Helter Skelter Page 5

  ‘Right, with a bit of linguistic help from Malachy I have spent the last three hours trying to unravel what this poem means. I am an auditor by trade so analysing and probing data is my forte, and I have to admit I got hooked although I couldn’t have done it without Malachy bringing a seventeenth century perspective to bear. We have made progress but we need an independent mind to provide an objective opinion.’

  She looked inquisitorially at Robert who simply said, ‘OK, fire ahead’.

  ‘Right, let’s take it line by line from the top. From base to acumination is just fancy language meaning from top to toe, in other words the object in its entirety. However, I think it has another deeper layer of meaning. Cornelius means that the Triskell, in all its component parts, shall be kept safe. By corollary it means that the object has been divided up. That certainly would explain why the piece we have is so unprepossessing. Look how the poem ends them to be ingathered and sheweth all.’ In other words they shall be reunited.’

  She looked at Robert, but he didn’t say anything so she carried on.

  ‘So, a straightforward enough start. Beyond that I struggled as the images come thick and fast and for a time I couldn’t unwrap them. But then we tried analysing each image in isolation, asking what each might have meant to a seventeenth century mind. Oyster shell I took as a reference to where you might find oysters. The obvious starting point is Galway and even in the 1640s the area was renowned for its shell fish. Pransing coil can be translated as dancing waves so that fits nicely with a coastal setting. However, as a clue to location none of this was specific, so I moved on. Zephyros is the Greek god of wind, so I take it to mean a windy location, perhaps on a mountain or on a cliff. The Prince of Israel I had expected to be a biblical reference but I had no luck with that. As Malachy pointed out to me the Bible is full of kings, but not that many princes.’

  She looked up and checked that she still had their attention.

  ‘Then Malachy suggested we narrow the search to Roman Catholic sources and, bingo, we made progress. The Prince of Israel is another name for the Archangel Michael and the reference to skyward is presumably a reference to flight. Unfortunately I can’t trace any convincing reference to St Michael and Galway, or indeed Ireland in general at that time. There are lots of St Michaels – churches, chapels etc – in Ireland after Catholic emancipation in about 1820 but few before. Most medieval references in Ireland are to native saints like Patrick, Kevin, Brigid etc. So nothing helpful there.’

  She stole another glance at Robert’s face but all she could see was bafflement. She decided to plough on.

  ‘The next reference is quite arresting, being very contemporary in seventeenth century terms and is very English. The term recusant refers to families who held close to the Catholic faith during the Reformation, and the phrase sovereign acceptation is really quite specific, meaning under royal protection. Now in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries it turns out that only one catholic family might be said to fit the bill – the Howard family, the Dukes of Norfolk. The Howards to this day are the second noblest family in England. They have a special place in serving the monarch and are the most noble Catholic family in the land.’

  Robert, interrupting her flow, interjected.

  ‘OK, fascinating, but apart from a possible link to an English family, is that it?’

  The exasperation in his voice was plain. Unease gripped Tara, she was losing him. She hurried on.

  ‘No, no – wait! The link to Sligo is perfect. When it says that the fundament lieth yet within the regal sepulchre by Cormac’s shield it is clearly referring to Rosnaree. Joe’s note book refers to Cormac’s shield although we don’t know where he found that ascription; but he clearly did. And one of the caves at Kesh is called Cormac’s Cave. What’s more, the presence of a clue linked to England made me wonder if I had been using too narrow a lens. So I thought to look at it all again and see if it makes sense on a wider canvass. This time I decide also to use Google Images and look at what I found.’

  Tara waved Robert to move so that he could view the screen. The first thing on it was the image of a scallop shell carved in stone.

  ‘This is the venera, the emblem of the city of Santiago da Compostella, the burial place of the apostle James in Northern Spain. In the Middle Ages it was the destination for the largest pilgrimages in Europe – the equivalent in its time of Mecca today for Muslims. In addition it is in Galicia, which you will recall is the possible source of the Milesians, the builders of the megaliths, and perhaps the Celts.’

