Twist of Time, page 14
Brychan, picturing Vivyan’s haunting beauty, said a prayer blessing her. He broke the seal and carefully unrolled a magnificent ink drawing of Vivyan’s two-year-old son, Andrew. Drawn from life, it was the work of her brother Erin, a Benedictine monk, gifted artist, and manuscript illuminator.
Brychan kissed the drawing, for he realized that he would never embrace his son.
•••
It was Thomas and Kate’s first night in the cottage and they were determined to keep busy. Each set up a workspace: Kate on the dining table and Thomas across the room ensconced at an ancient pigeonhole desk.
“Thomas, how soon do you think we can actually start looking for the chest?”
He flipped through the remaining diary pages. “Three days. Maybe less.”
“See this?” She held up a folder thick with documents. “The courier Denise Hollander’s case file. Just so you know, getting Nora is my priority, chest or no chest.”
“What’s your plan?”
“In my scenario the diary leads us to the chest. You notify Fallon that you are ready to meet and give him the diary. That will draw Nora like flies to honey.”
“How will she find out?”
“Nora somehow knows Fallon’s every move. She was able to get sensitive information about his research. I believe that she is tapped into a leak. We will use the same leak. When you meet with Fallon, Nora will be as close as his shadow. So will I.”
“Pretty smart, Kate.”
“No. Desperate. How else can I explain being in Scotland using a seven-hundred-year-old diary to catch a killer in sunny Santa Barbara?”
Three hours later Kate closed her file. “I’m going to bed.”
“I’ll stick with it. I don’t want to lose Brychan’s train of thought.”
She touched the diary, fingers tracing the scarred leather. “Thomas, by our following the diary, isn’t Brychan actually directing what we do?”
“I had the very same thought.” His hand touched hers. “Sleep well.” He watched her go up the stairs and shut the door to her bedroom. It was several minutes before he was able to concentrate on the diary.
The scene Brychan described next must have happened immediately after he became a knight.
Though I have previously written of Brother Ursus, I feel compelled to explain how our first meeting led to our fateful mission from the Grand Master.
In the first week of October 1307, after compline, the monks were returning to their cells. Brychan was called aside by Friar Luke.
“Follow me,” he told Brychan. “Speak to no one.”
In a torch’s dancing shadows, the friar led the way down a narrow stone chasm. Like during his experience with Brother André, this winding stairwell plunged to even a greater descent into the womb of Mother Earth. It gave the term “Templar underground” a veritable meaning.
Finally the passage angled and beyond was an iron door lit by two torches. Two Templar Knights stood guard, swords drawn. When they recognized Friar Luke, one motioned for them to enter.
Inside, Brychan was astonished to find a chapter hall capable of holding several hundred knights. On the far wall hung a huge tapestry of two knights on the same charger: the Templar seal. Beneath it stood five men and, dominating the group, Novice Master Guy d’Orléans. Next to him was Master Din and, on a table between them, the VERITAS chest.
At one side, two sergeants attended a flaming brazier in which glowed hot irons. Even from the distance Brychan felt the heat.
Opposite Master Guy was an enormous man in full battle gear, the most formidable warrior Brychan had ever seen. The eyes piercing though the slits of the face guard were fixed on him.
Brychan saw from Brother Guy’s position he was the ranking Templar. His usual learned tone was now more commanding.
“Brother Brychan, I order you to recall the vision you reported to Master Din a few days before you became a knight.”
Brychan had been reluctant to speak of it, but the dream was so disturbing that he told Master Din, who reported it to Grand Master de Molay. An order came back from him: Watch; pray; be ready.
Brother Guy said, “Brother Brychan, I must personally hear your dream.”
The sergeants at the brazier stopped working. All eyes were on him, including the giant who seemed never to blink. That look must have turned many a warrior’s bowels to water.
“It was a dream,” Brychan began, “not of sleep but of vision. They have a different feeling. There was a thick fog and the sound of a great warhorse. Then a charger appeared on which were two Templar Knights mounted double. The horse stopped and refused to move but they urged him on. He became entangled in a great mass of undergrowth, and the more he struggled, the deeper he sank. Both knights spurred him and he attempted to jump free. He fell and the vines writhing like ten thousand vipers smothered them all. The vines were fleurs de lis.”
