Читать книгу Betrayed - Christopher Dinsdale - Страница 12

The rugged shore at the base of Kirkwall Castle was a beehive of activity. The dreary, cool weather did not dampen the spirits of the motivated work parties that swarmed over two large ships that were beached on the smooth pebbles of the harbour’s shore. Like a colony of ants swarming their queens, some workers replaced rotted hull planking while others repaired minor damage to the bow and masts. Both vessels were larger than the ship that had brought Connor to Kirkwall, and he was amazed that ocean vessels could be built to such large dimensions.

Led by Sir Rudyard, the boys followed the other soldiers up the path and through the treeless landscape that led to the massive front gate of the castle. Angus leaned in close and whispered to his friend.

“I hope I remember everything father taught us on the boat.”

Connor frowned. “I wonder how many instructions I missed while running to the rail to empty my stomach.”

“Don’t worry. You will be fine. You’ve got the best memory in all of Scotland.”

Connor frowned. In the past, many had commented on his ability to remember details and events, but those moments were under the normal conditions found back at Roslin Castle. Exhausted and sick, he wasn’t even sure if he could remember his own name right now. As the main gate came into view, however, his mind started to clear. An imposing barbican loomed menacingly out and over the thick wood of the main gates, giving the defenders of the castle a way to terrorize any army that dared attack the entrance. The barbican itself was supported by two massive pillars. Each was carved in the classic Roman tradition, but wrapping round the one on the left of the gate were two menacing serpents, hungrily eyeing the visitors as they made their final approach.

“Those pillars are just like the two pillars that held up the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem,” whispered Angus. “Just like in the stories father was telling us on the boat. Do you remember their names? That’s Jachin on the right . . .”

“. . . and Boaz on the left,” finished Connor, staring up at their incredible height. “Who could have built such beautiful columns out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Only the best builders in the world,” answered a deep voice. It was the voice of Sir Rudyard, who had slid to the back of the line. “So what do you think of Kirkwall?”

Connor whistled. “I would not like to be part of the army ordered to attack it. It looks impregnable.”

“Aye, she is a thing of beauty. But appearances can be deceiving, young Connor. Nothing created by human hands can ever be considered perfect. The Templars believe that perfection can be reached only through the studies of science and mathematics. Have you heard of the ancient legend of Troy?”

The boys shook their head.

“Troy was a fortified city in the same part of the world as Jerusalem. It was as close to a perfect fortress as the world has ever seen. Some armies were simply destroyed outright by the mighty Trojan warriors. Others managed to lay siege to it but realized it was a futile effort, as the citizens inside had access to unlimited water and food, and soon they gave up their attack. It really was a perfect city in every respect.

“Then a secret marriage took place between the wife of a Greek king and a Trojan prince. The powerful Greeks decided that such outright deceit must not go unpunished. They sent the entire Greek army, the largest fighting force in the world, consisting of hundreds of thousands of soldiers and thousands of ships, across the sea to finally conquer Troy, once and for all. Year after year, the Greeks continually attacked and laid siege upon Troy, but the city was so well designed it resisted the offensive and remained strong and free.

“Finally appearing to give up, the Greek army disassembled their war machines and marched back to their ships on the coast. Trojan spies watched them sail away to the west, back towards Greece. In defeat, the Greeks left one thing behind for the Trojan people. At the front gate of Troy, the Greeks, in admiration it appeared of the resilience of the Trojan people, had left a huge wooden warhorse as a gift to the victors. The people of Troy broke out in wild celebration. They accepted the Greek gift and wheeled the wooden horse in through the main gates, placing it at the centre of their city for all Trojan people to admire.

“Then, in the dark hours of early morning, once the celebrations had ended and the streets fell quiet, a small door opened up in the belly of the horse. A dozen Greek soldiers slipped out of its hollow interior and melted into the shadows of the quiet streets of Troy. The Greek soldiers stole their way to the main gate, killing the Trojan watch, and taking control of the gate mechanisms. The Greek invaders then raised the city’s most important defense, its perfect wood and iron main gate.

