Some of the Characters Appearing or Mentioned:

Mark Henry Foster  The story‑teller:  Pennefather Organ Scholar

Tristan (Tris) Price‑Williams  His well‑proportioned boyfriend

Gabriel Pack   A most friendly Aussie

Joshua Gibbons  Another friendly Aussie, Gabriel's cousin

Toby Barker    A bright boatie and actor

Louis Mantegnant   Another bright boatie and actor

Charles Fane‑Stuart  Research Student and Assistant to the Bursar

Brigadier Robert Taylor  The Bursar

Hon Jeremy (Tosspot) Foskett    A supercilious dilettante student

Boswell Johnson  BA(Cranwell)  The new Servant of the Chapel

Benjamin Mostyn  Organ Scholar [2002]

I spent Friday morning trying to avoid much of the noise and bustle around the College by

going to the Chapel as soon as Tris left to go to Jacob's office.  We'd been for our run first

thing but saw nobody and nothing of interest and said we'd better sort the others out for some

exercise.  I played for well over an hour and just got back to the stair when I saw Gabe and

Josh laden with bags, with Liam in tow pulling his trolley, coming across the Quad.  I was

intrigued to know what they thought of their change of address and said I'd have coffee ready

if they just dumped their stuff and came down.  I knew Charles had said he'd even arranged

for the set to have been given a lick of paint over the vacation and there were some other

tasteful additions as well.  I hadn't enquired, but the sequin encrusted Sphinx, or perhaps one

of those fondly imagined Priapic statues, still sprung to mind.  It didn't take long for them to

dump their things and I'd just laid out mugs ready and heard the belly laughs before I opened

the door. I didn't even have a chance to ask how the past weeks had been spent.

     "Hiya, old mate," Gabe said as they came in and I'd been given a hug by him.  He

smelled, as usual, of some exotic Eastern aftershave or body lotion.  Josh smiled and grabbed

my arm and gave it a squeeze.  Gabe was in full flow. "Just saying he'll be pulling that

bloody whang of his all day staring at bloody Clarissa!"

     The normal "Shut up, Gabe," but less agitated at Gabe's usual straightforward

remarks.

     "Go on yer, mate, there's one hanging right by yer bloody bed!  That and Carry and

you won't be having yer bloody wet dreams at all!"

     Oh.  I hadn't registered that the array of Clarissa's photos hadn't been in evidence

yesterday ‑ just the formal portrait.  So, he'd used them as decor elsewhere.

     "Take no notice of him," said Josh, laughing.  Josh seemed much more relaxed.

Gabe's jocular gibes at his sexual needs and release seemed now not to make him almost

cringe as they did when we first met last year.  "Did you have a good time in Italy?" he

asked, "We ended up there, too."

     I had no chance to answer.  Gabe was off.  "Did the Grand bloody Tour.  Took Lo and

he showed us bloody everything.  Started in Paris.  Bloody wonderful. Queued for a fucking

age to see the Mona bloody Lisa.  Worth it.  Found a few good bars around., eh, Josh?  Lo

knew where to go, where there weren't too many bloody Aussies.  Great!"  He laughed.

"Nearly sold that fucker..." pointing at Josh who put both hands up in defence, "....in a gay

bloody bar in....  Where was it?"  "Prague," said Josh, laughing as well.  "Had the bastard

dancing on the counter with some girl he thought.  Turned out she had a dick like a donk but

the tits were real.  Couldn't stop him after that.  Had to get him some of those little leather

shorts in Bavaria and we got some for Adam...."

     I said he wouldn't be back until Christmas and please drink the coffee?

     Over that I found they'd criss‑crossed Europe either by plane, train or 'bloody thumb'

as towards the end of their marathon trek the three had hitched from Geneva to Milan in a

lorry before ending up in Rapallo at a villa owned by relations of Lorenzo's.  "Wrong end of

Italy," I said.  Still they had soaked up the sun, swam and exercised on a range of horrendous

sounding machines in the basement.  Lorenzo was surrounded by loving aunts who'd invited

them all to visit anytime.

       Tris returned from Jacob's office in time for lunch and we all trundled over to Hall

and Tris heard bits of their tale as we munched through the abnormal assortment of life‑

enriching dishes.  As I queued I could see the chefs busy in the kitchen.  One looked familiar

and I thought I recognised Barry Hall.  As Gabe was chuntering on about whether he

preferred the beef stew or the chicken Kiev I took no more notice and pointed at the lasagne

for me.  A grinning Sean piled a double helping on my plate which I offered to swap with

Gabe who was eyeing his meagre portion of  tasty smelling beef stew with a puzzled look.

     Tris rushed back to the set to get togged up for another stint on his Basketball Club

stall.  Gabe, now replete with lasagne, and Josh went back to unpack and I sauntered over to

see if Fiona and Dina were still on their stalls.  They were.  I said to Fiona I hadn't seen

Oliver.

     "Dad's bringing him up on Sunday," she smiled, "Him and Zack and I expect

Brandon'll tag on as well."

     I didn't like to ask "Crowbars?".   Age‑old Cambridge question: "How do you

separate the men from the boys in the Clare/King's/St John's choir?"  I did ask, "All OK

there?"

     "Need you ask!"

