The Templar's Secret (The Templar Series)

by C. M. Palov

  One of the trusted disciples, a man named Nicodemus, aided Yosef and me as we removed the body to a nearby tomb that had been prepared with lengths of linen and healing herbs and a salve made from myrrh. There were two white-garbed Nazorean healers who were already there awaiting our arrival. We spent several hours tending to the Master before we smoked the grotto with aloe and rolled a large stone in front of the tomb opening. As we left the tomb, there was a blood moon in the night sky, a sign in the heavens that would be scribed for all eternity.

  The Shepherd and His Sheep

  Forty days would pass from that dreadful time when the wicked ones tried to kill the Master.

  When Yeshua was finally recovered from his ordeal, he gave to us his last sermon in which he prophesied that two thousand years would pass before an Age of Light would illuminate mankind. And it would be then that the true meaning of his teachings would be revealed. Until that time, there would be great darkness and many would be oppressed in the name of the Father.

  Yeshua told his disciples that he must leave them and there was much sadness amongst them. To each he gave a commission to ensure that his teachings would not wither on the vine but would thrive.

  And Simon asked if they should establish a new religion in his name.

  Yeshua said, ‘The teachings were not given so that you would glorify or make a king of me. I came to teach that the Kingdom of God is within. Rituals and sacrificial lambs lead men away from the path. A temple can never be my Father’s House.’

  Several of his disciples informed Yeshua that there were many claiming that he was the Son of God.

  This angered him greatly and he said, ‘Do not make a god of me. For the Father is greater than I and we are all His Children.’

  Then Yeshua took me aside and revealed that he was going to search for the lost tribes of Israel so that he could preach to them.

  And a mist arose as Yeshua bar Yosef departed in the direction of the rising sun.

  66

  Still shell-shocked, Edie lifted the plastic lid on her coffee.

  Caedmon was right . . . I need something more potent than caffeine to mitigate the shock.

  ‘The crazy thing is that I now have this strong desire to learn as much as possible about Yeshua and his life.’ She glanced at Caedmon’s rucksack where the third plate was stowed, carefully wrapped in foam. ‘There must be other ancient gospels out there, waiting to be discovered.’

  ‘There are. Although I daresay any first-century texts that survived the fourth-century purge are well hidden.’

  Hearing that, Edie frowned, convinced that there were many open-minded Christians, like herself, who would be interested, passionate even, in uncovering the truth. And who would also be mad as hell to find out that the truth about Jesus had been purposefully hidden or destroyed.

  ‘There’s no way to put this delicately except to say the Evangelium Gaspar turns two thousand years of religious belief on its head. It delivers a coup de grâce to the canonical gospels,’ she added before taking a swig of the acrid-smelling coffee.

  Caedmon peered out of the plate-glass window, the midday light glazing his hair a deep shade of auburn. ‘Ascertaining the truth is often a painful process, no exorcism without its torments,’ he intoned solemnly.

  ‘I don’t know how Roman Catholics will react, but I’m fairly certain that if the Evangelium Gaspar ever goes public, the backlash from evangelical Christians will be fierce.’ Edie spoke in a measured tone, careful to keep her voice lowered so as not to be overheard by any of their co-passengers. ‘I can easily envision zealots, armed with guns, walking into churches during the Sunday sermon and killing congregants because they aren’t deemed “Christian enough”.’

  ‘No different to what occurred during the bloodthirsty Inquisition,’ Caedmon remarked as he unwrapped a sandwich. ‘The Dominicans, and the Jesuits after them, fervently believed that orthodoxy must be adhered to at all costs. Without it, the Church loses its power.’

  ‘It’s disheartening to think the Catholic Church did exactly what Jesus declared that he didn’t want . . . they created a religion in his name. Just so they could control the masses.’ Realizing what she had just said, Edie winced. ‘Do me a favor and overlook that truly bad pun.’

  ‘I’ll add to it. To further muddy the holy water, the Church created a cult that revolves around a god-man who rose from the dead and ascended bodily into heaven.’ Caedmon lifted the slice of bread, giving the limp layer of yellow cheese a dubious glance. Passing on the sandwich, he said, ‘The truth of the matter is that an incredibly enlightened man, who I do believe was a pure vessel for the Logos, preached that the Kingdom of God is not up there –’ raising his hand, Caedmon pointed skyward – ‘but is, instead, housed within each of us.’