“Unbeknownst to the Trojans, the Greek ships had only sailed as far as the horizon, then quickly returned to the Trojan beaches on the breezes of the moonless night. Seeing the gate open, thousands of Greek soldiers charged into the defenseless sleeping city, pillaging and murdering the population without mercy.

“In a single night, the entire city of Troy had been defeated. The few Trojans who were not killed were bound and shipped back to Greece to be put to use as slaves. The once proud Trojan people were destroyed by the only flaw in their perfect city. And what was the flaw, lads?”

Connor frowned. “The Trojans themselves were the flaw. They had a perfect fortress, yet a single human mistake brought defeat to a whole nation.”

Sir Rudyard smiled. “Well said, Connor. So look around. This building may look imposing, and it is, for I helped build it myself, but still, the massive walls and weapons that protect the Kirkwall Sea Fortress are only as formidable as the soldiers housed within its walls.”

The two boys smiled in anticipation. They didn’t feel anywhere near deserving of such honour as this, but a sudden burst of sunlight through the dreary grey sky lit a fire within Connor’s heart. His contribution to the Templar cause might end up being insignificant, but at least he could live with the knowledge that he had tried his best to repay his family’s debt to the Sinclair family.

They came to a stop in front of the closed gate. The two pillars seemed to reach up out of the ground like massive arms, flexing their huge muscles to maintain the height of the protruding defensive wall that now loomed above their heads. The group of men spread out in front of the gate, their heads lowered. A small door opened, almost undetectable in the thick wood of the gate. A cloaked figure, face hidden behind a black mask, stepped out into the stiff sea breeze. A long white tunic hung under the cloak. On the chest of the tunic was the black cross of the Sinclair clan. His cloak undulated in the ocean breeze, giving the strange gatekeeper the appearance of a mysterious apparition.

The ghostly figure approached Sir Rudyard, where they conversed briefly. Then Sir Rudyard shook the hand that materialized from beneath the cloak and moved to one side. One by one, each man did the same, following the order of Templar rank. Angus and Connor were the last to approach the gatekeeper.

Connor watched as Angus was led a few steps away by the gatekeeper until they were out of hearing range. He wished he could somehow eavesdrop on the conversation. His tired mind was trying valiantly to remember the lines that had been taught to him as he rode the swells of the North Sea. Strangely, the apparition did not shake Angus’s hand. Instead, he watched Angus sit on the ground before him, his legs bending and feet together until they formed a square. The apparition then pulled out from beneath the cloak a small book with the Templar cross on its leather cover. He passed it to Angus, who held it against his chest. He placed a black hood over his Angus’s head. Finally, a noose was slipped loosely around his neck. After another low conversation, Angus stood up, still blindfolded, and was led by the noose to the line of Templar knights. His father removed the noose and hood, shook hands with his son, then proudly hugged him. Angus moved down the line of men, shaking their hands in turn. After shaking hands, Angus stepped aside and gave Connor a flash of a smile.

Connor swallowed hard and respectfully walked up to the masked gatekeeper. He sat on the ground and formed the square with his legs. He was handed the Templar Book of Codes, and the world disappeared as a hood was placed over his head. Then a rough rope fell around his neck. A voice spoke.

“What supports our fortress?”

“Three pillars,” answered Connor nervously.

“Pray, what are their names, brother?”

“Wisdom, strength and beauty.”

“What do they represent?”

“Three grand masters: Solomon, King of Israel; Hiram of Tyre; and Hiram Abiff, who was killed by three fellow-crafts.”

“What were the concerns of these grand masters while building Solomon’s Temple?”

Connor paused. The next line had left him! Panicked, he blinked into the darkness.

