Redfalcon, page 21
‘Hannay, let me get this straight,’ he barked. ‘I was led to believe you were here on some intelligence mission, perhaps with new information on enemy movements that might be of help to us, help we sorely need.’ He paused, almost choking on his indignation. ‘Instead,’ he resumed with redoubled scorn, ‘you come to me with some preposterous yarn out of the tales of King Arthur and expect me to have my cipher officers waste hours poring over a brass plate. Have I got this right?’
I was not prepared for so hostile a reaction, and did my best to placate him. ‘I fully appreciate how hard pressed you are, governor, and how fantastic this might seem, but I can assure you that the Germans are taking this business very seriously.’
‘Seriously?’ Gort spat with contempt. ‘I’ve heard Hitler’s taking advice from astrologers and mystics. Do you want me to do that too?’
I did my best not to bristle at his provocative tone. ‘Granted, it might be a long shot, but if there’s any possibility that this tablet holds some clue to a crack in Malta’s defences we’d be fools to ignore it.’
‘Let me tell you, Hannay,’ Gort informed me brusquely, ‘that I already feel a fool for having sat here and listened to this nonsense. If this hodge-podge of myths is all you have for me, I’ll thank you to waste no more of my time.’
It was clearly all he could do not to call his guards and have me thrown out on my ear. I stood and did my best to make a civilised exit.
‘Thank you for your time, governor,’ I said from the doorway. ‘And thank you for listening to me.’
As I closed the door behind me, I heard a loud snort of displeasure. With a sinking heart I realised that the Die-Hards and I were on our own, with the fate of the island in our hands.
33
THE SPARK OF HOPE
When I returned to the hotel, I spotted Karrie, Dougal and Jaikie in a corner of the dining room sharing a pot of tea with Peter John. When I joined them, they looked up at me enquiringly.
I shook my head. ‘No go, I’m afraid. When I told the governor about Redfalcon and our discovery in the Atlas Mountains, he looked at me as if I’d gone completely off my rocker. He thinks the whole business is utter humbug.’
‘I had a feeling it might go that way,’ Peter commiserated, as I sat down beside him. ‘Governor Gort’s a hard-headed, practical chap, just the sort you need to steer you through a crisis. But he’s pretty much set in his ways and not exactly hungering after new ideas.’
Seeing that I was worn out after my fruitless meeting, Karrie poured a cup of tea and handed it to me. ‘Here, you should drink this,’ she insisted. ‘It’s strong enough to bring a mummy back to life.’
I took a swallow and she was right – it was certainly bracing. I was trying my best not to be disheartened, but it seemed unfair on my comrades, who had been through so much, that I had no better news to offer them.
‘Would he not even let his intelligence officers take a look at the tablet,’ asked Jaikie, ‘to see if they might come up with any insights?’
‘We don’t rate even that much assistance,’ I replied.
‘Look, I don’t want to put a damper on things,’ said Peter diffidently, ‘but could it be that he’s right, that this tale of Redfalcon’s secret is just a myth, like the Loch Ness Monster?’
‘Don’t you be so quick to dismiss Nessie,’ Dougal warned him. ‘I’ve heard tales.’
‘Ravenstein hasn’t travelled across Europe and Africa and activated so many of his resources because of a myth,’ I said. ‘He believes that this tablet is the key to victory on Malta.’
‘But if this Ravenstein already has a record of the symbols, as you told me,’ said Peter, ‘why would he go to the trouble of trying to get his hands on the tablet? Was he really just trying to butter up the Führer?’
‘No, I don’t believe so,’ I said. ‘What he wanted was to keep the tablet out of our hands so that we couldn’t work out what it signifies.’
‘Well, so far he need have no worries on that score,’ said Jaikie gloomily.
‘I’m sorry to go,’ said Peter, rising to his feet, ‘but if I don’t get back to the squadron Markham will have me on latrine duty for the rest of the year.’
As I watched him leave, I reflected that if nothing else came of this long journey, I had at least enjoyed a reunion with my son before he faced the coming German assault. I looked around at my young friends and I could see that we were all struggling with our thoughts, searching for some way forward.