  ‘Yeah, how often do you hear that in the Sunday sermon?’ More adventuresome, Edie snatched his uneaten sandwich. ‘Although I think we both know that’s not what’ll rile people. The fact that Yeshua survived the crucifixion is what will incite the outrage.’

  ‘Indeed, it is a radical departure from the conventional tale. Take away the Blood Atonement – that uniquely Christian belief that Jesus came to earth so that he could sacrifice himself upon the cross to remove the stain of Original Sin – and you take away the foundation upon which the Christian church was built.’

  ‘While I can accept that Jesus travelled to India and studied with Hindu and Buddhist holy men, it’s going to take a bit longer for me to come to terms with the fact that he survived the crucifixion.’ Conflicted, Edie stared at the seat in front of her as she corralled her tumultuous thoughts. ‘And yet . . . what if he did survive?’ she said after a lengthy pause. ‘It doesn’t change the content of his message one iota. Jesus preached about love and tolerance and forgiveness. None of which has anything to do with the crucifixion or the Blood Atonement.’

  ‘It bears mentioning that in the Koran it’s clearly stated that Jesus, or Isa as he’s known in Arabic, did not die on the cross.’ Grabbing the iPad, Caedmon typed in a search query. ‘Ah! Here it is: “they did not kill him, nor did they crucify him, but he was made to appear as one crucified to them”.’ He obligingly passed Edie the computer tablet so that she could examine the verse in the Koran for herself.

  Edie stared at the iPad, agog.

  ‘The techniques used in Roman crucifixion are well-documented.’ Having rejected the sandwich, Caedmon removed a garden salad and a packet of Italian dressing from the brown bag. ‘If one examines the historic data, it becomes glaringly clear that Jesus’ execution did not follow the standard procedures as dictated by Roman protocol. One could even say that what took place on that long-ago Friday afternoon atop Golgotha hill was highly abnormal.’

  Edie wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin. ‘Abnormal in what way?’

  ‘As you undoubtedly know, Jesus was on the cross for a mere three hours. I say “mere” because the Romans preferred to keep their victims dangling in pain for two or more days. And they were quite efficient in dragging out the agony,’ Caedmon said succinctly, obviously thinking it an important point. ‘When it was finally decided to end the poor bloke’s misery, the crurifragium was performed.’

  Edie shoved her half-eaten sandwich aside, having just lost her appetite. ‘That was when a Roman soldier would break the crucified man’s legs so that he couldn’t support himself on the footrest that was attached to the vertical beam of the cross.’

  Caedmon nodded. ‘The victim then died from heart failure or asphyxiation, whichever came first. But Jesus was only on the cross for three hours. During which time he succumbed without having his legs broken. To determine if he was indeed dead, a soldier jabbed him in the right side with a spear.’

  ‘“And at once there came out blood and water”,’ Edie said, reciting from the Gospel of John.

  ‘A very telling detail from a forensics perspective in that the presence of blood and water indicates Jesus was still alive.’

  ‘Yet he was pronounced
dead and removed from the cross.’

  ‘So he was.’ Abandoning the salad after just a few bites, Caedmon resumed drinking his coffee. ‘However, I suspect that Jesus was in some sort of cataleptic trance. Having spent all those years studying with Hindu gurus, he had undoubtedly learned how to induce that type of deep mental state.’

  ‘Which fooled the Romans into thinking that he was dead.’ Caedmon’s explanation made perfect sense, with Edie suddenly able to envision how the hoax was engineered.

  ‘Curiously enough, this business regarding the “blood and water” raises an interesting tangent that pertains to the Knights Templar and the Shroud of Turin. The fabled shroud is, of course, the original burial cloth that was used to wrap Jesus’ body when he was taken down from the cross.’ Caedmon paused a moment, ensuring that he had her full attention before saying, ‘There are marks on the shroud which clearly show blood seepage.’

  ‘Makes perfect sense if Jesus was still alive when he was wrapped in it. But what does that have to do with the Knights Templar?’ she asked, unable to make the connection.

