The horse was loaded and ready to go with enough provisions to last the two of us for an overnight stay. Tristan didn’t seem to think that we would be met with any trouble, but he’d given me an extra knife, just in case.
“I don’t know how they’ll receive us,” he’d explained. “And I’ve heard nothing of Thomas since he and his men disappeared. We wouldn’t want to be unarmed, should they be hiding in the jungle and come across us.”
“That makes me feel so relaxed,” I’d snipped, taking the blade from him.
Now, watching him take another swig of whiskey before mounting, I felt grateful for the small weapon. If he wasn’t good and drunk already, he would be soon, judging from the full flask of alcohol he’d placed in his coat pocket.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t get a cart for you, or something?” I asked apprehensively as he lifted a foot and placed it in John’s hands.
“The cart would be worse,” he answered calmly, grabbing the pommel of the saddle with his free hand. “Too bumpy.”
“I have to agree with the lady, Captain,” John said carefully. “It’s much too soon for ye to be riding off without the men. Should there be a fight, ye’ll be easier to pick off than flies on a horse.”
“Hey!” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “I’m not that great of a fighter, but I could protect us if I needed to.”
“Against a whole tribe of aborigine slaves?” he returned skeptically. “No offense, miss, but ye aren’t really the man that fought twenty of ‘em and had his tongue severed in the name of love.”
“The Greeks aren’t aborigines,” Tristan spoke, calling John’s attention back to him. “Now, help me up.”
On the other side of the horse, I held the reins steady, glaring at John as he helped to lift Tristan up. It didn’t take more than a few seconds, but I could tell from the grimace on Tristan’s face, and the speed at which he redrew his flask, that it had hurt.
“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned.
“Aye.” He nodded curtly, dismissing John with his thanks. “Get on, then. In front of me, if ye don’t mind. I’ll let ye lead him.”
Acknowledging his request, I took the saddle, putting my foot in the stirrup, and easily mounted, careful not to bump Tristan’s shoulder as I settled into my spot.
“Ye know how to ride a horse then.” There was a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “Good. Let’s be on our way.”
Easing the animal forward, we started on the road out of town and into the jungle. The brush was thick and the path narrow, strange trees I’d only ever seen in pictures stretching up around us.
“It’s beautiful,” I said with wonderment, once again struck by how green everything was. “You know, I’ve never been to a rainforest before?”
“Aye?” Tristan asked, seeming to hold his own behind me, his strong arm curved around my waist. “I’ve been. A monkey stole my coin purse.”
Laughing, I peered over my shoulder at him, not sure whether he was being serious.
“It was here, on Madagascar,” he explained. “Two years back. I’d been out with the crew, meeting with the natives. They gave us something to smoke and by the end of the night I couldn’t tell up from down. The little bugger climbed right on top of me and took it without me even trying to stop him.”
“Sounds like quite the night,” I chuckled.
“Oh, it was. But nothing compared to the jungles across the sea. I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard tales.”
“There must be so much rainforest now,” I mused. “They will cut a lot of it down in the future, before it becomes protected. They’ve always been so interesting to me. Did you know that there are still people who live there now, like the aborigines?”
“I suspect ye mean in yer own time?” He grunted, the horse taking a particularly bumpy stretch of road.
“Yeah,” I said, not realizing my mistake. “I saw a picture of them once. A plane had flown overhead and caught it. They all looked so surprised and curious.”
He grunted, having already been told what a plane was during one of our earlier conversations. “I can imagine. I’d be the same if a great big thing was hurling through the sky.”
“Hey, I just remembered,” I said, trying to look at everything as we passed through more foliage. “You never finished telling me about the Templars. I was going to ask this morning, but we had other plans.”
“Aye, I was wondering how long it would take ye to fish for the rest of the story.” He laughed, a little too loud as a result of all the whiskey, but continued on without stopping. “King Philip of France. What do ye know about him?”
“My history says that he owed the Templars a lot of money, because they’d started the first banks and lines of credit and loaned him funds for a war. He couldn’t pay it back, so he had them all arrested under false charges and put to death. He’d intended to take their wealth for himself, but it was gone by the time of their capture.”
“It is interesting to hear how things have been twisted over time,” he mused. “King Philip was one of the kindest, non-greedy kings France ever saw.”
“So he didn’t have them arrested?” I asked, baffled. “How could something that large have been misconstrued?”
“I never said he didn’t arrest them. He did. He had them put to death as well.”
Unsure of what he was saying, I stayed silent, hoping he would continue without prodding.
“The Templars stole and kept the treasures they’d found, thinking that maybe one day the objects would make them strong,” he went on. “But eventually, it became clear there was too much, even for them. A division arose among the knighthood. There were men who wanted to keep it hidden away forever, and those who wanted to use the wealth and power to start a new world order. They began to turn from their Christian beliefs, worshiping false idols and the relics they had in their possession. Initiation to the Order had always been a secret affair, but they began their own sect within the company. The True Cross was in their control, as well as other beloved items.”
“So there really were things going on,” I interrupted, unable to keep myself from contributing. “Defamation of the cross, false gods, all of it.”
