The Sean Wyatt Series Box Set 4

by Ernest Dempsey

  Godfrey stared at the far wall, eyes bloodshot and sagging. He’d been propped up on a stack of pillows to make him more comfortable, but the cushions did little to ease the pain from the illness ravaging his insides. Ever the warrior, Godfrey didn’t give in. He hardened the muscles in his face so as to not show weakness to the others in the room.

  His younger brother, Baldwin, stood nearby with hands folded. He wore a solemn expression—lips drawn into a frown, eyes sullen and full of pity.

  No one was sure what had happened.

  Godfrey was a relatively young man, only forty years of age. Up until the day he first noticed the symptoms, he’d been in near-perfect health.

  Baldwin searched the eyes of every man and woman in the room, hoping to find a traitor in their midst on whom he could place the blame. He suspected poison, but there was no way to be certain. There was also the fact that he’d never seen symptoms like this before from any poisoning. That didn’t mean it could be ruled out. They were strangers in a strange land. The rules were different here.

  “Brother,” Godfrey said after the violent stretch of coughs ended. “Come to me.”

  Baldwin gave a nod and stepped close to the bed. “Yes, my king.”

  The line pried a dismissive snort from Godfrey’s nose. He forced a feeble smile across his face and shook his head. “I’ve told you before, Brother, I do not deserve the title of king. There is only one king of Jerusalem, and that is Jesus Christ. I am merely an advocate and defender.”

  Another series of coughs racked his body as soon as Godfrey finished the sentence. Baldwin reached out to steady his brother and give him comfort. When the fit subsided, Baldwin waited for a moment before he spoke again.

  “Brother, what would you have me do?”

  Godfrey looked into his brother’s eyes and pinched his lips together. He was in a tremendous amount of pain, and it was all the great leader could do to not scream. “Leave us,” he said and waved to the others. “I would like a moment with my brother.”

  Baldwin watched as the assistants, nurses, and military advisers filed through the door and disappeared into the hall, leaving the two brothers alone in silence.

  Godfrey swallowed. “There is something…something I need you to do.” He struggled to speak.

  “Name it, Brother, and by God it will be done.”

  Godfrey admired his brother’s loyalty, his fierce determination. He would make a great leader for Jerusalem. “For many years now, I have waged war on the Muslims, fighting for God and His kingdom.”

  “And fought well, you have.”

  Godfrey raised a weakened hand, signaling that he wasn’t finished. “I believed in the war. I still do. And that is why you must do exactly as I say.”

  “Name the task.”

  “First, I must make a confession to you, my brother. I…I have kept a secret from you…from everyone, all these years.”

  Baldwin frowned, his eyebrows knitted together. “A secret? What kind of secret?”

  Godfrey grinned as best he could. “A secret that bears enormous power.”

  Baldwin wanted to ask what kind of power, but another string of coughs cut him off.

  Godfrey’s body sagged, and for a moment Baldwin thought his brother’s life had come to an end. A quiet whistle seeped out of Godfrey’s nose and told Baldwin his brother was still alive, albeit barely.

  Godfrey drew in a deep breath and did his best to straighten up. “This power does not make one invincible, as you can see for yourself. At the end of this day, I will be dead. Nothing can stop that now.”

  “Don’t talk like that, Brother. The nurses—”

  “The nurses do not know what is wrong with me. My race is run. I accept that and look forward to meeting my God. There is something, however, you have to do for me. And there is something you must know.”

  He paused for a moment, reflecting on something from the past. What it was, Baldwin didn’t know.

  “Jerusalem will fall to the Saracens again, Brother. No matter how strong our line, no matter our defenses, they will return, and they will overrun us.”

  Baldwin started to refute the notion, but Godfrey went on. “I do not wish that to be the case, but I know that is what the future holds. Things always change, Baldwin. They cannot stay the same forever. That is not the way of the universe, and certainly not the world of men.”

  Baldwin’s head bowed low. “Will this happen in my lifetime?”

