EPILOGUE
Bud had never seen such opulence. David, either. As the two men stood in the foyer of Southwell, they could hardly believe the history and wealth surrounding them. Dressed in suits that hadn’t seen the light of day in well over a year, they felt sorely out of place among the finery.
“Where’s Becker?” David growled as he glanced about.
“He said he’d meet us here,” Bud replied. In his hands he clutched an object of particular significance and, glancing down for the thousandth time, roved the familiar lines of Sir Kieran’s journal.
David tore his eyes away from a thirteen century goblet displayed in its own case, watching Bud as he gazed at the leather-bound book. His expression softened. “Be brave, Bud,” he said quietly. “You know this is where it belongs. Rory would want it here.”
Bud struggled with his emotions, tears of anguish he had been wrestling with for over a week, ever since he witnessed Rory’s death. There were times still when he simply sat and stared at the journal, the tears falling, wondering what he was going to do without her. Feeling as if the journal was his last link to her and hardly wanting to relinquish it.
But relinquish it he must. Since returning to England, the journal had been the primary topic of any communication from the Hage family. Nothing about Kieran or Rory, simply the journal. Bud had to wire them the severely-altered version of what had become of Sir Kieran’s corpse, just as he had been forced to wire Becker and Lunde of Rory’s death. He had spent a day trying to get a call through but because of a downed satellite, it had been necessary to send a telegram. Odd he’d never even received a reply. He was coming to wonder if they had even received it.
Becker had called him three times at the hotel, leaving messages all three times. And the last message instructed him to bring the journal to the Hage estate of Southwell just north of Nottingham. Becker was waiting and Bud and David rushed to make their designated appointment. They didn’t want to anger the already-slighted family even more with their tardy arrival.
Which was why Bud couldn’t believe they had been left waiting in the foyer of the manse by an arrogant butler, waiting for Becker and a representative of the Hage family as if they were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Bud continued to clutch the journal as David found enough courage to mull around, studying priceless heirlooms. Walking out in to the middle of the soaring entrance, he turned around to look at the wall over Bud’s head.
“Hey, Bud,” he gestured the man forward. “Look at this tapestry. Incredible!”
Bud went to stand beside his colleague, gazing up at the massive tapestry exhibited beautifully over one entire wall.
“Wow,” he raised his eyebrows with as much excitement as he could muster. “Look at that detail.”
David nodded. Then, his eyes narrowed as he looked closely at the scene depicted. “Do you see that knight – over there, on the right hand side. Hell, Bud, what’s he holding?”
“The diadem of Christ,” came the satisfied announcement.
Both Bud and David turned sharply to see a man descending the stairs. And by his side was none other than Uriah Becker, his hazel eyes alive with delight at the sight of his two archaeologists.
“Drs. Dietrich and Peck!” he greeted amiably. “Ah, the finest diggers in the world. Did you have any trouble finding Southwell, gentlemen?”
Bud looked rather stumped. Considering he himself was in a good deal of trouble with everything from aiding Rory’s crime spree to witnessing her death, he could hardly understand the man’s jovial attitude. He glanced at David before replying.
“Uh… no trouble at all, Dr. Becker,” he said as if he didn’t know how else to reply.
Becker and the man were at the bottom of the stairs. Becker shook Bud’s hand happily before moving to David.
“Gentlemen, this is Sir Trevor Hage,” he introduced the older man with clear brown eyes. “He is the patriarch of the Hage family. Lord Hage, I would like you to meet Dr. Frederick Dietrich and Dr. David Peck.”
Lord Hage shook their hands congenially before gesturing to the tapestry above their heads. “I notice you were admiring the artwork,” when Bud and David nodded with varied degrees of hesitance, he smiled. “As you well should. Considering you discovered the journal of the man it represents.”
Bud suddenly remembered what he was holding. Without hesitation, he extended the carefully wrapped journal.
“Here it is, sir,” he said quietly. “It’s in fine shape, considering.”
Lord Hage accepted the parcel, his expression creased with pleasure and reverence. “Considering it has been buried for eight hundred years? I am pleased to hear that. And I thank you deeply for returning it to Sir Kieran’s devoted family.”
“My pleasure,” Bud mumbled. A lie, but he had no choice.
Becker was grinning like a kid at Christmas as he watched Lord Hage unwrap the journal. “A most delightful find, Bud. Based on your discovery, the Hage Family has graciously donated $100,000 to the university’s archaeological fund. Isn’t that marvelous?”
Bud stared at the man, hardly believing that he had yet to mention Rory. Instead of sensing sorrow or grief or even anger, all he could sense was joy and it puzzled him greatly.
“Terrific,” he said, wondering if his bitterness was evident.
