“We thought this was a military map, but the Grand Master said it was a trade route,” her uncle said.
Hugh, Graham, and Donald studied the two pieces of parchment.
“The map shows an escape route. Look at these marks under the small villages. Places to hide, perhaps, but not trade. These villages do not have places for storage,” Hugh said.
Graham held the parchment closer to the candle for a better view.
“What’s that odor?” Donald sniffed the air. He bent close to the document. “It smells like…”
“Wine.” Isabella’s voice trailed off as she looked over Graham’s shoulder. Small dark stains bloomed on the map.
“Charlotte. This is like one of Maurice’s games,” Isabella said as words and markings appeared.
“I knew this was a treasure map.” Donald straightened and took another deep breath. “Made with wine.”
“Grand-père told me riddles.” Charlotte’s delight at remembering the past was catching. Andrea found herself smiling. “One time I didn’t know the answer. He gave me the scrap and told me it held the answer, but there was nothing on the parchment. It took me days to figure out I had to hold it up to a candle.”
“This is not a riddle. The map is a Templar escape route. These marks are the houses of Templar sympathizers.” Hugh ran the parchment in front of the candle. More marks appeared.
“Words are on both pieces of the document. Pass them over the candle,” Graham said to Hugh. “I can’t read what it says, can you?
“Abadia de Amiens.” DuClare said. “Abbey?”
“What makes you think Abadia is an abbey?” Graham asked.
“Abadia is the Portuguese word for abbey. Many Portuguese soldiers served in Tunis,” DuClare continued to stare at the parchment. “Perhaps this means the Cathedral. The bishop, Guillaume de Mâcon was in Tunis with King Louis when he died. You remember the bishop, Donald. We spent an evening with him.”
“Yes, I do. What are you looking at so intently?” Donald asked DuClare.
“There are more words on the document.”
Hugh shifted the parchment pieces from side to side in front of the candle. More letters appeared. After a few heartbeats the only words missing were those from the missing piece of parchment.
“The first line reads: The Seeker and Sword win,” Charlotte said.
“The second line starts in the middle of a sentence: held by only the strong of. There’s an h. I’m sure the missing word is heart,” Graham said.
“The next line reads: No matter. Let them drink in. Triumph? Victory?” Isabella asked.
“The final line is clear: all will be yours.” Donald put down the document. “What does it mean?”
“Abadia de Amiens. The Seeker and the Sword win—held by only the strong of—No matter. Let them drink in—all will be yours.”
“This is a prophecy.” Charlotte said the words so softly at first that Andrea thought her lips moved without speaking.
“Abadia,” Isabella repeated several times then stopped and looked at Graham. “Abadia is not a place or an abbey. It’s a name.” Isabella picked up the signet ring and showed it to Andrea.
“The carved stone is damaged. I can only make out a few letters that appear A ad a d Am en.”
“I need sealing wax and a scrap of parchment,” Hugh said.
Jeanne Marie hurried out of the room and returned with the materials and gave them to Hugh.
He melted the wax and pressed the ring into it. Some letters were more pronounced than others but there was no mistake.
Abadia de Amiens.
“Maurice had the answer all along, right here, in the ring,” Jeanne Marie said.
“We can fulfill Maurice’s wishes,” Donald said. “I can bring these items to the family on my way back to England.”
“How will you find the Abadia family?” Charlotte asked.
“I’ll speak to the Bishop. He should be able to help me find the family,” Donald said.
Later that day
A warm breeze filtered through the garden carrying the sweet fragrance of ripening grapes.
“You were quiet while the others found the message on the parchment. I thought you would be in the center of it all,” DuClare said to Andrea as they walked in the garden.
“I’ve learned to keep to myself. Who would believe me? You don’t. Sometimes I doubt it as well.” She turned to her uncle. “Charlotte realized the message was a prophecy.”
“She has an overactive mind, as do you. Prophecies are for ancient stories. There is no place for them here.”
“We’ll go to Amiens and see—”
“Andrea. We must return to Paris. I have work to do. Work that puts food on our table and keeps a roof over our head.”
Calmly spoken, his words had a finality to them. No matter how much she argued, she was sure nothing would change his mind.
“I must go. Surely you agree. We knew of no Abadia family in Amiens. I’ll go by myself.”
“No. You cannot travel by yourself. You know better than to ask. You’ll come back to Paris with me. I promise to bring you on my trip to the north when I go to Brussels and Ghent in the fall.”
She should be grateful. More than grateful. But didn’t he understand? Couldn’t he recognize what they found in Maurice’s secret room? She was so close to finding her treasure. How could he ask her to wait?
“I’ll find a companion.”
He said nothing. They walked on in silence. No need to discuss the issue any further. To him, the discussion was over. Not for Andrea.
Donald went out the garden gate to enjoy the view of rows and rows of grapevines with the Marne River in the distance.
He stood near the small cemetery where Charlotte, Isabella and Jeanne Marie had put flowers on three graves: Maurice and Marie Cantrelle, and Charlotte’s mother, Juliette. They had returned to the chateau, but the solemn duty by the gravesites stirred thoughts of another time. When Graham’s Isla died, he watched his brother suffer. Watched. He didn’t know what to
