by Marie Laval
She didn’t reply. If she was the pure heart the Templar Knights had written about, why didn’t she know which phial contained the true relic? There was only one thing she knew for sure.
‘We must go to Arginy,’ she said.
Karloff looked up, surprised. ‘Arginy? What for?’
She would tell him part of the truth. ‘The Cross must be returned to a special place in the vault,’ she said. ‘Only there can the relic release its true magic.’
She wouldn’t explain about the Keepers, the eleven Templar entities as Baldassare and her great-aunt had called them, who waited for the relic to be returned.
Karloff remained silent a few moments. ‘Yes. I suppose that makes sense. It’s where Guichard de Beaujeu hid it in the first place when he retrieved it from the Temple of Paris, where most of the Templar treasure was hidden.’ He turned to her. ‘I don’t have the faintest idea how to get into the crypt. The entrance to the underground passages was walled up by Anne de Beaujeu before she died. Do you know how to get in?’
Marie-Ange didn’t want to admit she didn’t know either. In her dreams, she always stood in a tall, round tower before descending underground.
‘Yes, of course,’ she lied, crossing her arms on her chest. ‘But I will only go if Capitaine Saintclair comes too.’
She would make the most of her position. If Malleval and Karloff needed her so badly, they would have to keep Hugo alive.
Karloff sighed before walking to the door. ‘I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, I will get you something to eat and drink.’
A few moments later, Sophie came in with some food and drinks. Her eyes were red, her face tear-stricken.
‘I will light a fire for you. It’s too cold in here,’ she said with a broken voice before burying her face in her hand and sobbing loudly. Marie-Ange went over to her and put her arm around her shoulders.
‘I don’t understand what’s happening,’ Sophie said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I don’t recognise Uxeloup anymore, he frightens me. The things he talks about, the men he brought back from Malleval, the way he is treating you and Capitaine Saintclair who has always been his friend, all that is so unlike him.’ She lowered her voice. ‘He is obsessed with ancient papers and legends, he even had this horrid snake—an Uroboros, he calls it—tattooed on his chest. He says it’s a symbol of eternal life. He claims he is going to be cured and everything will be back to normal, but…’
Marie-Ange sighed. Uxeloup’s health had deteriorated so much these past few weeks there could be no doubt about his prospects. The disease caused terrible ravages, not only to patient’s bodies but to their minds, too. Sometimes, as it appeared to be the case for Uxeloup, there were very little, or no physical marks for months or years even, but the disease inexorably attacked a man’s insides and his brain.
‘What about you? Are you ill too?’ she asked with hesitation.
‘No, he never…’ Sophie looked up, her eyes shiny with tears. ‘He said he loved me too much to take me to his bed, and that he would wait until he was cured. He bedded other women, though, even maids here at Beauregard. It used to make me miserable and jealous, even if I knew he was only sparing me.’ She joined her hands. ‘I want him back. I want the carefree and wild Hussar he used to be. What he has become now, it’s not him anymore. He says he needs you to make him get better, but I fear he has gone…mad.’ Sophie twisted nervously the ruby ring around her finger.
She got up and lit the fire. Marie-Ange was strangely touched by the young woman’s admission that Uxeloup abstained from making love to her for fear of passing on his deadly disease. He must truly love her. However there was no hope he would ever recover. Nobody recovered from syphilis. She didn’t believe for a second that the Cross would make him immortal. These things weren’t possible, whatever Karloff, Uxeloup, or her Great-Aunt Hermine claimed.
She poured a cup of coffee, nibbled at a slice of bread covered with jam. She had to eat in order to keep her strength for the day to come. She thought about Hugo, injured, cold and alone in the cellars and put the bread back on the plate, her throat tight.
‘Uxeloup is angry with Hugo,’ she said. ‘He helped me and now he will lose his family house…and probably his life.’
Sophie shrugged. ‘He tricked him during the card game, you know.’
Marie-Ange looked at her sharply. ‘Tricked him?’
