The Templar Legacy (53 page)

De Roquefort was reading over his shoulder and said, “That book was placed within the ossuary for a reason.”

Mark agreed.

“See what follows?”

“I thought you were here for the brothers? Should this not be returned to the abbey and read to all?”

“I’ll make that decision after I read it.”

He wondered if the brothers would ever know. But he wanted to know, so he studied the script on the next page and recognized the jumble of scribbles and scratches. “It’s in Aramaic. I can only read a few words. That language has been gone for two thousand years.”

“The incipit spoke of a translation.”

He carefully lifted the pages and saw that the Aramaic spanned four leaves. Then he saw words he could understand.THE WORDS OF THE BROTHERS. Latin. The vellum had survived in excellent condition, its surface the color of aged parchment. The colored ink, too, was still clear. A title headed the text.

THE TESTIMONY OF SIMON

He started reading.

MALONE APPROACHED ONE OF THE BROTHERS, A MAN DRESSEDlike the other five in jeans and a woolen coat, a cap atop his short hair. At least six more were outside—that’s what de Roquefort had said—but he’d worry about them once the six inside the church were subdued.

At least then he’d be armed.

He watched Stephanie as she grabbed a shovel and started to tend one of the fires, shuffling the timbers and reigniting the flames. Cassiopeia was still at the generator with Henrik, waiting for him and Stephanie to position themselves.

He turned toward Cassiopeia and nodded.

She yanked the starter cord.

The generator sputtered, then died. Two more pulls and the piston caught, the engine emitting a low rumble. The lights on the two tripods came to life, their glow intensifying with the growing voltage. The halogen bulbs heated fast and condensation started to rise from the glass in wisps of mist that just as quickly vanished.

Malone saw that the event caught the guards’ attention. A mistake. On their part. But they’d need a bit more to give Cassiopeia time to fire four air darts. He wondered about her shooting ability, then remembered her marksmanship at Rennes.

The generator continued to growl.

Cassiopeia remained crouched, the tool bag at her feet, seemingly adjusting the dials on the engine.

The lights seemed at full intensity and the guards appeared to have lost interest.

One set of bulbs exploded.

Then the other.

A lightning-white flash mushroomed upward and, in an instant, was gone. Malone used that second to land a punch on the jaw of the brother standing beside him.

The man teetered, then collapsed to the floor.

Malone reached down and disarmed him.

STEPHANIE SCOOPED A BURNING EMBER FROM THE FIRE ANDturned to the guard a few feet away, whose attention was on the exploding lights.

“Hey,” she said.

The man turned. She lobbed the ember. The chunk of white-hot timber floated through the air and the guard reached out to deflect the projectile, but the ember struck him in the chest.

The man screamed and Stephanie slammed the flat side of the shovel into the brother’s face.

MALONE SAWSTEPHANIE TOSS AN EMBER TOWARD THE GUARD, then pound him with the shovel. His gaze then shot toward Cassiopeia as she calmly fired the air gun. She’d already ticked off one shot, as he saw only three men standing. One of the remaining guards reached for his thigh. Another jerked and groped at the back of his jacket.

Both collapsed to the ground.

The last of the short-hairs at the altar saw what was happening to his compatriots and whirled to face Cassiopeia, who was crouched thirty feet away, the air gun aimed directly at him.

The man leaped behind the altar support.

Her shot missed.

Malone knew she was out of darts. It would only be an instant before the brother fired.

He felt the gun in his hand. He hated to use it. The blast would certainly alert not only de Roquefort, but also the brothers outside. So he raced across the church, planted the palms of his hands on the altar support, and, as the brother came up, gun ready, he lunged and used his momentum to kick the brother into the floor.

“Not bad,” Cassiopeia said.

“I thought you said you didn’t miss.”

“He jumped.”

Cassiopeia and Stephanie were disarming the downed brothers. Henrik came close and asked, “You okay?”

“My reflexes haven’t had to do that in a while.”

“Good to know they still work.”

“How’d you do that with the lights?” Henrik asked.

