‘A couple of weeks ago my editor asked me to do an article on the death of a man named William Anson. He was a history professor at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. I assume you’ve heard of him.’
‘As I tell you before, I read your article.’
‘As a matter of fact, the editor changed most of it.’
‘Of course.’
‘What do you mean?’
He smiled – a sick, unfriendly smile. ‘Do not take yourself for a fool. Open your eyes. Everywhere in life there is the truth,’ he shook his head, ‘and there’s the truth.’ He smiled cheekily and nodded.
Nicole was confused. ‘What do you know about the Knights of Arcadia?’
‘Trust me, little girl, you do not want to get mixed up in nasty world.’
‘Monsieur Belroc, please, I’m already mixed up in this. William Anson was the father of one of my best friends. Now he won’t speak to me because he thinks I spread lies about his dad. I know about all of them. I know about Luke Bowden, I know about Lawrence Denison, I know about Graham Bell, and I know Graham Bell was Lawrence Denison’s widow’s father.’ She looked at him seriously. ‘She told me.’
The Frenchman hesitated slightly. His expression was one of genuine concern.
‘Help me.’
He frowned. ‘The Knights of Arcadia are not the problem here.’
‘How much do you know about them?’
He hesitated again.
‘Please help me.’
The Frenchman sat down on the couch and put his hands through his long, dirty hair. The question was where to start. ‘Tell me, Ms. Stocker, how much you know of the history of the Crusades?’
She shrugged. ‘A bit.’
‘Oui. And the Old Testament?’
She paused, surprised by the question. She nodded.
‘Officially the Order of the Ancient Star claims to have existed since 1521, created for the pursuit of knowledge. However, that is a lie.’
She nodded.
‘The Knights of Arcadia is equally dishonest in the history it presents to the wider world. Officially it was formed in the late 15th century by members of the Cistercian monastery on land once owned by the Knights Templar. However, that land had been forfeit and placed either in the hands of one of two families, the Winters or the Ansons, or else the hands of the Crown of Scotland.’
‘Do you mind if I record this?’
He nodded. ‘The Knights of Arcadia are very different to what they claim. But they are not themselves bad.’
‘According to your article, Gray was a Knight of Arcadia who became the victim of a ritualistic murder.’
‘That’s true, but the Knights of Arcadia were not responsible.’
Nicole was not surprised. ‘They weren’t?’
‘Of course not. Why would the Knights of Arcadia kill their own members, it’s crazy!’
She placed the pen to her lips. ‘Monsieur Belroc, please, be straight with me. Do you know who killed them?’
He pursed his lips. He rose to his feet and walked in the direction of a bookshelf. He removed a small paperback book and returned to his seat.
The book was entitled The Larmenius Inheritance, written by the journalist in 2007.
‘You wrote this?’
‘Oui.’ For several seconds he avoided Nicole’s gaze.
She scanned the pages, paying particular attention to the blurb and the table of contents.
She shook her head. ‘What am I looking for?’
He took the book from her and flicked through the pages. ‘What do you know about the Knights Templar?’
She shrugged. ‘Nine knights from France; set up their base in Jerusalem to protect pilgrims; fought valiantly; became significant landowners and bankers; soon after the loss of the Crusades they were excommunicated on charges of Devil worship.’
The Frenchman nodded. ‘So you think when they were excommunicated they just ceased to exist?’
‘I know where you’re going with this…’
‘I very much doubt it,’ he said, brushing his scruffy black hair away from his fringe. There was a gentle innocence about him that she was beginning to warm to.
He leafed through the pages.
‘This chapter talks in detail about what is known of the Templars since that time. Now most of it cannot be validated, but it is true that some of the French Templars escaped just before the arrests and made their way to Scotland. According to some, the Templars had found something, no one knows what, in an area known as the Shara Mountains, according to some the real location of the biblical Mount Sinai.’
‘You mean where Moses received the Ten Commandments?’
He nodded. ‘Oui. Exactly.’
Nicole scanned the text. The author went into considerable detail.
‘Okay, so what does that have to do with the murders?’
‘When the Templars made their way to Scotland, they formed their own order, possibly known as the Knights of Arcadia, a combination of fleeing Templars, some stonemasons and the Cistercian monks. The story states that they had with them a legendary treasure, no one knows what, which was protected by the Templars.’
‘What do you know?’
‘Only that they disappear for over one hundred and fifty years, only to re-emerge as a completely different order.’
She stared at the book. She had heard the conspiracy theories, but she was still to come across anything that resembled concrete proof.
‘So, the Knights of Arcadia were formed by the Templars?’
‘Yes, but that is not the end of the story.’
‘Go on.’
‘The Templars were a massive order, its members estimated somewhere in the region of 20,000. Now when the arrests came, it would be impossible for their members to stay together. Some became members of the Teutonic Knights or the Knights Hospitallers; some formed other orders. In Portugal they simply changed their name to the Knights of Christ.’
She nodded. At last she was getting somewhere.
