The Templar's Code (31 page)

“Well put.”

Craning his neck, Caedmon glanced at the clock on the night table: 10:05 P.M. Time to set out on his quest, smash his nose to the grindstone, and decipher the rare 1614 frontispiece.

“Still convinced that the Muses have something to do with Bacon’s secret message?”

“Mmmm . . . er, yes.” Elbows on the table, he rubbed his eyes. “In Greek mythology the Nine Muses, offspring of Zeus and Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory, divinely inspired the arts. But more important than that, in a time before the printing press was invented, the Nine Muses were the source of oral knowledge.”

Tossing her magazine aside, Edie got off the bed. Silk, satin, and tasseled pillows tumbled in her wake. Unlike Rubin’s boudoir, the guest suite was a veritable explosion of clashing Victorian pattern, the color green being the only common denominator.

Edie stood behind his chair. Wrapping one hand around a spiny Gothic chair post, she reached over top of him and snatched the Mylar-covered print. “Okay, we’ve got Nine Muses with Pallas Athena, the tenth muse, in the twelve o’clock position. We can only hope that a picture isn’t really worth a thousand words. Otherwise it’s going to be a
very
long message.”

“And that’s a mere sampling of the mythological objects. We mustn’t overlook the occult symbols—the two columns, the ladder, the tree, the mulberry, and of course, the All-Seeing Eye.”

Lifting her wool skirt, she hitched a hip onto the edge of the table. “Yeah, I noticed the ladder, the tree, and the piece of fruit in each of the muse panels, but I thought that was just a decorative element.”

“Trust me,
nothing
in this frontispiece is purely decorative. In fact, the ladder, the tree, and the mulberry represent the three branches of the hidden stream of knowledge.”

“As in alchemy, Kabbalah, and magic, right?” She scooted closer, her outer thigh pressing against his forearm.

“Correct. The ladder symbolizes magic, specifically the type of celestial divination practiced by John Dee. Since one can climb up
and
down the rungs of a ladder, it represents direct two-way communication between heaven and earth.” With his index finger, he lightly circled a medallion with a leafy tree. “This is the Kabbalah Tree of Life, which symbolizes the process by which the universe came into being. It’s more familiarly depicted as a diagram with the ten Sephiroth that represents the ten attributes of God.”

“Ten seems to be a popular number. There are, after all, ten muses illustrated on the frontispiece.”

He wearily nodded, having already tried, unsuccessfully, to use it in a numeric cipher.

“And finally there’s the mulberry, which changes in color from white to red to black during the ripening process. The change in color symbolizes the three stages of the alchemical process, known by their Latin names:
albedo
,
rubedo
, and
nigredo
.”

“White, red, and black. The same three colors that make up the Templar Beauséant.” Using her arm to support her upper body, Edie reclined back. “Coincidence or do you think the Knights Templar were practicing alchemy in their secret sanctuary?”

“I won’t know the answer to that until I decipher the frontispiece. That’s the nature of the esoteric beast, the creature too often leads one into a bloody labyrinth,” he uncharitably grumbled. Framing either side of his face with the palms of his hands, he, again, stared at the engraved illustration. “The secret of the Templar relic could well be hidden in this frontispiece, and I’m determined to break the code.”

“You do know that your interest in the Knights Templar borders on idolatry,” Edie chided, pointedly glancing at his silver ring.

Caedmon let his hands drop to the tabletop. “The first person to launch that accusation was my aunt Winifred, a sharp-tongued spinster with whom I spent the summers of my youth. She lived and died in the hillside village of Garway in far-flung Herefordshire. The only noteworthy attraction in the village was St. Michael’s where, in the twelfth century, the Knights Templar constructed a circular church.”

“Is the circular church still standing?”

“Alas, no, but the foundation of the Templar church is visible.”

“I’m guessing that’s all it took to fuel your youthful imagination.”

“The vicar, something of an amateur historian, was quite knowledgeable about the Templars.” He smiled, the memory a pleasant one. “That first summer I haunted the local library, reading everything related to the Knights Templar. The more I learned about their heroic exploits in the Holy Land, the more enamored I became. Aunt Winnie put her foot down when she caught me creeping about in the garden dressed in a white bedsheet, clutching a brolly in one hand and a butter knife in the other as I reenacted the Siege of Acre.”

Chuckling, Edie reached over and smoothed a lock of hair from his brow. “As an adult, do you ever, you know, fantasize about being a Knights Templar?”

“You mean do I still imagine myself swinging a broadsword at Acre? No, never,” he retorted, emphatically shaking his head. “The fact that the Templars didn’t shave, rarely bathed, and that they took a vow of celibacy doesn’t make for a lusty male fantasy.”

“Oooh, I want to hear more about the lusty stuff.” As she spoke, Edie provocatively shimmied her shoulders.

