by Alex Scarrow
John looked up at him. ‘Sébastien tells me you know of things only the Templars should know of.’
‘If you mean … Pandora?’
John frowned. The term didn’t seem to mean anything to him.
‘The Grail?’ Liam added.
‘Aye, this grail.’ John laughed. ‘What is it? A cup? A goblet? That is all. A cup that the Christ may have used once! But Richard, like all those other Templar fools, believes such a thing has great powers! That insane fool believes carrying this cup into battle would make him unbeatable! That’s what this crusade has been about, you see? Not to free the Holy City from the Muslims … but to retrieve what was left behind when the city fell. To retrieve this … this foolish relic!’
The log fire spat a smoking shard of charcoal on to the stone floor. John watched its glow slowly fade. ‘A madman’s treasure hunt … that’s what this fool’s crusade was about.’
‘Your brother found this grail, Sire?’ asked Becks.
John nodded. ‘Yes. He did. And had a party of his best Templars take it here for safe-keeping.’ He laughed nervously. ‘But I – I … He will blame me for this, I know it. He will kill me.’ Liam noticed John’s left hand trembled in his lap. ‘I had his men take their treasure to Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland. For greater safety, you understand, for secrecy. The royal palace is not secure. This castle is not secure. I thought it would be a safer place!’
‘But they were ambushed,’ said Cabot. ‘It was taken.’
‘And on his return, I have no doubt Richard will have my head on a spike,’ uttered John. Conscious that his hand was shaking, he tucked it away into a fold of his robes.
‘Sire, it is this matter, this reason why I have brought these three here. They say they can help ye get it back.’
‘And can you?’ He looked from Liam to Bob, to Becks. ‘I have heard all the rumours too. I have heard of this Hooded Man who cannot be killed, it seems. A demon, say some. A wrathful angel, say all the peasants and villains that are flocking out to the forests to join him. And you can steal it back from him, you say?’ John didn’t look entirely convinced.
Liam glanced at Becks, hoping she had something useful to say, but she stared back at him silently. And Bob continued to dutifully, and none-too-helpfully, monitor the conversation.
‘I think, Sire … that this grail could’ve been stolen by someone who’s come from the same … uh … same place as us.’
‘And what place is this?’
Liam bit his lip. They’d explained as best they could to Cabot, and that perhaps was a time contamination they’d need to clear up later. He wondered what the consequences would be for Maddy and Sal in 2001 if he tried explaining to the future king of England the basics of time travel.
‘It is a place very far away, Sire. With strange ways about us. But look – this Hooded Man is no demon or angel.’ He jerked his head at Bob. ‘It’s probably another peculiar man like Bob, here … that’s all.’
‘Peculiar? What do you mean by that?’
‘A – a … strong man. Extraordinarily strong,’ added Liam. ‘And really tough. And with certain unusual fighting techniques.’
‘There is talk that this hooded fiend has shrugged off crossbow bolts and the like. That he is unstoppable. That it is the Grail itself that protects him from harm.’ John shook his head slowly. ‘You know … perhaps there is some truth to this Templar nonsense.’
‘Sire,’ said Cabot, ‘I have seen this Bob do just the same.’
John’s eyes darted from Cabot to the support unit.
‘This is correct,’ Bob rumbled. ‘I am capable of suffering extreme damage and deploying damage-limitation counter-measures.’
John turned to Cabot. ‘Sébastien, this ox of a man speaks a sort of English, but I have no understanding of what he just said.’
‘What he said, Sire, is that he can do exactly what this Hooded Man can do. I have seen, with my own eyes, Bob take arrows that would kill any ordinary man … and yet he did not even blink.
‘Aye. It’s not the Grail, Sire. It’s not magic or godly powers or anything. This Hooded Man is just another … well, I suppose I’d say he’s just another man like this Bob.’
John studied them in silence for a while, a finger caressing the tufted tip of his chin. The sound of popping and hissing logs filled the hall. Finally he stirred. ‘And you say you are here to help?’
Liam nodded. ‘S’right. We’re going to get the Grail back for you.’