“Solomon . . . found provisions . . . and money to pay the workmen; Hiram, King of Tyre, provided the materials for the building, and Hiram Abiff performed and superintended the work.”

“Stand, young man.”

With a gentle tug, Connor was led by the rope about twenty steps then stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. It was never mentioned what would happen should he fail the initiation. A shiver of fear ran down his spine. Perhaps it was better that he not know.

The hood suddenly lifted. Connor blinked. He was staring into the ebony face of the gatekeeper’s mask. A hand was extended, and they shook in the secretive way he and Angus had practiced on the ship. The gatekeeper finally removed his mask. Connor’s jaw dropped. The rugged, handsome face and blue eyes that were now smiling at him belonged to none other than Prince Henry himself.

“Well done, Connor MacDonald. Welcome to the Templar Order.”

“P . . . Prince Henry!” Connor fell to his knees.

Prince Henry grabbed him and lifted him up, smiling warmly. “Up, young lad, and look me in the eyes. We are all brothers under God.”

Connor rose to his feet and stared into face of his personal saviour. He wanted to say so much, but his tongue failed him.

“I heard about your mother,” continued the prince. “My lady informed me of the tragic sickness. Since coming to Roslin, your mother had been a loyal servant and confidante to my wife, and we will always be indebted to her. We will both miss her very much.”

“Thank you, your highness,” answered Connor, trying desperately to keep his emotions in check. “So will I.”

“As you should, lad. Now, go down the line and meet your fellow knights.”

Starting with Sir Rudyard, Connor shook hands with the line of fighters, each one giving him a warm welcome that was accompanied by the secret handshake. Finally, Angus shook his hand and slapped him hard on the back, grinning from ear to ear. Prince Henry stepped back and addressed the line of men.

“Thank you, my brothers, for coming to Kirkwall on such short notice. As some of you already know, the miracle for which we have all striven is finally nearing completion. Time is of the essence, gentlemen. We must finish our Holy Mission while the necessary supports are in place. Please, follow me.”

Prince Henry led them through the small portal and into the heart of Kirkwall Castle. Connor was amazed by the thickness of the gate itself, solid wood as wide as his own body and nearly twice the breadth of the one at Roslin. Once in the dark gateway, two burly soldiers locked the entrance behind them by placing huge logs on top of two pairs of L-shaped metal braces.

The gatehouse was lit by rows of flickering torches. Several large doors had been built into the rock walls below the barbican. Connor was able to catch a glimpse into one of the doors as they passed. His jaw dropped as he saw rows of scribes sitting at tables, surrounded by what seemed like endless stacks of gold and silver coins. Their hands flew with quill in hand as they wrote down numerical figures and information in huge, leather-bound ledgers.

Connor glanced right, towards the source of screeching metal. A large work area contained a dozen men, labouring over piles of shiny small rings. Many held hammers and pliers as they laboriously wielded the metal links into lifesaving chain mail armour.

Connor caught a glimpse into a final room to his right. The small room held only three men. With beards as long as their flowing robes, Connor suddenly realized he had seen those men before in the halls of Roslin. These were men who possessed the magical powers of reading, writing and mathematics. The long table in front of the men was covered in an assortment of models, maps, diagrams and toy-like contraptions. Connor could tell they were having a heated discussion about one of the maps, but the group moved on before his curiosity could determine the point of the debate.

The knights then burst out into the misty air of the outer bailey. Ignoring the grazing chickens and goats, they crossed the wide grassy area and approached the formidable keep that stood watch over the troubled sea. Through an impressively high arch, the men entered the tallest building of the fortress. Connor gaped in wonder as the cavernous rectangular Great Hall opened up before them. Prince Henry led them to the centre of the immense room. A series of parallel tables lay before them, and Connor froze in awe. Laid out like a gift from heaven was a feast worthy of a king. He had never seen so much food in one place in his entire life! A raucous gathering of seated knights were already enjoying the spread as servants brought out wooden platters of roasted pig.

