by D B Nielsen
‘But what about you? You were there for the Seed,’ I said, my voice troubled.
‘Oui, oui, oui, exactement,’ Gabriel confirmed, ‘Try to understand, in 623BC, King Josiah ordered that the Ark of the Covenant be placed in the Temple of Solomon which became a place of pilgrimage and devotion but in 586BC Nebuchadrezzar II ordered the temple’s destruction and took the Jews into slavery.’
‘Like the Wise One, Daniel,’ I murmured.
‘Bah, Sage, you have been doing your homework,’ Gabriel looked impressed and I blushed under his regard, ‘Tiens! The Nephilim watched over the Holy Land for centuries because it was our home but there followed a turbulent, violent history which is not important to this tale except to say that when Hugues de Payens, the first Grand Master of the Templars, died in 1136, he was succeeded by Robert de Craon. De Craon planned to secure papal approval for the Templars and it took him just three years as Grand Master to achieve this. But what most scholars do not know is that de Craon’s emissary to Pope Innocent II was a beautiful, idealistic young man. Not wholly mortal.’
My eyes widened in surprise and Gabriel nodded in response.
‘Oui, oui, oui, Sage, it was St. John. It was not difficult to convince the Pope of the necessity to find the Seed and, as a result, on March 29, 1139, Pope Innocent II issued a special type of bull called the Omne Datum Optimum. This officially approved the Knights Templar, confirming the Rule of Order and all donations made to the Templars. The Pope excused the Templars from paying tithes and taxes but allowed them to receive tithes themselves, on condition that these were presented as gifts and given freely. This made it easier, at least financially, for St. John and me to search for the Seed.’
‘So, this charter was secured by the Templars because of St. John?’
‘Si, si, si, it was unusual as it was so supportive of the Templars and it gave them so many privileges,’ he said, tilting his head to the side to look at me fully, ‘It was followed by two more papal bulls, Celestine II’s Milites Templi in 1144 and Eugenius III’s Militia Dei in 1145, which both gave the Templars an even more extraordinary range of rights and privileges such as allowing them to build their own churches, bury their dead in those church grounds and collect taxes on Templar properties.’
He paused, leaning back comfortably in his seat, before continuing. ‘These privileges were controversial among those who struggled to pay their taxes – risking eviction or excommunication if they did not – especially as the Templars continued to grow richer. But this was our undoing. Over the two hundred years between the First Crusade and the last Grand Master, there were thirty-seven popes. Some were wholly supportive and helpful, while others, such as Clement V who assisted our downfall, were opposed to us.’
I held up a hand awkwardly, interrupting his narrative. ‘So, you’re saying that it was greed that led to the Knights Templar’s downfall?’
He nodded sombrely. ‘Greed and envy. By lending vast sums of money to destitute monarchs, the Templars became the bankers for every throne in Europe, and even for some Muslim rulers. By the time of Philip II, the Templars were effectively the French royal treasury and also lent money to the Church to finance ecclesiastical building programmes. This is where I gained my experience in banking, Sage. It was the Templars who developed the system of credit notes, what we now call traveller’s cheques, for pilgrims travelling to the Holy Land which could be given at one Templar preceptory and cashed at another. Templar buildings were so well fortified that they were impregnable – another reason for clients to feel secure leaving their money in them. The Paris Temple became the major Templar base. And the Templars developed the equivalent of modern-day safety deposit boxes and bank cheques. But Philip IV wanted to make France more powerful than any other nation and, in order to accomplish his plan, he needed–’
‘–lots of money,’ I added.
‘–and a weak Pope,’ Gabriel agreed, ‘and Clement V was a personal friend of Philip IV in his youth, chosen by Philip as Pope because he thought Clement would be–’
‘–a push over,’ I concluded.
‘Oui, oui, oui,’ Gabriel nodded, ‘and so, working together, they conspired to quash the Templars and seize their treasures. On Friday the Thirteenth of October, 1307, Pope Clement V’s secret sealed orders were opened simultaneously by his soldiers all across Europe and the dawn raids began. It went like clockwork. His agents arrested five thousand Templars in France, including the Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, on the charges of heresy, devil worship, sodomy, homosexuality, blasphemy and denying Christ. The Knights Templar were captured, tortured and executed.’
