The Gawain Legacy Read online

  They didn’t walk straight to the restaurant. Will walked down several streets, stopping occasionally to use shop windows as mirrors to see if they were being followed.

  The restaurant was empty. They sat at a table and Will ordered two coffees. Lara breathed deeply to calm her frantic heart. It didn’t work. Her instinct was to run. Will wanted to dawdle. But he didn’t want to talk; his eyes were angry slits. She leaned across to him as the waitress left. She spoke in hushed tones. ‘Could you return the manuscript, apologise for the inconvenience and tell them it’s a big practical joke?’

  Will shook his head. ‘They wouldn’t swallow it. Would you?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  The waitress returned with their drinks. Will picked up the cup and smelled it.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’ Lara ventured.

  For a while he said nothing, staring into space. ‘Annoyed,’ he said eventually, picking up a sachet of sugar and ripping it open, spilling grains across the tablecloth.

  ‘Just annoyed?’

  ‘All right. Very annoyed. I’d hoped there’d be something there, something to make this worthwhile.’

  ‘There might be if we understood the importance of the spring and the travels.’

  ‘Either that, or he was a fourteenth-century vandal.’

  ‘You’re not being very helpful.’

  ‘I’m not feeling very helpful. I’m annoyed.’

  ‘And you won’t get any further with that attitude.’ Lara realised she was raising her voice and looked around to see if she had attracted attention. ‘This poet, whoever he was, tried hard to conceal something. If he wanted to hide things, he wouldn’t have just given one location; someone could have stumbled across that stone without knowing about it. He’d have expected someone to keep looking, having understood the way his mind worked. He’s given us a riddle, something to do with a journey, and a spring. So, let’s think about it: does he mean the season or a water source?’

  ‘Either. Or a coil of metal or someone leaping into the air. Is there a place for potential suicides to leap from around here?’

  ‘Will, stop it.’

  ‘Well, you’re so clever!’ Will said bitterly. ‘How could we be so arrogant as to think we could solve a riddle that’s been puzzling everyone for six hundred years?’

  ‘Perhaps no one’s got this far before,’ Lara said. ‘We’ve broken the first code, found out about the seal. Perhaps he’s laid a treasure map of sorts, and we have to discover where he’s pointing us.’ She sipped at her coffee. ‘Gawain went on a journey, didn’t he? To get from Arthur’s court to the Green Knight’s chapel?’

  ‘He did.’ Will reached into his pocket with a sigh and pulled out the manuscript. ‘This what you want? The bit about the journey starts on line 691.’

  Lara opened the manuscript and stared at the words. It was hard to read, but she was starting to become comfortable with the alphabet and could get the gist of what the poet was saying. ‘This says he travelled into North Wales,’ she started, squinting at the faded words. She stumbled over the translation.

  ‘That’s good,’ Will said. ‘You’re learning.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me,’ Lara retorted. ‘I’m doing my best.’

  Will said nothing. Lara continued. ‘Anglesey was on his left, so he was travelling north. Then he crosses the fords and the … what’s that word?’ she asked. ‘“Forlondez”.’

  ‘Promontories,’ Will said.

  ‘All right. He crosses the fords and the promontories, over at the Holy Head.’ Confusion furrowed her brow. ‘Hang on, how could he have got to Holyhead if he didn’t go into Anglesey, but kept it on his left?’

  ‘That’s one of the poem’s conundrums. We don’t know where he actually was. Carry on.’

  ‘Wouldn’t he have written about something he knows? If his audience didn’t understand, he would have laboured the point, just like with the Seal of Solomon?’

  ‘Absolutely, but we won’t find it if we don’t know what he means.’

  Lara glared. ‘A defeatist attitude isn’t going to solve this riddle. You took a chance with the seal and we found it. We can only go on if we use the same lateral thinking.’ She glanced at the manuscript. ‘Where does Gawain go from there? “He reached the shore in the Wilderness of Wirral – and there lived few men who were loved by God.”’ She grinned. ‘He didn’t like the people of the Wirral very much, did he? I don’t blame him: for years I thought Birkenhead was a car park to get to Liverpool.’ She gave a long sigh. ‘After that it’s not specific. This isn’t any help. Is there another journey in the poem?’

