“I get you,” Cam replied, pausing as a flight was called. “That’s what all the other churches did. And, to continue your point, if the head was Moses, they’d have to keep it hidden because it would be too controversial.”
“Yes, precisely. Again, it would lead inevitably back to the revelation of Isaac’s parentage. Even the powerful Sinclairs couldn’t open that can of worms.”
Cam nodded. Perhaps the skull was indeed Moses.
Amanda stared out the terminal window, the jets on the tarmac casting long, bird-like shadows in the late afternoon sun. “I almost hope I’m wrong. The Moses skull at Rosslyn, along with the Isaac Question stuff, could be really destabilizing. It’s too much.”
“Good,” Cam said, lightening the moment. “So we both want me to win the bet.” He smiled as he rotated his shoulders and neck. “You know, these long flights really do a number on my back.”
Amanda and Cam had landed in Dublin, boarded a connecting flight, and arrived in Edinburgh without incident. From the airport they took a taxi to the Apex International Hotel in the Grassmarket section of the city. While waiting for an early check-in, Amanda snapped a shot of Edinburgh Castle looming over the city in the morning sunlight like something out of a fairy tale.
Edinburgh Castle
She sighed as she stared at the massive structure. She enjoyed Boston because it possessed a richer history than any other American city. But it still paled in comparison to Great Britain. As a history buff, Amanda sometimes felt like living in America was akin to being limited to reading short stories rather than novels.
Cam interrupted her thoughts. “So do you think that’s the real Stone of Destiny on display in the Castle?”
According to their research, the actual Stone of Destiny—the marble throne of Akhenaton—might be hidden away in Rosslyn Chapel. She smiled. “I can give you a better answer tomorrow.”
They checked in, breakfasted, napped, and showered before spending the afternoon wandering the city. Carrington sent a car for them at three o’clock, which should get them to Rosslyn Chapel in plenty of time to explore the chapel before the excavation began at six, after the tourists cleared out.
“I used to visit the Chapel often,” Amanda said, their car following the signs toward Rosslyn Chapel, bypassing the nearby Roslin Institute where the sheep Dolly had been famously cloned. “But that was before all the Da Vinci Code madness.”
“Well, you’ve got me beat. I must be the only Templar researcher in the world who’s never been there.”
She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder, still fatigued from the flight. “You’ll want to stay forever. Every inch of the walls and ceiling is carved, and every carving hints at another mystery or secret. I may never get you back.”
Ten minutes later they hopped out of the car and entered a modern visitor center, built to accommodate the more than one hundred thousand people who visited the Chapel every year. Amanda gave their names at the ticket counter and a tall, middle-aged man immediately appeared. Politely, he addressed Cam. “Mr. Sinclair said you’d have some paperwork for me?” Cam nodded. The non-disclosure agreement. Cam handed it over and the man escorted them through the visitor center and into the courtyard outside the Chapel structure.
As they stepped through the door Cam froze, his eyes sweeping the Gothic edifice. Amanda grinned, her eyes on him, enjoying watching him experience the Chapel’s magic for the first time.
Rosslyn Chapel, Scotland
“It has almost … an energy flowing from it,” Cam finally said.
“Many people believe it was built along ancient ley lines to capture the energy from the earth. You’ll often see dousers here, tracking and measuring the energy fields.”
Cam stared. “But it’s smaller than I expected.”
“It’s unfinished. It was supposed to be much larger.” She pointed to her right. “That’s why that western wall is so rough—it was erected just as a temporary barrier to keep the weather out.”
Amon emerged from the Chapel’s front entrance and strode out to meet them, dressed smartly in a blue blazer and crisp pair of khakis. He greeted them warmly, his melancholy from their meeting at the airport terminal replaced with a quiet confidence. He smiled kindly. “I am glad you are here. My father would have wanted it this way.” He bowed slightly. “None of this would be possible without your research.”