Karrie laid the tablet down on the table and frowned at it. If the fury of frustration in her eyes had burned any more fiercely, it might have scorched the metal.
‘I have compared these symbols to every hieroglyph, every sacred language I know, and still I have come up with nothing.’ She clenched her fists and gave an angry shake of her head.
‘Don’t fash yourself,’ said Dougal, laying a comforting hand on her arm. ‘The dratted thing has got every one of us baffled.’
‘It’s too bad Thomas Yowney’s laid up in the infirmary,’ said Jaikie.
‘The infirmary?’ I echoed, immediately voicing my concern.
‘That’s what we found out when we went looking for him and Peter yesterday,’ said Dougal. ‘A few days ago he was conducting a wedding between one of our sergeants and a girl from operations control when the air-raid sirens sounded. The happy couple insisted on sticking it out and completing their vows.’
‘A bomb hit the chapel,’ Jaikie went on. ‘Nobody was killed but half the roof came down on Thomas. We tried to see him, but Doc Paterson sent a message that he mustn’t be disturbed. Says he needs rest and quiet if he’s to recover.’
Dougal snapped a hard biscuit in two and tossed half into his mouth. ‘Talk about rotten luck. Just when we need a first class mind to tackle this puzzle.’
‘How about that!’ exclaimed Jaikie, suddenly beaming all over his face. ‘Sometimes all you have to do is wish.’
I followed his eyes and saw a pair of familiar figures entering the dining room and walking towards our table. One was the jaunty, round-faced doctor, Peter Paterson; the other was the tall, slim figure of Thomas Yowney. The parson’s head was heavily bandaged and he was limping along with the aid of a stick.
Dougal and Jaikie leapt out of their seats to meet their old comrades and boisterous greetings were exchanged, with much hand-shaking and back-slapping all round. The bonds of friendship formed by the four young Scots during their impoverished childhood had clearly only grown stronger during the enforced separations of wartime.
‘Well, Thomas, I must say you don’t look too bad for a man who’s had a building fall in on him,’ Jaikie observed with a grin.
‘It’s just as well you pulled through,’ said Dougal, ‘or we’d have had to invade Berlin and give Herr Hitler a sound thrashing for having the gall to drop a bomb on one of the Die-Hards.’
‘He should still be in bed,’ Paterson observed disapprovingly, ‘but when the nurse told us who it was who’d come calling, I couldn’t hold him back.’
‘You’ve kept me cooped up long enough,’ Yowney declared defiantly. ‘Without my kindly guidance, there’re boys out there whose spiritual welfare will go gurgling down the drain like dishwater.’
Dougal helped Yowney into a chair and the chaplain greeted me with a smile. ‘It’s good to see you again, General Hannay. It seems that whenever the Jerries have their eye on a juicy target, there you are standing in their way.’
‘That job would be a lot easier if I had any idea what they’re up to,’ I said.
‘And this young lady will be Dr Adriatis,’ Yowney went on. ‘I hope you’ve not found it distasteful to be travelling in company with these hooligans.’
‘You and your friends are the noblest gentlemen a lady could ever meet,’ Karrie responded. ‘It seems they all expect great things from you.’
‘Do they indeed?’ the chaplain responded with a twinkle in his eye.
‘I’ve kept him in bed for a few days’ rest,’ said Peter, his tone making it clear just how challenging an endeavour that had proved to be. ‘We can’t risk any damage being done to the best brain ever to outwit the Glasgow constabulary.’
‘I’ll thank you not to taunt me about the scandalous days of our youth,’ Yowney complained. ‘It was galling enough to be cooped up like a prisoner and dosed with castor oil. So, lads, is it words of Christian wisdom you’re wanting?’
‘We’re in need of a lot more than an uplifting sermon, padre,’ I told him.
‘I’ve got to go back to my rounds now,’ said Paterson. ‘This chap is still a patient of mine and I’m entrusting him to your care. All of you keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t do himself another injury.’
Once the doctor had gone, I left it to Karrie to tell Thomas the history behind Redfalcon’s tablet. She then placed it before him so that he could give it a proper examination.