CHAPTER 32
1194, Oxford Castle, Oxford
The quarters they had been assigned were clearly meant for noble-born guests: four rooms high up in the keep decorated with fine tapestries and embroidered cushions. Perhaps a true sign that John valued their presence was the distance from their windows to the fetid smell of the city of Oxford below.
The brazier in Liam’s room burned brightly, filling the cold damp chamber with a welcoming warmth, and a wooden table with a bowl of loaves and preserves and a flagon of imported wine had been set out for them.
‘… I was his sword master – in fact I tutored all three of the King’s sons: Geoffrey, Richard and John,’ continued Cabot, tipping the flagon into his cup. ‘They were but boys then, long before political rivalries separated them. Geoffrey was the eldest and Henry’s favourite. Richard was always the headstrong one … the one ye knew would seek to place his name in history.’
‘And John?’ asked Liam.
Cabot shrugged. ‘A gentle boy. Certainly no swordsman. I saw in Richard, though, something to fear. A man who could become great … all-powerful. A man with the cold-hearted ruthlessness to take all the kingdoms of Europe and make them one. When Geoffrey died and it was clear Richard would succeed his father … I knew there would be plenty of blood.’ Cabot’s face creased with a lacklustre smile. ‘I too was younger then and I craved the glory of war.’
‘How long were you a Templar, then?’
‘I joined as the sergeant to Sir Godfrey Cottleigh’s service fifteen years ago and we went to the Holy Land to do our duty: to protect Christian pilgrims. It was in those years, peaceful years by all accounts before the fall of Jerusalem, that I learned of the order’s secrets.’
‘Secrets? The Grail?’
‘And so much more.’
Bob and Becks seemed to perk up. Liam suspected they were both carefully studying his face, his body language, for telltale signs of truth or deception.
‘What?’
Cabot looked at him, uneasy with breaking oaths of secrecy he’d long ago been sworn to.
‘Mr Cabot? What else is there?’
‘Ye understand, in telling ye … more, I am betraying the order of Templars. Do ye understand this?’
‘But you left them anyway, right? So …?’
‘Aye,’ he shrugged. He tipped the cup of wine down his throat. ‘After Jerusalem fell and Richard announced his crusade to retake it, I learned how much blood would be spilled in the name of God. When King Richard arrived in the Holy Land with his army, I saw in him a powerful obsession. A dangerous obsession.’ Cabot’s eyes met Liam’s. ‘He had learned of the Treyarch Confession … he’d come for the Grail.’
Becks stirred. ‘I have no details of a “Treyarch Confession”. What is this?’
‘The Treyarch Confession is an account written by a man called Gerard Treyarch. He and his brother were soldiers in the First Crusade. They were among the Christian army that first captured Jerusalem in 1099. Ye know of this?’
Liam didn’t. He turned to the other two. ‘Bob? Becks?’
‘The First Crusade is launched by Pope Urban II in 1095. The objective is to capture the city of Jerusalem and expel the Muslims. The crusade is successful and in 1099 after a short siege the crusaders enter the city. In the days that follow the soldiers are said to have massacred every Muslim inside …’
Cabot nodded. ‘Men, women … children.’
Bob continued: ‘The city of Jerusalem and the Holy Land remain in Christian hands
for nearly a century under a succession of ‘guardian’ Christian kings. It is known as The Kingdom of Heaven and peace ensues for nearly ninety years. Then, in 1187, the Muslims finally retake the city under the successful general, Saladin.’
‘Saladin?’ said Liam.
Bob nodded. ‘Saladin is merciful and allows Christians to remain in the city, and orders his men not to ransack the Christian holy places.’
‘So, what is this Treyarch thing, then, Mr Cabot?’ asked Liam.
Cabot began guardedly. ‘During that century of Christian rule and peace, Gerard and Raymond Treyarch are said to have discovered something in the vaults beneath Jerusalem. The Treyarch Confession is said to be Gerard’s account of this.’
‘Discovered what?’
‘An ancient thing.’
Cabot pressed his lips firmly together as if he was willing them to remain closed.
‘And?’
‘The story goes … a scroll that was over a thousand years old. From the time of the Christ.’
