The Larmenius Inheritance

by John Paul Davis

  32

  Tomar, Portugal, 1499

  Gaspar Corte-Real looked out across the river and saw a familiar sight. In the distance, the walls of the Convento de Cristo loomed up above the city of Tomar. Surrounding the church, he could see the castle’s orange brick reflecting brightly in the evening sunlight. For the first time in what felt like a long time, he sighed in relief. Soon he would reach his destination.

  The three-week voyage had been one of the greatest challenges of his life. The ravages of plague had been significant, as had the death toll. He had lost seven of his best men in less than two weeks. God have mercy on their souls.

  Gaspar Corte-Real looked over his shoulder at his men. The perilous journey was nearly over.

  But it was not without value.

  The caravel docked at just after sundown. A stunning full moon shone down on the port, its rays blocked occasionally by thin wisps of cloud.

  Gaspar Corte-Real disembarked the ship and led the way through the unlit streets in the direction of the Church of Santa Maria do Olival. The nearby streets were deserted. In the distance, an alleyway might be lit by the occasional glow of fire on wooden torches, but for now there were no signs of life. Despite the heat, there was a chill in the air, a refreshing wind that was coming in from the river. After three weeks at sea, the temperature was a relief. The Scottish weather had been bitter and unwelcoming.

  The Knight of Christ led the way into the deserted church. Behind him, six others followed, protected by an armed escort of twelve soldiers. The six carried the sacred object. Although he was still to look upon it, its mystique was unlike anything he had ever seen.

  The catacombs were located beneath the church. Its location was itself an enigma. A series of hidden passageways led to a small opening, smaller in size than most chapels. Markings on the floor were the only decoration, assembled in a unique chequered sequence alternating between black and white.

  Despite the blackness, the way was clearly marked by a series of candles illuminating the floor and revealing the main feature of the room. He was still to fully understand its significance. The object was made of marble, decorated by symbols he had never seen before.

  The six followed the torchlight and placed the object in the centre of the floor. The others stood by the tabernacle, their arms folded. In the centre was the grandmaster of the Knights of Arcadia.

  Gabriel de Anson eyed the six. ‘Leave us.’

  The chamber emptied quickly. Gaspar Corte-Real walked closer to the object.

  Now at last he would see it for the first time.

  Tomar, present day

  Matthew Anson entered the Church of Santa Maria do Olival for the first time. The dull creak of a wooden door unveiled an interior that was relatively basic but not without charm.

  From the outside alone it surpassed his expectations. The Gothic exterior, although eye catching, was a seemingly odd mismatch of a striking stone façade, out of keeping with the dirty yellowy-brown apse at the rear, a free-standing bell tower and predominantly white walls that were badly in need of redecorating. A large circular window incorporating the shape of a rose was the main feature, located above the entrance. From the inside, the window appeared to be plain glass and bathed the interior in a pleasant light as sunlight entered the church.

  Inside, the empty church was airy and the architecture ornately Templar. White walls that matched the exterior flanked four columns of wooden pews, all of which were presently unoccupied. A wooden roof covered three naves. A statue of the Virgin Mary carrying the child Jesus had been placed on a pillar behind the altar. Above the altar was another window, this time incorporating the bizarre shape of a pentagram.

  Matt walked slowly down the steps and stopped on reaching the floor. Directly to his left was another doorway, presently closed. Along the wall were more windows, these narrow and placed at equal intervals, allowing light to enter. Below the windows, various artworks were placed in the gaps.

  Matt surveyed the church. In all honesty, he was still unaware of its significance. Directly behind him, Sandra was examining the interior with scholarly interest while Jura walked slowly in the direction of the doorway. Matt was aware from speaking with the banker that their arrival was expected.

  The flight from Zürich had taken less than three hours, but they were three hours racked with tension and anticipation. Despite the crowds, Matt couldn’t shake the feeling that someone might be following them. Eight seats back, he felt particularly drawn to a casually dressed man, probably in his early thirties, though a baseball cap veiled the man’s face. They collected their baggage before meeting a smartly dressed chauffeur, who had evidently worked with Jura before.

  The hotel was located in the historic centre of Tomar, a 12th century city located on the west side of Portugal. According to its official history, construction was commenced on the orders of Gualdim Pais, the fourth Templar grandmaster in Portugal, on the site of two cities once belonging to the Romans. The nearby Convent of the Order of Christ still remained from the Templar occupancy after receiving the fiefdom from the King of Portugal on land reclaimed from the Moors. The city was pivotal in the Knights of Christ’s role in the European Age of Discovery, including the voyages of both Gaspar and Miguel Corte-Real.

  While the city of five hundred years earlier was a hub of activity, the modern location was a pleasant interaction of some twenty thousand residents and at least treble that number in annual tourists. On a good day, the centre would be crowded with holidaymakers walking in and out of the city’s many fine churches and the castle that once served the order. It was the height of the tourist season, and many of the locations were visited in numbers.

  The young monk waited until the tour guide moved on before moving away to the nearest wall. The Convento de Cristo was the most visited site in Tomar.