‘Unless we and a very clever German have been completely misled,’ I told him, ‘something about this tablet holds the key to whether Malta will stand or fall.’
With a sober nod the clergyman bent his gaze on the tablet. The rest of us could only look on in suspense as he carefully scanned it, inch by inch, pausing now and then to tap a finger on one or another of the cryptic symbols. After several long-drawn minutes he raised his head.
‘I believe I’ve a pretty shrewd idea what these symbols are,’ he announced. ‘And if I’m right, I can make a canny guess at what they’re hiding.’
I was astonished that he appeared to have cracked it so easily. For the first time since our arrival on Malta I felt a spark of hope that there was a brain on our team who was a match for Ravenstein.
‘For heaven’s sake, Thomas, let’s have it,’ Dougal blurted out.
Yowney answered with a slow shake of his head. ‘If I tell you, you’ll just think I’m daft. No, I’ll need to show you. First, though, we’ll need to scrounge up some torches and a crowbar.’
34
THE PATH OF SALVATION
Shortly thereafter, armed with the requisite equipment, we set out through the streets of Valletta. Thomas Yowney led us through a maze of streets littered with fallen masonry where the broken walls of bombed-out houses reared against the sky. Dust lay everywhere, baking under the August sun.
Yet despite the widespread destruction, there were people abroad: shopkeepers patching up their storefronts, workmen clearing away rubble, women gossiping in doorways while their barefoot children played amid the ruins. Soldiers and civilians on bicycles whizzed past us, their bells ringing out a warning to clear the way.
Yowney’s air was one of deep preoccupation with his own thoughts. When we pressed him to name our destination, he waved our questions impatiently aside and quickened his pace. For a man hampered by a stick, he made remarkable progress. The agility with which he negotiated his way around every obstacle in his path testified to his determination to penetrate the heart of the mystery that lay before us.
Our course brought us to the steps of the church of St Agnes. Miraculously, its handsome façade was still largely intact. Pausing on the threshold of the nave, I could see three black-clad women kneeling before the high altar in attitudes of mourning, murmuring prayers as they ran beads through their fingers.
‘The Maltese people are Romans, of course,’ Yowney explained quietly, ‘not staunch Presbyterians like myself, which means their faith grants them the particular comfort of praying for their dead. I sometimes envy them that, even though it’s something they’ve had to do entirely too much of, of late.’
The bereaved worshippers did not raise their heads or pay us any mind as we entered. The interior of the building was like a highly ornamented jewel-box. Its rib-vaulted ceiling was supported by fluted columns of finely carved stone, its walls embellished with richly painted reliefs.
Yowney waved his stick at our surroundings and continued to speak in a reverent hush. ‘During my time here, I’ve taken a liking to their churches and have visited most of them. In some cases a friendly priest has given me a guided tour. Which leads me to what I hope is the answer to your conundrum.’
He led us into one of the ornate side chapels where there hung a portrait of the church’s patron saint framed in gold. Sweeping his gaze over the floor, Yowney pointed his stick towards one of the flagstones at the portrait’s base.
Peering down, I saw that it was incised with the image of a sword. With a sharp gasp of recognition, Karrie pulled the tablet from her satchel and made a swift comparison.
‘Yes!’ she confirmed excitedly. ‘This device matches one of the symbols on Redfalcon’s tablet.’
‘And it’s not the only one,’ said Yowney. Using one long finger as a pointer, he directed our attention to other images on the tablet. ‘I’ve seen this one on the floor in the church of St Elmo, and this one in the church of St Publius. And this other one, I’m pretty sure, is in the church of St Thomas. I’ll bet the ones I don’t recognise will turn up as well if we look for them.’
‘So it’s just about some carvings in a church,’ Dougal grumbled. ‘What good does that do us?’
‘For that you need to get your shoulder behind the crowbar and prise up this slab,’ said Yowney. ‘Have you not heard the phrase X marks the spot?’
‘Are you saying there’s treasure under here?’ Jaikie asked. ‘Like Treasure Island?’
‘I think what we’ll find is a sight more interesting than pirate loot,’ answered the chaplain.
