Gene of Isis

the fey, at our first meeting.

‘Just science and training, your grace,’ I insisted once more, smiling.

The duchess was delighted and clapped her hands together. ‘We shall make provision for your journey…food, wine, and an open cart to transport your party.’ She looked at her husband, certain that he would agree to anything in his present mood.

The duke cast his eyes over me as he seconded his wife’s kind offer of assistance. ‘Perhaps some new clothes for our heroine,’ he commented as his steward returned with the surgeon.

‘Could I impose on your grace for a suit of men’s clothes?’ I felt this was the perfect opportunity to change my identity. I would leave the lady behind in Orleans.

‘My very thought,’ the duke concurred, having witnessed my fall during the duel. ‘I think we can devise some far more suitable attire for one such as yourself.’

It soon became clear that Gasgon de Guise was indeed a man of his word. I left his house with a full belly, new attire, a sword, a pistol and all the gypsies, who were quite amazed at their release.

The horses that had carried Rumer and me to Orleans were hitched to the front of a cart large enough to carry supplies and the members of our party, of which there were fourteen.

I sat astride in the saddle of a fine white stallion named Destiny and as I rode from the house of de Guise, I embraced a real sense of achievement. It wasn’t that I had helped so many, or that I had left happiness in my wake: I had proven to myself that I needed no mortal protector. I had stepped into my own power and I felt like a valiant prince—there would be no going back to being a vulnerable princess. Come what may on my journey to the Sinai, I could handle it on my own…with just a little help from my friends in the spirit world.

My stomach would not forgo lunch any longer. I didn’t want to leave Ashlee’s tale, but the sound of my hunger pangs was becoming a serious distraction.

As I walked out into the blazing sun, the campsite was like a ghost town and I began to wonder if I’d been deserted.

I found the cook in the mess tent and he informed me in broken English that James Conally had accompanied Andre to town to meet our shipment. Those who remained on-site were sensibly sleeping off the heat of the day in their tents.

I picked up a tray of spoils: a sandwich, a chocolate bar, some fruit and more water, and returned to my abode. Awaiting me on my desk was a note marked with a small red cross that looked suspiciously like my birthmark.

I opened and read the note, which was written in Arabic. It was from Akbar: he was awaiting an audience with me in the Cave of Hathor. I’d forgotten my suggestion to Akbar that we talk this afternoon.

Oh dear. This presented me with a slight dilemma and I sat down to eat my lunch and dwell upon it.

I didn’t feel safe going to meet with Akbar and his men alone. If I took Albray’s stone along on my person, he would know my mind and perhaps perceive my little dream about him. I could carry the stone in my bag or a pocket, but I didn’t like not having Albray on hand. After much pondering I decided I would swiftly summon Albray and ask him to accompany me, and then place the stone in my bag. If I was quick, hopefully my knight wouldn’t have the chance to perceive any of my little fantasies about him.

Miss Montrose, how are you this fine day? Albray asked upon arrival, sounding suspiciously chirpy.

‘Well, thank you.’ I slipped his stone into my bag. ‘And you?’

Very well, he affirmed, still smiling broadly.

I’d never seen my knight so jovial before. ‘And what is the cause of today’s frightfully good cheer?’

Albray shrugged off his good mood. ‘I don’t know…some days it’s just grand to be a spirit.’

I wasn’t too sure what to make of that. I was unwilling to raise the subject of my dream; if he raised it, I could deny it.

‘Akbar wants to meet with me.’ I explained the reason for the summons.

Yes, Albray nodded, and you would do well to heed his advice.

‘What makes you say that?’

Albray fixed me with a knowing look. I told you I would be of service if left at leisure.

That seemed to explain what Albray did with his free time in the land of the living. ‘My own personal spy,’ I said, honoured, before I departed the tent with Albray following. ‘What did you find out about him?’ I whispered my question, even though the steep dirt track I ascended to the ruins was completely devoid of people.

He belongs to an order of warriors known as the Melchi. They protect the interests of the ancient Egyptian order of Melchi-Zadok.

Melchi-Zadok, roughly translated, meant priest-kings, and this ancient order had eventually become known as Melchizedek.

The later Scottish chapter of these priest-kings carried on the traditions and teachings of the famed Fisher Kings of folklore.

‘Another Grail association!’ In my mind, all this information was beginning to connect and merge into new theories, quite opposed to any that had been presented to me to date.

The fairytales and legends which developed out of Grail lore served the equivalent function in the Cathar faith as the parables of the New Testament served in Catholicism. This fairy lore was born in the eighth century following the implementation of the Donation of Constantine, which, incidentally, my order knows is a complete forgery.

The Donation to which Albray referred made its first appearance in the middle of the eighth century, but was