Brother Guy crossed himself. “Yours is the third vision we have heard. The first was Brother Alexi, the Slav. He saw two Templar Knights on the same horse beset by hounds black as Dominicans’ robes. They were torn apart and their bodies devoured by fleurs de lis. Also, Miguel the Spaniard reported a vision: two Templars on one horse were all burning fire. They rolled on the ground to stop the flames, which became fleurs de lis, which then smothered them.”
Brychan was surprised to hear of Miguel, who had disappeared several weeks ago. He feared to ask about him because of his premonition that the delicate Spaniard would not survive his apprenticeship.
His look did not escape Brother Guy. “Something else, Brother?”
“Miguel. I am worried about him.”
“Brother Miguel is very ill. He has fallen into a coma. If he recovers, he will be taken back to Madrid. I am told that is unlikely.”
“I will add him to my prayers.”
“Best you include our entire Order. Two of our brothers have the gift of interpretation. According to them, the two knights on one horse are the Templar Order; the fleur de lis is obviously the sign of King Philip. He will attack us, God forgive him.”
The men looked at each other in surprise—all but the big warrior, whose gaze was still fixed on Brychan.
Brother Guy continued. “As a result of these three visions, Grand Master de Molay has ordered that all our treasury in France immediately be transported to the Templar fleet at La Rochelle. The sacred manuscripts from Jerusalem are to be placed in nine coffers and sealed. They will be taken to secret locations.” Master Guy indicated the VERITAS chest. “That is number nine. Because of its contents, it alone is marked VERITAS.”
From beneath folds of his robe, Master Din produced a scroll on gold rods: the meditation discipline upon which Brychan had spent endless hours. With a solemn look at Brychan, he carefully placed it in the chest.
Brother Guy indicated the huge knight. “This is Brother Ursus. He is our ablest warrior and a Zealote.”
Brychan did not know what Zealote meant. He only knew the similar term from scripture—Simon the Zealot, the most radical of the twelve disciples.
The two sergeants began sealing the VERITAS chest with the sizzle and smoke of molten lead. Brother Ursus looked from Brychan to the coffer. He seemed unaware that Master Guy was speaking about him.
“Brother Ursus has been guardian of the VERITAS coffer since the fall of fortress Acre. You, Brychan, will join Ursus as guardian. Take it to Holy Cross Cistercian abbey outside the city. Hide there until King Philip attacks or these visions are declared false.” He gave a warning look. “Brother Brychan, if the King does not attack, your prophecy is false. According to Holy scripture, false prophets must be slain.”
Brychan looked at Ursus; now he understood his stare. The slaying would be his to do.
Friar Luke moved to Brychan and presented a volume covered in leather and brass studs. “This diary has my poor jottings in the front portion. Guardians of the diary must write whatever happens to them. Now you must record your mission and all that transpires. In the back you will find ciphers and codes.”
“Ciphers? I know little of numbers, Brother.”
“Listen to him, knight!” The voice was Brother Ursus. Then he said in Gaelic, “Listen and remember his words.”
Ursus was a Scot!
Friar Luke handed Brychan a folded parchment. “This is the key for unlocking the codes. Memorize and destroy it.”
In the past Brychan had struggled vainly with numbers. Moreover, when Friar Luke tried to explain to him the movement of earth around the sun, it was blasphemous! Didn’t the Church teach that the sun moved around the earth? Friar Luke was quoting from heathen Arab writings. But for his devout reputation and great learning, he would have been burned for heresy.
Friar Luke continued. “The ciphers are for our banking in France, England, Spain, and Italy where vast sums are kept. The codes access these accounts.”
“Now you must go,” Sir Guy ordered.
Ursus kneeled before the chest. Brychan, uncertain, awkwardly did the same. Friar Luke said a brief prayer in Latin.
Brychan saw Ursus’ hand resting on the coffer, then watched his finger tracing a deep scar cut into it like an iron wound. Previously, when Brychan asked Master Din about the mark, he was told only that it happened at Acre.