     When Tris returned from his stint we did the rounds of the first sherry gatherings.  We

spent ages at the Chaplain's House talking to a couple of very hunky Freshers and Tris soon

had two more converts to Basketball and I had to warn him, as we left there to go to the

Master's Lodge for the next session, that he wasn't to use his wiles to convert them to

anything else unless I was present.  I noticed they'd also been encouraged to join the Pub

Crawl the next evening.

     I must say the Master did provide some rather nice wine rather than the sherry we

were expecting.  We viewed his pictures and let him get on haranguing the Freshers.  Both

Boswell and Ben came over and we were soon chatting on about all the generalities of life in

College.  As Boswell had already savoured all three years of life on a campus even if he did

live out in a rented house for his second and third years he had plenty to say and ask.  Ben

asked if we could spend some time on Saturday going through all his duties once again as the

First Year Organ Scholar or could we deal with any now?  He'd tried to find Drew but said

no‑one seemed to know when he was returning.  I said I'd seen him talking to Boswell.

     "Yeah, he was saying he was staying in some Christian Hostel and preferred it as a

base as there were too many unconverted and sacrilegious people in College and there were

few who understood the evil underlying everything.  I'd heard it all before."

     "So you know him?" said Tris.

     "Yeah, but I hadn't seen him for years.  Well, not since I went to Cranwell."

     Ben obviously hadn't encountered Drew and was much more interested in the

Christmas Term programme for the Chapel.   "What's the Christmas concert like?" he asked

changing the subject abruptly.

     "I only know about last year's.  Matt Thyssen who was senior Organ Scholar chose a

Bach Cantata.  It turned out OK.  Tris was the tenor soloist."

     "Bach this year?" he asked.  "Have you heard Carl Phillipe's Magnificat?"

     I shook my head.

     "I sang in a small group that did it at Easter with some of the local amateur orchestra.

It's good.  It's about an hour.  Can you get players?"

     I explained that we had access to instrumentalists and he said he'd sort out getting

copies as long as I directed the work and he'd be happy to play. "OK, that's settled," I said,

never to look a gift horse in the mouth, "As long as Drew doesn't object and anything which

doesn't involve him is preferable."  I was feeling nasty!  "By the way, you'd better check

when he's teaching the Honourable Tosspot as you'll want to keep out of the way."  I'd seen

Jeremy yesterday chatting up a couple of the longer‑haired, unwashed‑looking Freshers.

Potheads as Adam would have called them.  Charles had said Tosser had signed up for

another desultory year on his BPhil on nineteenth century literature for pubescent boys or

something like that.  I then had to explain who Tosspot was and they both laughed and said it

sounded like 'Brideshead Revisited' and other tales of Oxbridge life from the past.

     Both Ben and Boz, as he said he preferred to be called, said they needed exercise so

Saturday morning there were six of us along the towpath as Gabe and Josh lumbered along

behind us.  We did the usual breakfast thing and all said they'd chip in.  In fact, Boz, with his

experience of living in a house with other students, turned out to be an excellent 'short‑order

cook' as Gabe labelled him.  All were going on the Freshers' Saturday night trek and we

didn't tell the two new‑comers where we would end up.

     Gabe and Josh, with Lorenzo in tow, plus several of the other boaties and rugger‑

buggers were the leaders and a well‑pissed tribe of happy male and female revellers entered

the Club as the last visit of the night.  I saw two of the males take one look at the dancers and

beat a hasty retreat.  Probably thought they'd end up being raped or sold into slavery in the

backroom with the 'girls'.

     Out of our usual lot only Batman, Dave and Jonty were there, although the other

buffed‑up hangers‑on who always eyed our group with interest did the usual 'His' and hand‑

waves.

     Of course, we had to explain rather carefully to a very pissed Ben and a slightly less‑

pissed Boz that it was actually a Gay Club and some of us were members.  Boz couldn't have

cared less as he said he had been quite often to a hilarious, or it may have been hairy, pub in

Cranwell and had been propositioned many times.  Ben's girl‑friend, who was a vivacious

brunette, was almost as pissed as him but said her Uncle Chas was as gay as a bald‑headed

coot and spent the next half‑hour downing at least three more highly coloured and toxic

concoctions and trying to remember why bald‑headed coots were gay.  I got the feeling Ben

was a little uncomfortable so I took Penny, the girlfriend, on the floor and did some sort of

slightly legless dance with her.  She was quite legless and I had tried to moderate my intake

as the service the next morning had looked complicated even though it was the first of the

new term.

     When we got back to the booth we were greeted by a laughing foursome of Fiona,

Dina, Louie and Toby.  They were well‑oiled, too.  I was dragged, no, I went willingly, on the

floor again by Fiona, who in a very smoochy number said Zack had let slip he'd been to a

club with us and was it this one?  I said it was and to put her mind at rest he drank Coke and

didn't molest me.  I didn't add 'until later'.  She just laughed and said he needed people like

us to help him adjust.  I said I thought he had very little adjusting to do.  I thought to myself

he adjusted very well to insertion and how to insert.  I did say he was very level‑headed and

one of the nicest people I knew.  "I love my brother very much," she said, "And I think you

and Tris do, too."  I just murmured, "Too true!".

