by James Becker
“We’ll go up there,” he said, “just in case they start firing down the passageway.”
They scrambled up the narrow opening and found themselves in a small closed chamber, barely big enough for them to crouch down on their hands and knees. Behind them, they could still hear an agonized moaning from the cave, overlaid by angry shouts and commands in Italian.
Mallory switched off the flashlight and immediately a darkness so total that they could literally see nothing at all enveloped them.
“What the hell happened?” Robin demanded. “What was in those chests?”
“It looked to me like rocks,” Mallory replied, “and that would certainly explain the weight. They were really heavy.”
“I didn’t mean that. There was a flash as they opened the lids, and both those men were badly hurt. What caused that?”
“That was two different things,” Mallory replied. “The first was the flash from the camera on my phone. I wanted to get a picture of that Italian and I knew that was the best chance I was going to get, while all their attention was focused on those chests. As for what happened when the chests were opened, I can’t tell you for sure because I only stood there for a split second before we headed down the passageway. But I was thinking about the book safe, and that brutal antitheft mechanism it contained. That started me thinking.
“If the Templars were prepared to protect a piece of parchment with a device like that, it struck me that they might well have incorporated a similar kind of protection into their treasure chests. I don’t know exactly what it was, but it looked to me as if there were two long curved blades built into each chest and hinged on the edges of the lid. When the lid was lifted a couple of powerful springs swung the blades outward in a scything motion that would be almost guaranteed to do serious harm to anybody standing or crouching directly in front of the chest. Exactly as has just happened, in fact.
“Obviously I had no idea what sort of mechanism it was going to be, but I guessed it was going to be quite brutal and certainly attention getting, and that’s why we’re up here now and safe—at least for the moment—and not being beaten to death back there in the cave.”
“But they’ll come after us, won’t they?”
“I don’t know. That man’s got problems. He’s got two men badly, maybe even fatally, injured, but knowing his past record, if they’re not dead yet he’ll probably just shoot them. The treasure that he came here to recover isn’t here at all, unless my eyes deceived me. The last thing he is going to do is take a quarter of a ton of boulders back to Rome with him. The chests are no good to him, and we’ve just vanished from sight. Obviously he knows where we went, but there are lots of junctions on that passage we came down, and finding us could take him quite a long time. And a man carrying a pistol in a narrow tunnel is actually not much better armed than a man lying in wait with a rock in his hand, and I think those men are certainly bright enough to know that.”
Mallory paused for a moment, listening to the sounds that they could still just about hear from the cave. There was a muffled thump, followed a few seconds later by another almost identical sound.
“A silenced pistol?” Robin asked.
“Almost certainly,” Mallory agreed. “That will be the Italian, killing the wounded. So if you want my guess, on balance I think he and his two surviving men will probably just walk away from this. Their only reason for coming down here after us will be revenge, but I don’t think any of them will be too enthusiastic about trying to explore a tunnel system like this just to find us and kill us, because they must know that there’s a good chance they could come off worse, just because of what happened in the past.”
For a few moments, they lay there in silence, just listening.
Then Mallory heard another sound that he couldn’t immediately identify, a kind of metallic thumping that seemed to be getting closer.
“What’s that?” Robin asked.
Suddenly Mallory knew exactly what it was, and realized that there was another course of action the Italians could follow that he had never even considered.
“Cover your ears,” he said urgently, doing precisely that himself, “and open your mouth.”
And then the echoing thunder of the explosion of the grenade drowned out everything else.
64
Cyprus
Almost an hour later, David Mallory stood up cautiously inside the cavity in which the two chests had been hidden, and peered around the cave.
As he had expected, the three surviving Italians had left. But there were two dead bodies, a lake of dark blood surrounding each of them. Each had a single bullet wound in the head, a coup de grâce that would probably have been welcomed by the victims. Both men also had two deep and savage cuts across their abdomens, cuts so deep that their intestines had spilled out through them. They would both have been in unutterable agony until they’d been put out of their misery.
There was no sign of the instruments that had inflicted the wounds, so clearly the Italians had emptied the chests—the two piles of rocks told that part of the story—and taken both away with them.
“It’s all clear,” Mallory called out, and moments later Robin appeared beside him.
Both of them were covered in dust, vast clouds of which had been created by the explosion of the grenade.
“I’m amazed we survived that thing going off,” Robin said.
“If we’d been down in the main passageway,” Mallory replied, “we probably wouldn’t still be alive. But grenades are antipersonnel devices, designed to target soft flesh. They’re not much good at blowing holes in rocky tunnels that have existed for millennia. We survived because we climbed up into that separate chamber, and the blast got nowhere near us.”
“My ears are still ringing,” Robin said, “and I’m sure I’m shouting.”
Mallory smiled at her, hoisted himself out of the cavity, and then gave her a hand to climb up to the floor of the cave again. Robin walked over to the scene of carnage and looked down. She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the sight of the bodies, then looked at the two small piles of brownish boulders.