Fifteen years earlier in March of 1297, Acre, the last Crusader stronghold in the Holy Land, was under siege. A walled city of some 80,000 souls, it was the very last fortress. With its back to the Mediterranean, the massively engineered walls had endured many sieges and changed sides many times. Once again it was in Crusader hands.
Now after only forty days, Acre was falling to a great Marmaluke army equipped with two hundred siege engines. Two of them were the largest ever built. Named Furious and Victorious, each required a hundred pairs of oxen to move into place. They dwarfed even the great Roman war machines that had not been surpassed for nearly a thousand years.
Templar Grand Master William Beaujeu was in charge of Acre’s defense. Though there were Crusaders serving under various dukes and a contingent of Knight Hospitallers, the main force defending it were Templars.
The day and night bombardment of shattering boulders and the undermanned defensive positions allowed for small Saracen raiding parties to slip inside. Soon the walls would be breached and over 200,000 Saracens would overwhelm the defending 800 Templar Knights and 16,000 foot soldiers. Their defeat was certain.
Sultan al-Ashraf Khalil, the Marmaluke leading the Saracens, had vowed to destroy Acre and rid the land of the Franks, which is what the Muslims called all Crusaders. That it was now a Templar fortress was especially fitting, for they were the most hated and equally respected. While other captured nobles were ransomed, Templars were usually beheaded. Saracens did not want to fight them again.
Ursus was thirty-three years old when he arrived at Acre and had served in the Holy Land for ten years. In that time, he earned a fierce reputation, and due to his great size and Scot’s red hair, Saracens called him Aldubu al’Ahmar—the Red Bear.
When the Templar rallying call came, Ursus responded though he knew Acre was doomed. Since the beginning of the siege, nearly 20,000 citizens had managed to flee by boat from the seaward side, leaving 60,000 still trapped in the city. They were but days from capture.
Ursus and three knights were riding with Grand Master William Beaujeu down a winding street leading to the back of the Templar Church. It had temporarily served to house the treasury, books, and scrolls. Just a week before, everything was shipped to Crete. Only a single chest remained: the VERITAS chest that every Templar Grand Master kept with him.
As the four knights came on the square, they encountered six mounted Saracens. Both groups were surprised; a confused fight began. Four Saracen cavalry attacked while their two mounted archers released a flurry of arrows.
Master Beaujeu was pierced under the left arm. With a defiant roar, he pulled the arrow out, then fell from his horse.
Two Saracens broke off fighting to finish him.
Ursus charged, overtaking the two from the rear. He plunged his sword into the back of the first Saracen, who tumbled taking the sword with him. Ursus leaped from his charger, sending the second Saracen and horse rolling to the ground. A single blow of his mace finished the Saracen.
When Ursus reached Master William, he was alive but deathly pale. Two knights joined them; the third had fallen with the Saracens.
Ursus could see that William was dying. “Take him to the church,” he said.
The Master raised his hand with two fingers extended, indicating a direct order. “You must take the VERITAS chest to Cyprus.”
When Ursus tried to protest, William gasped, “Obey!”
They carried Master William into the church, where he died on his shield.
Ursus was lugging the VERITAS chest through a twisting warren of rubble-littered alleys. The coffer was designed as a two-man carry but Ursus’ size and great strength made it appear to have been fashioned particularly for him. Working his way through deserted houses and back streets, he continued toward the Templar preceptory where a hidden underground tunnel led to the docks. A sergeant had been sent ahead to hold the last boat for him.
He turned onto a street to see a lone Saracen eating a melon at the stall of an Italian fruit vender he had just slain. The Saracen swung his blade. Ursus blocked it with the iron chest, but the blade cut a gash in it. Before the soldier could strike again, Ursus slammed the coffer in his gut, dropped the chest, and seized him by the neck. A shriek locked in the Saracen’s throat as his windpipe snapped and he was thrown rolling to the ground. Ursus picked up the coffer and continued on to the wharf.
The bay water was a swirl of bodies and debris as oarsmen pulled the boat away. Ursus watched a great column of red and black smoke billowing from behind the city walls. Most of its 60,000 helpless survivors would be slaughtered, the rest sold into slavery.
