The Templar's Code

“Who the fuck is Yawgoog?”

It was a few moments before Annawon replied.

“Yawgoog was a white man like no other. For generations, he and his extended family lived in a village in the middle of the Narragansett territory. And then Verrazano and his knights showed up and slaughtered everyone in the village. Except for Yawgoog’s son. The Narragansett gave refuge to the boy who, like the eldest son in each generation, took the name of the father, Yawgoog. The Narragansett shared the ceremonial pipe with Yawgoog. And in return, he shared with us the secret of the sacred stone. When he died, Yawgoog entrusted the stone to the Narragansett. Not long thereafter, the English stole Yawgoog’s Stone. And that’s the real reason why our People were nearly decimated into oblivion. We broke our sacred trust with Yawgoog. We can’t reclaim what’s rightfully ours until we reclaim Yawgoog’s Stone.”

Tonto didn’t know it at the time, but his irreverent question, and Annawon’s surprising answer, would change the course of his life. Because it occurred to him, and Annawon was in complete agreement, that if Yawgoog’s Stone could be found, the curse that had been hanging over the Narragansett for the last four hundred years would be lifted.

But, like most things in life, there was a catch. The infamous catch-22. He needed the white man’s expertise to find the damned stone. He wasn’t an archaeologist. Or a historian. But, thanks to Annawon, he knew his tribal lore and the Yawgoog tales inside and out.

Sadly, Annawon no longer walked the earth, having succumbed to lung cancer in ’08. Which made Tonto even more determined to find Yawgoog’s Stone.

Flicking his cigarette butt out the pickup window, he shifted on the bench seat, adjusting the bolt-action Winchester that rested on top of his thighs.

When cruising the Red Road, a warrior best have his tomahawk at the ready.

CHAPTER 26

“Like every other room in the house, Lovett’s office looks like a cyclone hit,” Edie commented. Stepping across the threshold, she turned full circle as she assessed the damage. The tools of the dead archaeologist’s trade — spades, brushes, trowels, and a large mesh sifter — were haphazardly scattered about the room. In a surreal nod, the fax machine, computer monitor, and photocopier survived the tirade unscathed. “Okay, so now what?”

“Now we open Pandora’s box.” Caedmon placed the exhumed metal container on top of a scarred table. Thrilled by the discovery, he hoped its contents would put them one step closer to the elusive Templar treasure. He gallantly swept his arm in Edie’s direction. “Since you so cleverly solved the mystery, I think you should do the honors.”

“Wish me… What is that?” she screeched the moment the metal box was opened. She pointed an accusing finger at a skeletal hand nesting in a bed of packing materials.

“A casualty of war, I daresay, the skeletal appendage severed at the wrist.” And a clean cut, at that, indicating a very sharp blade had been used. He assumed that the rest of the skeleton was in the mass grave that Lovett had uncovered.

He carefully removed the tray from the box and placed it on the table. Beneath it was a neatly packed assortment of resealable plastic bags. He removed a large see-through bag and held it aloft. “Good God! Unless I’m mistaken, this hilt came from a sixteenth-century hand-and-a-half wheel pommel sword.”

“Do you think we can get anything for it on eBay? Just kidding,” she added when he cast a chastising glance in her direction. Edie lifted a smaller plastic bag from the metal box, dangling it in front of his face. “This silver ring looks pretty old. What do you want to bet it goes with the severed hand?”

Caedmon did a double take. Stunned, he snatched hold of Edie’s wrist, stilling the plastic bag’s back-and-forth motion.

Can it really be?

“May I?” When she nodded, he took custody of the polyethylene bag.

Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, he unzipped the bag and, with reverential care, removed the tarnished silver ring. Utterly bowled over, he stared at the pair of armed and helmeted knights engraved on a circular disk.

Un-bloody-believable.

Weak in the knees, he walked over to the one chair in the room that hadn’t been knocked asunder. Holding the chair back with his free hand, he eased himself onto the wooden seat.

Edie approached, clearly bemused by his reaction. “Given your dumbstruck state, I have deduced that that is not your garden-variety cocktail ring. Pretty valuable, huh?”

“It’s a signet ring. When pressed into molten wax, it created a seal,” he informed her, finally regaining his senses. “And, yes, I suspect it would fetch a pretty penny. Although its historic value is immeasurable.” And the reason for his “dumbstruck state.” “Each grand master had his own unique signet ring with which he stamped letters and documents, enabling him to validate—”

“Back up!” Edie interjected. “Are you saying that’s a Templar signet ring that belonged to a Knights Templar grand master?”

He gazed at the ring still cradled in his palm. “Yes, that’s precisely what I’m saying. Proof positive that the Knights Templar landed on these shores and established a secret colony at Arcadia. The smoking gun as it were.”

“Well, this I’ve got to see.”

Pronouncement made, Edie strode over to the far side of the room. Yanking open the middle drawer on Lovett’s desk, she rummaged through its contents. When she didn’t find what she was looking for, she opened another drawer.

“ ’Bout time,” she muttered, removing a magnifying glass. “Can’t imagine an archaeologist without one of these at the ready. Now let me have a look at that ring.” She pinched the ring between her thumb and index finger, examining it under the magnifying lens. “Hey, I recognize these guys. This is the famous image of two Templar knights riding one horse.”

“Symbolic of the Templars’ vow of poverty.”

“Well, let’s hope they didn’t take the vow too seriously because I will be highly disappointed if we don’t find a chest full of gold florins.” Brown eyes mischievously twinkling, she resumed her examination. “There’s a bunch of Latin inscribed on the outer rim of the ring… testis sum agnitio.”

“Agni,” he corrected. “Typically seen on Templar seals, the phrase means ‘I am a witness to the lamb.’ As in the Lamb of God.”

“That’s well and good, but this inscription reads ‘testis sum agnitio.’ ”

His jaw slackened. “My God… are you certain?”

“Here. See for yourself.” She handed him both the seal and the magnifying glass. “Significant or just a medieval typo?”

Confirming that the inscription did, in fact, read agnitio, he slumped against the wooden chair. “A most dangerous play on words,” he murmured. “It means ‘I am a witness to knowledge.’ Knowledge, or gnosis in the Greek, refers to a transcendental understanding of creation. Mystics describe it as a momentary flash of insight. A glimpse into the mind of God. Testis sum agnitio—the heretic’s creed.”

“Because the little people were supposed to kneel and genuflect and not ask any questions, right?”

He nodded. “The medieval church took great pains to ensure it was the sole proprietor of knowledge and was quick to condemn anyone who laid claim to spiritual knowledge that differed from their carefully crafted orthodoxy. All of which begs the question, what knowledge did the Templars possess?”

“Whatever it was, it brought the wrath of the Inquisition down upon them. And that, in turn, spelled the Templars’ doom. Which is why they ‘loaded up the truck and they moved to Beverly.’ ” The last part of her remark was sung rather than spoken. Giggling, Edie apologized. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist. And from your blank expression, I