A Templar's Apprentice (10 page)

Without thought I dropped to one knee mirroring the position of the Templar. In moments the whole of the chamber was as bright as the pure light of day. I heard the Archbishop's voice from far away. His words were in a language of beauty unknown to me.

The golden glow of the room seemed to crowd around me, blotting out the form of the men, and sound rose in my ears. “Blasphemer! Heretic!” I felt the crowd around me, angry, pressing me forward against a barrier.
Up above, a platform hovered and the smell of burning wood curled in the air.

“Focus. Ground. Shield.” The Templar snapped the words at me and I felt myself react. The force of the vision broke, but my eyes and mind were still filled by the scene. My body trembled.

The Templar was on his knees before me. “Shhh, leanabh.” The Gaelic endearment felt like home, but I was far away. “'Tis gone. Ye are safe. Breathe deeply.”

“A crowd was gathered. They were frightened. Four men were brought in in chains.”

My words came haltingly, but I forced my impressions into the air of the chamber. “High above, a man shouted, ‘Blasphemer! Heretic!'”

The Archbishop stepped down from the dais. I felt his eyes on me, staring as if I were a specimen in an alchemist's lab. “What more did ye see?”

“I don't know,” I said. “Nothing. 'Twas images an' sounds, colors an' feelings.” I struggled to explain how the visions came to me. My breath felt short, my chest tight. My head was swimming.

The Archbishop approached. The Templar and I stood. “To see what lies ahead is a frightening ghost.” He spoke softly, almost as if he were riddling something out for himself. I wondered why he was not surprised at my vision state.

“I cannot stay with ye for I must ready to journey to Rome. Stay. Eat. Warden de Kendall's staff will see to your reprovisioning.” His mind was elsewhere, already dismissing our presence.

“A moment, Yer Grace, if I might …” Their eyes turned toward me. My face burned. My body's persistent need still compelled me and I felt a sudden embarrassment. “A chamber pot?”

“Are you ill?” The Archbishop moved quickly to the sideboard and drew a pot from beneath.

“No, but if I don't hurry, I will be wet.”

My words were so completely out of place that the Templar let burst a sharp laugh. Shaking his head, he said, “Beyond the door is a garderobe, Tormod.” The bewildered smile that played about his lips distracted me from the worries that lingered in my mind.

I
met up with the Templar a short time later in the same room I had begun to feast in earlier. Two chairs and a table had been set while I was away. I dropped down opposite, feeling tired and worried. The vision made me uneasy.

The Archbishop had arranged with the castle's keeper for fresh supplies to be readied while we ate. Two large packs lay on the flags at the Templar's feet.

“Templar Alexander?” I asked.

“Hmm,” he murmured, distracted.

“Is this the Archbishop's residence?”

“What?” he said, pulling back from the path his thoughts had taken.

“This castle. Is it all for the Archbishop?”

He looked down the table as if seeing it for the first time. “No. The Archbishop is here on business to Rome. He is friends with the Lord Chancellor of Dover and so stays here when he visits.” He finished his last bite. “We should be on our way. Are ye done?”

I nodded. Though I was hungry and the food abundant, I ate little. I could not seem to push the vision from my mind.

At full dark we set out once again. It was still raining and the sky was a lead gray, which seemed fitting as that was the way I felt.

“Tormod, I don't need to tell ye that ye must not speak o' the carving with any aboard, aye?” he said after we passed through the first archway.

“Aye,” I replied. “But we're not aboard yet. What is this thing?”

He looked as if he would put me off, but nodded, as if to himself. “Stop here.”

The temperature had dropped while we were inside. It was cold and I was uncomfortable. On a stone bench in an alcove against a high hedge we sat. His face was grave when he turned to me.

“We have to be careful, Tormod, now more than ever. I know no' what yer vision portends, but the fact that it has come to ye with the aid o' the carving makes me leery. These particulars
are
quite probably destined to happen.”

“Everything I
see
happens,” I mumbled. He ignored my words. “The carving,” I prompted. “What is it?”

He was silent a moment. “I will start a' the beginning. I'm not certain that it is good for ye to know so much, but I don't seem to have a choice in it. Many o' my visions have included ye.”

I was not surprised, since I'd heard him speak of it to Seamus, but to hear it again said directly to me in so plain a manner made me feel a bit off. I wondered if his visions involved blood and injury. A shiver ran through me and I tucked my hands beneath my plaid to still their shaking.

“Do ye recall what I told ye o' the origins o' the Order?” he asked.

“Aye,” I said, remembering. Hugues de Payen, a knight of France, had joined the Crusade to liberate
God's Kingdom in Jerusalem. He arrived with high ideals only to be shocked at how poorly trained and ill equipped the men who had flocked to the Church's cause truly were. Those who fought fell quickly beneath the Muslim swords. Those who roamed the roads were easy prey to the bands of mercenaries.

Hugues had called to him eight strong knights, related by blood and marriage, and approached the King with a proposition. If the King would back them, these men would dedicate themselves to patrolling the roads and giving what protection they could to the pilgrims. They started out, nine men based out of the palace stables, a place said to be located atop the ancient Temple of Solomon. They'd named themselves the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ, but the world came to know them as the Knights of the Temple of Solomon or, more simply, the Knights Templar.

“What have the origins to do with the carving?” I asked.

“Tormod, Hugues de Payen was gifted, as ye an' I are gifted,” he said.

“He had the vision sense?” He had not shared this with me. I leaned foward, determined not to miss a word.

“Aye. An' while sleeping in the stables, turned into a dormitory, he saw a storehouse built into the bedrock o' the original temple. He an' his men excavated —”

“An' they found the carving!” I burst in.

