Truthseekers (5 page)

St Clar surveyed his surroundings. It was cold, not quite at the point of snow, yet his feet were frozen on the rock. From the rock he could see his ship and another in the harbour, two of three that had headed west. Over forty ships had left the Templars’ harbour on 13 October and they had under orders headed in seven different directions under the seven 33
^rd
degree commanders, of whom he was one. He would never see any of these friends and brave souls again. In his mind St Clar did not feel alone, however. He felt he truly had God on his side and he would do everything in his power to protect what he had to.

“Call the carvers and cast this rock,” St Clar called to his second in command Petr De Odes.

De Odes raised the order and a stonemason with a chisel came to the rock.

“Use the runes,” St Clar spoke to the man – then lent down and whispered into his ear. Suffice to say that the man understood. St Clar stepped down off the stone, came to the shore and dried his feet.

De Odes turned and looked toward his leader.

“What now my lord? Everyone is tired. Shall we make do by this bay?”

“No, we can’t stay here,” St Clar replied. “We must scuttle one of the ships and use the wood from it for shelter and warmth at least. Hide the other ship in that river.” St Clar pointed to a mighty river around the point from where he stood. “We will move inland and build a fort there. We must be quick. Who knows who is following us?”

St Clar was an extraordinary leader. Compassionate yet firm and unyielding he ordered one of the ships, the weaker of the two, drawn up on the rocks and broken up. Makeshift shelters were created and whilst it was frightfully cold he allowed no fires until two details of watchers were set on both sides of the harbour to ensure accuracy and that no enemy would come. Only then were the fires lit. In the coming days they would move by sea almost 20 miles, carrying all the timber and bracing from the destroyed ship, and build a fort on Rhode Island. That way St Clar knew anyone coming for him would think he had moved inland and go searching the wrong area. They would be out by miles.

…

Seven weeks had passed and St Clar had come to realise there was no party chasing them. This had become their new home. It was now after Christmas and a bitter cold had crept in. It was much colder than the west coast of France he had come to know well, yet the men and women made do. All in all they were very well provisioned, De Molay ensuring that his best fleet was always ready to sail. For weeks now he had a detail of his most trusted knights with Baron Dion Chancery watching his every move and not letting him overwork. Chancery had no idea who he was, of course. He simply felt he had been saved as a friend of the Templars from the king. He had in fact become quite gruff from all the attention, wanting to put in his fair share of work.

It was lunchtime and St Clar looked forward to the heated soup made by the women. Whilst the ground was hard, the Templars made do and had bountiful fish and even had hung several deer, found in a hunting trip the day before. There were far from starving and although
it was hard, and their hands and feet infinitely cold, they made do. Gone was the typical dress of knights and everyone did the best they could wrapped in blankets, skins and wool that had been stored on board for just such an occasion.

St Clar had no sooner sat down with De Odes that he noticed something amiss.

“Where is Perceel and his group?” St Clar enquired of his second in command.

“He asked to be excused for lunch, they wanted to get some real hunting in before the weather closes in. They said it would soon be too cold and the deer would be gone, my lord.”

Looking at his second with a slyness and cunning of years of warfare St Clar said: “I don’t trust him. How many have gone? There seems few here yet we are all sitting down like lame ducks.”

De Odes’ senses were awakened to his old friend’s knowing.

“Over a dozen of them… they…”

De Odes swallowed his soup, not noticing the burn as it cascaded down his face. Blood ran from his arm. He heard the arrow but felt it at the same time. There was a barrage of arrows from the trees. St Clar had dragged him down all in one motion, which possibly saved his life. Around him De Odes could see women and men being cut down as they sat, sharing some laughter just moments before.

Then a mighty roar like a lion came from the trees and ten men burst forth with the leader Perceel racing for St Clar.