‘And you and St. John?’ I asked, feeling the blood leach away from my hands and face leaving me feeling lightheaded.
‘We eventually managed to escape with the help of the Templars,’ he said, ‘The Inquisition that followed the arrest of the Templars led to false confessions, but many of the confessions were given freely by very courageous men so that the Nephilim could flee France to continue our search for the Seed. In the fourteenth century, heresy and magic elicited genuine terror and we would not have gained freedom if it weren’t for the sacrifice made by the Templars.’
‘You said “eventually”, Gabriel. What does that mean?’ I asked horrified, knowing the answer before he confessed it to me.
‘We were not so lucky as to escape unscathed. St. John was caught and tortured.’
‘How?’ I demanded.
Gabriel sighed. ‘Tiens! He thought that if he could only talk to Pope Clement, he might be able to convince him ... but ... St. John did not get the opportunity to plead our case before the Pope. He was handed over to the Inquisition ... It may not have made a difference even if he had reached Pope Clement...’
Gabriel spread his hands in a gesture that conveyed sorrow and confusion.
‘But Nephilim cannot be hurt except by a seraph blade,’ I said distraught. Then, remembering the fine white scars on St. John’s back, I cried out, ‘Oh, my God! They knew that he was a Nephilim, didn’t they? That’s what you meant when you said that they feared heresy and magic, wasn’t it? They tortured him! They would have killed him!’
I began to shake uncontrollably, trembling in shock and fear, as one look at Gabriel’s solemn face confirmed my suspicions and led me to imagine the worst kinds of horrors.
‘T’inquiète, Sage. He was rescued by our brotherhood. St. John is safe now,’ Gabriel attempted to reassure me, taking my hands in his own. ‘He survived. We both did.’
‘Yes,’ I whispered, thinking of his duty to the Seed and how much he had sacrificed for it. ‘Yes, he survived, but at what cost?’
Gabriel merely shook his head mournfully. There was no answer, no reassurance that he could provide for me.
REWARD
CHAPTER NINE
We arrived in Kent in the early afternoon but the weather had turned gloomy with the threat of rain which suited my mood to a tee. Gabriel was acting the typical Frenchman with his fussy, impeccable manners, concerned that if he returned me to my family in my current condition that it would alarm my parents. I hastened to assure him that all would be well as soon as I was home again but I was incapable of convincing him or myself of this falsehood. The only thing that would make it right for me was to see St. John again and he would not be returning to London until after Christmas.
Alighting from the train at Ebbsfleet International, Gabriel carried my suitcase onto the platform and escorted me into the terminal as I searched the crowd for my Mum. A sea of faces greeted me but none that I recognised and in my despondent state, I wondered if anyone remembered that I was returning home that afternoon.
‘SAGE!’
I heard my name called faintly above the announcements from the PA system and, wheeling round, saw a chestnut coloured head bobbing above the crowd, arms waving frantically to gain my attention.
‘Sage!’ Fi called again and began to make her way over to me, fighting against a tide of bodies moving like electrons bouncing
off each other in random directions.
‘Fi!’ I called out in turn and grabbing Gabriel’s arm manoeuvred him in her direction.
We met somewhere in the middle of the terminal and I threw my arms gratefully around my twin, drawing her into a close embrace. When I finally let her go, I felt marginally better. Turning to perform the introductions, I caught Gabriel’s bemused look and realised that he had not known that Fi was my identical twin. His eyes travelled between us unable to reconcile the similarity.
‘Gabriel, this is my sister, Saffron,’ I said, motioning to Fi who was trying her best, but failing, to suppress a smirk. ‘Fi, Gabriel. St. John’s brother.’
Fi arched a brow at me but politely extended a hand to the extraordinarily handsome Frenchman by my side, not expecting that Gabriel would also draw her into an embrace and plant kisses on both her cheeks in the Parisian fashion.
