Salvatore bowed slightly in thanks for the Mason’s reminder, and then said simply, “I have it.”
“Where?”
Salvatore gestured slightly to the prow of the boat with his head. “Hidden beneath the ballast stones in the fore of the hold. No one saw me place it there and the crew arrived after it was stowed.”
“You were not seen?”
“Unseen, from beginning to end. There is no evidence that the tomb was touched.”
The Mason looked across the water to the shore’s edge. “It is hard to imagine that this was done without problems.”
“I was unseen,” said Salvatore. “As you said, I made sure that there was no one on earth who could have any grounds for suspecting that I was occupied on anything unusual. I made sure that every door was closed behind me.”
The Mason looked directly at Salvatore. There was nothing to say, so he simply nodded.
“We received a letter from the Commander of our House in Tripoli. He tells us that he rode out with seven of his knights on a mission to save the Bishop from an attack by bandits.”
“Did he?”
“He then wrote, very clearly, that all eight of the knights involved behaved with valor. He is not a man to make a mistake in counting.”
“Do you want to know everything?” asked Salvatore.
“No. He also sent some details of recent transactions from the Commandery treasury. He tells us that there was a withdrawal of funds, then a deposit of funds which was greater than the amount taken out.”
“I would say that a report like that from the Knight Commander in Tripoli would be accurate and trustworthy.”
“I also hear from a ship that arrived last night that there is news from the Cathedral. The Bishop of Tripoli died in his sleep. They say he choked on a fig.”
“A sad loss, I’m sure, but I have been at sea for several days. I have lost touch with the news.”
The Mason looked down at the deck of the hold where the stone which Salvatore had carved lay. He ran his fingers over the image. “Fra Muratore again. You have a great fondness for this image.”
“It is a small thing, an image from my childhood. I copied it from my medallion.”
“It is an improvement on the work you have done before, but you are still not very good with stone, but you know that.”
“Too fast with the hammer?”
“No, too strong with the chisel,” said the Mason. “Look here. You are snatching the blade.”
Salvatore bent down to examine the stone, seeing for the first time the tiny defects the Mason pointed out.
As the two men spoke of stonework and tools, Massimo reached the shore and walked swiftly, head bowed, through the crowds of Acre to the small room he used in the Abbey precinct, words flowing through his head for the letter he would write that day to Rome.
He was past his anger, but action would come from today’s insults to the authority of the Church.
Screen
“Now we do nothing,” said Sparke.
“One of my key skills is doing nothing, especially when I am loafing around in a Tuscan villa,” said Tilly. “Never thought you were one for kicking back and staring at the sky.”
“Uh huh, to be accurate, I am terrible at doing nothing, but I am very good at waiting. Most of my working life has consisted in waiting around for things to go wrong, or waiting for the things we need to fix them, so patience is part of the game. Probably too patient to be honest.”
Tilly screened her eyes with her hand against the morning sun and saw a tiny glint of light reflecting from the drone.
“Tea or coffee?” she said.
“Tea, I think. I’m going to set up the screen so we can see what is going on.”
By the time Tilly appeared with two mugs of tea, Sparke had transformed the lounge of the villa into a control center. He had placed a projector, no bigger than a TV remote control, on a table and it shone an image of Sparke’s computer screen on the wall.
“You have all the great toys,” said Tilly.
The screen was split. One half showed a map of the area with a zigzag line weaving between the first of the hills Sparke had selected. The other half showed a table with the hills named after their height.
A small pulsing light showed the current position of the drone as it began its sweep.
“The cameras activate when the drone reaches each hill. We get a live video feed and it is set to take a dozen images as it circles the target.” He glanced up at the screen. “I think I’ll hang around and watch. It’s covering the ground pretty fast.”
They made themselves comfortable and watched the tiny pulsing light move. The screen suddenly flickered and the map section of the screen switched over to an aerial image of the Tuscan countryside sliding below the drone. The hilltop below was covered in olive trees that ran almost to the summit. At the crest of the hill there was a collection of small bushes, but no sign of any buildings or traces of ruins. The drone snapped still images for a few moments, then the screen flipped back to the map.
“That probably just saved us three hours of hiking,” said Sparke.
“Certainly works. Must look into using these things more in our surveys. I’m off to play with my new toy. There’s an old stone mile-marker down by the main road. Looks very faded so it should be good to practice on.”
A few minutes later, Tilly walked through the lounge carrying a large shoulder bag. “I’ll leave you to the movie.”
“Hmm, sure,” said Sparke, poring over a copy of a seventeenth-century map of the region.
Down at the roadside, Tilly unpacked her new machine and crouched next to the road marker. It had been badly eroded over time. The word ‘Siena?’ was still visible, but the rest of the carving was almost impossible to see.
She placed the face of the machine against the surface of the stone and scanned it. Once she finished her reading, she sat on the ground and looked at the readout. It was blank. She reset the machine for increased sensitivity and tried again.
