The Secret of Provence House

by Aubrey Rhodes

  Laura took a break. She was tired but exhilarated. The laic, personal, almost suspiciously modern sensibility coming through the ancient Greek, was uncanny. She made her way to the kitchen, and glad to find it empty, made herself a sandwich and a cup of tea. Then she went outside and walked along the bluffs. The Cornish landscape, so verdant and distinct from the one she had been reading about, seemed especially invigorating because of how she felt inside. An hour later, calmed and refreshed, she continued.

  The Roman guards, Lucca the legionnaire and Octavius the Dux, taught Yeshua the rudiments of Latin. Lucca, by far the fiercer of the two, was a lover of boys and from the very first day his adoration of Yeshua’s beauty was evident to me. Octavius, an aristocrat, slighter and better mannered, was a womanizer. They worked for me because I paid them well. Lucca offered to instruct Yeshua in matters of self-defence, the use of the sword, the dagger, the throwing of the spear and wrestling. It was clear to me it was this latter art the brute was most inflamed about. The boy took a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, gazed upon them, and then handed them back. Octavius kindly saved the boy from embarrassment by saying, ‘Lucca, the young man is a philosopher, not a soldier. It would be like thrusting a scroll upon thee to interpret or asking thee to perform an enactment of verse.’ We all made merry of these remarks, and though Yeshua sought them out less often afterwards, the Romans still behaved protectively toward him, displaying a depth of character unnoticed by me until then.

  Early one morning, just before the sun rose, the gait of the caravan quickened. The stones were still slippery with dew, the air was filled with the scent of wildflowers, and there was another scent, almost imperceptible, as well. The camels and dogs raised their heads. I knew and sensed what the animals did, for I too caught the unmistakable presence of the sea in the atmosphere. The sea and the shores of Tyre would soon be visible through the morning mist. The food and the wines, the fruit trees and brothels, the gardens, the spice markets, the ships with their purple sails at anchor upon crystalline waters.

  That was more than enough for the day. She saved her work and stretched. She too knew what it was like to sense the nearness of an ocean before it came into view. She shut down her laptop and decided to take a walk along the bluffs overlooking the sea.

  Chapter 10

  At supper she took Camilla through what she had done so far. The Cassiterite Islands mentioned in the text were how the ancients referred to a legendary land somewhere along the coast of Spain or Britain, long associated with Cornwall given its connection with the tin trade. It was clear to both of them that if the scroll was to be the story of Christ’s visit to England with Joseph of Arimathea, it would draw an enormous price.

  ‘But like I said,’ Laura insisted, ‘the level of scrutiny that will be applied to all this is going to be off the charts.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt as to its authenticity,’ Camilla said, pouring herself a second glass of wine.

  ‘And I can already see,’ Laura continued, ‘the articles and the theories that will sprout forth, for and against it. The fact that these manuscripts have been sitting here all this time, not two hundred kilometres from Glastonbury, confirming one of the most fanciful myths of British Christendom, is going to encourage every kind of kook known to man.’

  ‘I’m sure. But that will not impinge upon their profitability.’

  ‘No, of course.’

  Though she tried to understand Camilla’s unrelenting focus on the project’s financial implications, it astonished her to see how relatively uninterested her hostess seemed to be in the scroll and codices’ contents. She had hoped to find more of a kindred spirit in Camilla.

  ‘I see only one down-side,’ Laura said, ‘and, potentially, it is not a small one.’

  ‘That being?’

  ‘The stated intention of the scroll’s author seems to be that of disproving his nephew was the Messiah.’

  ‘But that is something for theologians to argue about, no?’

  ‘No doubt,’ Laura said. ‘All I mean is that there is bound to be a popular reaction too, and if there is anything in there … off-colour shall we say, or something convincing, many people will be inflamed by it. I mean, Christ having a wife and children has already been alluded to.’

  ‘It’s not like we’re living in the times of the Inquisition, Laura. I’m not too concerned.’

  ‘You might consider changing your name after it gets released.’

  ‘I’ll do no such thing.’

  Laura laughed. ‘I like your spirit.’

  ‘You are part of this too, young lady.’

  ‘I know!’

