Mortuus Virgo (27 page)

‘When we get there say nothing about the missing girl,’ said Brandon.

‘Why not?’ asked India, ‘These people probably know nothing anyway. All we want is some guidance.’

‘It’s still classified, and besides, don’t forget the dead Greek’s brother is still at large and if he is on the same trail as us, he probably came this way. The last thing we want to do is raise the interest of any newspapers. Don’t forget there is still a child’s life at risk here.’

‘Haven’t they made any headway with that?’ asked India.

‘Nothing!’ said Brandon. ‘I checked in this morning. She seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth. We have the only lead it seems though how it links with the Palladium, I don’t know.’

‘Perhaps whoever has abducted her hopes to hold her to ransom, with the artefact as payment.’

‘Possible,’ he said ‘But unlikely. The best thing we can do is continue with our investigations. There are enough other people looking for the girl, anyway, here we are.’

They made their way over to a window seat, sipping their drinks while taking in the scene around them. The bar was a cliché of an English pub. Large fire place, leaded windows and low beams exuded character while polished brass platters and horseshoes covered most of the available dark oak panels.

‘Nice place,’ said Brandon, ‘Anyway, why don’t you remind me what makes you think the trail leads here.’

‘Like I said,’ said India, ‘One of my main sources when researching any historical story or artefact is local rumour. A while ago, I was dating a music student who was studying Ivor Novello, a famous Welsh composer who made his home in this village.’

‘What has Ivor Novello got to do with this?’

‘Nothing, but while I was with the musician, we came here for a weekend. We came to this pub one night and got talking to locals. After a few drinks the conversation turned to the village’s history and one of the strongest stories was the tale of the white lady.’

‘That may be so,’ said India, ‘But the fact is, it is deeply embedded part of this village’s memories, and, in my experience, in these old parish villages where old wives tales and folklore comes into play, there’s no smoke without fire.’

‘And where’s the link?’ asked Brandon.

‘Well, though I didn’t take much notice at the time, the one thing I do recall is that they reckon she is the ghost of a Vestal Virgin. It seemed a bit strange at the time but I thought no more about it. It was only when that Italian guy mentioned the possibility of there being a Vestal Temple in England it came back to me.’

‘What came back to you?’

‘There is a round Temple on a hill a few miles from here and archaeologists believe it is a Vestal Temple from the first century AD.’

‘But what makes you think this is linked to the Palladium?’ he asked.

‘Think about it,’ she said, ‘We traced the palladium to Rome and the care of the Vestals in 64 AD. At about that time, it disappeared and was last seen in the care of Rubria, the Priestess who was raped by Nero. She had the wealth, the education and the reason to flee Rome, and if she was as dedicated as all the other Vestals, would have tried to save whatever artefacts she could from the fire.’

‘Coincidence!’ said Brandon, she could have gone anywhere.

‘She could have,’ agreed India, ‘But consider everything else we know. Fact one, scholars believe the palladium was never burnt and is not beneath the Constantine Tower. It is now thought it was spirited away during the fire and left the country.’

‘Okay,’ said Brandon.

‘Fact two,’ continued India, ‘At the same time a Vestal Virgin with a grudge against Nero, disappeared from history forever. Not long after, a Temple to Vesta was built in England. Don’t forget, transport between Rome and Britain was common at that time as it was just after the Boudican wars and Rome was busy trying to dominate the island.’

‘I still don’t buy it,’ said Brandon.

‘Well look at the other factors,’ said India, ‘The people in this village believe there is a ghost of a Vestal Virgin haunting these streets. Now this may be poppycock but the story is hundreds of years old, if not thousands. Don’t forget in the past, our ancestors believed absolutely in the presence of ghosts. To them it was a fact of life. For something like that to survive the dark ages, and throughout all the subsequent historical periods and various religious upheavals it must have been a very strong story, don’t you think?’

‘Perhaps, but how do you know it is our Virgin?’

‘I don’t, but the timeline fits perfect and besides, our man from Samothrace seems to have come to the same conclusions and he is much more closely involved than you or I.’

‘Okay, so let’s assume you are right and this Rubria came here, why have you brought us to this village, shouldn’t we be going to this Temple?’

‘We can’t,’ said India, ‘It’s not there any more.’

‘What do you mean, not there?’

‘Well, it used to be on a place called Weycock hill a couple of miles away, but over the years the locals, like in many cultures, stripped it bare for building materials. Most was used in the construction of the local church a couple of hundred years ago.’

‘Perhaps the Palladium is buried on the Temple site,’ said Brandon,

‘I doubt it,’ said India, ‘It has been excavated twice that I know of. No, if there was anything there then it was long gone before the archaeologists even got their trowels out.’

