“Planting acorns?” asked Connor. “Is he serious?”
“I’d follow Prince Henry anywhere,” mocked Angus. “Where those not your exact words? The southwest is the other side of the island,” he added, picking up his porridge bowl from the mud. “Come on, we better get going.”
With a trowel in one hand and a bulging sack thrown over their opposite shoulder, the boys slogged their way through the misty twilight air. The familiar feel of mist and mud carried Connor back to his abandoned family farm. He could see his mother and father dancing in the swirling moisture, beckoning for him to drop his sack and to join in the family merriment. His heart grew heavier with each step, and he half-expected their burnt-out homestead to suddenly appear in front of him, his parents’ graves fresh in the damp earth beneath his feet. Thankfully, Angus nudged him, breaking the disturbing trance.
“Hey, Connor, what do you make of that?”
Ahead of them was what used to be the southern shoreline of the island. From one side of the small bay to the other, a large coffer dam prevented the ocean from flooding the muddy inlet. The wooden windmill that the boys had seen from the boat creaked and groaned next to the dam in the brightening sky. A pipe extended from the windmill into the wet mud of the bay, sucking at the sea water leaking through the imperfect wall separating ocean from land. A wide avenue of planks extended from the shore, down along the muddy bottom of the bay then back towards the island, disappearing from view behind a steep drop-off.
When Connor and Angus arrived at the edge of the shoreline, they were stunned to see two fully dressed knights suddenly materialize below them in the bay. They strode along the planks toward the bend that would take them up onto the island.
“Where in blazes did they come from?” asked Connor, bewildered.
Angus leaned over the edge of the precipice. “You’re not going to believe this! Look!”
Connor leaned forward as well and gawked, stunned, at the sight below him. The planks led into a mysterious entrance nearly hidden at the bottom of the bay.
“What is it?” he stammered. “Some sort of cave?”
“Not with that thick wooden frame around the opening. It has to be manmade. My guess is that it’s a tunnel of some sort.”
Connor shook his head in wonder. “A tunnel at the bottom of a bay . . . It must be the entrance into the underground library that Prince Henry mentioned back in Kirkwall.”
The knights noticed the two lads staring over the edge of the shoreline. They marched up the embankment and stopped next to the boys. One was tall and wiry and sported a thin goatee. The shorter of the two, his head ablaze in a shock of red hair and grizzled beard, glared at them with hazel eyes.
“I do not recognize you. Who are you and what is your purpose?”
Angus took charge, straightening himself. “I’m Angus Gunn, son of Sir Rudyard Gunn, and this is my Templar brother Connor MacDonald. We have just arrived on the island.”
“And what is your purpose on the island?” he asked.
“We were sent here by Master Robinson to plant acorns,” offered Connor, pointing to his sack.
“Acorns?”
The two knights looked at each other, then burst out in raucous laughter.
“Then I suggest you tend to your duties,” one said, catching his breath. “If Master Robertson finds out that you have been slacking, he might also send you to plant pretty rows of heather up on the hill!”
“Or decorate the dock in lavender,” chuckled the taller knight.
The shorter one leaned in and wiggled a meaty finger at them. “But since you are new, we’ll let your neglect of duty pass just this once.”
“Aye, sir. Thank you, sir.”
The knights left, still chortling as the boys fell to their knees and began to rip open the sacks.
“Great,” said Angus, digging his hand into the acorns. “We’re the laughingstock of the Templar Order.”
Connor shrugged. “Somebody has to do it, and after looking around at breakfast, I have a feeling that we are the lowest ranking knights on the island.”
“Still,” Angus grumbled, “planting acorns was not what I had in mind when I dreamed of grand adventure with the Templar Knights.”
Getting to work, they decided to plant the acorns in rows, starting from the far side of the open area then working towards each other until they met in the middle. The morning sun was burning off the last of the fog, and Connor was starting to enjoy the tilling of the land. It reminded him of his time on the farm when he had planted the springtime seeds and potatoes. By midday, however, his back began to stiffen. Soon, they were stopping every few minutes to kneel and stretch. It was early afternoon when the first of their sacks was finally empty.