  He waited behind the pillar, looking out in every direction, wary of being seen. Seconds later, he continued down the passage adjacent the wall.

  Then he disappeared.

  The Church of Santa Maria do Olival is located on the east bank of the River Nabão and literally translated means Saint Mary of the Olive Groves. Like much of the city, it dated back to the mid 12th century and provided the final resting place for many former Templars and Knights of Christ. Following the dissolution of the Templars, the church was viewed as being of great importance to the Knights of Christ and the mother church of the Portuguese empire.

  The sound of a door opening preceded the appearance of the priest. The man was dressed in dark trousers and a white shirt that was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a tanned neck that was not without wrinkles. The man was Francisco da Bonisca, sixty-eight years of age, with wiry features, silver hair and a similarly coloured moustache.

  The man saw Jura, and his face lit up. ‘Charles.’

  Jura walked towards him and hugged him. ‘Francisco, it’s good to see you.’

  Matt broke away from his surveying of the church, his attention now on the Portuguese priest. He looked like a curator rather than a priest. There was something about his face that displayed interest and knowledge.

  ‘Francisco, this is Professor Sandra Richards,’ Jura said, gesturing to the blonde academic. As usual, she stood with an air of independence, quietly surveying the man without offering any hint of her opinion.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Father da Bonisca.’

  The man from Portugal held her gaze and offered his hand. ‘The pleasure, senhorita, is all mine.’

  Richards retained a rigid expression before breaking eye contact. Matt was walking towards them, his eyes on the priest.

  Jura engineered a smile. ‘And this, Francisco, is Matthew Anson, son of William.’

  The priest turned his attention toward Matt. He regarded him closely, his demeanour reminiscent of a long-lost uncle quietly passing judgment on his nephew.

  He offered his hand. ‘I am honoured to meet you, Matthew Anson. I knew your father well.’

  Matt
shook the man’s hand without response. So what else is new?

  ‘You bear a strong resemblance.’

  ‘So I’ve been told.’

  The priest maintained his calm façade, slowly releasing Matt’s hand.

  ‘Mr. Jura tells me that you are chiefly responsible for researching the rediscovered hoard,’ Sandra said.

  The priest smiled. ‘The archives of the church had been lost for many, many years,’ he replied, the pace of his voice quick. ‘Until recent excavation had taken place, we were unaware such discoveries were even possible.’

  Sandra looked around with interest. From the outside, the church did not seem large enough to harbour secret vaults.

  ‘The archives are not like those of a typical library. The discoveries that were made several weeks ago were not found in any bookcase or shelving unit. The discoveries were preserved within wooden chests, not unlike a clothes chest. Come, I shall show you.’

  The priest led the visitors through the nearest doorway and stopped on reaching the sacristy. He offered Sandra a wooden chair near the sideboard before retrieving a selection of documents from a nearby cupboard. The pile was close to a foot in height, each document written in ink on 15th century paper.

  Matt was instantly interested. It was obvious from the contrast that the documents were in keeping with the photocopies Jura had shown Sandra a few days earlier.

  Sandra removed her glasses from her handbag and immediately began examining the first sheet. The first document was a parish inventory, dated to the early 1470s.

  She turned to face the priest. ‘Is this everything?’

  ‘The possessions of the church before the period of Henry the Navigator are contained nearby, but their content is largely accounted for. I can show you where they are kept if you would like to see them.’

  Sandra delayed her answer. Anything relevant would be after that time.

  ‘Has anyone researched these?’

  The priest shrugged. ‘Other than myself, only Mr. Jura and Mr. Anson have studied it in detail. The only other was a friend of mine, Luis Pinco. However, he is not around at the moment.’

  Sandra nodded. She knew the man was dead.

  Jura’s expression lightened. ‘Why don’t you and I show Mr. Anson the vault?’

  Sandra nodded. ‘You can leave me here. I’ll see what we’re dealing with.’

  The young monk stopped on reaching the end of the passage before continuing out of the vault and into one of the side chapels. He had seen the church before but not recently. He was aware from his father that the recent excavations had shifted the location’s importance to the Templar order, but he was still to see anything himself. Under different circumstances, the visit might have whetted his interest, but on this occasion discipline took over.

  He had a task to complete.

  Robert entered the church carefully, placing particular effort on not being noticed. As he had anticipated, the area was deserted, every pew untaken and the altar unmanned. The door to the left side of the church was slightly ajar. In the distance, he thought he could hear the faint sound of talking, possibly the priest. He was aware from previous visits that the sacristy was beyond that point and that there were five chapels located in the most modern part of the church.

  The interior was as he remembered it. Sunlight shone brightly through all of the windows, most of which came from the rose window high above. Seven years as a member of the successors to the Knights Templar in Scotland had taught him of its importance. He doubted whether any of the parishioners, past or present, ever guessed or even paid attention to it.

  It was a rare honour being in possession of such knowledge.

  The young monk wandered slowly along the right aisle of the church, keeping his attention on the altar.