He escorted them inside and introduced them to Rachel, his affection for her obvious in the way he spoke her name and grinned in her presence. Amanda smiled, glad that the young man had someone to help him through this rough time.
Amon spoke. “The final tour of the day is set to begin. I suggest you join them. The guides know far more than I.”
Amanda had taken the tour before so she left Cam and wandered off alone. The most prominent features of the Chapel were on its east side, near the altar. But they would be spending the evening excavating there, with plenty of time to examine and explore, and Amanda wanted to check out the veracity of something she had recently read. She strolled to the foot of the Chapel, at its west end. One of the pieces of evidence often cited in support of the Prince Henry Sinclair journey to North America in 1398 was the existence of North American maize and aloe carved onto the walls and ceiling of the Chapel. The Chapel was built in 1456 by Henry Sinclair's grandson, William Sinclair, and the thought was that William possessed drawings or even samples of these plants from his grandfather's journey and that the carvings were commissioned as a nod to this exploration. The problem was that different varieties of maize and aloe existed outside North America, and some argued that the carvings depicted these varieties rather than the North American.
The trillium cernuum flower, on the other hand, was uniquely and indisputably North American, native to eastern Canada and New England. Amanda walked slowly along the perimeter of the Chapel, scanning the walls and ceiling. There. On a pillar near the back wall. Ignoring the prohibition on photography, Amanda snapped a quick picture with her phone, then pulled up an image from the Internet and compared the two.
The Trillium Flower on Rosslyn Chapel Pillar and Growing in North America
She was no expert, but the report she had read alerting her to the trillium was written by a botanist. Now she had seen it with her own eyes, and the evidence seemed compelling. To state the obvious, someone from Scotland must have traveled to North America and seen trillium—and/or North American aloe and maize—prior to 1456 in order for it to have been carved on the Chapel walls.
Amanda checked her watch and made her way back toward the front of the Chapel. The trillium was an important piece of evidence proving the Prince Henry journey to America. But it was nothing compared to what they might find hidden within the Chapel’s Apprentice Pillar.
Amanda was correct—Cam could have spent a week inside the Chapel, just sitting and letting his eyes wander. If the Chapel kept secrets out in the open on its walls and ceiling, imagine what kind of mysteries might be concealed within its crypts and other hiding places…
A voice called for attention. A team of Chapel Trust officials that included a kilted Duncan Sinclair, along with a handful of workmen, had gathered near the Apprentice Pillar with Carrington and Amon. Cam had been staring at the pillar for ten minutes, wondering at its workmanship. And wondering if the legend of it being a repository for the Chapel’s secrets was true.
Apprentice Pillar, Rosslyn Chapel
Amanda sidled up next to him. “What did you learn?”
“So, according to Amon, over the past couple nights they’ve been using metal detectors and radar and anything they can think of to figure out if there’s a void inside the pillar. Best guess right now is that there’s a cavity the size of mailbox in the base of the pillar. Last night they drilled a hole and pushed a camera in there; nobody will say what they saw, but it was enough so that they’re going to cut away a bigger portion of the base tonight.”
Amanda studied the pillar. At least the base hadn’t been ornately d
ecorated, so any damage they did could be easily repaired.
Amon approached. “As expected, everyone is arguing,” he reported. “Some people don’t want to cut away the base. Even the stonemason is reluctant. This is sacred space, and the pillar is over five hundred years old.”
“If you don’t cut, how would you retrieve whatever is inside?” Amanda asked.
“Exactly,” Amon smiled. “I think not cutting is the true agenda of some of the trustees. But I believe Duncan is handling things.”
Apparently Duncan did so quickly, as he and Carrington walked over to greet Cam and Amanda. Despite the Freemason’s original reluctance to allow them to participate, he greeted them with a warm handshake. “On the one hand,” he said, adjusting the knot on his plaid bowtie, “I am excited to get to the bottom of this mystery. But I also know that Rosslyn does not give up her secrets easily. Often one mystery solved leads to the birth of two others in its place.”