“Aye. Along with a library o' scrolls an' a host of gold, treasure, an' jewels.”

My mouth dropped.
Treasure.
I knew what I thought was the history of the Knights, but I had never heard of a store of ancient treasure. The night seemed to grow darker as he spoke, the rain and clouds growing thicker. I remained quiet as he continued, fearing if I broke the spell, he would stop.

“The carving we named Baphomet, meaning wisdom, for in its presence all o' our kind, the gifted, experience an enhanced vision sense.”

His eyes were steady and a great rush of excitement overtook me.

“Why do ye have it now?” I asked, impatiently. “What has it to do with the Archbishop?”

“What ye overheard on the ship that first day is part o' this,” he said. “The Templars, as ye know, are the right hand o' the Pope. We've been that from the beginning. We answer only to the Holy Father — no sovereign, no acolyte, no one — an' in return the Holy Father relies on us for things he would ask o' no other.”

I squirmed on the bench, desperate to know more.

“Three an' a half years ago a map came into the hands o' Pope Boniface. It had been found in a cave a' the edge o' the sea, sealed in a jar o' clay. In the right-hand corner was a drawing, an exact image o' the carving
I hold here.” His hand curved around his sporran where the bulk rounded out its shape.

“Tormod, Pope Boniface an' his successor, Pope Benedict, as well as a few select members o' the Church, are part o' a secret upper-echelon sect o' the Templar Order.”

“They're Templars?” I asked, incredulous.

“Not in the ordinary way. They took no vows, but are a part o' a group who oversee the greatest decisions concerning the Order,” he said.

A secret sect of the Templars, and he trusted me with the knowledge. I could scarcely credit it.

“Pope Boniface immediately recognized the image o' the carving from the map an' sent it to the Order in Paris. But things in France were getting a bit tense, an' it was judged prudent to move both map an' carving to Scotland.”

“Why? What was happening?”

“Pope Boniface clashed with King Philippe an' excommunicated him. The King retaliated by having the Pope kidnapped.”

I was horrified. That anyone should think to kidnap a Pope was beyond my wildest imagining.

“The Templars rescued Pope Boniface, much to the anger o' the King, but it was too late. He was old an' the experience harsh. He died a month later.”

“And then?”

“Benedict was next in line for the Papacy, but he was no' long in power.”

“Why?”

“Philippe's man poisoned him. Can ye credit it? I had a vision, not five paces from the King a' court, while I was picking up tribute owed the Order. I saw Guillaume de Nogaret, the King's councillor, take the Papal ring from the Pope's dead finger.” He shook his head.

“I've never killed a man in cold blood,” he said. “But in this instance, I think that I should have.”

I nearly reeled at his words. “Ye could not. Ye would not. 'Tis no' the way o' the Templar.”

He didn't move or blink. “He has killed two o' the most holy an' powerful men in the world. Let us hope my inaction has no consequences for the future. I left him free to continue his reign o' recklessness, Tormod. Was that something a Templar should have done?”

I was suddenly colder than at any other time. It was as if a frigid wind whipped across my soul.

“Somehow Philippe knows about the map. He's tracked us from Paris to Scotland.”

“That's when ye found me,” I said.

“Aye. I saw ye in a vision, carrying the map to the Abbot in my stead.”

“Ye gave it to me,” I said. “An' I gave it up to those hunting ye.”

The Templar nodded. “But why would the carving
have me entrust the map to ye, if only it was to be lost,” he said almost to himself.

“If yer visions are like mine, then what ye see is the future. The carving is not directing; it is just relaying what is to happen.” I was nearly mumbling to myself trying to figure it out.

“Unless … I was meant to carry it, so that I could later redraw it for ye. I can, ye know! I know its lines an' shapes like I know my homeland.”

“Maps are no' simple things, Tormod. They must be precise an' accurate,” he said. “'Tis a good thought, but ye only could have seen it for a moment, an' that's not enough to redraw it.” He stood, dismissing my offer.

“Listen to me. I know the map like 'tis still here afore me. I have oddness with things that I see. I remember. Even if I see something for only a moment, it stays.”

He stared at me, weighing the possibility. “We will try it then. Stranger things exist in this world than a good memory. Particularly when it comes to the carving.”

“I can do it.” I said with confidence, getting to my feet and shaking off the rain that beaded on my plaid.

“Where do we go from here?” I asked.

“To the Grand Master. I still have the carving an' I need to get it to a safehold.”

The idea seemed preposterous. “Is he not in France, where the soldiers who are seeking ye reside?”

“He's due to tour the Spanish preceptories before going on to Paris. We will seek him there, in Spain. I have allies who will help. Remember what I have said an' do not speak o' this to any.”

T
he moment we boarded, the Templar installed me at the table in the forecastle. With several parchments, a quill, and ink, I got to work though it was not as easy as I had originally imagined. It was one thing to see a map, a whole other to draw it. I had some trouble with the scale and proportion, but the shape of things came to me easily.

Several marks of the candle later, I got it right. The last bit was the most difficult: the strange series of dots scattered across the surface. I fussed over these the most. When I'd added the last, my eyes drifted down over what I'd drawn. Something was not quite right, I thought, tracing the map. Suddenly the candle flickered in a draft from the window. The memory of the vision I had came back to me.
Julio.
I added the word in the lower left-hand corner.

The Templar came in as I was sanding the ink on the final bit. He stood beside me and I held my breath waiting.

“Well, from what I can recall it looks right.” He stared at it thoughtfully. “Julio…. Thank ye, Tormod. I'll take it from here.”