He hardly approved of the setting, but at least he was prepared. He dressed in dark combats, heavy boots, anticipating the muddy environment, and a grey rain jacket decorated with the Navy Goats logo that he used for American football training, effectively concealing his firearm. His face, clean-shaven after orders from Gabrielle not to look scruffy, was partially sealed by a black woolly hat, acting as an efficient barrier against the cold. Despite the heating in the car still being on, he was cold. This was his first visit to Scotland.
They had flown out from Zürich early that morning and the journey was over in two and a half hours. The flight had been easy enough, but he never enjoyed flying. At Edinburgh Airport Henry Leoni collected a hire car from a local dealer and took the wheel on the thirteen-mile journey to Roslin. The car was the dealer’s standard model, a blue Ford with quarter of a tank of unleaded petrol and two thousand miles on the clock. A small scratch, un-noted by the staff, lined the passenger side door that was otherwise clean. Not that appearance was a worry. Not being bulletproof was more of a worry. The hire car was hardly what Mike had become used to in recent weeks but luxury was never the priority today. Today was about answers: answers to private questions: questions that had long remained secret.
Gabrielle had been quiet and Mike had noticed. As usual, she sat in the back and spent her time scanning through her uncle’s notes and photocopies of various extracts from the Zeno diary. They had not brought the original diary with them.
A blue and white Yamaha motorbike entered the car park and pulled up in an empty bay on the opposite side of the minibus. Mike looked at the helmeted driver with interest although failing to identify any facial features due to the presence of a black visor. He assumed the driver was probably just another tourist or a visitor from the nearby village seeking solitude in the medieval holy site. Mike watched him for several seconds before diverting his attention elsewhere, continuing to explore the near vicinity through the rain covered windscreen. He rubbed his neck and this bothered Gabrielle.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘My neck’s sore; it always gets sore on flights.’
Despite showing no obvious sympathy, at least on this occasion she believed him. She could tell on the plane that he was uncomfortable. She sensed his discomfort was more psychological than physical.
‘I take it you don’t like flying,’ she said. ‘What are you claustrophobic or something?’
Mike grimaced as he massaged his neck. ‘Not exactly.’
‘What then?’
Mike looked through the window, concentrating his attention on the entrance to the chapel. Henry was walking across the wet concrete with enthusiasm and purpose. Mike switched off the ignition.
‘Your uncle’s coming.’
Mike opened the passenger side door and pushed the seat forward for Gabrielle. She ducked her head on leaving the car and walked towards her uncle. Despite enduring another sleepless night, she showed no obvious signs of fatigue.
Mike breathed in the dense air and immediately felt the cold. Although the rain had largely stopped, drizzle continued to fall intermittently from the overcast sky. There was a distinct chill in the air as the wind blew in from the east. The Swiss Guard removed his gloves from his pocket and pulled them onto his hands.
Attempting in vain not to shiver, Mike adjusted his woolly hat and zipped up his jacket to his chin. ‘You wanna see the chapel?’ he asked as Henry locked the door.
‘No,’ Gabrielle replied. ‘We’re here on business; not vacation.’
Mike shivered, his eyes continuing to explore the surroundings. He sought to reply but Gabrielle had already stormed on ahead. She walked with determination along the path that led to the castle, slippery from the earlier downpour. She followed the path to the left, disappearing momentarily from sight, hidden by the dense foliage. Mike started to jog in a bid to catch her up, careful to avoid losing his footing.
Several metres behind, the man on the motorbike removed his helmet and watched with interest as they walked towards the castle. Drizzle fell on his long blond locks that had remained dry under the helmet.
‘Where are we heading?’ Mike asked, now walking alongside Henry.
‘The bridge to the castle entrance is straight ahead,’ Henry said, struggling to keep up with his niece. ‘The curator offered us the traditional route into the known vaults, but we’ll follow the instructions of Mr. Zeno. The diagram is excellent and offers magnificent plans of the castle and its vaults. Personally I think this may be the only diagram of its type still in existence.’
Mike nodded, his breath visible in the cold. They quickened their pace as they followed Gabrielle along the pathway before pausing momentarily in front of the approach bridge. The view was inspiring. Dense forestry sloped down into the glen, surrounding the River Esk to the castle’s side, its water flowing away to the west. Puddles of dirty water had formed on the muddy paths below the approach bridge that they would later need to walk through. The possibility was unappealing.
Gabrielle crossed the approach bridge slowly, careful to avoid losing her footing as she neared the wet grass of the ancient courtyard. The smell of water on greenery filled her nostrils.
Mike and Henry followed. While Mike continued to focus on Gabrielle, Henry studied his photocopies as he walked, using the map to navigate. To his left, a relatively modern house had been built from the ruins, whereas directly in front of them the remains of the keep were located beyond the west curtain wall. Although the jagged ruins looked grim and sombre below the dreary sky, the red brick structure that remained was not without its charm. To Mike the design was like something out of a fairytale.
‘You’re sure this is the place?’ Mike asked.
‘Yes,’ Henry confirmed, looking at a photocopy of the diagram. A plastic folder protected it from the rain. ‘There is very little left now. The castle was gutted on at least three occasions up until 1688.’
