Blake pressed the button on the handheld control unit and stepped back from the screen. The large white rectangle that illuminated the back wall transformed into the ghostly portrait of a face. The lecture hall hushed. He had saved the most enigmatic image to last. Blake smiled inwardly at the audience’s reaction to the final slide in his presentation. As usual, his lunchtime lecture series at Gresham College had been oversubscribed, and there was standing room only in Barnard’s Inn Hall.
For more than four hundred years, the College had given free public talks to interested Londoners. The lectures were the brainchild of the wealthy city merchant Sir Thomas Gresham, who established the tradition in 1597 to bring new knowledge to London’s mostly illiterate population. Since the beginning, the lectures had been delivered by a distinguished panel of professors, whose roll call read like a who’s who of academics and scholars.
Though only a guest speaker at the College, Blake felt a glow of pride knowing he was in very illustrious company, including Sir Christopher Wren, who held the position of Gresham Professor of Astronomy in 1657 and had given lectures for three years.
The subject matter of his talk ‘The Lost Art of the English Templars’ wasn’t the most obvious subject matter to fill a stuffy London hall on a summer’s day; however, Blake’s reputation as a world authority on the subject had drawn a packed audience.
Blake refocused the projector to give his audience a better view and then walked through the wedge of dusty light. ‘And this, ladies and gentlemen, is known as the Templecombe Head.’ Despite seeing the image many times before, he still shared his audience’s wide-eyed appreciation for the striking painting. The bearded, disembodied face staring down from the screen possessed a distinctly otherworldly feeling to it, reminiscent of the Turin shroud.
Blake switched on his laser pointer and started his commentary. ‘Measuring about 2.3 metres wide by 1.8 metres high, the head is painted on a number of wooden panels. They were discovered completely by accident in 1945 hidden under some plaster in a cottage outhouse in the village of Templecombe, Somerset. The cottage owner, a Miss Molly Drew, said that when the panels were discovered, they were vividly coloured with reds, blues and greens. Alas, the colour detail was washed away by the local vicar, who over-enthusiastically cleaned the boards with strong detergent. The painting has been associated with the Knights Templar, and radiocarbon analysis dates it to around 1280 AD. Land registries show that the Templar Knights held property in Templecombe.’
Blake noticed a raised hand from the front row. He stopped talking and gave a ‘go on’ gesture with his head. The elderly man who had raised his hand cleared his throat.
‘Dr Blake, do we know the subject of the painting?’
‘There are many theories,’ said Blake, returning his attention to the screen. The red dot of Blake’s laser pointer made a juddering circumference of the head. ‘If you look hard enough, you can just about see them. They’re very faint now, but a collection of stars runs around the edge of the head. Can you see them?’ A muffled wave of confirmation rippled through the audience. ‘The use of stars around the subject could represent a luminous halo. This was a frequent motif in medieval art to identify Christ. A local legend suggests that the portrait is in fact the severed head of John the Baptist. The painting might have been secreted away in the ceiling of a humble building in Templecombe for safeguarding during the trials of the Templars.’ Blake returned his gaze to the audience. ‘I guess we will never know.’ Blake heard a shifting of chairs to his right as the President of Gresham College rose to his feet.
‘I’m afraid we will have to leave it there. I could sit and listen to Dr Blake all day, but sadly we have run out of time. Where did that hour go?’ The red-faced, portly academic patted Blake gently on the back. ‘I’m sure if we ask nicely, Dr Blake will come back soon and continue his fascinating lecture series on medieval art.’
Blake smiled and graciously accepted the invitation.
‘Please join me in thanking Dr Blake for today’s insightful lecture.’
The audience broke out in exuberant applause. Smiling back from the stage, Blake gathered up his notes. The lights were switched on, and the hall was filled with the sound of murmured appreciation. Moments later, people were filtering out towards the exit. Blake closed his laptop and switched off the overhead projector, ceasing the drone of its internal fan.
It was then he heard his name. He looked up and saw DCI Milton dodging through the stream of people heading for the door. From the instant he eyed the policeman’s face, Blake knew something was up.
‘Lukas?’ said Blake, as Milton cornered the edge of table.
The policeman looked tired and worn down. ‘Let’s take a walk,’ said Milton in a hushed whisper.
Blake registered the concern in his eyes. ‘We can talk in there,’ he said, gesticulating over to a side door leading off the hall. Blake led the way into the small utility room and rested his elbow against a shelf filled with dusty periodicals. The two men lingered in silence for a moment as Milton collected his thoughts.
‘Early this morning,’ began the policeman, ‘I was called to a murder scene in Royston in Hertfordshire. The victim was found in a cave. A Caucasian male in his sixties. His throat had been cut and his tongue removed.’
Blake grimaced. ‘His tongue?’
‘It’s quite a mess.’ The DCI blew out his cheeks. ‘Forensics are still in there now, but there’s no sign of the murder weapon.’
‘Hold on, you mentioned a cave? You don’t mean Royston Cave?’
Milton nodded. ‘You’ve heard of it?’
‘Never been there, heard of it by reputation.’ Blake paused, sensing there was more. ‘You want me involved?’
‘Something was found at the murder scene.’
Blake’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘What?’
The DCI searched for something in his jacket pocket. He handed it to Blake. It was a clear plastic evidence bag containing a photograph. The subject of the photograph made Blake’s eyes shoot up to meet Milton’s.