badly to bash him on the nose.
Although he hailed from the upper echelons of British society, Sir Kenneth wasn’t averse to mucking in with the common man. Or woman, Sir Kenneth being particularly fond of the fairer sex. The man had a voracious sexual appetite, an appetite that had evidently not diminished with age. According to rumour, the provost had once remarked that Oxford might do well to return to the days of celibate fellows, if for no other reason than to keep marauding dons like Sir Kenneth under control.
‘So, tell me, young Aisquith, to what do I owe the pleasure of this most unexpected visit?’
‘We’d like to ask you about a thirteenth-century knight named Galen of Godmersham.’
‘How curious. I had an appointment yesterday with a chap from Harvard, a professor of medieval literature interested in Galen of Godmersham’s poetic endeavours.’
‘What’s this about poetry?’ Edie piped up. ‘Are we talking about the same knight?’
His tutorial style having always been to answer a question with a question, Sir Kenneth did just that. ‘How familiar are you with Galen of Godmersham?’
Plucking several crisps out of the bag, Edie replied, ‘I know him by name only. Oh, and the fact that he discovered a gold chest while crusading in the Holy Land.’
‘Ah… the fabled gold chest.’ His eyes narrowing, Sir Kenneth directed his gaze at C?dmon. ‘I should have known this was about that nonsense.’
‘I assume the American professor expressed a similar interest in Galen’s treasure trove,’ C?dmon countered, ignoring the jibe.
‘If you must know, he never mentioned Galen’s gold chest. The chap’s field of expertise was thirteenth- and fourteenth-century English poetry. Recited reams of archaic verse. I almost nodded off.’
‘Time out,’ Edie exclaimed, holding her hands in a T shape. ‘I’m totally confused. We’re talking about a gold chest and you’re talking about poetry. Is it just me or did we lose the connection?’
Sir Kenneth smiled, the question smoothing the old cock’s ruffled feathers. ‘Because you are such a lovely girl, with your raven elf locks and skin so fair, I shall tell you all that I know of Galen of Godmersham. After which you will tell me why you are chasing after dead knights.’
‘Okay, fair enough,’ Edie replied, returning the smile.
Not wanting Sir Kenneth to know the full story, C?dmon decided to intervene when the time came to tell him the reasons for their interest. If mishandled, such knowledge could get one killed.
‘As your swain may or may not have told you, during the medieval period the entire Middle East, including the Holy Land, was under Muslim control. Given that this was the land of the biblical patriarchs and the birthplace of Christ, the Christian Europeans believed that the Holy Land should be under their control. The centuries-long bloodbath that ensued has come to be known as the Crusades.’
‘No sooner was Jerusalem conquered by the crusading armies than the Church moved in, organizing religious militias to oversee its new empire. The two best-known militias were the Knights Templar and the Hospitaller Knights of St John, the rivalry between the two orders legendary,’ C?dmon interjected, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. The Templars had been a point of bitter contention between him and his former mentor.
‘And it should be noted that the men who swelled the ranks of the Templars and the Hospitallers were anything but holy brothers,’ Sir Kenneth remarked right on his coat-tails. ‘These were trained soldiers who fought, and fought mercilessly, in the name of God. One might even go so far as to liken the two orders of warrior monks to mercenary shock troops.’
On that point, C?dmon and Sir Kenneth greatly differed. But they were there to learn about Galen of Godmersham, not to rekindle an ancient dispute.
‘As the crusading knights soon discovered, the Holy Land was rich in religious artefacts, relics being sent back to Europe by the shipload,’ Sir Kenneth continued, folding his arms over his chest, an Oxford don in his element.
‘Holy relics were a big fad during the Middle Ages, weren’t they?’
‘More like an obsession, many a pilgrimage made to view the bones or petrified appendage of a holy man or woman. St Basil’s shrivelled bollocks. St Crispin’s arse bone. Such oddities abounded.’
Beside him, C?dmon felt Edie’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, his companion obviously amused by Sir Kenneth’s bawdiness.
‘Christians in the Middle Ages were convinced that holy relics were imbued with a divine power capable of healing the sick and dying while protecting the living from the malevolent clutches of the demon world.’
‘Sounds like a lot of superstitious hooey.’ Indictment issued, Edie popped another crisp into her mouth.
Sir Kenneth pruriently observed the passage of crisp to lip before replying, ‘While superstition did exist, the medieval fascination with relics was more than mere cultish devotion. Given that we live in a disposable society with no thought for the past and little for the future, it is difficult to comprehend the medieval mindset.’
‘Guess you could call us the here and now generation,’ Edie remarked, seemingly unaware of the effect she was having on the Oxford don.
‘Indeed. But the generation that set out for the Holy Land, clad in mail and armed with sword, full-heartedly believed that the land of their biblical forebears was their birthright. To these stalwart knights, biblical relics were a tangible link between the past, the present and the unforeseen future. Thus the obsession with uncovering the treasures of the Bible.’
‘The most sought-after prize being the Ark of the Covenant,’ C?dmon pointed out, deciding to broach the subject in a roundabout manner. ‘No less a thinker than Thomas Aquinas declared, “God himself was signified by the Ark.” Other Church fathers likened the Ark to the Virgin, the mother of Christ.’
‘Ah, yes…
Edie tugged at his sleeve. ‘Translation, please.’
Secretly pleased that Edie had turned to him, C?dmon replied, ‘It’s the feminine form for the Ark of the Covenant.
‘So where does Galen of Godmersham fit into all of this?’ Edie asked, proving herself an attentive student.
‘As with many younger sons with not a prayer of inheriting the family estate, Galen of Godmersham decided to earn his fortune the old-fashioned way, in this case pillaging the infidels in the Holy Land.’
‘Rape and ruin — the stuff of English history,’ C?dmon mordantly remarked.
Grinning, Sir Kenneth banged his palm against the table, causing their half-empty glasses to rattle. ‘Ah! Those were the days, were they not?’ Then, his voice noticeably subdued, ‘Both the Knights Templar and the Hospitallers were actively engaged in seeking the Ark of the Covenant. As a Hospitaller, Galen of Godmersham would have joined the hunt. Ultimately, the knights’ hunt proved the wildest goose chase known to history, but this is where our story takes an intriguing turn.’ Leaning forward, giving every appearance of a man taking a woman into his confidence, Sir Kenneth said in a lowered voice, ‘While Galen of Godmersham did not uncover the goose, the lucky lad did happen upon a very fat gold-plated egg.’
In like manner, Edie also leaned forward. ‘You’re talking about the gold chest, right?’
Sir Kenneth nodded. ‘In 1289, while patrolling the region between Palestine and Egypt, Galen of Godmersham was leading a small contingent of Hospitaller knights through the Plain of Esdraelon. There, in a village called Megiddo, he —’
‘Discovered a gold chest,’ Edie interjected. ‘But this is what I don’t get.’ She paused, a puzzled expression on her face. ‘If no one has seen this gold chest in nearly seven hundred years, how do you know the darned thing ever existed?’
‘My dear, you are as mentally nimble as you are beautiful. I know because the local Kent records from the years 1292 to 1344 tell me so.’
‘Of course… the Feet of Fines,’ C?dmon murmured. When Edie turned to him, a questioning glance on her face, he elaborated: ‘The Feet of Fines was the medieval record of all land and property owned in England.’
