England 2010
Sister Bernice knelt silently at the feet of the small statue of the Virgin Mary, the only ornament in her cell, deep in prayer to the Holy Mother. Eventually, a tiny bell tinkled down the passages of the convent and she crossed herself before getting to her feet and brushed the creases from her gown. There was no dust as the floor of the cell was kept spotlessly clean from the twice daily scrubbing she gave it, a chore that she embraced fully as an honour and a privilege in the name of the mother.
She left her cell and closed the door quietly, as did the rest of the Sisters in her row. She stood patiently in the candlelit corridor and waited in silence until the distant bell tinkled once more before turning left to follow the other Sisters as they headed to the dining hall.
The routine was familiar and she carried it out without thinking, as she had done for the last twenty years. There were five other Nuns in front of her, all dressed in black, like herself, except for the Senior Sister at the front who’s robes were a sharply contrasting light grey. Sister Bernice knew that three similar columns of devotees made their way from different wings of the convent, each led in total silence by their own Senior Sister. They descended a stone stairwell and through another dimly lit corridor until they entered the great hall and took their places behind their nominated space at the long dining tables.
Bernice remained alone in the doorway, singled out for a special part in tonight’s ceremony. Her heart beat a bit faster, as, though she had done this many times before, it was always a privilege to represent the others in the ceremony.
The hall stretched out in front of her and was lined along both sides with the long wooden tables. At the far end, a further table was decked in a white cloth and laid out with religious artefacts, behind which, the six, grey robed Senior Sisters were taking their places. Behind them the far wall was dominated by an ornate carved wooden wall, the centre of which was a carved life-size image of the Virgin Mary set back into a shallow alcove.
None of this registered with Bernice though, as it was exactly the same as every other night since she had joined as an acolyte over twenty years ago and besides, the focus of her attention lay on the lone figure kneeling in the centre of the hall, dressed in a rough Hessian gown and staring down into a wooden bowl before her.
As soon as the room had settled, Bernice walked slowly towards the sad figure and stopped before her. As she had done dozens of times before over the years, she slipped off her self made leather slippers and held up one foot.
The kneeling person took the offered foot, and, using the soft cloth in the bowl, bathed it gently in the warm water. She repeated the task on the other foot and wiped them both dry in a soft towel before looking up at Sister Bernice for approval. Bernice looked down into the aged face of the Mother Superior and smiled her happiness before turning her back and making her way back to her seat. She knew that behind her, all eyes would be on the old lady as she struggled to her feet. Despite her age, nobody would be allowed to help if she struggled, as any failure to complete the ceremony would be the natural sign for a succession process to be instigated. Despite their rank, every Mother Superior in the order’s history had carried out the same ritual of cleansing the feet of the humble before each meal, until such time as they could not finish the task and a successor was appointed.
Bernice reached her seat and was relieved to see that the aged Mother Superior had managed to get to her feet and had taken her place at the head of the table. Everyone knew that the Mother Superior’s health was failing rapidly and it was only a matter of time before she would fail in her task.
Ritual over, the Mother Superior led the room in a prayer of thanks giving before taking her seat, closely followed by the rest of the room. Immediately a door opened and a line of young girls carried tureens of soup and platters of home made bread to the Nuns to start their meal. Mealtimes were one of the few times in a day when the devotees were allowed to talk to each other and Bernice turned to the colleague alongside her.
‘Sister Suzanna,’ she said, ‘It’s good to see you up and about again. ‘You are well, I hope.’
‘Much better, Sister Bernice,’ she answered, ‘No more than a heavy cold, I understand.’
‘You do yourself an injustice,’ said Sister Bernice, ‘I hear you were very ill’.
‘Poppycock,’ said her friend, ‘Anyway, you shouldn’t listen to idle gossip, and you know what the Mother Superior says.’
‘Gossip is for the idle of mind,’ they both said in unison with a smile.
All around the room the devotees of the order of Santa Rosa, ate their meal in an air of serenity, the sound of their conversation a mere murmur in the vastness of the hall. At the head table the six Senior Sisters ate in silence as they oversaw the meal.