‘Any idea…’
Mike stopped as a middle-aged couple crossed the bridge behind them. He smiled and said ‘good morning’ as he waited for them to pass. Once they were out of earshot he whispered to Henry.
‘Any idea where we are?’
‘I believe the vaults may have been over there,’ he said pointing vaguely in the direction of an area of ruins several metres below the keep. He removed another photocopy from his jacket pocket and scanned it with interest. Mike looked at the printed text over his shoulder. The diagram was effectively an architect’s blueprint of the site comprising both the castle and parts of the surrounding glen.
‘You see there,’ Henry pointed to an area to the right of the keep: ‘that was once the postern.’
‘What’s that mean?’
Gabrielle returned from the other side of the courtyard. ‘It means the way to the vaults must be down below. Come on.’
The man with blond locks walked on undetected past the entrance of the chapel. Through the gap in the trees he scanned the surrounding area for signs of life. Over two hundred yards to the south the castle was largely deserted, the silence disturbed only by the muffled sound of the rain falling on the soggy ground. He placed a woolly hat over his head and covered his locks.
Mike and Henry followed Gabrielle back down the steps that led to the approach bridge and continued along the path to the west side of the castle, several metres below the keep. The forestry was dense and the presence of caves in the near distance unveiled an unappealing desolate void multiplied many times by the dull light. The muddy pathways were deeper and wetter than those above as the ground continued to soak up the rain. Shrubbery and vegetation was growing out of control at the foot of the former wall, dangerous from years of dilapidation.
Mike walked slowly, a growing sense of apprehension causing his breathing to heighten. Up ahead the various caves and gaps in the greenery that cut into the glen gave him the genuine feeling of being lost, not just geographically, but also in time. The castle’s craggy remains were unsurprisingly
devoid of any modern amenities.
‘The caves were used by soldiers at the Battle of Roslin,’ Henry said, his eyes fleeting between the location and the photocopy in his hand. ‘My word, I believe one of these caves could be the entrance to the vaults.’
Gabrielle sprinted ahead, nearly stumbling. ‘I wonder if this is safe?’
‘Probably not,’ Mike replied. ‘Nor legal.’
‘It’s legal. Come on.’
They continued walking for over five minutes. The academic led the way, walking alongside the river and then through greenery toward the entrance of an ancient cave cutting into the landscape. The cave was approximately a quarter of a mile from the castle and on face value looked too remote to be connected to the building itself.
But the photocopy in his hand suggested otherwise.
Gabrielle paused, examining the rock. Without waiting for further direction she removed a torch from her pocket and entered without hesitation.
The Swiss Guard exhaled heavily, peering into the gloom. In the poor light he could make out greenery seeping through cracks in the rocks. Water dripped like clockwork from the stone above his head, forming puddles on the ground below. He walked forward several steps and stopped to look down at his combats. They were already marked by dirt.
Gabrielle walked on carefully, using her hand to guide her along the left wall. Henry followed slowly. They continued for over thirty metres. Suddenly Gabrielle came to a halt. There was a gap in the wall, unveiling a fork where the cave offered two separate routes.
Henry considered the way. ‘I think left.’
Gabrielle smiled. She turned her head back towards the entrance. Mike was still standing in the daylight.
‘Are you coming?’
Mike inhaled deeply. The coldness felt bitter as it seeped down the back of his neck and along his spine.
‘Mikael.’
‘Everything okay, sir?’ Henry asked.
Mike entered slowly. ‘Sorry,’ he said shaking his head. He zipped up his jacket to the top and covered his mouth. The light material did little to combat the thinness of the air. It was tough to think that an army once sheltered there.
Gabrielle pointed the torch at the wall, slowly edging closer to the left tunnel. Concentrating on the nearest wall, she noticed the presence of several symbols, unrecognisable in form, continuing for several metres before ending with a second fork in the wall of the cave, offering a second tunnel up ahead. To Gabrielle the markings were incomprehensible: a forgotten memory of a history long lost in keeping with those often found in an Egyptian pyramid. She focused on the mysterious symbols for several seconds before heading further inside.
Henry followed, continuing through what appeared to be a narrow clearing, now over two hundred metres from the entrance to the cave. He led the way, now heading further to the left, potentially back toward the castle. The ground sloped downwards from there on and the light faded.
Gabrielle and Mike paused before entering. The area ahead smelled of damp and decay.
‘Ladies first,’ Mike offered.
‘Age before beauty.’
‘You’re older than me.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Gabrielle asked. ‘Scared?’
He was but he couldn’t admit it. He looked at her. A smile crossed her face, vaguely visible in the poor light. Using his torch, he examined the floor of the next tunnel. A large skull, possibly that of an animal was present at the start of a new passageway.
‘Oh this is nice,’ Mike said.
‘No guts, no glory.’
High up above, the biker’s view was perfect. Through a telescopic lens he looked down at a middle-aged couple crossing the approach bridge below. For now his targets had disappeared from sight. He adjusted his dark woolly hat and moved closer to the nearest tree. His outfit blended in well with the vegetation. He knew he wouldn’t be seen.