  Robert’s eyebrows rose in open incredulity at this leap of imagination and Tara saw it.

  ‘Hear me out Robert. Then you will get your say. So next I Googled the Prince of Israel, and amongst the first page of images was this.’

  She hit a tab at the bottom of the screen and a familiar image filled the monitor.

  ‘Mont Saint-Michel, in Normandy,’ said Malachy quietly.

  ‘Exactly!’ said Tara and recited the line where the breath of Zephyros sucureth the Prince of Israel’s skyward course. ‘It is a perfect fit! What do you think now, Robert?’

  She was hoping a positive response but from the moment he started to respond her heart sank.

  ‘Well, Tara, your case is getting stronger, but it is still largely circumstantial. I expect another person could come up with a different reading of each image. How many places in Europe feature St Michael as a statue on top of a church? I agree that you have a working hypothesis, but for it to be credible, you need corroborating evidence. Where is it?’

  Tara said nothing, but Malachy moved alongside her and hit a tab at the top of the screen.

  ‘You know we have been researching Cornelius. Well, one source, the Wadding archive in Rome, cites a number of names as visiting the Archbishop in 1649 while he was resident at Ormond Castle. Look! It includes the name William Howard.’

  ‘Come on Malachy! You need clearer proof. There were probably Howards all over England and maybe Ireland at the time, for all we know.’

  Robert was making no effort to hide his scepticism now. A silence fell on the room. Tara had run out of ammunition and knew it.

  Eventually she said, quietly, ‘Malachy, Robert is right but I wonder. Switch to Google Images and type in Ormond Castle.’

  Malachy followed the instruction and almost immediately a page of images popped up on screen.

  ‘Quick,’ she said. ‘Scan through them. I want a rear view’.

  On the second page Malachy located the image she was seeking. Tara blurted out.

  ‘That is it! That is the house I saw in the second dream!’

  ‘Tara, are you sure? And I mean absolutely sure?’ asked Robert, suddenly re-engaged.

  ‘Yes, the knot garden is gone but the features on the facade are exactly the same as I recall. Not similar, Robert, exactly the same. Corroborating evidence!’

  He smiled.

  ‘OK, this is starting to stack up, I admit, and looking a tad more substantial. But I am not yet convinced. Malachy, we have to access more detailed records of the house and what happened there. Can we do that?

  ‘Well, there is an academic that Tara has located, Father Andre Keane, at Maynooth College, near Dublin. Several of his published papers refer in depth to the life of Cornelius. We have his contact details. He would be our best bet.’

  ‘Great, can you get him on the phone? I’m feeling cooped up here anyway. Let’s visit this expert. Agreed? Either this is all bollocks or we find more evidence and prove the point. Either way it is the only way to resolve this? Agreed?’

  Tara nodded enthusiastically, happy to have won Robert back on side, for now at least.

  Chapter 16

  Leitrim, Ireland, 2 October 2014

  Pascal was with Freya in the lounge of his suite which had views over beautiful secluded grounds. He was having a relaxing morning, all the more so since Kirsten’s departure earlier for Brussels. He would join her there in a day or two. It would give her a chance to r
ecover from the humiliation he had inflicted on her yesterday, well deserved though it was. He had enjoyed every moment. It would also be time to face his father but before then he and Freya had important work to do.

  ‘What I want is for us to develop a clear vision for the Samhain festival. My star is in the ascendant and I will stamp my imprimatur on the event. It must break new ground, but the question is how best to make sure of that? And that is where I need your help, Freya. And I don’t want any mistakes’.

  ‘Of course, Pascal.’ He noted the hesitancy in her voice as she continued, ‘How big a change are you looking for?’