‘I fear for the Mother Superior,’ said Suzanna, ’Her legs grow weaker by the day. She should step aside and spend her remaining days in retreat.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Bernice, ‘Though I would be sad to see her leave. She has been my mentor since the day I knocked on the door of this convent.’
‘When she does leave, who do you think will have the calling to wear the veil?’ They looked up at the six Senior Sisters, each of which were well over sixty years of age, and all eligible for the senior post.
‘Who knows?’ said Bernice, ‘Whoever is chosen I am sure Santa Rosa will guide her.’
‘It is said that your name has been mentioned as a Senior Sister,’ continued Suzanna.
‘Now who’s gossiping?’ said Bernice with a smile.
They continued their meal in quiet chit chat before the familiar bell rang indicating the end of the meal. All the Nuns left the room to return to their cells before evening prayers. As usual the Senior Sisters stayed behind in the hall and the sound of a key being turned being indicated the door was locked from the inside. The rituals of the Senior Sisters were for the higher order only, and the rest of the Nuns were totally unaware of what went on behind the giant oaken doors.
Within hours, only the sound of scrabbling mice could be heard in the corridors of the ancient convent as the occupants rested during the meagre six hours before first bell would ring again. Outside the fruit bushes in the walled vegetable gardens, so carefully tendered by Maximillian the gardener, swayed in unison with the mulberry trees of the Sister’s private cemetery. Bats flitted between the belfry and the crags of a nearby cliff face, chasing the myriads of insects rising from the surrounding woodlands. Like most nights, the nearby crags protected the ancient convent from the worst of the weather and apart from the usual sounds of the local wildlife, the night was very quiet, as could be expected in the isolated outpost of solitude.
But tonight was different. Tonight there was a different sound disturbing the darkness. Regular intakes of breath from an animal bigger than the usual deer or badger that roamed the surrounding woodland were interrupted by the occasional snap of dried twigs, both betraying the alien sound of carefully placed human footsteps drawing closer to the walls of the convent of the blessed virgin.
Mother Superior Theresa made her way slowly through the passages, her ageing bones aching in the damp and cold passages. As usual she had managed a few hours sleep but it was all she needed these days. She knew that her allotted span on this earth was coming to an end, and truth be told, when the time came she would welcome it with open arms. Every cell of her being was tired and she longed for the eternal sleep that beckoned enticingly in the not too distant future. But first she had to ensure the secrets of the convent were in safe hands. The appointment of her successor would be straightforward enough as any of the six Senior Sisters could step up to the role. The problem was, whoever was given the ultimate post would leave a vacancy in the ranks of the Senior Sisters and she wasn’t sure who, if any of the normal Sisters were ready to take the huge step up that the role of Senior Sister demanded. Every candidate had been discussed in depth on many occasions and the time was approaching when the final vote would be made and it was at that time that the order was in the most danger, for if the nominated candidate shied away from her responsibilities, the very order itself would be at risk of collapsing. Mother Superior Theresa had overseen the appointment of all six Senior Sisters in her time as head of the order, and all had gone without a hitch. In fact there had been no refusal recorded for over three hundred years. However the senior order were all growing old and it was possible that there would need to be several more elections in the very near future.
Suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks, sure she had heard something in the darkness. This normally would not be unusual in this old creaking place, but this was different. It sounded like a cough, a man’s cough!
‘Maximillian,’ she called, ‘Is that you?’ She knew the gardener should be in his cottage in the grounds at this time of the morning, but who else could it be?
‘Maximillian?’ she said again, ‘It’s awful late. Is there a problem?’
A figure stepped out of the shadows.
‘No problem, Sister,’ said an unfamiliar voice, and before she could react the figure lashed out and knocked the old lady to the floor, sending her into a world of darkness.
India and Brandon walked down a small street running through the village India had mentioned in Rome. They had arrived back a day earlier on a flight from Italy and Brandon had allowed them a few hours rest in a motel to catch up on the lost sleep. It seemed to India that she had slept only a few minutes before he was knocking on her door. After a quick shower they had driven from London towards Maidenhead, finally parking their hire car in a lay-by before walking into the village of Littlewick Green. The shops were closed as it was a Sunday so they made their way to the village pub.
