The Concurrencies - Part III

Plans unfold, science meets the supernatural ... but someone knows more than the rest...

Part I is here The Concurrencies Part I

Part II is here The Concurrencies Part II

The next morning, Samantha Braithwaite, the manager of the George, served the Mountjoy party, who had asked for their breakfast at seven a.m.  She’d never seen people say grace before breakfast, and didn't it go on?  More like a sermon, and she wasn't even speaking English. Probably Latin  Samantha thought.  She beamed as she brought them tea, coffee and lots of toast.  Lovely people. Lovely Christian people. I should get myself to church more often.  

There was a bit of a kerfuffle as she was clearing their table, because a couple of Land Rovers had arrived for them, which was not what she had expected at all when they'd said that they had made “some transport arrangements”.  Jim wasn't in yet and the 4x4s had needed some guidance through the gateway to the courtyard at the back. There was an anxious moment when one of the irreplaceable stone beagles had taken a nudge when one of the Land Rovers reversed.  Worst of all, the other breakfast orders were set back at least 10 minutes. Breakfast service was usually a quiet, harmonious affair; people loved their breakfasts, but after the hoo-hah, and what with the ruined pan of scrambled eggs, the atmosphere in the dining room had seemed strained.  Nobody likes scrambled egg when it's gone over and it's all watery, Samantha thought, as she prodded at the solidified mess despondently.

Eriks, barely 2 minutes out of his attic room bed, had been called upon by Samantha to help, and was bringing the strangely heavy bags back down from their rooms while two of the group directed the drivers of the Land Rovers to help stack yet more flight cases onto the top of the 4x4s.  Eriks stood back and watched, wondering why he’d had to go to the bother of taking the bags up to the rooms only to bring them back down again so soon. Chef poked his head out of the kitchen door to send him off to the village bakers for more sandwich loaves, so off he went, bemoaning, again, his decision to come to Yorkshire, where tipping was an alien concept.

When Eriks got back, the visitors were nowhere to be seen. He dropped the tray off in the kitchen, where the Chef was grumbling to Samantha about having to make eight pack lunches “out of thin air”.  Eriks thought he’d take his chance for a quick smoke back outside in the courtyard, where the drivers were seated on a low wall.

“How do,” one of them said, as Eriks sat down and got his baccy out.

“Good morning,” Eriks replied.

“What's with the grey brigade and all that gear then?”

“Excuse me?” said Eriks

“That lot, the old folk, with all the stuff,” the driver said, pointing at the Land Rovers.

“I don’t know. Only is very heavy the bags, and they don’t give any tips.”

The driver smiled wryly.

“Also, they are Christians.”

“Is that right?” said the driver, nodding.

“Yes. Jim tell to me they have many bibles.”

Eriks lit his roly, just as Samantha came out from the kitchen into the yard. “Eriks, put that out please! I've told you not to smoke in the guest areas. Right, the Mountjoy party want tea and coffee in the bar while they wait for the lunches. Go and see to that will you, please.”

Eriks rolled his eyes and took the longest draw he could from his roly before tossing it into a bush and tramping back towards the kitchen. Samantha brushed imagined crumbs and ash from him as he passed her before she turned to the men.

“Can I get you a hot drink, gentlemen?”

“That’d be right nice, love, if you’ve a brew on,” said one of them.

“Of course, it's no trouble at all…Mr...?”

“Mike. Mike Potts. Eggersdyke Farm. And this is Aiden.”

“Nah then,” said Aiden.

Both men wanted tea, milk and two sugars, and when Samantha returned with them on a tray with a small plate of biscuits, she asked how they came to know the guests.

“Ken, from Valley Cabs, give us a call. Said he had folk what needed took off-road somewhere, wi’ a load a gear,”  explained Mike “Asked if we could ‘elp out.”

“Off-road?”

“Aye.”

“Where are you taking them?”

“Up Addlebrough somewhere, they said, but I’m not right sure. Picking up a genny from Farmhire Plant, ont’ way, ‘n all. Are they science bods or summat?”

Samantha shook her head, bemused “I don’t know about that. One of them is a Doctor - a Professor.  I thought they were a church group on holiday, but now I don’t know what to think, with all this… this…business.”