This time the screen showed the surface of the stone and reminded Tilly of a thermal image. An arrow, invisible to the naked eye, could be seen through the machine. By emitting a series of ultrasonic pulses, the gauge had tested the density of the stone and, where it had been impacted by the worker’s chisel hundreds of years ago, the surface had been compressed.
She scanned the rest of the milestone and was amazed to see that the carving continued right down to the ground and below. She dug out the earth around its base and scanned again. The milestone, which now stood less than a foot above ground level, had once been much higher. More digging showed a clear fracture in the stone.
“Clever, clever little thing,” she said, packing up the gauge and heading back to the villa. She looked at her watch and realized she had been gone for almost two hours.
“You’ll never guess what I found out,” said Tilly as she walked back into the villa.
“You’ll never guess what I found out either,” said Sparke. “You first.”
“No. All I found out is that this machine you gave me rocks. What have you got?”
Sparke leaned over and touched a button on the computer. “Image Hill 169.”
The screen flashed up an image of the hilltop. At one side of the picture were ordered rows of vines.
“Zoom two hundred percent,” said Sparke.
The image tightened to a rocky summit partially covered with pine trees.
“Zoom three hundred percent and center.”
The vines now disappeared and the screen showed only the scattering of trees and outcrops of rocks. Clearly visible amongst the chaos of natural features was a semi-circular line on the ground.
“Next image.”
Now the screen was filled with the image of the same spot from a different location. The arc was now more visible and the outline of the rest of the circle could be clearly seen.
“Look at the way the bushes are growing,” said Sparke. Off from the circle the bus
hes were growing in a random pattern up until they reached a line near the circle. Tilly walked up to the projected image.
“The ground is different here,” she said drawing a line with her hand. “Nothing much growing in this sector.”
“I’ve got all this backed up. I’ll send the file over to you. This was the fifth hill the drone looked at. Clearly looks to have been built on at some point.”
“Far?”
“Half an hour, but there is no road to it that I can see. We can program the GPS and drive to the nearest road and hoof the rest of the way.”
“Are you up to it? I mean with our ribs and everything?”
“What I should do is stay here and complete the aerial scan of all the hills first.”
“Very logical.”
“Bugger it,” said Sparke. “Nothing is going anywhere. As soon as the drone gets back we should get up there and see what that might be.”
“Not very patient of you,” laughed Tilly.
“I’m getting to think that patience is a bit of a problem sometimes. Let’s saddle up.”
“Saddle up?” laughed Tilly. “I’m with you, cowboy.”
Burdens
“You have picked up a heavy burden for us, Brother Salvatore,” said the Grand Master. “You have done well.”
“I did as ordered, sir.”
“Our good Brother here,” the Grand Master gestured towards the Mason, “tells me that you used funds from our treasury in Tripoli, but returned more than you had taken?”
“Yes, sir.”
To have gone to Tripoli alone and recovered this object without help, and without being noticed, and to have done that while adding to our wealth is a great achievement. The Mason was right to trust you. You are a most remarkable member of our Order.”
“I aim to serve.”
The three men stood on the deck of the small ship that Salvatore had sailed down the coast. It was dwarfed by a Templar galley which had come out from Acre harbor. Several knights were on board and the whole crew was trusted sergeants and servants of the Order. Salvatore and the Mason had uncovered the box from beneath the pile of ballast and secured it under canvas for transfer to the ship that towered above them.
“The three crewmen you brought with you will all find themselves on good berths with ships leaving Acre in the next few days,” said the Mason. “Each will go to a different place and will be far away soon. They will be drunk until then and we have little to worry about. There is, however, a concern with Father Massimo. He must have had someone watching the harbor, or our House. Either way, he was waiting for me at the water’s edge when I arrived and has been on board.”
“He has already spoken with me,” said the Grand Master. “He was in a high passion. He seems to feel that we have somehow encroached upon the honor and privileges of the Church, specifically himself.”
“This is my fault, sir,” said Salvatore. “Our family is not a happy one.”
“I doubt if the happiest family in the world could soften Father Massimo,” said the Mason. “It is nothing we can concern ourselves with. I understand that he has been called to Tripoli. They have need of a new Bishop and he feels that he must assist in managing affairs until the situation is resolved.”
The Grand Master watched as several men scrambled down from the galley and began preparing the box for lifting out of the small boat they stood on. To Salvatore, he looked different from the man he had met once in his study. The sea wind had blown some of the dust and cares of his office away and he seemed both larger and younger in the natural light.
“And now you, Brother Salvatore, what about you?” he said. “You have earned the right to some privilege yourself. What is your will? You can return to Genoa, stay here with us, or ask for a role in any part of our Order. What will you do?”
The idea of returning to the backwater of a peacetime Commandery filled him with dread. Staying here in Tripoli ran the high risk of meeting his brother again in the future.
