by K. M. Ashman
‘It’s the Mother Superior,’ she started,
‘Is she alright?’ interrupted Bernice in concern.
‘Well, that’s just it, we don’t know, she has disappeared.’
‘How?’ asked Bernice.
‘All we know is that her room is empty and she is nowhere to be found. We have checked all the usual places but there is no sign of her. The others are checking the other wings as we speak.’
‘Shouldn’t we ask the rest of the order to help?’ asked Bernice, ‘surely the more eyes the better.’
‘No,’ snapped Sister Adele, ‘they will stay in their cells until told otherwise. There is too much at stake here.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Bernice.
‘All in good time, sister,’ said Agnes, ‘now, if you can just check the upper corridors and report back to the great hall when you have finished, that would be a great help.’
‘Of course.’ said Bernice and brushed past to start her task.
For the next twenty minutes she checked every room, cupboard and cubby hole in case the elderly lady had collapsed but all to no avail. Finally, she entered the last tiny corridor at the top of the convent but could see that the short corridor led only to a tiny leaded window. Though the passage was obviously empty, she paused and stared at the window. Light flickered across its surface and at four thirty am, there should be no such light. She approached the window and peered through its dusty glass.
At first, she could not make out the detail of the scene in the cemetery below, except that someone had started a fire but as her eyes become focussed, the horror of what she saw caused her to scream out in terror.
Within minutes, two seniors came running along the corridor and found Bernice sat against the wall of the corridor, sobbing uncontrollably. She pointed at the window and Sister Agnes looked out at the scene that had so terrified Bernice.
Two floors below, she could see the smouldering remains of a fire against the walls of an ancient mausoleum in the middle of the cemetery. Resting against the wall of the tomb was a large, makeshift crucifix and fixed to the cross, was the burning body of the Mother Superior.
A movement near the cross, caught her eye and she saw a man standing a few yards away from the fire, half hidden in the darkness. Sister Agnes fell back against the wall in shock.
‘Holy Mother protect us,’ she intoned.
‘What is it?’ asked Sister Adele.
Agnes looked up and did some rapid thinking.
‘Call the seniors to the great hall,’ she said, ‘we have to meet them straight away.’
‘What about me?’ asked Bernice, ‘what should I do?’
Sister Agnes retrieved a set of keys from beneath her habit and gave them to Bernice.
‘Check that the outer doors are all double locked,’ she said, ‘then lock all the sisters in their cells.’ Seeing the look of concern on Bernice’s face, she quickly explained. ‘It’s for their own good,’ she said, ‘there is a madman out there and though the doors are solid, there is no knowing what lengths he will undertake to get in. Lock them in and then wait in your cell until we call you.’
All three descended the stairs and separated at the great hall. The two seniors entered the giant doors while Bernice hurried along the corridor to do as she was told. Within the hour, she had carried out her instructions but before returning to her cell, realised that she had possession of the keys and as the doors were now all locked, she should return them to Sister Agnes. She made her way back to the great hall and knocked on the heavy doors. When there was no reply, she knocked again, only harder. Again, there was no answer so she tried the handle but found it locked.
Bernice looked down at the keys in her hand and in particular the ornate hall key. With only slight hesitation, she placed the key in the door. At first, there was some resistance but with another shove, the key rammed home into the lock. She heard a metallic thud on the other side but pushed the door open anyway and entered the great hall. Bernice looked around. The hall was well lit from the dozens of candles that were burning ready for the now abandoned morning prayers and it took her only a moment to see the hall was empty. She realised the senior sisters must have gone elsewhere and turned to leave the hall but as she did, her feet hit something on the floor. Looking down, she saw another small bunch of keys and realised that she had pushed these out of the lock with her own set, when she had unlocked the door.
She bent over to pick them up, stopping suddenly, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. If these keys were in the lock that meant that the doors must have been locked from the inside.
Sister Bernice looked around the hall again. It was definitely empty and there was no other door that she knew of. She did a quick circuit around the room, passing the image of the Holy Mother on the way but as she already knew, the room was empty. In confusion, she hurriedly left the hall and locked it from the outside, leaving the second bunch of keys on the floor of the hall. Finally, she returned to her cell and after locking her door behind her, sat on the edge of her bed, confused and scared.
----
Chapter 21
England 2010
Brandon and India sat at the back of the church, waiting for the service to end. It was a typical village church and the c, bearing in mind the apathy to religion that seemed to be the norm across the country. Finally, the service came to an end and the people filed out, dropping their donations onto a copper plate as they left. Eventually there were just the two of them and the vicar left.
‘Hello,’ said the vicar, ‘I don’t think I have seen you here before. Are you new to the village?’
‘No, not really,’ said India, ‘what I mean is, we don’t actually live here, we were looking to speak to you, if you have the time.’
‘What about?’ asked the vicar.
‘I am India and this is Brandon,’ she said, ‘we are writing a book about village history of middle England and were told you may be able to help in our research.’
‘In what way?’