“Well, so long as they’ve got the brass, I don’t right care.  Thought it were going to be students up from Leeds Uni. Geology field trip or summat. Seen them a few times up ‘ere, ripped jeans ‘n tattoos ‘n that.  You can smell the weed a mile off.”

Aiden laughed “Was a right surprise when we saw it were a bunch of pensioners, like.”

“Well, please look after them, won’t you? And please be careful on the way out - those stone dogs are 150 years old,” She pointed at one of the beagles, its plinth showing fresh stone where a corner had been chipped off.

“Right you are. Sorry ‘baht that, love.”

Five or ten minutes later, the Mountjoy party began to appear in the yard.  “Charlemagne, you and Letitia go with Elizabeth and Alan, and follow Geoffrey and I with Peter and Hilary.” said Anne, briskly.  As the group followed orders and climbed into the Landrovers, Anne beckoned Mike Potts over. “Mr Potts, let me explain where we need to get to,” She took out an Ordnance Survey map that she’d annotated, and some notes, and gave them to the driver.  He looked the map over, turned it upside down, then back again, then fixed her with a stare.

”You want to go theyer?” he asked, eventually, jabbing his finger at the location marked on the map.

“Yes we do. How close can you get us, in those things,” she asked, pointing at the Landrovers. “We have quite a bit of equipment, you see.”

“Aye, you do that,” said Mike. “We can get you right close, along t’ bridleway, if you’re sure.  There's farm tracks all the way up there. It's just…”

“It's just what?”

“Well…ahhh, nowt,” said Mike, shaking his head slowly. He went over to Aiden who was satting in the other vehicle, waiting, and they exchanged a few words through the driver’s side window.  Meanwhile, the Mountjoy party took their seats. Mike returned to the lead vehicle and set off at a slow pace, making sure Aiden was behind.

There was a brief stop at the plant hire yard where Mike and Aiden got out to pick up the generator, which was on wheels and needed towing behind Mike’s Landrover. Then they were off again.  They crossed the river at the valley bottom then began to ascend the lower slopes of the hill, the road getting narrower and narrower until eventually becoming little more than a farm track. At a certain point, they stopped again, and Mike got out to open a five-bar gate into rough pasture, dotted with gorse and populated with ewes and lambs. “Nearly there,” said Mike, speaking over his shoulder to the passengers, “But the going will be rough now so hang on.”

They continued to climb slowly, the track gradually disappearing as it blended into the hummocks of grass, sedge and heather with just an occasional churned up rut left by a quad bike to indicate there was any track at all. Finally, they stopped a hundred yards or so from the base of the scar that formed the west face of the hill. “This is as close as I can get thee,” said Mike, stopping the engine and getting out. The other vehicle pulled up and the party began to disembark from both and wander about.

Charlemagne was dressed in rust coloured corduroy trousers, tweed waistcoat, a Barbour jacket and a pair of Hunters on his feet. He lacked only a shotgun broken over his arm and a spaniel to complete the cliche, thought Anne.  “Fuckin’ toff twat,” thought Mike, as Charlemagne walked over towards them.

“Where are we Anne? Why the devil have you brought us up here?” he asked, setting his hands on his hips.

“Funny you should say that,” said Mike, and he pointed towards a huge, flat-topped boulder, weathered and deeply scored with lines and circular marks.  “Devil’s Stone,” he said, “That’s it theyer.”

Everyone turned to look at the massive slab of rock, then Mike spoke again “We’ll get gear off the Landies, then me and Aiden, we’ll be off.  We’ll leave you one of the Landies in case of emergency, like,” he tossed Charlemagne his keys “but don’t drive it abaht unless you ‘ave to.  Give us a call and an hour's notice and we’ll be back for you. If we don't hear ‘owt, we’ll be back at 3 any road to get you. Can’t leave it later than that.”

They all set to work unloading the various boxes and crates and moving them close to the massive stone, Anne directing them in a semblance of order.  When everything had been unpacked, Aiden got back into his Land Rover, and Mike beckoned Anne over to him as he walked back to his vehicle to unhook the generator.

