Finishing, Cam glanced at Brian to make sure he was still listening. He actually preferred to keep the conversation on his research, rather than on Brian’s sickness or what Brian might really want from Cam. “It’s a lot to just pass off as coincidence. I think what happened was that the Templars, because of their exposure to ancient documents while in the Middle East, came to question many of the Church teachings. I think they learned that early Christianity, true Christianity, understood the importance of women to a healthy society and that Christianity was not meant to be this all-male, patriarchal, suppressive movement that it had become during the Middle Ages. That was their heresy. When the Church turned on them, the Templars fled to America as a safe haven. They probably had maps they had obtained in the Middle East, likely drawn by the ancient seafaring Phoenicians. The Native Americans welcomed them because the Templars respected the Native American culture and religion and values; they had learned how to deal with different cultures in the Middle East. No way could a group just come over here and force their way in. They weren’t trying to colonize or do missionary work. But as friends, allies, trading partners, they were welcome.”
“What do you mean, no way? The Pilgrims forced their way in.”
“They had guns. Game changer.”
“Yeah. All right.”
Cam continued. “And when the Templars came, they brought their treasures with them. Over time, they reconstituted themselves as the Freemasons, eventually becoming the Founding Fathers of the United States. And they set up a government guaranteeing individual liberty as a way to protect citizens from the powerful Church.” He shrugged again. “Like I said, the pieces all fit together. We may have some of the details wrong, but I think the big picture is correct.”
“One thing I’m not buying is the Templars being, like, feminists. Shit, they were soldiers. They weren’t even allowed to take a friggin’ bath.”
Cam nodded. “I get that. But did you know the Templar order was dedicated to the Virgin Mary? And when I’m talking about their belief set, I’m talking about the leadership, not the common foot soldier. The monk who wrote the Templar charter and was largely responsible for their formation, Bernard de Clairvaux, bore the personal title, ‘Knight of the Virgin,’ because of his veneration for the Virgin Mary. In fact…”
Cam pulled out his phone and found an image. “Bernard, later Saint Bernard, was famous for a dream he had, in which he drank breast milk from the Virgin Mary. There are dozens of medieval paintings showing it.” He turned the phone toward Brian.
“Hard to miss the symbolism,” Cam said.
“Can’t blame the old dude. She’s actually sort of hot.”
Cam rolled his eyes. “Anyway, hope that answers your question.”
“Yeah. They didn’t teach that shit in school. But I’ve always been interested in the Templars.”
“You mean in the Templar treasure.”
He chuckled. “Okay. The treasure.” The laugh morphed into a sigh. “Not that I would have time to spend much of it even if I found it.”
“I assume you left the sword at home.”
Brian tilted his head back and laughed. “At home? Why would I do that? I put the fucking thing in its case, stuck it in my golf bag, and checked it through. It’s the only thing I own that’s worth a damn. And who knows, maybe it’ll come in handy over here.”
So he had it with him. Which indicated to Cam that Brian thought the sword was authentic; otherwise, why bother bringing it? Cam had wondered if it was a fake. Still might be, but this tilted the scales a bit.
“You promised to give it to me if I came to Ireland.”
Brian nodded. “That’s why I brought it.” He grinned. “But you gotta figure a way to get it back on the plane.”
Classic Brian, always looking for an angle. “Just give it to me when we get home. And you never told me where you got it.”
“That’s right, I didn’t.”
Cam waited. “So?”
“Let’s just say a friend gave it to me.”
Cam knew better than to push it. But he also knew Brian didn’t have any friends.
Amanda and Astarte stood on a street corner, the traffic of Dublin zipping by. “Remember, look to the right before stepping off the curb, not to the left,” Amanda warned, glad to be free of the leering Brian.
“Got it, Mom.” Astarte grinned. “Barney taught us to look both ways.”
“Well, never ignore advice from purple dinosaurs.” Amanda’s spirits had, as Cam hoped, lifted. It was good to be out of Westford, away from the things that reminded her of the past few months. But also good to be back on this side of the pond. America was home now, but she would always be a Brit.