Carrington was less circumspect, her stylish blood-red business suit over a black blouse matching her aggressive bearing. Cam guessed there was no tissue tucked inside her sleeve this night. “There’s only one mystery I care about,” she said. “The images from the camera were blurry, but I’m pretty sure there’s a box under that pillar.” She leaned in to whisper to Cam and Amanda. “A box the perfect size for a skull. An ossuary. Cameron and Amanda, I believe your research was correct—inside that box is the skull of Baphomet. In fact, I’m certain of it. These old coots think they’re going to keep me from taking it.” She lifted her chin. “Not a bloody chance. Duncan made me a deal, and I’m going to make sure he honors it.”
Cam and Amanda exchanged a quick glance. This was not the same demure housewife they had dinner with in Westford.
Cam edged Amanda away from Carrington and out of earshot. He whispered to her, “If it is Baphomet, that would be an amazing find.” He smiled. “Sorry to state the obvious.”
“That’s okay. In this case the obvious is also astounding. Like you said, whoever Baphomet is—Moses or John the Baptist or someone we haven’t even thought of—it would be an incredible discovery.”
Cam rotated his shoulders and smiled. “What’s this whoever stuff. I told you, it’s John the Baptist.”
The workmen had spread drop cloths and protective plastic around the pillar, and with surprisingly little ceremony a goggled stonemason dropped to his knees, leaned to his side and began to drill into the pillar base with a pneumatic chisel. Ten minutes later, amidst a cloud of stone dust, he set down his tool. In a thick Scottish accent, he announced, “I’ve hit a void. Don’t want to drill any further, lest I damage whatever is tucked inside.”
Duncan stepped forward. “Can you make the opening larger?”
“Aye. But I reckoned you might want to have a peek before I do so.”
The Sinclair elder shook his head. “We’ve had enough peeks, I believe. It’s time to reach in and grab whatever is in there.”
The workman shrugged. “So be it then.”
Moving his chisel along a rectangular path, the mason sawed into the pillar base over the next twenty minutes. When he completed his rectangle, he inserted a long iron lever into the cracks and worked the newly-loosened block of stone free from the base. With little ceremony he shoved the stone aside and motioned toward the opening. “I’ll not be the one to reach in there.”
“I will,” Carrington said, striding forward.
As she did so, two of the workmen reached into their duffel bags, pulled out handguns, and turned them on the group.
“And I suggest nobody tries to stop me,” Carrington sneered as she approached the pillar.
Cam could not help but think there was something farcical about the red-suited socialite, splayed on her belly, arms reaching into the base of the ornate pillar like a farmer reaching in to deliver a calf. But there was nothing lighthearted about the look on the two henchmen’s faces. They were professionals, and they were paid for results.
Cam took Amanda’s elbow and pulled her slowly toward the back of the group. They had no dog—or skull—in this fight. Assuming Carrington pulled a head out from the pillar, he was dying to learn what could be learned from it after DNA testing. But those answers would not come tonight no matter who made off with the skull.
“Got it!” Carrington announced. Slowly she extracted her arms from beneath the pillar, dragging something along. All eyes, except for the henchmen’s, remained fixed on her arms—first elbows, then wrists, then hands, then fingers, and finally, slowly, a beige stone box emerged from the cavity. Carrington rolled to her side, her red suit blotched with stone dust and dirt. Silence echoed off the Chapel walls. On her knees, with shaking, grimy hands, she reached for the box’s square lid.
“Carrington, don’t,” Duncan commanded. “Being sealed in the pillar, and within the ossuary, may be all that has kept the bones from decaying all these years. They’ll turn to dust in your hands.”
She didn’t even take her eyes off the box. “You’re bluffing, Duncan. And not particularly well.”
Amanda whispered to Cam, “She’s right. A few minutes in the air won’t matter much.”
Still on her knees, and using two hands, Carrington lifted the lid and set it gently aside. Leaning forward, she peered in, her hands clasped in front of her chest as if in prayer. A sharp intake of breath, followed by a wide grin, announced her find. “A skull,” she breathed. “Baphomet. Just as we thought.”
