brothers were asleep, he and Hugh had quietly made their way to the forecastle, Aimard clutching the chest entrusted to him by William of Beaujeu. The Templars had enemies everywhere, and, with their defeat in Acre, they were now vulnerable. The chest had to be secured well out of sight, safe from any searches that might befall them. Aimard had shared his concerns with Hugh shortly after leaving Acre; both he and Beaujeu trusted the man implicitly. He hadn't expected the shipmaster to present him with such a perfect solution.
He remembered how when they had reached the ship's bow, Hugh had raised a flaming torch to expose a deep cavity, slighdy larger uhan the chest, that had been hacked into the back of the bird's head. Hugh climbed up and sat astride the ship's figurehead. Aimard took one last look at the ornate chest before lifting it and handing it to the shipmaster, who carefully placed it into the opening. Close at hand, a brazier burned beneadi a small vat of molten resin, the surface of which rocked slowly in keeping with the increasingly heavy swell on which the Falcon Temple was riding.
With the chest jammed firmly into the hiding place prepared for it, Aimard carefully used a long-handled metal pot to scoop up resin that he handed up to Hugh, who then poured it into the gaps between the chest and the sides of die cavity. After a moment, a bucket of water was dashed over the hot resin, sending up a sizzling cloud of steam. Hugh nodded to Aimard, who then handed him die final stage of the reliquary's concealment. A piece of thick wood, chiseled to the curve of the figurehead, was laid over the opening. Hugh hammered it into place using wooden pegs, each thicker than a man's thumb, then all this too was sealed with molten resin that was quickly hardened with water. The task completed, Aimard watched for a moment longer until Hugh scrambled from the figurehead to die safety of die deck.
Looking around, Aimard saw that no one had observed their actions. He thought about Martin of Carmaux, who was resting down below. There was no need to tell his protege what he had done.
Later, when they reached port, it might become necessary, but until then he would let the whereabouts of the reliquary remain known only to himself and Hugh. As for the contents of the chest—that was something for which die young Martin wasn't yet ready.
A lightning bolt snapped Aimard back to his present predicament. He pushed his way through the rainsqualls and almost reached the forecastle when another mountainous wave slammed into the Falcon Temple, its brutal force lifting him off his feet and hurling him back against the chart table, impaling him on its corner. Martin was quickly with him and, despite Aimard's garbled pleas, the young knight helped him up and dragged him over into the waiting longboat.
Aimard fell into the barge and, despite the searing pain in his side, righted himself in time to see Hugh clambering over the edge and joining them. The shipmaster was clutching a bizarre circular device, a navigational instrument that Aimard had seen him use, and was busy locking it into position. The knight pounded his fist angrily at the side of the boat and looked on, helplessly, at the figurehead, which stood proudly resisting the remorseless battering of the angry sea before snapping like a twig and disappearing under the foaming water.
Chapter 62
Tess's heart sank as she felt the air leave her lungs. She looked incredulous. 'So that's it? After all this, it's at the bottom of the sea?'
She felt a surge of anger. Not again. Her mind was a confused jumble. 'So why all the mystery?'
she blurted out, grim-faced. 'Why the coded letter? Why not just let the Templars in Paris know they'd lost it irretrievably?'
'To keep up the bluff,' Vance ventured. 'As long as it was within their reach, the cause was alive. And they were safe.'
'Until their bluff was called . . . ?'
The professor nodded. 'Exactly. Remember, this thing, whatever it is, is of paramount importance to the Templars. You wouldn't expect Aimard to just leave its position unrecorded, regardless of whether or not they could get to it during their lifetimes.'
Tess heaved a ponderous sigh and plunked herself down on one of the wooden chairs by the table.
She rubbed her eyes as images of an arduous, centuries-old journey and of men being dragged to burning pyres flooded her consciousness. She opened her eyes and they settled on the astrolabe again. All this way, all these risks, she thought . . . for this.
'They were so close.' Vance was in his own world, examining the navigation instrument more closely. 'If the Falcon Temple had only held together a few hours longer, they would have made it to shore, hugged the coastline, and used their oars to reach one of the nearby Greek islands, which were in friendly hands. There, they would have been able to repair the mast and sail on, free from the fear of attack, either back to Cyprus or, more likely, to France.' He paused, then added, almost to himself, 'And we'd probably be living in a very different world . . .'
Reilly, sitting on a small batch of concrete blocks, couldn't hold back any longer. The frustration was unbearable. He'd felt he stood a good chance of taking out the Turks and Vance if he moved fast, but he didn't want to endanger Tess or Rustem. But there was more to it than just a bruised ego. At the back of his mind, something else was vying for attention. Somewhere, this had evolved from a straightforward manhunt into something far more insidious; he felt personally threatened, but it wasn't physical. He couldn't quite put a finger on it. Deeper, more fundamental questions had been gnawing at him ever since they had decoded the manuscript, and he suddenly felt troubled and strangely vulnerable. 'A different world?' he scoffed. 'All because of, what, a magic formula to make gold?'
Vance let out a dismissive chortle. 'Please, Agent Reilly. Don't sully the Templars' legacy with petty myths of alchemy. It's a well-documented fact that they gained their wealth from the donations of noblemen across Europe, all of it given with the full blessing of the Vatican. They threw land and money at them, because they were the valiant defenders of the pilgrims . . . but there was more to it than that. You see, their mission was thought to be sacred. Their supporters believed that the Templars were seeking something that would be of immeasurable benefit to mankind.' A hint of a smile broke through his stern features. 'What they didn't know was that had the Templars been successful, it would have benefited all of mankind, not just the 'chosen ones,' as the Christians of Europe arrogantly deemed themselves.'
'What are you talking about?' Reilly blurted.
'Among the accusations that led to the Templars' downfall was that they had gotten close to the other inhabitants in the Holy Land—the Muslims, and the Jews. Our dear knights were said to have been seduced by their contacts with them, to have shared mystical insights with them. On that front, the accusations were actually correct, although they were
quickly swept aside in favor of the more colorful ones I'm sure you're both familiar with.
The pope and the king—who was, after all, anointed by God, no less, and was desperate to prove he was the most Christian of kings—were understandably keen to smother that idea, the notion of their champions actually fraternizing with the heathens, than to use it as further ammo in bringing down the Templars, however damning it was. But it wasn't just about them all sharing mystical insights.
In fact, it was far more pragmatic than that. They were planning something incredibly daring, brave, and far- reaching, an act of lunacy perhaps but also one of breathtaking courage and vision.' Vance paused, seemingly moved by the very notion, before his eyes settled on Reilly again and tightened.
'They were,' he announced, 'plotting to unify the three big religions.'
He looked up at the mountains framing them and waved his hands expansively. 'The unification of the three faiths,' he laughed. 'Just imagine it. Christians, Jews, and Muslims—all joined in one faith. And why not? We all worship the same God, after all. We're all the children of Abraham, aren't we?' he mocked. His expression hardened. 'Think about it. Imagine what a different world we'd be living in, if that were the case. An infinitely better world . . . think of all the pain and bloodshed we would have avoided over the years—today more than ever. Millions of people, none of whom would have had to die senselessly. No inquisitions, no holocaust, no wars in the Balkans or in the Middle East, no planes plowing into skyscrapers . . .'A fleeting glance of mischief crossed his features. 'You'd probably be out of a job, Agent Reilly.'
Reilly's mind was racing, trying to make sense of the revelations. Could it be possible . . . ? He flashed to his conversation with Tess about the nine years the Templars spent in seclusion in the Temple, their rapid rise in power and wealth, and the Latin inscription Tess had told him about.
Veritas vos liberabit.
