The Gawain Legacy Page 30
‘I think I can answer that. In one of the diaries, de Masci spoke of the rivals to the family, the Tempestarii, who, if they couldn’t get their hands on the ring itself, wanted to ensure the secrets were never used by some other organisation.’ He leaned forward. ‘The literal translation of Tempestarii is “Storm Bringers”. Tantris said a storm was coming. My guess is that they burned down the manor, not realising the manuscript had already travelled to a safe place. I guess they also burned down the Cotton Library in 1731 and destroyed so many of the medieval manuscripts. The British Library manuscript of Gawain was one of those that survived.’
‘They destroyed a library in the hopes of destroying just one book. That’s barbaric!’
‘It’s as barbaric as wiping out entire villages hoping to find the one enemy of the faith hiding within. That’s what the Inquisition did. And the Templars for that matter. We can take some comfort from the manuscripts that were saved. We nearly lost the only copy of Beowulf in that fire, along with a load of other manuscripts. That would have meant studying Anglo-Saxon or Medieval literature would have been a much shorter, but less rich, task.’ He picked up a cold cup of coffee from the table and sipped at it. ‘The Tempestarii apparently didn’t know about the original, the one that Sir William wrote with his own hand. It was sent to Avignon for safe-keeping and the German army must have found it when they occupied Avignon in 1942. Then it was taken to Berlin and then to Bath, once Berlin had been occupied.’
He looked away from her, at the rain that was sheeting against the window. ‘But even now the manuscript’s secrets have been unlocked, this isn’t the end of the trail. There’s been one attempt to cover up and destroy the evidence that the Gawayne manuscript ever existed. Now it’s exactly the same thing again. We have no evidence that William de Masci wrote the poem and no evidence that there was ever a Ring of Solomon.’
Olivia rushed into the kitchen brandishing a copy of The Times. ‘You’ve got to see this.’ She had folded the paper open and pointed at an article at the bottom of the page.
EXPERTS DISMISS UNEARTHED MANUSCRIPTS
AS HOAX
Medieval manuscripts, presumed to date back to the fourteenth century, have been dismissed as hoaxes, leading experts have stated.
The papers, said to have been discovered in St James’s Church, Gloucester, were supposed to have contained religious tracts, letters and poetry. They were allegedly discovered in the crypt ‘by accident’ by a group of amateur treasure-hunters.
Experts from the British Library suggested that while the vellum pages and parchment were consistent with the period, and have been carbon dated to the late fourteenth century, the penmanship is definitely from more recent times. Michael Goddard, Head of the Department of Antiquities at the University of London, claimed that the documents were ‘convincing, clever fakes’. He concluded that ‘These manuscripts are no more than an improbable fiction.’
‘What’s this got to do with us?’ Will asked.
Olivia raised an eyebrow. ‘I think it’s hardly a coincidence that the newspapers run this story on the day after you find your treasure trove. This is a way of telling you not to go public with what you’ve found, otherwise you’ll be laughed out of town.’
‘That’s them shutting the gate before they’ve even got a horse,’ Lara said.
‘What makes you think it isn’t an unhappy coincidence?’ Will wondered.
Lara cocked her head. ‘I’d start with the fact that it ends with a quotation from Twelfth Night, saying this is all an “improbable fiction”.’
‘They’re not even going to let me catalogue them,’ Will said. His shoulders slumped. ‘Bang goes my idea for a few articles and some translation work.’
‘And why should they?’ Olivia asked. ‘The more you protest now, the more it sounds like you’re trying to prove a spurious point. It would be like trying to prove that the Hitler diaries aren’t fake now.’
Will slammed the paper down on to the table in frustration. ‘God, if only we had the documents Tantris took away with him. We could show this article up for the joke that it truly is.’ His eyes were cold. ‘Someone’s coerced this Goddard bloke, just like Pope Clement V was forced to disband the Templars.’
‘Still, at least we know the trail and the ring are real,’ Lara said stoically. ‘Besides, you can spend your time translating them and producing books on medieval life with references that no one else has seen …’
‘Or believes,’ Will concluded. ‘These papers are worthless now.’
‘Only to the narrow minded,’ Lara snapped. ‘If you’re smart, then you can still use them to understand more about the way of life from times gone by. As I said before, not all treasure has a monetary value.’