     Jonty wanted the next dance.  He was full of beans.  "Thought you'd turned," he said,

as he pressed up against me.  He was rewarded by the beginnings of, then a full erection

pressed against him, "But you haven't!"  Cheeky hound.  He then ground his own engorged

dick against mine as he gyrated his hips to the heavy beat of the music.  I asked him where

Danny was, or I was in great danger of making a mess in my Matteoli cargoes if my mind

wasn't taken off what he was doing to me. "Got something to tell you.  We're over the

bloody moon.  He's got a three‑month placement at that posh restaurant in Melbourn just

outside Cambridge and his mum and fucking brother think he's living‑in.  But he isn't!" he

said triumphantly, "He's living with me.  God it's good!"

     I found he'd been chosen especially by the owner as his work on the course was very

high quality.  I knew the restaurant.  We'd had a very good meal there one night just after

Adam and Ivo heard their results.  So, Danny at least was with his Jonty.  That reminded me.

I supposed that could have been Barry Hall in chef's whites in our College kitchen.  He'd

need a placement, too.  I hadn't phoned to see if he wanted to come to the Club tonight as the

student throng might have put him off.  Next week?  Anyway, there was an invitation to

Sunday lunch tomorrow at Jacob's.  Find out more then.  I looked at Tris to see he wasn't too

drunk to sober up by the morning.  He looked OK and was on the floor with some nice

looking, male, Fresher dancing with him.  It looked like the hydrangea‑lurker.  Must be Pretty

or Awful, I mean Orford.  Oh ho!  Might find out the basis for the animosity in due course.

     We got Boz and Ben, with Penny clutching at him, at Tris and at me, back to College.

Last we saw of Ben was Penny trying to put his key in the lock.  As the key was attached to a

chain on his jeans I forbore to look as she yanked rather heavily and he yelped as the fabric

must have been rather constrictive.

     Only Tris, me and Gabe appeared in the morning for the run.  He said the last he'd

seen of Josh was Carry helping him along the road to the flat she'd moved into.  He said

Lorenzo had been too pissed to raise his little bloody finger let along his bloody dick last

night so he'd employed Mrs Palm for relief.  I must say Gabe was most forthright about his

sexual habits and employed a range of euphemistic terminology in his descriptions.  As on a

previous occasion: "Bloody Lo, in full fathom five last night, got a bloody whanger like a

baby's arm with an apple in its fist!  Tickled my bloody kidneys I should think."  Tris hadn't

helped matters then by asking if it was a Golden Delicious or a Cox's Orange Pippin.

            "You'd fucking know if you had it stuck in yer bloody gob!  Suck the bloody juice outta that, I'd say!"

     Gabe was a strange dichotomy.  Vulgar, blunt and direct without any inhibitions

about his own or any one else's sexual life, but also a very caring, thoughtful person.  Josh

was supposed to be his minder.  They minded for each other.  Then on the other hand, Gabe

was highly intelligent and a very diligent student.  Cambridge really had brought a focus to

his intellect.   His discussions with Charles on the Philosophy he was studying left me

reeling.  He was also taking Logic as a special option and even Charles had done little on

that.  We had several sessions on this ourselves as I was fascinated by the way one could

manipulate the symbols and the proofs.  I wanted to follow this even further and Professor

Tanner gave me a couple of tutorials on it which whetted my appetite even more.

     Sunday lunch, prepared by Barry, carved by yours truly, was as usual, superb.  Yes, he

was in our kitchens and enjoying preparing special dishes for some of the elderly dons whose

teeth weren't what they used to be.  At least, that was what James Tanner said.  Barry told me

while we were in the kitchen there were plenty of opportunities as the Master had put in a list

of dinner parties he was hosting and dons in and out of College did the same.  "Plenty of

perks," he said, "But mustn't keep tasting the gravy!"  He held up the bottle of red wine,

some of which he was adding to the stock before thickening it.  "It's OK, Mark, I'm being a

very good boy these days even when the second chef grabs me and asks if I'd give him a

quick one."

     "How do you get out of that?"

     He laughed.  "He's got one of the other under‑chefs at home.  He just does it to tease

him."

     I asked if he was available at week‑ends and we laughed and I had to say "Not like

that!", and he said he was mostly as he was only doing a few of the evening meals.

Transport?  "Dad's bought me a motor‑bike so I'm OK now.  That's the best reason for not

drinking.  Dude's given me a few more lessons and I'm doing the last tests next Saturday.

Dude's great."

     Yes, that set me off thinking.  Poor Adam.  Tris seemed to deal with most of our e‑

mail traffic and Adam had sent one on Saturday saying give his regards (meaning love, we

assumed) to Dude.  Unfortunately Dude wasn't there so Tris forwarded the message to him ‑

at his personal address not the generic police one.  Important as there was a rather non‑PC

cartoon as an attachment.

     The 'staircase' seemed to gel well.  As well as everyone, except Charles, going for

the morning runs most days and breakfasting afterwards we also instituted the 'Nine o'clock

Knock'.  This was a general invitation for anyone at a loose end to knock on our door at that

hour in the evening and come in for a drink and a chat.  It worked out that either I or Tris, or

both were generally around at that hour and by that time people wanted a break.  We made a

rule that the gathering broke up by eleven‑thirty at the latest each evening, for those who still

had to burn the midnight oil, but also for those whose bed called.

     These gatherings became highly popular and we gossiped, exchanged views, moaned

and generally let off verbal steam.  All fuelled by a drink or two and a nibble of this or that.

Charles could always be relied on having something tasty delivered, usually from Harrods at

Mother's command. 