  ‘Freya, you need to be fully cogniscent of what is at stake here,’ he almost spat at her impatiently. ‘In the next ten years I will assume command of the Circle industries and then I will then progressively assert political control as well – come out of the shadows as a potent political force. For that I need a widespread network of followers to support me. I need my own tribe, Freya. It is as simple as that. And this Samhain is the starting point. No dress rehearsals, Freya, this must be take off.’

  ‘This is so exciting! I have been waiting for you to rise to your destiny, Pascal. This is tremendous news! You know I will be with you all the way.’

  Her eyes gleamed and he realised that the scale of what he was expecting of the event, and more particularly of her role in it, was beginning to sink in. Her enthusiasm reminded him of how Freya and his mother, Stephanie, had interacted. Once Stephanie had an idea Freya could create something truly original from it. He was resurrecting that synergy.

  ‘Yes, I realise that, Freya.’ A touch of sarcasm entered his voice. ‘I am planning it to be so. As I say, it starts with Samhain.’

  She pondered the proposition.

  ‘Yes, I think I do understand what you need, Pascal! I propose we do something absolutely different. Let’s face it; the current arrangement is debased and shoddy. It is little more a networking event with a thin Celtic gloss that serves as an excuse for an orgy. Fun certainly, but ground-breaking? I think not. So, let us go back to first principles.’

  ‘Come on, Freya. I haven’t got all day. Where would you start?’

  He made no effort to hide his impatience and he could see she was thinking fast.

  ‘I need to think it through logically. Don’t rush me! Samhain is about two essential things. Firstly, it acknowledges the death of the old year and the promise of the new one if the tribe can only survive the winter. So the theme is about sustenance and looking after the people. Of course the cattle would be brought down from summer pastures and slaughtered to provide meat. So I propose a blood sacrifice as essential. That will get people’s attention.’

  ‘Excellent! I like the sound of that - a sacrifice. But of what? What will serve for a ritual that has to be so significant?’

  ‘Pascal, I don’t quite know at this juncture.’

  She paused but he saw from the gleam in her eye that she did know, and his heart hammered with excitement. She continued,

  ‘Let’s come back to it and keep the focus high-level for now. The second key aspect is opening the doors to the Otherworld. You will be transiting to it, through the trance state as usual, and we need to entice your Avatar to join us. You and he exchange places, so a key objective can be secured – a transmigration of souls, albeit temporary, will take place. The challenge is to externalise the event so that the assembly feel involved. The best way I can think of doing that is to dramatise it. That is the point of ritual, so we need to devise a ceremony. I will need to think about it but a key question for me is what Gods should be represented?’

  Pascal’s imagination was exploding as the idea of breaking through to a higher level became more and more vivid, more real. Without hesitating, he started to articulate what it could mean.

  ‘The Dagdha is central, as the God of Magic. He is the father figure and he is the fertile agent. I am his representative and I will mate with the Mórríoghain, the Goddess of War. My movement is destined to seize worldly power. I will bring the Gods of Magic and War to my side to assist us in the great task.’

  His words must have struck a chord. Her laugh was as light, and as hard, as the tinkling sound made by crystals in a chandelier. She was such a slight creature physically, thought Pascal, but her spirit was indomitable and burned like fire and it was that flame-like intensity that he treasured. He realised that with her supporting him, they could together burn up the dross of the old world and create a new one.

  She continued.

  ‘That’s what I like about you, Pascal, the scale of your ambition. When you speak like that, so cogently, I know you are your mother’s son. And next. The Great Queen – who will be your Mórríoghain?’

  ‘I have already promised Kirsten the role. We will be crowned King and Queen and then mate.’ He replied without hesitation. After yesterday’s humiliation of Kirsten he didn’t want a discussion. Freya didn’t understand the exquisite pleasure he got from sexual release with Kirsten. No one else could comingle pain and pleasure so well and, playing him like a violin, bring him to such an overwhelming climax. He saw incomprehension in Freya’s eyes. She must have sensed the “no go” signal as she chose not to query him.

