‘Then it has all been for nothing.’
‘Not really, at least no more girls will be abducted around here.’
‘But what about the others? Jacob said there are similar places all around the world.’
‘We can’t change the world, India,’ he said, ‘Leave it to the authorities. Anyway, forget all that, why did you call me?’
‘Well, haven’t seen you for a while and thought it would be nice to catch up.’
‘Yes, but why here?’
‘Something has been bothering me,’ said India.
‘What?’
‘Remember I told you that over the years there had been at least two excavations of the Temple on Weycock hill.’
‘Vaguely.’
Well, one of the excavations found two coffins beneath the Temple, but only one had the remains of anyone inside. The other was empty.’
‘And?’
‘Well it would seem that the body had been removed deliberately a long, long time ago, probably to protect the occupant from Grave robbers.’
‘Why would grave robbers take a body?’
‘I believe Rubria was eventually buried under the Temple on Weycock Hill. For hundreds of years she and the Palladium lay there undisturbed but when the Romans left Britain in 410 AD the Temple would have been at risk from anyone who knew she lay there. However, we now know that by then, Vesta had a great following and I think her followers would have taken steps to protect her remains and those of the Palladium.’
‘How?’
‘By moving her body elsewhere.’
‘Where, into the cavern?’
‘I don’t think so. It could have attracted too much attention. No I believe they picked a site where nobody would think of looking for a Pagan Priestess.’
‘Where?’
‘A Christian cemetery.’
Brandon looked around, understanding dawning on his face.
‘You think she is buried here?’
‘I do.’
‘But why?’
‘This church is intrinsically linked to the history of this village and has been since the Romans left.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ said Brandon.
‘Perhaps not, but this is the church of St Lawrence. His story is fascinating in itself, but it is interesting that his followers built a church here, so far away from Rome and so close to the Order of Santa Rosa.
‘Coincidence?’
Perhaps, but St Lawrence is known by another title.’
‘Which is?’
‘The keeper of the secrets!’
‘Fascinating,’ said Brandon, ‘But even if you are right, how do you intend to find an unmarked grave from over fifteen hundred years ago?’
‘I don’t have to find it,’ said India, ‘I know exactly where it is.’
‘You do?’
‘I think so.’
‘Where?’
India looked at her watch.
‘Just be patient a little longer,’ said India, ‘For if I am right, all will be revealed in a few minutes.’
Brandon looked at her in confusion but she would say no more. Five minutes later an old woman led a little girl into the cemetery and walked slowly along the path. India nudged Brandon and nodded her head towards the couple.
‘Who are they?’ asked Brandon.
‘Shut up and watch,’ said India.
The two generations made their way past all the headstones and across the central clear lawn area towards the oak tree. The old lady opened her basket and pulled out a bundle of grass, bending it over to form a loop. She tied it around the centre and handed it to the little girl, who, after kissing it gently, placed it at the base of the Oak. Without further ado, they turned around and headed back towards the gate, passing India and Brandon on the way. India stood up and spoke to the old lady.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘I hope I’m not intruding but I couldn’t help noticing what you just did? Would it be rude of me to ask if there was any significance in placing a knot of grass at the base of the tree?’
‘Oh that,’ said, the old woman, ‘Just a silly tradition. Been doing it all my life. Got to pass these things on to the younger generation, haven’t we?’
‘Of course,’ said India, ‘Is it widespread around here?’
‘Oh no,’ said the old lady, ‘It’s a family thing.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said India, ‘Sorry for the intrusion.’
‘No problem,’ said the lady, and turned to the girl. ‘Say goodbye, Ruby.’
‘Bye bye,’ said the girl looking up at India, and they both turned away to walk back to the village.
Brandon walked over to the tree and picked up the straw doll the woman had left. It was made from a fistful of long grass, bent in the middle to form a loop for the head. More grass was tied around the centre to secure the shape, and two smaller bunches had been drawn out of the torso to form the arms. Brandon gently pushed the grass arms down to the doll’s side, forming an even more familiar shape,
‘Isis,’ he whispered in awe, ‘India, look at this….. India…’ He turned around to speak to the woman but her back was towards him and she was staring at the retreating old woman and young girl.
‘Oh my God, Brandon, did you see her eyes?’
‘Sorry?’
‘The little girl’s eyes, have you ever seen anything so blue?’
They turned back towards the tree and both looked at it in a new light. They were silent for a long time before Brandon started the conversation that they were both thinking.
‘How did you know?’ he asked eventually.
‘Simple,’ said India, ‘An Oak has no place in a Christian cemetery. It is a Pagan symbol.’
‘And Rubria was a Pagan.’
‘She was.’
Silence fell again.
‘I suppose an Oak would have been a good grave marker for a Priestess.’
‘A perfect choice,’ said India, ‘Though it wouldn’t have lasted two thousand years.’
‘I suppose it could have been replanted as each tree died.’
‘It could have, but that would have meant that her descendants, or at least her followers, still survived throughout the centuries.’
‘The old lady?’
‘And the girl,’ said India, ‘Don’t forget, the secrets of the Goddess were passed down the female side of the families.’
‘Her eyes were astonishing,’ said Brandon, ’But how did you know they would come here today?’
‘I didn’t, but I knew that if my assumption was correct, someone would probably turn up.’
‘Why?’
‘The date,’ answered India.
‘June 29th,’ said Brandon, ‘Why what’s the significance?’
‘It’s an ancient festival carried out since the time of Isis,’ said India, ‘Eventually, the Vestals adopted the ritual, and every year, on June 29th, they would make straw dolls in Isis’s image and cast them into the River Tiber in Rome. Over time, it became a symbol of Vesta herself and any tomb or representation of any devotee of Vesta is honoured with this offering on this day.’
‘So, this is actually it,’ said Brandon, looking at the Oak, ‘The final resting place of Rubria, Priestess of Vesta’
‘And the statue of Pallus Athena,’ added India.
‘And nobody knows except you and me.’
‘And let’s keep it that way, eh?’
Brandon nodded, no explanation needed. They stayed for a long time, talking quietly beneath the tree.
‘I have some news,’ said Brandon eventually.
‘Oh yes, and what is that?’
‘I’ve given notice,’ said Brandon, ‘I’m leaving the army in three months.’
‘But why?’ asked India.
‘It’s not the same anymore and I need a change. I was thinking about starting a small detective agency specialising in anything to do with the past. What do you think?’
‘You know nothing about the past,’ laughed India, ‘In fact you are crap!’
‘I know, but I know someone who knows quite a lot. What do you think, fancy it?’
‘Who, me?’ asked India in surprise.
‘I don’t see why not, we make a good team you and I. Unless, of course you are happy in that little library of yours.’
‘What about work?’ asked India, ‘How do you know there will be enough to earn a living?’