  “Difficult to say. I think not, but it is possible.”

  “What can I do to stop this?”

  Godfrey’s eyes narrowed. “You must lead the people as best you can, Brother. Be true to God and to them. Let that be your guiding principle.”

  Baldwin waited a minute before he spoke again. “You mentioned a power.”

  “Yes. It is the great secret. Eight others possessed it before me. It is a relic of incredible importance, and must never fall into the hands of the Saracens. Were that to happen, I fear the worst.”

  “I…I don’t understand. If this relic is so powerful, why not use it to fend off the Muslims? We could destroy them forever.”

  “It does not work that way, Brother. Its power is not infinite. It fades. I do not know how to describe it other than to say that this relic must be returned to its home until it calls to another.”

  “Calls to another?”

  Godfrey gave a slow nod. “I never told you this. In fact, I never told anyone. You must promise to keep this information secret until the day you die. Is that understood?”

  Baldwin hesitated and then nodded his agreement. “I swear.”

  The answer was good enough for Godfrey. “I remember it as if it were yesterday. I was out for a ride on my horse—you know, the path that runs through the forest on our family land.”

  Baldwin’s head rocked up and down. “I do.”

  “The great leaders of Christianity were calling for soldiers to lead a Crusade against the Saracen hordes in Jerusalem. I was uncertain whether or not I should go. Of course, I knew the answer. It may surprise you to know that I had a good amount of fear in my heart.”

  That did surprise Baldwin. He’d never known his brother to fear anything. On more than one occasion, Baldwin witnessed his brother overcoming incredible odds on the battlefield. One such occasion was during the main assault on Jerusalem. While many leaders would have stayed near the back of the lines, Godfrey led the men into battle, cutting down enemies from atop his steed. Even after losing his horse, Godfrey fought on, hacking his way through enemy lines as if some kind of divine power coursed through him, surging him forward without ever tiring. Baldwin recounted times when his brother had even fought off wild beasts with his bare hands, killing ravenous animals three times his size.

  “Fear is a natural thing, Baldwin. It is the point in the road in which men make a decision to be courageous, or cowards.” He let the words sink in before he continued. “During my ride through the forest, I decided to take a moment to pray. So I got off the horse and knelt by a large oak, one that has been on our land since long before we were born. I prayed that God would give me strength to do what is right, and to fight for Him in all things. When I arose and opened my eyes, I was surprised to see a man in gray robes standing less than twenty feet away.”

  “A man in gray robes?”

  “Yes. I drew my sword and demanded he tell me who he was and what he wanted. I told him he was on my land and that by rights I could cut him down for trespassing.

  “The man drew back his hood and revealed an old face, worn with the wrinkles of time. His beard and hair were white like snow. But his eyes were full of peace. I knew he meant no ill will.”

  Baldwin had been sucked into the story and leaned in close. “What did you do?”

  “I lowered my sword and asked him what he wanted. The man told me he had a gift for me, and me alone. I asked what kind of gift, but he wouldn’t answer. He merely stepped forward and produced a map from an inner pocket of his robe.”

&
nbsp; “A map?”

  Godfrey nodded. “Yes. I asked what the map led to, what area it depicted, but he would not answer. When I took a moment to look over the map again, the man was gone, as if the forest had consumed him. I mounted my horse and looked everywhere, but the old man was nowhere to be found. He’d vanished.”

  “What did you do?”

  Godfrey’s lungs wheezed like he might cough again, but the fits didn’t return. “I deciphered the map and used it to find something incredible, something that helped me during the Crusades. Without it, we would have surely lost.”

  The buildup was tugging at Baldwin’s curiosity. “What is it?”

  “A sword. But not just any sword. It is a sword that commands incredible power. For a time, the one who wields it cannot be destroyed.”

  “For a time?”

  “That power fades, remember? It needs to be returned to its home until the world needs another leader to rise against evil. That is the task I ask of you, my brother. You must return the sword to its home. Keep it hidden. Keep it safe. You must tell no other human about this. If evil were to find it, the world as we know it would end.”