  Bidelia entered the dining room to fetch some dessert plates from the sideboard.

  ‘Look at it this way,’ Camilla declared. ‘This will be a test of that faith. This tale we have, no matter how it ends, will not contradict the New Testament or the Christian Church’s basic tenets. They shall just have to find a way to incorporate it.’

  ‘It doesn’t bother you – religiously I mean,’ Laura said.

  ‘God no.’

  They both laughed at that. Bidelia was still in the room.

  ‘But there is a fanatical element out there that will view you, and me, as emissaries from Mephistopheles,’ Laura said. ‘I’d just hate to have you wake up one morning to the sound of angry locals wielding crucifixes and pitchforks.’

  Laura noticed Bidelia making the sign of the cross as she went back into the kitchen.

  ‘I remember,’ Camilla said in a dreamy tone of voice, ‘when they showed The Life of Brian at the cinema in Palma de Mallorca, ages ago, in Catholic Spain, and though there were some priestly protests, most people found it very amusing. And Graves, you know, wrote that book King Jesus in which Christ was clearly not the son of God, and nothing much came of that.’

  ‘But this is different Camilla. If these are real, they are historical documents, not fiction.’

  Laura was in bed by eleven and got up the gumption to call Nathan who had not bothered to call her since their last conversation. He had been sending her articles he thought might interest her but that was it.

  ‘Hello there,’ he said, picking up on the first ring. ‘How’s life at Downton Abbey?’

  ‘Very agreeable,’ she replied. ‘I’m having an affair with the dashing Irish chauffeur. How are you doing?’

  ‘Fine. It’s a gorgeous day here, too nice to stay in slaving at the keyboard. Blue skies, great energy on the streets. I’m just about to head up to the Union Square greenmarket.’

  ‘I’m jealous,’ she said, lying, ‘but you’d better hurry. It closes at six. Oh, and I’ve taken the job.’

  ‘Ah-hah. And what pray, is the job?’

  ‘It’s more interesting than we feared. Some thirteenth-century documents pertaining to Eleanor of Castile.’

  ‘Never had the pleasure.’

  ‘She’s too old for you.’

  ‘That would explain it. And what, might I ask, are they going to pay you, and for how long will it keep you away?’

  ‘The terms are very generous actually.’

  ‘You can’t kid a kidder, kiddo.’

  ‘No, they are.’

  Part of her was dying to tell him, but she thought better of it.

  ‘It’s too soon to tell how long I’ll have to stay here.’

  ‘That sounds rather vague. What’s the chauffeur like?’

  ‘Alas, there isn’t one, not really. Just a couple in their sixties who do just about everything.’

  ‘I miss you.’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to hear.’

  ‘Do you miss me?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  She knew both of them were fibbing on that count, that they did and they didn’t, that what they missed was the illusion of being a happy couple. Both of them, inside, knew that was where they stood, but neither of them was prepared to face it yet.

  After saying goodbye, they were beset by contradictory feelings. He was mildly peeved
she had been offered an actual job, one that might be perceived as exotic and interesting, and that could make her just as appealing as him at whatever social functions they might still attend together. He had always sensed, if only unconsciously, that the balance between them was just right: she a minor scholar, younger than him, in an obscure but alluring field – and then he, who by virtue of his drive, charm, and brains, had climbed toward the top of his much more relevant field. Despite their problems he liked the way they presented as a couple in the New York intellectual scene. At the same time, he was relieved to learn she would be gone for a while, thus green-lighting a flirtation he had recently begun with a beguiling Ukrainian waitress at Veselka’s restaurant who was all of twenty-two.

  Laura felt lonely, more empowered than usual, but lonely. The loneliness did not derive from missing Nathan’s company per se, but rather from the realization that the relationship was probably doomed and that it would require work to finish it off; that, once again, she would be alone in the world, five years from reaching forty and wondering if this was how her life was going to be. But then she also knew that the best way to distance herself from such depressing thoughts, the best way to forestall any wrenching decisions, was through work.