‘When the last grandmaster, Jacques de Molay, was dying in his cell, he was rumoured to have passed over the reins to another, a man named John-Marc Larmenius.’
She forced a smile. Reassuring.
‘Larmenius was responsible for the escape to Scotland.’ He paused, apparently short of breath. ‘However, there were still a number of Templars in France left behind. To them, the Templars in Scotland were deserters.’
What she heard agreed with what Denison had told her. ‘The markings on the dead men’s bodies said Templi Desertore.’
The Frenchman nodded. ‘Oui. And that was no one-off.’
‘It wasn’t.’
‘Throughout the last seven hundred years, there have been many examples. Many of the Templars in France who successfully fled made their way to Switzerland. In 1315, an army of peasants, assisted by riders in white, successfully fought off the army of Leopold of Austria.’
The Frenchman directed her to the middle of the book, an area where the quality of the paper was drastically improved and replacing the text was a colour plate section. The battle he referred to was caught in action by an 18th century illustration, artist unknown.
‘The fate of the Swiss Templars is far more mysterious. Some authors have even suggested that the Templars formed the Swiss banking system, or even became the Swiss Guards.’
Nicole’s jaw dropped. ‘The Templars were great bankers.’
He nodded. ‘And at the time of the French Revolution, the kings of France were guarded by a branch of Swiss Guards.’
‘I thought they just guarded the Pope.’
‘For two hundred years that has been the case. But during the early years, most kings of Europe had their own Swiss Guards.’
Nicole was astounded. ‘They protected the king who betrayed them?’
‘Protected, or oversaw the downfall of?’
Her eyes lit up. It sounded too incredible.
‘But one way or another, the Templars in Switzerland also
survived. According to one writer, the organisation known as the Order of the Ancient Star is the real Templars.’
The Frenchman once again left his seat and sought the bookcase. This time the book he took was older, dated late 19th century and written in English.
‘According to this author, Ulric von Gostel, the Order of the Ancient Star can be dated as far back as 1340. This was early even for the Old Swiss Confederacy.’
‘How did he know this?’
‘He claims to have had access to rare sources. But what I know for sure is that prior to the release of this book, he was found decapitated. Some authors claim he had been flayed and the Templi Desertores markings were etched into his body.’
Nicole felt sick.
‘Murders by the Order of the Ancient Star are not isolated. Throughout history at least two hundred Knights of Arcadia have been killed in such ways.’
‘Bowden was killed that way. So were Gray, Bell and Denison.’
He nodded.
‘Why were they flayed? What’s the significance?’
‘I’m afraid there, your guess is as good as mine.’
She bit her lip. ‘So why won’t any newspapers comment on this?’
He smiled a resigned smile. ‘The Order of the Ancient Star influence spans far and wide.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘According to von Gostel, the Swiss Templars had an agenda. Expose the Knights of Arcadia for deserting their mother order, including the modern-day members. Should anyone try to highlight the modern Order of Ancient Star for what they really are, the consequences would be severe.’
‘That’s ridiculous; it’s been seven hundred years.’
‘And still to this day legend persists that the Knights of Arcadia continue to harbour what the Order of the Ancient Star wants more than anything else.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The legendary treasure.’
Nicole rose to her feet, now animated. ‘Do you have a copy of this?’
‘Keep it,’ he said. ‘May it assist you in your quest. Take this, too.’ He gave her a copy of his own book and another, this time by an author named Woltz.
Nicole headed in the direction of the door. She unlocked the chain.
‘Nicole.’
She turned.
‘It does not do to incur the wrath of the Order of Ancient Star. Please be careful.’
She watched him for several seconds. Then she offered a grateful smile and left the building.
Seated behind the disguise of a local newspaper, the young monk watched the journalist with jet-black hair leave the apartment.
Her destination, the old town.
Less than fifteen metres away, the brown-haired man named Stephane Degen got out of his Renault and walked rapidly in the direction of the double doors that led to the entrance of the apartment building.
Seconds later he was in.
On the fourth floor, Jerome Belroc browsed quietly through another of his pseudo-history books. Talk about the Order of the Ancient Star had aroused that familiar thirst for hidden knowledge.
A knock at the door caught his attention.
Placing the book down on the settee, he rose to his feet and walked slowly to the door.
Slowly the door opened. It was not who he expected.
‘Uh, can I help you?’
The man remained silent. Without invitation, he moved slowly forward.
37
Sandra awoke to a feeling of discomfort. Her head hurt, particularly around the back of the cranium. For several seconds she failed to register what was wrong, or even where she was.
She touched the spot where it hurt the most. A crumbly swelling had formed at the point where the rear of her hair parted, creating a messy, sticky substance where the blood had poured. As far as she was aware, the bang had been deliberate, but of the events, she remembered nothing.
Or nobody.
She sat up slowly in the bed. For the briefest of moments she felt as though she was about to vomit, but the feeling passed. She saw a large glass of water on the bedside cabinet, picked it up, and sipped it slowly. The cold liquid felt pleasant on her dry mouth.
