Читать книгу Betrayed - Christopher Dinsdale - Страница 9

Four Years Later . . . Near a shoreline that, far in the future, would be called Mahone Bay, Nova Scotia, May, 1397

Glooscap!” his sister screamed. “He’s returned!” Na’gu’set rubbed his eyes, not yet fully awake. He had just returned from a four-month paddle to the land of the corn growers. His body ached from the constant paddling, and he had uncharacteristically slept late. Ronalaka, wide-eyed and braided hair flying, hopped back and forth impatiently in the entrance of the wigwam.

Midmorning light poured in through the entrance but what he found strange was the silence beyond the doorway. The village was usually a buzz of activity during the daytime hours.

“Where is everyone?”

She shook her head impatiently. “I’ve already told you! It’s Glooscap! He’s in the bay! Just like in the stories you told me by the fire! He came on the back of not just one but three whales! The whole village is there to meet him, but they need you! You’re the only one who knows the tongue of the Teachers!”

“Glooscap?” he said, straightening. He could not believe what he was hearing. “In the bay? Are you sure?”

“Yes! Hurry!”

And with that, the young girl turned and sprinted away.

“So, how many fair damsels are awaiting our arrival with open arms this time?”

Prince Henry lowered the hand that was protecting his eyes from the early morning sun and gave his Italian friend a poisonous stare. Antonio’s twinkling dark eyes rolled heavenward, and he shook his head sadly, allowing the thick black curls that covered his head to sway back and forth. Prince Henry returned his gaze to the coast.

“Do not forget that I am paying you to complete the mapping of this voyage. Next time leave your secret ambitions of being a court jester in Venice.”

Antonio smiled at his captain. He often thought of the life Prince Henry could have had if he had chosen not to accept his inherited role as Protector of the Templar Order. He had seen on many occasions the countless number of wealthy and beautiful women who had attempted to woo the ruggedly handsome prince. He had caught the female whispers at castle dinners as they admired his chiselled Nordic features and the thick, wavy blond hair that framed his penetrating blue eyes. Prince Henry could have married a princess, enjoyed the royal trappings of mistresses, wealth and power and lived a comfortable life without ever having to take one step beyond the borders of his beloved Scotland. And yet this charismatic man chose to stay true to his two true loves, his wife, Princess Janet, and his devotion to the Templar Order.

Yet those qualities were not the ones which had bound Antonio to his leader and best friend. The intoxicating power of the sea ran equally through their veins. They both had a burning love for the challenge and adventure of ocean exploration. Their duty to the Templar Order had taken them to the coasts of Africa and Asia Minor. But those voyages paled in comparison to the miraculous crossing of the Atlantic Ocean. Together, they had followed the ancient maps of Prince Henry’s Viking ancestors to the land the Nordic explorers called Vinland. It had been almost four hundred years since the last European had set foot on these distant lands! Vinland was indeed beautiful and seemingly endless. But as the Viking sagas foretold, it was a land already claimed.

“Are they stained red like those at our last landing?”

Prince Henry shook his head. “No red stain this time. They are all dark-skinned.”

“Praise the Lord,” Antonio replied. “We might not need the cannon this time.”

Prince Henry smiled. “Let’s hope not.” He nodded. “This reception seems quite different. No sign of weapons. The people actually seem to be enthusiastic to see us, not nervous or angry.”

“Enthusiastic to have us for dinner, perhaps?” Antonio quipped.

Prince Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Prepare a skiff for launch.”

Antonio squinted at the people lining the shore. “I’ve always trusted your amazing eyesight, Henry. If you think they’re going to throw us a welcoming party, then I believe you. But do you think it prudent of me to still prepare the cannon? Just in case?”

Prince Henry’s blue eyes sparkled in the morning light as he lifted a battle-tested helmet and placed it over this thick mat of yellow hair. “Fools only hope for the best without preparing for the worst. Aye, Antonio. Prepare the cannon.”

He stood in the bow of the landing craft as a half-dozen of his most trusted knights paddled for shore. The men were dressed in full battle gear, their metal breastplates, helmets and swords glistening in the bright spring sunshine. As they neared shore, the men raised their paddles, and the boat skidded up onto the pebbly shoreline.

Prince Henry stepped over the rail of the boat and onto the shore facing the leather-clad crowd. Almost a hundred people approached and surrounded their tiny craft.

A gasp rippled though the native population as they noticed Prince Henry’s eyes. They were as blue as a clear winter sky. What could that mean, they wondered? Such eyes had never been seen before. Surely he was not of this world.

The rest of the crew jumped off the boat and fell into a v-shaped position on either side of their leader, one hand resting on the handle of their swords. Prince Henry stepped forward and addressed the gathering in Gaelic. “My name is Prince Henry Sinclair. I come to you in peace.”

The crowd looked at each other, then back to the strange visitors. A voice from the back of the crowd spoke up. Prince Henry did not recognize the unusual tongue, but it had an effect on the crowd, for the wall of people parted and allowed a young man with long, black, braided hair to step forward, seemingly out of breath. Prince Henry assessed the wiry young man. His lean, muscular shoulders were well-defined, and he moved with a natural agility. Like most of the men of the gathering, he was wearing only a simple loincloth and leather shoes.

