Some of the Characters Appearing or Mentioned:

Mark Henry Foster            The story‑teller

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

Gordon Foster     Father of Mark and Francis:  Fiddles for a living

Maria (Angelica Matteoli) Foster  Mother of Mark and Francis: Teaches singing

Francis Michael [Microbe] Foster Alias Toad:  just growing and wondering

Ivo Richie Carr                Mark's cousin:  chunky and cheeky with it  

Adam Benjamin Carr      Ditto, as his twin

Albert Tomkins               A Head Porter with an elephantine memory

Jason Knott                     An Assistant Porter with long antecedents

H.E. Sheik Sayed Al‑Hamed   Erstwhile Ambassador for a Middle‑Eastern State

Khaled Al-Hamed  His elder son:  a financier

Dr Safar Al‑Hamed  His younger son  A knowledgeable Music don

Colonel Lachlan Cameron‑Thomson  Ex‑Military Intelligence

Dr Jacques Thomson  Reader Emeritus in Modern Languages

Dr Francis Thomson   His eldest son

     Monday morning after the newspapers came both Tris and I had lectures to attend.

He said he'd meet up with me for lunch.  I knew the reason why.  Both of us would be in for

some comments on our first appearances in Hall.  Fiona and Dina had their go first as I met

them outside the Mill Lane Lecture Room.  'Why wasn't I labelled a hunk like Tristram?

Tristram??  Just a Maths whizz!' that from Dina.  'And who's this Henery?  Henery the Ninth

hI hAm, hI hAm!'  Fiona trilled.  Dina said to take no notice, newspapers always get

everything wrong.  Of course, later, I had to open my big mouth and ask the second lecturer if

the second of his equations he'd just written up should also have had a constant added as

well.  "Thanks for noticing," he said, "Had a heavy weekend.  My wife gave birth to our

second!"  Instant cheer and I didn't feel too bad.  Fiona asked, "How did you know that?"  I

shrugged.  I didn't.  It just looked as if it should.

     Tris was waiting for me just in our stairway.  "Got a cheer when I went into the

lecture."  "I didn't," I said, "I don't think mathematicians can read."  Well, it seemed other

students could.  There was a chorus of wolf whistles as we entered Hall.  "Wow, it's the Page

Three boys!" was one call.  "Get yer tits out next time!" was another.  I saw a couple of the

dons at High Table looking disapprovingly in our direction.  Then, to a great cheer, a top‑

hatted, black frock‑coated, pin‑stripe trousered Jason ‑ the full formal Porter's rig, ‑ came

from the kitchen and led us to a table where four of Tris's Basketball team in their sub fusc

of black jackets and white ties were already sitting.  They stood up and another cheer erupted

as they had their dark red silky basketball shorts on below their formal gear.

     Anything after that couldn't be too bad.  That afternoon there was a note in my

pigeon‑hole.  'Mr M H Foster is invited to a reception in the Senior Combination Room on

Thursday the twenty‑third of January at eight p.m. to present an outline of how the coded

message was solved and to hear an analysis of findings so far by members of the archaeology

team'.

     I found Tris, Gabe, Josh, Ben, Oliver and Boz all had invitations to the presentation.

As Charles said at our 'Nine o'clock Knock' that evening, as he displayed his note asking

him to show the ring and paten as his part in the discovery,  it was to his certain knowledge

the first time the bastions of that redoubt of academic eminence had been breached by so

many of the lower orders at the same time.  Usually, he said, only the President of the

Students' Union was ever invited or the younger sons of Earls and above.  Tris said that as

long as Gabe kept his expletives to a minimum we would survive.  I said I was going to point

out we, and I emphasized 'we', might have solved the puzzle earlier if it hadn't been for his

bloody expletive!  We all toasted a bowing Gabe for hindering the advance of academic

progress.

     Before all that, I had my Monday tutorial with James Tanner.  He just grinned and

asked no details of what had happened.  He was more interested in what I had made of the

second book by the author ‑ the one on Fermat's Last Theorem.  I said I'd looked at the bits

of the proof given and what was interesting was the use of several different approaches

where ideas linked up.  I said I had an inkling into the interest of doing that as I'd noted the

convergence of two different approaches in the work last term.  I showed him the two sheets

on which I'd done the rough work ‑ I hadn't got the neat solutions I'd written up in my

'commonplace book' as I called it.  When he'd finished reading through the two pages he

just sat back, intertwined his fingers and rested them on his chin.  He looked at me steadily

for almost a minute without saying anything.  "There's absolutely nothing wrong with your

reasoning, Mark.  A short note in Annals of Pure Mathematics is called for."

     I was rather flustered.  It was just a couple of results which linked.  "It's not just that,

Mark, it's given me a couple of ideas to follow up, too.  When you get to my age the

mathematical instinct or whatever you like to think it is, seems to wane.  Most of my

colleagues will agree on that.  We can still manipulate with the best of them but it's these

points of interest where ideas are generated which get fewer and farther between.  You

probably realise I'd made my name by the time I was twenty‑five.  The ten years after I

graduated were the most fruitful.  I couldn't get to that level of thinking now.  I publish, but

it's using the material generated all those years ago.  I'm speaking quite candidly.  Your

Head of Maths at school recognised you had a flair for the subject.  We'll try our best to

cultivate it.  This is just a start.  While it's still fresh tidy it up.  I'll help with any notation but

it's your name on the article.  I can't guarantee they'll take it but it does make a point."

     What could I say?  I knew I liked Maths.  Did I have a flair?  At the end of the two

hours we had worked through several ideas and by that time my senses were reeling.  I went

straight to the Chapel, apologised to the researchers still there, and played for over an hour to

calm down.  When I finished I found Fiona and Dina, who I was supposed to meet, sitting in

the choir stalls quietly going over the notes of the morning lectures.  There was no reproof

from forthright Fiona.

     "We felt you needed to play after all that's happened the last few days.  Dude let us in

as long as we didn't pocket any of the coins the man showed us.  Thanks for playing.  It's

helped us, too."

     Dina leaned over and kissed my cheek.  "Thanks, Mark.  But we want to know what

the great man said."

     We went over the problems the lecturers had set.  Then I showed them the ones James

had given me.  They grimaced, but we managed to tackle at least the first three.  I could see

what he was doing.  He was leading us step by step to much more abstract and much more

general ideas.  Ideas that could generate a whole cloud of new theorems, and riders, and

lemmas.

     Dina was smiling as we completed that third problem.  "I wish I could be a proper

mathematician," she said.  "I know what I can do and I want to teach it to others, but it takes

a different sort of mind to make progress, doesn't it."

     I didn't dare show them what I had done that day.  Was I capable of making progress?

     Tuesday lunchtime I was recovering from two rather intense lectures and deciding I

had to master the ideas, or else!  Tris came to my study looking rather pensive.

     "Mark, I've had a letter this morning and I'm a bit worried."

     "What letter?"   I wondered if Jacob or Paul had had second thoughts about offering

him a job.

     "It's from Safar's brother, Khaled.  Apparently he's a trustee of the Al‑Hamed

Foundation.  There's him and another two at the top of the paper.  That James Thomson's

one of them and someone called Iyad bin Ibrahim Al‑Quereshi.  Anyway, it's the offer to pay

for my Law School and giving me a hundred pounds a week towards living expenses."  He

shook his head.  "I can't accept all that.  It'll be much more than your harpsichord is worth.

Why give me so much and not you?"