‘Well,’ he said, with a long sigh. ‘Let them have their little victory.’ He looked down at the article again. ‘I wonder who did this?’
‘Marsh,’ Lara said. ‘If he can’t get to us, he can make sure we never go public about his little setup.’
‘I’m afraid it’s probably Tantris.’
‘It’s the sort of thing Marsh would do,’ Lara protested.
Will shook his head, giving her a gentle smile. ‘As you say, not all treasures have a monetary value, and here’s one you might appreciate. You don’t need to worry about Eric Marsh again. When I said he’d let me go, it wasn’t quite the truth. What happened was that there was a small explosion in those underground tunnels, which sadly means Mr Marsh is incapable of following us.’ He gave her a cocky half-smile. ‘See, not all gifts need to have a monetary value.’
‘What sort of “small explosion”?’
‘A sort of …’ Will thought about it and made a circular wave with his hand. ‘Big small explosion. It collapsed a few of the walls. Not enough to cause any permanent damage to the structure overall, just enough to seal off some of the rooms.’
‘And you caused it?’
Will made a non-committal gesture. ‘I didn’t say that. Neither will the newspapers.’
‘Be fair, Will. The newspapers won’t say anything.’
‘Well,’ Will said nonchalantly. ‘That’s the problem with being a top-secret organisation. You can’t prosecute anyone, even if you suspect they might have had something to do with … an explosion in one of your tunnels. Problem is that it was somewhere near one of the storage areas.’
‘Storage areas?’ Lara said, shocked. ‘But that means all the manuscripts …’
Will nodded sadly. ‘But I suspect that even if those manuscripts had come to light, they would have been dismissed as fakes, just like our findings in Beaded were.’
‘But you could have learned so much,’ Lara said.
Will shook his head. ‘I think I would have learned too much. The point is that there are no absolutes in history. The fun in history is speculating why certain people acted in certain ways. If I had a load of papers which had never before come to light, or even the definitive document with all the answers, then it would take out all the fun of going to history conferences and watching so-called experts bickering over their petty little points. Sometimes it’s much more fun to speculate.’
Lara looked down sadly. ‘So where do we go from here?’
Will pushed the documents to one side and hummed gently to himself: ‘Trip no further, pretty sweeting, Journeys end in lovers meeting.’ He laid his hand over hers. ‘Maybe it’s time we stopped thinking about the past. Maybe it’s time to start thinking about the future.’
Epilogue
At a time when English men and women were speaking a vernacular Teutonic language, unrecognisable in the present day, there were few written records. Instead, hearts and courage were stirred by the strings of a lyre, accompanying songs and legends. Most of these old laïs have passed into the forgetful mind of history, but the legend of the Abbess, St Winefride, has survived with such importance that her shrine gave its name to the town.
Standing beneath the huge arches, Lara knows this is a fifteenth century structu
re to celebrate the saint’s life, but the significance is not lost on her. People have come to the rejuvenating waters for fourteen hundred years.
Lara wears a bikini underneath her T-shirt. She looks at Will by her side. She is anxious, but he smiles encouragingly and gently squeezes her hand. He then lets her step forward on her own. She walks underneath the vast arches and into the Star Chamber. Pilgrims have already been here today, lighting candles in prayers for healing. Some of them will have already bathed, either for themselves, or vicariously for those who need healing but cannot make it to the shrine.
In spite of the noise of the nearby roadside, tranquillity washes over Lara. All sounds have been muted, and even uncertainty retreats from her. Lara feels she is being held in a protective bubble, distancing her from reality. She wants to look for her lover again, but she knows this is a journey she must make by herself. Looking for him would be a sign of weakness.
She has been warned about the temperature of the water with almost scientific accuracy. She stiffens and gasps as she walks down the first steps of the bathing pool; the cold water is almost unbearable. It numbs her ankles, then her shins and calves. She bites back the urge to squeal with the shock of the cold, but does not manage to suppress a shiver.
The water smells clear and pure. It reminds her of clear morning dew. She feels her lungs swelling with the sweet scent. As she reaches the bottom of the steps, she lowers her body so that her shoulders are immersed. The cold forces the air from her lungs with sweet pain. It is all she can do to bring herself to kneel on Beuno’s stone for a second. There are knee-shaped grooves in the stone, worn away by centuries of pilgrims.
