Stones of Fire

really smart cookie, huh?’

‘Indeed, it does. The smart cookie then went on to write a brilliant master’s thesis on St Bernard of Clairvaux and the founding of the Knights Templar. Later, when he went off to Jerusalem to conduct his dissertation research, I had every expectation that he would submit an equally brilliant dissertation.’

The knot in C?dmon’s belly painfully tightened. Bloody hell. This was the old man’s price for granting the favour, to stuff his entrails with red hot coals.

‘As you have no doubt guessed, I was not up to the challenge. I did not meet Sir Kenneth’s high standards,’ he confessed, refusing to let his estranged mentor deliver the coup de grace. Better a self-inflicted wound than to be led meekly to the scaffold.

‘It didn’t have to be that way. If you had come to me and discussed your plans before going off half-cocked, I could have —’

‘Is that what angered you, that I failed to obtain your esteemed academic opinion?’ Or were you angered that the son had rejected the father?

Seeing the sparks about to catch fire, Edie jumped to her feet. ‘We’ve sort of veered a little off track, don’t you think?’ Then, acting as though nothing untoward had occurred, she calmly walked over to the tray and helped herself to a tart. ‘Now, let me make sure I’ve got this straight, Sir Kenneth. You said that Galen of Godmersham had no children.’

‘That is correct.’

‘But since he left the Hospitallers when he returned to England, I assume that he was married.’ Holding the tart between thumb and forefinger, she waved it to and fro as she spoke.

‘Galen went to the altar not once but thrice. No sooner did each spouse shuffle off her mortal coil than Galen found himself a young replacement. His last bride, Philippa Whitcombe, was the daughter of the justice of the peace for Canterbury. When Galen died, Philippa promptly joined a cloistered order of nuns. One can assume that she did not take to the married state.’

About to take a bite, Edie lowered the tart. ‘So who inherited the gold chest?’

‘Ah! An excellent question, my dear.’ Walking over to the tray, Sir Kenneth plucked a mince tart from the near-empty plate. ‘Since the gold chest does not appear in any Feet of Fines record after 1348, one can infer that it was never found. Not altogether surprising given that not a single inhabitant of god-forsaken Godmersham survived the plague.’

‘Meaning no one was left who had any recollection of ever seeing Galen’s treasures,’ C?dmon murmured. For all intents and purposes, it was as though Galen’s gold chest had never existed once the plague struck. With no Feet of Fines record for the intervening centuries, the mystery would be that much more difficult to solve.

‘Okay, but what about the quatrains? How did they come to be discovered?’ Edie asked, clearly as determined as he to glean information.

‘Galen’s estates remained in a state of ruin until the reign of Queen Elizabeth. The new owner, a wealthy wine merchant by the name of Tynsdale, had the chapel demolished to make way for a hammer-beamed monstrosity. It was during demolition that the quatrains were discovered beneath the altar stone. Sir Walter Raleigh, a close acquaintance of the merchant, was the first to conjecture that the arca mentioned in Galen’s poetry might refer to the Ark of the Covenant. He and Tynsdale scoured every inch of the property. To no avail, I might add. Not a century passes that some addle-brained treasure hunter hasn’t attempted to find —’ Catching sight of his housekeeper poking her head through the study door, he stopped in mid-flow. ‘Yes, what is it?’

‘A call, sir. From the provost’s office.’

Clearly annoyed by the intrusion, he waved her away. ‘That blasted relic’s not working,’ he said by way of explanation, gesturing to an antique black telephone on his desk. ‘There’s a telephone in the lobby. I won’t be a moment.’

C?dmon rose to his feet. ‘We must go.’

He wasn’t certain, but he thought he detected a disappointed glimmer in the older man’s eyes. Suddenly uncomfortable, he glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Duke Humphrey’s Library is open until seven. If you could call ahead and make the necessary arrangements, we would be most appreciative.’

‘Yes, of course. My pleasure.’ As he spoke, Sir Kenneth escorted them to the lobby.

Out of the corner of his eye, C?dmon caught a flash of colour. Turning his head, he saw that the once-bare Norway spruce now sparkled, richly tinted glass ornaments glowing jewel-like among the dark foliage.

‘Did you know that it was Queen Victoria’s husband, the bewhiskered Albert, who introduced the Christmas tree to these shores? He had them all done up with edible fruit and little wax fairies.’ Sir Kenneth fingered a glossy green limb, a wistful look in his eye. ‘I told her to get a pine not a spruce. Blasted woman.’

‘I think it’s absolutely gorgeous,’ Edie remarked.

‘Yes, it always is.’ Turning his back on the tree, Sir Kenneth cleared his throat. ‘The Choral Society is singing Handel’s Messiah at seven thirty this evening. Perhaps you and Miss Miller would care to join me? There is nothing that compares to the sound of crystal voices lifted to the heavens. Quite moving. Even if one does not believe in the Christmas myth spoon-fed to us by power-hungry Church fathers, eh?’

Having obtained all he needed from his old mentor, C?dmon shook his head. He’d had enough of him for one day. ‘Thank you, Sir Kenneth. Unfortunately, we —’

‘Yes, yes, I understand.’ Then, his right index finger pointing heavenwards, like a man struck with an inspired idea, he said, ‘I’ve got just the thing. It arrived only this morning.’ Turning his back, he searched the boxes piled high on the console table. ‘Where is the blasted — Ah! There it is!’ Reaching into a wooden crate, he removed a bottle.

‘Merry Christmas, young Aisquith.’

C?dmon hesitated a moment, instantly recognizing the label on the bottle of Queen’s College port that the older man offered to him. COLLEGII REGINAE. He well recalled the port decanter being passed between the senior fellow and his small band of favourites long years ago. Those were fond memories unsullied by the later rupture.

With a brusque nod, he accepted the bottle. ‘And a merry Christmas to you, Sir Kenneth.’

The other man patted his stomach. ‘I don’t know about “merry”, but it shall be filling. Mrs Janus is certain to stuff me with Christmas pudding and mince pies.’

Uncomfortable with the pleasantries, knowing they hid the bitter feelings that had earlier bubbled to the surface, C?dmon took Edie by the elbow. ‘We must be on our way.’

To his surprise, she disengaged herself from his grasp, stepped over to Sir Kenneth and kissed him on his right cheek. ‘I hope you have a very merry Christmas!’

Grinning like a besotted fool, Sir Kenneth followed them to the door. ‘And, in turn, I hope that you and young Aisquith uncover Galen’s blasted box. If the gold chest is to be found, you are the man to find it.’ This last remark was directed to C?dmon.

Caught off guard by this unexpected support, C?dmon said the first thing that came to mind.

‘Thank you, sir. That means a great deal to me.’

39

Enraged, Stan MacFarlane snapped shut his mobile.

Aisquith and the woman were in Oxford.

Why was plainly evident. They had managed to find out that Galen of Godmersham had uncovered the Ark of the Covenant while on crusade in the Holy Land. Eliot Hopkins must have told them before his death.

‘Do you want me to take care of it, sir?’

Stan glanced over his shoulder. He knew that former Gunnery Sergeant Boyd Braxton was anxious to make amends for the debacle in Washington.

‘Sometimes it’s in one’s best interest to be merciful.’

It took a few moments for the other man’s befuddled expression to morph into an amused grin. ‘Oh, I get it, Colonel. Like Tony Soprano, you want to keep your friends close and your enemies even closer.’