     I stood up.  "Tris, that harpsichord is priceless as far as I'm concerned.  It was given

to me with love.  I can't place a value on that.  I don't think you should count up the pennies

like that.  That was a gift of love as well.  The Sheik saw something in you, I'm sure."

     Tris smiled.  "I saw the way he was looking at you while you were playing.  He had

such a look of concentration on his face it was as if he was trying to see inside you."  He

laughed.  "I had a sort of funny feeling he was looking at your soul.   I had all sorts of funny

feelings at that place.  I need to talk to him and the others there.  Not to say thank you but to

find out more about Ulvescott and the influence it has on people."  He paused.  "You think I

should accept it?  The only conditions are that I get my Law degree and that I study for the

Law Society exams.  It's such a gift.  I won't be dependent on Dad.  And I will succeed.

There'll be too many people I mustn't let down."

     "You write and accept it," I said, "You are part of that wider family now and you

know it."

     He smiled and nodded.  "As long as you don't think...."

     I put my arms around him and hugged him tight.  "It's for both of us.  Your success is

my success and whatever I have or do is yours as well.  The Sheik saw us together.  He

knows."

     One thing during our 'NOK' evenings was the pleasure listening to others talking

about what they were doing.  Boz was going great guns on the translating of the Templar

documents.  Charles commented several times he was sure there were connections between

Templar ideas and the College.  Holy Grail and all that was bandied about.  Gabe and

Charles with their common subject of Philosophy sparked off many arguments, most of

which left me mind‑boggled.  I was quite certain the Meaning of Life could be number forty‑

two, or quarante‑deux,  just as any of the numerous ideas postulated.  I think we came to the

sensible conclusion that what gives life value was as important as seeking what gives life

meaning.

     It was during one of our sessions that first week when Gabe mentioned how various

ideas in natural philosophy, as science was called in the early days, held sway for so many

years.  The idea in medicine that man was comprised of the Four Humours which had to be

in balance.  The idea that Aristotle put forward that everything was comprised of Four

Elements, Earth, Air, Fire and Water.  I was able to join in this as I reiterated all that Gran

had said about the music that had been written, especially on the idea of the Four Humours.

It was at that moment that another connection was made.  I was in mouth‑open mode.

     "And as far as the four elements are concerned you can still find echoes," I said,

"These deaths so far, one was Earth, one was Water and Mr Finch‑Hampton died in a Fire."

     "True," said Ben, "But there's only been three deaths and the connection may not

stand.  Where's the fourth?  Where's the death by Air?"

     "Sorry," I said, "It just seemed odd to me.  There was such an emphasis that Bryce

died by inhaling mud..."  Tris gave a gulp.  "...Sorry, Tris, but it just struck me as odd.  Could

it be accidental that Bryce ended up in that mud and the inquest did mention it and Whippet

kept on about earth, the idea could have got back to whoever did them all in."

     "You believe it's the work of one person?" asked Boz.

     "What we've been told points to that," said Tris, "And there's more as Charles can

tell you."

     Charles then went over the latest with the search and the over‑doses and the purified

drug. We said we'd seen the track‑suit and it tied in with the person being small.  But what

was the general motive?  There was a general shrugging of shoulders and we passed on to

another topic.

     Of course later I had to tell Tris what James Tanner had said to me.  We were in bed

and having our usual personal resume of our day.  "You've got a lovely talent," he said

nuzzling just by my Adam's Apple, "You are so musical and you can do Maths.  You're a

beauty, too, and I love you deeply."  He licked up under my chin with predictable results.

"There's me.  Just going to be a lawyer helping old ladies sell their houses and defending

kids prosecuted after being caught pissing up alley walls."

     "Tris, my love, you've got brains and beauty.  I've told you that before.  Jacob and

Paul wouldn't have offered you that job otherwise."  I felt for his erection, pressing against

mine.  "As long as it's not just your beauty they're after.  I don't think they're into

adolescents though, so they might have detected a brain ‑ much smaller than this, I expect."  I

gave his shaft a squeeze.  That did it.  No more resume for that night.  We were lost in each

other's love.

     On Thursday evening in bed he was rather quiet.  I'd noticed that from the time he

came back from a Basketball match earlier in the evening.

     "Mark," he said as we snuggled together and put our arms round each other, "Aubrey

Fullerton said I was right.  That summing‑up.  The judge quoted the wrong precedent and the

defence didn't pick it up.  He phoned someone as soon as I showed him and we checked.  I'll

find out tomorrow what's going to happen.  That chap may have been guilty.  It wasn't a very

pleasant thing he did but he was sent down for the wrong reason and he's done two years

already.  He had other offences in the past so I don't suppose anyone was too worried.  Have

I done right?  He could be out under a miscarriage of justice.  He could do it all again."

     "Tris, it's what lawyers are for.  You can't be held responsible for what someone may

do.  If the law has been applied incorrectly I don't see that as a fair trial.  I shan't ask you

what he did but is that the reason you're worried?"

     He nodded.  "Yes, I think so.  I will tell you what he did anyway.  It was on

Hampstead Heath and he beat up a chap who was gay and that's what caught my eye.  It

wasn't the first time.  He'd done it at least twice before and had got off as he said he'd been

solicited.  This time someone called the police and they caught him kicking this bloke's head

in and shouting out homophobic insults.  Aubrey said I wasn't to worry about it but it does

concern me.  The least that'll happen is his sentence will be cut.  Aubrey said that with the

police evidence and the past record he would still get a term in jail."

     "You are not to worry," I said, "As I said it's what you stand for is the criterion.

Come on, relax, but not too much!"

     Friday night at the Club only Dude and Carlo were there, no Brad.  They said he'd got

a lot of paperwork to do but they'd make sure he was there for the next night.  He would be

forty‑five!  Dude had half‑a‑dozen leather peaked caps which he handed out to us.  "Anything

else leather, wear it."  I had ideas.

     There was a letter for me on Saturday morning saying the archaeologists and museum

people had finished cataloguing and photographing.  In fact I knew Lenny had been contacted

and had photographed most of the things so they could be exhibited in College.  All the

objects, including my book and coin, had been taken into the safe‑keeping of the Fitzwilliam

Museum and a horde of people from there, the British Museum and the British Library,

would be descending to do research on the mass of things.

     Tris came back from a rather rough match looking slightly bruised and battered.  Still,

after a bit of gentle massage he said he'd be fit for the evening at the Club.  I'd been to see

Josh and Gabe in the morning and borrowed some things: the gift Gabe had for Adam, and

Josh's purchase for himself.  The lederhosen.  They fitted very well though Bavarian arses

must be a bit more ample than ours.  With the caps on as well Tris and I just about fell apart.

"I've got two pairs of long white socks I had when I wore that kilt.  You can have a pair of

those," he said, "Those dark green Matteoli shirts will be just right, too.  Might even ask you

for a dance, sweetie!"

     The evening was a real hoot.  Shawn and Charlie, the owners, had put on a buffet and

the first round of drinks were on the house.  Looking round almost everyone was sporting

something leather, even if just a cap.  Danny had a dog's collar round his neck and Jonty was

holding him with the attached lead and wearing a very revealing cutaway leather shirt.  Our

lederhosen got a special cheer as we came in.  Brad was serenaded and made to lead a conga

which snaked round the whole Club.  Then a huge cake with '45' iced on it was brought in

with a large single candle in the middle.  It was an everlasting candle so that as much as he

blew, it still flickered back into flame.  Ever resourceful he grabbed it and upended it in the

pint pot of lager belonging to Carlo.  "Dipped your wick there, Mr B!  Never knew you had it

in you!" Carlo said to shouts of laughter and picked up the glass and drained it in one long

draught.  Two people who made a quiet entrance were drawn into the group.  Brad's son,

Tony, and his mate, Terry, were made welcome and after a while Danny was contentedly

sitting on his brother's lap, still wearing his dog's collar, with Tony holding the leash.

