England 2010
Brandon and India sat at the back of the church, waiting for the service to end. It was a typical village church and the congregation was quite healthy bearing in mind the apathy to religion that seemed to be the norm across the country. Finally the service came to an end and the people filed out, dropping their donations onto a copper plate as they left. Eventually there were just the two of them and the vicar left.
‘Hello,’ said the vicar, ‘I don’t think I have seen you here before. Are you new to the village?’
‘No, not really,’ said India, ‘What I mean is, we don’t actually live here, we were looking to speak to you, if you have the time.’
‘What about?’ asked the vicar.
‘I am India, and this is Brandon,’ she said. ‘We are writing a book about the village history of middle England and were told you may be able to help in our research.’
‘In what way?’
‘We are interested in the Temple at Weycock hill. I believe it was built in the first century and some of the stones were used in the building of this church. Is that correct?’
‘Indeed it is,’ said the vicar, ‘Some of the masonry can be seen in the lower courses of the church walls.’
‘How old is the church?’ asked Brandon.
‘Built in 1672,’ said the vicar, ‘Though there was a place of worship here hundreds of years before that in many different guises.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Brandon.
‘Oh the village stretches back thousands of years,’ said the vicar, ‘The remains of a stone age fort have been found nearby, ‘As well as the Roman ruins. It has been dominated by Romans, raided by Vikings and supplied no end of archers during the Norman conquest.’
‘Is there anything you can tell me about the Temple?’ asked India.
‘Not much to tell, really. Experts reckon it was built in the first century AD. That’s a bit special in itself really, as there are no others from that era. Many were built in the few hundred years after that but it was thought the area was still too volatile at the time for a standalone Temple outside of any defended town, yet it seems it was still there a few hundred years later, until of course the Romans left.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Brandon.
‘There was a stone coffin found in one of the excavations with the inscription 474 AD inscribed on the lid. It was obviously the burial of someone important as it was within the boundary of the Temple, but in order to be buried there, it must have been still standing at that time.’
‘But how did it last so long?’ asked India.
‘Who knows?’ said the vicar, ‘But the Romans weren’t always tyrants to the locals you know. And by then, the population had probably become Romanised anyway. Probably even worshiped at the Temple themselves.’
‘Who would have been the Gods at that time?’ asked Brandon.
‘Some people say the whole Pantheon would have been worshiped there?’ said the vicar, ‘But the locals insist it is a Vestal Temple. An early one I agree, but a Vestal Temple nonetheless.’
‘Why are they so insistent?’ asked India.
‘I don’t know, really,’ said the vicar, ‘But it has always been so. There are even mentions of the Temple in the parish records going back hundreds of years. And of course, the legend of the white lady goes back long before that.’
‘What do you think?’ asked Brandon.
‘Oh I believe it is a Vestal Temple,’ said the vicar.
‘Really?’ said Brandon in mild surprise, ‘Any particular reason?
‘Not really, but it is so embedded in the local Psyche then it just seems right. Of course, there’s also the carving.’
Both heads span towards him
‘What carving?’ asked Brandon, a little too quickly.
‘Many buildings were built from the stone of the Temple said the vicar and over the centuries anything of archaeological value has been lost but there is one carving that survived showing a Priestess.’
‘Can we see it?’ asked India.
‘Oh it’s not here,’ said the vicar.
‘I suppose it’s in a museum,’ said Brandon.
‘I doubt it,’ said the vicar, ‘It is built into the walls of the church of St Giles in Tockenham.’
‘Where’s that?’ asked Brandon, hardly daring to breathe.
‘Fifty miles or so away,’ said the vicar.
Despite their excitement both India and Brandon managed to keep the pretence going a bit longer before making their excuses and leaving. A couple of hours later they were stood outside the gates of St Giles, reading the opening times displayed in the notice board.
‘Closed!’ said India in disappointment. ‘Open again on Thursday morning for a private christening and next week for Sunday service.’
‘What sort of church closes on a Sunday?’ snapped Brandon in frustration.
‘Well, it is five o’clock,’ said India, shaking the gate in vain, ‘Besides, it’s a sign of the times. We are turning into a nation of atheists.’
‘Come on,’ said Brandon.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Inside,’ said Brandon. ‘We can’t afford to wait another week.’
‘We can’t break into a church,’ hissed India.
‘Who said anything about breaking in?’ asked Brandon, pulling out a strange looking tool.
‘What’s that?’ asked India.
‘Swiss army lock pick?’ he suggested sarcastically.
‘You are not going to pick the lock?’ said India in disbelief.
He raised his eyebrows briefly before vaulting up onto the wall.
‘You coming or what?’ he asked and held out his hand.
She paused momentarily before taking his hand and clambering up the dry stone walling. They dropped down into the cemetery beyond and made their way around the wall to the arched doors of the main entrance. Brandon quickly knelt down and fiddled around with the strange tool before selecting a suitable candidate.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ mumbled India. She looked around nervously while Brandon fished around in the keyhole with his lock pick. A few seconds later they heard the satisfying clunk of a falling lever and Brandon smiled up at India.
‘Sign of a disaffected childhood,’ he said, and pushed the door slowly inward.