  Taking advantage of her affiliation with NYU that had yet to expire, she consulted some journals on the Internet and learned that Eleanor of Castile accompanied her husband on the Ninth Crusade to the Holy Land. They travelled with an army of knights and retainers from England, down through France, and from there to the Kingdom of Sicily where Eleanor befriended an aging Thomas of Aquinas, the Dominican friar who was the Catholic Church’s most esteemed philosopher and intellectual. From there they sailed to Acre, the town Joseph of Arimathea and Yeshua had almost left from.

  Acre at that time was the seat and stronghold of what remained of the Christian Kingdom of Jerusalem. From there Edward sent trusted emissaries into what is modern day Turkey and Iran to meet with the Abaqa Khan, ruler of the Mongols, a Buddhist and a Christian, where they successfully secured his help. Various battles were waged, but none of them decisive. The only thing Edward was able to do was forge a peace that held for many years after they departed.

  While they were there, a daughter was born to them and Edward narrowly escaped an assassination attempt. Though he managed to kill his attacker, he suffered a bad wound to his arm from a poisoned dagger, the painful treatment of which caused Eleanor great emotional strife. They returned home by way of Sicily again, where they lived for a year while Edward recuperated from his wound and where they learned that Edward’s father had died. Edward would now be king. Nevertheless, they took their time returning for the coronation, stopping in Rome to meet with their friend the new Pope, moving up through France again but at a leisurely pace, spending large amounts of time in Gascony and in Paris with members of Eleanor’s family.

  Laura saw that the period of time she needed to focus on was from September 1271 until September 1272, when Eleanor was in Acre, the most logical place she might have obtained the scroll and the Greek codex. Then again, Edward had been accompanied on the Crusade by Theobald Visconti who shortly after became Pope Gregory X. Perhaps Visconti had given Eleanor the scroll and codex in Rome as a devilish gift from the vaults of the Vatican.

  She tried to imagine it all. What would it have been like to be married at the age of thirteen in thirteenth-century Spain to a fifteen-year-old boy introduced to you only days before? They would have spoken to each other in French. How and where did they actually get to know each other? What were their carnal relations like at such an age? How would Eleanor have felt leaving her home – crossing the channel by ship – travelling to London for the first time? It seemed luck was with them if in fact they were mad for each other and stayed that way. Eleanor accompanied him on many of his most rigorous and dangerous campaigns. Laura had never thought of the Middle Ages in these terms. In her head it had been a time when men went forth into war while women stayed behind. Was their arrangement a common one among sovereigns, or just as rare as it seemed? What manner of woman was this Eleanor of Castile who became the Queen of England? And how did she come to be so adventurous and passionate, a patron of the arts and the written word, while giving birth to sixteen children?

  Laura fell asleep and then woke again two hours later with a new worry about the scroll and the codices. Could Camilla really prove their provenance? For an estate you have a deed, for a car a title. But what did Camilla have to show she was the rightful owner of something that all manner of vultures would be sharpening their beaks for in the not too distant future?

  At breakfast the following day Camilla got through her half a grapefruit, labouring meticulously with a dainty, monogrammed grapefruit spoon, before responding.

  ‘I see you are a worrier Laura.’

  ‘I guess I am. I can’t help it. It would be so awful to have these extraordinary objects taken from you after all this time.’

  ‘Taken by whom?’

  ‘I don’t know. The government, the Royal Household, an act of Parliament, the British Museum.’

  ‘Nonsense. But I take your point, and I shall call James and ask him, and I will have a look about. I do believe I have substantial proof.’

  ‘Good,’ Laura said. ‘I think, according to the UNESCO convention, all you really have to show is that they have been in your family, that they have been your legal property, since 1970.’

  ‘There are a chain of wills going back at least two centuries,’ Camilla replied, ‘some of them more rigorously inclusive than others as I recall. Some of them simply refer to the estate and all its contents, some of them specifying everything, with catalogues indicating every plate and dust bin, that make concrete reference to the ‘Acre’ scroll, the Greek and Amiens Codices. But James has a better mind for these kinds of problems. I shall call him after my bath.’