He and David continued to pass disbelieving glances as Becker and Lord Hage admired the journal. The tension in Bud’s chest was swelling to the point of explosion when Lord Hage suddenly glanced up as if realizing he was being a terrible host.
“I do apologize for my bad manners,” he said, glancing up at the tapestry again. “But this journal is… well, it’s just marvelous. You cannot know how valuable this is to my family. But we were speaking of the tapestry, were we not?”
David nodded grimly. “What did you mean when you said the knight was holding the diadem of Christ?”
Lord Hage looked surprised. “Why, precisely that, of course. The knight in the picture is Sir Kieran Hage, returning from the Third Crusade with the diadem of Christ in his possession. History tells us that he ended the siege to Acre in January 1192 during what was considered some of the most…”
“January 1192?” David blurted, interrupting the man. “I beg to differ, Lord Hage, but the siege of Acre ended in July of 1192.”
Hage laughed, looking at Becker. “Is that the sort of rubbish American education teaches its students?”
Becker cast David an odd glance. “David, you know better than that. How dare you embarrass me with your incorrect facts.”
David raised his eyebrows. Bud looked completely baffled. “But he’s right, Dr. Becker. The siege of Acre ended…”
“It ended when Sir Kieran Hage presented the diadem of Christ to the collective Christian commanders and they agreed to a truce,” Lord Hage was gazing up at the tapestry again. “A remarkable achievement for which my family is immensely proud. And, as you can see by the tapestry, he is presenting the diadem to the Bishop of Ely upon his return home.”
Bud’s mouth was hanging open, a creeping sense of bafflement making him uncomfortable. David was staring up at the tapestry, his brown eyes wide and his face unusually pale.
“He returned?” Bud muttered. “How… how is that possible?”
Lord Hage cocked an eyebrow. “Surely you know something of the man whose relics you’ve spent the better part of a year excavating,” the curiosity in his tone was evident. “Although Sir Kieran was gravely injured on the crusade, he nonetheless managed to return at the head of Richard’s armies. The Diadem of Acre, as the crown is commonly known, was accepted by the bishop and placed under lock and key. Just like the Shroud of Turin, we English are only able to gaze upon the crown of Christ every 10 years or so when the church is gracious enough to allow us the privilege.”
David tore his eyes away from the brilliant artwork, meeting Bud’s stunned gaze. The odd sensation of disorientation enveloped them both until they could hardly make sense of the situation.
“A pity, really,” Lord Hage continued. “Even though Sir Kieran returned to England what is considered to be the Holy Grail of all relics, mankind still refuses to pay the crown its heed. As with the Shroud, skeptics recant the truth of the matter. As if the faith of the entire Christian nation simply isn’t enough.”
“Faith,” Bud murmured, still staring at David as if they were sharing a private conversation. “Sound familiar?”
David cocked an eyebrow, his bafflement gaining new heights. Lord Hage glanced at the two Americans, ignorant of their mutual confusion but noting their strange behavior all the same. Jet lag, he assumed. “And I must say, Dr. Peck, that your theory to match any DNA that might remain on the crown with swatches of DNA from the Shroud of Turin to be an amazing concept,” he was sincere as he fixed David in the eye. “My niece, who just received her masters in Medieval History, is working diligently to arrange such a test. It will take time, but you were correct when you told Dr. Becker that it would bring the human race one step closer to believing the truth of Christ. We are most eager to aid in the endeavor.”
David looked as if he had been struck. It had been Rory’s theory to match DNA swatches, not his, but at this moment he had no idea how to refute the man’s statement. Lord Hage and Dr. Becker seemed so confident with the bizarre twisting of events that the more David stared at the brown-eyed lord, the more speechless he became. What in the hell was going on here, anyway?
Lord Hage, however, remained unaware of the man’s shock. He was simply eager to speak on a subject that was of great interest to them all. “Forgive me for moving off the subject yet again. But I find your DNA theory absolutely fascinating,” he turned away from David, pointing up to the left hand side of the tapestry. “Let us return to Sir Kieran’s triumph. You will notice the woman dressed in royal purple; that is his wife, probably the single most influence in his life. I am constantly amazed how this work is able to capture the expression of pride on her face as she observes him relinquish the diadem. Such marvelous skill.”
Bud did look to the tapestry, then. He had to. And what he witnessed jolted him so strongly that he couldn’t conceal his naked response.
“My God,” he breathed. “Dave, do you see…?”
“I see,” David said before he could finished his sentence. “Jesus Christ, I see… her!”
As the archaeologists struggled with their awe, Lord Hage beamed at the depiction of a beautiful woman swathed in finery. “The Lady Laura Elizabeth Hage. A truly gifted woman who seemed to have rather modern ideals for a proper Medieval wife. She was a great advocate for health care, education for women, and so on. Well ahead of her time, actually.”