‘And you think the villagers know where it is?’ asked Brandon.

‘Not consciously,’ said India, ‘But I am very interested in the stories and fables of the village. There are grains of truth to be had in most ghost stories. There may be a lead there.’

‘No link,’ said India, nodding towards the approaching barman, ‘But in the rush this morning, I didn’t have time for breakfast and I think better on a full stomach.’ She beamed a disarming smile at Brandon who stared back at her in amusement.

‘What are you waiting for?’ she asked, ‘Pay the man.’

----

Sister Bernice poured cold water from the chipped enamel jug into the bowl and washed her face in the candle light. Though she did not own a watch, she knew that it was approaching four am and the bell for morning prayers would sound soon enough. She sat back on her bunk, and waited patiently.

Half an hour passed and the bell did not come. Bernice approached the door and peered out through the opening into the passage. She hesitated, as though the doors were not locked, it was forbidden to leave their rooms except at the sound of the bells. Still, this was very strange. In twenty years of service she had never known any time where the first call to prayers had been missed.

Peering out into the corridor, Bernice could see that several other Sisters had also left their rooms and were gathered in the hallway.

‘And deservedly so,’ said Bernice, ‘But I have to find out in case there is any emergency. I fear for the Mother Superior’s health and I have some medical training. They may need me.’

‘Surely they would have called for you.’

‘Perhaps so, but I will check nevertheless.’ She moved down the corridor, watched by the eleven Nuns behind her and paused before turning the ancient bronze knob and easing the creaking door outwards. She held her candle up higher and called out into the corridor.

‘Hello, Sister Agnes, are you there?’ When no answer came she continued down the corridor towards the great hall. Just before she reached the double doors she heard the mumbling sound of voices in hushed yet strained conversation and as she turned the corner she almost bumped into two of the Seniors. Both looked very worried.

‘Wait!’ said Sister Agnes before turning to her colleague. ‘It may be beneficial to allow Bernice to help,’ she said, ‘After all, she is the preferred choice to join us in the inner order when the time comes and we need all the help we can get.’

‘All we know is that her room is empty and she is nowhere to be found. We have checked all the usual places but there is no sign of her. The others are checking the other wings as we speak.’

‘Shouldn’t we ask the rest of the order to help?’ asked Bernice,’ Surely the more eyes the better.’

‘
No!
’ snapped Sister Adele sharply, ‘They will stay in their cells, until told otherwise. There is too much at stake here.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Bernice.

‘All in good time, Sister,’ said Agnes, ‘Now, if you can just check the upper corridors and report back to the great hall when you have finished, that would be a great help.’

‘Of course!’ said Bernice and brushed past to start her task.

For the next twenty minutes she checked every room, cupboard, and cubby hole in case the elderly lady had collapsed, but all to no avail. Finally she entered the last tiny corridor at the top of the convent but could see that the short corridor led only to a tiny leaded window. Though the passage was obviously empty, she paused and stared at the window. Light flickered across its surface and at four thirty am there should be no light. She approached the window and peered through its dusty glass.

At first she could not make out the detail of the scene in the cemetery below, except that someone had started a fire but as her eyes become focussed the horror of what she saw caused her to scream out in terror.

Within minutes two Seniors came running along the corridor and found Bernice sat against the wall of the corridor, sobbing uncontrollably. She pointed at the window and Sister Agnes looked out at the scene that had so terrified Bernice.

Two floors below, she could see the smouldering remains of a fire against the walls of an ancient mausoleum in the middle of the cemetery. Resting against the wall of the tomb was a large makeshift crucifix and fixed to the cross was the still burning body of the Mother Superior.

Agnes’s hand flew to her mouth and nose to block the stench of burning flesh. A movement near the cross caught her eye and she saw a man stood a few yards away from the fire, half hidden in the darkness, swathed in a hooded cloak staring up at her. Sister Agnes fell back against the wall in shock.

‘Check the outer doors are all double locked,’ she said, ‘Then lock all the Sisters in their cells.’ Seeing the look of concern on Bernice’s face she quickly explained.

‘It’s for their own good,’ she said. ‘There is a madman out there and though the doors are solid, there is no knowing what lengths he will undertake to get in. Lock them in and then wait in your cell until we call you.’

All three descended the stairs and separated at the great hall. The two Seniors entered the giant doors while Bernice hurried along the corridor to do as she was told. Within the hour she had carried out her instructions but before returning to her cell, realised that she had possession of the keys and, as the doors were now all locked, she should return them to Sister Agnes. She made her way back to the great hall and knocked on the heavy doors. When there was no reply, she knocked again only harder. Again there was no answer so she tried the handle but found it locked.