     Charles was also a prime source of gossip.  As a, query, trusted member of the

administration as such, given his arse‑licking, as Gabriel termed it, of the Bursar, he heard all

sorts of snippets which were gleefully digested by the rest of us.  His imitations of the rather

air‑headed Mrs Chalfont‑Meade were a sight to behold and we had to warn him not to

include any of her more stupid misconceptions or statements in any of his future Clarissa

productions.

     "My treasures," he said one night, as he came in, bearing a bottle of something nice

and a box of assorted goodies, "Guess what, the poor old soul wanted to know this afternoon

if dear old Dr Mitchelson could be refunded for the condoms he'd inadvertently purchased

from the machine in the gentlemen's lavatory as he thought it was dispensing chewing‑gum.

I asked if he'd chewed any and she said she'd have to ask him."

     His discussions with Gabe or Boz were always full of interest as he often had

stretches of Latin coming up in his transcriptions of the Servants of the Chapel logs.  One of

these occurred about three weeks into the term.  Charles that evening was quite distraught.

     "The more I read, the more I despair," he said, "Those poor dears never knowing who

would be carted off next, or get the chop.  I read today of the Abbot of Colchester, who must

have been quite close to the College in his allegiance, being foully murdered after being

accused of treason in 1539.  Then the Abbot of Crowland is reported as sending a gift of fish

to that despicable Thomas Cromwell and his Abbey got the chop in 1539, too.  Earlier there

are passages in Latin, which with my feeble acquaintance with that noble tongue, make no

sense for me.  Gabriel my pet, your assistance is required.  I know this is a convivial

gathering but there may be important things to unravel."

     Gabriel, who was quite un‑pet like, unless a hairy, shaggy yak was your idea of a

fireside companion, laughed.  No, I'm being nasty.  But you petted Gabriel carefully although his bark was twenty times worse than his bite.

     "Spit it bloody out," he said, "What d'yer want now?  We all know you went to that

bloody Trade School."

     This was the usual gibe against Charles's Public School, albeit a very minor Public

School, education compared with Gabe's very solid, very formidable, Australian Grammar School education.

     "My dear, I must reiterate," said Charles repeating his usual plaintive reproach of the

iniquities of his Alma Mater, "We got no further than amo, amas, amat, and that was

delivered to us in no loving way except when Dotty Prendergast invited us individually into

the stockroom to hear our declensions.  I am reminded that this must have been the way of

education for centuries given what I disclosed about that ghastly Grossteste and his habits."

     "Well, get on with it, what do you want to bloody know," said Gabe, whose

knowledge of Latin was quite extensive and, obviously, had been absorbed by someone who

liked and revelled in the subject.

     Charles didn't produce his usual notebook but several photo‑copied pages.

     "My dears," he said, passing round sheets of paper, "I thought it best to take

advantage of Mrs Chalfont‑Meade's absence from her place of duty while she powdered her

nose as she so euphemistically accounts for her lengthy disappearances.  I have mastered the

machine and I hope all is clear."  He held up a copy.  "This is an earlier passage from the

report of the Servant when times were particularly bad.  He records this in May 1534 'There

is turmoil for Hast and Perkin did visit but privily and did say the treasures of C and S were

forfeit but they propose a scheme', and then in July 1534 he writes 'Leigh has been by order

and has seen ought.  He has authority but there is dissent..'  This Leigh was sent by Henry to

ascertain the wealth of the monasteries he was proposing to sequester and was adept at

sniffing out where the treasures lay.  The record after that has been scratched out and all I

can make out are the words 'some plate and money'.  Now this is where Gabriel, or Boz, if

the going becomes rough, will be of assistance.."

     We were now looking at the photo‑copied sheets which were facsimiles of the

originals and then a typewritten transcription.  The originals were in a looping, small, round

hand and needed careful consideration to make out the actual words.  Tris and I were sharing

and I looked particularly at the typed‑up sheet.  I could see that Charles had copied the exact

layout of the originals in his transcription.  Tris drew his finger along each line as we read

them through mouthing the words.

     Vox audita perit sed littera manet

ex auctoritate mihi commissa ab obscurnum per obscurius

          Let there be light

     Under this was a series of  single capital letters.  I counted seven letters in each row

and eleven rows.

     O Q I T H N P

     L N Z B A O L

     J Q D P Q O F

     I V H A A H I

     L D Q F E S D

     P Q N Q E A F

     J B P Q E L O

     P P Q P F E L

     G L J Z J Z F

     P F M Q H T I

     H G Q E H N F

     Gabe was looking quite triumphant.  "That Latin's easy.  They're quotes or usual

phrases used in documents.  Not very good Latin and it's a bit bloody crazy.  Here goes, I

think the first line is 'The heard word is lost but the written word is held'.  Let's leave what it

means and try the second.  That first is a phrase 'by the authority invested in me' and then

it's 'explain the hidden by the more hidden', or it could mean 'obscure'."  He looked up and

Charles nodded.  "Then it's odd the next line's in English, 'Let there be light' that's 'Fiat

bloody lux' in Latin.  Any bloody use?"

     Charles smiled.  "As usual, you have made the light shine....   But what of all those

letters?"

     I jumped in with both feet.  "It's a code.  I think it's in sevens because that was a

magical or sacred number."

     Ben laughed, "Yep, old Isaac Newton said he saw seven colours in the spectrum but

blowed if I've ever seen indigo."

