The Templar Legacy (50 page)

“Carried in a piece at a time. Nothing would have stopped them, short of capture or death.”

“That would have taken some effort.”

“All they had was time.”

They were both intent on the ground ahead of them as Mark gently tested the surface before each step.

“Their precautions would not have been sophisticated,” Mark said. “But they would have been effective. The Order possessed vaults all over Europe. Most they guarded, along with rigging traps. Here, secretion itself and a few traps had to do the job without guards. The last thing they would have wanted was to draw attention to this place by having knights around.”

“Your father would have loved this.” She had to say it.

“I know.”

Her light caught something ahead on the passage wall. She grabbed hold of Mark’s shoulder and stopped him. “Look.”

Carved into the rock were letters.

NON NOBIS DOMINE

NON NOBIS SED NOMINE TUO DA GLORIUM

PAUPERSCOMMILITONESCHRISTITEMPLIQUESALAMONIS

“What does it say?” she asked.

“ ‘Not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to Thy name give the glory. Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon.’ It’s the Templar motto.”

“So it’s true. This is it.”

Mark said nothing.

“May God forgive me,” she whispered.

“God has little to do with this. Man created this mess and it’s up to man to clean it up.” He motioned farther down the passage with his light. “Look there.”

She stared into the halo and saw a metal grille—a gate—that opened into another passage.

“Is that where everything is stored?” she asked.

Not waiting for an answer, she moved around him and had taken only a few steps when she heard Mark cry out, “No.”

Then the ground slipped away.

MALONE STARED AT THE SIGHT ILLUMINATED BY THEIR COMBINEDlights. A skeleton. Lying prostrate on the cavern floor, the shoulders, neck, and skull propped up against the wall.

“Let’s get closer,” he said.

They inched ahead and he noticed a slight depression in the floor. He grasped Cassiopeia’s shoulder.

“I see it,” she said, stopping. “It’s a long one. Stretches a couple of yards.”

“Those damn pits would have been invisible in their time, but the wood beneath has weakened enough to show them.” They moved around the depression, staying on solid ground, and approached the skeleton.

“There’s nothing left but bones,” she said.

“Look at the chest. The ribs. And the face. Shattered in places. He fell into that trap. Those gashes are from spikes.”

“Who is he?”

Something caught his eye.

He bent down and found a blackened silver chain among the bones. He lifted it out. A medallion dangled from the loop. He focused the light. “The Templar seal. Two men on a single horse. It represented individual poverty. I saw a drawing of this in a book a few nights ago. My bet is this is the marshal who wrote the report we’ve been using. He disappeared from the abbey once he learned the solution to the cryptogram from the priest Gélis. He came, figured out the solution, but wasn’t careful. Saunière probably found the body and just left him here.”

“But how would Saunière have figured anything out? How did he solve the cryptogram? Mark let me read that report. According to Gélis, Saunière had not solved the puzzle he found in his church and Gélis was suspicious of him, so he told Saunière nothing.”

“That’s assuming what the marshal wrote was true. Either Saunière or the marshal killed Gélis to keep the priest from telling anyone what he’d deciphered. If it was the marshal, which seems likely, then he filed the report simply as a way to cover his tracks. A way for no one to think he left the abbey to come here and find the Order’s Great Devise for himself. What did it matter that he recorded the cryptogram? There’s no way to solve the thing without the mathematical sequence.”

He turned his attention away from the dead man and shone his light farther down the passage. “Look at that.”

Cassiopeia stood and together they saw a cross with four equal arms, wide at the ends, carved into the rock.

“The cross patee,” she said. “Allowed to be worn only by the Templars thanks to a papal decree.”

He recalled more of what he’d read in the Templar book. “The crosses were red on a white mantle and symbolized a willingness to suffer martyrdom in fighting infidels.” With his flashlight, he traced the lettering above the cross.

PAR CE SIGNE TU LE VAINCRAS

“By this sign ye shall conquer him,” he said, translating. “Those same words are in the church at Rennes, above the holy water fount at the door. Saunière put them there.”

“Constantine’s declaration when he first fought Maxentius. Before the battle, he supposedly saw a cross on the sun with those words emblazoned beneath.”

