Gene of Isis

by Traci Harding

  ‘Yes, you did,’ I was happy to concede.

  ‘You both hang on tighter from now on,’ she suggested, and we both assured her that we intended to follow her advice. Chavi wandered off to be about her chores.

  ‘It fills my heart with joy to see you together,’ Cingar stated, his arms flung wide as he embraced us both, ‘and that you were both unharmed by the raiders last night.’

  ‘Were there many casualties?’ I pulled back from the group hug.

  ‘A few scratches and bruises.’ Cingar shrugged and then smiled. ‘We gypsies are not unaccustomed to such raids.’

  ‘So you think they were thieves?’ Devere noted. ‘Was anything stolen?’

  ‘No,’ Cingar announced proudly. ‘They must have been counting on the celebrations dulling our senses…even drunk we proved a formidable force.’

  Devere was frowning, for he knew that the raiders were no ordinary band of thieves. Then he released an unexpected cry of pain and gripped his head, as if he’d just been struck down with a massive headache.

  ‘What is the matter?’ I besought him, but Devere stepped away from me, his thoughts focused inward.

  ‘James!’ He called out his brother’s name, sounding alarmed for his wellbeing.

  I moved to inquire after my husband’s concerns, when I noticed Albray appear beside me. Where have you been? Do you know what is ailing Devere?

  Albray nodded, horrified.

  ‘Lady Devere has been kidnapped!’ My husband emerged from his harrowing vision to impart his news. ‘My brother has been bound, gagged and left somewhere!’ Devere looked at me, with determination and frustration on his face. ‘I have to find him! I must leave at once.’

  ‘We must leave at once,’ I corrected, as the news of my dear friend’s kidnapping sent shockwaves through my body.

  ‘I shall have horses prepared.’ Cingar jumped into action, whistling to entreat the aid of some of his men.

  It is Molier who has taken your friend, Albray advised, his voice filled with spite.

  ‘What would Molier want with Susan?’ I asked Albray, and in my rush to obtain answers I completely forgot that my knight was not physically present.

  Since he could not take you by force last night, maybe he figured it was easier to have you follow him of your own accord?

  ‘Our dear sister is also of the blood,’ Devere informed me, curiously eyeing over the spot where my attention was focused.

  I gasped. ‘Really?’

  He nodded. ‘Although her line is not as strong as yours, she is still a Grail princess.’

  ‘But why is Molier so interested in the women of my bloodline?’ I looked at Devere who shrugged, and then at Albray.

  I suspect Molier has the Fire-Stone vial, my knight announced, giving this information for the first time without so much as blinking an eye.

  I gasped, having little idea of what this meant to my own mission. I felt a deep foreboding in my gut.

  ‘Are you talking about the fabled Star and Fire vials alleged to contain the ambrosia of the gods, and that were mysteriously self-filling?’ Devere inquired of Albray.

  I gasped again upon realising that Devere was aware of my knight. I was also stunned that he knew about the vials, and more than I did, obviously. I had not noted that the Star substance in my vial was self-replenishing and I was dying to check my secret treasure to see whether the dose I’d given the Duc de Guise’s son had indeed replaced itself. ‘How do you know about the vials?’

  All the brothers know of them, Albray answered for him. Though there is much more to these vials than lowly initiates like us are ever told. For example, I could tell you that the temple complex from which the vials originate can only be opened by a daughter of the blood.

  I was speechless. Why had Albray not told me this before?

  ‘That does seem to explain Molier’s interest in my wife and Lady Susan,’ Devere conceded.

  ‘But I thought Molier was going to Italy?’

  ‘It is just as easy, if not easier, to reach Rome by sea,’ Devere pointed out.

  ‘I realise that, but why kidnap Susan? Unless Molier plans on going to the temple complex in the Sinai.’

  Exactly, Albray said.

  ‘He only has one of the vials, you said,’ Devere pointed out. ‘Without the other vial, what good would the journey do him? Unless he believes the other vial is still hidden within the complex?’

  ‘Hmmm.’ I saw Devere’s point all too clearly, but I was not ready to confess my little secret…which had damn near been uncovered during our flight of passion last night! Fortunately, I’d managed to remove the vial from my person and hide it before my husband could discover it.

  ‘Does Molier suspect where the other vial is hidden?’ I sought Albray’s opinion, and he nodded without saying more, lest Devere discover my secret.

  ‘Perhaps we can get to it first?’ Devere suggested.