  Suddenly he stopped. Footsteps were moving in his direction.

  Matt followed Jura and da Bonisca back into the church. The priest headed for the front door and locked it from the inside using a key. The priest was evidently worried about drawing attention to the new find.

  The priest led the way toward the front of the church along the central aisle and veered left in the direction of one of the side chapels. On first inspection, it was unclear to Matt why the location held any significance, but his doubts were soon replaced with astonishment.

  ‘The vault was found below here,’ the priest said, gesturing toward the steps to the vault. It was obvious from the layout that many graves, Templar or other, were scattered around the main church, including the fourth grandmaster. Unlike most slabs, the markings were Templar symbols, and most included minimal writing. Matt was aware from his great-uncle that past custom had been for a Templar to be buried without recognition of individual status.

  Jura followed the priest, careful to keep his footing. The way to the crypt was a darkened void, partially obscuring the first three steps of a hidden stairway.

  Silently Matt was concerned.

  Whatever was below, he was unprepared for.

  Robert surveyed the three men from behind the pillar. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the priest lead the grandmaster of the Order of the Ancient Star in the direction of the altar.

  His sight narrowed. The Templar Rule still dictated the behaviour of its brothers, and Rule determined that the killing of a fellow Christian was forbidden. Sometimes his job would be easier if he could resort to force.

  Continuing to survey the central aisle, his feelings changed. Matt was walking, practically ambling, at least two steps behind the priest and the banker. His gait was awkward, appearing that he would lose his balance if he continued to pay attention to the surroundings rather than the ground in front of him.

  The young monk held his position. No sudden movements.

  The three disappeared from sight.

  Sandra finished reading the last line of the text and placed the most recent document on top of the pile. Among the documents the priest had given her was an original letter, this one written by Gaspar to his brother Vasco. The content was impressive. The smell, the texture, the elongated handwriting all enforced the feeling that she was dealing with something of genuine significance.

  She adjusted her glasses and moved on to the next document. Like the early ones, the content was mostly an inventory, this time regarding the contents of one of the ships.

  Somewhere here was a clue.

  Matt made his way to the bottom of the steps. The lack of light and the impetus of his movement caught him off balance, causing him to fall into the priest in front of him.

  His apology was returned with a smile. The priest shone his torch on the walls, revealing a corridor, surprisingly wide given its location, which led back underneath the church. A large extension cord was running along the wall. The layout was intriguing. Matt was aware from Sandra that the city was built on Roman remains, accounting for elements of marble lining the passage.

  The priest led the way, shining the light on the dark void. Religious symbolism decorated some of the walls, though much of it was incomprehensible. Matt assumed that the venue’s purpose was once intrinsic to the order.

  The priest slowed his pace. Up ahead, the corridor widened suddenly.

  ‘For many centuries the people of Tomar had spoken that a tunnel exists, connecting the church to the castle. Until recently I would have assumed the rumour to be a false one.’

  Matt followed Jura, now to the priest’s left. He waited as the priest disappeared. Suddenly the area shot into light. A temporary lighting arrangement had been assembled, including three lamps, two of which were rigged up against the walls.

  Matt blinked rapidly. The sudden onset of the fierce lighting against the black backdrop felt harsher than he had anticipated. Shielding his eyes, he stared with interest at the opening in front of him.

  Slowly his vision began to adjust. The previously dark void was now revealed to be a small chamber, no larger in size than the chapel from where they had entered the vault. Like the corridor, the walls were constr
ucted of stone, the same stone used predominantly in the city, and the ceiling formed part of the floor of the church above.

  But what he saw was incredible.

  Scattered throughout the chamber were countless icons, each one religious and instantly recognisable as belonging both to the Templars and the Knights of Christ.

  But even that was not the greatest surprise.

  Located in the centre of the vault was a large object. Centuries of dirt and dust had left its light exterior significantly contaminated. Unlike most objects of its type, it was assembled from marble. Evidently it was built to last.

  Jura smiled at Matt. ‘Incredible, isn’t it?’

  Matt smiled slowly. Despite the obvious differences, he recognised the location immediately. The object was a tomb, but no ordinary tomb. The fact that it was constructed out of marble made it look even more impressive.

  But what struck him most was the symbol on the top; one he was still to fully understand.

  He smiled.

  He had found the location of the second monument.

  ‘The Temple of Solomon!’

  The priest returned from turning on the light switch. ‘According to local lore, the Knights of Christ used the church to hold a sacred treasure.’ He laughed to himself. ‘Until three weeks ago I never would have believed it.’

  Matt nodded. ‘What is it?’ He asked only for clarification.

  ‘As you say, it is a replica of the First Temple of Solomon, destroyed by the forces of Nebuchadnezzar II in 587BC,’ the priest said. ‘It was within this tabernacle that the Knights of Christ once housed their most sacred possession.’

  Matt nodded. Surely whatever was taken from Kilwinning was deposited here. ‘What was it?’

  The priest looked at Matt and smiled. ‘Perhaps the most sacred of all relics in Judaism and Christendom: