Treasure

by K. T. Tomb

  Because of his growing excitement, the last one thousand feet almost made him forget the brutal harshness that the mountain could quickly inflict. The whip-like wind was a quick reminder, but he was not dissuaded from completing the journey.

  As he approached the point of light, Richard couldn’t mask his disappointment when the beam just seemed to fall on a solid rock wall. They had no picks or shovels. Tears came to his eyes. He had been so sure that this would be the location of the legendary Holy Grail. But it was a wall.

  Legendary Holy Grail? That last thought went through his head again. Do you not believe the Holy Grail exists? wondered Richard. Of course I do.

  Richard rubbed his teary eyes, squinting them against the wind. He gazed upon the barren rock cliff and began to question how the Holy Grail could be so high up a mountain. Who had put it here?

  God? Man? Angel?

  And then he laughed inwardly, remembering the result of a loud noise could bring slides of deadly ice and rocks crashing down on his head.

  Of course, I believe the Holy Grail is here, somewhere. Why shouldn’t I? A God who could bring together two such bitter enemies on a quest for a Holy Grail without having us slit each other’s throats was surely the same God who could and would place the Holy Grail in the most inconvenient place on earth. Just to teach us a valuable lesson.

  Gustave understood Richard’s somewhat wicked sense of humor. He certainly needed him right now and was somewhat perturbed that his friend the priest seemed to have abandoned him for a jaunt into a famous holy, plague-driven city, just so he could earn points with the Pope. Perhaps he had aspirations of becoming a bishop or cardinal.

  It began to dawn on Richard why his friend had taken his leave of Richard’s holy expedition to Ararat. Jerusalem was a popular destination with pilgrims and discussed in papal decrees. Mount Ararat? It was a rock in the middle of nowhere.

  Let’s look at the heart of the problem, he told himself. You’re just bitter and angry because you thought you’d be gazing upon the Holy Grail by this time, and you aren’t, and so what’s the first thing you resort to doing?

  “Doubting like a Thomas,” he chided himself aloud.

  The soft tread of de Mandeville’s stride came close.

  “Do not doubt now, Richard. Things aren’t over yet,” he said in a way that was more familiar than formal.

  “You’re right. We have a long way to go before it is over.”

  Richard strode through his milling warriors, who seemed to have lost their way. Something was wrong, and then he realized what it was: the beam had winked out, leaving the morning in hazy gray shadows. But he refused to allow his good spirits go out as well. He walked over to the spot upon the rock wall where the light had shone. Three of his men went with him, including de Mandeville, who scratched notes on a scrap of parchment.

  “What are you doing?” Richard asked the map maker.

  “Making sure we know the way back, Your Majesty.”

  Richard nodded. “Good idea. Carry on.”

  Now, all were quiet, waiting for Richard to make the next move. Already the King could see Saladin’s warriors whispering among themselves. As well, Richard sensed a restlessness among his own men. All had traveled long and hard over the empty desert and finally, up the bitter cold and treacherous mountain.

  Their patience was wearing thin. As was his.

  He knew it was a lot to ask of all these men, especially Saladin’s men, to believe that the miraculous cup of Christ would be here.

  He kept visualizing it, almost as if trying to manifest its presence.

  Richard found himself scanning the rock face for anything that did not look solid. And then, he saw it. A dark shadow. With the sun shining over his shoulder, almost directly upon the face of the cliff, there was little shadow indeed, except for a glimpse of black surrounding the bottom edge of a huge boulder that was seemingly sitting before the cliff like something misplaced. To Richard, the shadow looked more like an opening into the cliff.

  “A cave!” he said and pointed. His great lion’s heart soared with fervent hope.

  “Keen eye, Majesty,” said one of the Templars.

  Richard smiled at him. “We shall see how far inside the mountain this goes.”

  “There may be danger. Shall I walk point, Majesty?” asked a warrior whose name he did not know.

  “Nay, I shall be the first to lay my eyes on the Holy Grail.”

  The man backed off and gave leave of the path to Richard.

  Richard walked over to the mysterious shadow. It was really quite unnoticeable. But if one looked closely, he would see that the shadow did not line up with the angle of the sun. Indeed, there was plenty of shadow on the bottom right of the big boulder, cast by the sun and onto the rocky ridge that had led them up to the cliff. But there shouldn’t have been an even deeper, darker shadow on the left as well. The sun didn’t cast shadows in two different directions at the same time. At least, not in the world Richard knew.

  Now, he approached the shadow to the left of the rock, reaching for it. His hand passed through it. Richard could only reach up to his elbow, before becoming caught between the edge of the opening and the boulder. Nonetheless, this was an opening of some sort into the mountain.

  Richard immediately commanded his men to help him move the giant rock. His men snapped to attention, having watched him curiously and then quite attentively as Richard’s hand passed into the dark space. However, nine of Europe’s best warriors and their king, try as they might, could not move the rock.

  Saladin’s men, commanded by one who acted in the stead of the now almost-comatose Saladin, shouted an order to help with moving the rock. Indeed, most of Saladin’s men were already moving quickly to help with the rock of their own accord.