Astarte moved frenetically through Dublin’s downtown, wideeyed, curious about the people and the food and the city’s history. She was always an upbeat kid, but especially so over the past few days. Amanda guessed it was because of Raja. Amanda had walked in on them Skyping over the weekend. Amanda smiled at the memory; she had never seen Astarte blush before. Her daughter’s excitement for the trip and joy for life further buoyed Amanda’s mood. She allowed Astarte to lead, to simply wander and follow her curiosity.
“The cars are all so small,” Astarte said. “No SUVs.”
“That’s what it used to be like in the States also, apparently.”
“And is it usually so warm this time of year?” It was in the high forties, almost thirty degrees warmer than when they left Boston. “I looked at a map, and we’re further north than Calgary.”
Amanda knew better than to question the girl’s facts. “The Gulf Stream keeps it warm here. But you’ll notice it gets dark at around four o’clock.” She looked at her watch. That gave them a couple of hours of daylight. “You fancy a visit to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral?”
“What’s so special about it?”
“It’s the largest church in all of Ireland.”
The girl shrugged. “I don’t think so. Churches are just buildings. I want to see things that help me understand the people.”
Amanda considered the request. “Well, there’s an old expression that one can judge a society by how it treats its criminals.” She waved down a taxi. “So come on.”
“Where we going?”
“Kilmainham Jail.” As they rode she gave a quick overview of the history of Ireland. “For centuries Ireland was ruled by the English. Whenever there were attempts for independence, the leaders were thrown into jail, usually at Kilmainham. Then, during World War I, there was another uprising, and this one eventually led to independence. But, again, a lot of the revolutionaries were imprisoned—and executed—at Kilmainham. That’s why it’s considered a monument to the Irish independence movement.”
Ten minutes later the taxi dropped them off in front of a massive cream-colored stone building surrounded by a wrought iron fence. They entered through an arched doorway. Astarte pointed up at the decorations on the arch. “Look. Snakes.”
Amanda nodded. “Those are the five deadly sins represented by five snakes. Not the sins from the Bible, but the ones that could get you hanged—murder, treason, rape, arson and larceny. The snakes are all chained by the neck to represent control.”
“I get it. People get sent to jail to control their impulse to sin.”
The jail was empty, but ghosts of its past occupants, and their sins, haunted its cells. During the tour Astarte’s eyes grew wide as she learned of the horrors within. Seven-year-old children imprisoned for theft. A special room just for hangings. Each cell limited to a single candle for both light and heat. Women forced to share cells with men. Male prisoners shipped to Australia.
Halfway through, Amanda pulled her aside. “That’s enough, I think.” Perhaps this had been a bad idea. “You get the picture.”
Astarte swallowed. “How far away is that Saint Patrick’s Cathedral?” For some reason her mind went back to the church she hadn’t wanted to see.
“Not far. You can see the spire from here.”
/> The girl shook her head, her eyes pooling. “I don’t understand how the priests and the nuns could have been so close by and not done anything about all this suffering.”
Amanda took her hand. “I know, honey, I know.”
Amanda wished she could protect Astarte from the ugliness of the world. But she also knew that was not possible, especially as the girl—fast becoming a young lady—seemed intent on fulfilling what she believed to be her destiny. Most kids wanted to be a doctor or teacher or professional athlete. Astarte aspired to unite the Western world in a revamped version of Judeo-Christianity that recognized the importance, and even primacy, of the Sacred Feminine in the godhead. A world returned to the ancient ways, when the Earth Mother reigned supreme. It would be a monumental shift, yet Astarte viewed the transformation matter-of-factly. “It really has nothing to do with me,” she had said recently. “It’s just my destiny.”