“Can I just ask, all this gear you’ve got, and ‘t generator ‘n that. What you going to be doing wi’ it?”

“We are on a bridleway, here, aren't we, Mr Potts, if I’ve read the map right.  We are entitled to be here. It’s a public right of way?”

“Aye, but that's not the point. It's all National Trust, see? “explained Mike “You don't want to be getting into any bother with them, not if you want work round ‘ere.”

“Don’t worry,” said Anne “we’re not going to be digging or anything, if that's what you think.”

“Well, what are you doin’, if you don’t mind my asking?  National Trust is one thing but there's tenant farmer to think about. We’re well into lambing season and if it were my land, I’d want chapter and verse before I let folk on it wi’ all’t gear like this.  You’re not here for just a picnic, are you, be honest.”

“We’re just…going to do some readings,” Anne said, and smiled.

“Readins,” Mike repeated. Anne nodded.

“On’t stone?” he pointed at it, and stroked his chin slowly, his stubble grating audibly. “Not chippin’ bits off of it then?”

“No. Absolutely not!” exclaimed Anne.

“They say it's reyt old, that stone. An alter or summat.  Druids ‘n that,” said Mike as he surveyed the boxes around him, looking for a clue as to what might be inside, but other than numbers stencilled onto the outside, there was nothing helpful.

Anne nodded “Iron Age, actually, or possibly even older than that.  Don’t worry, it will still be here when you get back, and we won’t leave a mark on it. Nobody will know we were here.”

Mike stopped his hand mid-way through another bristling of his chin and stared at her.  Anne went on “Now could you get the generator unhooked and a bit closer for us please?  I see it's a Honda, like I asked for, and Peter … Peter?  PETER!” Anne shouted to him and he began to walk over “Peter knows how to work Hondas.”

-o()o-

Once Aiden and Mark drove off, the Mountjoy party busied themselves around the Devils Stone. They didn't see the dark speck of a man stooped and trudging slowly along the slope below.  They didn't see him stop and sit on the bottom step of a stile sticking out from the dry-stone wall. He was taking a rest, more for the sake of his old terrier than his own, but a welcome breather for a sip of beef tea, all the same. He took a walk with his dog every day. Today, he was out on Addlebrough, on the lower terrace. The coloured fleeces of the Mountjoy Party, higher up near the scar, caught his attention.  Walkers usually go straight across, east to west, then down to Semmerwater he thought to himself,  but this lot - what were they doing? Flitting abaht, back and forth? He took out a battered pair of binoculars.

“Well bugger me, Doggit,” said Bill Thirkettle after a while.  Doggit could smell the beef tea, and whenever they stopped on a walk, he would get a Spiller’s biscuit or two. That's how things worked on a walk; there were rules, but Bill was preoccupied.  Doggit shuffled and huffed.   Bill rooted about in the depths of a pocket with one hand and brought out a few biscuits which he fed to the expectant dog without taking his eyes off the scene above. “What the bloody ‘ell are they doin’,” Bill muttered.

-o()o-

Up at the Devil’s Stone, Anne was giving orders and checking a tablet computer, “Peter, will you get the generator started and connected to the compressor please.  Letitia and Hilary, can you connect those  batteries to each other, like this,” she said, handing them a diagram on a piece of paper “and with these cables - black to black red to red? Got it? Good.”

“When do we get the crown jewels out, Anne?”  asked Charlemagne, patting the armoured flight case that he had pulled partly out of the back of the Landrover.

“Leave that for now. We must get the liquid nitrogen ready first, then the cradle.  Can you get those tripods out or help Alan with the dewer. The regulator valve is in that crate there.”

And so it went. After an hour or so of Anne giving orders, handing out instructions and checking joints and plugs, the contents of all the crates and boxes were out, assembled and connected together by various cables and insulated piping.

“I had no idea we would need all of this equipment, Anne” said Letitia “It’s like something out of Doctor Who! You’re so clever, how on earth do you know what goes where? I wouldn't know where to start!”