Malone smiled. “Just upped the voltage. Works every time.” He scanned the church. Something was wrong. Why hadn’t any of the brothers outside reacted to the exploding lights? “We should be having company.”

Cassiopeia and Stephanie came close, guns in hand.

“Maybe they’re out in the ruins, toward the front,” Stephanie said.

He stared at the exit. “Or maybe they don’t exist.”

“I assure you, they existed,” a male voice said from outside the church.

A man slowly crept into view, his face shrouded in the shadows.

Malone raised his gun. “And you are?”

The man stopped near one of the fires. His gaze, from deep-set serious eyes, locked on Geoffrey’s sheathed corpse. “The master shot him?”

“With no remorse.”

The man’s face clinched tight and the lips mumbled something. A prayer? Then he said, “I’m chaplain of the Order. Brother Geoffrey called me, too, after he called the master. I came to prevent violence. But we were delayed in arriving.”

Malone lowered his gun. “You were part of whatever it was Geoffrey was doing?”

He nodded. “He didn’t want to contact de Roquefort, but he gave his word to the former master.” The tone was tender. “Now it seems he gave his life, too.”

Malone wanted to know, “What’s happening here?”

“I understand your frustration.”

“No, you don’t,” Henrik said. “That poor young man is dead.”

“And I grieve for him. He served this Order with great honor.”

“Calling de Roquefort was stupid,” Cassiopeia said. “He invited trouble.”

“In the final months of his life, our former master set into motion a complex chain of events. He spoke to me about what he planned. He told me who our seneschal was and why he’d taken him into the Order. He told me of the seneschal’s father and what lay ahead. So I pledged my obedience, as did brother Geoffrey. We knew what was happening. But the seneschal did not, nor did the seneschal know of our involvement. I was told not to become involved until brother Geoffrey requested my help.”

“Your master is below us with my son,” Stephanie said. “Cotton, we need to get down there.”

He heard the impatience in her voice.

“The seneschal and de Roquefort cannot coexist,” the chaplain said. “They’re opposite ends of a long spectrum. For the good of the brotherhood, only one of these men can survive. But my former master wondered if the seneschal could do it alone.” The chaplain stared at Stephanie. “Which is why you are here. He believed you’d bring the seneschal strength.”

Stephanie appeared not in the mood for mysticism. “My son could die thanks to this foolishness.”

“For centuries this Order survived through battle and conflict. That was our way. The former master simply forced a confrontation. He knew de Roquefort and the seneschal would war. But he wanted that war to count for something—to end with something. So he pointed them both toward the Great Devise. He knew it was out there, somewhere, but I doubt if he really believed either one of them would find it. He knew, though, that a conflict would erupt, and a winner would emerge. He also knew that if de Roquefort was the winner, he’d quickly alienate his allies, and he has. The deaths of two brothers weigh heavily on us. All agree there will be more deaths—”

“Cotton,” Stephanie said. “I’m going.”

The chaplain did not move. “The men outside have been subdued. Do what you must. There will be no more bloodshed up here.”

And Malone heard the words that the somber man had not spoken.

Below us, though, is altogether different.

THE TESTIMONY OF SIMON

I have stayed silent, thinking it better for others to preserve a record. Yet none has come forward. So this has been written so that you will know what happened.

The man Jesus spent many years spreading his message throughout the lands of Judea and Galilee. I was the first of his followers, but our number grew since many believed his words possessed great meaning. We traveled with him, watching as he eased suffering, brought hope, and stirred salvation. He was always himself, no matter the day or event. If the masses lauded him, he faced them. When hostility surrounded him, he showed no rage or fear. What others thought of him, said, or did never affected him. He said once, “All of us bear God’s image, all are worthy to be loved, all can grow in the spirit of God.” I watched as he embraced lepers and the immoral. Women and children were precious to him. He showed me that all were worthy of love. He would say, “God is our father. He cares, loves, and forgives all. No sheep will ever be lost from that shepherd. Feel free to tell God all, for only in such openness can the heart gain peace.”