     Boz was making notes on his copy.  "Let's go back first.  It might give us a clue.  I

guess that first line just means it's no good telling anyone as things get forgotten but he's

following tradition as the Servant by writing it down.  It's his authority, or perhaps duty and

he's given his message hidden..."

     "..You mean he's hidden the meaning as there's something hidden?" said Tris.  He

turned to me.  "Come on, Brainbox, you were reading that book all about codes at the Villa."

     I had.  In fact, I'd read two particular books by the same author, one about Fermat's

Last Theorem and the other on code‑making and code‑breaking.  I hadn't got round to having

a go at the codes he had given at the end of the book.  But...

     "I would think he's given the location of something and if we can find out the type of

code we should be able to solve it."

     "Type of code?" asked Ben.

     "Yes, there's all types of codes.  You've heard of Enigma?"  Everyone nodded.  "That

was a difficult one to crack as it was both logical and mechanical.  But I think we ought to

look at this as the type of code which people might know about at the time."

     Josh had remained silent.  "Didn't they use to write things on strips and wind them

round a stick."

     I nodded.  "Yes, and you had to have two identical sticks so you could get the

message back.  But the easier way was to just use letter substitution, like pushing the

alphabet on a letter.."

     "We used to do that in class," said Boz laughing, "That was until our maths master

intercepted a couple of notes and within minutes read he was accused of shagging the cook

who was ugly as sin.  All he said was he would have thought his pupils had more respect for

his judgement and spent the rest of the lesson showing us a special French code.  That was

too complicated as you had to make up a big grid first.  I think we lost interest after that."

     Tris was counting something.  "There's seventy‑seven letters in that grid here and ten

of them are Q.  If it's just changing the alphabet isn't there something about letter frequency?

Isn't E the most frequent letter in English?"

     "That's true," said Gabe, "But if the first bit is in Latin the message might not be in

English.  You see, if you look through there isn't a K, or a W, or a Y.   Those letters don't

appear in the Latin alphabet.  I think we ought to see what letters are used." he laughed.

"This is good.  I never knew learning Latin would have excitements."

     "If it's Latin then E is the most frequent there, too," chipped in Boz.  "Doesn't help a

lot other than Q might stand for E.  And you're not likely to have a message only in seven

letter words."

     "But why should it be across?  Could be seven columns of eleven?  And you would

have to sort out the words," said Josh.

     "Best thing to do to start is to make grids of the alphabet and see if it shifts on one or

more letters," I said. "How many letters in the Latin one, Boz?"

     "Depends," he said, "Either twenty‑two or twenty‑three.  I and J are usually the

same."  He scanned the text.  "But there's an I in the first line and a J in the third line from

the bottom so I guess twenty‑three."

     "Just need two strips of paper," I said, "And slide them along.."

     We all must have had a go and got nowhere so the project went off the boil but we

heard more of the sometimes quite hilarious and, at other times, quite frightening happenings

in College during those fateful years in the mid‑1500's.  So, term went on and with

everything else I was very busy practising for my recital for the end of November.  Varied

but interesting.  Nothing to frighten the horses!

     I discussed my proposed programme with Lewis and he suggested I finished with the

Bach Passacaglia and Fugue in c minor.  I had been going through this with him in great

detail and I thought I might just about manage a reasonable performance.  It was also a

favourite for Fellowship exams and I hadn't decided yet.  Something lively to begin.  Lewis

and Ben both thought the Mendelssohn Prelude and Fugue in d minor would be ideal.  A

couple of short pieces next.  A Voluntary by Handel would show off the rather nice Trumpet

stop in the Andante and the gorgeous 8 foot Flute on the Choir as contrast with the Swell as

the Echo.  The Fugue in B flat by him would be next.  I was determined to have a French

middle.  I loved the Franck Cantabile but decided on the longer Fantaisie in C.  Tris was

insistent I played the Alain Deuxieme Fantaisie next as he was certain that had clinched me

getting the Scholarship.  But I would play Alain's Le Jardin Suspendu first.  Finally the Bach!

 All told just under fifty five minutes with a following wind!  Six o'clock start and all over

for second sitting for dinner in Hall for those who were hungry.

     Several  things happened very suddenly.  The schools half‑term came and Zack

appeared as Frankie had last year.  With everyone's connivance he stayed in Oliver's set and

joined in our nightly discussions with such aplomb and assurance it was almost as if he were

a student already.  He asked me to give him a few tests of his mathematical ability as he

would like apply to read Maths, if not Law.  Did I think he'd be good enough.  I did the

James Tanner thing as Zack was also just in the First Year Sixth.  Yep, he passed with flying

colours the same questions I'd been given but at an even earlier stage of his Sixth Form

studies.  From the happy look on Oliver's face when they were together I guessed there were

other abilities being tested and found more than adequate.  When he was ready to go on the

Sunday afternoon he hugged both Tris and me and said he would never forget those nights at

the Villa and, please, would we come to his eighteenth birthday party in the second week of

January.

     On that Sunday it had been my turn to accompany the morning service.  As usual,

during the sermon I was thinking through the last hymn and my out‑going piece and also

contemplating whether I'd be good enough to give the recital, when I was struck by what the

clergyman giving the sermon was saying.  It wasn't the Chaplain this morning but an old

student on leave from a mission school in India.  His theme was 'Light' and the way in which

this word was not only used in theological terms but also in educational terms.  He said the

earliest occurrence in the Bible was in the second verse of Genesis ‑ Fiat Lux ‑  Let There Be

Light.  He went on to say the little Epitaph that Alexander Pope suggested.   'Nature, and

Nature's Laws lay hid in night: God said, Let Newton Be!  And there was light'.  I didn't

listen to the rest my mind was ajangle. 