  “But how could evil use it if the power fades?”

  Godfrey forced a smile across his lips. “When it is returned to its home, the power renews itself. Then the sword becomes the ultimate weapon once more. Whoever wields it will be unstoppable.”

  “Where do I take it?”

  Godfrey raised his hand to a golden necklace clinging to his chest. It was a circle, surrounded by five half circles. The jewelry gave the appearance of a golden sun. Godfrey ripped it from his neck and handed it to his brother.

  Baldwin stared at the object in his palm as Godfrey’s cold, clammy fingers pulled away.

  “The location…is inside. Remember, Brother…you must never tell a soul. Only God can reveal the location to His sword. He chooses who will wield it next, not you or I.”

  Godfrey’s breaths came quicker. His face tightened, and Baldwin knew his brother was on death’s doorstep.

  “The sword, Brother. Where is it?”

  “It is safe, in a place only you would know where to look. When we were children, remember the trick I played on you with your favorite toy?”

  A tear formed in the corner of Baldwin’s eye. He remembered the event well. Somehow, Godfrey had taken his favorite toy sword and put it in his own scabbard. Wearing it in plain sight, Baldwin never suspected. After allowing his younger brother to search the house for the faux weapon, Godfrey gave away the hiding place by tapping his finger on the hilt.

  Baldwin stood up straight and glanced down at the weapon. Then he looked back to his brother. In the rush to get to his brother’s side, he’d not even noticed the difference.

  Godfrey gave a weak nod. “It was the safest place for me to put it, Brother. Take it back to where it belongs. That is my last request for you.”

  Suddenly, Godfrey’s body tensed. His lungs gurgled inside his chest. He shook violently for several seconds, fighting death’s grip as long as he could. Then, as suddenly as it began, the fit ended, and Godfrey’s eyes settled on a random spot on the ceiling.

  Baldwin stared at him for a second and then reached out his hand. He took Godfrey’s in his own and held it tight. The skin was cold, like the stone of a wine cellar back in their homeland.

  “Brother?” he said.

  There was no response.

  Baldwin leaned in and listened to Godfrey’s chest. It was deathly silent.

  He straightened up, fighting back the tears. “Nurse!” he yelled.

  People flooded the room once more. Wailing soon commenced. The military leaders paid their respects and then immediately began the discussion concerning Godfrey’s successor.

  Baldwin heard his name more than once, but he didn’t care about that at the moment. He had a mission to complete, the last request of his brother.

  He stepped out of the room and wandered down the hall until he found an empty room on the right. It was nothing more than a simple cell, a place where one of the maids slept. He stole a quick glance down both directions of the corridor and then slipped inside, closing the door behind.

  He stared down at the sword in the scabbard. How it had gone unnoticed to him was still a mystery. In hindsight, he had never given much thought to putting on his belt and scabbard. It had become second nature, an unconscious action in a multitude of routine things he did every day.

  Why would he have noticed?

  Now, as he stared down at the hilt, he could tell the difference. The silvery metal handle was shinier than his own weapon. The thing looked as if it had never seen the wear and tear of battle.

  With a twinge of fear in his heart, he wrapped his fingers around the handle and eased the blade out of its housing. Remarkably, the edges were still perfect, and the steel still gleamed as if it had just come out of the smith’s polish.

  Baldwin held the sword at waist level and noticed something etched into the blade just above the hand guard. His eyes narrowed with curiosity, and he raised the weapon so he could read the lettering.

  There were three lines, one in Hebrew, one in Greek and one in Latin. The first two were languages Baldwin didn’t speak. He had a feeling they all said the same thing. His eyes widened as he read the last line in Latin.

  Caliburnus.

  1

  Bellevaux, France

  Tommy’s wide eyes stared unblinking into the gaping hole in the rock. His team from the International Archaeological Agency had been working alongside teams from all over the world to uncover centuries-old ruins, buried just a few hundred yards from an eleventh-century castle, or what was left of it. The location was perched atop a steep mountain. It was framed by picturesque views of the Lac de Vallon and the surrounding hillsides covered in green coniferous trees.