Prince Henry turned to face the travellers. “I suggest you join in the feast before the rest of the castle arrives. This is for you, a special meal for my friends from distant lands! Enjoy the food, for once the festivities end, we will have much to do.”

Connor stared at the men, who did not hesitate to sit at the nearest opening on the benches and tear into the feast before them. Angus, noticing an empty bench at the end of the table, turned and waved Connor over.

“Come on, Connor! We’re brothers now. Sit down!”

Connor reluctantly made his way to the table and sat down beside Angus. “I think this will take some getting used to.”

Eyes wide, he filled his plate with succulent pork as the hall quickly filled to capacity. Washing it down with a warming mouthful of wine, Connor felt a wave of warmth he had not experienced since his mother had passed away. He looked down the table, where seasoned warriors were bellowing with laughter and shouting insults. Connor couldn’t help feel that he was now part of a very special group.

After their stomachs were stuffed to aching, the boys staggered away from the table and approached Sir Rudyard, who was in discussion, ale in hand, with three other knights. Seeing the boys, he introduced them to the group.

“Gentlemen, here is my son, Angus, and his friend, Connor. Boys, this is Sir Andre de Boullion of Normandy, and to my right, we have Nicolo Auzurra and Tomasso Iacoe of Venice.”

The boys shook hands with the beefy warriors.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” said de Boullion in a melodic French accent.

“And if you have the blood of your father in your heart, then you will surely become an honourable warrior,” said Iacoe to Angus.

“Rudyard,” interjected Auzurra. “when your boys have time, you should send them out to me, and I will show them the latest additions to Prince Henry’s arsenal.”

Sir Rudyard nodded. “Thank you, Nicolo. I’m sure they will find your designs quite intriguing. But first, I need to give them a tour of the castle.”

The men parted ways, and Sir Rudyard walked the boys across the hall. “Why are you here, boys?”

Taken aback by the question, Connor and Angus hesitated.

“Connor?”

“I can’t speak for Angus, but I’m here to fight for Prince Henry. I wouldn’t hesitate to lay down my life for him in battle.”

Sir Rudyard frowned as they stepped out once again into the fresh air. “Prince Henry appreciates your loyalty, but being a Templar must go beyond following your leader blindly into battle. I know he saved the lives of you and your mother. But even Prince Henry has been called to a higher purpose. That is why he has been away from Roslin and his family for so long.

“The tasks that lie ahead will be extremely difficult. As a Templar, you are no longer master of yourself. You must make yourself a servant to all. You must listen to orders, regardless of your own personal opinion. You must also live in poverty, do penitence and forsake the sins of the world. Will you be able to do this, Connor?”

Connor did not hesitate. “Everything I now have is due to the mercy of Prince Henry. If he wishes me to live as you say, then I will not hesitate to say yes.”

Sir Rudyard nodded approvingly. “And how about you, Angus?”

He smiled at his father. “I am your son. I wish only to follow in your footsteps, father.”

Sir Rudyard his arms around them both in a warm embrace. “Good. Follow me, lads.”

He led them across the great hall to a side door. They strolled along a walkway, crossing a small grassy yard, and came to a stop at the base of a building unlike any Connor had ever seen. It was a tall octagonal structure, each corner supported by a single, majestic arch. The eight arches together curved to a high peak, giving the building the appearance of an elongated spider. Between the arches hung thick curtains that slowly moved in the evening breeze. The three men ducked around one of the curtains and entered the shadows of the temple.

Their eyes slowly adjusted to the low light. Connor gasped in awe at the stunning beauty of the intimate sanctuary. Beneath their feet, inlaid with black and white marble, was a detailed tiling of the eight-pointed Templar Cross. Slicing the Templar Cross through its heart was a thin gold line aflame in a narrow beam of the afternoon sun, penetrating through a narrow gap in the curtains. Above, a huge cross-shaped chandelier hung majestically, its candles illuminating the vaulted ceiling, giving Connor the feeling he was inside a giant eggshell. A five petal rose has been painted onto the inside surface of the ceiling.