‘Jay-zus!’ Liam blurted.
Cabot frowned at him. ‘Indeed … the time of Jesus Christ.’
‘What did it say?’
‘I have never read the Treyarch Confession, but I have heard it reveals nothing of what was in the text from the time of the Christ … it is only an account of what they did with it.’
Cabot bit into an apple. ‘It is said they transcribed the text of the original message to a ciphered form and then destroyed it.’
Liam sat up straight. ‘Destroyed it? Why?’
‘’Tis unknown.’ Cabot hunched his shoulders. ‘Perhaps because the truth it contained was far too dangerous for mortal man to know? Perhaps it contained the real spoken words of God and they have a power we do not understand.’
‘And this rewritten version – this encoded version,’ said Liam, ‘that is the Holy Grail?’
‘Ahh, ye are half right, lad. It is that version, and the key to deciphering it – those two things together are what is known as the Grail.’ He nodded warily. ‘’Tis a good thing that the Grail is two parts, kept separate.’
‘You believe it has powers, Mr Cabot?’ said Becks.
‘I believe it had the power to send both the Treyarch brothers mad.’
‘Uh?’ Liam’s eyes widened. ‘Seriously?’
‘Raymond Treyarch, ’tis said, killed himself in Jerusalem, and Gerard ended his years in some monastery in Aquitaine where he wrote his Confession and, as the story goes, went quite insane.’
The fire was dying down. Liam reached for another log and gently placed it on the pile of glowing, pulsing charcoal and embers. ‘So then, we know one half of the Grail has been stolen by this hooded fella and his bandits …’
‘Aye, the enciphered text.’
‘Where’s the other bit, then?’ asked Liam. ‘The key bit?’
‘While Jerusalem existed under Christian kings, the text itself was guarded by Templar Knights in Jerusalem and the key was guarded by another order in the city of Acre, a hundred miles north. Then both cities fell to Saladin … and so Richard launched his crusade to retrieve both items.’
Cabot’s eyes looked a thousand miles away. ‘I was there when Acre fell to Richard’s army.’ He sighed. ‘I was there, I watched as all three thousand Muslim defenders were beheaded. I believe he acquired the key that day. That was his celebration.’
Liam shuddered at the thought of that. ‘So he wanted both things, and he managed to get both things … but sent the text to England?’
‘Question,’ said Becks. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘For safety. King Richard, I know, feared rivals, perhaps other kings who might also know of the Treyarch Confession. His army of crusaders became weakened after it became clear it was too small a force to besiege and take Jerusalem. His fighting men started to return to their home countries – as I did a year before. He sent one half of the Grail home for safekeeping and kept the other, the key to decoding it, with him.
‘Now, his return home has been delayed by shipwreck and imprisonment. Two years he has waited to get home – two years knowing he has had the means to unlock the words of God, and finally he returns …’
‘And John has lost it to this hooded fella.’
Cabot nodded.
Liam could see why the poor man had looked so unhappy at every mention of his brother’s name.
‘King Richard will kill him on his return,’ uttered Cabot. ‘Of that I have no doubt. I believe this obsession has twisted his mind beyond any reason.’
Becks broke a long silence punctuated only by the crack and hiss of a burning log. ‘Question: what has the word Pandora got to do with the Holy Grail?’
Cabot seemed hesitant to answer that.
‘Mr Cabot?’ Liam prompted.
His voice was low, barely more than a whisper. ‘It is the one word of the original message that the Templars were permitted to know.’
Liam stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Becks … Bob?’ Four grey eyes panned to rest on him. ‘If we got our hands on this Grail text, would you two be able to decode it?’
‘Unknown,’ said Becks.
‘We have insufficient data on the encryption technique used at this time,’ added Bob.
‘But say we got it, and managed to take it back to …’ He glanced at Cabot. Perhaps it was best not to reveal the precise year to him. ‘If we got it back home, maybe that Adam fella could work it out?’
‘It is a possibility,’ said Becks.
‘It is not just a child’s puzzle for ye to solve!’ snapped Cabot. ‘This – this is Our Lord’s words! A sacred truth! And, lad, ye talk of it like a … like a game to be played!’