“You were right,” she said. “They were just full of rocks, and that device built into the lid is obviously still disgustingly effective, even seven hundred years after it was built. I’m really glad that those Italians came along before we had a chance to open them up.”
Robin shook her head and walked away toward the entrance to the cave and took several deep breaths of fresh air. Then she stepped back inside and walked over to where Mallory was standing.
“It does raise the question, though, doesn’t it?” she said.
Mallory nodded. “Yes. Why fill two expensive booby-trapped wooden chests with rocks and then bury them out of sight in a cave? It wasn’t done by accident, obviously, so they must have had a reason, a good reason. I had my suspicions from the start, and I’m wondering about the last section of that manuscript, the text that we never managed to decipher. I think there’s some clue here that would allow us to decipher that section. That was one thought I had.”
“And did you have another thought as well?”
Mallory nodded. “Yes. The section of the manuscript we decoded that refers to three trials. It’s possible that Tibauld de Gaudin realized that the Templar cause in the Holy Land was lost forever, or at least for the foreseeable future. But I think it’s more likely that it wasn’t Tibauld at all, because by then he was essentially a broken man, but the next, and incidentally the last, grand master of the Knights Templar, Jacques de Molay. It’s known that the two senior Templars of the order—the then grand master and his successor—spent some time together on Cyprus, and when he was near death Tibauld would probably have told de Molay where the treasure was hidden and the clue he’d left at the Sidon Sea Castle.”
“But why fill the chests with rocks and hide them?”
“I think it�
�s at least possible,” Mallory replied, “that by then Jacques de Molay already knew that the writing was on the wall, that Philip of France was planning on purging the order, and de Molay was already making his preparations to ensure that the Templar treasure would not be seized. If Tibauld had told him he’d left that clue at the Sidon Sea Castle, he would have assumed that sooner or later—probably later—somebody would pick up the trail. But because of the nature of Tibauld’s carving, interpreting it could only be done by somebody either who was a member of the Knights Templar or who knew a lot about the order. Perhaps he was hoping that after the dust had settled and Philip the Fair had gone to his grave, the order might somehow reemerge. And because the treasure had vanished from the pages of history, eventually somebody would obviously begin backtracking the last days of the order to try to find out what happened to it.
“After France, the biggest Templar presence was in Outremer, and the treasure of the order out here couldn’t possibly have fitted into two small chests, unless they were packed full of solid gold. But this underground cavity is big enough to hold half a dozen or more large chests, which could have been big enough. So I think Jacques de Molay had it removed, probably secretly shipping it to France, and left the two small booby-trapped chests in its place. Then, when anyone followed the clues Tibauld had left, there would be something here to find. A Templar would have known that the treasure of Outremer couldn’t have fitted inside these chests, and so wouldn’t be caught out by the booby traps, which would take care of a normal treasure hunter. A Templar would know that the chests simply provided a clue to follow for the next trial, or trail.”
“If you’re right,” Robin said slowly, “then that means whoever provided that encrypted text on the parchment must have known about the chests, and whatever clue was hidden in them. The two things must have been linked. But that couldn’t have been Tibauld de Gaudin, because he died on the island.”
“Exactly. We’re back to Jacques de Molay again. Tibauld de Gaudin may have started this treasure hunt when he sailed to Cyprus with the order’s treasure, but it was de Molay who finished it. He probably didn’t actually write the text on the parchment, but he would have provided the information the author needed. Nothing else makes sense.”
“So we’ve come away from this little adventure empty-handed,” Robin said.
“Yes.” Mallory nodded. “But if I’m right about this being the end of the first trial, then those chests must have held a clue that would allow us to move on to the next level, if you like. And I have an idea where that clue is.”
“You have?”
Mallory nodded, pulled out his mobile phone, and scrolled through to the gallery. He selected a close-up picture of the lid of one of the chests and showed her the image.
“Both chests were different, and the patterns in the metalwork are too intricate to just be decoration. I don’t know what it is, but there’s some symbology hidden in those shapes that we have to crack, because I’m sure that will provide what we need to decipher the last section of the text on the parchment.”
“And then we can embark on Jacques de Molay’s second trial, you mean?”
“Exactly,” Mallory said. “And we can’t hang about, either, because those Dominican thugs now have the actual chests, and I’m certain they’ll be doing exactly the same, working out the clues. This is a race, and it isn’t over yet.”
“But first we have to go home,” Robin said slowly, “and of course we’ll have to face the music. At least it was helpful that the Italian admitted killing the three men in my apartment. I switched on the audio recording function on my mobile as soon as he walked in, so hopefully I’ll have a clear record of what he said.”
Mallory grinned at her.