“Take Chancery… and go, old friend,” yelled St Clar rolling into a full standing position as Perceel was almost on him. Perceel avoided De Odes and sent a swift blow with his sword at St Clar who had picked up a log as defence. Men were being cut down everywhere, women too. Some ran for the woods and those that could find a weapon picked it up and rushed at the intruders. Yet they weren’t intruders. They were a group of eighteen-strong knights under the leadership of Perceel, a dark one, obviously promised riches and lied to about what was going on. These people had been Templars, and their aides, friends and shipmates on
the journey so far. Confused, most did not know why they were in this strange land. They had been told it was Baron Dion Chancery’s fault and he had paid them for ridiculous crusade. They had been told that St Clar had kept the money and along with everyone else had planned to kill them and take their share. The story had worked as these men fought three to one against their brothers in arms.

Chancery himself had been lying on the ground and luckily not initially seen. Now two knights had almost broken through the detail protecting him and as De Odes arrived at the scene, having reclaimed his sword from where it sat next to him on the log, he dismembered one of the attackers even though his arm streamed blood from the arrow. The hopeless knight lay on the ground writhing, missing the bottom half of his leg from an almighty blow.

St Clar had his work cut out. Perceel was in full flight and he was good. Luckily St Clar managed to jab Perceel directly in the face with the log he had which was a good foot or so longer than Perceel’s sword. His nose broken, streaming blood and eyes watering Perceel had no option than to step back and wipe himself, just enough time for St Clar to bark one more order and grab his sword.

“Flee my friend, take the detail and go now.”

The detail around Chancery was just five knights but with just one direct attacker now that individual turned and took flight, only to be cut down immediately by another knight coming to the aide of the detail.

“We must go…now!” yelled De Odes and turned and whisked a frightened baron and a few knights of the detail into the forest. They knew where there was a boat and they would head for that.

Now for the first time able to take stock of the situation St Clar could not believe his eyes. Some of the women had run away; most of his knights and their aides were dead. The attackers were now failing and down to just four men. These men were fighting hard but were to eventually overcome by the fifteen or so knights that were standing.

Perceel had recovered. He was a huge strong man of over six foot with forearms like tree trunks, and St Clar knew he had an adversary that
was fuelled by the hatred within the dark ones, one who had waited all this time to show his true colours and now that he was losing, one who would stop at nothing to achieve his goal. There was only one way to kill such a man.

St Clar ran at Perceel with everything he had. Perceel was not expecting that. He had figured that St Clar had softened with age and at ten years younger, five inches taller and much stronger, that St Clar would try and fight him from a distance. Getting this close meant Perceel could not swipe his sword, and before he knew it St Clar was on him. St Clar literally held the struggling Perceel in what would always be a futile hold but before the inevitable shake St Clar reached the neck of his foe and bit ferociously, freeing his hands he reached up and shoved them deep into the eyes of Perceel and took his sight. In a scream of anguish Perceel let go, stumbled and dropped to his knees his throat and eyes gone in one grotesque motion. His screams filled the void and his dark red blood found a natural channel into the hard ground.

St Clar took his sword and drove it deep into the man’s sternum and it became quiet. On his own knees now he turned to see the carnage of the fight. Perceel was dead, and the last of the traitors was being dealt with by one of the surviving knights. The scene was a battlefield. St Clar went to stand but could not. Something was wrong. He looked down and saw for the first time a pool of blood beneath his own torso. As he had reached up for the eyes of his foe, the razor sharp edge of Perceel’s sword had lifted up with Perceel’s self-protection under the arm of St Clar. He had not felt it, yet a deep gash was gushing blood.

His knights surrounded him and carried him to one of the makeshift shelters. He felt himself getting lighter. A tunnel was forming. He lost track of time… he saw faces and ghost like concerns. He struggled to make out words. He did not know if it had been a few minutes, an hour or longer. A woman bathed his brow and his wound. Just as his energy was draining he saw a familiar face… De Odes.

“We have him, the baron, my lord… they are gone but we are massively depleted. I was in a boat when I heard it was over and you…”
He stopped and held St Clar with genuine concern. “I heard about you.”

St Clar could hear the tremor in his friend’s voice. Opening his mouth to speak he started and at first the words did not come out, then he finally said:

“Take him… take him far from here. Leave this place – leave some here and go, just you and a few… hide him…but he must breed… you must have him breed.”

