The Doomsday Code

‘I suppose I know some of it. I know some knights found a scroll and it became known as the Grail. Right?’

‘Indeed. The Grail … a chalice, a cup: a symbol of containment. Containment, yes … but not of a liquid, not the blood of Christ. But a secret.’

‘Secret? This prophecy?’

‘Yes.’

‘What is it?’

Locke laughed. ‘Just like that? You ask and expect me to tell? Secrets that men like myself have been keeping and passing down from one brother to another? From grandfather to father to son?’

Liam thought about it for a moment, then nodded. ‘Why not? Who am I going to tell, sitting here?’

Locke laughed some more. ‘Maybe I will trade secrets with you.’

Liam nodded. ‘All right.’

‘So, then — ’ Locke hacked another chunk of meat off for Liam — ‘tell me, why exactly were you sent back here?’

Liam wondered whether to mention the Voynich Manuscript. It was what had started off this mission, the first breadcrumb in a trail that ultimately had led him here, into this mud hut in the middle of Sherwood Forest. ‘The Grail,’ replied Liam.

‘You wish to decode its secrets too?’

‘Aye.’ A question suddenly occurred to Liam. ‘How did you know where to find it?’

Locke sat up. ‘The Grail disappeared from history at the beginning of the thirteenth century. It simply vanished. Became nothing but a myth from then on. But we’ve always known it existed. And we’ve always known it was never just a mere cup.’

He began to carve another ragged hunk of meat from the bone. ‘We have Templar records. Letters of instruction, personal correspondence dating back to the brotherhood’s inception and papal blessing in 1129. So … we’ve always known King Richard got what he came for in the Holy Land. But it is there that the trail goes cold. Until, that is … the Second World War.’

Liam’s eyebrows lifted.

‘A German bombing raid over Oxford in 1943 damaged some ancient castle buildings. Old crypts were disturbed, unearthed. And, as a result of that, documents that hadn’t seen the light of day for over nine hundred years emerged. One such document was attributed to King John, written actually before he became king, written while his brother Richard was still being held for ransom in Europe.’

Locke passed another hunk of meat over the candle to Liam. ‘It was a letter of instruction to some knights to transfer King Richard’s “sacred possession” north to Scotland. John, we suspect, intended to hide it from his brother to use as a bargaining chip. Or maybe he really did think his brother’s haul from Jerusalem would be far safer in Scotland. But history tells us it never arrived there. It became lost. John’s letter of instruction was the very last mention of it.’

Locke half smiled. ‘There was a date on John’s letter. So, we finally knew a pretty exact where- and-when for the Grail. And the brotherhood has, of course, known that since the letter finally surfaced courtesy of a Luftwaffe bomb. The plan therefore, Liam, was to retrieve the Grail and decode its secrets.’

‘But you can’t, can you?’

‘Ahh, I presume you know about the key?’

‘The key to decoding it?’

‘A cardangrille. A template with viewing slits in, that one rests over the encoded text. Yes. And without that, the Grail is just a scroll full of meaningless words.’

‘And King Richard has it?’

‘Indeed.’

Liam frowned. ‘So, how were you planning on getting this grille off him?’

‘To lure him here, of course. Stir an uprising in Nottingham that he’d insist on dealing with himself on his return. He does have a reputation for that … recklessly leading from the front. A taste for the blood-rush of battle.’ Locke glanced at the motionless squatting form of the robot. ‘And, if such an opportunity presented itself, my big friend here, Rex, in the heat of battle might be able to get through to Richard …’ Locke shrugged. ‘It’s not much of a plan, but it’s all I’ve got.’

He turned to Liam and smiled, not unkindly. ‘But you’ve done such a good job of winning the locals round that my fledgling uprising looks like it’s going nowhere. Six months ago I had nearly a thousand men out here in the woods. Most of them have returned to their homes now, what with your pardon. I presume the amnesty for outlaws was your idea?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Liam replied. ‘Your uprising was causing waves in the future.’

Locke’s smile faded. ‘Well, I imagine it isn’t any longer.’

‘But you have the Grail. That will still bring Richard to you, right?’

‘Of course. He wants what I’ve got, and I want what he’s got. Perhaps we’ll make a deal?’

Liam frowned, a question occurring to him. ‘You said your brotherhood has known where the Grail might be intercepted for ages? Since, what? 1943? So when exactly have you come from, Mr Locke?’

The last time Liam had asked Locke the question, he’d replied rather cryptically, ‘The end.’

‘Is it much farther into the future than me?’

Locke said nothing, the half-smile frozen on his face, teasing Liam.

‘A hundred? Two hundred years? … Five hundred?’

‘The End,’ said Locke again, offering nothing more.

‘The End?’ Liam hunched his shoulders. ‘Ahh, come on, what is that supposed to mean? Do you mean the end of the century?’

The older man said nothing.

‘The end of what? … End of the world?’

Locke relented. ‘It really boils down to how you interpret this world around us, Liam. In a scientific way, or a spiritual way. Is it an ending … or a beginning?’

Liam ground his teeth with frustration. ‘That means nothing to me, so it does! That’s just the kind of mumbo-jumbo I’d expect from a priest.’

‘The prophecy, Liam. We’ve always known the Grail contained a detailed prophecy. Something happens on a certain date, a certain year.’

‘Something?’

‘Something.’ Locke spread his hands. ‘We don’t know. That’s what I came back to find out.’

‘Something,’ uttered Liam again. ‘Something good or something bad?’

‘I suppose if you have faith, Liam, if you can believe in a caring God, then it can only mean something wonderful will happen.’

‘And do you?’

Locke scratched the tip of his nose. ‘I suppose I’ll make my mind up when I’ve managed to decode the thing.’

CHAPTER 57

1194, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire

Moonlight illuminated the forest track in front of Bob. It was just possible to see the dark stains of congealed blood in places, the scuff marks of boots, the glint of several twisted and broken loops of chain mail, and the pale feathered fletching of a few arrows deeply embedded in the dirt.

Bob reined the horse in and stepped down on to the track.

It was silent except for the hiss of a breeze through the endlessly stirring trees and the far-off hooting of an owl. He examined the signs of battle more closely.