“Funnily enough,” he said, “I did exactly the same, though I was standing a bit farther away from him so my copy might not be as clear as yours. But I have got a decent picture of him—I’ve already taken a look at it—so we will have something to show to the Devonshire plods. And then I suppose we’ll have to do a bit of fast talking and perhaps a certain amount of editing. As far as I’m aware, there’s no evidence to tie either of us to that site in the woodland where the other Italian died, so it might be helpful if we could lose that bit of the recording. I’ll tinker around with it before we head back to Britain, just in case the thin blue line is waiting for us on arrival.”
“What about the Italians?” Robin asked. “Where have they gone?”
“My guess is that they’ll head back to Rome. They followed us to the end of this trail, found nothing, and lost two of their men. The mission wasn’t what you might call a raging success for them, but as far as I can see there’s nothing to keep them here on Cyprus any longer. And they’ll want to get those chests examined by their experts as soon as they can.”
He looked around the cave and nodded.
“And there’s nothing else for us here, either,” he said.
Ten minutes later, Mallory and Robin stepped out of the cave and retraced their steps down the side of the ravine and on across the more open ground to where they’d left the car.
As the sun sank with typical Mediterranean suddenness behind the mountains to the west, Mallory started the engine.
“Are you sure you want to go on with this?” Robin asked him. “It’s been expensive, dangerous, and ultimately fruitless, not to mention the problems we’ll have in England trying to convince the woodentops that we’re entirely innocent of all charges.”
Mallory paused for a moment before he put the car into gear and looked across at her. “Of course I want to go on with it. This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. We could be on the trail of the most valuable lost treasure of all time, which is a pretty good reason by itself. More to the point, it’s entirely due to that old piece of parchment that I met you, and for me that’s even more important.”
“No bullshit. Do you really mean that?”
“Hell yes. Of course I do.”
Robin smiled happily and reached out for his hand.
“Good enough for me,” she said. “Let’s see where the next chapter of Jacques de Molay’s quest takes us.”
Read on for an excerpt
from James Becker’s
THE LOST TESTAMENT
Available from Signet.
Byzantium
AD 325
“Bring him forward.”
Two trusted soldiers from the emperor’s personal bodyguard saluted their master, then turned and strode out of the temporary council chamber, each step they took accompanied by the metallic clattering of their armor and weapons.
Moments later, the two soldiers reappeared, a nervous-looking civilian now walking between them. They continued to the very end of the chamber, where Flavius Valerius Aurelius Constantinus Augustus, accepted only the previous September as the fifty-seventh emperor of the entire Roman Empire, sat flanked by a coterie of advisors.
“So, Flavius, what did you discover?” the emperor asked.
The civilian looked even more nervous at that moment, and Constantine had a sudden realization that he wasn’t simply overawed by being in the presence of the most powerful man in the world. Flavius had been in his employ for years, and had spoken with him countless times. There had to be something else that was disturbing him, and if Flavius was worried, then that was a real cause for concern.
Before the man could speak, Constantine raised his hand, demanding silence, then glanced at his advisors.
“This is a private matter,” he said. “Kindly leave us.”
Without a word, the half a dozen or so officials standing on both sides of the throne filed out of the chamber, followed by the servants and other retainers stationed elsewhere in the room. Constantine then instructed the two soldiers to retire to the opposite end of the chamber, out of earshot, but ordered the guard commander, the officer in charge o
f his personal bodyguard, to remain close beside him. Constantine was far too cautious a man to allow himself to be left entirely alone with anyone, no matter how apparently trustworthy and loyal, and Marcellus had proved his loyalty beyond doubt on numerous occasions.
“It is not as we had hoped, Our Lord,” Flavius began. “I have seen the original document, and the claims made in it are powerful and very damaging.”
Constantine gestured, and the guard commander stepped forward, took the document Flavius was offering and handed it to his master. The emperor unrolled the parchment and read the Latin text written on it. Then he read it again.
Constantine was not a scholar, but he had no doubt of the authenticity of what he was holding. The report he had just read was, he was quite certain, both authentic and accurate. And that posed a major problem for him, and for his empire.
“Where did you find this?” he asked.
“It was in Rome,” the man replied. “I walked into the archives and searched through the documentation relating to Cohors I Sagittariorum until I found it. Then I brought it to you.”
For perhaps two minutes the emperor remained silent, staring at the parchment in his hand, reading and rereading the words, his acute political mind pondering the direct implications of the document, and how best to use it to his own advantage. From the first, he’d realized that the matter he’d sent Flavius to investigate posed an indirect—but still a potent—threat to him, and would call his leadership and political judgment into serious question if it ever came to light. But it was also clear that without the document he had just been handed there was no direct proof of certain statements made by a notorious troublemaker almost one and a half centuries earlier. He held the key to the matter—held the single surviving item of undeniable proof without which the story was nothing more than an unsupported allegation in his own hands. And the only other person who knew anything about it was Flavius himself.