‘We are interested in the temple at Weycock hill. I believe it was built in the first century and some of the stones were used in the building of this church. Is that correct?’
‘Indeed it is,’ said the vicar, ‘some of the masonry can be seen in the lower courses of the church walls.’
‘How old is the church?’ asked Brandon.
‘Built in 1672,’ said the vicar, ‘though there was a place of worship here hundreds of years before that in many different guises.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Brandon.
‘Oh, the village stretches back thousands of years,’ said the vicar, ‘the remains of a stone age fort have been found nearby, it has been dominated by Romans, raided by Vikings and supplied no end of archers during the Norman conquest.’
‘Is there anything you can tell me about the temple?’ asked India.
‘Not much to tell. Experts reckon it was built in the first century AD, though that’s a bit special in itself, really as there are no others from that era. Many were built in the few hundred years after that but it was thought the area was still too volatile at the time for a standalone temple outside of any defended town. Yet it seems it was still there a few hundred years later, until the Romans left.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Brandon.
‘There was a stone coffin found in one of the excavations with the inscription 474 AD inscribed on the lid. It was obviously the burial of someone important as it was within the boundary of the temple but in order to be buried there, it must have been still standing at that time.’
‘But how did it last so long?’ asked India.
‘Who knows?’ said the vicar, ‘but the Romans weren’t always tyrants to the locals and by then, the population had probably become Romanised anyway. They probably even worshiped at the temple themselves.’
‘Who would have been the gods at that time?’ asked Brandon.
‘Some people say the whole Pantheon would have been worshiped there?�
�� said the vicar, ‘but the locals insist it is a Vestal temple. An early one, I agree, yet a Vestal temple nonetheless.’
‘Why are they so insistent?’ asked India.
‘I don’t know, really,’ said the vicar, ‘but it has always been so. There are even mentions of the temple in the parish records going back hundreds of years and of course, the legend of the white lady goes back long before that.’
‘What do you think?’ asked Brandon.
‘Oh, I believe it is a Vestal temple,’ said the vicar.
‘You do?’ asked Brandon in mild surprise, ‘any particular reason?’
‘Not really but it is so embedded in the local psyche then it just seems right. Of course, there’s also the carving.’
Both heads spun toward him.
‘What carving?’ asked Brandon.
‘Many buildings were built from the stone of the temple,’ said the vicar, ‘and over the centuries, anything of archaeological value has been lost but there is one carving that survived showing a priestess.’
‘Can we see it?’ asked India.
‘Oh, it’s not here,’ said the vicar.
‘I suppose it’s in a museum,’ said Brandon.
‘I doubt it,’ said the vicar, ‘it is built into the walls of the church of St Giles in Tockenham.’
‘Where’s that?’ asked Brandon, hardly daring to breathe.
‘Fifty miles or so away,’ said the vicar.
Despite their excitement both India and Brandon managed to keep the pretence going a bit longer before making their excuses and leaving. A couple of hours later they were in Tockenham, standing outside the gates of St Giles and reading the opening times displayed in the notice board.
‘Closed.’ said India in disappointment, ‘open again on Thursday morning for a private christening.’
‘What sort of church closes on a Sunday?’ snapped Brandon in frustration.
‘Well, it is five o’clock,’ said India, shaking the gate in vain, ‘besides, it’s a sign of the times. We are turning into a nation of atheists.’
‘Come on,’ said Brandon.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Inside,’ said Brandon, ‘we can’t afford to wait another week.’
‘We can’t break into a church,’ hissed India.
‘Who said anything about breaking in?’ asked Brandon, pulling out a strange looking tool.
‘What’s that?’ asked India.
‘Swiss army lock pick,’ he said sarcastically.
‘You are not going to pick the lock?’
He raised his eyebrows briefly before vaulting up onto the wall.
‘You coming or what?’ he asked and held out his hand.
She paused momentarily before taking his hand and clambering up the dry stone walling. They dropped down into the cemetery beyond and made their way around the wall to the arched doors of the main entrance. Brandon quickly knelt down and fiddled around with the strange tool before selecting a suitable candidate.
‘Oh for god’s sake,’ mumbled India. She looked around nervously while Brandon fished around in the keyhole with his lock pick. A few seconds later, they heard the satisfying clunk of a falling lever and Brandon smiled up at India.
‘Sign of a disaffected childhood,’ he said and pushed the door slowly inward.
----
Chapter 22
England 2010
The nuns gathered in the great hall, eating their meal in relative silence. It had been two days since the tragedy and though they knew the Mother Superior had died, they had been told it was through natural causes. Sister Bernice had been sworn to secrecy, the explanation being that there was no need to worry the rest of the order. None of the nuns were allowed outside of the walls after dark and Maximillian and his son, Jacob, patrolled the corridors at night.