“If there is another task you might have, something else which I can engage in, I would be happy to serve.”
The Mason and the Grand Master looked at each other. It was the Mason who spoke.
“It might be well for you to be away from here. There is a task we need to complete. It is not easy, but you may find it dull after this.”
“I am yours to command.”
“Very well. This chest that you have recovered cannot remain here. For reasons we cannot tell you, we cannot keep it in any of the many fortresses we possess. It must be taken to a place of greater safety. It must be taken far out of the way of prying eyes.”
“I will take it,” said Salvatore.
The Mason nodded, having expected this answer. “We have prepared a place, a place which lies at the end of the world where we feel it can best be protected. It will involve a sea journey of some months. You will have to arrange a change of ships in at least two harbors so that no one knows your full journey. You may have other Templars around you, but you will be alone in knowing the full task.”
“Where is this place of refuge?
“Where the world stops. I will show you exactly where later, but for the moment you should know that it means travelling to the rim of Europe, to the last islands off the coast of northern Scotland.”
“Scotland?”
“It is to the north of England, but it has little in common with any place you have been before.”
"And, after I deliver this thing?"
“After that,” said the Mason, “we will need you to go home.”
“Home?” The word had lost almost all meaning to Salvatore. He had joined the Templars ten years ago and home to him had been an endless succession of monkish cells and the hard ground of campaigning.
“To Radda,” said the Mason, “the place of your birth. It is becoming a place of great interest to the Order. Your skills could be well used there.”
“I cannot return to Radda,” said Salvatore.
“We know that you have family concerns, and we understand that you cannot return to your family lands, but we have a position there, a small Commandery of particular importance. You will be safe there and we need your help in some specific ways.”
Salvatore trusted the Mason more than any man alive. If he was needed by the Order in Radda, he would go where he was bidden. “Of course,” he said.
“Now you must come ashore. Rest,” said the Grand Master, looking at the shabby clothes Salvatore was wearing. “Rest and return yourself to the proper appearance of a Knight of the Order.”
***
Far to the north, in Tripoli, Dimitrios was supervising the delivery of wagonloads of timber and discussing the delivery of iron parts for the machines he was now building for the Provost of the Commune of Tripoli. From a penniless boat repairer, he was now the man with a fine contract for the delivery of war machines. He had much to be grateful for.
His mysterious guest had gone, taking his few possessions with him. The only trace he left was a pile of ballast stones, many carved by Salvatore during his long hours lost in thought.
One of these was particularly fine, a two-foot square that bore the clear image of a man, in priest’s clothing, with one hand pointing upwards. Around the image were the letters spelling out the name, “Fra Muratore”.
Dimitrios had this picked up and the edges cleaned and dressed. Then he had it mounted on the gate post to his yard, facing outwards onto the street outside, for all the world to see.
Stones
“The destination is in an area of limited access.” The voice of the satnav system filled the car as soon as Sparke programmed in the coordinates of the hilltop.
“Did you bring that piece of paper with you? The one that your pal Marco got from the office in Radda permitting you to take photographs and whatever?”
“Got it. Never go anywhere without a permit,” said Tilly.
Sparke’s finder’s fee from the Treasure Trove office in Scotland allowed him to give himsel
f some small luxuries. Normally he would rent a standard car when he travelled, but for this trip he had booked a Range Rover, a blend of four-wheel drive, off-road tank and luxury limousine.
The trip from the villa took twenty-five minutes. Tilly was watching the screen on the GPS.
“We’re getting just about as close as we will get on the road. Slow down here,” she said.
Sparke slowed, and both of them craned their necks up at the hill in front of them.
“That’s it,” he said. “Any sign of a farm track or something?”
“Ah, yes, look right there. Is that a hotel, or what?”
“Looks like a wine place,” said Sparke. “Yes, look, it has one of those big wine cask things next to the road.”
Sparke slowed and drove the car into a narrow, well-made road. The winery had an attractive stone wall edging onto the road and the entrance was framed by a stone archway. After a hundred yards the road gave out into a broad car park in front of a number of stone buildings. One of these has glass double doors and sign saying “‘Wine Tasting” above it.
The room was cool and beautifully furnished, giving it the look of a high-class restaurant. The walls were lined with wine racks and classical music played softly in the background. It took ten minutes of conversation with the young woman who worked there to clarify that they were not interested in wine tasting, but needed to speak to the owner. A few moments later, a well-dressed man in his early fifties appeared.
“How can we help you?” he asked.
Tilly gave her best smile. “We are carrying out some historical research in the area and we are interested in gaining access to the ruined building on the top of the hill behind your property.” She took the permit from her bag. “We have authorization from the Commune of Radda to take photographs and examine buildings, but, of course, we need the permission of the landowner.”
“The ruins? There is nothing really to see up there, I’m afraid. There are many other castles and buildings you might find more interesting,” he said as he read the permit.
The Templar Thief: Peter Sparke book 4 Page 16