     After the abortive attempts at solving the letter code I'd gone back to the book on

codes and had wondered if it was an example of having to start by using a word or phrase.

But what could it be?   I wondered if  I had been handed a vital clue in the sermon.  It was

Gabe who had remarked that 'Let There Be Light' was in English, the rest had been in Latin.

At the time I'd been put off the track by his interpolated Aussie 'bloody' when he'd

translated it as 'Fiat bloody Lux'.  But sevens.  OK Newton was born a hundred years later

but he was seven mad.  'Fiat Lux'.  Seven letters.  Eleven rows of seven letters.  Key word or

phrase!

     I found an old hymn‑sheet, blank on the back, and made two rows.  Latin alphabet.

What did Boz and Gabe say, twenty‑three letters, no K, W or Y.  I wrote those along the top.

Then, remembering what it said in the book I wrote FIATLUX under the first seven letters

and continued with Z under the H in the top row, then B and so on, until I had exhausted all

the letters not in FIATLUX.  I surveyed my listing just as I heard the preacher say 'And to the

Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, Amen'.  It was automatic.  Get ready for the

last hymn!

     I didn't think anymore about it until the evening because of the lunch for Zack and his

departure.  I scrabbled around in my study and found the photo‑copy of the transcription.  I

wrote out my two rows again neatly:

A  B  C  D  E  F  G   H  I  J  L  M  N  O  P  Q  R  S  T  U  V  X  Z

F   I   A  T   L  U  X   Z  B C D  E  G  H   J  M  N O P  Q  S   U  V

     I looked at the first seven letters on the photo‑copy:

     O    Q    I    T    H    N    P

     I found O in my second row with S above and did the seven:

     S    U    B    D    O    R    T

     Wow!  SUB was a Latin word I knew.  'Under'!  But was it just another letter

sequence.

     I set out the other ten rows underneath:

     L    N    Z    B   A   O    L

     E    R    H    I    C    S    E

     J    Q    D    P    Q    O    F

     P    U     L    T    U    S    A

     I    V    H    A    A    H    I

     B    Z    O    C    C    O    B

     L    D    Q    F    E     S    D

     E    L    U    A    M    U    L

     P    Q    N    Q    E    A    F

     T    U    R    U    M    C    A

     J     B    P    Q    E    L    O

     P    I    T     U    M    E    S

     P    P    Q    P    F    E     L

     T    T    U    T    A    M    E

     G    L    J    Z    J    Z    F

     N    E    P    H    P    H    A

     P    F    M    Q    H    T    I

     T    A    Q    U    O    D    B

     H    G    Q    E    H    N    F

     O    N    U    M   O    R    A

     What the hell did it mean?  At least I thought I was on to something.  All those Q's

became U's and I knew there were plenty of U's in Latin words.  I recognised QUOD.

Q.E.D., Quod erat demonstrandum ‑ which was to be proved ‑ at the end of old Geometry

theorems.  Oh, yes, TUTAMEN looked familiar.  I found a pound coin and there it was,

engraved on the edge, DECUS ET TUTAMEN.  Something about a shield I thought.  And

HIC.  I grinned.  The tablet on the wall in the Chapel when Safar asked me to hit A.  HIC

JACET it said.  I knew that was 'Here lies'.  I was getting rather excited.  I called out to Tris

who was reading some Law book in the bedroom.

     "I need you, urgently!" I called out.

     "As always, bollockbrain," he yelled back, "Keep it in your pants until later!  I'm

horny, too, but busy!"

     'Twat', I thought, he's the one with the one‑track mind.  I picked up the bits of paper

and went and disturbed him.  "I haven't even got a hard‑on," I said and forestalled a response

such as 'most unusual' by plonking the sheets on his desk in front of him.  "But take a look at

this.  I think I may have cracked the code."  I showed him and explained about the sermon

and the clue.

     He looked.  He agreed.  He got excited, too.  "You need to write it out as one long

line and then get Gabe or Boz to look at it.  You are a cleverclogs sometimes."  He stood up

and hugged me and felt the front of my trousers.  "Yeah, you must be excited about that as

you haven't got your usual stiffy." He laughed.  "Takes a lot to keep your mind off that

organ!"

     We contained our joint excitement and waited for the 'Nine o'clock Knock'.  We

knew all would be assembled as Charles had said Mother had sent a couple of bottles of the

Widow ‑ 'Veuve Clicquot' ‑ and these were residing in our fridge ready for opening.  If I was

right it would be a celebration and also help Oliver to get over missing Zack's company until

Christmas.  In the meantime I scribbled out six copies of the code and my solution under it.