“Lord, I think I’m crippled,” muttered Angus, leaning back onto his heels. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand upright.”
“Come on,” replied Connor, nodding at the hill. “The sooner we get another sack of acorns, the sooner we can be finished this job.”
They plied their way through another half bag of acorns before evening finally fell. They decided to leave the half-empty sacks at the site before staggering back to their tent and collapsing wearily onto their cots. Sir Rudyard had to wake the boys from a dead sleep when he returned to the tent shortly after sunset. He laughed at their reluctance to open their eyes.
“I can see that Master Robertson has been keeping you busy.”
Angus lifted his groggy head and groaned as he tried to sit up. “When you departed for your Templar adventures, Father, I don’t think I ever pictured you planting endless fields of acorns.”
Sir Rudyard smiled and sat down. “Is that what Master Robinson had you doing today?”
“Aye, sir. We started down by the bay and have only made our way to the bottom of the hill.” Connor wearily pointed westward.
“And we still have the rest of the island left to do,” added Angus.
Sir Rudyard pondered the task. “You shouldn’t feel that your task is insignificant. Sometimes what appears to be the smallest of tasks turns out to be the most important.”
“Important?” cried Angus, opening one eye. “How can replanting a forest that would have replanted itself in a couple of years anyway be of any importance?”
“None of what we’ve seen since we arrived has made any sense,” added Connor.
Sir Rudyard sat down on the cot beside his son. “I am not privileged to divulge any secrets without permission, but I can ask you this one question. Have you noticed anything about the forests in this new land?”
“That they seem endless?” answered Angus.
“Yes, but what kinds of trees are contained in these forests?”
“I’ve seen huge maples, birch and ash,” said Connor.
“As well as elm and chestnut. There’s also cedar along the water’s edge,” added Angus.
Sir Rudyard smiled. “Any tree missing from that list?
Connor rolled onto his side, grinning. “Oak?”
“Well done, Connor. There isn’t another oak tree anywhere within a week’s sail of these islands. I know you lads are smart. I’ll let you figure the rest of it out on your own. And by the way, Prince Henry is coming to the island tomorrow, and he wants to see the both of you.”
Connor sat bolt upright, thinking back to seeing the tunnel in the bay, and the men who chided them for not being on task. “We didn’t mean to look into the bay! Those knights must have reported back to Prince Henry!”
“He’s not going to throw us out of the Order, is he?” asked Angus, eyes widening.
Sir Rudyard laughed. “Not to worry, lads. This is good news. He still remembers your heroic deeds back at Kirkwall. He wants to repay you both by giving you a personal tour of the island. I reckon many of your questions will be answered tomorrow.”
Sir Rudyard blew out the candle burning on the desk. “Now get some sleep. Tomorrow should be an exciting day.”
Thirteen
At the brea
k of dawn, a column of weary workers trudged down to the island’s rocky beach and plunged themselves into the bracing waters of the North Atlantic. Using handfuls of goose grease and sand, they washed their bodies until the encrusted layers of dirt grudgingly gave way to a covering of clean, pink skin. They then scrubbed their filthy clothes and threw them back on wet. Invigorated by the bath, the refreshed workers returned to the village for a warm breakfast.
Soon after, a large ship from the mainland approached the dock. The freshly-scrubbed workers quickly ordered themselves by rank in a line extending away from the dock. A makeshift walkway of planks had been thrown down on the wet mud, starting from the edge of the dock and crossing the island to the strange entranceway in the bay. Connor and Angus were not surprised to be placed near the end of the line in a young crowd of apprentices. Connor smiled at the whisperings of the surrounding men.
“Aye, ’tis Prince Henry himself coming for the inspection.”
“And I hear the princess as well?”
“Reckon she’s as beautiful as the morning sunrise!”