Her eyes moist, she replaced the lid, pushed herself to her feet, and motioned to the two henchmen. Carrying the ossuary herself, Carrington led them to a side exit, their guns still trained on the Chapel visitors. “Don’t dream of trying to follow,” she said, her eyes on Duncan. “I think we all know just how serious I am. Some would say obsessed.” She coughed out a sharp laugh. “My men are carrying hydrofluoric acid.” Her words sunk in. “I’ll destroy the skull before I let you take it from me.”
Edging sideways, Cam caught Duncan’s eye as Carrington ranted. Cam blinked, not certain his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. Rather than anger, the elderly Freemason wore a bemused look on his face.
Duncan’s Sinclair’s voice rose above the mayhem within Rosslyn Chapel as Carrington and her two henchmen slipped out a side door with the stone ossuary containing the ancient skull. “Everyone remain calm. Do not, I repeat do not, pursue them.”
“Shall I call the police?” a woman asked, her cell phone in hand.
“No. I believe Ms. Sinclair-Youssef when she threatens to destroy the skull. We will handle this without the authorities.” He scanned the room. “I suggest you all wait a few minutes and then proceed in an orderly fashion to your vehicles. Tonight’s festivities have now concluded.”
“Shouldn’t we at least look to see if there’s anything else in the cavity?” Cam asked. He found it odd that the Freemason had not thought of this already.
Duncan arched his eyebrows. “Quite so.” He nodded to one of the Chapel employees, who dropped to his knees on the drop cloth and felt around inside the void.
“It’s empty,” the man reported, his dark suit soiled with stone dust.
Cam approached Duncan. “So you’re just going to let her go?”
He shrugged. “If you had the skull, what would you do with it?”
“Have it tested,” Cam replied. “The molar contains a treasure trove of DNA. You could determine age and region of origin, maybe even derive physical characteristics.”
“And that is precisely what Carrington will be doing. Having it tested. And since her mother works at The Roslin Institute, my guess is that is where the skull is headed. No doubt such a sophisticated lab can complete the testing rather quickly.”
“So you’re going to grab it there?”
Duncan looked at Cam disdainfully. “I’ll do no such thing. You Americans are such cowboys, always ready to go storming in. Why should I interrupt the testing process? It is, after all, the results that we all are awaiting. The skull itself is secondary.” He
gave Cam a long stare. “Now, I suggest you go back to your hotel and get some sleep.”
The text message alert woke Cam from a sound sleep. Fumbling in the dark Edinburgh hotel room, he found his phone and reoriented himself.
“What time is it?” Amanda mumbled. Then she bolted up to a sitting position, obviously concerned about Astarte. “It’s not your parents, is it?”
“No,” he replied. “It’s Carrington. And it’s just after four in the morning.”
Amanda sank back into her pillow. “What does she want? I’m surprised she bothered to reach out to us.”
Cam skimmed the message, now fully awake. “She wanted to share the DNA results with us.”
“That was quick,” she mumbled.
“Like Duncan said, her mother works at the Roslin Institute.” He swallowed. “It’s still preliminary, but the tests show a male skull, Middle-Eastern or northern African in origin, approximately thirty-five hundred years old.”
“Bloody amazing,”
“More than amazing. It might actually be the skull of Moses. Wow. Just wow.”
“I guess we’re awake now,” Amanda said. She propped herself up on one elbow, facing Cam, her flaxen hair willowing over her face. “One thing I don’t understand is why Carrington felt the need to steal the skull.”
“I don’t think she trusted Duncan to be honest with the results, whatever they were. This stuff is pretty controversial. We’re rewriting the whole Book of Exodus, and that doesn’t even include all the Isaac Question stuff. I’m not sure the Rosslyn Chapel Trust officials are going to be too excited about all this.”
The Isaac Question: Templars and the Secret of the Old Testament (Templars in America Series Book 5) Page 34