“With one difference. Mark said there was no him in the original phrase. Only By this sign ye shall conquer. ”

“He’s right.”

“Saunière inserted le after tu. At the thirteenth and fourteenth position in the phrase. 1314.”

“The year Jacques de Molay was executed.”

“Seems Saunière enjoyed a touch of irony in his symbolism, and he got the idea right here.”

He searched more of the darkness and saw that the passage ended twenty feet ahead. But before that, a metal grille locked by a chain and hasp blocked a path that led off into another direction.

Cassiopeia saw it, too. “Seems we found it.”

A rumble came from behind them and someone shouted, “No.”

They both turned.

DEROQUEFORT STOPPED AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE RUINS ANDmotioned his men to flank out to either side. The site was uncomfortably quiet. No movement. No voices. Nothing. Brother Geoffrey stood beside him. He remained worried that he was being set up. Which was why he’d come with firepower. He was pleased with his council’s selection of knights—these men were some of the best in his ranks, experienced fighters of unquestioned courage and fortitude—which he might well need.

He peered around a pile of lichen-encrusted rubble, deeper into the decayed structure, past billows of standing grass. The bright dome of sky overhead was fading as the sun beat a retreat behind the mountains. Darkness would arrive shortly. And he worried about the weather. Squalls and rain came without warning in the Pyrenean summer.

He motioned and his men advanced forward, clambering over boulders and collapsed wall sections. He spied a campsite among three partial walls. Wood had been arranged for a fire that had yet to be lit.

“I’ll go in,” Geoffrey whispered. “They’re expecting me.”

He saw the wisdom of that move and nodded.

Geoffrey calmly walked into the open and approached the camp. Still no one was around. Then the younger man disappeared deeper into the ruins. A moment later he emerged and signaled for them to come.

De Roquefort told his men to wait and only he stepped into the open. He’d already directed his lieutenant to attack if necessary.

“Only Thorvaldsen is in the church,” Geoffrey said.

“What church?”

“The monks cut a church into the rock. They’ve discovered a portal beneath the altar that leads to caves. The others are beneath us exploring. I told Thorvaldsen that I was going to retrieve the supplies.”

He liked what he was hearing.

“I’d want to meet Henrik Thorvaldsen.”

With gun in hand, he followed Geoffrey into the dungeon-like cavity carved from the rock. Thorvaldsen stood with his back to them, gazing down into what was once a support for the altar.

The old man turned as they came close.

De Roquefort raised his gun. “Not a word. Or it will be your last.”

THE EARTH BENEATHSTEPHANIE’S FEET HAD GIVEN WAY AND HERlegs were collapsing into one of the traps they’d tried so hard to avoid. What had she been thinking? Seeing the words etched into the rock and then the metal gate waiting to be opened, she’d realized that her husband had been right. So she’d abandoned caution and raced forward. Mark had tried to stop her. She heard him scream, but it had been too late.

She was already heading down.

Her hands went skyward in an attempt to balance and she readied herself for the bronze stakes. But then she felt an arm encase her chest in a tight embrace. Then she was falling backward, to the ground, which she struck, another body cushioning her impact.

A second later, quiet.

Mark lay beneath her.

“You okay?” she asked, rolling off him.

Her son raised himself off the gravel. “Those rocks felt lovely on my back.”

Heavy footsteps sounded in the darkness behind them, accompanied by two orbs of waggling light. Malone and Cassiopeia appeared.

“What happened?” Malone asked.

“I was careless,” she said, standing, brushing herself off.

Malone shone a light down into the rectangular hole. “That would have been a bloody fall. It’s full of stakes, all in good shape.”

She came close, stared down into the opening, then turned and said to Mark, “Thanks, son.”

Mark was rubbing the back of his neck, working the pain from his muscles. “No problem.”

“Malone,” Cassiopeia said. “Take a look.”

Stephanie watched as Malone and Cassiopeia studied the Templar motto she and Mark had found. “I was headed to that gate when the hole got in the way.”

“Two of them,” Malone muttered. “At opposite ends of this corridor.”

“There’s another grille?” Mark asked.

“With another inscription.”

She listened as Malone told them what they’d found.

“I agree with you,” Mark said. “That skeleton has to be our long-lost marshal.” He fished a chain from beneath his shirt. “We all wear the medallion. They’re given at induction.”