“Even prettier, for I’ve caught a glimpse of her during my time at Roslin. But don’t let the prince hear a word of it. Once, I heard a knight snuck a quick glance at Princess Sarah as she passed. Prince Henry caught it, ripped him out of line and forced him to crack mason stones in the Orkney quarry for ten years! The lad nearly built the entire sea fortress singlehandedly!”
Connor gave Angus a nudge and rolled his eyes, smiling. A shout from the dock brought everyone to attention. Prince Henry, draped in Sinclair tartan, stepped into the view of the crowd. The tall, handsome Scot stood for a moment with the open sea behind, the breeze brushing back his long golden locks as he formally inspected the scene before him.
He then descended the steps to the shore, followed closely by his friend Antonio Zeno. Gasps erupted from the crowd as Princess Sarah stepped off the ship. Connor’s heart skipped a beat as her waist-long golden hair floated behind her like the morning mist. In any gathering, she would be the most beautiful woman in the crowd, but walking onto an island where some of the men had not seen the fairer sex in almost three years, she illuminated the shoreline as if she were an angel sent from Heaven. A dozen ladies-in-waiting accompanied her down along the dock. Other dignitaries also disembarked, joining the growing party on the island’s shore.
“Those older men with the grey beards are the designers Prince Henry hired to help build on the island,” whispered Angus.
“Where are they from?” asked Connor.
“Everywhere,” answered Angus. “Greece, Italy, Spain, France . . . He hired only the best.”
Meeting the dignitaries at the walkway were the master craftsmen, including Master Robertson. The large group then began their stroll along the wooden planks that spread like a ribbon across the island. The prince took time to shake hands with each man, sharing a few kind words here and there. When he came to Connor and Angus, he smiled and clasped the lads on the shoulders.
“Don’t go anywhere. I want to see the two of you later.”
Antonio Zeno pointed a finger at them as if they were in trouble but then allowed a hint of a smile to curl his lips.
The other young men in line stared at Connor and Angus in shock. Who were these lads that the prince and his friend would treat them with such casual affection? Connor, however, didn’t notice their stares. He was already hypnotized by the approaching Princess Sarah. They bowed deeply. She gave Connor and Angus a sideways glance and a curious smile. Then she turned back to her female friends, falling in step behind the prince.
Black Douglas was the next to stride by, staying close behind the princess and disdainfully ignoring the line of lowly workers. His raised chin and glower were a clear message to everyone that he was the second in command. Master Robertson, pulling up the rear of the prodigious group, scowled at the boys with unusual fierceness. His glare said it all; don’t be expecting special treatment just because you know the prince.
The royal contingent broke free of the crowd and continued at a casual pace toward the unusual entranceway off to the side of the island. Free from the pomp and circumstance, the workers returned to their tents, changed their clothes and went back to their duties. The boys heaved up their bags of acorns and returned to the muddy fields. They carried out their task with unusual cheeriness, remembering Sir Rudyard’s words. They knew their job was somehow critical to the success of Prince Henry’s plan. And they still couldn’t believe that they would be having an audience with the prince later on in the afternoon.
As it approached midday and the boys ripped into their fourth sack of acorns, a sharp whistle broke into the monotonous work. Straightening, they saw Master Robinson waving them in. They hurried over to the edge of camp, where he waited for them impatiently.
“Come on, then! Put the bags away! The prince wants to see the two of you.”
“The prince?” stammered Connor, looking at his filthy clothing. “Now?”
“Och, aye,” sighed Robertson. “But certainly not in your current revolting state. He’d mistake you two for a couple of lazy, mud-caked swine. You had better hurry and transform yourselves into something that resembles human beings.”
“Come on!” shouted Angus to Connor, smiling. “I’ll race you to the beach!”
Robertson yelled after them. “Why he’d ever be interested in two filthy urchins like you is beyond my comprehension!”
“We wouldn’t have been so mud-covered if he’d assigned us an easier job,” muttered Angus as they jogged.