Despite all this, Bernice still felt uneasy. She had never questioned the way of the order before but could not understand why they just didn’t call the police. Agnes had spent a lot of time with her in the last two days, trying to convince her that it was in everybody’s interest to keep the tragedy within the realms of the order but despite Bernice’s protestations, she would not tell her exactly why. All she would say is that they nurtured a sacred secret and if the outside world came snooping around, then that secret could be lost forever. Bernice was also reassured that steps had been taken to protect the order and that very soon, she would be initiated into the senior levels. When that happened, everything would be revealed to her.
The meal continued in silence. Every thought was with the Mother Superior, now laying at rest in the order’s crypt beneath their feet. The seals had been replaced and the sisters were partaking of their last meal before a day of fasting. Once again, Bernice sat alongside sister Suzanna.
‘How are you coping?’ asked Suzanna in concern.
‘Not very well, in truth,’ she answered.
‘She had a good life,’ said Suzanna, ‘and it was her time. You even said yourself she was not looking well.’
Bernice stared at her friend, desperate to blurt out the true horror of what she had seen yet keeping her silence due to her loyalty to the order.
‘Oh, Suzanna,’ she said, ‘one day, when this is all over perhaps I will share my burden with you. In the meantime, I just need to get through the next few days.
Suzanna took her hand and smiled.
‘I am here for you, Bernice,’ she said and they both turned back to their meagre meal.
----
Brandon and India walked around the inner walls of the church, looking for any sign of the carving. Ten minutes later, they met again near the altar.
‘Any sign?’ asked Brandon
‘Nothing,’ said India, ‘but it could be anywhere. What about the back rooms?’
‘All locked,’ he said.
‘Can’t you open them with that thingy?’ she asked.
‘I could but will take a while,’ he said. ‘Tell me, why is it so important we find this carving? It’s not as if it is the actual Palladium.’
‘No but if it proves the temple was actually Vestal, then it may prove that Rubria came here all that time ago. If we can prove that, we are one step nearer.’
‘Come on then,’ sighed Brandon, ‘let’s get started.’
For the next half hour, they searched the small church for any sign of the carving without any luck. Finally, they came back to the seats before the altar and sat on one of the pews.
‘I can’t believe we did all this for nothing,’ said India.
‘Never mind,’ said Brandon, ‘let’s get out of here.’
As they stood up, they heard the sound of the front doors creaking open and they stopped dead in their tracks.
‘Someone’s coming,’ whispered India.
They ducked behind the altar and peered toward the far end of the church.
A figure entered the gloom and paused at the end of the aisle.
‘Who is it?’ asked India.
‘A woman,’ said Brandon, ‘the cleaner, I expect.’
‘Do you think she saw us?’ asked India.
‘I don’t think so, said Brandon, though we can’t get out that way anymore.’
‘She’s coming.’ hissed India, ‘we have to find somewhere to hide.’
Brandon grabbed her arm.
‘No time,’ he said, ‘come on, there has to be another way out. He led her back toward the rear of the church, following the short corridor toward a single door.
‘We don’t have time to pick the lock,’ said India.
‘No need,’ said, Brandon with a smirk and pointed at the chrome push bar that looked out of place on the old oak door, ‘fire-escape.’ He operated the mechanism and led her out of the door into the cemetery at the rear of the church.
‘Quickly,’ said Brandon and pulled her along the wall toward the trees. Suddenly India tripped and sprawled into the undergrowth of an unkempt grave.
Brandon turned to help.
‘Are you
okay?’ he asked.
‘I think I’ve twisted my ankle.’
‘Let me help,’ he said. He bent down to help her to her feet but as she looked up at him her gaze focussed on something behind his head.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘Look,’ said India, ‘up there on the wall, all that searching and it was outside all this time.’
Brandon followed her gaze and for a few moments, both people stared up at the relief of a figure set into the church wall a few feet above their heads.
The carving was set back in an arched alcove, carved out of a single piece of marble. It stood out from the rest of the wall as it contrasted against the dull greyness of the local stone. The figure seemed to be wearing a toga and though badly weathered, enough detail was still visible to see the outline of long hair suggesting it was female. What was more important was what she was holding in her right hand.
Reaching half way up the body was a representation of a staff, on top of which stood the worn remains of a smaller figure. The pole was thicker than you would assume a staff to be and on closer inspection, they could make out that it was wrapped with some sort of vine or serpent.
‘That’s it,’ said India in awe, ‘that’s the Palladium.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Brandon.
‘Well, obviously it’s not the actual Palladium,’ said India, ‘but certainly a representation of it. The statuette of Pallas Athena atop the staff is weathered away but you can see where it once was.’
‘Fair play, India,’ said Brandon, ‘it seems you were right. It looks like Rubria might have brought the Palladium here all that time ago, after all.’
‘Doesn’t tell us where it is now though,’ said India.
Brandon snapped to his senses.
‘No time for that,’ he said, ‘we’ve got the proof we needed, now let’s get out of here.’ He helped her toward the perimeter wall, supporting her weight as she limped along. Within a few minutes they were in the car.
‘Where are we going?’ asked India
‘Get that foot seen to first,’ he answered, ‘then somewhere to rest until we make some sense of this.’