Ursus later heard what chroniclers from both sides reported: on the last day Saracen and Crusaders were mingled in a fierce fight at the center of the city. In a final irony, the great central tower, weakened by catapult and fire, collapsed, crushing warriors from both armies.
Acre had fallen, ending two hundred years of the Crusades.
Thomas put down the diary when he sensed Kate’s presence. He looked up the stairs; she was standing in her bedroom doorway watching him, her sheer nightgown forming teasing shadows.
All good intentions faded in a single moment. He came up the stairs and when they kissed, both were trembling. She took his hand, led him into the bedroom, and closed the door.
Afterward, they lay in the dark, still holding each other. Neither spoke; words were meaningless.
Finally, she sighed, and said, “Well, you certainly haven’t forgotten how.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Fallon received the Bulldogs’ report that they lost Thomas in Paris, instead of being angry, he was elated. Thomas’ disappearing with the diary meant that he discovered something tremendously important. That Kate was involved confirmed it. From Fallon’s Templar research there were only three countries where Brychan would have taken the chest. Since Fallon already had his Bulldogs in France, he added two teams, one in Spain and another in Germany, where he had his strongest contacts. Within sixteen hours all his two-man teams were working round the clock with a hundred-thousand-dollar prize to the team that found them.
At Homicide, Vicky Marroquin was sitting at Kate’s desk reviewing the CSI photos where Hollander’s body was found. She did this re-checking from habit. Three years earlier on a complex case, she spotted a detail previously missed, which became key evidence in rendering a guilty verdict.
Kate’s phone rang. “Yes,” said Vicky.
“This is Dr. Fallon. Who are you?”
“Detective Sgt. Marroquin.”
“Where is Detective Flynn?”
“On sick leave.”
“Sorry to hear that. Nothing serious, I trust.”
“Female plumbing.”
“I would have bet she didn’t have any.” There was a nasty chuckle.
Vicky gritted her teeth. “Is there something I can help you with, Doctor?”
“Yes. Any news on the Denise Hollander homicide? I assume you are covering for Detective Flynn since you are answering her phone.”
“There’s nothing new to report.”
“A difficult case, I imagine.” His tone was slimy as mucus. “Please give Ms. Flynn my sincere wishes for a speedy recovery.”
“Certainly, asshole,” she said, and hung up, relishing the insult. The bastard didn’t believe her; he was not even surprised. She dialed Kate’s burner phone and left a message that Fallon called and did not buy their story. Now what would he do?
Thomas was sitting at the kitchen table watching early dawn light filter through the windows. Kate was deep asleep when he slipped from the bed.
His first thought on wakening was surprise; he did not feel guilty about having made love to Kate. Guilt should come naturally. You didn’t have to go looking for it. Sweet Jesus! Couldn’t he do anything right? Because he did not feel guilty did not mean that he wasn’t. He was so mesmerized by what happened that he was unable to think beyond the present moment.
He made coffee and, though reluctant, began his morning novice discipline. During their first year all novices began each day with the Inquisition exercise. He must review why he chose to become a monk; question every thought; confront every doubt. Abbot Methodius had cautioned against making a decision about a vocation during any stressful period, yet Thomas became a novice shortly after a career scandal, the bitter shock of infidelity and the tragedy of Lois’ death. He seemed incapable of following rules, a dangerous trait for a monk.
He thought back to when he first heard of the Anglican Celtic Order. The media had given unwelcome coverage to the psychic controversy about his Merlin book. He was surprised when he received a letter from the order supporting his use of the psychic for research. Included was historical material on two famed nineteenth-century archeologists, the English Frederick Bligh Bond and the Italian Umberto di Grazia. Each man had claimed a paranormal connection leading to their own extraordinary discoveries. Thomas found the order’s letter comforting at an extremely difficult time. Later when he decided to become a monk, the ACO was the first he examined. It followed some practices of the early Celtic church and did not consider the psychic either heresy or Satanic, but a gift from God. Many of the first converts to the Celtic church were Druids where the paranormal was a commonly accepted part of life.
