Casting Samson (19 page)

“Well, that went off better than I ever dared hope. Here—wages.” Alan handed Anne an ice cream and turned back to collect his own with his one good hand. “When David and Goliath decided to fight it out for real, I thought we were in for a disaster. As it is, the crowd loved it, Aubrey is over the moon with his full collecting tins, and Godfrey is confident we’ve already reached our target.”

“That’s good.”

“And we still have the money being raised with things like the cake stall and face painting, as well as Graham’s pig-roast and disco tonight at the Dog and Sardine. All in all, a very successful day, I’d say, wouldn’t you? Anne?”

“Hmm? Sorry, I was miles away. Yes, a very good day.”

“Are you all right? You sound a bit flat.”

She summoned up a smile. “I’m fine, really. Just a bit tired, that’s all. I think, if you can manage without me, I might slip off home for a while.”

“Yes, if you like. You go on home. We’ll finish up here and you can get some rest before the disco tonight.”

The disco. The very thought of it made Anne’s heart sink as she left the green. But as a member of the committee it was her duty to attend, and Alan for one would be fussing around her and asking questions if she didn’t go. She sighed, staring up at the sunny sky. Why, on the best day they’d had for ages, did she feel so low? What she needed was something to kick her out of this depression. A half bottle of vodka might help, she thought morosely, then scolded herself for being miserable when the pageant had gone off so well, despite Toby Duggan’s best attempts to ruin it.

Looking up, she saw the huge stone bulk of the church rising on its natural mound and overshadowing the village. Suddenly she wanted to be there, to stand in the cool shady interior of the church. There were large strands of tape fluttering across the entrance, but one door was open and the church seemed to beckon her. Slipping under the tape, she stepped inside.

The empty church looked very sorry for itself with dust-sheets shrouding the font and the altar and all the pews stacked along the south wall. Several rows of flagstones had been taken up and neatly rested against the supporting pillars. She moved forward a few steps and gazed around her. The pageant had undoubtedly been a success—the committee would probably conclude that the press attention had helped to swell the crowds, so everything had turned out fine in the end, hadn’t it?

Except for her meeting with Toby Duggan. Anne had thought that in the professor she had found a friend, someone she could really talk to, but now all that was gone, because of their stupid disagreement over the church’s history. And when he’d come to her, offering an apology, she’d told him to get lost. Well, it served her right if she was miserable, when she’d treated him so badly. She squared her shoulders and put up her chin. She’d probably lost his friendship forever, but she could at least rescue a little of her dignity. She would write to him, apologise for her own behaviour. It wouldn’t put everything right, of course, but at least it might make her feel a little better. With a sigh she turned to leave.

“Oh!”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Toby was standing in the doorway. As he stepped forward she saw his anxious frown, the lines of strain around the eyes behind the glasses.

“How—how long have you been there?”

He shrugged. “Just arrived. Saw you making your way here, and after debating whether or not I should, I followed you in. Please—I haven’t come to gloat,” he added quickly.

“I didn’t think that. I know that’s not the sort of thing you would do.” She drew a breath. “I’m glad you’ve come. I want to apologise, for what I sai—”

“There’s no need. We both overreacted.” His grin made a fleeting appearance. “Your carnival was a success.”

“You watched it?”

“Uh-huh. Saw the lot, including some very realistic battle scenes.”

“Totally unscripted.” She couldn’t prevent a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I think the committee is very pleased.”

“But you’re not?”

She spread her hands. “I wanted so much to prove that old Hugh was a Templar and that he built this church. I suppose it became something of an obsession. Not very professional, is it?”

“No, but it happens to lots of historians. And we
did
find a link, didn’t we? A mention of Hugh going off to the Crusades.”

“Yes, enough to tie in with the legend, but I wanted
more.
I don’t like to think of poor old Hugh dying in the Holy Land.”

He shrugged. “You’re looking back nearly a thousand years, Anne. Sometimes the voices get a bit muted.” He walked past her, picking his way through the piles of lifted flagstones towards the Lady Chapel. The iron gates had been removed and the floor taken up completely.

“That’s where the leak first appeared,” she said, following him.

The sunshine glowed through the windows, and Anne felt that familiar lifting of her spirits.