Replying to Astarte’s comment about the priests and nuns not doing anything to relieve the suffering, Amanda said, “You know Dad’s friend Monsignor Marcotte. He’s been pushing for allowing women to become priests, and for allowing all priests to marry as they do in the Eastern Orthodox Church. He believes that being in a marriage, and being a parent, are crucial parts of the human experience. How can we expect our religious leaders to be effective when they have no experience in so much of what it means to be human?”
The girl nodded. “Plus, like, don’t you want the priests to have big families? In the LDS we do.” She had been raised by her uncle in the Mormon Church. “The priests are the smartest people, so it’s better if they have children.”
“It’s the same in the Jewish religion. Rabbis are expected to have large families.” They walked toward the curb. “And it used to be that way in Catholicism. But the priests were leaving all their money and land to their children when they died. The Church figured, why not figure a way to keep all that money for itself?”
Astarte had already turned the experience at the jail into a learning moment, her spirits rebounding. “That’s the problem with organized religion,” she said as Amanda flagged a cab. “It all gets corrupted.” She looked back a final time at the prison. “People care about their pretty churches and fancy clothes and beautiful choirs and not about the poor and the sick.”
Amanda carefully chose her response. “So, one of the reasons we wanted to bring you here was for you to get a better understanding of Europe. Especially the old ways, the old religions. What many people call paganism. Before religion became, as you said, organized. In the States, we don’t really have that. There are some Wiccans who still worship in the old manner, but most people are what we would call modern Christians or Jews or Muslims.”
“I know all that, Mum,” Astarte said with a sigh as they stepped into the taxi.
“Oh. Yes, yes of course you do.” Amanda had been so self-absorbed the past few months that her brain seemed sluggish, like a computer running slow because too many background programs were open. She gave the cabbie the name of their hotel. “Anyway, your dad and I believe the Templars actually adopted many of the old ways. During their travels they learned about the importance of respecting the earth, and the importance of male and female balance for a healthy society, and the importance of, like you said, taking care of the poor and sick and not just being concerned about how fancy the churches were. These beliefs were the main reasons we think the Templars butted heads with the Church. But this was also why the Native Americans were so willing to accept them as friends and allies.”
Astarte looked out the window and yawned. Amanda, too, was lulled by the movement of the cab. They had been awake for more than twenty-four hours. They would have an early dinner with Cam, then crash and hopefully be refreshed in the morning. “So,” Astarte replied, “I know the Templars weren’t traditional Christians. But you think they were, like, pagans?”
“That’s probably not the word they would have used, but in many ways they seemed to be. Like I said, they learned a lot from traveling. And they also probably learned a lot from studying the old megalithic sites here in Europe. Stonehenge. The ancient Druid sites. The burial mounds, like the ones we’re going to visit tomorrow. They believed in Christ, but believed he was part of a larger tapestry that included the ancient worship of the sun and earth and stars as well. Because of that, they didn’t always agree with the teaching of the Vatican. They understood that religion was more than just about stained glass and fancy robes.”
Amanda reached over and squeezed Astarte’s knee, waiting for the girl to meet her gaze. “Anyway, I’m very proud of how you are handling the pressures of your prophecy. It’s no small thing to be expected to change the way the world thinks about God.” She smiled as she felt her eyes mist. “And for what it’s worth, I think the Templars would have felt very much at home in this church you want to build.”
Cam raised his glass of Irish whiskey to Amanda, his hand on her knee, as they sat at the hotel bar. “Cheers.”
“Sláinte,” Amanda replied, clinking his glass. “It means, ‘To your health.’ And the reason we clink glasses is to scare the demons away.”
Cam smiled, holding her eyes. It was good to have her back.
Astarte had gone up to the hotel room to Skype with some friends, it being early afternoon in Boston. “Think she’s Skyping with Raja?” Cam asked.
“It’s a good wager,” Amanda smiled. “She was positively giddy at the idea of having some privacy in the room.”
“Sounds like she was bothered by the jail,” Cam said.