  ‘So,’ Freya said slowly, ‘out of Winter comes Spring and out of mating comes new birth. I can do something with that. But for ceremony we need a master. You cannot be both master of ceremonies and King, Pascal, not even you. Surely this is the role for Cernunnos?

  Pascal looked at her narrowly. Her ideas and input were essential but the purity of the vision must be his. He was not sure where this notion would take them.

  ‘I don’t quite see the link. How is the horned hunter related to sustenance and rebirth?’

  ‘Well, Cernunnos is also a God of fertility so having him as the priest who officiates at the mating would be logical. But he is a lot more besides. As the horned God of Animals he is the god of the shamans and of shape shifting.’

  He was still not convinced of her drift. She leaned forward, evidently trying to persuade him.

  ‘When you meet your Avatar, isn’t that what happens? You become a shape-shifter. But it is incomplete. You and he are circling each other. Imagine the power if you could merge into a single entity! Therianthropy in practice! I have felt for some time, Pascal, that you need to push your encounters with your Avatar. Find out who he is! It is in your hands of course. But I am certain that evoking Cernunnos would help in that respect also.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he replied cautiously. ‘But there is also a danger that my Avatar might simply consume me.’

  She said nothing, just looked blankly at him. It reminded him that hadn’t told her how, in the cave, the Other One had arrived spontaneously without her presence as a medium. He was tempted to tell her but wanted time to think more about it before exposing himself to her opinion. He would say nothing for now. Somehow he had to reconcile making Freya feel an essential part of designing the ritual with keeping her in her place. She was his assistant, not his consort.

  ‘Back to basics, Freya! I like all these strands. They all make sense. But what I need you to do is to consider these elements very carefully – put yourself in my shoes - and devise a choreography of triumph. And I want a fully-developed proposal within three days. I am relying on you Freya, just as Maman did. Do not let me down.’

  Chapter 17

  Bilbao, Spain, 1660

  Midshipman Joshua Braintree found the corpse of the Captain at six o’clock that evening, when they broke open the door to his cabin. The boy had told him in the morning that the Captain was badly hung over and that Josh should proceed without him. The Captain’s instruction was to concentrate on unloading the cargo and start lifting and stowing the bales of Spanish wool, and to be quick about it. No one had queried this. The Captain’s drinking pattern in recent days had accustomed them to unpredictable disappearances. But when there was no sign of Rodriguez, or indeed the boy, by late afternoon Josh became suspicious.

  Someho
w what they found came as no surprise. Rodriguez was a nasty piece of work and his demise upset no one. The question for Josh was what was to be done. The loading had gone well and would be completed by mid-morning the following day. Joshua knew at once what his priority was - get the hell out of here with the cargo. There had been growing unease about the Captain and the boy. Sailors knew when to keep quiet on such matters but Rodriguez was unusually brutal and vicious and the men didn’t like that. Looking at the evidence of struggle it was pretty clear that Tom hadn’t killed the Captain alone. How could a strip of a lad do that? No, the passenger must have been party to the murder. The boy hadn’t been seen since shortly after the passenger had departed. Josh had watched the man disembark with two of the men lugging the heavy trunk ashore for him. The passenger had been met by a carriage and that was the last they saw of him. They had no idea where he was headed for. Presumably the boy had gone with him. The fugitives were murderers of course but Josh knew that if he involved the authorities the ship would be impounded and, in the absence of the two main suspects, attention might well turn on him. The decision made itself. They would set sail in the morning and give the Captain a burial at sea. He would persuade the men to keep quiet and invent some yarn about Rodriguez absconding to keep the owners happy. He might even persuade them to make him captain.

  Chapter 18

  Sligo, Ireland, 30 September 2014

  Tara was back in Joe’s flat, in his sitting room. She was seated in the armchair that Mrs Ryan said was his favourite, thumbing through his recent notebooks again, and she had found some related papers that she had missed first time around. She would take them with her. There might be more clues in them about Joe and the tomb.