  One of Saladin’s men shouted something and the boy, Kako, translated for Richard. “Your Majesty. He says we can use a lever to move the rock.”

  Richard scanned the mountain. “Good idea. However, we’re above the treeline. It’s not likely we can find a tall enough tree to make a lever. There is not even a bush up here.” He paused. “Tell them what I said.”

  Kako nodded and ran to Saladin’s men and chatted with them. Then he turned and ran back to Richard. “Saladin’s men have an idea to make a lever from something besides wood.”

  Richard smiled. “What could we possibly use for a lever to move the stone?”

  “They say to bind together a lot of swords and use it as a lever.”

  Richard laughed. “Ask them if they are joking.”

  “Sire, they mean it. They are already talking about it.”

  “So, they want us all to lay our swords down and tie them together tightly and make one strong lever out of it?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “That means that none of us would be armed.”

  “They worry about that, too. They say that we can all lay down our swords at the same time and they will weave them together with many ropes. And then after the stone is rolled away with the lever we create, everyone gets their sword back.”

  “There could be deceit on either side that leaves someone vulnerable and unarmed,” Richard said, thinking aloud, which was unusual for him.

  “I cannot say that to them, after they have come all this way. What shall I reply to them, Your Majesty?” Kako asked, his dark eyes worried.

  Richard looked at the size of the stone and sighed. He took his sword out of the scabbard. “Tell them that there will be hell to pay if they break my good English broadsword.”

  He laid it on the ground before him and a cheer went up. Suddenly, warriors from both sides were laying down their swords and lots of rope was procured as well. A sailor who knew both how to tie knots, and untie them afterward, stepped up to do his finest work.

  Kako ran back to Saladin’s men and chattered with them, and then ran back to Richard.

  “What do they say, Kako?” Richard asked.

  “They say if your good English broadsword g
ets broken, you will be handed a good scimitar of Damascus steel, and they want to see you try to break it.”

  Richard laughed. “The impudence! Let’s get the lever made and roll the stone away!”

  Hours later, with the combined effort of warriors from both sides, and swords contributed from both sides, and tightly tied to form a thick metal lever, the rock did move, slowly, as they pried it away from the opening of the cave. When it did, and they peered inside, Richard thought, This is no simple cave. This is a tomb. I hope it won’t be ours.

  As soon as the opening was big enough, Richard said, “I want my sword back now.”

  Of course, they all did. The knot maker sped to untie the knots from their makeshift lever. Each man found his own sword and took it off the ground and put it back in his scabbard. When they were all fully armed again, Richard led the way in…yes…into the tomb.

  Chapter Eleven

  The entrance of the cave turned out to be quite large, almost the entire width of the boulder itself, but Richard and the group only opened it wide enough to allow one man at a time to slip inside.

  They lit pine-pitch torches they had brought along on the journey, and stepped inside.

  It was indeed a cave. Richard put aside his innate fear of enclosed spaces—a nanny had once routinely locked him in a cupboard for being naughty and even after all of these years, he hated to be confined in small, dark places—and he commanded the others to follow.

  Soon, a half dozen of Richard’s men and a few of Saladin’s men were moving through the dark cave. The cave was proving to be quite deep, even narrowing at a point and continuing down a considerably long tunnel of sorts…the tunnel from his dream. Richard halted and commanded the others to follow.

  Though the tunnel angled up, it was surprisingly wide. Richard could not make up his mind if it were natural or man-made. Later, he would conclude that it was a little bit of both. But now, he mostly noticed the tunnel was angling up, and the aching in his legs was proof of the added strain of uphill climbing. His weary feet shuffled across a stone floor that was deep with silt, as if he were walking through sand on a beach. But he knew this was the nature of some caves, having been in a few as a child growing up in France, where he had been raised.

  Perhaps a river had once run through this one. However, the walls of these caves did not have the mysterious ancient paintings on them, as had some of the caves in France. The walls here were a deep charcoal color, as was the high ceiling.

  The cave cut off the biting wind and it was surprisingly comfortable inside, which alleviated his fears about going deeper. The relative comfort of the temperature was a welcome relief after the freezing rigors of climbing Ararat.

  The soldier with Saladin approached Richard with wide eyes that sparkled from the light of Richard’s torch. He looked at Kako, to translate, and chattered to the boy for a long minute.

  “What does he say?” asked Richard.

  Kako said, “Saladin said that no one in his village had ever found this cave, though it was rumored to exist. He said many had looked for it in the past but failed. Even the elders had dismissed the cave as just another legend associated with the Holy Grail. And in order for us to believe in the Grail, we would have to believe in the Christ as a Messiah, which we don’t, rather than a human prophet, which we do.”

  “Ask Saladin what he believes in.”

  Kako ran back to the litter where Saladin was being transported and talked softly to him. The old man whispered in his ear. Finally, Kako ran back to King Richard.

  “And what does Saladin say?”

  “That he trusts Allah in all things.”

  Richard nodded as they were now angling to the right and up in the cave. He looked again at the excited youthful soldier and told the lad to calm down and take deep breaths. Indeed, the young man had been almost beside himself with excitement.

