"Of course," said Annecy. "The famous Templar Vault. I understand the discovery was quite an accident. Some hiker tripped over a rock and fell into a cave. Wasn't it something like that?"
"There was a little more to it. The man who made the find had done a lot of analysis and predicted the location of the vault based on some logic rules. He´s very gifted in that way." Annecy opened his mouth to speak, but Tilly wanted to move off the topic of Sparke. "My reason for being so interested in your talk is the idea that the Templars had some possible plans to create a territory for themselves. I understand that you might be talking about their activities in the Swiss Alps. Have I got that right?"
"It is an area worth future research," said Annecy, nodding slowly. "If I was to summarize the situation I would say that, while there is little direct evidence, that which exists is overwhelmingly in support of the idea. More than this, any critical examination of the context and political environment of the time would say that it is so likely as to be almost a certainty."
Tilly was familiar with the habit amongst leading academics of seeking to provide a little shock treatment to their audiences and Annecy seemed to be happy to lay out a challenging premise if it could rock the boat a little with more placid colleagues.
"Perhaps," said Annecy, "this is worth some further discussion? These things can get a little claustrophobic, don´t you think? I was thinking of finding somewhere to eat tonight away from the conference crowd. Perhaps you might like to join me?"
"Let´s have a coffee after your talk," said Tilly.
No sooner than she had spoken than a harassed young man with a clipboard appeared and hustled Professor Annecy into the conference hall to prepare for his address to the assembly.
Tilly immediately reached down and rummaged in her bag for her phone and hit the fast dial for Sparke. It went to his voicemail.
"Peter, it´s me. Listen, I just talked to the Professor who´s giving this talk on the Templar Swiss thing. I don´t know any detail, but he seems pretty solid on the idea that he can establish a connection. No idea what he will say, but his paper will be published at the end of the conference and I´ll get a copy over to you. Cheerio."
Annecy´s wasn't the hottest talk of the conference, but the topic was high profile and the hall soon filled up. One of the conference organizers stood and introduced the speaker and Annecy appeared and strode towards the podium. He shuffled his papers for a moment and played with the remote control from the projector, made a joke about how much he hated technology, then launched into his talk.
After twenty minutes, Tilly started to wonder when his long, rambling introduction would end and Annecy would get to the point. After forty minutes she realized that what she thought had been background information was, in fact, the actual content of his talk. By the time he had spent his sixty minutes talking Tilly had nearly completed a complex doodle in her notebook involving a cat climbing a ladder towards a huge cupcake. He had made no reference to any specific geographic regions or given any hint that the Templars may have been motivated to find a homeland in order to escape a threat to their existence. His hour was dedicated to lengthy descriptions of patterns of property ownership, transfers of rights, the use of contracts rather than feudal obligation and the internal systems of financial transfers between regions for each of the three main military monastic orders. He wrapped up with a promise, which received polite and knowing laughter from his audience, to put the talk on a video file as soon as his university team worked out how to do it.
He made his way slowly through a loose crowd of admiring delegates and walked towards Tilly who stood near the door.
"Not too dull, I hope," he said, smiling.
"It seemed to be well received," answered Tilly, making a poor attempt to return his smile.
"You seem a little disappointed."
"It's my fault. I suppose I expected it to be a little more in line with our earlier conversation."
"Professor Pink, this is serious history. We are not here to act like Indiana Jones, hunting for hidden caves like your friend who fell over an important find. Discipline of thought is how we separate ourselves from the untrained populist. We are about research, not glory hunting."
"That glory hunter you mention has actually gone to great lengths to remain anonymous and, as far as being an untrained populist, he has made more genuine discoveries than any academic I know." She knew she should leave it there, but she didn't. "One other thing, if there is one thing that separates him from us, it is that he has the courage of his convictions and is not afraid to say what he believes."
Politics
The seats were in the wrong place. As the men entered the room, the first of them looked at the stools and benches that had been laid out and immediately decided to rearrange things. All of them spoke warmly to Odo, a few nodded towards Salvatore, but none greeted him. He had seen rich merchants in Italian cities and political leaders in Tripoli. These men acted the same way although, as far as he was aware, they were nothing more than farmers and storekeepers.
"Who are all of these men?" said Salvatore.
"About half of them are from Martigny, the rest from the other communes in the valley," said Odo. "Whatever they decide is the decision of the people."
"But which of them decide?"
"They all do. You will speak. Anyone who wants to will speak after that. Then everyone will make their vote if they agree to act with you or not."
Salvatore looked over the rows of impassive faces. "I hate politics," he said.
"That is exactly what all good politicians say," said Odo.
Odo let the hubbub of the room die down, then nodded towards the blacksmith to close the door.
"This man from the south," said Odo, "you can see that he is of the Knights Templar. He brought four hundred gold pieces for us to buy weapons to defend ourselves against the Duke and his men. He tells me that his people want to buy land here and be our neighbors."
A voice from the back of the group spoke in local dialect and everyone laughed. Odo turned to Salvatore and said, "He says he will sell you his farm, but you have to buy his wife and her mother with the deal."
