The man stepped forward again, the tape pulling tighter . . . and snapping. ‘No,’ he said quietly. Chloe’s concern turned to fear as she realised the man’s companions had moved to surround the cordon, blocking her in. He continued his advance, glancing at the tunnel before his cold eyes fixed on Chloe once more. ‘I am certain this is the right place.’
Nina rounded one last turn in the passage . . . and found herself at the entrance to the tomb of King Arthur.
Unlike the earth and wood of the tunnels, the walls here were stone, the ceiling vaulted to support the weight of the Tor above the rectangular chamber. The resemblance to the architecture of Glastonbury Abbey was unmistakable, a product of the same era, even the same hands. The walls were inscribed with Latin texts, a cursory reading showing her they were all dedicated to the history of Arthur, a monument to the legendary king of the Britons.
Legendary no more, she thought. Rust had been vindicated; Arthur was real.
But if this was Arthur’s tomb, then . . .
‘So where’s the man himself ?’ Mitchell wondered aloud, completing her thought. There were no coffins or grave markers, the chamber a hollow space. ‘Shit, did someone beat us to it?’
‘No,’ said Nina, moving to the centre of the room. Although it was empty, there was something on the floor. A painted shape, a circle divided into segments, coin-sized holes at the outer edge of each one. And at the centre, a coat of arms . . .
‘No way,’ said Mitchell. ‘I thought Chloe said the Round Table didn’t exist?’
There were thirteen segments in all - and the hole in the one farthest from the entrance was filled by a bronze figurine about six inches high, protruding from the floor like a peg. Nina shone the torch over it. A regal figure bearing sword and shield, text running round the base beneath its feet.
ARTURUS.
‘It’s King Arthur,’ she whispered. The purpose of the other, empty holes was revealed when she directed the torch beam into one corner of the chamber. A small alcove contained stone shelves, more figures standing on them. She went to it. Each figure was revealed as a Knight of the Round Table, familiar names at their feet. Bedivere, Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad, Tristan, Bors . . . Twelve knights in all, one for each of the remaining holes in the floor.
Mitchell examined the chamber’s end wall, which closely resembled the stone door that had blocked the exit from the gas-filled chamber. ‘This looks like it might open. Maybe there’s another room through here.’
‘It’s a puzzle,’ Nina realised. She carefully lifted the figure of Lancelot from its position, finding that it too was resting in a hole: extending beneath the base was a metal shaft with a square protrusion at its end. ‘A key. I think we’re supposed to put the knights in their correct positions at the Round Table.’
‘Sounds like Chloe’s area of expertise.’
‘Maybe not.’ Nina moved to stand at the centre of the circle, trying to recall all the Arthurian background she had immersed herself in over the past days. ‘Lancelot was literally Arthur’s right-hand man; he always sat immediately to his right.’ She indicated the appropriate hole. ‘And the seat to Arthur’s left was called the Siege Perilous. It was kept empty, reserved for the knight who found the Holy Grail - which was eventually Galahad.’
‘So two down, ten to go. But what about the others?’
‘We’ll have to work them out,’ said Nina, gazing at the waiting knights.
She crossed the chamber and knelt in the circle. Though the Round Table was meant to be egalitarian, with no physical ‘head’ as found on a rectangular one, in practice Arthur himself would have fulfilled that role wherever he sat. There would also have been a pecking order amongst the knights, Bedivere and Lancelot traditionally being considered the king’s closest comrades.
But that knowledge didn’t really help her. If Lancelot were on Arthur’s immediate right, would Bedivere then sit on his right, or to the left of the Siege Perilous? And what of all the other knights? Even knowing Lancelot and Galahad’s positions, there were still - she paused to work it out, the answer coming easily - 3,628,800 possible combinations of the remaining ten. Considering her experiences with the rest of the tomb, however, she suspected she would only have one attempt to open the door.
And there was something else, the fact that Chloe had said the Round Table was merely an invention of the twelfth-century romantic writers. Maybe she was wrong, maybe the idea had been developed from a kernel of truth in earlier accounts . . . but the inconsistency gnawed at her. ‘Those who do not shall never leave,’ she whispered, remembering the words on the stone at the entrance.