  ‘Did you say ‘Acre’ and ‘Amiens’?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Chapter 11

  A disagreeable incident occurred before we set sail for Greece. I had already paid Lucca and Octavius in full and taken my leave of them. I who am only human was eager to install myself in a paradisiacal brothel in the hills above the city that commanded a fine view of the port. I encouraged Yeshua to accompany me if only so that I might keep an eye on him, but he set himself against it. His attitude was prudish and tedious, and after attempting all manner of argument to soften his rigid young mind, I turned my back on him and left him to his own devices. He assured me he would stay with the caravan Bedouins until it was time to board the ship.

  Rather than enjoy myself as I was accustomed, I passed an almost sleepless night due to the worry the boy was giving me. Early the following morning I ordered a litter and was carried down to the city and when I arrived at the bazaar my worst fears were confirmed. The caravan had departed, and he was nowhere to be found. An informant I was pressed to compensate told me the one-eyed gentleman who had proven so reasonable when Yeshua proudly negotiated the price for our journey, was a well-known trafficker in slave boys. Clearly, he had had his one good eye on Yeshua from the beginning and had now kidnapped my nephew to sell for a price as handsome as the boy himself.

  I proceeded directly to the port where my provisions were being held and availed myself of some additional money. I then set out to find my Romans. I hoped they would still be nearby, visiting a family they had told me about. During the trek to the north of the city, into an area of low hills and farmland that gave way to virgin beaches, I could think of no other thing save the horror weighing upon me. I repeatedly imagined myself having to tell Miryam that her prized son, left in my care, had been sold into slavery – with all that such a condition implied – for he would be bought for his beauty, not his brawn.

  I found the Romans engaged in swordplay on the beach, putting on a demonstration of their skills. A young man and a young woman sat near to them in rapt attention. The house built by their parents sat low and white upon a hill behind them surrounded by ol
eander shrubs and two palm trees. The Romans stopped as soon as they saw me lifting my robes, removing my sandals, making my way to them as hastily as I could over the hot sand. On that day a gentle Mediterranean sun shone and the beach and the surf there were clean and calm. The entire tableau I was about to disturb spoke of leisure and harmony.

  Lucca seemed especially angered by the news and he went over to the boy and spoke to him before thanking him and returning to us. ‘I think I know where to look,’ he said. ‘Stay here and wait for us to return.’ What else was I to do?

  I had been prepared to plead with them and to pay them well to go after Yeshua, and yet it seemed this unexpected call to action gave them pleasure, allowing them to revert to a state that had formed a part of their life for many years.

  The family did their best to entertain me that day, trying to distract me. They were very kind. But the state I was in made me an irksome guest. I went for a long walk along the shore. The evening star was already in view and the sound of the surf as the tide rolled in comforted my weary soul, a soul that over the course of the day had searched for a way to harden itself against the worst outcome. I knew that under the beautiful view I had of the sea, predators fed upon prey. What seemed majestic and inspiring on the outside, so in concordance with God’s grand design, also contained savagery and an absolute dearth of pity.

  I walked and thought of all these things even as I was forced to marvel at the great beauty surrounding me. As I retraced my steps I could hear, over the noise of the breaking waves, cries coming from the direction of the house where a large fire had been built out front. I hastened my step and was rewarded by the sight of Yeshua, alive, sombre, his robes stained with blood. He was dismounting a horse behind Octavius. Lucca was already standing by them and helped Octavius down who seemed to be wounded. It was from a dagger that had caught him between his ribs, but it was not deep. I put my arms around Yeshua who allowed me to embrace him for the first time. ‘I beg your forgiveness uncle,’ he said to me. ‘Are you well my son? Have you been harmed?’ ‘Here I am,’ was all he was able to answer. I embraced the Romans as well who seemed calm and who expressed a ravenous hunger. The girl helped Octavius into the house to clean and tend to his wound. Her father said to me, let us prepare the boy a bath and give him fresh robes. My eyes filled with tears of relief and gratitude. Once Yeshua had gone into the house, Lucca took me aside. He said the boy had already been sold by the time they found him. His face had been painted so as to liken him to a woman. I am sorry for that, he said, but he is alive and shall recover. We gave the curs a taste of Roman justice. Though we were vastly outnumbered we ran them all through with our swords, cursing them as we did. They were so surprised by our arrival they offered scant resistance. I considered bringing you the head of the one-eyed man, but the boy was too upset by the sight of it.