     Sunday it was my turn to play for the morning service so afterwards I was having a

relaxing gin and tonic before going across to Hall for lunch.  Tris said he would be back in

time but must, absolutely must, make arrangements with some clot who was having second

thoughts about playing in the Basketball team.  Apparently his girlfriend needed his

undivided attention on Thursdays when matches were usually held.

     I had just had a satisfying slurp when my mobile phone played the little bit of Bach I

had as my ring‑tone.  It was Frankie.

     "Hi, are you OK?"

     "Yes, just the same."

     "Mum's had a phone call.  She's picking up Adam from Heathrow Tuesday

afternoon..  He's staying here and Auntie Sophie's coming up to see her little boy as well."

     "Well he has been away four months.  I think Mum might even want to see you...."

     "....I know," he interrupted, "But there's more to tell you."

     "What's that?"

     I could hear him suppressing a giggle.  "They've all gone next‑door for drinkies

before lunch back here so I must be quick."

     "Well, get on with it then."

     "It was Auntie Dil's birthday on Friday...."

     "....I know that.  We sent a card and Mum had the present to give her...."

     "....Shut up, and listen!  We had a big dinner last night next door instead of going out.

Auntie Dil said it's criminal paying out loads of dosh for crap nosh..."

     "...I don't think she'd quite say that..."

     "...Bugger it, Marky, listen!  Anyway, Pugsy was there and was necking the gravy as

if there was no tomorrow.  Mum said no way were his parents seeing him as rat‑arsed as that

they'd do a bundle..."  I didn't interrupt as Mum was unlikely also to use such terminology.

"....Anyway she said he'd better stay over.  Bastard came straight into my room and stripped

down to his boxers and was in my bed snoring before I'd even got my shoes off.  And doesn't

he snore.  Kept me awake for ages and he took up more than half the bed.  I did get to sleep

but he woke me up in the middle of the bloody night 'cause he was clutching me and

humping my leg, you know, like Mrs Coombs' bloody dog.  You there, Marky?  Are you

listening?"

     "Yes, I know the dog."

     "I'm talking about bloody Pugsy, you fool.  He was humping against me and he was

whispering, like, 'Come on Shell, let me have it, I need it, please, Shell'."  His voice rose in

excitement.  "Then he shot a humungous load all over me and stopped humping and started

to fucking snore again.  Huhn, you can tell Tris he hasn't had it yet.  Shell must be holding

out on him.  Prickteaser!"

     "Not the thing to say about my boyfriend's sister, Marky.  I might just tell him that

bit."

     "You do and I won't tell you anything else."

     "OK, and after he'd had a spontaneous emission?..."

     He laughed.  "...Mine wasn't spontaneous and the bugger slept through it, too.  I had

to take my boxers off to mop up." he laughed again.  "Sorry, Marky, but they were those

rather nice black ones of yours.  Rather sticky when I finished..."

     "...My silk ones?"

     "..Sorry, yes..  I daren't put them in the wash.  I'll keep them and you can take them

back to College for washing..."

     "...Complete with two boys'...."

     I was cut short.  "..Never thought of that.  You might want to keep them..."

     "Frankie!"

     He was cackling now.  "He wanted to know why I wasn't wearing anything when I

got out of bed this morning to go for a pee.  I said it was rather hot in bed.  Was, too, but not

the way he thought.  He never remembered a thing!  Anyway, Shell would be well‑pleased.

Not too long but thick poking out of his fly when I pulled the duvet off him."  He began to

sing in a falsetto voice.   'Pug‑sy is a vir‑gin, Pug‑sy is a vir‑gin!'"

     "Frankie!  Just because you got lucky.  Tell you what, you could play dead beetle with

him.  On your back you'd give him the time of his life."

     There were a few moments of silence.  "That's not for discussion.  That's for you and

Tris.  Give him my love."

     "Wait a moment, Frankie.  I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have said anything like that."

     "Apology accepted, Marky.  Love you.  Must go or Pugsy'll have all the drinkies.  Ta‑

ra!"

     The connection clicked off.   So, Pugsy was still seeking.  He'll get his end away and

I guessed it wouldn't be too long now.  But, in the meantime I would have to censor the

retelling of the conversation to Tris.  But, I guess he would understand the stalwart Pugsy's

basic urges.

     Term was going rapidly on.  Tris heard that the villain's sentence had been reviewed

but the Appeal Judges considered that seven years was correct even if the summing‑up

wasn't.  In fact Tris had a note from one of the Counsel on the defence side congratulating

him on his knowledge and perception.  He was also working extra hard as he wanted to do as

well as he could in his Finals next term.

     Adam turned up all full of bounce and transatlantic bonhomie.  He'd had a

marvellous time giving a few lectures but also being taken around and visiting as much as

possible.  He said he'd never realised how big America was, at least seventeen of the states

were bigger than England, nor how little ordinary Americans he spoke to knew about

England or Europe.  They knew some history as that was taught in High School but it was

almost as if the rest of the world was a different planet.  Most couldn't make out how 'little

England' had ruled such large amounts of the World before the break‑up of the Empire and

they all wanted to know if he knew the Queen.  He said the students were keen but over‑

reliant on being told what to do and what to read.  He said he had to be careful even with

gentle irony as he realised very early on that Americans did not understand English irony.

     One thing he had to do was grade 'Term Papers' and noted three were almost exact

copies of a fourth which he knew was done by one of the best students in the class.  He

showed the four sets of essays to the Professor in charge of the course whose comment was

simply "Dumb fucking jocks.  Wouldn't know if their peckers were in their pants unless

Coach checked!".

     He'd asked the three to see him and he said all were huge, blond and very nervous

and, from what he could see, all had their peckers tucked well away.  He said he'd noted the

similarity between the papers, any explanations?  They had looked at each other and at last

one blurted out that Coach had them on the field at 6 a.m. every morning and worked them

for three hours solid so they missed the eight o'clock class which was History and Reuben

had offered to show them what he'd written.  He said should he speak to Coach?  They

looked panic‑stricken.  Here were huge lads of about nineteen dead scared of Coach.  Adam

laughed and said he could see why later.

     Anyway, he said he would be willing to take them over the course at a different time

as long as they promised not to copy another's work.  They looked so relieved because one

said if they didn't pass they would be in line for losing their Scholarships.  Adam said he

missed lunch for three whole weeks while he and they toiled over the set book.  He said the

looks of gratitude were something after they did the resit and the Professor graded them two

B's and one A.  Unheard of! 

     Coach he discovered was a three‑hundred and fifty pound, that's twenty‑five stone to

the Brits, ex‑footballer, who had the reputation of driving his charges rather hard.  A slight

case of light irony as he ruled them with a rod of iron metaphorically, but with a tongue

which lashed them repeatedly with threats of emasculation and hints about their non‑

masculinity in any case.  Adam said he'd been the star when he joined in one of these

sessions and managed to keep up with the punishing routine, so much so that Coach had

finished up the session with the words, "If that skinny‑assed English dude can do it the rest of

you pansy‑livered mother‑fuckers should do double, but the Brits have grit, d'you

understand?  My Grandaddy was in London during that War and he said even when London

was bombed the King and Queen were there and that takes grit, d'you hear!"  Adam said he

was then bear‑hugged and if you've been bear‑hugged by a three hundred and fifty pound

grizzly you'd know what bear‑hugs were.  As he was hugged Coach had whispered, "Thank

you, sir, those boys woulda been in deep shit otherwise, I'm most grateful."