Sophie nodded. ‘He desperately needed a strong, reliable man to escort you back from England to Beauregard so he invited Saintclair over for a game of cards, knowing how much the capitaine likes to gamble. And…’ Sophie bent her head, embarrassed.
‘And?’
‘He asked me to drug his wine during the game. I gave him some draught Karloff made to cloud his mind. I couldn’t refuse,’ Sophie said, on the defensive.
Marie-Ange frowned. ‘If Saintclair’s debt towards Uxeloup was fraudulently obtained, it could be cancelled.’
‘I won’t say anything to the gendarmes. I will not betray Uxeloup,’ she added, very agitated. Claiming she had things to take care of, she left.
The day passed with excruciating slowness. As time ticked on, Marie-Ange became more and more anxious about the events which were about to unfold. She may not be able to find the entrance to the crypt. And even if she did, Uxeloup would stop her from returning the Cross into the Templars’ cache. How then would she and Hugo escape?
By the afternoon a strong wind started blowing which dispersed the clouds. Uxeloup came into the library. Once again she was struck by the ghastly paleness of his face, the fever burning in his yellowish brown eyes.
‘We’re leaving now. Saintclair is coming with us, as you wished.’ He coughed and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. ‘Karloff said you were the only one who could do it…open the phial and take the true relic out. Why I can’t open the bloody bottle myself, right now, I wonder? It’s not as if I care about eternal damnation!’
He took a few steps towards her and dug his bony claw like fingers into her shoulders. ‘You will hand the relic over to me as soon as we reach the crypt, is that clear?’
She nodded. At this point, she would agree to anything. He released her. She put her overcoat on and followed him out. Two black carriages waited in front of the chateau and half a dozen armed riders stood guard.
Uxeloup opened the door of the first coach. Marie-Ange glanced at the heavy carriage stationed behind. It looked like a hearse.
‘Climb in.’ Uxeloup pushed her inside.
She sat next to Karloff, who was holding the two phials and the box on his lap, while Uxeloup took place next to Hugo on the seat opposite.
‘He doesn’t look so clever now, does he?’ He sneered, gesturing towards Hugo who was unconscious. The bruises and cuts on his face testified to the treatment he had received, his hands were bound in front of him. Marie-Ange ached to sit next to him, touch him, and wake him up, but she knew better than provoke Uxeloup.
The strange convoy started down the road to the castle of Arginy.
‘It’s only half a dozen miles from here,’ Karloff remarked.
The outline of the castle soon rose on the horizon, dark and sinister against the fierce, red winter sunset and the snowy ground. Arginy had four mismatched towers, with three medium-sized ones and a very tall one. Marie-Ange’s heartbeat quickened. This was the place, the entrance to the crypt. She informed Karloff which tower was their destination. ‘The Tower of Eight Beatitudes, I thought as much,’ he whispered.
‘What a strange name.’ Beatitude, peacefulness and contentment, were the last things she expected to find at Arginy.
Karloff smiled tightly. ‘It’s the oldest tower, the only one left from the original medieval building. People round here claim it is haunted—cursed by the Templar Knights since Anne de Beaujeu broke into the sanctuary of the crypt. They talk of shadows seeping out, whimpers of pain and growling noises, stinking balls of fire, and blue lights hovering near the entrance.’
She stared
at the tall tower and shivered. The carriages and the men went over the drawbridge. A nauseating stench rose from the slimy green waters and permeated the close confines of the coach.
‘The current owners, the Rosemonts, live in Paris most of the time. Taking care of their house staff won’t be a problem,’ Karloff explained.
He cast a worried glance towards Uxeloup who had begun shaking. Two bright red spots burned on his emaciated cheeks. The skeletal man combed his dark hair back with his thin, pale, fingers, and licked his parched lips.
‘Ah, we are here,’ he whispered. ‘This is the moment my father and I have been waiting for.’
He stepped out of the carriage with difficulty and almost tripped over the steps. Karloff followed, holding the boxes. Marie-Ange came last. She cast a look towards the unconscious Hugo and prayed he would soon recover. Outside, two men opened the back of the hearse. They pulled a grey coffin shaped box out and she was reminded of what Sophie had said about Edmond Malleval’s body being removed from Beauregard in an iron cask. Karloff had later told her Edmond wasn’t buried. Dear God, it must be his body in the coffin.