  Richard, too, was excited, but then again, he wasn’t familiar with the Holy Grail legends and rumors. To him, this was another mysterious cave, albeit one that had been pointed out to him by God.

  Yes, he was very excited.

  A sense of apprehension did wash over him at one point, for he did not think he would be able to cope with another major disappointment if the Holy Grail were not found. That, he thought, would be truly unfair—Richard had not asked to be led to this God-forsaken land while the bulk of his army sat waiting, hundreds of miles away.

  He was in a desolate country and there should have been no hope to survive at all, and yet, it was God who had led him here. It was God who had given him the miracle of the dove and the beam of sunlight to guide him to this mysterious tunnel. And it was God who had, in perhaps the biggest miracle of all, given unto Richard, Saladin himself as a traveling companion.

  Richard knew that, had he been a mere treasure hunter in search of the Holy Grail, he would not have even made it this far. This was ordained. In fact, he had dreamed all of this and God had spoken to him personally and showed him the way. And in his dream, he was told he would find the Holy Grail. With the cup, after proving himself faithful to God in this holy quest, he would heal his sworn enemy.

  However, Richard did not think of him as his enemy anymore. He had spoken with Saladin on a friendly level, consulted with him, and taken his advice. Saladin was a wise and knowledgeable man. And he would be dead very soon if that Holy Grail was not found.

  Richard knew that should Saladin succumb to death before the Grail was found, that it would seal the spiritual fate of the King of England and that his mortal life would end soon. If Richard died now, it was more than the fear that he would be damned to Hell: All of Europe could fall to usurpers. He tried to stop agonizing over it.

  Richard moved over to where Saladin was being transported on a litter made of two poles and stretched hide. The hands of the litter bearers were bloody and blistered.

  Involuntarily, he sucked in a hard breath as he saw the damage to their hands.

  Richard requested that he take over one end, and it was reluctantly given up by one of Saladin’s faithful soldiers. The man was not completely trusting of Saladin’s enemy king as a litter bearer. It was unheard of for a king to dirty his hands with such tasks. Yet Richard knew that the most mighty of kings must humble themselves before God. And so, he took on Saladin’s burden.

  Swapping the lit torch for the two poles, Richard continued forward through the tunnel, still at the head of the group, but this time, lugging the surprisingly light form of Saladin, who was now either asleep or dead. Richard looked back occasionally at the prostrate man he carried behind him, and in doing so, he did not distinctly see the rise of the man’s chest even once.

  He was sure Saladin was dead and that he had failed his test from God. However, a few more checks later, as the tunnel suddenly angled sharply upwards, the old man stirred ever so slightly, moaning, as Richard marched upward and forward with renewed determination.

  Thankfully, the tunnel leveled once again, leaving Richard with a burning in his legs from the double exertion of uphill climbing and the load behind him. He did not think to pause. He sensed they were growing closer to their goal. A tingling swept through his body. Was it anticipation or the presence of the holy artifact?

  Ahead, there was a sudden sharp turn to the left. Richard had been certain that they had been steadily going deeper into the mountain while going up at the same time. Not very deep, granted, but into the interior, nonetheless. However, this sharp turn told him that they were either heading back out to the surface of the mountain, or the tunnel was going to hug more of the perimeter of the mountain.

  There was a bulge in the tunnel, like a snake with a rat digesting inside, and Richard figured this to be a good spot to rest and eat. Again, according to Richard’s internal sense of time, it was probably noontime, and he was famished.

  They stopped and broke bread, and drank cool water and wine. The salty camel’s milk cheese was sharp and hearty, and a few of both Richard’s and Saladin’s men had been given so
me honey cakes from the village below. It had proved to be enough, when broken into pieces, for all of them, the sick Saladin excluded. He was too weak to eat and took only the smallest sips of water from the cup that Richard held to his lips.

  They continued their exploration of the cave. Richard was sure it was probably late afternoon. While he was pondering this, the tunnel ahead of them began to glow with a faint luminescence.

  Immediately, his heart began to hammer in his chest. It was the same sensation that had come over him when they were approaching the end of the beam of light—the Irish legend of the leprechaun’s pot of gold at the end of the rainbow came to his mind.

  He had a growing sense of awe and apprehension. It seemed that his very beliefs hung in the balance, as did those of his enemy. Together, he and Saladin would discover the truth.

  The path continued to widen. A white light that did not seem of this Earth grew in intensity until they finally extinguished the torches. Richard thought of the image of Heaven he had imagined all his life: pure, white beams of light streaming from clouds after a heavy rain.

  He realized that he was witnessing a miracle. A completely closed cave was flooded with bright light that illuminated every rock.

  Every man’s face, Muslim and Christian alike, was wide-eyed in the wonder of it all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Richard was at the fore of the group, holding his end of the wooden poles that carried the leader, Saladin, who was nearer to death than life.

  The light was bright enough to guide their way over the sometimes rough stones and large rocks that presented obstacles along the tunnel’s path.

  Maybe we are in Heaven, thought Richard.