, his tone quiet and measured. ‘I expected to find it in the casket, just as you did.’

  ‘Not good enough!’ yelled Daedalus, striding round the opened box and grasping the Admiral by his arms and waving one of the bones in his face. ‘Do you expect me to believe that you know nothing?’

  ‘That’s what he said,’ said Drew, taking a step forward. Immediately, he was knocked violently to the floor by Brutus.

  ‘Drew!’ cried Laura, as Drew clutched his shoulder and scrambled to a sitting position, backing away from Brutus.

  ‘Silence!’ barked Daedalus. ‘Leave him!’ He took a step back from the Admiral, threw the bone away angrily and flexed his hands and fingers. When he spoke again, he seemed to have regained his self- control. ‘Take them away and watch them. Give them some time to reflect on their situation and its … precariousness.’ He narrowed his eyes and stared straight at the Admiral. When his voice came, it barely rose above a whisper. ‘I will have that gold. You will tell me where it is. Or I will have to take certain … measures.’

  Daedalus’ gaze locked for a few more seconds. Then he stepped forward and put his hand under Laura’s chin, lifting it gently, before looking at the Admiral again. ‘Beautiful girl … Beauty can be … precarious.’ He let this sink in before clicking his fingers, turning on his heel and sweeping out of the room.

  Chapter 35

  It’s a Knock-Out

  An eerie mist spilled over the tops of the hedges from the fields in the pre-dawn gloom, as Gaston and Rebecca drove through the lanes to the old Manor. Unlike the trip to St Morwenna’s a few days before, Gaston drove cautiously, much to Rebecca’s relief. They turned between the high iron gates and went a short way up the drive. Gaston stopped and killed the lights and engine out of sight of the house. ‘Daedalus might have sent men here to keep an eye out. He’s bound to expect people to come looking for the others and will want to know if we involve the police.’

  They got quietly out of the Land Rover and edged their way along under the cover of the trees lining the drive. The old house came into view, silent, dark and mysterious, the mist hanging a few feet above the velvet lawns.

  ‘And are we going to? The police, I mean?’

  At that moment they heard a noise coming from the house. A cough. Gaston motioned for Rebecca to stay still. Her eye fell on an unusual shape at the side of the house. She squinted.

  ‘Look!’ she whispered. ‘A motor bike! I may just know who this is. Come on, we have to get inside. Let’s use the way in round the back.’

  Before Gaston could stop her, she was running swiftly through the trees towards the house. As she drew closer, she slowed, alert for signs of movement or an indication as to where that noise had come from. She reached the steps to the patio, crept quickly up and stopped behind a balustrade. She peered cautiously out.

  ‘Oi! Stop! Who are you?’ A bark directly behind her. Rebecca’s heart sank. She turned slowly round to find herself face to face with the motor-cyclist. He stood at the bottom of the steps, eyeing her through his opened visor. ‘A ruddy kid! What are you doing here?’

  He removed the helmet and grabbed her arm. In the same instant, Gaston leapt from the bushes right next to him and knocked him flat onto his back with a single punch.

  Rebecca let out a gasp of surprise. Gaston stooped to inspect his handiwork. The man moaned faintly for a few seconds, clearly dazed, before his head lolled to one side, unconscious. Rebecca ran down the steps and peered over Gaston’s shoulder as he checked the man’s breathing. ‘Hmm … don’t recognise him.’

  ‘I think I’ve knocked him out,’ said Gaston, rubbing his knuckles, surprised and somewhat bemused at his feat. ‘Not that I advocate violence, you understand. First time I’ve hit anyone for forty years.’

  ‘I’m honoured!’ said Rebecca.

  ‘Well, he should be out for a good few minutes yet.’

  Gaston quickly unlocked the front door. He appeared to know exactly where he was going, leading Rebecca straight into the study and over to the old bureau. Instead of opening the desk though, he put his shoulder against it and shoved it. With a groan, it slid back, revealing a small safe door. Gaston rotated the dial a couple of turns and then pulled on the door, which opened. He removed a white envelope and set it down on the desk. Inside was a single piece of paper with two numbers written.

  ‘That first one is a phone number,’ said Rebecca. ‘I wonder whose?’

  ‘One way to find out,’ said Gaston, reaching for the phone on the desk and dialling. He put the receiver to his ear and they waited impatiently. Rebecca watched Gaston’s face as the phone rang interminably at the other end.

  ‘… Ah! Hallo? Who is this, please? … My name? Er, Gaston Dewhurst-Hobb, son of Admiral – … Yes … Er, service number? Ah, perhaps you mean this number?’

  Gaston read the second number off the piece of paper.

  ‘1646/rn/662-02-194 … he has been captured by a man we suspect to be involved with neo-nazis … yes … I see … when? … Right … well then I suppose I’d better leave right away … goodbye’.

  Gaston replaced the phone and looked at Rebecca.

  ‘So who were you speaking to?’ she asked.

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Gaston. ‘But he seemed to know exactly who I was and wants me to meet him now. He said to come alone, sorry. I’ve got a mobile. If anything happens, call me immediately.’ Rebecca saved his number to her phone as Gaston closed the safe and shoved the desk back. ‘All a bit James Bond,’ he said, an uncertain smile playing about his mouth.

  Gaston departed, slipping quickly back past the still prostrate figure of the motor-cyclist. Rebecca watched the tail lights of the old Land Rover disappear and lingered for a moment at the top of the steps before setting off at a run.

  Chapter 36

 
The Morning Tide

  Von Krankl turned away from the leaded window through which he had been staring down at the sheltered bay below Druid’s Rock and joined the others, huddled together in the front pews. They had been imprisoned in this austere chapel all night, catching what little sleep they could on the uncomfortable benches and cold floor. The guard Severus was paying them scant attention. He was slumped in a chair by the door and had laid his gun down next to him.

  ‘So where do you suppose the gold is, Grandpa?’ asked Rupert in a low voice.

  The Admiral shook his head blankly. ‘If not the submarine, I cannot think where. It was as much a shock to me as to Daedalus… Perhaps we will never know.’

  Von Krankl eyed Severus for a moment before speaking in a low voice to his companions.

  ‘Rupert, I’m pretty sure we are just along from our little cell. If we can get to it, we can get out through the secret passageway.’

  Rupert went over to the window. He came back, animated. ‘I think you’re right! But how do we get past our pal there?’

  ‘A bit of Highland guile,’ said Drew, winking at him. ‘Admiral, you have handled a gun, I presume?’

  ‘Of course.’ The Admiral studied Drew with amused expectancy.

  ‘Then when I make my move, grab brother Severus’ gun. Who fancies tying him up?’

  ‘Me! And that’ll do the job nicely.’ Rupert pointed towards a long curtain cord by one of the windows.

  Drew steadied himself and stood up. He clutched his stomach and moaned loudly. ‘Oh, hell, it hurts! I need the doc –’ He staggered forward and crumpled to the floor in front of Severus, deliberately knocking over a pitcher of water right beside him. The pitcher smashed into pieces, splashing water all over the monk. Severus shot to his feet, yelling in annoyance. Seizing his opportunity, Admiral Dewhust-Hobb grabbed the pistol which he had left on the seat and pointed it at him. Severus stopped dead, the water forgotten instantly as his eyes met the Admiral’s. Rage and apprehension were now mixed in his expression. A moment passed during which nobody breathed.