  ‘Before it became “the Shroud of Turin”, the burial linen was known as “the Edessa Cloth”. Legend has it that Thaddeus Jude, one of Jesus’ disciples, took the cloth to the ancient city of Edessa which was located in northern Mesopotamia. The cloth remained there until the tenth century at which point in time it was moved to Constantinople.’ Caedmon crossed his legs as he angled himself in her direction, wincing as he did so. Although he tried to man-up and hide it, his battered ribs were still causing him an enormous amount of pain. ‘Now jettison to the year 1204 when the Knights Templar confiscated the Edessa Cloth after the Christian crusaders sacked Constantinople. For the next hundred years, the Templars safeguarded the shroud until their demise in the early fourteenth century.’

  Never having heard the story before, Edie said, ‘I’m guessing that’s when the shroud ended up in Turin.’

  Caedmon confirmed with a nod. ‘According to the Templars’ trial records, they were accused of secretly venerating the shroud.’

  ‘Kinda odd since the inquisitors also accused them of spitting on the cross. And, brace yourself for another bad pun, those two accusations are at cross purposes.’

  ‘Not if the Templars knew that Jesus survived the crucifixion.’ Setting his empty coffee cup on the pull-down tray, Caedmon folded his arms over his chest. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before explaining his baffling remark. ‘Mind you, this is mere speculation on my part, but I suspect that the Templars venerated the shroud because it was a symbol of the living Jesus. And they may have spat on the cross because it represented what they’d come to realize was the foundational lie of Christianity. The Knights Templar weren’t repudiating Jesus. They were repudiating the false symbol associated with Jesus.’

  ‘To be honest, this is all incredibly hard for me to fathom,’ Edie confessed, still grappling with Gaspar’s mind-blowing revelations. ‘Take away Jesus’ divinity and –’

  ‘One is still left with a divinely inspired message,’ Caedmon interjected. ‘Jesus himself said, “I am my Father’s son. But I am not Elohim.” Be that as it may, during the Council of Nicaea, the bishops, true champions of democracy, put the issue to a vote whereupon it was decided that Jesus was a god rather than a mortal man. Personally, I’m inclined to believe Jesus on the matter rather than a cabal of fourth-century bishops.’ Caedmon locked eyes with her, holding her gaze. ‘Make no mistake: the Church will go to any length to hide their dirty little secret that Jesus survived the crucifixion. It’s a whitewash. History is full of them.’

  ‘Which begs the question . . . What is the truth? We look back two thousand years and it’s like gazing through a kaleidoscope full of shifting images.’ Her shoulders sagging, Edie sighed dejectedly. ‘There’s a part of me that wants to cling to what I was taught to believe as a kid and leave it at that.’

  ‘Perfectly understandable,’ Caedmon commiserated. ‘While I, too, am deeply affected by the notion that the Christ of my childhood is not the historic Jesus, I’m rather drawn to this chap who travelled the world in search of spiritual knowledge.’

  Just then, a blaring voice came through the audio system, announcing the next stop.

  ‘That’s us,’ Edie said, quickly packing up their leftovers. Glancing over at Caedmon, she could see that his expression had suddenly turned grim. Putting the bag down, she reached over and took hold of his hand. ‘I know you’re worried, but we’re going to get Anala back, safe and sound.’

  ‘We’re dealing with brutes and monsters who have rejected the teachings of the Prince of Peace. Leaving me with no choice but to act in kind.’

  ‘You mean to meet fire with fire?’

  With a determined glint in his blue eyes, Caedmon said, ‘Deadly fire, if need be.’

  67

  Dutchess County, New York

  1832h

  ‘It’s like watching a scrolling nineteenth-century diorama,’ Edie remarked, her gaze drawn to yet another hay-laden pasture bounded by a stone retaining wall. ‘And my back aches just thinking about the fact that some long-dead farmer plucked each and every stone from a rocky field so that he could sow his seed.’

  ‘Mmmm,’ Caedmon murmured distractedly. His eyes were set on the roadway and he didn’t spare the passing field an acknowledging glance. Understandably, his thoughts were focused elsewhere.

