‘And the Jewish part?’
‘Since the advent of Middle French in 1350 AD, the major religion in France has always been Christianity, so much so that Jews have been persecuted for their beliefs. Therefore, if the author studied Hebrew, he was probably a Jew.’
Payne nodded. It made sense to him. ‘What about a location? Are there any Jewish settlements inside France?’
‘None that I can recall, but I shall certainly check.’
‘What about places outside France?’
Ulster rubbed his chin in thought. ‘Well, French is an official language in Switzerland and Luxembourg. It is also spoken in Malta, Monaco, and Quebec. Then there are a hundred million people spread across Africa who speak the language in one form or another—’
‘That is correct. Forty per cent of Belgians speak French.’
Payne leaned forward in his chair. ‘Last night’s shooter was Belgian.’
‘Is that so? I don’t know why, but I’ve never thought of Belgians as being dangerous.’ Ulster patted his large stomach and grinned. ‘For some reason, I think of waffles.’
‘Us, too,’ Jones admitted, ‘with fruit and powdered sugar.’
‘Anyway,’ Payne said, trying to move things along, ‘the Belgium connection might be a co incidence, but we’ll keep it in mind as we move forward.’
‘Don’t worry, Jonathon. I’m nearly done. And the best part is yet to come.’
26
‘Based on the assumption that the author was from France, I translated every word in the letter into Middle French. Unfortunately, the words were still jumbled and made little sense. I had the same issue when I used Old and Modern French. Next I tried Provencal, but the results were similar — nothing but chaos. I also tried Latin, then Italian, Greek and finally Hebrew. But guess what? None of the languages seemed to fit. If I pushed and pulled and finagled a bit, I was able to see some semblance of structure, but I doubt this is what the author had intended.’
Jones agreed. ‘You’re probably right. Most codes are pretty straightforward. If you know the cipher, then the rest is easy.’
‘Thankfully,’ Ulster said, as he tapped on the
‘Seen what?’ Jones asked.
‘The rhythm.’
Payne furrowed his brow. ‘The rhythm?’
With his marker, Ulster drew an asterisk next to four words: brother, line, mother, and time. ‘Take a look at your copy of the letter. How many lines are there?’
‘Four,’ Payne replied.
‘That is correct. Four lines. The words I have identified are the final words of those four lines. Now tell me, what do these words have in common?’
Payne knew it wasn’t their language because all of them were different. According to the chart, brother was Greek, mother was French, line was Latin, and time was Italian. Other than that, he wasn’t quite sure what to look for. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Of course not,’ Jones teased. ‘In the future, never ask a white guy about rhythm. If you have a choice, turn to a brother for help.’
Payne rolled his eyes. ‘Okay, Brother Jones, what’s the answer?’
‘The words rhyme. Brother and mother definitely rhyme. And line and time mostly rhyme. At least they would in a rap song.’
‘No shit?’
‘No, I’m quite serious. Your letter is a simple quatrain with alternate rhyming verses.’
‘Are we talking Middle English like
Ulster grinned. ‘I’m talking this decade like Harry Potter or Twilight.’
‘This message is current?’
‘Very current. And once that had been determined, everything else fell into place. I suddenly realized that some of the words that appeared to be nouns — for instance, choice — were meant to be verbs. In this case, chosen. Once that was resolved, the message became quite clear to me.’
‘Hold up,’ Payne ordered, slightly aggravated by the turn of events. ‘Let me see if I got this straight. We just spent fifteen minutes discussing regional dialects and the sentence structure of Provencal, but you’re telling us the message was meant to be deciphered in English.’
Ulster nodded. ‘It appears that way, yes.’
‘Then why didn’t you tell us that to begin with?’
‘Oh,’ Payne said, trying to ease the tension, ‘in that case, thanks.’
Ulster took a deep breath then cracked a smile. ‘Sorry, Jonathon, I shouldn’t have raised my voice like that. I’m simply hungry, and tired, and craving waffles.’
Payne shook his head. ‘Actually, Petr, I’m the one who should apologize to you. You’re doing us a favour here. Without your knowledge, we would’ve been screwed.’
Ulster waved his hand dismissively. ‘Well, the good news is that we’re nearly done. At this point I feel I have adequately prepared you for my translation.’
‘Are you positive? Because I’ll gladly wait some
Ulster smiled wider. ‘No, I’m quite sure. Let me write it above my chart.’
With a purple marker, he carefully printed the quatrain in English on the top of the board. Four lines. Two couplets. Twenty-two words in total. Composed in six ancient languages but translated into a seventh. When he was done, Ulster sat down and admired his handiwork, making sure that he had made no errors. It read:
From the city of brothers,
A lover from the lost line.
A mare with no mother,
Chosen for her place in time.
Payne and Jones copied the translation, word for word, then took a moment to examine it. When they were done, they shifted their focus back to Ulster.
Jones asked, ‘Any thoughts on what it means?’
‘Sadly, English literature is not my forte and never will be. Therefore, if you are looking for deep artistic meaning, I’m afraid you are asking the wrong man. However, if you are searching
Jones nodded. ‘I’m with you, Petr. My brain was built for facts and numbers, not artistic interpretation. I can read a poem and tell you if I like it, but I can’t dissect one to save my life.’
Payne cleared his throat. ‘There’s no need. I’ll save your life. Like always.’
‘Will you now? And how are you going to do that?’
‘I know what the message means.’
Jones snapped his fingers for effect. ‘You solved it, just like that?’
Payne smiled confidently. ‘Plus, I think Petr made a mistake in his translation.’
Jones laughed. ‘Oh, man, this is gonna be good! Please enlighten us,