‘This way.’ One of Uxeloup’s men pushed her in front.
They walked across the courtyard towards the tower. Uxeloup ordered two men to stand guard at the drawbridge, instructed two others to take care of the household staff. Only Rochefort and the two pallbearers would go down the crypt with Uxeloup, Marie-Ange and Karloff.
She climbed up the uneven steps leading into the Tower of Eight Beatitudes, her chest tight with apprehension. What if she couldn’t find the way to the crypt?
Rochefort gave her a lantern which she held high in front of her as she walked around the empty tower to study the myriads of drawings and carvings on the walls.
‘This is amazing,’ she whispered.
‘One of the Beaujeus was a keen alchemist, hence the symbols,’ Karloff explained.
She held the lantern close to the walls to examine every one of the patterns. What better place to hide a secret symbol than here. She knew however exactly what she was looking for, and after a few minutes she found it. It was the carving of a rose with five petals inside a heart, the same one as in the dovecote. Without hesitation she pulled her locket out of her pocked and placed it at the centre of the carving. She turned five times to the left and sure enough, there was a loud clicking noise and the bottom half of the wall descended slowly into the ground, revealing a large black hole. She removed the locket and put it back into her pocket.
Uxeloup turned to his men. ‘Get Father’s coffin now.’ He gestured to the entrance of the crypt and shouted to Rochefort. ‘You get down there first.’
So Hermine had been right. It wasn’t only himself Uxeloup was hoping to save tonight with the Cross of Life. She fought a wave of nausea as she stared at the cask with Malleval’s body inside, but Rochefort was already leading the way into the dank depths, followed by Uxeloup, and then Karloff holding the box and the phials. His torch threw some light onto slimy stone walls and slippery steps. Marie-Ange reluctantly began the descent. Behind her came the pallbearers with Edmond Malleval’s coffin.
As they descended deeper and deeper into the subterranean passage, the odour of putrefaction emanating from the moat waters just beyond the walls became so pungent it made her heave. Rivulets of slime ran down the stonework, giving out a constant dripping sound that echoed in the enclosed space.
At last, they reached the end of the staircase and walked on a long, straight corridor.
‘What is that noise?’ Rochefort stopped and held his hand up.
A hissing, grinding, creaking sound was getting louder and nearer.
‘It’s coming from…’ Rochefort pointed to the darkness in front of him. A large stone appeared before them, swinging from the ceiling and travelling swiftly in an arc that was sure to crush any intruders.
‘Get down,’ he yelled, dropping his torch and crouching low against the floor
Uxeloup pulled Marie-Ange down and pressed her against the wet stone flags. The millstone passed just centimetres above their heads, carried on down the corridor and hit the stairs with a loud crashing noise. The pallbearers were still on the steps, which was the only thing that saved their lives.
‘It’s coming back.’
They remained in their crouching positions while the stone rolled back along the ceiling and disappeared into the darkness.
‘Anybody hurt?’ Uxeloup called to the men behind. They assured him they were unhurt.
‘That was the first trap.’ Karloff said as he stood up again. ‘So the rumours are true. The whole place is booby-trapped. We’ll have to be vigilant.’
‘It’s a wonder the devices still work,’ Uxeloup remarked. ‘It’s been centuries since they were installed down here.’
They resumed their walk, scouring the darkness around them anxiously for any sign of danger.
‘Who do you think set the traps?’ Marie-Ange asked Karloff.
‘Guichard de Beaujeu, acting on the instructions of Jacques de Molay, the last Great Templar Master, no doubt,’ Karloff replied without hesitation. ‘They had to protect the Templar treasure.’
The ground was covered with wet, uneven cobblestones.
‘There’s water on the ground.’ Rochefort bent down. ‘It smells like rotting moat water. Stay back while I have a look further ahead.’ His torchlight disappeared in the darkness.
His voice called from the darkness a few seconds later. ‘I think I found the crypt. There’s a tomb in the middle. I’m taking a closer look.’