It is worth it,
she thought.
It’s worth all the effort to save this beautiful church
.

“Anne.” Toby was staring at the effigy of Hugh de Moreton. “Anne, come here. Look.”

As she moved up beside him, he stretched out his hand, pointing to where the floor in front of the effigy had been removed. Anne stared, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing.

The stone feet that had seemed to rest so naturally on the flagstones were now revealed to have a stone plinth beneath them, a square block carved with a simple cross and two crossed daggers. Beneath it were four clear-cut Roman numerals. MCCX.

Even as she struggled to make the calculation, Toby spoke.

“Twelve hundred and ten.” He crouched and ran his finger over the carving. “Perfect. The later floor has protected it all these years. Sacrilege, of course, to cover up the base like that, but there you are.”

“But…that makes the church
eight hundred
years old.”

“Or even eight hundred and one.”

Anne found herself grinning. “So Hugh
did
get back! But what about the stone beside him? The inscription?”

“I’d wager it’s the relic of a later Hugh, probably a descendant, built into the wall at the same time as old Hugh’s effigy, when the church was remodelled. Looking at it now, comparing it with the effigy, I can see it’s a different kind of stone, from a later period. Everyone just assumed they belong to the same man. I wonder.” He walked towards the altar. The flagstones had been removed and he jumped down between the old heating pipes.

Anne watched him, mystified. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.” Picking up a piece of rag, he rubbed away the brown silt. “Look. Glazed tiles—early medieval, I’d say.” He couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice. “This one has a cross on it—and this one—look—the cross on a chequered background—symbol of the Templars.”

He moved over towards the wall. “And look here, Anne. You can see the original footings—the wall came round—it continues the curve of this existing wall behind the altar, forming a circular building.” He looked up at her, grinning. “Of course, we’d have to contact the archaeological department at the university, get them to verify it, but I’m pretty certain it’s your answer. A Templar burial and a Templar chapel. It’s the proof we were looking for!”

Moreton Manor, AD 1209

The afternoon sun poured through the unglazed window and fell on Hugo. He shifted uncomfortably and sank back into his dreams.

“No…no…we should return…We must fight!”

“Uncle—uncle! Wake up, sir.”

The voice dragged him back to the present. He stared at the face above him and for a few moments looked uncomprehending at the young man smiling down at him, until memory returned.

“Hugh. Nephew.”

“You need not fear now, sir.” The young man gripped his shoulder. “You are safe. You are home.”

Home. The word was comforting and he gazed around the room, then back to the window. He had asked for his bed to be moved, so that he could look out over the courtyard and beyond to a rise on the far side of the river, where a little round chapel was being built, its shape distorted by the spider’s web of scaffolding about its walls.

Young Hugh sat on the edge of the bed and watched him patiently. “Are you in pain, sir? Shall I fetch you a sleeping draught?”

“No, not yet. You think me foolish, boy, or a villain?”

“Neither, sir. I will always think you—a Crusader.” The young man sighed. “I wish I could do as you did.”

“Nay, lad. That’s no vocation. Your father has built Moreton into a goodly estate. As his successor you must continue his work. You are five-and-twenty now, it is time to find yourself a good lady and secure the family.” He paused. “I loved a woman once, you know.”

The young man nodded solemnly. “I know. It was my mother.” He flushed under Hugo’s frowning gaze. “My father told me, soon after she died. He said you had gone away because of her, so that there could be no disgrace, no sin. He could not tell you himself, for he was too proud, but he was grateful to you for that.”

“Can—can you forgive me, nephew?”

“You have paid for your sins, sir.”

“And what a price! Fourteen long years in the Holy Land, and another twenty in Templar strongholds of Europe, searching for God’s peace. I never found it, until I returned to Moreton last summer and your father welcomed me back…”

“Of course.” Young Hugh smiled. “He prayed often for your return, especially after my mother died. I am glad you were in time to see him again, I believe he was content to leave this life, knowing he had made his peace with you.”

Hugo closed his eyes.

“It was God’s will.”

He heard young Hugh’s voice, prompting him gently.

“Will you tell me, sir? Tell me again how you escaped death in the Holy Land.”

Hugo looked out the window, but his eyes no longer saw the river Fleetwater, or the chapel. He was looking much farther away.