“That is the truth,” agreed Connor, “and I don’t think missing a morning of acorn planting would throw the mysterious Templar plan into chaos, either.”
Returning to the frigid water for the second time that day, the boys once again scrubbed themselves down and washed their clothes. He looked over at Angus. They looked like a pair of drowned rats.
Prince Henry was at the dock escorting his sister and female companions back onto the ship. The boys made their way to the dock, and Angus pointed to a small craft in the bay. A single paddler pushed a narrow, doubled-ended craft through the water with quick clean strokes. Prince Henry left the dock and went down to the shore to meet the small craft. He grabbed hold of the bow, allowing the paddler to leap agilely onto the rocky beach.
“He’s a native,” said Angus. “I wonder why he’s here?”
“Take a good look at what is around his neck,” added Connor.
“A cross! I don’t believe it!”
As the prince and the young native man approached the boys, Connor examined the stone pendant that hung around the stranger’s neck. He had seen images of Celtic crosses with their geometric patterns in the chapel back in Scotland. The Roman Empire had never been able to extend its influence into Scotland, so Christianity didn’t arrive in his homeland until the sixth century. It was the Irish monks who had sailed the Word and their unique form of Irish art across the sea to the Highlanders, and their religion prospered until Viking raiders nearly destroyed every Christian monastery in both countries. Connor wondered how this man had come to be in possession of such a unique symbol of Christianity.
Prince Henry waved the boys over to them. Antonio Zeno left the ship and also joined the small gathering.
“Boys, it’s good to see you again. This is my friend, Na’gu’set of the Mi’kmaq nation. Without him, my dreams of Oak Island would not have been possible. Na’gu’set, these are Angus Gunn and Connor MacDonald. Without them, I would likely be locked away in an English prison right now.”
“It is an honour to meet you,” Na’gu’set stated. Connor was surprised that the man spoke in his sister tongue, Irish Gaelic. A connection to his cross, perhaps? He wondered what other surprises were in store for him today.
“’Tis a pleasure to meet you, as well,” Connor offered in reply.
“Likewise,” added Angus.
“And my Italian friend now joining us is Antonio Zeno.”
The boys shook h
ands with the curly-haired Italian.
“I remember hearing you speak back in Kirkwall,” said Connor.
“In the chapel,” added Angus.
Zeno smiled. “That was a very special moment for us all. Speaking of Kirkwall, we all appreciated your quick thinking during the attack on the sea fortress.”
Prince Henry nodded. “The reason I have brought you together today is that I felt you deserved to know what was accomplished through your actions and deeds. Na’gu’set, you will be the only person outside of the Templar Order to see our work here on Oak Island.”
“It might be a long while before many men inside of the Order see it as well,” added Zeno.
“So, if the three of you would like to follow Antonio and me, we will begin our walk.”
The group moved along the wooden walkway toward the mysterious bay.
“Prince Henry,” asked Connor, “may I ask a question?”
“You may,” smiled the prince, “but I can’t promise to answer it.”
“I understand. I was wondering if the acorns that Angus and I have been planting for the last two days have anything to do with what is hidden below the island?”
Prince Henry looked to his Italian friend. “I told you he was a smart one, Antonio.”
Zeno laughed. “Anyone who can modify cannon charges into a new weapon is my type of friend. Let’s just hope there are not as many people as smart as him outside of the Order, or your secret will not be safe for long.”
The prince gave the boy a nod of approval. “You are right, Connor. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then imagine the tale a fully-grown oak tree could tell.”
Connor stared at him quizzically.
Prince Henry slapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, laddie. Your many questions will soon be answered.”
The group fell silent as they approached the small bay. A strong southwest wind was whipping the sea into frothing whitecaps. The breakers boomed into the containment wall, sending jets of spray high into the air. The windmill, spinning at blurring speed, struggled to keep the water at bay. The growing tempest, however, was barely noticed by the five as their thoughts wandered along the path that took them deep into the earth.
Betrayed Page 11