He then noticed the beauty of the curtains themselves. They were not just simple coverings, but elaborate tapestries of people and places detailed in vivid, almost lifelike colour. Sir Rudyard followed his eyes to the side of the sanctuary. “Each tapestry tells a biblical story that remains close to the heart of every Templar knight.”

“They’re incredible,” whispered Connor.

He took in each scene. The first one he recognized as Mary Magdalene meeting Jesus in the garden after the Resurrection. Next to it was a powerful image of David defeating Goliath with the sling. Connor, however, couldn’t take his eyes off the tapestry to his immediate right.

“Do you like that one?” asked Sir Rudyard.

“It’s breathtaking,” said Connor, awestruck. “But I don’t recognize the scene. What is it?”

Sir Rudyard stepped forward and pointed to the tapestry. “This tapestry describes the construction of the Temple of Solomon. It was a structure designed for God Himself, one in which He could reside, if He so chose. Look at the some of the decorations chosen for God by King Solomon. Palm trees made of solid gold, huge brass lions guarding the doorways and intricately carved statues . . . these were displayed throughout the Temple. Even an indoor sea of molten metal decorated the perimeter of the room!”

“Incredible,” muttered Connor.

“Those two pillars near the bottom of the tapestry,” pointed out Angus. “Those are just like the ones outside the castle.”

“Well done, Angus,” agreed Sir Rudyard. “The original Jachin and Boaz. Behind those pillars was a very special room.”

“The Holy of Holies,” answered Angus.

“That’s correct. The Holy of Holies was the room in which God Himself would reside. Hiram Abiff, the architect of the Temple, designed and built Solomon’s Temple using the perfect symmetries of mathematics. It was the mathematical perfection of the building that allowed the Temple to be worthy enough for God Himself to call it home. That is why we strive for all of our temples, including the one we’re standing in right now, to be mathematically perfect.”

Connor peered closely at the tapestry. “What is that golden box, the one sitting on the pedestal within the Holy of Holies, Sir Rudyard?”

“Do you see the two golden angels on top of the lid, wings extended towards each other, their tips almost touching? That is the Ark of the Covenant. It is made of solid gold.”

“Solid gold?” repeated Connor, trying to imagine such a huge quantity of the precious metal.

“Yes, but the real treasure was actually the item kept within the box itself.”

“What was it?” asked the boys, in unison.

“The Ten Commandments. The very tablets on which God had written his laws on Mount Sinai for Moses to take to the Israelites. It is said that an army who goes forth into battle with the Ark of the Covenant fights with the power of God. Needless to say, an army led by the Ark becomes invincible. The Bible records battles where a powerful light flashed out from the Ark, destroying entire enemy armies in a single instant. After word of The Ark’s power reached nearby kingdoms, attacking armies would flee at the sight of it.”

The boys stared silently at the image of the golden box. The possibility of such a thing existing on Earth was simply too overwhelming for Connor to even contemplate.

The chapel grew noticeably darker as the sun dipped below the jagged hills of Orkney Island. Noticing the loss of light, Sir Rudyard led the boys outside and back into the castle.

“You have had a long journey. Your battle training will begin tomorrow, so I suggest you find a mat in the Great Hall and get a good night’s sleep.”

The three said good night and the boys walked across the Great Hall, pulled out two unused woven straw pallets from a pile in the corner and joined a dozen other men already asleep on the floor. Angus’s eyes were shut before his head hit the ground, and in no time, he was snoring contentedly.

Connor collapsed onto his pallet and allowed his body to sag under the exhaustion of the past three days. His mind, however, swam with the wonders of all he had just experienced since arriving at Kirkwall Castle. He simply couldn’t fathom what might be in store for him on the morrow.