Glastonbury

Chapter 4

Chapter 4“So, let's see I've got this right then, boss,” Winston said, after an hour of intense listening and discussion. “Camelot wasn't here at Glastonbury, but it was at Cadbury, and Glastonbury was the ancient Avalon, right?”

Cutler nodded.

“And Arthur died of wounds he received at the battle of Camlann in the year 542, and was carried back here, where his body was interred somewhere in the area?”

“Whereupon,” Sally joined in the conversation, “Sir Pelleas, husband of Viviane, otherwise known to history as The Lady of the Lake, took it upon himself to bury the sword Excalibur in a place apart from the body of Arthur, to prevent its discovery and the possibility of it being used by his enemies against the forces of good that Arthur had stood for. Pelleas was afraid that Arthur's enemies might attempt to disinter his corpse and remove the sword if it were there, and use it as a rallying symbol for those who would follow the pretenders to his throne.”

“Looks like you guys have got it,” said Cutler, that irrepressible smile spreading across his face again.

“And you say that all this is true?” asked Sally.

“No, Sally, the book says it's true, Capshaw says it's true, and his tame historical expert says it's true.”

“Ah yes, boss, the expert. When the hell we s'posed to expect the great man, anyhow?” Winston wanted to know. “Wasn't he s'posed to be here by now, man?”

“He was busy translating some old medieval manuscript, according to Capshaw. It was taking longer than he expected, but he should be here any day now. He's apparently spent months checking the facts, and Capshaw is convinced he knows what he's talking about. He's managed to separate a lot of the fact from the fiction and he'll be here to help us once we get the Ground Penetrating Radar up and running. His name, by the way, is Walter Graves.”

“Good name,” said Winston.

“Very appropriate,” Sally giggled.

“Lay off, you two.”

Cutler smiled as he spoke. He wouldn't swap the two of them for anybody else. He could trust them implicitly, and he knew that despite their apparent scepticism regarding the search for Excalibur, deep down they were probably just as excited as he was at the prospect of making such a momentous discovery. If they really did find the sword of King Arthur it would turn history on its head. All the doubters would have to run and hide and bury their cynical heads in the proverbial sand of their inaccurate and out-of-date text books. If Arthur really did exist, live and die within the shores of Olde England as legend tells, then the history books would have to be re-written, new lessons devised for school history courses, and all those childhood games he remembered playing about the Knights of the Round Table, riding to save damsels in distress, would take on a whole new meaning.

Joe Cutler glanced at his watch and realised that the signals his stomach was sending to his brain indicated lunchtime was imminent. “Okay, guys. Let's leave it there for now. It's time to eat. How's the outside world looking, Winston?”

Fortune moved over to the window and surveyed the busy street scene outside The Rowan Tree. Cars were gleaming again as sunlight reflected from their highly polished paintwork, the grey mantle of the previous three days replaced by a bright and cheerful picture postcard scene as Glastonbury took on the look of an archetypal historic English country town. People were no longer dashing along the street with their heads down to avoid the rain; the umbrellas had disappeared, and it was as if the pavements themselves were filled with a new vibrancy, coming awake after slumbering through the drowning torrents of the last three days.

“Hey man, de sun is shining, and all's well wit' de world” he said in a gross self-parody of his own Jamaican background.

“Stop playing around, Winston,” Cutler said, always aware that as far as Winston Fortune was concerned, racial stereotypes were a waste of time and he was always the first to have a little fun at his own expense when it came to regional or national accents. He was comfortable with his own birthright, and in fact, he was a grand master when it came to imitating almost any accent on the planet. The former Special Forces operative was also a brilliant linguist, able to speak English, French, German, Spanish, Dutch and Japanese fluently and could speak a fair bit of Farsi, Hindi, and Mandarin Chinese to boot.

“Sorry, boss, but yeah, it's cleared up a lot, and people are even walking around out there in their shirtsleeves, so it must be warming up quite a bit, too.”

“Tell you what,” said Cutler. “What do you say I treat us all to a decent lunch at that pub we had a drink in last night? Then we'll take a stroll around the abbey and maybe take a walk up to the top of the Tor, sort of reconnoitre the area a bit before we start work in earnest?”

Twenty minutes later, the three of them were seated at a table in 'Ye Queens Head' hotel on Glastonbury High Street. Lunch was a light-hearted affair with Winston and Joe inventing various jokes about the 'days of old when knights were bold', and there was much speculation as to character and personality of the historian, Walter Graves. Sally wondered aloud what use he would be to their search, and Cutler pointed out that his historical knowledge might mean the difference between them finding Excalibur, or possibly unearthing a medieval toilet.

The food was excellent, Winston devouring a twelve-ounce sirloin steak, garnished with chipped potatoes, onion rings and garden peas in no time at all. Cutler enjoyed gammon and eggs, while Sally tucked in to a generous helping of spaghetti bolognaise. Cutler never ceased to be amazed at young Sally's ability to eat large meals without ever seeming to gain weight. He guessed most women would be envious of her talent for eating and staying slim without the need for dieting or overly vigorous exercise. They shared a bottle of very good Australian Chardonnay and finished off with a pot of coffee between them.

They walked the meal off by taking in the sights of the abbey ruins and, as they'd arranged, a walk to the top of Glastonbury Tor, from where they had a superb view of the surrounding countryside. Great swathes of green seemed to disappear into the far horizon as they stared out across the Somerset countryside, each lost in their own thoughts for a time. It was impossible to stand at that point and not be awed by the sheer weight of history and legend that emanated from that great mount, and from the very brickwork and stone of the town that lay sprawled in the shadow of the Tor. It was as if something intangible hung in the very air above Glastonbury, a secret shrouded in the mists that often swirled around the grassy top of the Tor. Would they have the knowledge and the skill to find something that until now had been nothing more than a legend in their minds? Was it possible that in a few days' time, one of them could be holding aloft the famed 'Sword in the Stone” of fairy tale fame? Could the fairy tale become reality; a material item to be seen, touched and felt by human hands for the first time in over a thousand years?

Time would tell, and as Joe Cutler, Winston Fortune and Sally Corbett began the long walk down from the Tor and back to The Rowan Tree, a companionable silence fell over the three friends as each kept their private thoughts hidden from the others. Little did they know that each had similar thoughts. The money they'd receive for a successful search would be great, but to actually find Excalibur? Despite any sceptical reservations any of them had harboured to begin with, each of them knew that locating the fabled Excalibur really would be something to tell their children about one day.