‘Six feet nine inches tall. So much for the theory that everyone was tiny in the Dark Ages. But he really was that height; they measured his bones in the eighteenth century.’
I thought about this. ‘Anwyn, weren’t the Welsh and the Saxons hereditary enemies? Yet here you are, commemorating a heroic Saxon defeat. It just strikes me as rather odd that you would do so.’
‘Yes, they were our enemies, though after they turned to Christianity they improved. Do you know, they blamed us afterwards for not converting them?’
‘Really? That’s unexpected.’
‘Yes. They were converted by the Scots, who were converted by the Irish, and then they turned to us and said, “Well you might have told us before about all this!” I found them quite different from what I imagined. Did you know the West Saxon Royal House was descended from a son of Noah born on the Ark?’
Professor Monk’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s disturbing. Shem, Ham and Japhet didn’t fit in to their genealogical wishes, so they invented a new one? I would have thought the god Woden might have been a better fit for them.’
‘Him too. The Old Testament and saints’ lives were their TV. Most of their surviving poetry is about that. Beowulf is a bit of an outlier.’
Professor Monk grinned, his eyes sparkling. ‘Only four dragon-scorched manuscripts made it to the modern age, as far as I’ve heard.’
Fascinating though this scholarly symposium undoubtedly was, I felt that now might be a good time to interrupt, before the Remembrances of Things Past slipped into overdrive. This was my day off and there were still things I needed to find out. But I didn’t want to tackle Philomela directly. She still looked scared and on edge. If she had something to tell me, it had better be approached in a roundabout fashion.
‘Dion, I was wondering if you’d given any further thought to our little mysteries?’
At once his eyes focused on me, and his white-bearded chin nodded almost imperceptibly in approval. ‘Well, yes and no. I am yet to solve the mystery of what abominable heresy I am supposed to be harbouring. Although, thanks to your quick wits, Corinna, I have managed to get a little further in my researches. It would appear that Jesus and Mary Magdalene really were married, and seem to have had at least one child if not more. However, all this has been common coin for many years now, and not just through our friend Dan Brown. So we have not really advanced on that front, although …’
He paused, and gave me a sidelong look. ‘There is a rather exciting development in the travels of Mr and Mrs Jesus and family. I’d prefer not to say more about it until I’m more certain of my studies, but there may be something altogether new which we have not seen before. Perhaps this may be what our friend Jordan has been overexciting himself about. But unless Burglar Secundus was after my Gospel as well – which seems to me quite improbable – I am beginning to believe that somebody else thinks I have something in my flat which is an artefact worthy of active pursuit.’
I looked at his aged face. He was glowing, like an old warhorse roused by the sound of bugles. In the bright sunlight his short, clipped beard shone and his bright blue eyes could have held all the warships of Agamemnon. There was something different about him of late. I wondered whether it was the burglary that had so galvanised him, or the obvious attentions of Mrs Dawson.
‘Letitia White and Helen think so too. I just saw them at Cafe Delicious. But you haven’t such an artefact, have you?’
‘On my life, Corinna, I really haven’t. I am the temporary guardian of some biblical-era scholarship. I have some Greek pots, but nothing valuable on the black market. I will continue to give my mind to the problem, but I have nothing to add for now. I wish I did.’
Therese Webb spoke for the first time. She slipped her needle into the calico embroidery and smiled. ‘We have made significant progress in another area. Philomela has been practising on Anwyn’s laptop. She can’t speak yet, but she can manage a little typing. Ask your questions, and she can answer you.’
I tried not to get too excited, but my heart did a few cartwheels. Anwyn picked up her laptop from the table and handed it to Philomela, who opened the lid and fumbled with her finger and thumb at the pad until she had produced a blank Word page. Her terrified eyes locked on mine for a long moment, then she bowed her head.
‘Can you remember what happened to you?’ I asked softly.
She tapped a few keys and turned the screen towards me.
YES.
‘Did someone hurt you?’
YES.
‘Was it someone you know?’
NO.
‘Where did this happen?’
AT HOME.
‘Philomela, where is home?’
It took her a long time to spell it out, and she made a few mistakes before she was satisfied. She turned the laptop again, and without too much surprise I read KILMARNOCK.
‘And what happened?’ I held my breath, because this was the big one.
Again she struggled hard, her brow creased with effort. Then she sighed, closed her eyes, and turned her screen to face me.
I gasped.
THEY KILLED MY SISTER.
Philomela: Finally! Now it will be easier. And maybe someday I shall be able to speak with my mouth again, rather than relying on a laptop with a faulty caps lock key. It looks like I’m shouting. Then again, why should I not shout? I feel like shouting. I want them hounded to their graves and beyond. My sister’s blood cries for vengeance.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Villain and he be many miles asunder.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, ROMEO AND JULIET, ACT 3, SCENE 5
For the moment I leant back in my chair, because things were happening quickly and I did not want to add to the melee. Professor Monk, like me, was staying out of it. The other two women had risen, and their arms met around Philomela’s shoulders. Philomela’s eyes had closed, and she was resting her head on Therese Webb’s bosom. Endearments and sympathies were being uttered. But these were drowned out, because in the general confusion someone had trodden on Carolus and he was letting the world know all about it. Bellamy, instantly awake, had fled in a cream-coloured streak of outrage into the undergrowth.
Feeling that I might be better employed as a cat-rescuer, I followed the trail into the parsley forest. ‘Bellamy?’ I called, but could neither see nor hear anything. Then I looked back, in time to see the following.
Carolus had launched himself straight into Philomela’s lap. Instinctively her small, scarred hands had wrapped around the little dog and begun to caress him. He stopped barking immediately and whined a sad, thoughtful little whine and lay still. The others fell silent, and Philomela’s mouth opened. She crooned the words ‘Agape mou!’ and everyone froze.
In the pool of silence, Dion Monk looked at her. ‘Taxeis Ellenika?’ he asked softly.
‘Ne.’
‘Kai mileis Ellenika?’
She opened her mouth to speak again, but nothing came out. The Professor’s hand made soothing gestures. ‘It’s perfectly all right, my dear. We know that you can speak, but you’re not ready just yet. But it will come. Some time when no one’s expecting it. Don’t try to force yourself to talk. Just wait for it to happen. You will get there in good time. But what we need for you to do is tell the story, if you can, on Anwyn’s laptop. I’m sure she will let you borrow it for as long as you need.’