‘Something wrong?’ Mitchell asked.
‘Yeah. There are over three million possible combinations, but I’m guessing we’ll only get one try.’
‘Maybe not.’ Mitchell walked into the circle, holding the figures of Lancelot and Galahad. He showed the keys to her. ‘See? I checked the others, and they’re all the same. No way a bunch of twelfth-century monks would be able to make precision locks. It won’t even matter what holes they’re in if all the keys are identical - they just need to be in them.’
Nina was dubious. ‘Sure you want to take that risk?’
‘You’re bloody one to talk about risk,’ growled a familiar voice from behind them.
‘Eddie!’ Nina cried, jumping to her feet. Chase had just entered the chamber, his jeans wet and mud-spattered.
Chase in turn eyed her clothes, particularly Mitchell’s oversized, damp shirt, before shooting a deeply suspicious glare at the bare-chested DARPA agent. ‘What’s all this?’
‘We’re trying to unlock the tomb—’
‘No, I mean why’ve you both got your kit off ? Looks like I got here just in time!’
‘For Christ’s sake, Eddie,’ Nina said, exasperated. ‘You seriously think that I’d go through trap-filled tunnels into the long-lost tomb of King Arthur just to find somewhere private to . . .’ She lowered her voice, even though there was no way Mitchell could fail to overhear. ‘To get laid? Jesus, Eddie, you know me better than that.’
‘Yeah, I know you. And I knew you’d come down here, even though I told you not to!’
Nina nodded disdainfully. ‘Uh-huh, yep. I thought that’d be what this little mood of yours was really about.’ Behind her, Mitchell examined the holes in the floor, then carefully inserted the two figures on either side of Arthur before returning to the alcove to collect the rest of the ornate keys.
Chase crossed his arms. ‘And what would that be?’
‘That you think you’re losing control of things.’
‘Oh, really?’ Chase sneered.
‘Yes, really. Eddie, I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but what happened to Mitzi was not your fault, no matter how much you try to put the blame on yourself. And overcompensating by trying to take control of everything I do isn’t the way to deal with it!’
‘I’m not trying to control you,’ Chase protested. ‘I’m trying to protect you! For fuck’s sake, you could’ve been killed getting here!’
‘But I wasn’t, was I?’ She reached out and clasped one of his hands. ‘Look, I love you, and I want to spend my life with you, I really do. But you can’t be with me every minute of every day - you’re not my bodyguard any more. I shouldn’t need to get your permission to do what I do. It doesn’t work like that. It won’t work like that.’
‘If I hadn’t been with you, you’d be dead about twenty times over,’ Chase reminded her sharply. ‘You’re not Indiana Jones, you’re not Lara Croft, you’re a real-life person who can get hurt. Or killed. And I do not want that to happen - especially not for some fucking dusty old legend!’ he concluded with a dismissive flick of the head at the chamber around them.
‘It’s not a legend,’ Nina said angrily, ‘it’s real, it’s actual history—’ She stopped abruptly, eyes widening as it struck her exactly why the discrepancy between what Chloe had told her and what the tomb itself had revealed was bothering her so much.
/>
And she also fully registered the clink and scrape of metal against stone behind her—
She whirled. Mitchell had inserted the remaining knights into the empty holes, and was reaching for the figure of Arthur . . .
‘Don’t!’ she screamed. Mitchell froze, hand hovering over the key. Nina pushed him back and yanked the figure out of the hole.
‘Okay, what was that?’ he asked, worried yet mystified.
‘This isn’t just the entrance to the tomb,’ Nina said, waving the figurine at him. ‘It’s the last trap! Chloe was right, the Round Table didn’t exist. But it had already been incorporated into Arthurian legend by 1191 - and the monks took advantage of that! It’s the final test of your knowledge of the difference between history and myth. If the Round Table didn’t exist, then none of Arthur’s knights could have sat at it. And nor could Arthur!’ She held the bronze figure in front of his face. The key beneath the king’s feet was noticeably shorter than the others. ‘This is the key - but you have to take it out. The real lock’s somewhere else.’