David’s mouth was hanging open, staring at the tapestry as if he was seeing a ghost. Bud, his puzzlement knowing little restraint, turned to Becker with an expression of such astonishment that the older man thought his subordinate was becoming ill.
“Bud?” he asked with concern. “Are you well?”
Bud shook his head. Then he nodded. Swallowing hard, he put a hand on Becker’s arm. “Christ… what’s going on here? What’s Rory doing on that tapestry?”
“Rory?” Becker’s brown furrowed. “Who’s Rory?”
Bud blinked as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “Who’s Lau…? She’s your grandniece, Dr. Becker. The one who instigated the Nahariya dig, the one who found Sir Kieran’s corpse. The one who… oh, Christ, you’re not understanding any of this, are you?”
Becker’s brow was furrowed, gazing at Bud as if the man had completely lost his mind. “Bud, I don’t have a grandniece. My only living niece is a church secretary in San Diego and… are you sure you’re feeling well?”
Bud’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “No,” he said frankly, looking at David and seeing his own astonishment mirrored in the man’s features. After a moment, he returned his attention to Becker. “I don’t think I’m well at all. In fact, I think I’m going crazy. So you’re telling me that you don’t have a niece named Rory?”
Becker shook his head. “I do not.”
“And there’s no Sylvia Lunde on the board of regents?”
“My niece’s name is Sylvia. But how did you know that Lunde is her maiden name?”
Bud’s expression tightened and he scratched his head in a baffled gesture. “I knew because…hell, this is just nuts. If you don’t know who Rory is and your niece isn’t a doctor of Ministry, then tell me what you know about me? Aren’t I in trouble for aiding someone suspected of stealing a corpse?”
Becker raised an eyebrow. “Not as far as I know. What corpse are you speaking of, Bud?”
Bud just stared at him, trying to comprehend what was happening and hardly caring that he was coming across as a total lunatic. He just didn’t know how else to react. “All right,” his voice was soft as he struggled to compose himself. “So you don’t know anything about me, Rory or anything else that has happened over the past two weeks. Then what about Corbin?”
Lord Hage intervened at that point. “I must apologize for Steven Corbin, Dr. Dietrich. I never gave him permission to go to Nahariya and to steal the journal from you.”
“Steal?” Bud repeated blankly. “But… but what about Darlow? He’s facing murder charges, isn’t he?”
“He was protecting you and Dr. Peck from Corbin’s murderous rage,” Lord Hage shook his head sadly. “I’ve known Steven Corbin for years and I will admit he was something of an aggressive man. But trying to kill you for the journal just to eliminate any competition for it’s priceless significance… I simply don’t understand what possessed him. Thank God the embassy had sent Darlow to mediate the transfer of antiquities. Had he not been there, I would most likely be attending your funeral at this moment. And Corbin would have gotten away with murder.”
Just like he did eight centuries ago. Bud couldn’t bring himself to reply, his ice-blue gaze moving between Becker and Lord Hage. Nothing was as it should be in a world just slightly out of the norm. From the course of history to the relations of Becker’s family, nothing was as Bud had left it when he had departed England for Nahariya a week ago. A slight alteration, a curious twist of events… nothing was the same. Nothing was as he remembered it.
And it all stemmed from the tapestry. He could feel the hazel eyes blazing at him and he looked up, staring at a face he knew very, very well. It was the most peculiar sensation he had ever experienced, yet at the same time he couldn’t help the burst of understanding that enveloped him. As if the longer he stared at the lovely features, the more comprehension and joy they conveyed.
Swallowing away the last remnants of confusion, he gestured weakly at the tapestry. “Sir Kieran’s wife… tell me about her.”
Lord Hage moved up beside him, his brown gaze lingering on the beautiful young woman. “Not much to tell, actually. Sir Kieran brought her back from the crusades, but she wasn’t Muslim. As you can see, she was very fair and quite beautiful. There had been speculation that she was an Irish heiress, but that was never substantiated. They had ten children – eight sons, Frederick, David, William, Christopher, Gaston, Christian, Beckett, Konnor, and two daughters, Britton and Jordan. Nine of their children survived into adulthood, including all seven sons. Quite remarkable, really. Their firstborn, Sir Frederick Hage, was a brilliant and powerful knight who married a niece of King Henry III,” Lord Hage’s gaze moved from the tapestry, focusing on Bud. “You weren’t, perchance, named for the knight, were you?”
Bud couldn’t manage to tear his gaze away from Rory’s face, his head slowly moving back and forth. “Why do you ask?”
“Because his nickname was Bud,” Lord Hage said softly. “Since I heard Dr. Becker address you by the same term, I thought the coincidence quite striking.”