Salvatore was only now realizing that, although he had spent his life talking to grooms, servants and common soldiers, he had never seen these ordinary people talking amongst themselves. It was like walking through a curtain into another version of the world he thought he knew. He had no idea how to respond to the joke, so simply nodded at Odo to show he had understood.
"Now," said Odo, "this man will speak to you."
The room took on a deeper silence and every pair of eyes turned towards Salvatore and he stepped forward.
"My people have many properties, castles, farms, estates, but we have no home. Everything we own is in the land of others."
There was no flicker of response from the men, and for a moment he wondered if they could understand him.
"We will buy land. We will create farms. To defend ourselves and our neighbors we will build strong fortifications. After that, we will create a city, a city like Sion."
He paused and let the thought sink in to the minds of the group. Sion was the center of the business life of the valley. It brought business to the farmers, merchants came and brought outside money with them. The city was a good thing. They all knew that Sion and the Bishop's castle were immune from attack by the Duke of Savoy. Peace was a good thing. After a moment, Salvatore drew a deep breath and spoke again.
"We will help you stop the Duke. We will show you how to do it and fight alongside you. This valley can be defended, but you need organization and weapons. Weapons like this."
He walked to a corner of the barn and brought a canvas sack forward. It made a metallic clatter as he laid it down. He reached into the bag and pulled out a piece of steel armor plate and an iron axe on a short handle. He held the plate against a timber beam and smashed it with the axe. The steel creased, but did not buckle. He reached down into the bag again and brought out a stra
nge shaped object. It shone in the lamplight , steel, like the armor. One side had a heavy blade, as long as a man's forearm and as broad as a hand, and the top was formed into a long thick spike that tapered to a point. He held the steel plate against the beam again and, with one blow, drove the spike through the armor.
"We know weapons," he said. "We know how to make them and we know how to use them. With three hundred men from you we can stop the Duke and we can keep him out until my people are here in enough numbers to make sure he never comes again."
In the silence that followed, Salvatore almost believed that his thumping heart could be heard in the room.
"Now I think you should leave," said Odo. "We will find you when we are finished."
Salvatore looked around the room for a second, nodded towards Odo and left the barn.
Patience was a virtue that Salvatore sought to cultivate, so he made himself as comfortable as he could in the blacksmith's workshop, fixed his gaze on a chink of moonlight that shone through the rough timber door and slowly emptied his mind of all thought, feeling his body become inert, one limb at a time, until he could imagine himself floating, separate from everything except his breathing. Time stopped for him.
"What are you doing?" It was Odo's voice. Salvatore snapped back into reality.
"I was sleeping."
"Your eyes were open. You were not sleeping."
"No, it was not sleep, but waking sleep."
"Are all your people like you? Can they all sleep but not sleep."
"Some."
"Good. I think we will need strange people soon. Come."
The room had changed. The cold silence had gone and the men seemed more animated. The seating had been moved again as people had obviously moved around to listen to other speakers.
At the start of the meeting, Odo had stood next to Salvatore. Now he stood amongst his people.
"We are agreed," said Odo. "We will have to fight anyway, so why not fight your way and with your weapons. If you and your people come and try to rule us, we will simply exchange one enemy for another so we will be no worse off. What do you need?"
"We have little time," said Salvatore. "We need three blacksmiths and their assistants, a dozen laborers and three hundred men who will stand and fight. Also, we need iron and charcoal, all you can find or buy."
"Good," said Odo. "Now we will discuss the terms of the contract."
Messages
"He's a creep and a wimp."
"A creep and wimp?" said Sparke. "I had no idea that academic conferences created so much passion. What did he do that was so creepy and wimpy?"
"Oh, he's one of those people who are all flash and no bang. Before he gave his talk he was super confident, but when he stood up to speak we was a total damp squib."
"So, no evidence that there is a good link between the Templars and Switzerland?"
"He says, privately, that in his opinion it's almost a certainty, but it's not something he would say in a public arena. Sorry if I got your hopes up, Peter."
"I'll live with the disappointment, I'm sure. Look, I was thinking, about your camera. I could bring it round sometime soon."
"Bring it round? You live in Switzerland for goodness sake. Flying to Scotland isn´t really bringing something round. Actually, I was thinking, if you don't mind, I might want to take you up on the offer to visit the salt mine."
"Salt mine?"
"Don't tell me you've forgotten? You fill a girl's mind with talk of exciting trips to salt mines then pull the rug from her feet."
"Well, all right, you can come here if that makes sense."
"Let's toss a coin for it," said Tilly
"How do we do that over the phone?"
"Easy, I toss a coin and tell you what happened."
"Sounds fair. Heads I come to Edinburgh, tails you come over here."
There was pause for a second, then Tilly said, "Bugger, I dropped the coin. Wait a sec... Tails it is. I'll check flights and things and mail you later."
Sparke put the phone in his pocket, amazed by two things; first, and most importantly, Tilly really wanted to see him again without bothering to make any excuse for it, and secondly, as far as Sparke could tell, she actually had tossed a coin.
He looked around his flat. He had left his family home over twenty years ago, and since then anywhere he had lived had been a place to eat, sleep and loaf around. Even though he had other people do all the interior decorating, this was the first place that truly felt like a home.