There were murmurs of agreement from everyone.  “It’s really not as difficult as it seems, “said Anne. “There is something like this at the University - a lot bigger of course.  The technicians like to talk about their “toys”, so I told them how interesting it was, asked them to explain it  and wrote it down. The rest of it was Google. Ridiculous, really.”

“Men! Bit of flattery and they’re like lap dogs! Do anything for you!” said Elizabeth.

“Is that right?” said Alan.

“The only difficult aspect was the quantum device. It's controlled technology.   The manufacturers won’t sell it to just anyone that asks, whether or not you have the money.” Anne continued.

“How did you manage it then, Anne?” asked Peter.

“The Mathematics Faculty received a generous and anonymous donation,” said Anne, “but a quantum device will have to actually appear in the inventory or there will be questions from the auditors.”

“We haven't…broken the law, have we, Anne?” said Hilary, looking somewhat aghast.

“We haven't broken any laws, Hilary, it’s only Anne that needs to worry!” chuckled Charlemagne.

“Nonsense,” said Anne “It’s one minor incidence of fiscal irregularity amongst an awful lot worse at the University.  And I shan’t be keeping it for myself, so there’s no harm done.”

“The end very much justifies the means!” said Peter “There’s only one judgement I care about.”

“Can you explain what it all does Anne?” asked Letitia, gesturing at the array of equipment.

“Yes, and why you’ve had us bring it all to this lump of rock,” added Alan.  He was walking around the Devil’s Stone, touching it here and there and standing back to see if he could make out any pattern to the marks on its lichen covered surface. “I mean, what’s it got to do with anything? What’s the connection? I can’t see it.”

“It’s an altar, Alan.  We’re going to sacrifice a non-believer on it.” said Charlemagne, pointedly.

Anne came to stand at Hilary’s side and began to explain, pointing at the equipment lying about. “The quantum device needs to be very cold to work and it needs a steady power supply. The generator is charging the batteries which will power the quantum device and the power regulator will maintain a steady current. The generator also powers the compressor, which is making the ghastly noise, and the compressor is connected to the dewer with the gas regulator. The dewer is just a big thermos flask, really. The compressor is filling it with nitrogen from the air and has to be kept under very high pressure.”

“I see,” said Hilary, pretending to see.

“And the knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone,” sang Charlemagne “Now, what about a spot of lunch while we wait for Anne’s gadgets?”

Everyone, even Anne, agreed that it would be a good time to stop for lunch and the sturdy brown paper bags from the George were brought out, along with large flasks of tea. After some horse-trading over the various sandwich fillings and crisp flavours, everyone tucked in and Anne began to explain why she had brought them all to this particular place.

“You are wondering why we are here, rather than in the relative comfort of the conference lounge back at the George.  There are two reasons. One is the matter of practicality - the George doesn't have space for all of this equipment, and we don’t want to draw attention, do we.  The second reason is more fundamental.”  Anne stood and walked away from the group.  Unbeknown to the others, there was another reason that Anne had brought them here, and the truth of that gnawed away at her.   While she had been directing the others to follow her carefully prepared plans, that had been a distraction from her true motive; she almost didn't believe how unquestioning they had all been. But now the implications of her decision were looming, she felt hollow, like she was slipping out of her body. She feared turning to speak to them “They will see it in my eyes; they’ll know,”  she thought, but steeling herself, she turned to say the words she had rehearsed over and over again in the months before.

“Forty two years ago, we all met for the first time at Buckden, during a scripture study group. Comparative theology; Geoffrey was facilitating, freshly graduated with his history degree.  I forget which one of us it was, but someone posed the question - how do we know the Bible is right?  And that kept us talking, late into the night, arguing back and forth.  It was there that we considered the first of what we came to call  concurrencies -  where different religions express the word of God in similar ways.”

“I remember that day very clearly,” said Geoffrey “Peter insisting to the bitter end that it was fundamental to one’s faith to believe the Bible to be the true word of God.”

“I think most of us did, back then,” said Anne “But when we saw those two texts written a thousand years apart, in different languages by people of different races on different continents...”

“Well, you have to ask yourself, don't you?” finished Peter “…which word came first? Whose God was speaking?   It was a lightbulb moment for me, that.  I could see that God was more than just a book.”