Now it was my turn to suppress a smirk at Fi’s surprised expression.
‘Enchantée,’ Gabriel withdrew from the embrace, once again shaking his head at our likeness, his silvery-grey eyes mystified.
Fi turned to me and murmured under her breath, ‘Later.’
It was meant as a threat; as a warning that she meant to interrogate me at the first available opportunity. I could almost hear her mind ticking over. How come I had left with one brother and arrived back with another – and both of them breathtakingly handsome?
‘You will be fine, non? I will call you when I arrive back in Paris in a few days and send you St. John’s gift. If you have need of me, here is my number,’ Gabriel pressed a business card into my hand, then giving me a hug, said, ‘Be safe, mon petit chou, à bientôt.’
As we watched Gabriel retrace his steps, hurrying to catch the train before it departed from the station, Fi gave a low whistle to his retreating back, commenting teasingly, ‘Well, mon petit chou, that is one very sexy Frenchman.’
Somehow Gabriel must have heard her because he stopped then before ascending the platform to turn and catch her eye, giving Fi a wink.
I burst out laughing feeling my mood lighten considerably.
‘How could he have heard me over the train announcements?’ Fi asked in bewilderment as Gabriel’s pale blond head passed from our view, disappearing in the distance.
‘Never mind, I’ll explain everything later,’ I told her as I steered her towards the terminal’s entrance.
Rolling my suitcase behind me, I followed in Fi’s trail as we made our way out of the terminal, asking, ‘Where’s Mum parked?’
‘She’s not; she’s at home with Jasmine and Alex who are still sick,’ Fi explained.
‘Okay,’ I replied, as we exited the terminal and a strong gust of wind immediately whipped my scarf about my face causing me to hang onto it in case it flew away, ‘so where’s Dad parked?’
Fi gave me a secretive smile, throwing my words back at me, ‘He’s not here either. Never mind, I’ll explain everything later.’
I rolled my eyes at her and looked about for the BMW or Lexus in the parking lot of Ebbsfleet International. A part of me, illogically, even clung to the hope that St. John was here and that’s why Fi was being so sly. But I knew in my heart that there was no possibility of this.
We approached the south corner of the parking lot which was all but deserted, save for a handful of cars. A sporty-looking metallic blue Toyota Prius Hybrid was parked on an angle, taking up almost two car spaces.
‘God, that driver’s as bad as you at parking!’ I commented to Fi, my tone teasing.
Fi merely gave me a sour look in reply and removed an object from the pocket of her jeans. Pressing a button, the Toyota in front of us emitted a sharp beep and the headlights flashed in warning. It was then that I realised that Fi had come to pick me up, driving a brand new car.
‘Surprise!’ she said, obviously pleased at leaving me speechless.
‘I can’t believe it!’ I said in a state of shock.
‘I know! Isn’t it amazeballs?’ she exclaimed, running her hand lovingly over the car.
‘I can’t believe it! I can’t believe you passed your driver’s test!’ I shook my head, incredulous.
Fi scowled, ‘Oh ha ha! I’m not that bad a driver! Besides, you can’t talk – you don’t even have a learner’s permit!’
Ignoring her last statement, I asked, ‘So, what? Mum and Dad gave you a new car because you got your “P”s?’
‘Fail!’ she retorted, ‘It’s our reward, girl!’
As she opened the boot of the car to dump my suitcase in, I asked in confusion, ‘What reward? What for?’
‘For passing our Finals,’ she remarked, moving round to the driver’s side, ‘Remember I told you on the phone that Mum was stressing out over our exam grades being released soon? Well, they’re out. We both passed. Didn’t you check while you were away?’
I shook my head in surprise as I’d never thought to check my results on the Internet, especially as my time at school and our Finals seemed like they’d happened centuries ago. So much had occurred in the last two months and I was irrevocably changed by my developing relationship with St. John and the quest to see the Seed safely back to its origin that the results of my Finals no longer seemed to matter, were almost insignificant in the scheme of things.