‘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 walked into the typical English country pub and approached the bar.
‘Good afternoon,’ said the landlord.
‘Good afternoon,’ answered Brandon. ‘Pint of smooth please and…’ He looked at India quizzically.
‘Oh, Coke,’ please,’ she said, before adding, ‘Are you still serving hot food?’
‘We are,’ said the landlord, ‘Sunday lunch, Beef, Pork or Chicken,?5.99’
‘I’ll have Beef, please,’ said India.
‘And you sir?’ asked the barman.
‘I’ll have the same, cheers.’
‘No problem,’ said the barman, ‘You sit yourselves down and I’ll bring them over as soon as their ready.’
They made their way over to a window seat, sipping their drinks while taking in the scene around them. The bar was a cliche 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.’
‘Explain?’
‘A ghost!’ said India, ‘Said to have walked the village for thousands of years.’
‘Bullshit!’ said Brandon.
‘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.’
‘So where do we start?’ asked Brandon.
‘Churches are usually goldmines of information,’ said India, ‘I think we should start there.’
‘So why did you bring me in here,’ asked Brandon looking around the pub, ‘Where’s the link here?’
‘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.
‘Sister Bernice,’ said one, ‘Do you know what is happening?’
‘No I’m afraid not,’ she said, ‘But wait here, I will see if I can find out.’
‘But you will be punished if you leave the wing without a Senior,’ said her colleague.
‘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.
‘Sister Agnes,’ she said, ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Bernice, what are you doing here?’ came the answer, ‘You know it is forbidden to leave your cell without being summoned.’
‘I know, Sister,’ said Bernice, ‘But I was worried. We all were.’
‘Don’t fret, Bernice,’ said the second Nun. ‘Everything is fine. Go back to your corridor and await instructions.’
‘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.’
‘I am happy to help in any way I can,’ said Bernice.
Agnes’s colleague nodded her approval.
‘Explain what she needs to know,’ she said ‘But no more.’
Sister Agnes smiled and approached Bernice, lowering her voice so not to be overheard.
‘It’s the Mother Superior,’ she started,
‘Is she alright?’ interrupted Bernice in concern.
‘Well, that’s just it, we don’t know. She has disappeared.’
‘How?’ asked Bernice.
‘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.
‘Holy Mother protect us,’ she intoned.
‘What is it?’ asked Sister Adele.
Agnes looked up and done some rapid thinking.
‘Call the Seniors to the great hall,’ she said, ‘We have to meet them straight away.
‘What about me?’ asked Bernice, ‘What should I do?’
Sister Agnes retrieved a set of keys from beneath her habit and gave them to Bernice.
‘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.
Bernice looked down at the keys in her hand and in particular the ornate hall key. With only slight hesitation, she placed the key in the door. At first there was some resistance but with another shove the key rammed home into the lock. She heard a metallic thud on the other side, but pushed the door open anyway and entered the great hall. Bernice looked around. The hall was well lit from the dozens of candles that were burning ready for the now abandoned morning prayers, and it took her only a moment to see the hall was empty. She realised the Senior Sisters must have gone elsewhere and turned to leave the hall but as she did, her feet hit something on the floor. Looking down, she saw another small bunch of keys and realised that she had pushed these out of the lock with her own set when she had unlocked the door.
She bent over to pick them up, stopping suddenly, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. If these keys were in the lock, that meant that the doors must have been locked from the inside, yet…
Sister Bernice looked around the hall again. It was definitely empty and there was no other door that she knew of. She did a quick circuit around the room, checking once more, passing the image of the Holy Mother on the way but as she already knew, there was no sign of anyone. In confusion, she hurriedly left the hall and locked it from the outside, leaving the second bunch of keys on the floor inside. Finally she returned to her cell, and locking her door behind her, sat on the edge of her bed, confused and scared.