  Their painstaking efforts had resulted in not only the discovery of structures that predated the castle but dozens of artifacts including pottery, glassware, and remnants of weapons. They’d also found a section of rock in the basement of the ruins that had been carved out by human hands. Inside was a stone sarcophagus.

  Never had Tommy expected to find anything like this in an historically remote location. Sure, he’d hoped there would be some artifacts or relics on site, but to find an actual sarcophagus was beyond anyone’s wildest dreams.

  The team of workers cleared a path and set up a series of lights inside so Tommy and his assistants could see more easily. He moved down the temporary wooden steps onto the lower landing, followed closely by three others. Two were men from Oxford. A third was a female anthropologist from Switzerland.

  The buzz grew quickly and soon a daily crowd of onlookers arrived outside the roped area surrounding the site.

  Tommy wasn’t accustomed to people watching as he and his team did their work. He preferred to take care of things in secret. This project, however, wasn’t his baby. Most of them weren’t, although the people who brought in his team typically let them operate however they wanted.

  Cameras flashed around the four as they entered the floodlights’ pale glow coming from the corners of the cave. Only a few people from the media had come to cover the story. The number didn’t matter. What mattered was the discovery itself.

  Tommy had already taken a look at the stone box, but that didn’t keep the sight from stopping his breath as he stepped closer and beheld the shield engraved on the surface. A Templar cross was cut within the shield’s borders, surrounded by four other, less elaborate equilateral crosses. It was a symbol synonymous with the legendary Crusader, Godfrey of Bouillon. Tommy thought it, though he didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t need to. The fact that the symbol was here in France made no sense. The great leader was purportedly buried within the confines of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem.

  Then Tommy reminded himself of where he was. This land would have fallen squarely into the area that was considered part of Godfrey’s property.

  Was this the true buria
l spot for one of the greatest leaders of the Crusades? Or was it one of his followers? Tommy had put off the answers until he had more time with the evidence. He was only seeing the tip of the iceberg at this point.

  The other three hadn’t seen the surface of the sarcophagus yet and were unaware of the engraving. Tommy had kept that a secret to only be revealed by their own eyes.

  “Incredible,” said one of the men from Oxford. His gray hair and beard were badges of honor in a world where one’s depth of knowledge was dependent on years of experience. This was Dr. Tim Hathaway, an anthropologist from London. He’d been an expert in his field for more than 30 years.

  The other man—one of similar age and manner—was Dr. Nicholas Remming. He nodded in agreement. “Well done, Tommy. Well done indeed. A Templar burial site. Astonishing.” Remming had been a professor of medieval studies for 22 years and had taken part in more than a dozen digs across Europe.

  “Not just a Templar, Doctor. These perfectly align with images often associated with Godfrey of Bouillon.”

  The older man raised an eyebrow and fired a suspicious look Tommy’s way. “We’ll see.”

  The researcher, Dr. Cherie Sauvad, took a few pictures with her smartphone and then began putting on gloves she’d brought in. Her graying brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun. The hairdo stretched the shallow wrinkles on her forehead, almost making them disappear.

  “I hope you gents are ready for this,” she said.

  The other three nodded, and she motioned for two of the workers outside to join them in the sepulcher. The men—both of Asian descent—hurried inside with crowbars and shovels.

  Sauvad motioned to the sarcophagus lid. “Be very careful,” she said. “Make sure the lid doesn’t fall into the box. The last thing we need is to crush the remains.”

  The two Oxford men took a nervous breath as the workers wedged their tools into the seam between the top and the bottom of the box. When they were satisfied with the depth, they leveraged the iron, and the lid came off its housing. The workers nodded at each other and slid the top a few inches toward the far wall. Dust tumbled out and over the lip of the sarcophagus. The two older men covered their faces with handkerchiefs to ease their breathing.