The Crusader ("The Crusader" Prequel to "Kingdom Come") (45 page)

Rory was
directly behind him, her hand on his perspiring back. "So you disguised
yourself and hid the crown?"

He
nodded faintly, the clear brown eyes focused on the dirt. They were moving away
from the vapor lamps now and the foreman produced a Mag-lite, shining it on
Kieran's feet.

"I
entered right after the morning prayer," he suddenly came to a halt.
Looking around, he turned to the right at a slower pace. "The mosque was
vacant and I attracted no attention. But concealed within my garments was a
sturdy box, and contained within that box was the diadem. Since I did not want
to bury it under the feet of worshiping Muslims, I chose a location well away
from their prayer floor."

He came
to another halt, pondering the dirt. Then, as a host of curious people
followed, he began to move forward again. Had Rory not been so involved in his
expression as well as his story, she would have noticed they were heading
directly for her tent.

"There
was a small alcove on the east side of the structure," Kieran said softly,
looking up for the first time and noting the familiar opening of Rory's tent.
Smiling faintly, he peeled back the tarp and peered inside. "In fact, I do
believe I've found it."

Rory
looked up, too, her eyes widening. "I don't believe it," she hissed,
her mouth agape as she gazed into the darkness of her tent. "It... it's
here? It's been right beneath my feet all along?"

Kieran
continued to smile, retrieving the shovel from the foreman. "You have more
than likely been sleeping on it."

 He
ducked into the shelter with David on his heels. Rory was so astonished that
she could only stand in the doorway, watching as Kieran counted off five steps
directly ahead. Rory's bed stood in his way and he moved it aside, driving the
shovel into the packed sand where the frame had formerly rested.

"Fifty
paces along the wall from the entrance, forty paces to the right, and five
paces east," he turned to Rory, his smile widening. "Dig the length
of my arm and you shall find your crown."

David
didn't hesitate. Snatching the shovel, he jabbered orders to the foreman in
Arabic and sent the man into a frenzy. Kieran pushed Rory out of the way as her
tent was hastily dismantled in order to clear the field of excavation. Even as
David dug furiously, with more energy than Rory had ever seen from the man, the
only action she was capable of was remaining erect while it all went on around
her.

"It
was here all the time," she murmured, feeling Kieran's arm around her.
"Good Lord... it was beneath me all the time."

He
nodded, watching David throw away shovels of earth as the foreman struggled to
clear Rory's possessions. "All the time, Libby. You were always protecting
it."

She
turned to look at him, noticing how tired he appeared. Elated, but tired. In
spite of her astonishment, she couldn't help the smile that creased her lips.
"Protecting it for your return?"

He met
her smile, wearily. "For
our
return, sweetheart. Certainly I could
not have completed my mission without you."

She
sighed heavily, attempting to shake off the amazing turn of events. Leaning
against him, she was startled by a warm, wet stain on the left side of his
shirt. Pulling her hand away, it was colored crimson.

"Oh,
God," she forgot all about the crown as she yanked his shirt up to reveal
the large, oozing wound. "What in the... Kieran, we've got to get you to a
hospital."

He shook
his head in a quieting gesture. "That is not necessary, sweet. I've simply
overextended myself, 'tis all."

"But..."
the injury was truly hideous and she couldn't help the expression of disgust on
her face. "You're bleeding again.  You need medical attention."

He tried
to put his shirt down but she refused to let him. "A physic is
unnecessary. It will heal. I simply need to... rest."

Rory was
beside herself, ignoring the chaotic digging going on. Her immediate concern
was Kieran's health. "You need more than rest, Kieran," she argued
hotly. "You need to see a doctor immediately."

He
looked away from her, gazing at David as the hole he was digging grew deeper.
"Not until the diadem is uncovered," he said quietly, his features
drawn. "I will not leave until I see it again."

Rory
shook her head with disbelief, unable to argue with him. He had come so far and
she couldn't demand he abandon everything he had lived and died for. "If
you won't go see a doctor, then will you at least let me wrap it?" she
demanded softly.

He
nodded faintly, kissing her hand. Shaken and weary, Rory left him standing in
what had once been the entrance to her tent and went to David's shelter to find
the first aid kit. Bringing the entire bulky case, she proceeded to put
antibiotic ointment on Kieran's wound and pack it with a huge wad of gauze.
Using an elastic athletic wrap, she bound his torso tightly.

"There,"
she said, closing the first aid kit and setting it at their feet. "That
should help for now, at least until we can get you to a doctor."

He put
his arm around her as she rose and Rory realized it was not only an
affectionate gesture, but a necessary one; he was using her for support. Her
panic surged but she fought it, knowing it would be of no use to argue with
him. Until the crown was recovered, he wasn't leaving. And neither was she.

David
and the foreman dug steadily into the night, their work illuminated by the big
portable lights. The workers cleared away the sand as Rory and Kieran stood
silently by, holding one another and waiting with anticipation. Kieran's weight
on Rory grew steadily, as if her petite stature could support his massive
frame. But she never said a word, praying in one breath that his re-opened
wound wasn't serious and praying in the next that the crown would soon be
found. The wait, for all of them, was frazzling.

It grew
worse as the night progressed. Kieran had begun to shake and Rory had to bite
her tongue to keep from screaming. He needed to see a doctor or at the very
least sit down, but he refused to move. He continued to hold her tightly, his
clear brown eyes riveted to the digging and never once uttering a word of
discomfort. But Rory could literally feel his distress and unable to control
herself any longer, let tears of frustration fall. Then, and only then, did he
agree to the idea of a chair.