“I will, my lord,” stuttered De Odes. “I will do your will… I know what it takes. I will not fail.”

St Clar thought he should say more, but there was nothing more to say. De Odes knew what needed doing. The fog was coming. A tunnel appeared for St Clar. There was a warm light at the other end. He decided to go. It was so cold where he was. He closed his eyes.

Seven years later his brother William found out about his heroism.

6

Rocko Rizotto stepped off the plane onto the hot sticky tarmac of Siem Reap airport. Although the flight was only two hours long he almost preferred commercial flights to the small but serviceable Embraer Legacy 650 jet that David had talked him into leasing. The truth was their businesses had been very successful by all accounts, that success showed itself in cash flow, and that cash flow allowed things, like a three-year lease on a small private aircraft that most people never had the luxury of affording. Rocko wasn’t so much into luxuries. The hostess was staff, so it was hands off and the toilet was such an enclosed space he seemed to bounce off every wall. He openly shrugged his broad shoulders. At least he didn’t have a bunch of people knocking at the door as he emptied his often-disruptive stomach.

David stepped out behind him, a little worse for wear. He had flown overnight from Greece, with a couple of awkward stops for fuel in Bahrain and Pakistan. He hadn’t slept much as he was pondering all the new information and the trail that Stacey had set up for him and on picking up Rocko in Kuala Lumpur he hadn’t done much more than a brief overview, handed his old pal a beer and then tried to grab some more shut eye.

“I like this place, David, are we going straight to Pub Street?” said Rocko, knowing only too well that was the last place on David’s agenda.

“No, big guy. We most certainly are not. In fact we are going to grab a tuk tuk and head straight out to Angkor Wat. Mr C is going to meet us there.”

Mr C (real name Chereak) was an old friend of both of the men. A tourist operator and wheeler-dealer, he was one of Cambodia’s new breed of savvy entrepreneurs who knew his way around any system.

David’s wavy hair blew straight in the breeze and his steely eyes set sight on an official just outside the door to the terminal.

“That’s our guy, Rocko. C said he would be there.” David marched off purposefully, shook hands with the man and Rocko almost didn’t notice the US$20 note shift from David to the man. The next thing they knew they were marched right past the huge line of tourists from the commercial flights all struggling with the Visa on Arrival counter and dealing with typical Khmer bureaucracy. Just four minutes later they smiled good-bye to the immigration official as the tuk tuk puttered away from the airport.

Rocko always loved Cambodia. The people, the smiles and probably the thirty years of beating the hell out of each other in a civil war really appealed to him. The girls were ridiculously pretty, the beer $3 for a whole beer tower and the food was a culinary surprise being based on the French occupation of ninety years coupled with that amazing Thai style of the region. Today he was hoping to sample all three loves, yet before he could do so he knew he had at least to endure David’s blabbering and find out what the creative genius Stacey had found.

“So what’s holding me up from Pub Street?” asked Rocko as the tuk tuk puttered its way through a forested road away from the airport.

“You know how I was on the trail of the Minoans, dude,” smiled David. Rocko nodded.

“Well, I had Stacey pull a whole lot of research and I found something a whole lot more interesting than Bronze Age exploration. It involves the Knights Templar.”

Rocko sparked a look out of his non lazy eye.

“Those bad boys… now I’m interested. But they never came to Cambodia.”

“Didn’t they?” replied David holding Rocko’s stare and then saying nothing more. He could almost see Rocko fidgeting on the seat; even the driver started to notice the back rocking a little. Rocko hated not knowing stuff and when David played these games it became a little too much for Rocko.

“Ok, I’m in… I’m here aren’t I? What wild goose chase have you got us on now?”

“Well it’s been a busy 48 hours since I spoke to you. I had Stacey so busy she nearly missed her flight to South Africa. She’s been wanting to go on a damn safari for two years. Blames us for constantly loading her up… So we paid her a bit of overtime in the way of an upgrade. She delivered everything I wanted in record time.”