Tristan’s fingers tensed against my stomach, his body stiffening behind me. “There was,” he confirmed, a dark edge entering his tone. “But only among those called The Black Knights of the Order of the Templars. It was a name they used to distinguish themselves from those who wished for things to remain the same. There was a plot brewing among the new sect, one that would have changed the face of the world.
“The Knights Templar had seen fit to install spies into this secret group. As the plan began to unfold, we were in place to defeat it. King Philip was also apprised of the situation. The night before the command went out to arrest all the knights, eight Templar ships sat docked in the nearby harbor. The Black Knights were busy performing their secret rites and rituals as the faithful Knights loaded the treasure onto their ships and sailed away into the night. The next morning, every single one of the defecting members were arrested by the king and put to death for their actions.”
“He stopped an uprising,” I murmured, amazed. “And his name has been tarnished throughout history because of it.”
“Methinks he would have wanted it that way. According to the stories from my grandfather who knew him, he was a very kind and religious man.”
“Even the Pope thought the knights were innocent,” I added.
“What?”
“Dad told me—it was just a few years before I went out to be with him—the Vatican released a statement that the Pope at the time had thought the knights blameless and undeserving of their fate. He’d done nothing to stop it, though, fearing retaliation from France and her allies. It was in his journal, or a letter, or something.”
“How strange,” Tristan replied, stunned. “Do you think he was on the Black Knight’s side?”
“I don’t know.” Caught off b
y his question, I thought it over. “Would he have known about the treasure in the first place?”
“That I’m not sure of. I guess the only way to find out would be to go back in time and ask him, aye?” He snickered, and I heard another healthy dose of whiskey pour into his mouth.
“How are you doing?” I asked again. “I’m worried you’ll get so drunk that you’ll fall off the horse.”
“I’m fine, lass.” Brushing my concern off, Tristan snorted. “It’ll take much more alcohol than this to dismount me.”
“How are you going to talk to the priestess prophet lady if you’re drunk off your ass?” I laughed, knowing that he was further gone than he thought.
“I’ll just show her the vase,” he replied simply. “That should get her talking.”
“Yeah,” I gently teased. “You do that.”
“Don’t ye want to know the rest of the story?” he asked, switching back to our previous topic.
“The ships sailed away to Oak Isle and they buried the treasure?” I guessed.
“No. They sailed to Scotland. It wasn’t until Henry Sinclair traveled to the New World with the Norse that they even thought of hiding it there.”
“Ha!” I yelled, surprising him. “That was one of Dad’s theories.”
“Yer Da was a smart man,” he replied appreciatively. “Yes, with the help of the knights, the Norse, and the local tribes of Indians, they built the tunnels and secret door to Oak Isle. Then the Grand Master ordered the hiding to begin.”
“You had a new Grand Master, I’m assuming? Since the other one was burned at the stake by King Philip.”
“Yes.”
The conversation died between us as I thought it all over, the horse following the path easily, moving in and out of the trees until we broke from the line into a natural clearing. A river ran through, stretching across the wide place, and the grass grew high, almost hiding the slave camp from me.
“Is that it?” I asked. From the way everyone had spoken, I’d thought it would be farther away and take more than an hour or two to get there.
“Aye. The slaves stay close to town, to trade. They work closely with the natives here, since they understand the men and their nature. It’ll be an hour yet before we’ve reached them. This clearing is very deceptive when it comes to size.”
We picked our way through the grass, moving slowly as we neared the village. When we were about halfway there, men appeared to escort us, Tristan speaking to them in a language I didn’t recognize. Whatever he said, they seemed to accept it, not stopping us but walking alongside, talking to each other. Tristan laughed at the conversation, replying in earnest, and the slaves responded in kind, the sound of their merriment stretching out around us.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, amused.
“They said they’ve never seen a woman with so many clothes on. Or pants. I told them that we couldn’t keep ye in a dress if we tried.”
Sighing, I just accepted the teasing. It was becoming one of the first comments made about me whenever I met someone new and I was used to staring others down as their gaze inevitably lowered to my masculine leggings.
The closer we got to the village, the more people started appearing from the mud huts, some of them with black skin like the natives, others with the much lighter color of Greeks. The men were all naked from the waist up, with loincloths or things that looked like shorts wrapped around them. The women varied from being bare chested with skirts, having a piece of cloth tied around their torso, or the strange, bra-like things the Madame had mentioned, which did nothing to cover their breasts, but everything possible to hold them up.
The men escorting us called out to their friends and relatives, shouting something that made those in the village turn and run to one hut in particular.
“They’ve told the priestess we’re here to see her,” Tristan translated.
She emerged from the tent then, an older woman wearing a long tribal skirt and the bra thing, many necklaces around her neck and braids hanging from her head. Her lip was pierced and there appeared to be a tattoo on her right shoulder. She looked like one of the natives instead of Greek, but it was obvious in the way she held herself that she was the leader of the group.
“Greetings, Mother!” Tristan called, raising a hand in friendship.
“What do you want?” she replied in perfect English.
Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One) Page 46