  ‘Not really, not with the same detail as this passage.’

  Lara stared at the text. ‘It has to be close by,’ she breathed. ‘He’s referring to things he knows again.’

  ‘How did you work that one out?’

  ‘Because of what he says here.’ She pointed to the line. ‘“Þe fordez” and “þe forlondez”, the fords and the promontories. It’s something else his audience would recognise.’

  Will stared at the words. His face brightened. ‘You’re right. Although we’re not any closer to finding out where he goes from there.’

  ‘Yes, we are, because he refers to the holy head, not Holyhead in Anglesey. It’s not the name of a town or a village or a shrine? Perhaps one which showed a martyr’s head on certain festivals.’

  ‘Nice idea, but it still doesn’t bring us closer to his location.’

  ‘You got a pen and paper?’ Will produced the small notebook from his pocket. ‘How much room have you got in there?’ she asked, opening the book to a clean page and starting to draw. ‘This is the estuary of the Dee,’ she explained. ‘Chester would be here,’ she said, marking a cross inland. ‘This is the Wirral,’ she continued, drawing to the north of the estuary. ‘Now, the poet doesn’t say “Gawain travelled through Wales searching for the Green Chapel, then he went into Chester and finding nothing there he went into the Wirral”. He doesn’t mention Chester at all. He says Gawain forded the river at the holy head. We have to find a place he could cross.’

  ‘Not easy,’ Will observed. ‘He travelled in November.’

  ‘But I bet that when this was written, there were stepping stones laid down for a pilgrim route or something.’

  ‘They would have had to have been big stones.’

  ‘It’s not unfeasible. We need a map, Will.’

  ‘We need to leave, Lara. I don’t know how long we can stay here.’

  ‘Will!’ Lara pleaded.

  ‘I’m serious, Lara.’ His mouth clenched. ‘Damn! We were getting so close. Perhaps we should have waited for this to die down, gone somewhere else. Problem is still getting out. They know we’re here, so they’ll be watching the station and car hire places too.’

  ‘There is a way out of the city, one they won’t have thought of.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Well, they think we’re in a hurry to get away …’

  ‘… They’re right …’

  ‘So they expect us to get out as fast as possible. How about travelling by the slowest possible method?’

  ‘I’ve told you, they’ll have helicopters looking for us if we walk.’

  ‘Slower than walking,’ Lara said. ‘The Shropshire Union Canal goes from Chester to Wolverhampton and there’s a whole network of canals. We could travel anywhere. They wouldn’t expect us to try and get away like that.’

  ‘One problem,’ Will said. ‘We don’t have a narrow-boat and we don’t have time to hire one.’

  ‘You’ve never been on a canal holiday, have you?’ Lara said with a laugh. ‘There’s empathy among canal people. They’re a friendly lot, with a slow lifestyle, and it can get lonely, so an exchange of opinions and conversation can be a welcome diversion.’

  ‘And if we were heading back to Birmingham, we’d be retracing our steps. They wouldn’t expect us to do that.’ He grinned at her. ‘Lara, you’re a genius.’

  ‘It gets
better than that,’ Lara said. ‘If we found someone on holiday, they might not have seen the papers. They won’t know who we are.’

  Will gazed out of the window. ‘How far is the canal from here?’

  ‘Ten minutes if we push it.’

  He drained his coffee and left the money for the drinks on the table. ‘I hope you’re right about this.’

  The canal marked the end of the old city at Northgate and the towpath cowered beneath the thick rock supporting the old city walls. Few people walked along the towpath: a few joggers braved the potential rain and a couple were walking their dogs. Lara fingered her hair self-consciously, wondering if they recognised her from the newspapers. She doubted it. Most people would have given the photographs only a cursory scan; even those who scrutinised the papers wouldn’t have expected to find fugitives taking a late-morning stroll along the canal side.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Lara,’ Will said for the umpteenth time. A helicopter had flown low overhead. They had ducked into the shadow of a rocky outcrop for cover.

  ‘Look,’ she said, pointing down the canal. Ahead, was a slow-moving barge. The chugging body was gaudy red. The doors to the cabins were closed and Lara saw a tall man standing proud at the rudder, dressed in a heavy sweater that would once have been white, but was now the same hues as discoloured teeth. He was smoking a pipe.