She is momentarily blinded by memories. This place has been a focus of worship and prayer for centuries. It is a place filled with hope and anticipation of answered prayers. The emotions are positive; they are as powerful as the waves that crash on the shore not far from here. It is small wonder that pilgrims come across the world to be here. It is a well of favourable emotions, as real as the water itself, honourable and virtuous emotions that Lara feels are as physical as the water in which she is kneeling. It is only the cold that forbids her to stay any longer. She tries to leave the pool as quickly, but reverently as possible. Her skin is frozen, but her body begins tingling, revitalised, as blood flows through her.
She walks around the Star Chamber as the blood flows through her veins, compensating for the cold. When she immerses herself the second time the water still bites, but she can endure it longer. Kneeling on the stone, she remembers a time when she was with Michael, another lifetime ago. She also remembers Julia, the daughter she had always wanted, but couldn’t keep. She also thinks about the mother she never knew. Her grief will always be there, but now, instead of mourning their deaths, she feels able to celebrate their lives.
Will has told her that baptism by triple immersion comes from a Celtic ritual. She considers the ancient traditions as she walks around the Star Chamber once again. Then, in her third immersion the waters seem to be playing with her, jostling her, pushing her off balance. Now she is able to kneel for longer, considering the healing she needs, and also others, particularly her father.
She wonders about others who have kneeled here. Her mind wades through the pool of time. She sees a crowd of folk from every century, praying for her, reaching out to her. The memories still unnerve her, but she knows she has been given a great gift. In time she will understand how to control the gift, in time she will become used to the invasion into her mind.
Will waits near the statue of Winefride in the Star Chamber. She walks to him, smiling, refreshed. He wraps a towel around her and holds her. She becomes aware once more of the noise of the traffic. She shivers, but not because it is cold. She cannot remember when her mind has felt so clear. The healing she hoped for has started. She has taken the first step on her new journey.
Will hands her a second towel and then walks away to the pool. He is bathed in shadows as he steps into it. He needs the healing more than her, she thinks. He has lost the two people he loved the most.
She looks away. The healing is a private process. It should not be watched. Instead, she looks at the statue of St Winefride who has witnessed these proceedings. Lara wonders if the stone palm leaves are rustling in the slight wind. The thin line on the statue’s neck seems to glow in the morning light, but it might be the sun breaking from behind a cloud.
Will returns after a short time. It does not seem like he has had the chance to immerse himself three times. But he has.
She hands him the towel. When he holds her, she can smell the purity of the water, mixed with his musky scent and his wet hair. She feels safe in his arms. She wonders if any tourists have noticed the two strange bedraggled figures, wrapped in towels, embracing on a wet morning. She looks up at him through her fringe and gives him a shy smile.
‘Come with me, stay with me, Pearl,’ Will whispers to her, but Lara hesitates.
‘What about Michael?’ Lara says. ‘I was married. I can’t dismiss that.’
‘I’d listen to the voice of the past,’ Will tells her. ‘The oldest fragments from Anglo-Saxon times tell us One easily divorces what was never truly united. You were never married to Michael in your heart. But your healing here is a symbol of your stepping away from your own past. You’re free to make your own choices.’
He holds out his hand and she takes it. As they step forward together, Lara realises that the past has released its grip on them. Their misguided attempts to resurrect their memories are replaced by their hopes for the future.
Honi soit qui mal y pense
About the Author
Jon Mackley has worked in Film Production, Public Relations and Journalism. He has completed a degree in English at the University of Stirling, and a PhD at the University of York. He is currently a Senior Lecturer in English and Creative Writing.
If you prefer to spend your nights with Vampires and Werewolves rather than the mundane then we publish the books for you. If your preference is for Dragons and Faeries or Angels and Demons – we should be your first stop. Perhaps your perfect partner has artificial skin or comes from another planet – step right this way. Our curiosity shop contains treasures you will enjoy unearthing. If your passion is Fantasy (including magical realism and spiritual fantasy), Horror or Science Fiction (including Steampunk), Cosmic Egg books will feed your hunger.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
About the Author