I noticed that the three praying women were on their way out and I signaled the others to wait until they were gone. As soon as we had the place to ourselves, we set to our task.
Together Dougal and Jaikie worked the crowbar under the edge of the slab and raised up one side, then gripped it by hand and lifted it off all the way. They had opened a square hatch to reveal a stone stairway leading down.
‘This is a hiding place, then,’ Karrie speculated, ‘one of many at different locations where relics and other valuables could be hidden from invaders?’
‘Do you not see the truth yet?’ Yowney wondered. ‘We’ll need to get down there to be sure, of course.’
‘I’ll go first,’ said Jaikie, switching on his electric torch and setting a foot on the topmost step just as a priest came sweeping up the aisle towards us from the vestry.
‘What is this? What are you doing to my church, Chaplain Yowney?’
‘Don’t you worry yourself, Father,’ Yowney reassured him. ‘We’re just checking the drains, you know, in case there’s been any bomb damage.’
With that he followed Jaikie down into the gloom, lighting his torch as he went. Karrie went next, then Dougal, then myself, leaving the priest to stand over the hole, scratching his head and muttering about the strange ways of these Scots.
‘Beneath our feet lies a world of wonders,’ I heard Karrie murmur as we descended.
At the bottom of the stairway we found ourselves in a large cellar that had been carved out of the limestone. Engraved into the wall was the image of a sword, the same as the one on the flagstone above. Two open tunnels led out of the cellar, one marked with the symbol of a ship, another with the sign of a tree, both of which had their counterparts on the tablet.
‘Unless I’m losing my wits,’ said Yowney, ‘that way will take us to St Elmo’s, where we’ll find a flight of stairs leading up. This other direction will take us directly under the church of St Catherine.’
He had already set off that way, his stick tapping on the bare stone floor.
‘Hold on there, Thomas,’ said Jaikie, catching him up. ‘Should you not be taking it easy? You’re supposed to be in hospital.’
‘I’ll manage fine,’ said Yowney. ‘So I’ve taken a wee knock on the head. That’s no excuse for lying in bed all day.’
‘Look here,’ Dougal remonstrated with him, ‘Doc Paterson told us that—’
Yowney cut him off with a scornfully raised hand. ‘Peter means well, but sometimes he takes on like an old wifey. Now come on. Do you not see yet what we’ve found here?’
‘Of course,’ said Karrie, passing her torch beam over the walls as we walked. ‘It’s a complex of underground tunnels connecting key points in the island’s defences.’
‘That’s right, lass,’ Yowney enthused, ‘and we’re the first folk in ages to find our way down here.’
‘I have to say, I feel a bit dim for never having thought of it,’ I confessed.
‘None of us had an inkling,’ said Jaikie, ‘and to be honest, I’m still having a hard time believing it.’
‘It all makes perfect sense now,’ said Karrie, as she thought back over the history she had studied so carefully. ‘How was Fort St Elmo able to hold out for so long? Because it was supplied by means of these tunnels. How did reinforcements evade the Turkish army to reach the city? And how did a raiding party appear out of nowhere to attack the Turkish camp? It was these tunnels constructed in secret by Sir Thomas Easterly that made it possible.’
‘After the siege, when they were constructing Valletta, they must have extended the tunnel system to include the new town,’ I guessed.
We now found ourselves in another cellar like the first. There was a stone stairway leading up and the symbol of a tree engraved on the wall.
‘You see?’ exclaimed Yowney in almost boyish delight. ‘It’s as I told you. These stairs lead up to the church of St Catherine. This other tunnel will take us on to the old abbey of St Gregory’s.’
Once again he was pressing onward without a pause. I reflected that either Doc Paterson had exaggerated the severity of his injuries, or he was so energised by his discovery that he had healed himself in part by a sheer act of will.
As we followed, Dougal observed, ‘This must have been an unholy amount of work, to dig out all this without any sort of drilling equipment.’
‘The knights were skilled engineers,’ Karrie reminded him, ‘but also, if you look closely at these walls, you’ll see that some of them must have been formed naturally, probably by water flowing underground over thousands of years.’