Midnight
came and went. Kieran remained seated, his face pale and his hands clammy. Rory
was torn between her anticipation of the crown and his deteriorating health,
eyeing him intermittently only to be met by an encouraging smile. He was so
terribly brave, so strong, and her heart ached for the pain of his reopened
wound. She simply couldn't imagine how he had done it, considering it had been
healed for centuries. But even though she had wrapped it hours ago, she could
still see fresh blood oozing through the bandages.

The
reality made her sick. Literally sick. Fighting off tears and nausea, she
didn't protest when he pulled her onto his lap. His blood stained her t-shirt
as she snuggled against him, her arms around his neck and her head on his
shoulder. Together, they watched David and the foreman continue the dig for a
crown more men had lived and died for than any other crown in history.

Past two
o'clock in the morning, David and the foreman had managed to dig nearly four
feet, through a hard-packed mud that David assumed to be the mosque flooring
and then several more feet of debris and sand. Rory continued to sit in
Kieran's lap, deriving a great deal of comfort from his warmth and steady
breathing.

But the
extreme hour and her exhaustion were taking its toll. As she waited, as they
all waited, Rory realized that in spite of everything she could hardly keep her
eyes open. After a long, weary struggle, she allowed herself to close them for
a brief moment. But the second she did so, David suddenly let out a whoop of
surprise.

"I've
found something!" he announced, tossing the spade aside. "Kieran!
Look here!"

Kieran
was on his feet, wavering dangerously as he rushed to David's side. Rory was
with him and together the dropped to their knees, peering down the hole.

It was a
small wooden box, plain and unassuming. Kieran took one look and nodded firmly.
"That is the box," he said, his voice strangely weak. "Give it
to me."

David
obeyed without reserve. For a man who had been documenting finds the better
part of his adult life, his professional training should have prevented him
from handling an eight hundred year old box without first carefully recording
the discovery. But he seemed to have forgotten his training as he lifted out
the brittle box. Placing it in front of Kieran, he leapt from the hole.

Rory's
breath caught in her throat as she watched Kieran carefully examine the small
chest. In fact, all activity surrounding the dig had come to a halt as the eyes
of the weary and the anxious focused on the object of a year-long search. The
only sound evident among dozens of people was the hum of the gas generator; not
a breath or a movement to upset the magic of the moment.

A magic
that was warm with the emotion of discovery. Rory could literally feel it. A
timid hand reached out, touching the lid of the box as Kieran blew softly at
the dusty coating. Casting Rory a glance that suggesting nothing other than
pure triumph, he slowly removed the cover.

Brittle,
yellowed linen greeted her. Eight hundred year old linen. Rory was about to
comment on it when Kieran suddenly reached down, removing the linen without
thought. Before Rory could chastise him, the object of years of research, of
time and pain, was abruptly revealed.

Time
stilled for a moment. Rory found herself gazing at a rather pathetic bundle of
vines, faded and hardly spectacular. Long thorns that looked more like small
branches adorned the circlet, some of them having broken off during the passage
of time. But the aura radiating from the ancient wreath reached out to grab her
like a vise and she gasped softly, moving in for a better look.

"Oh...
Kieran," she murmured, bending low until she was nearly level with the
box. "It's... wonderful."

He
smiled faintly. "Indeed, my lady. More than you know."

David
was staring at the vines, actually speechless. As if he could hardly believe Rory's
dig had finally produced what she had promised. In all honesty, it looked like
a simple circlet of wood; no glowing light to indicate the holy stature, no
voice from God announcing its identity. But David knew that it exactly what
Kieran and Rory said it was. If seeing was believing, he couldn’t refute the
evidence.

"I'm
sorry for ever doubting you, Rory," he said softly, accepting the camera
from the foreman. Lifting it to his eye, he focused on the small box. "You
said it was here. And you were right."

Rory was
practically lying on her side, gazing at the crown through the eyes of wonder.
"You know, even though I insisted it was here, I suppose I always had a
shadow of doubt. You were right when you said I was chasing myths, Dave. I was.
But is was a myth that I wanted to believe in."

Kieran
was seated on his rump, his arm resting on a propped knee. He continued to
stare at the crown, eight centuries of a mission unfulfilled finally coming to
a close. In a sense, he felt a tremendous sense of loss now that it was over.
All he had lived and died for, the determination to recover what had been
entrusted to him, was now ended and he realized that his desire to complete his
task had been a matter of pride more than a need. England was at peace, the
diadem no longer needed to cement a truce. But the fact that he was a man
unwilling to let his sworn duty go unfinished had been the most powerful factor
of all.

His gaze
moved from the crown to Rory, completely enthralled by the brittle wreath.
Darkly, he pondered what his pride had brought her; trouble, heartache, poverty
and strife. She had been determined to recover the crown as well and he had
used her devotion to his advantage.

Aye, he
loved her; he couldn't remember when he hadn't. But he had used that love more
than he was willing to admit and if it took him the rest of his life, he would
make amends for what he considered his manipulative actions.

Rory was
touching the crumbled linen when Kieran reached down, lifting the crown from
its cradle much to the dismay of both Rory and David. When both archaeologists
turned to protest his actions, they were shocked to see the knight's eyes
brimming with emotion.

"Kieran?"
Rory whispered, gently touching his arm. "Babe, what's wrong?"

He shook
his head, his face pale and his hands shaking as he examined the diadem.
"I do not know," he murmured. "I... I can scarcely believe I
finally have it. I have it and there is nothing left for me to do with it. Bud
was correct when he said it was unnecessary to retrieve the crown; my mission
is over. It has been over for eight centuries."

"That's
not true," Rory said softly. "This is a remarkable object with
world-wide significance. You can't possibly imagine what sort of value this
will have on the the archaeological community and religion in general."