by C. M. Palov
His anger dissipated, Caedmon said, “Knowing from the Narragansett legends that Yawgoog had built a cave, I suddenly recalled how the ancient Visigoths would temporarily divert the course of a river. They did this in order to dig a cave in the exposed riverbed. Once the cave was dug out, they then directed the river back to its original flow, their ill-gotten gains cleverly concealed.”
“And Jason Lovett was convinced that the Knights Templar found the Visigoth treasure vault in the south of France. Probably buried under a river. Guess the Templars knew a good idea when they saw it. So let’s flip on these flashlights and check out Yawgoog’s cave.”
They each took a torch. Walking side by side, they entered the cave. A few feet into their trek, Edie abruptly came to a standstill.
Physically recoiling, she pointed at the nearby wall. “What in heaven’s name is that?” she screeched.
His gaze alighted on a horned, winged, claw-footed figure carved in high relief. “No creature of heaven, I can assure you. That is Asmodeus.”
“That is butt ugly!”
“I stand corrected. Grotesque appearance aside, Asmodeus is the king of the demons, customarily invoked to protect buried treasure.”
“Buried treasure?” His companion surprised him by leaning forward and kissing the horny-toed creature. “Love that.”
“Shall we continue with the tour?” Flashlight in hand, he illuminated a tunnel that was approximately five feet in height.
“Don’t forget to duck,” Edie said over her shoulder, leading the way. “I have to admit, I feel like one of those kids in the Christmas story with visions of golden plums dancing in my head.”
He ambled close behind in an uncomfortable crouch. “I believe it was sugar plums prancing about.”
“Not in my vision. We are so close to finding the Templar treasure trove!” she excitedly predicted. “Where do you want to retire to, a Caribbean island or the south of France?”
“I’m not one to spend my pennies before they’re earned.”
Caedmon was admittedly relieved when, a few moments later, the tunnel gave way to a small anteroom that better accommodated his tall frame.
He swiped at a low-hanging cobweb. “I see a crudely fashioned staircase on the opposite side of the chamber. Would you like to wait here while I go downstairs and investigate?”
“Not on your life! We’re equal partners, remember?”
“Yes, of course. How could I forget?” he deadpanned. “But I hope you don’t mind if I take the lead. My fragile male ego will be shattered if you fend off the dragon while I’m pulling up the rear.”
With an airy wave of the hand, Edie gestured for him to precede her down the steps.
Like the rest of the cave, the stairway had a dank, tomblike feel to it, Caedmon grateful that neither of them suffered from claustrophobia. When they reached the bottom step, he directed his flashlight beam around the sunken chamber.
His breath caught in his throat.
Rendered speechless, he could do little else but gape, stunned to be standing in an octagon-shaped room. The corners of the eight stone walls were decorated with a life-sized medieval Knights Templar—replete with broadsword and helmet—carved in bas-relief on the smooth rock surface. Directly opposite the entrance there was a stone altar placed upon a low dais. Circular architecture, based on the tenets of sacred geometry, was oftentimes executed as the eight-sided octagon.
Eight.
Symbolic of paradise regained. For it was on the eighth day that man, who had been created in the image of God, attained a state of divine grace. No coincidence that the Templar cross had eight points.
Staggered by the find, Caedmon next aimed his torch at the ceiling. The celestial firmament—sun, moon, stars, and the seven known planets of the fourteenth century—had been incised into the ceiling. It brought to mind King David’s awestruck exaltation in Psalms: “The Heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handiwork.”
“As above, so below . . . how bloody apropos,” he breathlessly uttered. For so long the Templars had been hidden in the shadows, but he was beginning to see more clearly.
If only I’d known about this New World sanctuary when I’d written my dissertation.
Certain that fourteenth-century Templars once stood where he now stood, he closed his eyes, envisioning a group of initiated knights solemnly standing in a circle, heads bowed, flickering candlelight casting a golden hue onto their bearded faces as they enacted a sacred ritual.