     He said it also led to invitations to a couple of their parties and as he was over twenty‑

one he was most popular as one of the lads took him to the next town where he stocked up

the car each time with several cases of beer.  He also had invites to visit various places.  He

said one of the lads who he'd helped, who got the A and was rather sweet, had invited him to

his Daddy's farm in Iowa and was most interested to find Adam's father was also a farmer and they'd swapped tales of farming as the lad was taking the Agricultural course and was

destined to go back and run the vast acreage.  As Jed also didn't have a girlfriend he just

wondered!

     Adam was assigned to Mr Finch‑Hampton's set.  In fact, though he and James Al‑

Hamed would be sharing it for tutorials he was bedding down there when not at Dude's.  To

the comment 'a bit spooky' he pointed out that Simon Finch‑Hampton had been a cousin of

sorts and he was just as interested as anyone else in finding out who did the dirty deed and it

sounded as if Simon had had a pretty rough early life.

     On the Wednesday after Adam reappeared I was in my study late afternoon when my

mobile rang.  It was Frankie.

     "Hi, had a letter today.  I've passed!!  Brill!!"

     "Oh, Frankie, congrats, I am pleased.  Ask Mum to give you a big hug from me."

     "Can't, she's hugging me already.    ....Mum I can't breath!  OK here's the phone."

     "Hi Mum, that's good news.  But don't give him too many hugs or I shall think he's

the favourite."

     "He's my little precious boy, aren't you darling?"  Mum said, knowing that would

bring out a typical Toad response.  But I don't think it did, he was too euphoric.  I could hear

him in the background. "I love you, too, Mum..."  Creep!  But it was good news.

     "Tell him there's a present for him on the top shelf of my wardrobe.  It's wrapped."

     It was, and labelled, "To Francis Foster ARCM", as I was sure he'd pass.  But what

had I parcelled up for a randy, over‑sexed, over‑endowed, rather bright seventeen‑year‑old?

A bound copy of a year's issues of Playboy?  No!  A pack of three‑dozen fruit‑flavoured

condoms?  No!!  A copy of the Kama Sutra, lavishly illustrated?  No!!! (In any case he had

the translated book and also 'Paul's Odyssey' to keep his right hand active.)    No, I'd left

him something to keep right and left hands, plus both feet, active.  A copy of his own:

Bach's Eighteen Chorale Preludes.  I thought, in years to come he could say what an old

stick‑in‑the‑mud brother he had....   But, underneath, I knew Frankie better than that!

     "Oh, and Mum," I finished up as he was still burbling on in the background, "Tell

him there's a letter in the post to him telling him to go to Moss Bros for a fitting for a kilt

and there's one for Dad, too."  I shut my mobile.  Charles had decided that Mother's account

would be raided for the special occasion at Ulvescott.  I think he was rather envious he

wasn't invited.  We would have to see what we could do about an invite for him later.

     The presentation of the solving of the code had to be organised.  I had a meeting with

the Physics don who was in charge of the computerised presentation, or Power Point as he

called it.  He had digital photos of my book and the coin but wanted the Latin and the coded

message in the records typed out, then my solution, in two colours, etc.  etc.  Yes, he would

operate the gadgetry, I just had to talk.

     It wasn't too bad.  I put on my best suit, with College tie and polished black shoes.  In

fact the row of us looked like very smart tailor's dummies except that Gabe's rather thick

neck over‑filled his collar and he was going rather red in the face until the Chaplain's wife

suggested he undid the top button of his shirt.

     There must have been well over sixty people in the very beautifully panelled and

subtly lit room.  Rows of chairs had been brought in after the usual furniture had been

removed we were informed by Charles, who was talking avidly most of the time with the

Bursar's wife.  Heavy curtains were drawn over the end of the room and we were regaled

with plates of tidbits and glasses of good wine by Liam, Sean and the two servers.  As well as

the Museum people I'd met, there were dozens of tutors and assorted wives and companions.

     I was grabbed by James Tanner, who was with Paul Phillips, and introduced to

several dons I'd seen around but had no idea what they taught; Anglo‑Saxon, Veterinary

Studies, Political Economy, Land Economy, German and a very tall blonde lady who was

Reader in Scandinavian and Icelandic Studies as far as I could gather.  All were hugely

friendly and James kept looking at me with a quizzical air.  Safar was there with his wife and

was surrounded by a group, including two men I recognised as being in the University

Orchestra in the viola section.  They turned out to be  Fellows in Medieval History and

Organic Chemistry.  I saw Tris with Gabe talking to Aubrey Fullerton and a very severely

dressed, middle‑aged lady.  Oh, yes, Gabe's Philosophy tutor, 'Doc Miss Bloody Anstruther‑

Lamb', as he usually referred to her, with awe and reverence I might add.  What a mix.  Me,

Maths and a musician and I had no idea all these other things were going on.

     After a while the Master stepped forward.  "My Lord, Ladies and Gentlemen, may we

begin.  Please take your seats."

     'My Lord'?  Oh yes, the Fellow in Political Economy had recently been given a Life

Peerage.

     The heavy curtains were withdrawn to reveal a screen and a long refectory table with

various of the artefacts on it.  At the end was my box and that was where the evening's talk

started. The lights went off and the Physics don showed the first picture of the presentation.

'Vox audita perit...'  At the bottom the code beginning:

          'O Q I T H N P

          L N Z B A O L

          J Q D P Q O F'

     I explained about our Nine O'clock Knock meetings and there was a ripple of

subdued laughter.  Then how the translation had been done and my idea that the code might

be letter substitution but the clue came while listening ‑ and I did say half‑listening and

looked at the Chaplain who grinned ‑ to a sermon about light and realised that was in English

and 'Fiat Lux' in Latin had seven letters and used that.  There was another subdued rumble

and nodding of heads.  More pictures, of my main room and of the organ‑stops. I then

explained how I'd solved the 'PULL THE GAMBE' puzzle and how Tris, my room‑mate,

had found the body and that solved another puzzle. I glossed over that.  Then we'd realised

the lower cellar was not the same size as the Pennefather Set.  And that was how the

treasures were found.  The first being the box..  I said that had a message, too, and another

picture showed that, followed by the solution.  I put on white gloves and opened the box and

took out the book and then showed the coin.  There was subdued, then a crescendo, of

clapping.

     After that the archaeologists and Museum people took over and described a good

number of the things found in the various boxes.  It was a fascinating evening.  At the end

there were lots of questions.  But first, his Lordship, the Fellow in Political Economy, looked

over to me where I was sitting near the back.  He said first of all that the find had set all sorts

of bells ringing in Whitehall, Downing Street and Lambeth Palace, and even as far as the

Chancellor of the University, the Duke of Edinburgh.  The Archbishop had told Whitehall

and the Prime Minister it was none of their business and as far as he was concerned the

treasure was safe in perpetuity.  And, here he paused, "He also said, and I pass on his

message, 'Mr Foster has every right to the box and its contents but did he realise its value and

could he afford the insurance?'..."  There was a round of applause again and also suppressed

laughter.  So the College had the right to the treasure and I had the right to the box and

contents.  And that from he who should know!   "....He said that no doubt the Museum

authorities would be glad to assist by having the objects on loan."  He paused again.  "Have

you had a valuation on the coin?" he asked me.  I  stood up and shook my head.  He nodded.

"As a precaution I asked the man at Sotheby's and he estimates for the Double Leopard coin

not less than one hundred and fifty thousand pounds..."  There was a concerted gasp.  "...But,

he was not prepared to hazard a guess for the Book of Hours.  On the international market it

would be bid up and up was his opinion.  No limit!"  He looked at me.  "Mr Foster.  Use

these gifts wisely.  Do not be pressurised into any decisions.  If you need advice at any time,

just ask.  And by the way, the Chancellor will be here soon for a Convocation so be

prepared."

     I said in no way would I ever sell the gifts.  As far as I was concerned they belonged

to the College and, in the wider sense, the country.  They had been loaned to me.  I would

take advice on where they should be placed and as far as insurance was concerned I would

ask the Chaplain if there could be a retiring collection after the next service where I would

play as the outgoing voluntary something based on themes from ‘Half a Sixpence’!

     The Museum people when questioned said there had been several enquiries already

about a travelling exhibition, not only in this country but also abroad.  Dr Palfrey laughed.

"It'll be a question of insurance again.  Mark isn't the only one, but I can assure him his gifts

will be safe in our hands, if we may have the loan of them."

     At the end I was congratulated on all sides and there were a number of requests to see

the 'Gambe' door opened.  I wondered what might happen if Nat Temple was right and there

were lots of wall paintings as well down in the cellar.

     It was also odd that around me were all these other people working away in subjects I

never knew existed.  Perhaps I lived in a rather restricted world even in College?  I had my

group of friends and I had got to know individual members of the choir but, other than that, I

was fairly oblivious about everything else.  I heard the gossip about Tris's involvement in

Basketball and Rugger and the general chit‑chat, say, about the drinking and dining clubs and

the so‑called Hooray‑Henries which the College seemed to have in a decreasing number.

Outside College I had made friends at the Club.  A gay enclave and some very nice people.

I'd got to know Jason and Liam fairly well.  Jason came regularly for an organ lesson each

week and was progressing well.  He said now that Adam was back he was getting on with the

History A Level and the two PhD students who were helping him with the other two subjects

were great.

     I think I had made friends with James Tanner and Safar especially and the Chaplain

and his wife were most solicitous about not only mine but everyone's welfare.  I felt all

treated me as equals and discussed this in a NOK session later.  Even Gabe said although

Doctor Alice Anstruther‑Lamb scared the bloody knickers off him she was a friendly old soul

and was always ready for a cup of tea and a chat after knocking his bloody brain for six.  He

said Lorenzo felt the same about his tutor even if he did have the habit of tapping Lo just

above the knee to make a point when sitting side by side poring over some Italian text.

     Tris was especially voluble that night after the presentation.  "Marky, old love, I just

watched you with admiration.  First up and you didn't show any nerves.  You had poise and

his Lordship saw that, too, when he spoke to you at the end.  And I watched James Tanner

when he was talking to you earlier.  You and he, and I mean it properly, were like father and

son.  Paul told me James can't quite make you out.  He said he thinks he recognises a bit of

himself in you..."

     "But, Tris," I said interrupting him and moving my head up to look into his eyes,

"He's an internationally known mathematician and I'm...."

     He silenced me with a kiss on my lips.  "..But he had to start somewhere, too, don't

forget," he said quietly as we parted and started to make serious, ardent, impassioned love.

     However much we did each night only meant that it primed us ready for our next

encounter.  There were always differences, subtle differences now, in our approaches to each

other.  We never set out to be the dominant or the submissive partner.  In fact, there was no

dominance even with one or the other thrusting and ramming ever more insistently before

speeding to that final release of all our love.  We lay afterwards caressing the one spent by

his exertions until the other was ready for whatever pleasure he wanted to share.  Sharing it

was.  If, for example, Tris brought me to a staggering culmination with my spunk spraying

uncontrollably over one or both of us our lips and tongues would be ready both to receive and

give.  We knew that all belonged to each other.

     The Burns Night weekend at Ulvescott Manor came all too quicky.  We both felt our

work was mounting up but the weekend would be a welcome break.  Safar said he and his

wife would drive Tris and me to the Manor.  Adam said he would go on the motor‑bike as

long as we carried his luggage.  Cheek!  Ivo would make the cross‑country journey from the

village where he was staying.  Uncle George and Aunt Sophie would be travelling by train all

the way from Dorset and would be collected from the station by one of the guards.  That left

Mum, Dad and the Toad who were driving up ‑ Dad had chuntered on that the A1M would be

hell on a Friday afternoon.  Toad wangled the afternoon off from school so they could set out

earlier. 

     That meant when we rolled up the rest of our family were all there.  We were

welcomed by the Sheik and the elder Dr Thomson and had to recount a bit of the discovery.

Frankie was nowhere to be seen.  He'd been commandeered by Saf's two young sons again

and appeared with the elder one grasping his hand and the younger one being carried, with

the wolfhound trotting along beside them.  "Just been to see the workshops," he said in

explanation.  Tris and I were then leapt upon and had to listen while the elder one extolled

Frankie's virtues ‑ the virtuous one just stood and grinned while making a fuss of the huge

dog.  I asked where all the others were.  Mum and Dad were still at the musical instrument

workshop and Uncle George and the Colonel, with Aunt Sophie, were in the study reliving

army life.  I'd forgotten that Uncle George had been a soldier and was an officer before

getting married and taking over his father's farm.  It was a bit chaotic to say the least.

Frankie said we three were in the Horsebox and Ivo and Adam would be in Piers' room.  I

asked, first of all, before making any comments about him sharing with us, where the Thugs

were at the moment.

     "Last seen going into the room upstairs, arguing as usual.  Don't laugh when you see

Ivo," he said and would not be drawn on what about Ivo would make one laugh.

     So to find out we trundled upstairs with our bags and went to the Horsebox first.

Even there we could hear Adam's raised voice so we dropped everything and went through

the bathroom and into Piers' room through the open door.

     "And I tell you, shave the bloody thing off before dinner tonight," Adam's aggrieved

voice was loud and clear.   There was Ivo standing on the other side of the bed.  He was

sporting a neat little goatee beard as black and as dense as his shock of hair.  "You look like

one of Mum's bloody goats and that's the nanny!  Your balls aren't big enough to be a ram!"

     Ivo saw us and held up a hand.  "Hi, just getting an earful from Popeye here.  He

couldn't grow a beard if he wanted to."  He directed the rest at his brother, who was standing

with his back to us.  "Needs testosterone, matey, and that's something you woefully lack.

Little gland in your little brain, sunshine, you ought to get it to work a bit."

     Adam swung round.  "You two, tell him what a dickhead he looks!"

     "Haven't seen any dick heads with such a crop of hair.  Hairy balls but not hairy dick

heads," said Tris.

     "I need backing up, great prune he looks," said Adam to Tris with quite a vindictive

tone.

     Ivo wasn't too pleased either.  "Trust you to make mock, too.  I can tell you this style

is all the rage in Rothenia at the moment and as I'm going there for Easter with 'Tory I want

to show willing."

     "Show willing, as long as it's not...."

     "...Shut up," I said interrupting the ebb and flow, "I can hear the patter of tiny feet."

     It was too.  Little Jeremy rushed in first followed by Frankie carrying Andrew.

     "Uncle Ivo! Uncle Ivo! Grandpa Lachs wants you!  He knows where you're going.."

     A muttered 'More than we do!' was heard in the land.

     "You know which one's Uncle Ivo?" I asked

     "Yes, I saw him downstairs," he looked from one brother to the other, "They're twins,

aren't they, like Daddy and Uncle Jak?"  He looked pointedly at Ivo.  "I know him though

'cause he looks like Mr Sampson's Billy."

     "Billy?" I asked.

     He nodded.  "Billy's got a beard like that but it's straggly."  His nose wrinkled.  "And

he smells.  We don't go near him."

     "Very wise," said Adam, "Sniff Uncle Ivo."

     A very obedient boy did just that.  Ivo lifted him up and he brushed his nose against

his cheek.  "You smell nice.  Not like that horrible goat!"

     Honours were even.  Billy must have balls!  Something for Ivo to point out to his

brother later.

     Ivo went off carrying both small boys.  Frankie had a smile on his face.

     "I didn't think I liked small kids but they're smashing.  Jeremy's full of questions and

Andrew tries to imitate all he does."

     "Getting broody, duckie?" I said and reached up and ruffled his very neat gelled‑up

hair.

     He didn't even duck away.  "If you put it like that, yes, I suppose so.  I suppose we

were like that..."

     "...Once upon a time," said Adam with a laugh.  "I must say I feel the same when you

see two bright kids like that.  At least he recognised Ivo's male!"

     "D'you think we'll have kids like that in a few years time, Adam?" Frankie was in a

really pensive mood.

     "Frankie, to tell you the truth I don't know about me."  He nodded.  "You, definitely,

and Uncle Adam will be there to keep them in order."

     "It's just.." he hesitated, "..It's this place.  I feel I keep being told things and I'll know

about them later."

     "Yes," I said, "I know what you mean.  I think Ivo and Adam will learn more as well.

I feel at home here, too."

     "Funny you should say that, Marky," said Adam, "As soon as I came through that

front door it was like I'd been here before, or I'd known it all my life."

     I said how this room was the 'peaceful room' of my dreams.  Tris said we had better

ask the younger Dr Thomson to tell us more.

     After unpacking we went downstairs again where there was a general buzz of

conversation.  Ivo was sitting with his father and the Colonel.  The Sheik had Mum and Aunt

Sophie either side and his dark eyes were glittering with fun as they were laughing over

something or other, I think it was a photograph of Aunt Sophie as a young girl in her bathing

costume showing off the birthmark.  Dad and Safar were with the older Dr Thomson and

were studying a music manuscript and the other twins, Jak and Saf, were playing with Saf's

two small boys and Frankie joined that group immediately.  Of course, there were questions

about the finding of the treasure and all the other things.  I heard Jak ask Frankie how far

he'd got in the translated book.  Frankie wrinkled his nose, 'About page 10 I think.'  The

twins laughed, knowing full well that most boys would read and re‑read those opening pages

where the youngsters are observed as I had done.

     Before dinner the young boys had gone off to bed.  Their mother, Chrissie, came

down and beckoned me and Tris.  "Mark, Jeremy wants you two to read the bedtime story

tonight to them and tomorrow he wants Uncle Ivo and Uncle Adam and could they play with

Francis all day tomorrow?"  She laughed.  "I think I'll pack them up and you can take them

off to College about fifteen years early!"  Five minutes into the joint telling from a very old

battered copy of 'Swiss Family Robinson' they were contentedly fast asleep.

     Dinner was quite formal.  Exquisitely cooked by the resident chefs and served by lads

from the local Catering College we heard.  We also heard that the Burns Night Supper the

next night would have more attending.  I was rather open‑mouthed when the Colonel

announced that his son and wife would be there as well as Jody Fuller and Peter DeLisle.  I'd

heard of them.  In fact I'd seen a ballet they had choreographed at Sadler's Wells.  Yes, I had

seen the dotted lines on the family tree in Piers' room.  Jody Fuller was Dr Thomson's sixth

'son', and the Colonel's son had been adopted by him and was number three.  All rather

complicated.

     Bed that night was no complication.  We said goodnight to Ivo (still with neat beard)

and Adam and warned Toad if he so much as moved during the night he would have to sleep

in the bath.  We were called decrepit old things and we needed our beauty sleep more than he

did and was only shut up when Tris took down a very whippy riding crop, labelled

Gymkhana 1927, from the wall and said 'one more word, laddie!'.

     No, it wasn't bad.  The bed was big enough and wide enough to accommodate three

hefty lads and what with the good food and the very nice wine, or grape juice as it was

delicately called, we all soon fell asleep.  My  recollection of the night was such a peaceful

atmosphere broken by what could only be described as a sort of storm.  Dark clouds but these

were dispersed suddenly by the bright rays of the sun breaking through.  Whatever that

foretold I knew I would survive, somewhat affected, but essentially unscathed.

     Frankie woke us just before seven o'clock as he had been sleeping between us.

"Must go for a pee and I'll check on the others."  We grunted.  Being woken up like that

meant I needed a pee, too.  After I heard the flush I sidled out, discharged a copious amount

and peeked in through the half‑open door of Piers' room.  Frankie was sitting on the upright

chair by the bed gazing at the still fast asleep twins.  They were facing each other head to

head.  I could see Ivo had his arm round Adam's shoulder and their breathing was absolutely

synchronous.

     He stood up, smiled at me and we left the room.  "I slept like that last night," he said,

"I felt once that somebody had their arm round me just like that.  I knew I was safe."

     We had just got back to the Horsebox when the door handle was rattled.  I tipped

Frankie out to investigate.  He opened the door and there was young Jeremy with little

thumb‑sucking Andrew in tow.

     "Mum and Dad are asleep," Jeremy announced, "And Andrew wants to do a wee and

I can't find the lav."

     Uncle Francis was patience itself.  I watched as he led the two boys through to the

bathroom and left them to it.  I'd noticed there was even a small stool for small boys to stand

on which must have dated back to Piers' young days.

     "Is he still asleep?" was Jeremy's first question when they returned.  He was pointing

at Tris who was pretending to be asleep.  "And where is Uncle Ivo?" was the second.

     Frankie and I took the boys through to the other room and perched them on the bed

with the sleeping Ivo and Adam.  Jeremy put his arm across Ivo as he lay down.  "I think

we'll stay here.  The boy can tell us another story."

     I said to Frankie I thought I would wash and dress and he might as well follow as

things would get crowded.  In fact we were down having a quiet breakfast with the Colonel

who was also an early riser when the other three lads came down.  They were laughing as the

two little'uns wanted to come down in their pyjamas but were trundled back to their parents'

room where Chrissie, now awake, was wondering where they had got to.

     Tris asked the Colonel a bit about the Manor and we sat, fascinated, as he told of his

early visits but he said we should talk to Dr Thomson of how he had first experienced the

place way back in the early 1940's.

     There was plenty to do and see that day and also to prepare for the Burns Night

Supper.  Ivo and Adam were particularly calm all day.  No argy‑bargy, no arguments, just

talking together quietly and going around with very satisfied smiles.  They also talked to the

three old gentlemen and Ivo spent ages with the elder Dr Thomson as he had taught French at

one of the other Colleges.  Tris and I at lunch sat with the younger Dr Thomson and his

friend, Ibrahim.  They said the arrangements for the evening would include a piper and they

hoped we would be dressed appropriately.

     During the afternoon other guests began to arrive.  It was going to be quite a gala

evening.  Mum and Dad knew several, the ballet contingent especially, and there was much

laughter.   Frankie was itching to get changed and was warned he wasn't to think of going

'commando' as he put it.  We said the dog would be on sentry duty and he would sniff out

any uncovered appendages.  Anyway, the contingent of kilted warriors would have put

Braveheart to shame even if great‑grandmothers were the nearest we could get to the glens.

The Colonel was in mess jacket and tartan trews and the other two wore dinner jackets with

their trews, otherwise it was the wearing of the kilt.  Then it was the Grace, then soup followed by the piper leading the chef carrying the dish of haggis.  The Colonel did the address to the haggis and plunged his dirk and let free 'the gushing entrails..'. There were tatties and neeps and plenty of the golden 'gravy', a rather special Highland malt whisky, to accompany.  As the dinner progressed we had the usual toasts, 'To the Ladies!' and the ladies response, which Aunt Sophie did to much applause, to 'Absent Friends' and 'To The Queen'.  These were interspersed with the usual poems and after Ivo had brought the house down with 'On seeing a louse on a ladies bonnet in church', Saf recited 'My luve is like a red, red rose' and raised his glass to Chrissie, his wife.

     After dinner we were all commanded to entertain.  Safar, in a Cameron tartan kilt,

accompanied Dad in his Frobisher kilt, which we had discovered was one great‑grandmother,

in a selection of Scottish airs and dances.  We had an impromptu sword‑dance performed by

the retired ballet stars, and the ladies, swathed in tartans of all sorts, grabbed gentlemen and

did a rather hectic and unpolished eightsome reel, with Frankie whirling like a dervish and

his kilt rising as he twirled.  I played and Tris sang two Scottish ballads and we all ended up

in a glorious circle linking hands and singing 'Auld Lang Syne'.  It was, no doubt, one of the

happiest evenings I had ever had.

     Next day we had all sobered up and people were departing.  Tris and I sat with Ivo

and Adam during the morning and they said they'd both experienced that quiet presence.  Ivo

said he knew his destiny now and we didn't ask.  Adam was more unsure we felt.  He had a

career most probably mapped out.  Research and lecturing.  But he needed love in his life.

He confided that he and Dude got on very well.  They were ardent lovers but they knew they

would not be life‑long companions.  Dude had said that Adam really needed someone

younger but he was content at the moment.  Ivo did say he missed the daily tussle of mind

and body with Adam.  To be parted now after twenty‑one years or so was strange and he

hoped he was coping.  Adam said the trip to America had helped him adjust to the changes in

his life.  He was glad though he was back in College and there were good friends around.

     At the first NOK session all the others wanted to know how the weekend went.  As

Jak had taken numerous photos with his digital camera and had sent copies by e‑mail to Tris

there were many questions about the guests and plenty of giggles over the stories told.  We

then heard that another of the 'druggie crowd' as Josh called them had ended up in

Addenbrookes at the weekend.  The Master was having a meeting with the President of the

Students' Union and his committee to discuss matters and as Josh was Acting Social

Secretary he would be there.  Also Drew was making himself even more obnoxious as he was

not only ranting on the Market Square even on bitterly cold days but was now more

determinedly banging on doors and demanding the occupants should give up their sinful

ways.  He seemed to have targeted the new double‑occupancy sets in particular.

     "What calumnies, my dears," said Charles, rather aggrieved at this and shaking his

head, "I'm sure there is no more activity of a morally reprehensible nature in those sets than

in the others to which I have seen numerous young ladies, and even young gentlemen, being

escorted."

     "Keeping your ear to the ground, eh Charles?" said Ben, "Or do you have a

telescope?"

     "Benjamin, my sweet, if you cast your eyes further than studying the causes of the

Great Depression...,"  He was reading Economics with Mathematics.  "...you would be aware

that  two of your confederates on the self‑same course are spending more time studying the

curves of a different order of supply and demand most evenings.  The progress of input and

output are readily discernible as one takes a stroll to and from the Porter's Lodge.  I am sure

the names will spring effortlessly to mind if I mention my little difficulty in assigning

compatible pairs.  At least with single occupancy they are not encumbered with having to

make excuses to the other inhabitant."

     We were laughing at this usual Charles‑type rigmarole and Ben snickered.  "Yes, Mr

Pretty has landed a rather stunning young lady, much to the annoyance of a fellow student at

Pembroke, but I am not aware of Phil Orford's paramour.  He seems a bit of a loner in

lectures."

     Charles held up his glass, "Benjamin, even if you freshened my gin and tonic I would

not divulge such particulars  but I know that Drew Penry‑Jones has made him a particular

object of his attentions.  Whether it is because he is the choir or whether he is seen in the

company of certain persons I would not hazard a guess to the cause, except I have heard him

exhorting the young man in no uncertain terms to abjure various evils and then listing their

consequences in relation to his soul and the afterlife."

     Ben took the hint and 'freshened' the glass.  'Freshened' being another term Charles

had imported from the States.

     "But, Charles," said Adam, "Why doesn't he just give Drew the Bryce treatment and

up‑end him in the fountain?"

     "I think there may be some differences, pardon my observations dear Gabriel and

Joshua, between the more exuberant belligerence of some of the Antipodean brethren as seen

in their annihilation of other countries in the matter of Rugby Football and the more placid

nature of young men brought up in the Home Counties in England.  A mere observation, I

must make clear."

     "Fucking too right," grunted a rather amused Gabe, "Namby‑pamby little gits."

     Before war between the hemispheres broke out it was time for some conciliatory

gesture.  Tris was to the fore, even though he was definitely Home Counties material and

played Rugby Football.  "Hey, Boz," he said with as straight a face as possible after the

previous interlude, "You haven't divulged how far you've got with your Templars for ages.

Tell all!"

     "Not much really.  I'm still trying to make out whether the Confraternity of the Holy

Sepulchre who are supposed to have built the Cambridge Round Church had anything to do

with the Knights Templar.   It's obvious the Knights were around this area at the time,

somewhere around 1170 and I've had some pointers looking at an old document supposedly

written by Aymeric de St Maur who was at the church in 1200.  He notes the rumours of

treasure and mentions what can only be Baldock from studying the old map with the

document."

     "Treasure again!" said Ben with a laugh.  "If it's the Templar treasure it'll rival all

the stuff found below here!"

     "Too true," said Boz, "But don't get too excited.  There are so many guesses to what

the treasure might be from a phial of Christ's Blood, to the Holy Grail, to actual money and

jewels."

     "Like those books?" asked Ben.  "My Dad's had so many people asking if he believes

Jesus Christ married Mary Magdalene and, if so, who's related now.  He's also had two

women in the parish who believe they're the Virgin Mary.  Being a vicar you meet some real

wierdos!"

     "I can believe that," said Gabe, even more amused that his provocative statement

hadn't taken wings.  "There's a bloke parades around bloody Sydney saying he's the

Messiah."

     "Need one for Australia!" said Oliver, hoping to stir the embers a bit.  No takers!  We

looked at each other.  Gabe must be mellowing.

     Boz ignored the interruption and went on.  "That about the Blood is odd as the Holy

Sepulchre church in London was supposed to have it.  In fact Henry the Third had a

procession from St Paul's to Westminster in 1247 carrying the relic.  And what is interesting

is that it has disappeared since then."

     "And it may be around still?" asked Josh.

     Boz shrugged his shoulders.  "There are a number of documents around which

suggest it might have been brought to Cambridge, or might be in the vaults of Westminster

Abbey where he's buried.  No codes though, just ecclesiastical Latin."

     "Are you going digging?" asked Gabe.

     "Only for documents," laughed Boz, "I've got plenty to read now, but anything else is

always welcome.  I hope to be allowed to trawl through all that stuff from the monasteries

because none of the wealth of the Templars has ever been found and they did act as bankers."