Reluctantly, he picked up the phone and dialed the Hotel Petite Manoire.
"Hello, can I speak to one of your guests please, Mrs. Nagel."
"One moment, please."
"Hello."
"Hello, Mrs. Nagel, this is Peter Sparke."
"Mr. Sparke, what a pleasure to hear from you."
"Indeed," said Sparke. “Perhaps we could meet sometime, for a chat?"
"Lunch today? Shall we say about 12.30 at the hotel?"
"I'll see you there."
As soon as he hung up he called Gillieron of the customs service to tell him what was happening.
Sparke had no clear plan for what he was going to say when he met Mrs. Nagel, but he felt sure he could bank on her doing a lot of the talking. He looked out of the window to check the weather and pulled on his old Barbour jacket. The walk to the hotel took only five minutes, so he padded the time out by strolling through the Parc de l'Independence, his mind full of the idea of walking through this park again soon with Tilly and wondering what on earth he was going to say to her. He thought back to Karin's approach, but almost laughed out loud at the idea of telling Tilly that, "he wanted them to discuss a future together." She would look at him like a freak. He gave up when he got to, "I want you to be my girlfriend." Not really practical for anyone over twelve years old.
He walked into the hotel reception to find Mrs. Nagel waiting, accompanied by Laszlo who was almost buried under a huge overcoat.
"Mr. Sparke, I was surprised to hear you were joining us today," said Laszlo.
"Hmm, well, here I am," said Sparke.
"Gentlemen, should we go through?" said Mrs. Nagel.
The restaurant was quiet for lunch and they were shown to a table in the far corner.
"Mr. Sparke," said Mrs. Nagel once they were seated, "I assume you have changed your mind and decided that we might work together. I'm so pleased."
"Good," said Sparke. "Perhaps you can tell me what it is you think I can help you with?"
"Oh don't be so modest, Peter. We both know you have quite the track record in making interesting discoveries. Apart from your find in Scotland, I know all about your work in Turkey and also your success in that strange little episode in the South Atlantic."
Sparke winced inwardly, aware of how hard it was to keep a life private in a world dominated by on-line news.
"You were about to tell me how I can help."
Mrs. Nagel spread her hands on the table in front of her. "Let me lay my cards on the table. Dr. Laszlo here has managed to find something that I know we will both be very interested in. The document we told you about is almost within our grasp. We should have it by the end of the week."
"So why would you need me?"
"For the obvious reason. You see, none of us has your unique background in finding such things. You have been here before. And of course, success here can certainly lead to success in the future. I can see us working very well together, can't you?"
"Also," said Laszlo, impatiently tapping his finger on the table, "you have access to a much respected academic expert in the field. Professor Pink can surely verify the authenticity of the document."
"Don't rush so, Dr. Laszlo. I'm sorry, Peter, he is so keen. Plus he only gets paid when the document is proven to be genuine."
"I don't speak for Professor Pink, but if you show me the document, then I will ask if she wants to give her opinion on it."
"Who could ask for anything more," said Nagel, beaming.
&n
bsp; "I'll find out later today when Professor Pink will be back here next and leave word for you at reception," said Sparke. "When will you have the document?"
"Well, now that we have you on the team, there is no reason to dilly-dally. Dr. Laszlo, what do you think?"
"We need to pay half the fee for the document now and half once it arrives. If we move now I would say by the end of the week."
"Now, doesn't that all sound dandy?" said Nagel. "Let's eat."
Sparke had dreaded the meal, but fortunately there was no need to make conversation as Mrs. Nagel was more than capable of talking for all three of them.
After coffee, Sparke excused himself and left the hotel, glad to get back into the fresh air. Walking along the lakefront, he called Gillieron again.
"What should I do now?" he asked.
"It's very simple, Mr. Sparke. You can tell us when you plan to meet them to see the document. We will have some officers ready and, once you have seen it, just give me a call."
"Just give you a call? That's it?"
"Of course. Did you expect a helicopter assault? We could give you a secret microphone if you prefer, but a simple phone call will do. We're not the FBI, Mr. Sparke."
Forge
The sound of deep wheezing filled the room and every beat of air being sucked in and pushed out was followed by a wave of heat that washed over the men's sweating faces. Six pairs of eyes were fixed on the glowing hole at the top of the new furnace.
"More charcoal?" said the smith.
Salvatore pulled the iron test rod from the heart of the furnace with a pair of pincers. "Some," he said. "Give it to me." He dropped pieces of charcoal into the mouth of the furnace and listened for the cracking sound that he had been taught by the Mason to listen for. "Enough," he said.
The men stood back, waiting for the order from Salvatore.
"Open it," he said.
The blacksmith knelt at the face of the furnace and started to scrape away the clay seal on the door. The furnace stood four feet high and had been built to Salvatore's exact instructions. Next to it, three others stood cold and ready. Along the back wall, bags of charcoal and heaps of scrap iron lay stacked in tidy piles. Odo and his friends had been true to their word.
The Templar Tower: Peter Sparke Book Five Page 19