She replaced the glass and adjusted herself in the bed. It was a single, covered by a white duvet and a mattress that felt slightly hard. The room was evidently old and dated to the fashion of what could be a century earlier. The wallpaper was tearing in places, and much of the furniture looked as though it belonged in the 1930s. A selection of religious iconography covered the walls, including an ornate crucifix.
She removed the duvet and realised she was still fully dressed. Her shoes were placed on the floor by a nearby chair, along with her handbag and jacket.
She ascended to her feet and left the room. The deserted landing led to a winding staircase. As she neared the bottom, she realised that at least three people were present in the living room, all of whom were speaking, the discussion animated.
Jura was the first to see her. The banker was standing, leaning over a wooden table where the priest was sitting. The documents she had seen earlier that day were laid out unevenly over the table.
Jura smiled at her. ‘How’s your head?’
‘Better,’ she said, looking around the room. Matt was sitting on a black couch that was at least twenty years old and showing the effects of cat claws. She didn’t need telling that this was the residence of the priest. The Knights of Christ traditional vow of poverty was at least being partially upheld.
She looked at Matt, then Jura. Matt’s forehead was stained with blood.
‘What the hell happened?’
The priest smiled kindly. ‘You were hit on the head.’
She eyed the priest, then Matt again. Evidently, she was not the only person to have sustained injury.
Bonisca said, ‘Mr. Anson here had slightly more success.’
Matt forced a weak smile. ‘I kicked him, he kicked me harder.’
‘You’re bleeding.’
‘It’s not all mine.’
Sandra turned to face him, slightly impressed. ‘Who was it?’
‘I didn’t see his face.’
‘How did he get in?’
The priest smiled grimly. ‘The church is not without its hiding places.’
Sandra nodded, her attention distracted. The blow to the head had left her feeling somewhat disorientated. Worse yet, she had not heard even the slightest sound of her attacker’s entry.
Her attention turned to the documents. ‘Why did he do this?’
The priest shrugged. ‘Clearly the contents of the hidden vault have aroused the interest of outsiders.’
Sandra turned her attention to Matt. ‘You say you didn’t see his face?’
‘No, his head was veiled.’
‘He wore a balaclava?’
‘A mask.’
‘Colour?’
‘I don’t know. His jacket was grey.’
‘Grey?’
Matt nodded. ‘As were most of his clothes.’
She looked at the priest. ‘What was he looking for?’
The priest shook his head. Nothing was obviously missing.
Sandra moved closer to the desk and started going through the documents without invitation. She remembered that she had seen something of interest, one that stood out from the rest. It was the last thing she remembered.
‘There was a letter,’ she said after several seconds of searching without success. ‘A letter from Miguel Corte-Real to his brother, Vasco not Gaspar.’
The priest looked with interest.
‘It told of his second journey. Evidently he was following Gaspar.’
She continued to search. Nothing. She swore under her breath. ‘The letter is gone, that must’ve been what they wanted.’
Matt looked at her, his expression slightly despondent. He held his hand against his head. The pain was throbbing from when it knocked against the pavement.
‘What was it?’
She bit her lip. Remembe
ring specifics was difficult.
‘The letter told how Miguel Corte-Real had initially been on a voyage of discovery with his brother Gaspar; however, Miguel later returned to Portugal. Over a year later, with Gaspar still to return, he was sent across the Atlantic to look for him. According to the letter, they docked somewhere and made a land claim using inscriptions on a rock. The letter was dated 1513, eleven years after he was last seen.’
Jura watched her, stroking his goatee. Intriguing that a man could write a letter that long after going missing.
‘What else did it say?’ the banker asked.
Sandra exhaled with fury. The more she thought about it, the more it hurt her head. She closed her eyes. In her mind, the images appeared as little more than blurs.
‘The second voyage, they landed in the same place where they had landed the first time. They made their way north, evidently Miguel knew where. According to the letter, they made reference of their second landing in the form of a land claim etched into rocks of a nearby river.’
‘Can you describe the symbols?’ the priest asked.
‘There was a cross of the order and a reference to Miguel Corte-Real. The markings were described in the letter.’
She inhaled deeply. The monk clearly knew of its importance.
‘According to the letter, the first time there were three ships, fourteen men on each, one of which continued north, while the one sailed by Miguel returned to Portugal with the final ship. When Miguel returned on the second voyage, the account seemed more specific. It referred to men from Portugal and Scotland who set out from Tomar on a journey of discovery. After making land, they camped. One week’s journey south from this stone, they had fished. There were three men red with blood.’
Jura watched with interest. The exact meaning was clearly lost on him. ‘Then what happened?’
‘They continued north for twenty days and set up base. The date on the rock was 1511 – two years before the letter was written.’
Jura rose to his feet and began to wander aimlessly around the room. The description seemed to give an exact location of their whereabouts.
He turned to face the priest. ‘Do you still have the inventory list from the Tomar voyage?’
The Larmenius Inheritance Page 26