     All this speculation!  Boz had shown me his listing of all the places where Templar

treasure might be found and had said how excited the people of Royston, just along the road

from Cambridge, had been in the 1700's when a cave had ben discovered and shown to have

been painted with religious imagery.  No treasure.  Then there was a church fairly near in a

village where rumours had always been around.  Perhaps more excavation.  But it was

evidence he needed, he said.   Still, making sense of the documentation he had got was

fascinating in itself.

     There was something rankling with Gabe though.  There were a few moments silence

while glasses were refilled then Gabe grunted.  "Anyway got some news for you all.  My

fucking little brother's coming over.  Dad's got fed up with him idling his arse off surfing

and sunning and thinks I should look after the little bastard here."

     "At the College?" asked Tris.

     "No.  Bastard's only bloody seventeen and he needs a fucking firm hand I can tell ya.

Mum's little boy he is and got a mouth like a bloody sewer.  Ya may think I have a bloody

one or two too many but he's had the push from two schools for telling the bloody beaks

where to shove their bloody rules.

     "He's not too bad," interjected Josh, "Mum says he's OK with her."

     "Your Mum's a bloody saint," said Gabe vehemently, "Fucking put up with you and

that lairy bloody sister of yours." He quietened down.  "Sorry, Josh, you know what I mean.

Raph did the dirty on me over me best mate.  Fucking squealed to Dad that I was being

porked when he was caught videoing those kids shagging in the dunes.  Mum said he was

getting shots for his school project but we fucking knew he was going to post it on the Net."

     We were all giggling even though poor Gabe was getting even more worked up.  Boz

was being conciliatory.  He ignored the 'porking' and the 'shagging in the dunes' ‑ things to

be returned to at some time.  "What's his name, Gabe?  You said Raph.  Another angel?

Raphael?"

     Gabe grunted.  "Too bloody true!  Bastard's no bloody angel I can tell you."  He took

quite a swig from his glass.  "Mum's got this thing about angels.  Looks like a bloody angel.

All blond curls but no fucking halo!"  He laughed.  "Still he's been caught shagging the

daughter of a mate of Dad's who's not too pleased."

     It was Josh's turn to laugh.  "Her dad's a bloody politician.  Bent as a bloody

corkscrew!  There, Gabe, I've said it for you."

     Gabe nodded.  "The bastard's said he goes, or he'll get Dad chucked out of the Golf

Club.  God, she's at least twenty and I should think every prick at the Golf Club's been

entertained to at least eighteen holes.  How fucking Raph got a look in I don't know."

     "He was at that school with her brother and they've both got quad bikes," said Josh,

"He was always over at their house."

     "House!" said Gabe vehemently, "Fucking mansion!  Nearly did the dirty on Dad over

that.  Blamed him 'cause of some regulation he broke when it was built but talked his way

out of it.  It was that brother with Raph up the dunes."

     "So, what will he do when he comes over here?" Tris asked.

     "Fuck knows," said Gabe rather disconsolately, "Need a bloody strong hand to keep

the bugger under control."

     "What about that chap at the Club.  The DCI, Brad?  His son and mate are in the

house as well," Oliver said.

     Gabe brightened up.  "Fuck me!" he breathed, "Bloody good idea!  He'd have to toe

the line there!  D'you think I could ask him?"

     "Worth a try," said Tris.  "I'm sure we'll help.  What's his school work like?"

     "Last I heard from my Mum he's not too bad," said Josh, "He's living at our place

and he seems to have settled down a bit.  Mum says he just needs a bit of understanding."

     Gabe began to gobble.  "Little bastard.  I'll understand him!"

     Tris leaned over and filled Gabe's glass.  "Cool it, lad.  He did you a kindness.

You're over here and you're enjoying it.  You've got Lorenzo now and you've told us he's

what you've always wanted.  So, give your brother a break.  You can't do much about it.

He's coming, full stop, eh?"

     Gabe sat back.  "S'pose so!  Will you come and see Brad with me?  Appreciate it."

     Tris nodded and Gabe was mollified and took a satisfied swig from his glass.  But,

other things were rankling.

     "Bloody students," he began.  "Josh and I were coming across the bridge from the

boathouse in our sweats and I was in front and  passed a coupla hoorays perving at the

boaties."  There were always students and others peering at the eights passing underneath the

bridge and Tris and I had 'perved' on numerous occasions at the hunky straining biceps and

thighs of the oarsmen and wondered if they put as much effort into their bedtime activities.

Probably too tired was our opinion.  But...   "Musta been Classics twats 'cos one looked

round at me and said to his pal, 'Vervex' and the other sniggered and said 'merus inepta'.

Bloody hell!  Bloody sheepshead and bloody stupid!  I just turned and pointed at the first one

as Josh came up and said in my best fucking la‑di‑dah 'Ecce, stercus pro cerebro habes' and

for bloody good measure pointed at the second one and said 'hic scholasticus prothex!'.

     There was a slight silence, broken only by a snort from Boz, until Gabe looked round

at the rest of us.  "Bloody hell!  I forget you fuckers ain't had a proper education."  He shook

his head and enunciated carefully, "'Shit for brains' and 'arsehole'!  God!  I don't know what

this bloody world is coming to!"  He sniggered.  "Shoulda seen their fucking faces, though.

Thought they were in for a bloody dip in the river!!"

     Of course, in bed that night, there was plenty to discuss.  We had a little giggle about

Gabe getting worked up and also his reaction to the students.  I said Tris was such a good

friend to everyone and he told me he was very fond of Gabe anyway.  Yes, he'd go with him

to see Brad and we should all be in on this.  I said OK, mate, but you'll be off next year to

Law School.  He said we'd cope without him.  It took a moment or two to sort that out.

Cheeky hound!  I did give him a kiss.  Then Tris wanted to know if I knew who Philip Orford

was 'friendly' with, given that he'd had a very intimate dance with him at the Club when the

Freshers ended up there.  I said I didn't know but he wasn't to get any ideas as I'd noted both

Pretty and Orford were members of the Basketball Club and there was to be no sharing of

soap or towels and was the lad well‑hung?  Tris said moderately.  My chance!  We giggled

together even more as I tackled him both bodily and verbally.  Verbally over having eyed the

lad's equipment; bodily to determine whether I would assess him as being well‑hung.  I did.

Then he assessed me and this lead to a tussle and a rather exuberant end to the day.

     The next morning was cold and we wrapped up well before embarking on our run.

This was now a staircase ritual and as we filed out into a cold, damp, Cambridge morning we

all moaned about how conditioned we'd become to such a rite.  "Think of breakfast after,"

said Josh.  "I'm thinking of it before," said Boz, who led us that day.

     It was chilly and we decided to turn back after about two miles or so, my third hedge,

and as Tris and I stripped off for our showers we looked at each other and grinned.  "More

wrinkles than inches this morning," he said.  Thank goodness the hot water thawed us both

out!

     I had a busy morning.  Two lectures and a quick coffee with the girls to sort out

whether we had everything down in our notes.  I wanted to practice most of the afternoon as I

had decided to take the Fellowship next Christmas and I needed an hour or so to think quietly

about the problems set.  Must be calm even though Part One was looming next term.

     I was back in my study about quarter past twelve and realised I hadn't collected my

post from the Porter's Lodge.  I had just got out of  the staircase door when the Chaplain

came hurrying up.

     "Mark, Mark!" he looked worried, "There's an awful noise coming from the Chapel.

The organ's going full blast and the main door and the vestry door are locked and my keys

are at home."