Just then there was a loud creaking noise, a blood-curdling scream. And silence.
‘What on earth…?’ Uxeloup sputtered. ‘Rochefort, what’s going on?’
No one answered. Marie-Ange’s heart pounded in her chest. Staring towards the end of the corridor, she blinked a few times. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? She could see shadows moving.
‘Damn it! He must have got caught in some trap. Let’s go,’ Uxeloup ordered. ‘We’ve come this far. We’ll carry on.’
They moved forward cautiously into the murk. A cold wind howled around them, threatening to blow out the torches.
‘Where’s that draft coming from? It’s freezing,’ one of the pallbearers complained.
When they reached the crypt, Uxeloup raised his torch. There were vaulted alcoves all around and a large stone tomb decorated with the Templar Cross at the centre. Rochefort was nowhere to be seen. He had vanished without a trace.
‘Is this Guillaume de Beaujeu’s tomb?’ Marie-Ange enquired.
‘Yes, this must be where Guichard placed his remains after removing them from the Temple of Paris,’ Karloff affirmed. ‘The treasure must be inside.’
So this was where she was expected to return the Cross. She walked to the tomb and inspected the lid. There was a carving at the centre. A five-petal rose inside the heart shape. Discreetly, she took her locket out of her pocket and inserted it into the hole. It clicked.
The pallbearers placed Edmond Malleval’s coffin in front of the tomb and Uxeloup gestured impatiently to Karloff.
‘Put the box and the phials on the coffin.’
The physician obeyed reluctantly.
‘Let’s not waste any more time. Go on, open the phials now,’ Uxeloup instructed Marie-Ange.
A gust of wind extinguished the two torch lights, plunging the crypt into darkness.
‘Light the torches again,’ Uxeloup ordered.
Nobody answered.
‘What are you waiting for, you fools?’
As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, Marie-Ange could make out two bodies on the ground. Malleval took a few steps forward, tripping over one of them. He bent down and touched the man.
‘He’s dead.’ His voice was shaky.
‘What do you mean, dead?’ Karloff demanded, approaching the other pallbearer. Then he added. ‘They’re both dead. How is that possible?’
Karloff and Uxeloup looked around the crypt and fr
oze in front of her, an expression of utter disbelief on their faces. Slowly, she turned to her left, and then to her right. Were her eyes deceiving her again? She was surrounded by shadowy figures, darker than the darkness itself. So the Keepers were gathering. The time had come. Unlike in her dreams, she wasn’t afraid. A diffuse bluish light shone through an opening in the vaulted ceiling, bathing the crypt.
‘What is that light?’ Uxeloup asked.
‘It’s the blue light people have talked about,’ Karloff whispered. ‘The blue light that shines through the tower sometimes, coming from the inside of the earth.’
‘I must place the Cross and the relic on the tomb,’ Marie-Ange interrupted. She opened the box and carefully lifted the Cross of Life out. It was heavy but smaller than she’d expected. She put it in the hole at the centre of the tomb.
‘I will open Father’s coffin now.’ Uxeloup pulled a long knife from his belt, and with growing urgency, popped the nails of the lid. Then he lifted the cover and discarded it to the side. An abominable stench filled the room. Marie-Ange put her hand in front of her mouth and nose, trying not to gag. She had to concentrate on her next task.
Uxeloup walked towards her. ‘Take the relic out of the phial and give it to me. Let me touch the angel and be saved.’ He pointed to the phial with the white wing inside.
Karloff stepped forward, too. The two men stood side by side in front of the tomb. Marie-Ange could feel their tension, their eagerness. They were seconds away from the realisation of their dream, immortality for Uxeloup and proof of the existence of angels for Karloff.
Marie-Ange’s fingers traced the outline of the phial with her finger. Sure enough, there was a pure white wing inside, but a voice inside her murmured this wasn’t the angel’s wing. She turned to the other, plainer phial containing the dull piece of fabric and clipped the Cross on top of it.
‘What are you doing?’ Uxeloup shouted. ‘That’s not…’