“There’s a reason why St. Bernard of Clairvaux famously wrote that ‘the company of women is a dangerous thing, for by it the devil has led many from the straight path to Paradise.’ ” He gestured to the small stack of books on the tabletop. “Since I’m on this blasted quest, I must refrain from the pleasures of the flesh.”

She scooted her backside off the edge of the table—landing squarely in his lap.

Unable to help himself, Caedmon slid a hand under her skirt.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Edie leaned in close and whispered, “If you don’t tell St. Bernard,
I
won’t tell St. Bernard.”

“Your dressing gown, milady.”

Edie languorously rolled onto her back and peered up at Caedmon, a red silk kimono dangling from his fingertips. Sprawled on the mussed bed, she felt like a castaway who’d washed up onto a warm, welcoming beach. Surrounded by a sea of colorful pillows.

“Thank you, Sir Peter.” She took the kimono from him. Their hands brushed. She loved Caedmon’s hands. Loved the fact that they were lean and strong. That his fingers were sprinkled with sun-bleached hair. She even loved the smattering of ginger-colored freckles. And she’d yet to tire of seeing his hands on her body.

She swung her bare legs over the side of the mattress. “Now that I’m rejuvenated, I’m ready to hit the books.”

Smiling, Caedmon brushed several damp curls from her face. “Would have taken you to bed hours ago had I known the restorative effect.”

“Magic elixir, what can I say.” She rose to her feet and slipped on the kimono.

“Actually, the seventeenth-century alchemists thought the very same thing, semen used as an ingredient in quite a few alchemical concoctions.”

“Now
that
is pushing the esoteric envelope. And not in a good way.” Belting her kimono, she peered over her shoulder. “Come on, Big Red. You need to get dressed. It’s time to burn the midnight oil.”

“Right.”

He padded, naked, to the other side of the room. Edie’s gaze zeroed in on the deep groove of his spine, the play of muscles in his back as he lifted his robe off a hook on the bathroom door. Donning the blue-checked robe, he winced slightly, his left arm still bandaged.

Seating herself in a wood chair with a carved quatrefoil back, Edie clapped her hands together. “Okay, ready to get to it.”

Caedmon handed her a blank sheet of paper and a sharpened pencil with an eraser. The Mylar-covered print was set between them. “As I said earlier, Bacon’s frontispiece is a damned labyrinth.”

She stared at the engraving. Struck with a sudden idea, she reached across the table and grabbed the magnifying glass, holding it within inches of her face as she examined the engraving. Noticing something odd, she handed the magnifying glass to Caedmon. “Take a look at the ladders, trees, and mulberries.”

Wearing a quizzical expression, he viewed the illustration through the magnifying lens.

A split second later, raising his head, he grinned. Einstein figuring out
E
,
M
, and
C
.

“It’s a numeric cipher! In the Athena box, the mulberry has thirteen drupelets, but next door in the Calliope box, the mulberry has five drupelets.”

“Same with the tree and the ladder.” She snatched the magnifier out of his hand. “As you move from box to box, the number of drupelets, leaves, and rungs changes.”

“Let’s diagram the frontispiece and see what we get.” Snatching a clean sheet of paper, Caedmon quickly drew a blank frontispiece—ten squares around the perimeter of the sheet with a blank square in the middle. He neatly wrote the name of each muse in the appropriate box. “Now we fill in the blanks,” he said, his pencil tip hovering over the Athena box. “You count, I’ll notate. Let’s start with the spear shaker herself.”

For the next few minutes, they seesawed back and forth until all the ladders, trees, and mulberries had been counted.

“Okay, now what?” Although pleased with their progress, Edie had no idea where they were headed.

As he silently stared at their diagram, Caedmon rubbed a hand over his bristled cheek. “I found evidence in the historic record of Bacon using a twenty-four-letter simple replacement cipher. I suggest we begin with that.” He quickly scrawled a cipher chart on a sheet of blank paper.

“I’m guessing that we now work backward and assign a letter to each number.” When he nodded, she began assigning letters to numbers.

Caedmon examined her handiwork.

“Excellent. All we have to do is figure out the correct order in which to read the letters. I suggest we go clockwise, using Pallas Athena as our start point.”

Edie watched, her excitement mounting, as Caedmon next wrote out a long string of letters, thirty in total. She noticed that his hand quivered slightly, his excitement mounting.

“We must now determine where the word breaks occur.” His gaze narrowed as he stared at the string of thirty letters. Then, lips pursed, head cocked to one side, he made four slash marks. That done, he carefully placed his pencil on the table. A student finishing the exam.

“My God . . . it all makes sense now. The auto-da-fé of the fourteenth century. The witch hunts of the seventeenth century.” Lurching to his feet, Caedmon snatched the deciphered message off the table and strode to the other side of the room. With the sheet of paper clutched in his right hand, he furiously paced back and forth across the Aubusson carpet. “This is an absolutely astounding revelation and it certainly explains why the church and the monarchs of the day slaughtered anyone and everyone who had knowledge of the Templar secret. Even in our day and age,
this
could ignite a religious conflagration.”