“I wanted to stay, to fight to the death with my brothers, but it was an order—I was bound by my oath to obey. We were trapped. The heat was stifling and the hills—the Horns of Hattin—were at our backs. Saladin and his army stood before us, closing in on every side. Then the order came. I rode out—ran from the battle, for the first and last time—over horses, friends—over the relic of the True Cross. We were but a dozen. Saladin had a bigger victory in sight and did not send a party after us.” His fingers moved to his left shoulder, feeling the empty sleeve. “We fled north to Tyre, where the count’s own physicians treated us. And we sent word of the defeat to Rome.”

He fell silent and young Hugh shifted impatiently, as he always did at this point.

“And the countess—Raymond of Tripoli’s wife?”

“She was in Tiberias when it fell, but Saladin allowed her safe passage to join her husband.” He smiled. “He could be honourable, when he chose, but at the Horns of Hattin…the King of Jerusalem surrendered, of course. Raynald de Châtillon was executed by Saladin himself. I had heard stories that they were old enemies. The Master—well, Templars have a rule that we will not allow ourselves to be ransomed—de Ridefort thought himself beyond such laws. He saved his skin, but all the others—the Hospitallers and the Templars—they were executed there on the battlefield. All my friends, gone! Count Raymond died, you know, less than twelve months after the battle. Some say it was shame…perhaps. We should have stayed,
I
should have stayed. It was my duty to die with my brothers.”

Young Hugh leaned forward to cover Hugo’s gnarled fingers with his own.

“No, uncle. It was your duty to escape, to record the battle for those that come after you.”

“And I have done so, I have done so. And the building of my chapel on yonder hill eases my burden.” His hand turned to grip the young man’s fingers. “Promise me, Hugh, you will bury me in my chapel.”

“But, sir, we have the family vault, in the graveyard—”

The old man thought of Maude, lovely Maude, laid to rest beside her lawful husband, his brother Andrew. Their grave lay beneath the branches of the ancient yew. But it was not for him. His penance was that, even in death, he must remain apart from the one creature he loved above all others.

“It is better that I am buried alone, boy.”

“Then I promise you, uncle.” The young man’s voice was reassuring. “You have my word as a Moreton that your tomb will be in the chapel. It shall be covered by a stone likeness of you as you should be remembered—a Templar knight, strong and proud, with your sword and shield, and at your feet shall be the sign of the cross. And if it pleases God, you will not lie there alone. I, too, shall be buried there, when my time comes, and my sons after me.”

“You are a good boy, young Hugh.”

“Nay, uncle. I could do no less for my namesake.”

***

Outside in the churchyard Deborah brushed the loose grass clippings from her jeans. Bernard tried to hide his impatience.

“Come on, love. Let’s go and get your things. I want to be away before the rush.”

“You can get away whenever you like, Bernard. I’m not coming.”

A sudden stillness fell over them all.

Bernard frowned. “You what?”

She looked at him squarely. “I’m not coming with you.”

Behind her, Josh had risen to his feet.

“But—but you don’t mean that. What will you do—what is there here for you, for God’s sake?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I won’t go back to live with you, Bernard. It wouldn’t work.” Now she’d started, it suddenly seemed easier to put her thoughts into words.

She saw the pulse throbbing at the side of his neck, a sign that he was angry.

“Not what you want! You stupid cow! What about all
my
efforts here today—all that fucking playacting?”

“That was your decision, Bernard. I never asked you to get involved. In fact, I remember saying I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

His colour deepened and she saw his jaw working, as if he was trying to find the right words for his anger. For once it didn’t frighten her.

She said thoughtfully, “You know, Bernard, you shouldn’t wear lemon. It clashes with your colouring, especially when you’re angry. You go all red and blotchy.”

His flush deepened alarmingly. “Why, you bi—”

“Watch it!” Josh stepped up beside Deborah, tense and ready to fight.

She shook her head at Bernard. “I’m sorry. I told you it was over, but you didn’t believe me.”

“Yeah, well. I do now. Okay, I’ll go. Only don’t come running back to me when you realise you’ve made a mistake!”

Bernard turned on his heel and strode away.

“Well done, Debs!”