“Very much so. She has an incredible amount of empathy, which also means she experiences an incredible amount of pain when she sees suffering.” Amanda lowered her drink, the glass clanking loudly against the mahogany bar. “It’s a tough way to go through life.”
“Well, the stuff we’re seeing tomorrow should be less disturbing.”
“Yes. Just an uplifting day examining mounds full of dead bodies.”
Cam smiled. “Point taken.” He sipped his drink. “But no stories of suffering. Ancient people lived happy lives, then they died and were buried.”
“Speaking of people dying, how was your day with Brian?” She held up a hand. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”
“That’s okay.” He shrugged. “It was fine. But I feel a weird sort of pressure when I’m with him, trying to make sure he gets the most out of the last few days of his life.”
She nodded. “Like being on a first date, trying to be constantly witty and interesting.”
Cam lifted his drink to her and smiled. “Glad you remember our first date the same way I do.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure Brian found you as irresistible as I did. As long as he didn’t try to get fresh.”
“No. He was the perfect gentleman.” Cam paused and angled his head. “Actually, that’s the wrong way to describe him. As you could probably tell, he’s sort of a pig.”
“Sort of? He practically took a bite out of Astarte.”
“Yeah, he was always the guy making inappropriate comments to the girls.”
“Well, Astarte can take care of herself. And she actually seemed to like him, which is weird. But I’m worried we’re in for a rough stretch. Those cobalt eyes, that bright smile. She’s going to be a beauty.”
“And Brian’s definitely a beast.”
“Yuck.” Amanda washed the thought away with a sip of whiskey. “I’m hoping we’re done with him.”
“Me too. But he knows we’re going out to Newgrange tomorrow. Wouldn’t surprise me if he showed up on some tour bus.”
“Ancient burial mounds don’t really sound like his style.”
“No. But he’s obsessed with the Templar treasure.” Cam shrugged again. “And he’s convinced somehow I can help him find it.”
Cam awoke at six the next morning. He still felt lethargic from the flight and wanted to get a morning run in, hoping the adrenaline would recharge his system. “I’ll be back in time for breakfast,” he whispered t
o a sleeping Amanda after dressing. Astarte rested peacefully on a cot near the window; at the inn they would be staying at tonight, she would have her own bedroom.
The inn had been recommended by Monsignor Marcotte. “I stayed there myself in September,” Marcotte had said. “It’s very close to Newgrange and some of the other burial mounds. The owner gives private tours. And the food is excellent, all farm fresh.”
Cam cut through the downtown area to the river, dodging a few taxis and street-sweepers as the sun began to rise and the city came to life. He ran along the river to the Famine Memorial, a haunting collection of metal sculptures depicting gaunt sufferers of the potato famine that killed over a million people in the 1840s. Slowing, he studied the emaciated figures. In addition to the million who died, another million emigrated, many to the United States, dramatically changing the history of both countries. Incredibly, the population of Ireland today remained below 1840s levels.
He re-crossed the river and snaked his way to the Trinity College campus, where tourists were beginning to line up to view the Book of Kells, an extravagantly-illustrated 9th century manuscript containing the four gospels of the New Testament which somehow survived Viking-era plundering raids. The book, and the fact that it was considered a national treasure, was a reminder of how prominent a role Christianity played in Ireland. Christianity came late to the remote island, which had a long history of Druidic influence, but once it arrived it established deep roots.
The potato famine and Christianity. Cam had read that these two influences (including in the latter’s case the Catholic-Protestant conflicts) had together largely shaped Irish society. But it was the pre-Christian culture that most interested him. Especially the Druids and their pagan worship customs. Cam turned a corner and began to sprint the last quarter-mile. Today they would be visiting the ancient burial mound of Newgrange, dating back 5,000 years, to the time of Stonehenge. The American patriot and historian Thomas Paine had written that the Freemasons, and the Templars before them, were spiritual descendants of the ancient Druids, who worshiped at the mounds. Cam sensed that the ancient sites like Newgrange would teach him much about the Templars.
The Swagger Sword Page 5
