‘Maybe the Pope or somebody put a spin on that. Because, like, messing with Muhammad, that would be serious heresy, right?’
‘Obviously, it would. However, since those days – in the West anyway – Baphomet seems to have acquired a rather darker image. Satanic, even. Demonic, anyway. Which is where it rather departs from the medieval historian’s sphere of expertise, so you’d need to research that at the library.’
‘But, like, the fact that the head’s set into the chancel arch, the entrance to the holiest part of the church …’
‘If that is Baphomet …’ Robbie put on a slightly twisted, conspiratorial smile ‘… is he guarding the altar? Or is he drawing attention away from it? Think, for instance, which side it’s on.’
‘Well, erm …’ Obviously she hadn’t seen the actual thing, only the picture, which was close-up. ‘I suppose that would depend which side you’re approaching it from.’
‘It’s only visible from one side Jane. The side facing you as you walk in. Putting it very firmly on the left.’
‘Oh.’
‘Sinistral, as it were. The left-hand path. Hah! Now I’m getting carried away. And my coffee will be completely cold.’ Robbie rose from his chair. ‘I do so hate cold coffee.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Williams. But you’ve been really helpful …’
‘I suppose I really ought to have asked you why you’re so interested in all this.’
‘Maybe I’ll tell you sometime.’
‘Might, on the other hand, be better if I never knew, Jane.’
She watched him plodding across to the door, his battered briefcase under an arm, and couldn’t believe how, after rubbishing all her other ideas and dismissing the Templars as some kind of thick thugs, he’d suddenly come out with something as weird and disturbing as this. She came to her feet.
‘Oh …’
Robbie stopped, neck hunched into his shoulders as if she’d thrown something at him.
‘Just one more thing, Mr Williams. Have you ever heard of a green man or a bearded head or whatever … that wasn’t in a church? Say, in a public building. Or a house?’
‘Can’t say I have. And, unless it was in a chapel, that would strike me as unlikely.’ He turned and looked at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘Why? Have you seen one somewhere else?’
‘No, no.’ Jane slid her chair back under one of the desks. ‘I just wondered, that’s all.’
This time, the phone was picked up at once.
‘Gatehouse.’
‘Sophie, it’s me. Look, I’m sorry about this, but—‘
‘I know. It’s been on the radio. No more brutal form of suicide, in my opinion, than to lay one’s head in the path of a train. The engine driver is usually traumatized. I did try to ring you. I don’t think the Bishop knows yet.’
‘It brings up the question of going back to Garway.’
‘Oh,’ Sophie said. ‘I doubt he’d want that now.’
‘I think I want it.’
‘Merrily, some people appear to be locked into a tragic cycle, and whatever we—’
‘A cycle I just might have broken if I’d known more.’
‘Yes, you would think that.’
‘I need to understand, as far as I can, what happened.’
‘That’s surely for the police to establish. Or the coroner.’
‘Superficially.’
‘And you think this would need a full week?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve had another message I can’t really ignore. I’ll explain when I know a bit more.’
‘You want me to tell the Bishop?’
‘Please.’
‘I’ll see if Ruth Wisdom’s still available … Merrily?’
‘Mmm?’
‘I think you need to be very careful,’ Sophie said. ‘This may go deeper than either of us had imagined.’
Merrily made some tea and took it into the scullery. Lit a cigarette and stared unhappily at the answering machine for a minute or so before rewinding the last message. The one waiting for her when she’d come in from the churchyard.
‘Mrs Watkins. Morningwood. Come and see me, will you, darling?’
A pause, then
‘Someone didn’t do a terribly good job, did they? Was it you or was it me? Or is something dreadfully amiss?’
24
Invaded Space
‘BACK OFF, MERRILY,’ Huw said. ‘You’re not thinking, you’re reacting.’
She said nothing. Over by the door to the hall stood two overnight bags, packed. She didn’t have a respectable suitcase.
‘Let it lie, lass. Attend to your parish, go into the church morning and evening for three days. Contemplate. Let things settle. And then look at it again.’
‘I’ve just been to the church. It wasn’t a great success. I was probably too emotional.’
‘My point exactly.’
‘Anyway,’ Merrily said, ‘it was already too late.’
She was on the mobile in the kitchen. Using the mobile too much, thanks to Bliss and his paranoia.
‘So you think you had a bit of a psychic experience, do you? That’s what this is all about.’
‘No, what it’s about is that two people are dead. For reasons it seems unlikely anybody will ever be able to explain. Except possibly me. After a fashion. And too late. Because I was putting my home life and my parish and my personal comforts before the job I agreed to take on. Because I was being lax and lazy.’
‘Wrong attitude, lass.’
‘Mopping up, Huw. It’s just mopping up. And a miserable attempt at penance. I won’t exactly enjoy it, but I don’t think I really deserve to.’
‘Mopping up?’ Huw’s voice rose, uncharacteristically. ‘It’s digging up. It’s disturbing the ground, it’s exposing live wires. A little woman with a bucket and spade?’
Spade. Wires. Mrs Morningwood talking about the sometimes-dormant feud between the Gwilyms and the Newtons/Grays: Like a live electric wire under the ground, and periodically someone would strike it with a spade.
‘I’ve told you what to do,’ Huw said. ‘Talk to the vicar of Monkland or whoever’s attending to the funerals, and the bloke standing in at Garway. You then have a Requiem at Garway Church, followed by a blessing – or something a bit heavier, but don’t overdo it – at the house. Two priests, plus interested parties. Bang, bang … out.’
‘And if it goes on?’
‘What … deaths?’
‘I don’t know. They bring in another builder, who happens to have a heart attack, whatever. I need to find out what’s there.’
‘Merrily, there’s masses there. It’s always going to be there. Garway’s layered with it, that whole area. Tantalizing little mysteries. Codes nobody’s going to crack and symbols and forgotten secrets. And occasionally summat flares. So you tamp it down and you walk away and, with any luck, it won’t flare again in your lifetime.’
‘You’re saying it’s too big to deal with?’
‘Too big, too deep. It’s Knights bloody Templar. Folks’ve been obsessing over the buggers for centuries. You don’t need it.’
‘One week.’ Merrily looked across at the overnight bag. ‘I’m giving it one week, max.’
She’d phoned Teddy Murray. ‘Oh dear,’ he’d said, all vagueness, the kind of minister who held garden fêtes and came to tea. ‘I was told it was all off. Never mind, I’m sure we can organize a room. Do everything we can to ensure your stay is as painless as possible – think of it as an autumn break in God’s weekend retreat.’