But a ritual for which religion?
The moment the question popped into his head, the evocative image vanished.
Barely able to contain his excitement, he turned to Edie, surprised at her crestfallen expression.
“Where are the ingots? The florins? The gold, frankincense, and myrrh?” she moaned. There was no mistaking her disappointment. “Somebody beat us to the treasure. Or maybe there never was a treasure.”
“In and of itself, this sanctuary is the treasure. In the mystery rites, it is here, in the symbolic grave, that man is freed from his earthly bondage by accruing divine knowledge.”
“Oh, yeah, whoop-de-do. Testis sum agnitio.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, he again marveled at the beautifully executed design, his gaze alighting on the magnificently carved knights. How many centuries had they kept silent sentry?
So many dark secrets to keep.
“My God, I can’t even begin to imagine how long it took them to build this. How many hours of pounding away with hammer and chisel, of hauling in stone, and carting out the debris. No doubt it was a project years in the making.”
“Looking on the bright side”—Edie rolled her eyes, clearly an impossible undertaking in her opinion—“the fact that the sanctuary exists proves that the fugitive Knights Templar journeyed to the undiscovered New World.”
“Bringing with them a treasure so valuable, so sacred, they built this subterranean chapel to house it.”
“Hel-lo,” she chirped in a singsongy voice. “Mission control to Caedmon. The chapel is empty.”
He shook his head. “The Templars wouldn’t have carved Asmodeus if there had been no treasure. Something of great value was safeguarded here. And may be here still,” he impetuously added, hit with a sudden burst of hope. “Hidden away.”
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Let’s case the joint.” Edie’s glum mood instantly improving, she frenetically aimed her flashlight around the chapel.
Caedmon also aimed his torch around the chapel, turning in a slow, deliberate circle.
“Stop right there!” Edie shouted. “I just saw something. Behind the altar.” She charged onto the dais.
Caedmon followed, the beam of light illuminating a shallow niche, some eighteen inches square and approximately four inches deep, carved into the wall. The niche was five feet above the ground.
“Given its placement in the room, centered behind the altar, this niche may well have housed a holy reliquary or devotional object.” As he spoke, it belatedly occurred to Caedmon that in a Christian church this was the space customarily reserved for a crucifix. Ironically, the Templars had been accused by their inquisitors of denigrating and spitting on the holy cross. And while he’d always considered that a baseless accusation, it was curious to note that there were no crosses anywhere in the sanctuary.
“Ohmygod!” Like a yanked window shade, Edie’s eyes instantly opened wide. “What if this is where the Knights Templar kept the Holy Grail?”
He disavowed her of the notion with a terse shake of the head. “The niche isn’t deep enough to hold a chalice.” He glanced at the signet ring on his right hand.
Testis sum agnitio.
Suddenly, he was struck with an idea.
“The niche may have been used to display a sacred text. Before their mass arrest in 1307, the Templars were rumored to have an incredible library that contained works by, among others, the Gnostics, the Egyptian adepts, and the Jewish Kabbalists.” He shrugged, wi
shing he had more to go on.
“The not knowing is frustrating, huh?”
“Actually, I’m more intrigued than frustrated. It’s a mystery, is it not? Is there enough torchlight for you to take a few digital photos?”
“I think it’s doable. Since I don’t have a tripod, I’m going to set the camera on the altar to take the picture.” She passed her flashlight to him. “Hold this, will ya?”
“Where should I stand?”
She glanced around then pointed to a spot to the left of her. “Over there will be just fine.” Lifting the strap over her head, she set the camera on the altar, leaning her torso on the granite slab as she determined the best position. “I’m going to first take a photo with the built-in flash. If we get too much light bouncing off the background, I can fiddle around with the aperture. Okay, lights, camera—Oh, I almost forgot, don’t move. And don’t let the kiddies try this at home.” She winked at him, her mood noticeably improved.
Caedmon obediently stood still as a flashpoint of bright light emanated from the camera.
