Sam borrowed a green Jaguar XF from the car pool at the private jet hangar. Guinevere was blown away at the concept that they just give Sam a luxury car while he’s in town, but then Sam pointed out that the holding fees while his jet was at the private hangar would more than adequately make up for the sports car.
Sam, Guinevere, and Caliburn drove south along A39, while Tom and Genevieve took a commercial flight to Tel Aviv, where they would head to Jerusalem and start the difficult process of trying to locate where, if anywhere, Belisarius was entombed.
Sam said to Guinevere, “What makes Caliburn so valuable according to legend?”
He watched the dog in the mirror roll over in the back seat of the Jag, and give him a cursory bark.
Sam said, “It’s all right. I’m talking about the swords, not you!”
Caliburn made a short whining sound and rolled back to sleep.
Guinevere said, “Apart from imbuing its owner, King Arthur, to rule any battlefield?”
“Yeah. I mean, what does the legend say about the sword?”
“How the hell should I know?” she replied.
Sam said, “You grew up over here. Your name’s Guinevere and I have no doubt you were always a royal princess.”
She smiled. “All right. There is that.”
“So, tell me, what have you heard about the blade? What should we be looking for?”
“Legend has it King Arthur’s sword was a giant broadsword. At its hilt was a single snake, which wrapped around itself, with two gems of gold for eyes. Rumor is those eyes were made of a bland, rudimentary pair of stones, but when Arthur entered a battlefield, they lit up, turning the sword to fire. That fire blinded his enemies, and was said to be one of the great sources of his power.”
Sam said, “See, you did know the story. Great, so we’re looking for a big sword with a snake, whose eyes turn the blade to fire and blind people?”
“That’s about it.”
Verdant rows of English countryside ran past their windows and the time disappeared quickly along the forty mile stretch to the historic town of Glastonbury.
Guinevere wore her hair in twin braids, somehow making her appear even more regal. Sam wasn’t sure if she had meant to do it, or it just came naturally now that she was back in England.
She noticed him looking at her and smiled. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, but… you know, it’s never really been a good time, what with the whole being attacked by Excalibur thing and all.”
Sam swallowed. He’d been waiting for this conversation. “You wanted to ask me something?”
Guinevere bit her lower lip as if judging whether now was the right time to have the conversation. It was probably the only sign of weakness he’d seen her openly display. She nodded. “Yeah…”
The golden retriever sat up and licked its lips, suddenly interested in the direction of their conversation.
Sam looked at her. “About the other night?”
“Yeah…” Guinevere paused. “No. What happened the other night?”
“I thought you wanted to talk about the fact we slept together. I wasn’t sure…”
“Oh gosh, no. I’m nearly forty years old. If I can’t sleep with someone at my age, when can I?”
Sam said, “So you’re okay to leave it at that?”
“Yeah. Better than okay. It was a lot of fun.”
Sam cringed. “What were you going to bring up?”
Guinevere smiled, her lips parting only slightly to reveal the tip of her tongue in a way that somehow showcased her mischievousness, and yet was intolerably sexy.
Sam said, “Come on… what is it? What did you want to know?”
“The crew on your ship, the Tahila… I asked them about the meaning of its name.”
It was Sam’s turn to grin. So that’s what this is about. “What do you want to know?”
“It’s a nice name…” Guinevere said, turning her head to meet his eyes directly. “Did you know your crew has a bet going on why you named it that?”
He placed his hand on his chin and mocked, “Do they really?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You knew?”
Sam shrugged. “I figured they would. They’re an inquisitive bunch. Tahila’s a unique name for a hundred million-dollar, state of the art, ocean salvage vessel. I wonder what the price will get to by the time someone cashes in on it. What do you think?”
She shook her head, her gaze drifting out toward the English countryside which was littered with green and yellow fields, like a giant puzzle. “I don’t know.”
“What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know, really. Your ship… beautiful though she is, looks more like some sort of ocean predator. More like a nuclear attack submarine than a science and recovery vessel.”
“You’d be surprised by what purposes she serves.”
Guinevere persisted. “So what does the name mean?”
Sam said, “It’s Tahitian, for the God of Wind…”
Guinevere met his eye, trying to discern whether he was serious or not. “And that’s why you named it that?”
Sam laughed. “No. Truth is, in my early twenties I needed a break from life. I bought a little steel yacht named Tahila. It was one of the happiest times in my life, and I’ve never forgotten it.”
She looked at him and knew at once that he was telling the truth. “That’s a nice story.”
Sam pulled the Jaguar XF up alongside a cobblestoned parking lot outside the historic ruins of Glastonbury Abbey.
He pressed the stop button on the Jag, and the engine died. “We’re here.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Sam stared at the dilapidated ruins of the 7th century abbey.
The crumbling piles of stones, and fragile remains, were surrounded by a carpet of deep green grass, and a forest of giant oak trees.
Historians believed the abbey was built at the request of King Ine of Wessex, who enriched the endowment of the community of monks established at Glastonbury so that they could build a stone church in 712AD.
In 1184, a great fire at Glastonbury destroyed the monastic buildings. Reconstruction began almost immediately and the Lady Chapel, which includes the well, was consecrated in 1186. There is evidence that, in the 12th century, the ruined nave was renovated enough for services while the great new church was being constructed. Parts of the walls of the aisle and crossing were completed by 1189, but as was often the way at the time, funding ran out, and progress continued at a slow drizzle.
Pilgrim visits had fallen.
The monastery was getting desperate.
And then, in 1191 their prayers had been granted a miracle.
Two monks, who were digging to bury one of their brothers, found a grave with an oak coffin holding the remains of a gigantic man who had been severely wounded in the head. Buried beside him was a woman with a plait of golden hair.
Also found was an iron cross bearing the inscription, Hic jacet sepultus inclitus rex Arthurus in insula Avalonia — Here lies interred the famous King Arthur on the Isle of Avalon.
The monastery’s abbot, Henry de Sully, argued that during the time of King Arthur’s rule, the Glastonbury Abbey was surrounded by natural rivers, and a large lake, all of which had been buried and forgotten with the passing of centuries. But one thing they could be certain of was that there, in front of them, was the Tomb of King Arthur, buried on the Isle of Avalon.
The discovery of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere's tomb in the ancient cemetery provided fresh impetus for visiting Glastonbury. The pilgrims flocked, the coffers grew, and the Glastonbury Abbey became one of the wealthiest monasteries in England.
That was, until the Dissolution of the Monasteries occurred and King Henry VIII disbanded monasteries, priories, convents and friaries in England, Wales and Ireland, appropriated their income, disposed of their assets, and went to war. At the start of the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1536, there were over 850 monasteries, nunneries and friaries in England. By 1541, there were none. More than 15,000 monks and nuns had been dispersed and the buildings had been seized by the Crown to be sold off or leased to new lay occupiers. Glastonbury Abbey was reviewed as having significant amounts of silver and gold as well as its attached lands. In September 1539, the abbey was visited by representatives of the King, who arrived there without warning on the orders of Thomas Cromwell. The abbey was stripped of its valuables and Abbot Richard Whiting, who had been a signatory to the Act of Supremacy that made Henry VIII the head of the church, resisted and was hanged, drawn and quartered as a traitor on Glastonbury Tor.