Mitchell let out a worried breath. ‘So what happens if you try the fake lock?’
‘Exactly what the monks said. “Those who know the truth may find the tomb of Arthur; those who do not shall never leave.”’ She raised the torch, turning to examine the ceiling above the entrance. Set above the opening was a thick stone slab, a door primed to drop like a guillotine blade to block the way out of the chamber. ‘Screw up the puzzle, and that falls and seals you in.’
Mitchell regarded it dismissively. ‘Might have been a big problem nine hundred years back, but we’ve got jackhammers and explosives now.’
‘You got gills?’ Chase asked sarcastically. Nina turned to see him examining a section of wall. The stone was discoloured, lines of muddy brown and algae green running down it from the ceiling, where a rectangular hole revealed only blackness above. She realised as she scanned the rest of the chamber that the same stains were present on other parts of the walls.
‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘You don’t just get shut in. You get shut in . . . and then the chamber floods. There must be a cistern above the ceiling - those stains are from when it’s overflowed in the past.’
Mitchell’s expression now revealed considerably more respect for the tomb’s builders. ‘So where’s the real lock?’
‘Over here.’ Nina went to the alcove, shining the light down into the holes where the figurines had been slotted. The one which had been home to Lancelot revealed a recess within - just deeper than a finger could reach, but matching the length of the Arthur key. She inserted it into the hole.
‘You sure about that?’ Chase asked warily.
She smiled at him. ‘It’s a risk . . . but a calculated one.’ With that, she gripped the key - and turned it.
There was a metallic clink from within the shelf, but nothing else happened. ‘It didn’t work,’ Mitchell said, disappointed.
‘I’m not done yet. Bring all the other knights back here - all of them except Lancelot and Galahad. Eddie, give him a hand.’
‘And she says I’m controlling,’ said Chase. But he still went to help Mitchell retrieve the figures.
‘Why not Lancelot and Galahad?’ Mitchell asked as he brought the first set back to the alcove.
‘Because all the others have at least some historical basis. But Lancelot was a fictional creation, and since Galahad was Lancelot’s son, he can’t have existed either.’
The other figures now back in place, Nina lowered the Arthur key into the hole in the shelf once more. Hoping she was at least as smart as the Glastonbury monks, she turned it again.
Another faint clink.
This time, the entire alcove trembled slightly, as if some unseen pressure had been relieved. Exchanging cautious looks with the two men, Nina warily pushed against the stone. It moved fractionally at one side. She pushed harder. It hinged open by a couple of inches, which rapidly widened as Chase and Mitchell applied their weight. The alcove ground back, revealing a doorway into another chamber.
The final chamber, Nina knew. They had passed all the tests, proved themselves worthy. This was their destination - the resting place of King Arthur.
She brought up the torch and stepped inside. Chase and Mitchell followed.
The room was small and surprisingly plain, devoid of the inscriptions adorning the chamber outside. But the objects inside were more ornate. Two large coffins of black stone stood raised above the floor on slabs, carvings of angels along their sides picked out in silver and gold. Set into the top of each coffin was a golden cross, Latin text written upon them to confirm who lay within.
Arthur, king of the Britons, and Guinevere, his queen.
They were real. And they were here, buried beneath Glastonbury Tor.
But despite that, Nina couldn’t look away from the object that sat between the two coffins. A block of solid granite, roughly hewn into a cube close to three feet high.
Protruding from it, its blade buried deep within the stone, was a sword.
They had found Excalibur.
19
‘Well, bugger me,’ said Chase. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ ‘It is,’ said Nina, amazed. Unlike the elaborately decorated Caliburn, this sword was plain, almost stark in its design, the only ornamentation being intertwined twin snakes inscribed into the hilt - just as Rust had described. Yet it was evident a great deal of time and work had been put into its creation, the metal of the blade having an almost mercury-like reflective sheen, the hilt perfectly moulded to the grip of one particular man. ‘Oh, God, poor Bernd. He spent all those years trying to work out how to find it, and he was right . . . but he couldn’t be here to see it.’