Bud was still staring at the tapestry, his eyes stinging with tears of understanding. He knew without a doubt that Rory had not perished on the rocks of the distant Israeli beach. And he also knew, doubtlessly, that the strike of lightning meant to end Rory and Kieran’s lives had instead been a beginning. Like the hand of time reaching down to claim her misplaced children, taking them back to where they belonged.
He finally removed his gaze from the display, looking at David. And from the expression on the man’s face, it was apparent that he understood, too. Bud couldn’t keep the smile from his face.
“But she lived a long and healthy life?” he asked softly.
Lord Hage nodded. “Sir Kieran preceded her in death by six months, dying at the ripe old age of seventy three. In those days, their collective longevity was astounding. Would you like to see the crypt?”
Bud looked at the man, off-balance by the unexpected question. “W-What?”
Lord Hage raised his eyebrows in a patient gesture, as one does when dealing with an idiot. “I asked if you would like to see the crypt. They are buried together, you know. Sir Kieran is said to be embracing his beloved wife for all time.”
The tears that were stinging Bud’s eyes broke through. He simply couldn’t help it. Hastily, feeling like a fool, he wiped at them and nodded his head. “I’d like that,” he whispered. “He… he must have loved her a great deal.”
Lord Hage snorted softly. “In a day when love was a rare thing indeed, Sir Kieran and his Libby were an anomaly. He loved her a great deal.”
“And she was happy?”
“As far as the family chronicles tell us. Something of a spirited woman, too. Sir Kieran himself wrote that he was forced to spank her once when she flagrantly disobeyed him, although the exact nature of the infraction was not recorded.”
Bud had to laugh. It sounded so much like Rory. Looking at David, he wasn’t surprised to notice a similar grin; indeed, they knew her well. Taking a deep breath, Bud suddenly felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. A strange miracle of fate that had brought lives about full circle and he turned again, gazing at Rory’s beautiful face one last time. He simply couldn’t help himself.
“So that’s what happened to you,” he whispered. “I told you to be happy, honey. I guess you finally were.”
David heard him, pretending there was something in his eye when what he really wanted to do was burst into tears. It was all so overwhelming and for a man unused to believing in myths, the past week had seen a remarkable change of opinion. Were the Loch Ness monster to swim into his bathtub, he would have believed without hesitation.
Dr. Becker and Lord Hage, however, were gazing at the two archaeologists and wondering if fourteen months in the heat hadn’t cooked their brains beyond repair. To say the men had reacted strangely to the tapestry would have been a gross understatement. In fact, Lord Hage was about to suggest they all retire to his study for a hefty shot of bourbon when faint footfalls caught his attention. Glancing to the wide doorway just off of the main hall, he smiled pleasantly at the emerging figure.
“Ah,” he said, grasping the woman by the hand. “Gentlemen, I would like you to meet my niece, Laura Hage. Laura, these are the men who found Sir Kieran’s journal.”
Bud heard David give a sort of strangled sound. Looking away from the tapestry, he suddenly found himself staring into hazel eyes and a face that was familiar in more ways that one.
“You must be Dr. Dietrich,” Christ, even her voice sounded familiar. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”
Slammed with a second shock in less than five minutes, Bud moved woodenly to shake the hand of a woman who looked suspiciously like…
“My pleasure, Ms. Hage,” he nearly choked on his words, feeling the heat of recognition embrace him.
Laura held his hand a moment; Dear God, but the man was strikingly handsome. Bud Dietrich was a man she had wanted to meet since she had heard of his discovery. And now that they had finally been introduced, she hardly knew what to say, only knowing that she wanted to know him better. Beyond the prestige of his find, she was curious about the man with the ice-blue eyes who gazed at her with a warmth that touched her very soul.
“Laura,” Lord Hage broke into her train of thought. “Dr. Dietrich and Dr. Peck would like to see Sir Kieran’s crypt. Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Laura smiled, nearly sending Bud to his knees with the beauty of the gesture. “I’d be happy to. In fact, it will give us some time to talk about my progress on the DNA tests and all the bloody red tape I’ve run into. If you will follow me, gentlemen.”
She was still holding Bud’s hand. Or perhaps he was still holding hers. Whatever the case, Bud would remember that magnetic moment for the rest of his life. And Laura would too, going so far as to reminisce about their first meeting on the eve of their wedding.
She couldn’t have explained the feeling if she’d tried, Laura told a host of gleeful guests. One look into Bud’s eyes and she knew she had found what she had been looking for. Lifting her glass to toast her new groom, she thanked her ancestor, Sir Kieran Hage, for bringing them together.
Bud thanked him as well. And Rory, too.
You’re not such a bad guy, after all.
Remember that, honey. When the time comes, you’ll know.
* THE END *