Gently, he lowered the wooden panel to the floor of the pulpit. Now he was looking at the unfinished back of the pulpit’s front panel. He saw it immediately; an oval iron handle, the size of drawer-pull, in the centre of the panel. He slipped three fingers inside it and pulled. He didn’t have to pull very hard. A muted clanking sound echoed around the bare walls. He let go of the handle and took four steps to the front pew.
Gripping the end rail with both hands, offering a prayer of sorts, he closed his eyes and lifted. With an ease that he least expected, the pew started to rise. He opened his eyes and watched with amazement. The motion was unbelievably smooth and silent. In a matter of seconds it finally came to rest at a ninety-degree angle to the floor.
It was exactly as he had pictured. In front of him was a rectangular opening in the flagstones. At his feet, a flight of stone steps disappeared into the darkness below.
Chapter Twenty-one
Flashlight in hand, Kingston entered the catacombs. Being a touch claustrophobic, he prayed that the tunnels or corridors—whatever was down there—would not be too cramped. He was aware that in the Middle Ages men were a lot shorter, and his six-foot-plus height could become a handicap. At first, he’d questioned the wisdom of exploring the underground by himself but, after weighing the pros and cons, he convinced himself that the risk was minimal. In any case, after all he’d done to get to this momentous point the impulse to explore was overwhelming.
He’d already made sure that the pew was stable, unlikely to fall. An examination of the latch indicated that it could be released from below. The idea of being accidentally trapped down there was unnerving but as far as he could tell there was no likelihood of that happening. If the flashlight batteries started to go, he would have sufficient time to retrace his steps before they died altogether.
It was more than a dozen steps down before he reached the foot of the stone stairway. An uneasy feeling passed over him. It was as if he were about to leave the twenty-first century and the real world. Shining the light around, he saw a long tunnel ahead, more like a hall since the construction was rectilinear. To his relief the ceiling looked tall enough for him to navigate without crouching. Even so, his head grazed the ceiling where he was standing. Both walls and ceiling were of greyish stone blemished in places with calcareous ochre and chalky deposits. The floor was a simple cobblestone. Every twenty feet or so, a single stone projected from the wall at a level with Kingston’s head. Judging from the caked layers of wax, these were clearly candle sconces. The air was cool and stale-smelling, not dank as he had expected. The smell was not unpleasant, vaguely herbal, which was not surprising since he knew that herbs were often used in medieval times to repel insects and vermin.
About twenty steps farther down the hall, he came to a small room on his right. The simple wooden door was ajar. Pushing it open with his foot, he shone the flashlight around the space. It was empty. Another ten feet along was a second room, this time on the left. This space was considerably larger and the ceiling higher than that of the first room. A low partition divided the room in two and a mezzanine projected eight feet or so from the back wall. Kingston took it for a workshop or storage area. Soon he reached another room, much like the last one but the door was iron-bound and had a lock with a bronze escutcheon. Inside were the remains of what had once been heavy wooden racks of some kind. Aware that the production of wine and mead was a popular and profitable pastime for the monks, Kingston speculated that this room was a storage cellar for wine casks. He smiled to himself—hence the lock.
Passing two more empty rooms he came to a junction. The hall continued but also headed off to the left and right, offering three choices. At this point, he judged that he was well over a hundred feet into the labyrinth. Its sheer size and complexity was far more than anything he’d ever imagined and there was obviously more to come.
In the next fifteen minutes, he explored both the left and right hallways, which in turn led to others, and more rooms of differing size, most of them empty and all unlocked. It was a reasonable assumption, he decided, that the rooms he’d seen so far were used either for storage, work or sleeping.
Venturing farther into the maze—marvelling at its size and accomplishment—he suddenly realized that he hadn’t been paying attention to directions. Getting lost hadn’t crossed his mind till now and there were few, if any, markers. He was beginning to wish he’d left some of his own but it was too late for that now.
He glanced at his watch: almost six thirty. He’d been down there for close to half an hour. Had he covered the entire labyrinth, he wondered? Hard to tell. Regardless, he decided to go back to the chapel. He could return later with Jamie, maybe Ferguson, too—Roger would go bananas when he saw it. Doubtless, it would be considered among the most significant British archaeological discoveries of the century. The first job was to rig up some temporary lighting—a challenge, even with the length of the hallways he’d covered already.