“Apparently,” Malone said, “the Templars hedged their bets and separated the cache.” He motioned to the floor trap. “And they made it a challenge to find. The marshal should have been more careful.” Malone faced Stephanie. “As we all should.”

“I understand,” she said. “But, as you so often remind me, I’m not a field agent.”

He smiled at her sarcasm. “So let’s see what’s behind that grille.”

DEROQUEFORT AIMED THE SHORT BARREL OF HIS WEAPON DIRECTLYat Henrik Thorvaldsen’s furrowed brow. “I’m told you’re one of the wealthiest men in Europe.”

“And I’m told you’re one of the most ambitious prelates in recent memory.”

“You shouldn’t listen to Mark Nelle.”

“I didn’t. His father told me.”

“His father didn’t know me.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You followed him around enough.”

“Which turned out to be a waste of time.”

“Did that make it easier for you to kill him?”

“Is that what you think? That I killed Lars Nelle?”

“Him and Ernst Scoville.”

“You know nothing, old man.”

“I know you’re a problem.” Thorvaldsen motioned to Geoffrey. “I know he’s a traitor to his friend. And his Order.”

De Roquefort watched as Geoffrey absorbed the insult, disdain sweeping into the younger man’s pale gray eyes, then just as quickly dissipating.

“I’m loyal to my master. That’s the oath I took.”

“So you betrayed us for your oath?”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I don’t, and never will.”

De Roquefort lowered his gun, then gestured for his men. They swarmed into the church and he motioned for silence. A few hand signals and they instantly understood that six were to position themselves outside and the remaining six to encircle the interior.

MALONE STEPPED AROUND THE TRAPSTEPHANIE HAD EXPOSEDand approached the metal grille. The others followed. He noticed a heart-shaped padlock suspended from a chain. “Brass.” He caressed the gate. “But the gate is bronze.”

“The padlock and chain have to be from Saunière’s time,” Mark said. “Brass was a rare Middle Age commodity. Zinc was needed to make it and that was hard to come by.”

“The lock is a cœur-de-brass, ” Cassiopeia said. “They were once prevalent all over this region to fasten slave chains.”

None of them moved to open the gate and Malone knew why. Another trap could lie in wait.

With his boot, he gently brushed the soil and gravel beneath his feet and tested the earth. Solid. He used his light and examined the gate’s exterior. Two bronze hinges supported the right edge. He shone the light through the grille. The corridor beyond right-angled sharply a few feet inside and nothing could be seen past the bend. Great. He tested the chain and lock. “This brass is still strong. We’re not going to able to pound it away.”

“How about cutting it?” Cassiopeia asked.

“That would work. But with what?”

“The bolt cutters I brought. They’re in the tool bag topside, by the generator.”

“I’ll go get them,” Mark said.

“ANYBODY UP THERE?”

The words echoed from inside the hollow altar support and startled de Roquefort. Then he quickly realized that the voice was Mark Nelle’s. Thorvaldsen moved to answer, but de Roquefort grabbed the crooked old man and clamped a hand across the mouth before he could utter a sound. He then signaled for one of the brothers, who rushed forward and grabbed the kicking Dane, a new hand sheathing Thorvaldsen’s mouth. He pointed and the prisoner was dragged to a far corner of the church.

“Answer him,” he mouthed to Geoffrey.

This would be an interesting test of his newfound ally’s loyalty.

Geoffrey stuffed his gun between his belt and stepped to the altar. “I’m here.”

“You’re back. Good. Any problems?”

“None. Bought everything on the list. What’s happening down there?”

“We found something, but we need bolt cutters. They’re in the tool bag by the generator.”

He watched as Geoffrey moved toward the generator and removed a pair of heavy-duty bolt cutters.

What had they found?

Geoffrey tossed the tool down.

“Thanks,” Mark Nelle said. “You coming?”

“I’ll stay here with Thorvaldsen and keep an eye on things. We don’t need any uninvited guests.”

“Good idea. Where’s Henrik?”

“Unpacking what I bought and getting the camp ready for the night. The sun’s nearly gone. I’ll go help him.”

“You might want to get the generator ready and the power cords unraveled for the light bars. We may need those shortly.”