  Lara jogged to catch up with the boat. ‘Hello there,’ she called out cheerfully. ‘Mind if we help out?’

  The man turned. He had a kindly, unshaven face. Laughter lines spread from merry eyes. ‘Well, we’ll be at a lock soon. I’ll give you a key, will y’open it?’

  ‘Of course,’ Lara said.

  The man leaned over and handed her a lock key. ‘We’ll see you in a minute.’

  Lara smiled and walked along the path. At a usual walking speed she and Will easily outpaced the boat.

  ‘I’m not sure about this,’ Will said when he was out of earshot of the boat. ‘We need to keep moving. That thing can’t be doing more than three miles an hour.’

  ‘No more than two at the moment,’ Lara admitted. She glanced up, hearing a distant thump of the helicopter’s engines. ‘Just act naturally,’ she said. ‘You’re not a fugitive. Just someone taking a January barge holiday.’

  They walked to the next lock. Lara spent a couple of seconds trying to remember how to turn the key. Soon, the lock was emptying. ‘As soon as it’s done, the lock gate arm will be easy to push open,’ she told Will. ‘Don’t try before then.’

  Will watched the sky apprehensively. The first spots of rain had started to fall. ‘How wet do we have to get before he lets us shelter?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lara admitted. ‘Here he comes now.’

  Lara echoed Will’s anxiety, not wanting to linger too long. The gates creaked and yawned open. The boatman smiled and powered the narrow-boat gently forward. A cloud of smoke filled the lock as he threw the barge into reverse and brought it to a stop. Will pushed the lock gate shut and caught a rope that the boatman threw to keep the barge from banging against the walls in the turbulence of the water. Lara opened the second gate.

  ‘You travelling far today?’ Will called down.

  The man considered this, then peered apprehensively at the skies. ‘Not far,’ he said. ‘It’s not fun boating in this weather. Perhaps as far as the next lock until the weather clears.’

  From the second lock arm, Lara saw Will’s disappointment. She guessed it would also be apparent to the boatman.

  They said nothing as the water bubbled in the lock and the boat slowly rose. Occasionally the boatman revved his engine to counter the momentum of the pushing turbulence. Soon Lara pushed the lock gate open. The boatman, however, did not thank them and power the boat away. Instead, he squinted at the sky. ‘Helicopter’s coming back,’ he said nonchalantly, but his eyes flicked from Will to Lara, assessing them for a reaction. Lara wanted to run, but restrained herself. Will might have practised hiding his feelings, but she knew it radiated from her.

  The man nodded. ‘It’ll be raining heavily soon,’ he said casually. ‘Were you needing to run off, or will you have a mug of tea?’

  Will glanced at his watch. ‘Not sure if there’s time.’

  The boatman gave a wry grin. ‘I think you have all the time in the world.’

  He knows, Lara thought. He’s seen the newspapers.

  At the same time, she detected no trace of a threat in his voice. Will placed a gentle hand on Lara’s shoulder. ‘Well, little Pearl, what do you think? Do we have time for a quick cup of tea?’

  Hearing the rattle of a helicopter, Lara nodded. She forced herself not to run to the end of the narrow-boat. Will helped Lara on board before stepping down.

  ‘The name’s Tantris,’ the boatman said. ‘Not much of a name, I know, but the only one I’ve got. My wife’s Jeanette. She’s under deck, so go on down. I’ll clear the lock and moor up a while.’

  He opened the gaudy cabin doors and Lara and Will went down the small ladder into what seemed to be a long lounge and dining room. A grey haired woman smiled up, although surprised by the visitors, but Tantris called down from behind them. ‘Nettie! Put the kettle on, we’ll have visitors staying.’

  Will shifted uncomfortably. ‘We don’t want to impose …’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Jeanette said. She had the same joie de vivre in her eyes as Tantris. ‘It’s not often as we have guests. It’ll be good to have us some different conversation.’

  Will appeared as though he wanted to refuse, but Lara’s stomach growled. She gave a charming smile. ‘Thank you, that’ll be lovely.’ Jeanette didn’t look like she would have taken no for an answer. She poured water into a kettle and placed it upon a gas stove.

