I'm sure you are acutely aware when your sins have found you out. Well, at last it's even happened to me, and in very strange circumstances!
As you know, I often visit the Palm House at Kew to reflect on things. (I have a Relaxation Pass.) Unfortunately, when I was there last Monday a strange thing occurred. it took my mind back to my trip to Canterbury.
Last year, I journeyed to Canterbury Cathedral. On entering, I gasped aloud with astonishment at the architecture. Two vergers approached me swiftly and discreetly, like hunting bats. "Can I help you?" one whispered in that throaty insinuating manner they acquire during training.
"No thank you," I replied firmly. I indicated the overall length of the cathedral. "Can't you see that it's bent?" (Some tourists, ever ready for the possibility of a free spectacle, were already closing in.) "It's not bent. It's just slightly curved. Look at it," said the verger. We all looked. "It was built like that to miss an existing castle in the corner. It's all in the guide, which you can purchase . . ." (The crowd started to drift away.)
"Look," I said to the verger. "I need to have a confidential word with you." (The tourists paused.) "It's about Thomas à Becket. Well not really about him. It's about the money. (The tourists were back!)
The verger regarded me as would a kindly physician dealing with the mentally obsessed. "You're looking for the treasure, aren't you? An immense fortune acquired over hundreds of years." I nodded vigorously in agreement.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the tourists also nodding as they pressed closer. "Come," said the verger, and, opening a little door, we descended to the crypt. We went along a passage and then climbed up to where a narrow door opened out by the screen and where Thomas à Becket's tomb had been. The verger now said, "I know the first part of the story. Ginger is best with the rest."
I protested. "You don't have to go to all this trouble."
The verger replied. "Yes, I do. You know something which we don't. We learn to smell out such things. If we keep on telling you more, you'll be more and more in our debt. It's the secret of extracting painless confessions. Are you ready?" I indicated that I was. He pinned me against a pillar and began.
"As everyone knows, Thomas à Becket was slain here on 29 December 1170. Forget the rights and wrongs between him and Henry II. Let's just say he defended his own privileges more than his faith.
"The effect of his death was immediate and was felt throughout Europe. It was like the death of Princess Diana, except that in his case he really was canonized. As with Diana, the pilgrimages started immediately. Donations flowed in from all parts of the world. The treasure was enormous. The city of Canterbury lived off the presence of pilgrims and the sale of tasteless 'sacred objects', rather like the Diana industry today."
He paused and said "But you're not interested in all that, are you? Ginger an tell you what happened regarding the treasure. Then you must make your contribution." From behind a pillar stepped a figure in a black cassock. It was Ginger!
He had a thin, highly complexioned face, with bright red hair and straggly beard. "It's Rufus. Mr Rufus to you lot," he snarled. Then he turned to the verger. "Has he said anything yet? No? Alright, I'll fill him in and then see if he's got anything useful to say."
Mr Rufus turned back to me and showed me the commemorative tablet. "The remains of Thomas à Becket lay here for centuries," he said. "In those days there was a whole shrine to mark the spot. Then Henry VIII came along, dissolved the monasteries, and as head of the Church confiscated Church lands and treasured.
"Henry was particularly keen to destroy the shrine of Thomas à Becket. It had signified a victory of the Church over an English king 368 years earlier. The symbol of royal shame had to be removed. Henry VIII had the right instruments to hand.
"Henry was not directly involved. Instead, Thomas cromwell called on the Office of Sequestrations to issue a Donations Order on the Abbey officials. A company of collectors rode down here. They removed the remains of Thomas à Becket, the timber and marble masonry of the shrine and the vast amounts of gold. All in all, they filled twenty-four wagonloads and three great chests of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, etc., and delivered it to Whitehall Palace."
"WRONG!" I interrupted. "They only delivered five wagonloads and two great chests. I know because I looked up the reports of the General Receiver in the Exchequer Rolls, at the Public Records Office."
Mr Rufus turned on me. "Look, we can't talk here." He indicated the throng of interested tourists. "We need to reach what I call an accommodation. Do you know a pub called The Hole in the Wall?" I said that I could find it. We arranged to meet in the back room in one hour. He hurried away through the multi-coloured cloud of tourists.
When I got to the back room of The Hole in the Wall I was surprised to find five men there surrounding Mr Rufus. He didn't bother to introduce me but plunged straight into the meeting.
Jabbing one thumb in my direction he said: "This man knows all about the missing chest of treasure. Almost certainly he's worked out how it went missing, and where. I say we elect him a member of the company with a full equal share. Then he can spill the beans."
In a trice I was elected to full membership; they sat me down with a pint of beer. Mr Rufus said "Start!"
I said "I can't tell you much really (The pint of beer disappeared.) except that they followed the Pilgrim's route back to London, largely the old Watling Street Harbledown – River Medway at Rochester – Shooters Hill – Blackheath – Deptford – Southwark. To take treasure required more than one person. That means cooperation and that means planning."
I explained "You can't dispose of heavy chest of jewels in a hurry. It's got to be hidden swiftly and unobtrusively. The best place is underwater. We know that they had two objectives. The first was that they must remove all trace of Thomas à Becket. The final resting place must not be known. The second objective was to deliver treasure to the King. The only legitimate place for them to stop on the way to London was to dispose of the bodily remains. That's when they hid the treasure chest.
"I propose that we split up and each of us survey a section of the route, using old maps to show the lie of stretches of water. There is just one other place worth the search. That's the Leper Hospital at Harbledown. It's on the route and it was isolated."
Mr Rufus immediately took command. Copies of AA maps were produced (my pint of beer re-appeared). The maps were studied and route sections were allocated. Within five minutes we were ready for dispersal. Mr Rufus looked through the window. "Out the back way, quickly!" he ordered. Sure enough, already there was a tide of tourists shuffling forwards.
As I left the pub I asked Mr Rufus "How do we keep in touch?" He plied "Don't worry. We'll be watching you. You'll be contacted at the right time." As I drive norther to London, I reflected on an interesting experience. The more I thought about the matter, the more preposterous is appeared. But now it was over.
As I was saying, one year later I was relaxing in the Palm House at Kew. Suddenly, those luscious green fronds in front of me were parted and a foxy face with red hair and straggly beard appeared.
The red haired man said to me: "You know me don't you?" he said. I nodded "Yes". "and I know you too," he went on. "Just to let you know, we're waiting for ou. We shall not wait much longer." He disappeared.
I rushed to the other side of the display. No one was there, except a squat uniformed female attendant with a purple muzzle. But was she genuine or was it just a clever disguise?
I'd better get off to Chatham to continue the search.