     Charles was in a bubbly mood as he came in.  Not only because of the expectation of

the bubbly in the fridge, but because Mrs Brigadier ‑ as he called the Bursar's wife ‑ had

announced, over the lunch he had been having with them, that she wanted to retire to

Somerset to be nearer their grandchildren and would probably get the Brigadier on the move

in two year's time.  When all were seated and the bottles opened and eight glasses filled there

was first, a toast to the Bursar's going; second, a toast to Charles's brown‑nose efforts ‑ to

which he objected saying it was his merits being judged he hoped; and finally, third, to

Oliver and Zack, God Bless their little cotton socks ‑ because that's about all they wear in

bed, from Tris ‑ shushed by Josh, who said no wonder, as he always found the duvets to be

extra warm.  So as everyone was getting effervescent I thought it time to break the news.  But

Tris got in first.

     "Mark's got something to show you.  And I'm being serious, I think he's onto

something.  He thinks he's cracked the code!"

     That did it.  I handed out the pieces of paper.  There were a couple of  'Wows!', an

'Oh my God' and a tremendous 'BLOOODY HELL' from Gabe.

     "You're right, you clever little fucker!" he said.  "Give me a moment I need a pencil."

     Tris gave him one.  He made a number of slashes on the page as he mouthed through.

I saw Boz was nodding.  His Latin was good, too, as he was busy translating loads of Templar

records.

     Gabe looked across at Boz.  "Who'll start?  I think I've got most of it."

     "You'd better," said Boz, "You've been in it from the beginning."

     "OK.  I think Mark's got it right.  I read it like this, 'Sub Dorter hic sepultus', that's

'under the dormitory lies buried'.  Right, Boz?"  He nodded.  "'Ab zocco belua multum

capitum'.  Not sure of 'zocco' but the other is the usual description of the populace 'monster

of many heads'."

     "Yes, I know that description," said Boz, "Let me go and get my Latin dictionary, that

other's an odd word and it may be wrongly transcribed."

     He scooted off and we waited the few moments before he was back.  "Can't see it.

Might be 'socco', that's a diminutive of the word for 'shoe' or, here it is, a 'plinth'.   So

that's 'from the plinth'."

     "Good on yer, mate," said Gabe.  "That 'est tutamen' probably means 'is guarded by',

'tutamen' means a shield normally."  Good, I was right.  "I don't know that sequence before

'quod bonum ora'.  That last bit is 'may it be right' and 'pray' or 'I pray'."

     "I think I know that other word, it's 'ephphata'," said Ben.  "Dad's preached on it

more than once.  It's not Latin, I know.  Let me think.  It was when he healed the deaf man,

I'm sure.  Hold on, I'll phone Penny, she should know."  Oh yes, the vivacious Penny, his

girlfriend, was reading Theology.  He dug out his mobile and there was a hurried

conversation and we heard the shrieks of laughter at the other end.  He switched off.

"They're all rather amused we're having a theological discussion, they're just deciding

whether Brad Pitt or Leonardo di Caprio would be best to be marooned with on a desert isle."

     "I'd have either," said Tris, "But I'd want to check first which one was the better

cook!"

     Sneers all round.  I would check later that he did say 'cook'.  Wasn't it Clinton who

said 'sack my cook' and was misheard?

     "Well, my precious, what did she say?" asked Charles, who had been making copious

notes on all the preceding.

     Ben laughed.  "Yes, she knew it.  It's Aramaic she thinks and I was right.  Jesus says

it when he touches the deaf man's ears, 'Let it be opened'."  He looked at his own scribbled

notes.  "It fits."

     We all looked at Gabe.  "Let's read it though, then, and see if it makes sense," he

said.  "'Under the dormitory, here lies buried, by the plinth with many heads it is guarded, let

it be opened,  may it be right, I pray.'  A bit garbled but it looks as if something is hidden.

But where?"

     He looked at Charles.  "My dears, I am stunned," he said, his hands went up, palms

out, "Mark, your brains and your beauty are as one.  I thank you from the bottom of my most

generous heart.  And you, Gabriel.  Your erudition is superb."

     "But where's this dormitory?" asked Boz, "Is it in the College?"

     Charles stroked his chin.  "There must be some old drawings of what the College

buildings looked like around that time, dear one.  I guess the students slept all hugger‑mugger

in a dormitory, or perhaps more than one dormitory in the place.  I'll have to check with the

Librarian to see what is in the archives.  My job, my sweets, my job."

     We all had another drink and 'cleverclogs' was toasted specially.

     The next two things occurred the next day.  I'd been very busy, what with two

lectures, discussions with the girls, a two‑hour tutorial with James, as I was now calling him,

and an approach from Mr Orford, first name I found was Philip, for a little help with some

rather tricky looking questions in Probability.  I knew the feeling.  You either see the solution

more or less right away or you can go round in circles.  The particular one which was

bugging him and his pals involved drawing different coloured balls from a bag, or from a

succession of bags, and what was the probability of drawing the same number of balls...  It

just went on and on like most of these questions did.  We came to a sensible conclusion

which coincided with the one he'd originally thought, but one of his pals argued against.

Anyway, when we finished I asked him if he liked being in the choir.  He nodded

enthusiastically and said he enjoyed singing and it really was a well‑run choir.  As Ben and I

shared the rehearsals I took that as a compliment.  Drew's group relied on 'complete

inclusivity' so no anthems or choir items, just plenty of 'worship songs'.  I said we needed a

bass solist for the CPE Bach we were proposing to do at Christmas and now that my cousin

had graduated the other three basses were not too confident about singing solos.  Would he

audition?  He'd be pleased to, as he'd sung a lot in his church.  I thought I would enquire

further.  "Same one as Mr Pretty?"

