The Doomsday Code

CHAPTER 31

1194, Oxford Castle, Oxford

Liam followed Cabot and John as they talked about old days. They crossed the enclosure and entered the dark and cold interior of the keep’s main entrance. Inside his eyes adjusted to the gloom and his ears rang with the echo of boots on stone as they ascended steps that took them upwards in a cramped spiral.

Behind him he heard Becks’s lowered voice. ‘Do you trust Cabot?’

‘We’ve no choice,’ he whispered. His words seemed to bounce and echo up the stairs towards the monk and John, still talking convivially.

Finally they emerged into a grand hall invitingly lit by an open fire and rings of fat-dripping candles on candelabra suspended from several oak support beams that crossed high above. Liam suspected it was the glow of this hall he must have seen earlier.

John turned his attention to Liam, Bob and Becks. ‘So, Sebastien, these three friends of yours … we can talk openly before them, I presume?’

Cabot nodded. ‘They are to be trusted.’

John waved a hand. ‘You may sit,’ he said, slumping down on a wooden bench near the large crackling fire. Liam noticed, for the first time, how gaunt and unwell the man looked.

‘It is a troubling time,’ said John after a while. ‘I have the people of England in open rebellion against me, I have the barons conspiring against me … all because of the taxes.’ His eyes glistened as he gazed at the flames. ‘Taxes that I had to raise to pay for this foolish crusade of his — and to pay for that madman’s ransom.’ He looked up at Cabot. ‘Believe me … I was sorely tempted to let him rot in captivity.’

Liam leaned forward. ‘Madman?’

‘Sire,’ said Cabot, ‘so … this lad is Liam of Connor. These other two are … Bob and Becks.’

John nodded politely at Liam and, for the first time, acknowledged the support units.

It’s the peasant clothing. Liam suspected that’s how it worked in these times: to be poor was to be less than human; to be no better than the dogs and cats and chickens that wandered this city freely in the dark foul-smelling spaces between shacks; to be almost invisible.

‘You are a soldier?’ John asked Bob.

‘Neg-’ Bob corrected himself quickly. ‘Nay, serr. I be just a normal man.’

Eyebrows rose on John’s slim face. ‘I would wager you could pull a cart as easily as an ox.’

Bob frowned. He was busy processing that comment, trying to determine whether it was praise or an insult.

‘And this is …’ John’s eyes lingered on Becks. ‘Becks, is it?’

‘She was introduced to me as Lady Rebecca,’ said Cabot.

‘Oh?’ John looked sceptically at her mud-spattered rags. ‘A lady is she, now?’

‘Oui,’ replied Becks in perfect Norman French. ‘Je viens de la duche d’Alevingnon en Normandie.’

John’s cynical leer vanished and Cabot smiled. ‘Yes, Sire, I believe she is of noble birth … but I’ve not heard of this duchy she refers to.’

John tilted his head with a formal nod. ‘Madame. S’il vous plait accepter mes excuses humbles.’

‘I am also able to communicate in English,’ she said.

‘Then, please accept my apologies, my dear.’ He gestured at her clothes. ‘It is your rags that — ’

‘We choose not to attract attention,’ she cut in drily.

Cabot’s eyes widened. ‘Lady Rebecca, it is most rude to interrupt His Lord-’

John shook his head. ‘It matters not,’ he smiled tiredly. ‘I’ve far greater things to concern me these days than royal protocol.’ He looked at Liam. ‘You asked to whom I was referring?’

Liam nodded. ‘The madman?’

‘My older brother,’ he said, sighing, ‘the king.’ He seemed to spit that last word out. ‘He has brought ruin on us all with this reckless crusade of his. Which, all are saying, has been a failure. Jerusalem remains in Muslim hands. But to make matters worse the fool allowed himself to be kidnapped for a ransom.’

He pulled absently on the meagre sandy-coloured tuft of his beard. ‘And it is I who has had to throttle the poor and squeeze the nobles for yet more taxes — when there simply are none left to be had.’ He gestured to a tall, narrow arched window that looked out on the city below. ‘You will have seen them out there … The people, they are hungry and they blame me for this. Not him. Not Richard the Lionheart.’

He sighed. ‘We are all ruined by this crusade. The guards outside, I have not paid. They remain at their posts because here in this castle at least there is food.’

‘It is little better outside the cities, Sire,’ added Cabot. ‘The villages and towns barely survive.’

‘And all this,’ muttered John, ‘for a fool’s errand.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Liam. He noticed a sharp glance from Cabot. ‘Sire.’

John looked up at him. ‘Sebastien tells me you know of things only the Templars should know of.’

‘If you mean … Pandora?’

John frowned. The term didn’t seem to mean anything to him.

‘The Grail?’ Liam added.

‘Aye, this grail.’ John laughed. ‘What is it? A cup? A goblet? That is all. A cup that the Christ may have used once! But Richard, like all those other Templar fools, believes such a thing has great powers! That insane fool believes carrying this cup into battle would make him unbeatable! That’s what this crusade has been about, you see? Not to free the Holy City from the Muslims … but to retrieve what was left behind when the city fell. To retrieve this … this foolish relic!’

The log fire spat a smoking shard of charcoal on to the stone floor. John watched its glow slowly fade. ‘A madman’s treasure hunt … that’s what this fool’s crusade was about.’

‘Your brother found this grail, Sire?’ asked Becks.

John nodded. ‘Yes. He did. And had a party of his best Templars take it here for safe-keeping.’ He laughed nervously. ‘But I–I … He will blame me for this, I know it. He will kill me.’ Liam noticed John’s left hand trembled in his lap. ‘I had his men take their treasure to Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland. For greater safety, you understand, for secrecy. The royal palace is not secure. This castle is not secure. I thought it would be a safer place!’

‘But they were ambushed,’ said Cabot. ‘It was taken.’

‘And on his return, I have no doubt Richard will have my head on a spike,’ uttered John. Conscious that his hand was shaking, he tucked it away into a fold of his robes.

‘Sire, it is this matter, this reason why I have brought these three here. They say they can help ye get it back.’

‘And can you?’ He looked from Liam to Bob, to Becks. ‘I have heard all the rumours too. I have heard of this Hooded Man who cannot be killed, it seems. A demon, say some. A wrathful angel, say all the peasants and villains that are flocking out to the forests to join him. And you can steal it back from him, you say?’ John didn’t look entirely convinced.

Liam glanced at Becks, hoping she had something useful to say, but she stared back at him silently. And Bob continued to dutifully, and none-too-helpfully, monitor the conversation.

‘I think, Sire … that this grail could’ve been stolen by someone who’s come from the same … uh … same place as us.’

‘And what place is this?’

Liam bit his lip. They’d explained as best they could to Cabot, and that perhaps was a time contamination they’d need to clear up later. He wondered what the consequences would be for Maddy and Sal in 2001 if he tried explaining to the future king of England the basics of time travel.

‘It is a place very far away, Sire. With strange ways about us. But look — this Hooded Man is no demon or angel.’ He jerked his head at Bob. ‘It’s probably another peculiar man like Bob, here … that’s all.’