Mitchell stepped forward, brushing past Nina to stand between the two coffins. ‘The important thing is that we found it - and before the Russians.’ He knelt, waving for Nina to bring the torch closer. Slightly irked, she did so. ‘Look at the finish of the metal, how smooth it is. We were right, it’s more than just steel.’ He reached out one hand to take the hilt.
‘Ahem,’ Nina said. ‘Before you get your muddy hands over everything, can I at least document what we’ve found?’ She held up the camera.
‘Of course. Sorry.’ Mitchell backed out so Nina could photograph the room and its contents.
‘So,’ said Chase, his anger fading to be replaced by a surprising eagerness, ‘which of us gets to be the next king of England, then?’ Nina looked at him questioningly. ‘Oh, come on! It’s the sword in the bloody stone! It’s got to be done.’
‘Caliburn was the sword in the stone,’ she pointed out, ‘not Excalibur.’
‘Whatever, it’s still King Arthur’s sword. Even I know about the whole “once and future king” business.’ He stepped up to the stone. ‘At least take a picture. Come on, something to show the grandkids.’
‘Where the hell did grandkids come from? We haven’t even set a wedding date yet!’
‘Just take the picture.’ He struck a pose beside the stone, hand poised over the hilt. Nina rolled her eyes and reluctantly nodded. ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Chase with a huge grin, gripping the sword. ‘I’m the king of the world!’
Nina took a picture as he grunted and strained to pull the weapon free. ‘God, what a face.’
‘Yeah, that’s what all the lasses say,’ Chase declared, releasing the hilt. The sword hadn’t moved in the slightest. ‘Guess I’m not king material. Mind you, I kind of suspected that already.’
‘What about you, Jack?’ Nina asked. ‘Fancy taking a shot at the throne?’
‘I’m more interested in getting this thing out of here to somewhere secure,’ Mitchell told her. Nevertheless, he reached for the sword as Chase stepped aside. ‘Still, you never know . . .’ Nina took another picture as he too strained to raise the sword - with the same result. ‘Looks like we’ll have to take the stone with it.’
‘Think we’ll need some help,’ said Chase. ‘It’s what, nearly a yard to a side? Must weigh well over a ton.’ He looked at
Nina. ‘You not having a go?’
‘Yeah, right. If you can’t move it, I’m hardly going to be able to.’ Nina returned the camera to her pocket and crouched by the granite block, holding the torch beside the blade. ‘You’re right about the metal though. It’s definitely not ordinary steel.’ She leaned closer, examining tiny details. ‘It’s been used as a weapon; there are scratches and chips in the blade - but they’re very small. It must be extremely strong.’ She straightened, holding Excalibur’s hilt to pull herself up—
The whole weapon lit up with an eerie blue glow. Nina jumped in shock - and pulled the sword cleanly out of the stone. She yelped, letting go. The glow instantly vanished, Excalibur clanging to the stone floor.
‘What the hell was that?’ Chase demanded. The only light now coming from the sword was the reflected torch beam.
‘That glow,’ said Mitchell, cautiously raising a hand towards Excalibur as if feeling for heat, ‘almost looked like Cherenkov radiation.’
Nina backed away. ‘You mean it’s radioactive?’
‘So much for the grandkids,’ Chase muttered.
‘I don’t see how,’ said Mitchell. ‘But there was definitely some kind of high-energy reaction.’ He leaned forward to touch the sword.
‘What, are you crazy?’ Nina asked. But nothing happened.
He withdrew his hand. ‘You try.’
‘I’d really rather not!’
‘You’ll be okay. I have a theory.’ Her frown deepened, but Mitchell gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Trust me.’
Nina dubiously touched the sword with the tip of her forefinger. It lit up again as if she had switched on a light, glowing from end to end. When she flinched away, the effect immediately disappeared.
She touched it again, more firmly. The glow returned, the metal itself somehow emitting light. Examining it more closely, she realised the glow was not uniform; instead, it had an almost rippling quality, subtly yet constantly shifting. She slid her finger down the flat of the blade. ‘It’s not even warm.’