MYSTERIOUS INTRUDER

Written by Peter Bayliss
December 1996

            ill Squires was woken from a deep sleep by his dog barking. He lay in bed for a minute, staring into the velvety blackness and letting awareness of himself and his surroundings slowly come back to him. Clicking on the bedside lamp, he blinked at the clock. 4:35. He scratched his head and yawned then swung his legs out of bed. There'd been a few burglaries in the area recently and, well, you couldn't be too careful. He put on his slippers and dressing gown. It would immediately alert any intruder if he started switching on all the lights, so he snatched a torch from the top of the cupboard. Bleary- eyed, he stumbled along the landing and started to make his way downstairs. He had no weapon, but any burglar would think twice before tackling six feet of young farmer.
      Bill switched on the torch as he descended the stairs, the beam lancing through the darkness. He listened for sounds of anyone moving around. All was quiet, but Rufus was a good dog and not one to bark at shadows. What is it, Rufus old boy? I hope you haven't woken up your master for nothing. Quietly opening the dining-room door, he briefly flashed the torch around the room. It was very cold, even for the time of the year, he thought. It was a coldness that seemed not natural. He shivered, and his breath plumed through the shaft of light.
     Wait a minute. What was that? For an instant, it was almost as if the torch flickered over a figure on the far side of the room. He shone the light back. No, nothing there now. It was perhaps just his imagination. But it had appeared - well, the idea was foolish really and probably the result of still being half-asleep - it was as though the beam reflected off something very shiny like ... like a suit of armour. How silly! This is what happens when you wake up your master at some ungodly hour of the night, Rufus.
      The time for stealth being past, he switched on the room light and looked around. There was an imprint of footsteps in the carpet at the spot where he'd imagined seeing the intruder. They ended abruptly at the wall as if the figure had drifted in from outside through solid stone. He felt an icy tingle of apprehension. He'd never believed in ghosts, and he was sure there must be some rational explanation. It must be a trick of some sort. The footprints were there perhaps to deliberately confuse him, to make him believe it was a ghostly visitation. But for what purpose? It made no sense.

      Bill followed the footprints across the room to the fireplace. It was as if the mysterious intruder had simply wanted something off the mantelpiece, and nothing else. Strange, he thought. There was nothing of importance on the mantelpiece apart from the clock, candlesticks and the usual bric-a-brac. He looked carefully. The only thing that seemed to be missing was that peculiar old piece of metal he'd picked up yesterday in 'Ulric's Ten Acres' brought to the surface by the autumn ploughing. But why anyone should want to steal that was a mystery.
      It had been like the shattered blade from a knife or sword. At first, he thought it might be something broken off one of the farm implements. But when he examined it closely, he could tell it was far more ancient than that. He took it home and cleaned it up. There was an inscription along the side that looked like Latin. He carefully polished it and squinted through a magnifying glass: '+ SANCTUS + DEFENDEUR + A + DEUS +'. It would look nice mounted on the wall, he thought, but for the time being he propped it up on the mantelpiece.
      He now began to wonder about its real worth - a rare archaeological find of historical value? But who was to know that he had found it because there'd been no visitors to the farm for a couple of days and he'd certainly mentioned it to no one. He shook his head and sighed. Then just as he turned to go back upstairs, there came from outside the sound of a horse whinnying and galloping off into the distance. There was something very eerie and chilling about it, something which made him strangely reluctant to go outside or even to look out through the window.

Bill was at St. Benedict's early the next morning. As well as being a regular church attendee, he was very involved in parish matters and, as churchwarden, in the affairs of the church.      "Good morning, Bill," said the Reverend. Petheridge, peering at the farmer over his half-rims.  "As you know from our little meeting of the parish council last week, there's been a couple of young fellows here from Cambridge working on that window in the south transept, cleaning it up and so on."      Bill nodded. "Yes, I remember. I've seen them at work."      "It's surprising what a difference it makes to these old windows when they're properly cleaned and restored," continued the vicar, smoothing a hand through his thinning hair. "The colours are as clear and bright as when it was first made, I should think, and there are some pictures and designs that have become hidden with the passage of time. Those fellows made an interesting discovery yesterday..."       Bill followed the vicar over to the south transept, where the latter pointed up at the window. An array of undiscovered brilliance splashed across the stone flags.      "I found this old guidebook when I was moving stuff in the vestry," added Petheridge. "It says that in the bottom corner of this transept window there's a little picture of St. Ulric fighting the Devil. Like St. Michael, you know. It's a local legend, not very well- known, and the picture was virtually hidden before the window was cleaned.

You can see it there, Bill..." The vicar pointed to where there was a mounted figure in armour facing a sort of evil-looking snake-cum-dragon creature. Beneath the figure were the words: 'ULRIC SANCTUS DEFENDEUR A DEUS'. Ulric's white horse appeared to be whinnying in terror. "You can see the Saint holding a sword with a shattered blade," said Petheridge.      "A shattered blade...?"      "Yes. Legend says it was broken in the fight. And the Saint has ever since been searching for the broken blade so he can have the sword remade and enter again into the battle between good and evil ."

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