The man Jesus taught me to pray. He talked of God, the final judgment, and the end of time. I came to think that he could even control the wind and waves since he stood so afar above us. The religious elders taught that pain, sickness, and tragedy were God’s judgment and we should accept that wrath with the sorrow of a penitent. The man Jesus said that was wrong and offered the sick the courage to become well, the weak the ability to grow a strong spirit, and nonbelievers the chance to believe. The world seemed to part at his approach. The man Jesus possessed a purpose, he lived his life to fulfill that purpose, and that purpose was clear to those of us who followed him.

But in his travels the man Jesus made enemies. The elders found him a threat in that he offered different values, new rules, and threatened their authority. They worried that if the man Jesus was allowed to roam free and preach change, Rome could well tighten its grip and all would suffer, especially the high priest who served at Rome’s pleasure. So it happened that Jesus was arrested for blasphemy and Pilate decreed he should ascend the cross. I was there that day and Pilate drew no joy from the decision, but the elders demanded justice and Pilate could not deny them.

In Jerusalem the man Jesus and six others were taken to a place on the hill and bound by thongs to the cross. Later in the day, the legs of three of the men were broken and they succumbed by nightfall. Two more died the next day. The man Jesus was allowed to linger until the third, when his legs were finally broken. I did not go to him while he suffered. I, and the others who followed him, hid away, afraid that we might be next. After he died, the man Jesus was left on his cross for six more days while birds picked his flesh. He was finally taken from the cross and dropped into a hole dug from the ground. I watched that happen, then fled Jerusalem by way of the desert, stopping in Bethany at the home of Mary called Magdalene and her sister, Martha. They had known the man Jesus and were saddened by his death. They were angry at me for not defending him, for not acknowledging him, for fleeing when he was suffering. I asked them what they would have had me do and their answer was clear. “Join him.” But that thought never occurred to me. Instead, to all who asked, I denied the man Jesus and all that he stood for. I left their home, returning days later to Galilee and the comfort of that which I knew.

Two who had traveled with the man Jesus, James and John, also returned to Galilee. Together we shared our grief over the loss of the man Jesus and resumed our life as fishermen. The darkness we all felt consumed us and time did not ease our pain. As we fished on the Sea of Galilee we talked of the man Jesus and all that he did and all that we witnessed. It was on the lake, years ago, that we first met him as he taught from our boat. His memory seemed everywhere upon the waters, which made our grief even harder to escape. One night, as a storm swirled across the lake and we sat on shore eating bread and fish, I thought I saw the man Jesus upon the mist. But when I waded out I knew that the vision was only in my mind. Every morning we broke bread and ate fish. Remembering what the man Jesus once did, one of us would bless the bread and offer it up in praise of God. This act made us all feel better. One day John commented that the broken bread was so like the broken body of the man Jesus. After that, we all started to associate the bread with the body.

Four months passed and one day James reminded us that the Torah proclaimed that one hung upon a tree is accursed. I told him that could not be true of the man Jesus. That was the first time any of us ever questioned the ancient words. They simply could not apply to one so good as the man Jesus. How would a scribe from long ago know that all who were hung upon a tree were accursed. He could not. In a battle between the man Jesus and the ancient words, the man Jesus was the victor.

Our grief continued to torment us. The man Jesus was gone. His voice was silent. The elders survived and their message lived. Not because they were right, but simply because they were alive and speaking. The elders had triumphed over the man Jesus. But how could something so good be wrong? Why would God allow such good to disappear?

Summer ended and the feast of the Tabernacle came, which was a time to celebrate the joy of the harvest. We thought it safe to travel to Jerusalem and take part. Once there, during the procession to the altar, it was read from the Psalms that the Messiah shall not die, but shall live and recount the deeds of the Lord. One of the elders proclaimed that though the Lord has chastened the Messiah sorely, He has not given him over unto death. But rather, the stone that the builders rejected has become the head of the corner. In the Temple we listened to readings from Zechariah, which told that one day the Lord would come and living waters would flow from Jerusalem and the Lord would become king over all the earth. Then one evening I came upon another reading from Zechariah. He spoke of a pouring out from the House of David and of a spirit of compassion and supplication. It was said that when we look on him whom they have pierced, we shall mourn for him as one weeps over a firstborn.