Fi sighed in exasperation.
‘Well, congratulations, girl!’ she exclaimed, motioning to encompass the car’s spotless interior, ‘This is our reward!’
Sliding into the passenger seat, I looked around at the satellite navigation display on the console and the bucket seats in cream leather, acutely aware of that new car smell. Fi had already turned on the engine and her favourite iTunes blared from the speakers.
Turning down the dial so that I could hear her over the beat of Lorde’s latest hit, I asked in shock, ‘So, how did we do?’
‘We both scored in the top percent of the state. You beat me by the slightest of margins,’ she said without resentment, throwing the car into reverse, ‘Take a look, I printed out the results for you to see – they’re in the glove compartment.’
As the SatNav system switched over to the panorama from the rear-view cameras, I opened the glove compartment in front of my knees and found the folded printouts sporting our individual results.
They were exactly as Fi had claimed – the grades were outstanding. And my hand trembled slightly as I saw that I had performed better than I had hoped for, especially in my weakest subject, Mathematics. I had even matched Fi in achieving a first placing in the state in Latin while she had topped Visual Arts.
All our hard work had paid off – but somehow it left me feeling numb.
I shuffled the printouts in my hand, perusing each in turn, and saw that underneath the printed scorecards was an array of official-looking envelopes addressed in my name and bearing the insignias of the University of Oxford, Cardiff University, and the Institute of Archaeology at University College London.
All the forms my parents had forced me to fill in had come back to haunt me.
‘I got several too. But for me it was a no-brainer,’ Fi murmured and, as I hesitated to open the first envelope, urged, ‘Go on, Sage. Open them.’
Looking at the four envelopes in trepidation and nervous excitement, I knew that this would change everything, throwing my plans once again into turmoil. But there was no helping it.
Placing my thumbnail under the edge of the flap of the first one which bore the emblem of the University of Oxford, I tore the envelope open and quickly scanned its contents. I didn’t know whether I should have felt a sense of elation or despair.
‘Well?’ Fi demanded, waiting for a response from me.
‘I’ve been offered a place,’ I replied.
‘Well, that’s great! We can be at Oxford together!’ Fi smiled delightedly, ordering me to open the others as well.
They were worded almost identically; all with similar offers of an undergraduate placing to study at their esteemed institutions. I could have accepted any one of t
hem as they were all fine universities. While several offered degrees in Conservation in Archaeology, Fine Arts or Natural History, I knew that I could also take a different route and study Conservation as a post-graduate course instead, while first completing an undergraduate course in History and Archaeology like my father.
But I was placed in a quandary.
Whatever choice I made – which would please my parents and possibly please Fi too – meant that I would be separated from St. John whose work was in London at the British Museum and whose foremost duty was to the Seed; something I hadn’t anticipated when filling in these application forms at the request of my parents, before I became enmeshed in the quest to see the Seed safely delivered to its origin.
‘You don’t look too thrilled,’ Fi observed, taking her eyes off the road to briefly focus on my morose countenance. ‘What’s up?’
I slowly began to unravel my tangled story which sounded just like a Shakespearean drama, my voice low and strained even to my own ears. I felt that I could have been quoting from Horatio’s speech at the end of Hamlet with its “carnal, bloody and unnatural acts” or the prologue from Romeo and Juliet about “star-crossed lovers” as fantastical as it sounded even to me.
Fi finally pulled over to the side of the road switching on the hazard lights once we made it off the motorway, claiming she couldn’t concentrate on both her driving and my tale at the same time without causing an accident.
‘Am I being punked?’ she demanded hotly, looking over her shoulder for hidden cameras.
‘No!’ I immediately denied, meeting her accusing hazel eyes, ‘Of course not! I’m telling you the truth!’
‘C’mon, Sage!’ Fi exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief, ‘Listen to yourself! What you’re saying sounds crazy!’
‘Look!’ I said defensively, my whole posture rigid and tense. ‘I’m telling you what I saw! Honest!’