Removing the camera from the altar, Edie walked toward him. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Leaning over her shoulder, Caedmon peered at the small LCD screen, pleased.
“I think a Templar photo album is in order.” Edie slipped the strap over her head. Camera in hand, she slowly walked backward, stopping and starting as she peered into the viewfinder.
She snapped several photos, each accompanied by a flash of light.
“At Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland, the twenty St. Clair knights interred in the underground tombs are rumored to glow with an otherworldly light,” he conversationally mentioned.
“Thanks for the spooky sidebar.” Camera still pressed to her face, she took another backward step. “Like I wasn’t unnerved enough already, now I’m envisioning a bunch of dead guys glowing in the—”
Without warning, the ground beneath Edie’s feet suddenly gave way, the earth opening up to swallow her whole.
CHAPTER 32
Unnerved, Saviour peered over the edge of the stone slab. Into the frothy, white-capped river below. Catching sight of the pickax hooked onto a jagged rock, he frowned. Baffled.
“Den katalaveno,” he muttered. “I don’t understand. Where did they go?”
It made no sense. None whatsoever. How could they have vanished into thin air?
Noticing the abandoned knapsacks in plain view, he walked over to them. The packs suggested that the pair were planning to return.
But, again, from where?
He squatted onto his haunches and riffled through the packs. The first contained a small computer, cell phone, notebook, water bottle, and a bag of nuts. The second pack held miscellaneous digging equipment, more water, and a flare gun. In case the little lambs got lost in the woods.
Hearing an incoming call on his Bluetooth ear hook, he tapped the Talk button. It’d been thirty minutes since he last checked in with Mercurius, his mentor understandably curious. Hopefully, he could provide insight into this strange development.
“They’ve disappeared,” Saviour said without preamble.
“From sight or—”
“From the face of the planet,” he interjected, worried that he might be blamed for losing the sheep. For being an inattentive shepherd. “I am standing on the riverbank where they left their knapsacks. The woman mentioned a cave as well as—”
“A cave?” There was no mistaking the excitement in Mercurius’s voice. “Are you certain this is what you overheard?”
“With the parabolic dish, I can hear a rabbit fart three hundred meters away. Yes, I am certain. Hooked onto the edge of the stone slab is a pickax with a length of rope tied to the end. The entrance to the cave must be hidden beneath the river rocks, but . . . it is invisible to the naked eye.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Saviour didn’t have to see Mercurius to know that the other man had lightly grasped his chin in his right hand and that he was now slowly tapping his index finger against his lips. Lost in thought.
“Do you want me to follow them into this underwater cave?” Saviour prayed the answer was no.
“Be patient, my love. They will return. Find yourself a suitable hiding place. But I want you to contact me the moment they appear. I want to know if they have retrieved anything from this cave.”
Hearing that, Saviour exhaled a gusty sigh of relief. Although loathe to admit it, he had a dread fear of caves. They were too much like the grave. Or a dark, eerie house.
And he knew all about living in the dark house.
When he first arrived on Panos Island, he’d been an impressionable eighteen-year-old who couldn’t believe the blessing that had been bestowed upon him: He’d caught the eye of Greek shipping tycoon Evangelos Danielides. And had literally been whisked off the streets of Thessaloniki to a pampered, luxurious idyll on a sun-kissed private island in the Aegean.
A dream come true.
He’d tried to act cool, but in truth, he’d been utterly dazzled. By the thousand-acre isle with its turquoise lagoons ringed with cedar and wild olive trees. By the opulent marble villa with its cadre of obsequious servants who would draw his bath. Clip his fingernails. Massage him with sweet-smelling oils. Was he not a prince among men? And, of course, most of all, he’d been dazzled by the man himself, Evangelos Danielides.