  For the last forty-five minutes, they’d been driving along a serpentine single-lane road that twisted and turned through the rural countryside of upstate New York. The area was sparsely populated. Beyond the low womanly hills, Edie glimpsed only the occasional farmhouse; simple two-story abodes that harkened to another era. A time before cars and planes. Or the Industrial Age for that matter.

  ‘I think that’s it up ahead,’ she announced, pointing to a stately driveway that was visually off-key in the bucolic surroundings.

  Caedmon slowed the Ford sedan, braking to a full stop at the shaded entrance. Massive stone pillars bracketed either side of the paved driveway; the pillar on the right-hand side had a large metal plaque mounted on it that read: SANGUIS CHRISTI FELLOWSHIP. Beneath that was a Chi-Rho cross.

  His features set in an inscrutable expression, Caedmon cut the ignition.

  Craning her neck, Edie peered down the winding, tree-lined driveway. From where they were parked, she was unable to see the school’s main building, Mercy Hall. According to their Internet research, it had originally been an elite women’s college before it was purchased by the Fellowship.

  The fine hairs on her arms stood on end. All of the frenzied travel and the dangerous forays of the last week had come down to this moment – negotiating Anala’s safe return and delivering the ransom. In a short while it would be over; celebratory champagne bash most definitely in order.

  And yet she had the uneasy feeling that no one would be toasting the successful outcome any time soon. Caedmon also wasn’t wildly optimistic, worried that Gracián Santos and his thugs would try to double-cross them. Ergo, the loaded shotgun sitting in plain view on the back seat.

  After they’d picked up their rental car at Rhinecliff, the first order of business had been to drive to the nearest gun shop and purchase a Mossberg 500, popularly known as a ‘Persuader’. Unlike handguns that required a permit, anyone with a valid driver’s license could legally purchase a shotgun with no waiting period. Once the transaction was completed, said person could blithely stroll out of the gun shop locked, loaded and ready to fire at will.

  Needing some fresh air, Edie wound down her window. Somewhere nearby a bird cawed, a raucous cheeter!cheeter! To her ears, it sounded like a dire warning.

  ‘Now what?’ she asked, unnerved by the rural desolation. It’d been at least fifteen minutes since they’d last seen a passing motorist.

  ‘If you hand me your iPad, I’ll ring the doorbell and see if Father Santos is at home.’

  She passed him the computer tablet, sitting silent while he accessed the Skype fe
ature.

  As the call went through, Edie’s gut churned. Apprehensive, she wished they’d had more time to prepare. The transatlantic flight. The train. The rental car. The gun shop. It all felt so whirlwind. Even the plan – to demand that the exchange take place at an abandoned farmhouse that they’d scouted a few miles away – seemed inchoate. Yes, it was neutral ground, but she’d feel better if wasn’t so remotely located. Yet Caedmon was adamant – even though he’d previously informed Gracián Santos by email that he’d make contact tomorrow morning, he didn’t want Anala to remain in captivity another night.

  ‘It will be to our advantage to catch the cassocked bastard off guard.’

  ‘Good evening, Father Santos,’ Caedmon said when the priest’s visage appeared on the computer screen. ‘As I mentioned in my earlier email, I have the third plate and I’m ready to negotiate the exchange. And just so you know, I’m now in Dutchess County, very close to your location. I thought it would be easier to facilitate the trade if I came to you. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you in the least,’ he added in a mocking tone.

  Gracián Santos appeared genuinely surprised. ‘I was expecting you tomorrow morning, not – Never mind. Yes, of course . . . the, um, exchange.’ The priest nervously licked his lips. ‘Before we discuss the details, I demand some proof that you actually have the third plate in your possession.’

  ‘Having assumed as much, I’ve already prepared the email attachments. Stand by while I send you digital photos, front and back, of the copper plate. Additionally, I’m sending you the translated text which I thought you might be interested in perusing. Unless, of course, you read Aramaic, in which case you may disregard the English translation. I’ll give you several minutes to examine the file.’ Pulling up the email program, Caedmon hit the ‘Send’ button. ‘Read it and weep.’

  Her anxiety escalating, Edie stared at the now-blank computer screen.

  Caedmon glanced over at her. ‘So far, so good.’