She let out a long sigh of relief.

“Hey, you’re shaking.” Josh put his hands on her shoulders. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Uh-huh. Just—not used to burning my bridges.”

“About time you burned that one. I can’t believe you ever considered going back with him.”

The confrontation with Bernard had surprised even her and now the reaction set in. She felt close to tears, and extremely sorry for herself. “With Mum and Dad moving to Bosham, and you leaving, I thought—”

“Me? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes, you are,” she said miserably. “Alan’s giving you one of his big restaurants over Swindon way.”

“Oh, no he’s not. Where on earth did you get that story from?”

“Everyone knows it.”

“So you
don’t
know what’s going on. Hasn’t your dad told you? I’m taking over the Yew Tree.” He laughed at her astonishment. “You idiot,” he told her fondly, “you didn’t really think I was going to leave you, did you? Alan is helping me to buy the Yew Tree from your dad. It’s a joint venture with an option for me to buy Alan out in three years’ time. He wanted it for a pub, originally, but the council have blocked that, so he’s offered me the chance to take it over, run it my way. I’ve already told your dad there won’t be a shamrock in sight.”

“But—but that’s marvellous.”

He kissed her nose. “I know. But I wasn’t planning to do it all alone, Debs. I want you to help me.”

“You mean, you want me to work for you? Are you offering me a job?”

“More than that. I want you to run it with me. What do you say?”

“You, you mean business partners?”

“That would do for starters, but then…” His dark eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was something else in their depths, a look that turned her insides to water.

Deborah stared at him. She had never fainted in her life, but now she thought she might do just that. For a moment the world seemed to spin around her. She swallowed hard, scarcely daring to believe what he was saying.

“It will be hard work, Debs. Long hours, not much free time, but we’d be working together. I think I would like that.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t a good idea to mix business with pleasure.”

“I did, but your mum and dad ran the Yew Tree between them very successfully, so I don’t see why we couldn’t do the same. Well?” He was standing very close, his eyes smiling into hers. “What do you say?”

With a strangled cry she threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, yes, Josh, of course I will!”

He kissed her, pulling her against him, his lips warm on her mouth. The sound of voices brought them back to reality and they broke away, but Josh kept his arms around her.

Anne and Toby strolled into view, holding hands, and the look of happiness on Anne’s face mirrored perfectly Deborah’s feelings.

Anne waved at them. “Hi, you two! Do you want to be the first to hear the good news?”

Deborah thought for one crazy moment that they were going to announce their engagement.

“We’ve proved it! At least, we’re pretty sure now that the church is Templar.”

“Probably built as a Templar chapel.” Toby smiled at Anne. “I was planning a trip to the Middle East later this year, why don’t you come with me? We could trace Hugh’s movements, look at the crusader castles…”

“Sounds like heaven.” Anne wondered if she could take any more happiness in one day. She knew she was smiling too much, but she didn’t care.

“But what were you saying about the church here?” Josh interrupted them. “Is it Templar?”

Toby nodded. “Yes, I think so. Taking up the flagstones has uncovered an earlier floor of glazed tiles, several with a Templar motif. Of course we’ll have to consult the experts, but I’m pretty sure. Come and have a look.”

Deborah and Josh followed them back into the church, where they stood staring down at the old flooring tiles around the altar.

“So if the water pipe hadn’t broken, we might never have found it,” Deborah murmured, awed. “It’s spooky. Like it was meant to happen.”

“No, just good luck.” Toby stood with his arm resting lightly across Anne’s shoulders. “How about we all go and celebrate?”

“What about the disco?” Anne felt a shadow of guilt pass across her happiness as she thought about Alan, but it lasted only a second.

“We can always go there later, if you like.” Josh grinned. “The Yew Tree is open, isn’t it, Debs? Let’s go there and I’ll treat you all to dinner. I’ve a feeling we’ve all got something to celebrate tonight.”

As they turned to leave, Anne cast a last look at the stone figure of old Hugh on the wall of the Lady Chapel. Had the flood really been a lucky chance? She didn’t know, but she had the feeling that his worn stone face was smiling even more than usual, and by a sudden trick of the light—perhaps a bird passing the window and causing a fleeting shadow—she thought old Hugh winked at her.