Liam returned a stern expression. ‘It is no game, Mr Cabot. Not to me, at any rate. We are here because, well … because these may not be the words of Our Lord. They could be the words of people like ourselves, other travellers in time.’
The old man’s lower jaw hung and wobbled uncertainly.
‘We received a warning, Mr Cabot. A warning to look for this Pandora, whatever it may be. You said this Treyarch Confession goes that the scroll they found was written in Jesus’s time? Right?’
Cabot nodded. ‘’Tis what is said.’
‘Then this warning has travelled across two thousand years to find us.’ He looked up at the old monk. ‘This is no game.’
‘We must acquire this Grail,’ said Becks.
‘Agreed,’ added Bob. ‘That must become the mission priority.’
CHAPTER 33
1194, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire
He listened to the sounds of his people, his followers, their voices echoing through the woods as they chattered around their campfires. Their spirits were lifted. For them, today had been a good day. They’d managed to intercept a merchant’s wagon destined to deliver to some baron a cart full of luxuries. The foreign wine they’d found was being consumed now. And their songs around the fire were gradually becoming less tuneful and more raucous.
They are like children.
He watched them from the darkness of his hut, his army of peasant bandits. So used to the grinding poverty of recent years, the starvation, grubbing for scraps of food. That here, in the forests of Nottingham, where they could poach royal deer and hares because the soldiers daren’t follow them in, they were like excitable children.
It reminded him, James Locke, too much of the place, of the time, he’d come from. A world of poverty, overcrowded and crumbling cities … polluted oceans populated by nothing but floating islands of plastic rubbish and slowly dispersing toxins. A dying world … a dying world.
He looked down at the wooden box in his hands, old weathered wood with an ornate pattern carved into its sides.
Locke stared at it. Inside this box was what he’d come back in time for. Inside this box was what his brotherhood had been waiting nearly a thousand years to recover. A lost truth. A warning. A prophecy.
Pandora.
Locke had glimpsed inside, had to
uched it, even unravelled some of it just to get a glimpse of the writing. And he’d felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. The words were there on the parchment, hidden from a casual eye: random, unintelligable, the meaning locked away by its code.
He looked up again, out through the flap of his hut at his bandits making merry by the flickering light of the campfire. Their raids on the baron’s goods, on the farms, on the taxmen’s carts – all of that was eventually going to bring King Richard up to Nottingham once he returned to England, up to these woods. That, and the knowledge that his precious Holy Grail had been taken.
Locke nodded.
He’ll come. And he’ll bring with him the other half of the Grail. The key.
CHAPTER 34
1194, Oxford Castle, Oxford
‘This will ensure you have the full co-operation of that bumbling fool,’ said John.
Liam looked down at the roll of parchment in his hand. It was sealed with a blob of wax in which John Lackland’s royal crest had been impressed.
‘What is it, Sire?’
‘Orders for the Sheriff of Nottingham to give you anything that you need in hunting down this Hooded Man and his bandits.’ He pursed his lips with wry amusement. ‘Should that useless fool, the Sheriff William De Wendenal, object to this, or prove obstructive in any way, you may assume the office yourself. These papers confer that authority to you.’
‘You mean … I’d be Sheriff of Nottingham?’
‘’Tis so if necessity requires.’
‘Cool,’ Liam chuckled.
‘Aye,’ said John, looking around at the courtyard. The readied horses blew plumes of steam and overhead the grey winter’s sky tumbled uneasily, promising another light flurry of snow. Cool indeed. ‘But it shall warm up soon, though, I warrant.’
Stern-faced soldiers stood nearby, rubbing gloved hands and stamping their feet to stay warm. ‘I give you a dozen of my best guards to take up to Nottingham with you. They are all good men. I trust them. They will take your orders as if they were mine.’ John glanced at Bob, now equipped with a chain-mail hauberk over his wide torso, a chain-mail coif protecting his coconut head and a long sword in a sheath attached to a belt of leather cinched tight round his waist. ‘Mind you, if your big friend is half the fighter as you say … I should think you’ll not need them?’