At the dawn of the twenty-first century, the booming economies of China and India had created a whole new generation of Greek tycoons who made massive fortunes transporting the world’s goods. But unlike the more famous youngbloods, Evangelos Danielides maintained a low profile, disdaining the jet set. To Saviour’s surprise, Evangelos had a laid-back style. When not attired in bathing trunks, he wore loose linen trousers paired with a white T-shirt. He drank ouzo rather than champagne. Although he did have one curious affectation—he smoked Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes. Which lent a sexy rasp to his already deep voice.
Those first weeks on Panos had been a heady experience, almost too much for Saviour to absorb. Which is why he always looked forward to the end of day when he and Evangelos would lounge beside the infinity pool, the setting sun turning the blue Aegean a fiery red.
And then things turned very ugly very quickly.
It started one day at archery practice, Evangelos—justly proud of having been on the 2000 Greek Archery Team—was instructing him on how to improve his draw. Standing directly behind him, crotch firmly planted against his ass, he’d whispered in his ear, “Pull with your shoulder.” As he spoke, Evangelos slipped a hand between Saviour’s legs. Suddenly disinterested in archery, Saviour turned his head to kiss his beloved. “I said pull with your shoulder, bitch!” Evangelos hissed in his ear as he roughly squeezed his testicles. Saviour bit back a whelp of pain, tears flooding his eyes. Uncertain what he’d done to incur the vicious outburst.
In the days to come, Evangelos took to slapping him. Kicking and shoving. Then punching him in the face. One morning he presented Saviour with a studded metal collar and a leather jockstrap. His new uniform. What had been a life of idle luxury became one of degradation. Pain and humiliation. There was no one he could turn to for help; the servants turned a deaf ear to his screams. Trapped on the private island, Saviour was Evangelos Danielides’s chattel. A piece of ass that the shipping tycoon owned. A possession. No different from his yacht. Or his prized Argentine mastiffs. His to do with as he pleased.
Or so he thought. Never imagining that his meek little lamb would turn into a vicious, snarling wolf.
And just as Saviour had done to Evangelos Danielides, he would do to the Brit when he emerged from the cave.
Readjusting the straps on his hiking pack, he headed toward an overgrown patch inundated with evergreen shrubs some fifty meters from the riverbank. An excellent place to wait for his quarry.
CHAPTER 33
“Edie!”
Too terrified to answer, afraid she’d lose her grip, Edie clung to a stone nubbin that protruded from the side
of the dark shaft. She frantically moved her dangling feet, hoping, pleading . . .
Yes!
One booted foot found purchase on a miniscule pucker of rock.
“I’m down here,” she hoarsely called out. “I fell into a shaft.” She didn’t dare look up, fearful she’d lose her balance. She also didn’t look down, sensing that an inky abyss yawned beneath her.
A beam of light suddenly illuminated the shaft.
“My God, are you all right?” Caedmon’s voice echoed off the stone walls, the sound strangely distorted.
“No, I’m hanging on for dear life,” she whimpered. With her hands painfully crimped, her right foot awkwardly splayed, and her left foot limply suspended in midair, she wondered how long she could maintain her precarious perch.
“Don’t panic.”
“You’re kidding, right?” She felt a trickle of blood meander down the side of her face, having scraped her cheek when she took the unexpected plunge. Probably scraped a whole lot of body parts.
“I want you to listen very carefully.” Caedmon spoke slowly, precisely, the way one would speak to a terrified child. “You’re about six feet from the surface. Too far of a distance for me to physically reach you.”
“Oh God, no!”
“Not to fear. I will get you out of the shaft, but it’s going to take a minute or two before I can toss a lifeline down to you.” Caedmon pulled the flashlight away from the opening, the shaft instantly cast into darkness.
“Please hurry,” Edie murmured, her cheek pressed against the rusticated stone. “Any idea what the hell just happened?”
“You fell into a very cleverly designed death trap,” Caedmon’s disembodied voice replied. “My guess is that the opening was concealed with a layer of clay hardpan.”
“Which gave way when I stepped on it.”
“Precisely. The Templars obviously didn’t want anyone stealing whatever it was that had been safeguarded in the sanctuary. Quite an engineering feat, really.”