His dark, calm eyes examined Prince Henry as he caught his breath. The prince looked to his men, and not sensing any danger, simply shrugged and waited to see what would happen next. The young man reached toward Prince Henry’s head with his hands and touched the helmet. Then, with surprising quickness, he lifted the helmet right off the prince’s head! The move surprised the soldiers beside the prince, and they began to draw their swords.

Prince Henry raised his hand, ordering them to stand down. The crowd rippled in apprehension as the raised helmet released the prince’s golden locks. Even Na’gu’set stepped back in surprise.

“Glooscap was not to have hair as golden as maize,” he muttered.

It was Prince Henry’s turn to be surprised. He stared at the young stranger in awe. “Did you just speak in the Celtic tongue? How is that possible?”

Na’gu’set was still staring at his golden hair, the helmet now secure under his arm. “You do not know about the Village of The Teachers? How is that possible when you speak The Teachers’ tongue?”

Prince Henry tried to make sense of it all. “Why did you call me Glooscap?”

“The Ancient Teachers predicted your return. You are Glooscap, the Pale One. Your people taught us the ways of the Great Manitou. They said to always be prepared for this day. It is an honour for me to be the one to welcome you back to our land. My name is Na’gu’set. I am your humble servant.”

Na’gu’set lowered his head submissively. From around his neck, a stone pendant dangled and gleamed in the bright sunlight. Prince Henry’s blue eyes crinkled in joyous amazement as he reached forth and examined it. He then grabbed hold of Na’gu’set’s shoulders and straightened him back up.

“Na’gu’set, my name is not Glooscap. My name is Prince Henry of Orkney, and although I am a prince, I consider everyone of my faith a brother or sister. You are a servant to no one but God Almighty Himself. And by the love of St. Mary, boys . . . look at this!”

The men gathered round and were stunned by the intricate Celtic stone cross that Prince Henry displayed in his palm.

“So those old legends were true!” blurted one.

“How can this be? We are an ocean away from Eire!”

Prince Henry smiled. “I have been to see the Irish monks on Iona, and they have written records of those early voyages to the far western island they called the Land of Promise.”

“But those were just tales of legend, were they not?” questioned another sailor. “Are you saying that the ancient Irish crossed the Atlantic in skin-covered boats only the size of a horse’s cart?”

Prince Henry laughed. “Remember, those Irish monks survived to see Iceland and Greenland in skin-covered boats. Why couldn’t they come all the way west to these new lands as well? St. Brendan and his men of the cloth beat us here by over seven hundred years! Just look at this beautiful cross and Na’gu’set’s knowledge of our sister language. ’Tis the only possible explanation!”

“But what does it all mean?”

Prince Henry grasped Na’gu’set by the shoulders. “It means that our almost impossible quest may now have a much better chance at success, thanks to old St. Brendan and his miraculous voyage. Na’gu’set, are you the only one in the village who can speak in the tongue of the Teachers?”

He nodded. “I grew up in the Village of The Teachers, a three-day paddle from here. My distant ancestor, a woman named Kiera, came from the Land of the Teachers, and this cross has been passed on from one generation to the next. We were taught the lessons of the Great Manitou. Many men from the village are sent to all the different nations of the lands to teach our beliefs.”

Prince Henry thought for a minute. He looked around at the surrounding silent crowd. It took a moment for the stunning revelations to sink in, but a smile slowly crept across his face. “Na’gu’set, if it is acceptable to your people, my crew and I would like to stay here for a while.”

Na’gu’set nodded. “I will ask the elders.” He turned to the crowd and conversed with a small group of older men. “Our elders would like to know what brings you back to the land of the Mi’kmaq.”

“Na’gu’set,” grinned Prince Henry, “you will soon be in the presence of a treasure that the Ancient Teachers would have sacrificed their very lives to see, if only for just a moment.”

“Treasure?” he asked, puzzled. “I do not know this word.”

“The word treasure means items of great importance. Some are beautiful works of art made to glorify God, or the Great Manitou, as you call him. Others are important pieces that have been created by hand to partake in worshipping the greatest of all Teachers. And one piece, the most important one of all, was created by the Hand of God himself.”

Na’gu’set stared into the smiling blue eyes of the prince, trying to comprehend what he had just been told. “The treasure, The Great Manitou’s treasure . . . is it out there, on your whale?”

Confused, Prince Henry followed the young man’s eyes out into the bay. “Whale? Ah . . . no, ’tis not on the ships. It is back in the Land of the Teachers. You must understand, the reason we are here, and surely the reason God brought us to you, is to help us find a safe resting place for our treasure. There are many people in other lands who desire our treasure, and because of their greed, the holy relics will soon be in grave danger. We need to find a place where the treasure can rest until the divided, sinful world we left behind is once again worthy enough to possess such holy objects.”

Na’gu’set looked out to the ships. “I will do whatever I can to help you. I am honoured to be in your service, Teacher.”

“No, not Teacher. Brother.” Prince Henry grabbed him by the shoulders. “I am your brother, Na’gu’set.”

Na’gu’set smiled and locked his gaze upon the blue-eyed stranger. “I am honoured to be of service, my brother.”