  The narrow-boat connected with the bank with a gentle bump as Tantris reversed the engine. Moments later, he came inside. ‘Dark in here,’ he said, turning on a light. He bid his guests sit down on a long bench at the end of the boat. He made an irritated face at the staccato rattle of rain on the roof.

  Jeanette set up a card table between them and placed the teapot, a milk jug and a sugar bowl beside the mugs. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said, ‘I’d not been expecting guests.’ She took vegetables from a rack at the end of the kitchen.

  ‘Oh please,’ Lara pleaded. ‘That’s not necessary.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Jeanette said. ‘You can stay and you will. I daresay it’s been a while since anyone showed you any kindness.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Lara wondered cautiously.

  Jeanette smiled at her. ‘It’s in your aura – the energy your body gives off. It’s very negative. You don’t trust people at the moment, and you’re frightened of strangers. Acts of kindness are virtually unknown to you.’

  ‘I’ve had a hard few days,’ Lara said bitterly.

  Tantris poured the tea and added milk to his own. ‘Now, my guess is it’s something to do with that helicopter.’

  ‘Whoops,’ Will said. ‘Time to leave, Lara.’

  Tantris placed a hand on Will’s arm as he rose. ‘And where would you go? Those aren’t police helicopters, and it’s not army neither, so my guess is you’re in deeper trouble than you’d think. Drink your tea, friend, you’re safe here.’

  Lara regarded him quizzically. ‘Why would you do that?’

  Tantris’s face became serious. ‘Let’s just say I’ve no love for any kind of establishment.’ He pointed around him. ‘That’s why I live on a boat.’

  Lara relaxed slightly, comforted to find an ally. Will remained tense.

  ‘So, who are they?’ Tantris asked Will. ‘We’re sheltering you. Perhaps you might tell us as much?’

  Will’s brow furrowed. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. He tugged at his chin. ‘But you’re right, they’re not police and they’re not military. All I know … they operate out of Bath. A place where security guards carry guns.’

  ‘Bath, eh?’ Tantris leaned forward, his eyes glittering. ‘And what might they be guardin
g?’

  Will made a dismissive gesture. ‘Antiquities of some sort. Catalogued in German.’

  Tantris leaned back in his chair. He seemed satisfied by the answer. He knocked the ashes from his pipe into a metal bin and refilled it.

  ‘The reason … the main reason I live on the boat is to get away from that. Corrupt organisations with too much power.’ His face clouded. ‘Once, a dream ago, I worked for an organisation. Our Government never had to say it never existed ’cause no one knew about it. I know about corruption, conspiracies of silence, withholding and leaking information. It’s a big game, playing with people’s lives. I’ll not support nothing like that.’ He continued looking at Will, assessing him. It was a long time before he spoke again. ‘I’ll tell you a story, Will,’ he said eventually. ‘Hypothetical, of course, because of course, no Government would admit to such a conspiracy.

  ‘After the Second World War, in this story, Berlin’s been occupied and split into four pieces, and the British decided to try and find any surviving war records. The official line was to trace PoW camps. It were the public attempt at displaying a conscience for what had happened at Auswitz and Belsen.’ He took a long puff from his pipe. The smoke curled upwards and dissipated across the ceiling. ‘In this fictional Berlin,’ he said, ‘they found other things: occult devices, manuscripts and papers which were supposed to be shared amongst the museums of the allied countries.

  ‘Of course, this hypothetical Government realised it couldn’t leave the things in Germany to be used again. So it were all taken to Britain and stored in a place where a select few, in an organisation that never existed, knew about it.’ He glanced back at Will again. ‘Hypothetically speaking, of course.’

  ‘Why would the Government need it?’ Lara wondered.

  ‘The Cold War were brewing. Churchill knew “peace in our time” were going to be short. The Government could use the information Hitler had amassed against the new superpowers, like the Russians.’

  Lara started. ‘But the Government would be as tyrannical as Hitler’s forces.’

  Tantris nodded. ‘Yes, it would, wouldn’t it? But this is a hypothetical situation.’

  ‘You keep saying that,’ Lara objected. ‘Is this true or not?’