“And none of us have ever questioned a belief in a God,” said Anne, looking round at them “Only that the Bible is the word of God. And it was the word of God that we set ourselves the task of discovering. For thousands of years, probably tens of thousands of years, humans have received visions, signs, words, prophecy, dreams, visitations - from what they perceived to be God, or the messengers of God.  And whether by paintings on the walls of caves, knots in strings of hide, carvings in stone or words on the pages of books, humans have recorded the words of their Gods as sacred things. And because they come from God, they are imbued with the power of God.”

“So why are we at the Devil’s Stone, Anne?” said Charlemagne “Answer me that!”

“That stone has been here since the last Ice Age, and well before Christian concepts of the Devil existed,” said Alan, matter of factly. “It’s only been known as the Devil’s Stone since the 1700s.  It’s nothing more than a folk tale to explain a black basalt boulder amongst all the white limestone.”

“That’s right Alan,” said Anne, “but what we can absolutely say for sure about this stone is that it is one of the oldest sacred places in the British Isles. The carvings on it predate Egyptian hieroglyphics by over two thousand years. They are amongst the oldest found anywhere in Europe.”  She turned away from the group and walked up to the stone, laying both hands on it and moving them out across the shallow grooves and whirls in the surface, trying to calm the rising waves of - was it fear? Fear of failure? Or was it the excitement, the awful excitement of what success might mean -  before turning back to face them all again.

“And all this time, we of the Novus Septuaginta have held our belief that God speaks to the universe and human sentience encompasses the ability to hear that voice. We believed that the word of God could be found within the primitive conceptualizations from prehistory and the cacophony of voices that are within polytheism and animism.  Despite the vengeful corruptions of Judaism; the Faustian terrors of Catholicism; the violent justifications of Islam and the mis-translations of lustful Kings…”

“Don’t forget the madness of Mormonism. Oh, and the spelling mistakes,” interrupted Charlemagne “plenty of those!”

“And, yes, yes, despite all those things - we set ourselves the task of distilling out the true word of God.  We freed ourselves from the constraints of organised religion, so that we could understand it in its pure sense.  And that is why I thought this was a fitting place to be, now that we are on the brink of something.”

Charlemagne began to clap “You must have been practising that for weeks, Anne - very stirring. But aren’t you, you know, being a bit melodramatic, old fruit? I mean, what are we expecting to happen? The Lord himself popping down with a gold medal for all of us?”

“Oh Charles, don’t be such a…such a…oh, you’re intolerable!   Anne’s made such an effort for us, organising all this. Don’t put a dampener on it!”  said Letitia.

“Those dark clouds coming in will be putting a dampener on things, if we don’t get on with it.”  replied Charles “I’m not trying to detract from Anne’s efforts, but we shouldn't get over excited. It might be a terrible anti-climax, and we shall all look a bit foolish, up on this hill with our quantums all soggy!”

While Anne was speaking, Alan had climbed on top of the Devil’s Stone and was inspecting its flat rectangular surface for marks and patterns.  “You know, I don’t think there’s anything special about this stone.  The markings could just as well be weathering and erosion. It's a boulder dropped on the side of this hill at the end of the ice age, scratched and battered by a glacier. Granted it's a very regular shape, but that’s just coincidence. It doesn't appear man made, and why would it be placed here if it was?  It’d be a terrible place for a settlement, right under the cliff edge, and the nearest iron age remains are the hill fort on the other side of the valley, according to the OS map.”

Geoffrey came to Anne’s defence “You two are missing the point.  Anne is trying to create a sense of occasion for us, and your jokes, Mountjoy, and your layman’s guesswork about this stone,  Alan, are adding nothing to the day. Quite the opposite!”

Contrary to what Geoffrey feared, the sniping from Charlemagne and Alan was not having the opposite effect on Anne. Her resolve was strengthened, and the dry lump in her throat subsided. She checked her tablet and saw that everything was ready to go. “No, Charlemagne is right, Geoffrey” she said, firmly “we do need to get on with it.  Charlemagne, help me get the quantum device into the cradle will you?”

The final Part IV is here