Deep within the catacombs they walked on. Water continuously dripped from above, landing in unseen puddles close by. The sound caused echoes, each one reverberating in time with the beating of Gabrielle’s heart, enthralling her, yet terrifying her of what unknown terrors lurked ahead. In the poor light she found her sense of hearing heightened, making the sound appear louder than normal. It wasn’t only her sense of hearing that had increased. A dank smell, overwhelming in nature, was consuming her nostrils and affecting her breathing. As best she could tell the cave was a product of natural formation, its age probably going back to the last ice age.
Still the ground sloped downwards, continuing in a relatively straight line. Fragments of debris caused distorted shadows in the torchlight, making them appear obscure and possibly threatening. She shone the torch at her feet, using the light to carefully navigate the unstable ground. She knew any mistakes could have dire consequences.
Eventually they walked through a clearing. For the first time the area seemed more open than before but still confined. The feeling of dampness escalated. Several metres on they came across a ruined tomb, surrounded by floodwater.
Gabrielle shone the torch, concentrating her attention on identifying the name and date of the tomb or sepulchre in front of her. Several carvings were barely visible on the verge of its stone lid, the name illegible. One thing at least was certain. They had reached the castle vaults.
‘Of course we’re not totally sure what we’re looking for, are we?’ Henry said, practically whispering. He shone the torch in front of him, lighting up Gabrielle’s face.
‘Presumably you have some idea?’ Mike said to Henry.
‘The diary talks of a tomb.’
‘What kind?’
‘The kind that people are buried in,’ Gabrielle said.
A rebuke would have been too obvious. ‘I meant what kind of tomb?’ Mike said. ‘Is it underground, above ground? Is someone of significance supposed to be buried there?’
‘Oh,’ Gabrielle said sarcastically. ‘It’s above ground and we don’t know.’
Mike shook his head, momentarily distracted. He looked at Henry. ‘What’s so special?’
‘The diary says that an object of some significance was used in a room in the vault and was contained in a tomb more splendid than any other.’
Henry laughed to himself.
‘Funnily enough the castle is famous for another tomb. An old superstition, the tomb of the sleeping lady.’
Mike walked on slowly. An overwhelming stench of decay, probably the product of the nearby graves, was becoming heavier on his lungs.
‘Superstition? What kind of superstition?’
‘Well, according to a very old legend, a treasure worth several million pounds is buried beneath the castle vaults, guarded by one of the St. Clair ladies, who, like sleeping beauty, sleeps through the centuries. If she can somehow be awakened she points to the place the treasure is buried and Rosslyn Castle shall rise again.’
Mike paused before answering. ‘You’re searching for treasure now?’ he asked dryly. ‘Does it say that in the diary?’
‘Not exactly, but this tomb is probably the same one mentioned in the diary.’
Mike nodded, moving forward cautiously behind the academic. Unbeknown to the Swiss Guard they were now almost exactly below the keep. Aside from the torches the light was almost completely gone.
‘We could be going anywhere,’ Mike said, the pace of his words affected by his breathing.
‘We entered from the southwest, and we’ve been going northeast the whole time,’ Gabrielle said. ‘We’re heading in the right direction.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Uh huh. Just keep going.’
Biting his lip he followed, tiptoeing through the wet catacombs, trying to avoid stepping on the fragments of debris that covered most of the ground. There were puddles beneath their feet, accompanied by the vague sound of dripping water landing in a puddle or puddles from some unknown area.
‘I wonder where the water is coming from.’ Gabrielle said.
‘We’re near the river,’ Henry
replied. ‘There must be some seeping in from somewhere.’ He turned and looked at Mike. ‘Also, it is raining.’
Mike forced a smile, minor relief in the dilapidated underground devoid of air and light. Led by the glow of Gabrielle and Henry’s torches they continued past another tomb, this one greatly damaged by floodwater. It was not of a lady.
Henry pointed the light along the corridor, now slightly less cramped than before. Shadows moved up ahead. In the torch light they made out an archway, cut into the rock and largely covered by cobwebs.
Approaching the archway Mike stopped suddenly. The area was ruined, dilapidated stone and brick strewn on the ground some ten metres from the next wall. He walked slowly, careful to avoid losing his footing. The debris was obviously flooded and potentially susceptible to further damage from above.
Gabrielle eyed him closely. ‘What is it?’
Mike did not respond straightaway. Now kneeling, he moved closer to the rubble, his attention on what was beneath. A bizarre pattern was visible, its outline unlike anything else he had seen so far, though in the darkness he assumed more was still hidden.
Mike looked over his shoulder. Henry moved closer.
‘Pass me your torch.’
Mike collected the torch and moved closure to the rubble. Beneath it was a grave, unmistakeably damaged. There were markings on the grave, difficult to determine after centuries of ruin.
Some things were evident. A skull and crossbones was present, in keeping with other Templar graves in northern Scotland.
‘Can you see a name?’ the academic asked.
Mike remained silent momentarily. Under the light of the torch he could see the markings.
‘Zen.’
The Templar Agenda Page 20