     His face fell.  "Yes, but Martin won't even speak to me now."

     In for a penny...  "I know about not sharing....."

     "If I tell you?"

     He was clearly upset.

            "Just tell me," I said, "Or should you talk to the Chaplain."

     "No... ...It's really Martin and what he thinks.  He's dead scared if we'd shared people

at home might have thought..."

     "What would they have thought?"

     "Oh!  Full story.  Martin's brother is gay.  His mother and father have chucked him

out.  Well, not really, he lives in Manchester now with his boyfriend and after he told them

that, they won't even have him to visit them.  Martin was scared if we'd shared his Mum and

Dad might have thought it was because he was gay as well."

     "Is he?"

     He shook his head.  "Neither am I, and we've been best pals for years.  He thinks I

applied to share so he blames me.  I did say on the form I wouldn't mind sharing but I didn't

say share with him."

     "It's been a great big misunderstanding," I said, "It's Charles.  He saw school,

address, post‑code and you wouldn't mind sharing and probably didn't note that Martin

didn't tick that box."

     "Yeah and when that chap, Charles, started to call us 'darling this' and 'darling that'

it scared the pants off him."

     Rather nice if he had been gay!  I thought, or even if not.  Martin Pretty had a pretty

nice figure.  "Should I talk to him?  I need a tenor soloist but that's likely to be my friend

Tris Price‑Williams."

     "He's the blond one you share with."

     Now or never.  "Yes, we share everything.  We've done that since I was fourteen and

he was fifteen and we're next‑door neighbours at home, too."

     "You mean..., you and he....?"

     I nodded and smiled.  "Yes.  And families and friends have accepted us.  I hope

Martin doesn't desert his brother."

     "No, it's just the labelling.  His Mum and Dad don't understand and they don't want

to know.  Martin keeps in touch by e‑mail I know.  And I liked Geoff very much.  He didn't

even act gay."

     "Would you have known about Tris and me?"

     He laughed.  "No!  You and your friend always have those girls hanging around and

those huge blokes in the choir are always there."

     "Louie and Toby, two of our tenors.  They share.  In fact they took over the set you

and Martin were supposed to have."

     I did have a chance to talk to Martin.  I explained the mix‑up.  Next evening the pair

were sitting together in the Students' Combination Room having a drink together.  Charles

had better watch if boxes are ticked or not.

     He'd just gone when Tris came bowling in.  He was laughing and handed me a couple

of pages of print‑out.  "Just printed this off for you.  Little brother tries to be hip, hop, rap or

whatever, but can't keep it up.... ...OK, OK, I know what you're going to say!!"

     I put the sheets on the table and started reading; Oh, my God!  No, it got better after

the opening salvo.

          'Yo, ma main man Tris, yeah you, homeboy, jest you tell that bro a mine he be

freaking out wicked I gonna tell you.

     That is, tell Marky Gran's got lots of stuff and she says I'd better get my diploma or

she'll kick the examiners to death.  I have learned a lot.  Madam Keech is good but it was

nice to have someone else and she's strict.  Showed me a good way for sixths in the left hand

which I've never got right properly before.

     There's letters and photos going back a long way.  Great‑grandma was Noelle

Mellier, born Christmas Day 1901.  She had a twin sister Caroline.  They came over to

England I guess in 1920 and were governesses in two houses at the north end of Lincolnshire.

Must be near that Ulvescott place I would think from the addresses on letters.  She married

great‑grandad Gordon Foster in 1921 and there's a birth cert and a death cert for Albert born

six months after they married.  Grandma just laughed and said it happens.  I think she meant

the birth ‑ yes, I know!  Grandad Henry Foster was born in 1923.  The marriage cert says her

father was Phillippe Mellier, hotelier.  There's a couple of letters in French with a hotel

address in Riom near Clermont‑Ferrand.  Gran said they visited the hotel when Grandad was

at the Embassy in Paris.  Small but very nice.  No Melliers though.

     There's lots of letters from her sister all in French.  She married someone called

James Gratten and it must have been about the same time as Noelle.  She had a son John and

it looks as if he was born in 1922.

     Noelle Marie Elisabeth Foster died in 1936.  Her death cert says she had cancer.

There's a letter of condolence to 'My Friend Gordon' from Augustus Pennefather MA FRCO

and another photo of Grandad as a chorister in the envelope.  There's a letter also from

Caroline to great‑grandad and that was in good English and that mentioned her son John as

well.  It said he was a good scholar and had won a prize for chess.  I couldn't find an album

like the one we saw but Gran says there's loads more stuff in the loft and you'd better come

down and have a look.

               Peace, Truffles.  (And none of that kissy stuff to follow!)

     I laughed.  "I sometimes have a feeling there's an alert little brain ticking away in

there somewhere.  He's clear and succinct.  I'll ask Adam when he comes back to do some

checking at that Records Office place in London he's going to.  They have all the Births,

Deaths and Marriages in indexes there he says."

     "What about the French side?"

     "If he was an hotelier I expect there would be guides for the region.  And I expect

there would be records in the town halls.  I know, as soon as the exams are over in the

summer we could go over by Eurostar and I bet there's a good train service down to

wherever."  I looked at the e‑mail again.  "Clermont‑Ferrand.  It's somewhere down the

middle of France.  My treat.  I've still got lots of Uncle Francesco's euros to spend.  Hope

your French is good enough!"