  ‘Perhaps.’ To avoid the subject I decided I should introduce my two favourite men to each other. ‘Albray, meet Mr Devere, who fought alongside us last night as the masked bandit, Danior Terkari. Mr Devere, I’d like you to meet my skill with a sword, Albray.’

  The two men became rather uncomfortable with each other after my introduction. It seemed to make them uneasy that they liked each other better than either would have expected.

  ‘I thank you for taking such good care of my wife during our misunderstanding,’ Devere ventured.

  Albray waved off the gratitude. That is my job.

  Devere was slightly disturbed by the claim. I knew he felt that it was his job to protect me.

  ‘I called Albray to my service before we ever became involved,’ I advised my husband, hoping to avoid any unpleasantness, but the look on Devere’s face told me that I’d just made matters worse.

  ‘You’ve been advising my wife all along,’ Devere said, sounding a little hurt and annoyed.

  Only insofar as her psychic skills are concerned, Albray corrected my husband’s misunderstanding. In matters of the heart I have always pleaded ignorance.

  I smiled, amused by his comeback. ‘That is very true.’

  I can aid you to find your brother, Albray added, as further comfort. It seems that we now have a common cause.

  ‘To protect my wife?’ Devere presumed.

  Albray nodded. ‘And defeat Molier.’

  My husband appeared a little confused by the conviction underlying Albray’s statement.

  ‘Albray and Molier have a history,’ I explained. In truth, I had yet to learn the story behind the dispute.

  Devere looked at Cingar and his men, and was surprised to find that they’d readied several more horses than we needed. The port of Marseilles was but a short ride away. Devere was even more surprised to spy Nanny Beat approaching with bags in hand.

  ‘Mrs Winston.’ He acknowledged my maidservant and drew my attention to her approach.

  The three gypsy girls she’d been caring for were begging her not to go, and she seemed torn between her duty to me and her affection for them. ‘Nanny, you are as psychic as me sometimes, I swear.’

  She nodded astutely. ‘I am ready, when you are.’

  How the woman could ignore the three weeping girls hanging from her skirts was beyond me. ‘Dear Nanny.’ I touched her cheek, and in that moment she knew that I was releasing her from her duty to me, and her face filled with both sadness and relief.

  ‘No, mistress.’ She urged me to reconsider. ‘I so wanted to be Nanny to your children.’

  I smiled at her sentiment, thinking she’d be waiting a while to fulfil that wish, if I had any say in the matter. ‘If I find myself in need, I shall track you down. Will you return to England, or stay with the Chorons?’

  The way the three girls cheered and danced about I figured I had the answer and Nanny’s smile confirmed it. ‘May your spirits keep you safe from ill, just as they always have.’ Nanny hugged me tight.

  ‘You are the best friend, adviser and mother that anyone could ask f
or. Thank you for getting me this far.’ I kissed her cheek, and the three girls began dragging Nanny and her possessions back to their caravan.

  Cingar, Jessenia and several of the gypsy men rode toward us, towing our mounts along behind them. ‘We should make haste,’ Cingar advised.

  ‘We should make haste?’ I queried why Cingar, and several of his people, were including themselves in this mission.

  ‘I owe you my life,’ Cingar informed me, ‘and I vowed to see you safely to the sea. I have connections at the docks and abroad who will prove most useful.’

  ‘You cannot leave your people without a captain.’ I insisted that he was going beyond the call of duty.

  ‘They are under Beval’s protection and will journey to Italy with him. I know where I can rejoin them at any given time,’ Cingar said. ‘We Chorons pay our debts.’

  ‘You owe no debt—’ I attempted to release him.

  ‘Not only are you wasting your breath,’ Cingar cut me off, ‘but we are wasting precious time.’

  ‘Wait.’ I remembered Hereford’s journal and ran quickly back to my lodgings to grab it, among other things.

  I pulled the Star vial from its hiding place beneath my bedcovers and, to my great amazement, it was indeed filled to the stopper again with the mysterious white glowing substance. ‘Well, I’ll be.’ Still, there was no time to ponder the mystery. I placed the vial in its usual hiding place, then grabbed Hereford’s book and the bottle of foul-smelling insect repellent that I’d found in the back of the hollow red book. I tossed these in a bag with a few other personal effects and bade farewell to my comfortable little caravan.

  Perhaps the hasty goodbye was for the best. I had grown so fond of my gypsy friends that parting from them would have been far more difficult had my best friend and her husband not been in great peril. I had no time to think of my own feelings and, before the sorrow of departing had come upon me, I was halfway to the port of Marseilles.

  The sound of choppers overhead compelled me to place aside Ashlee’s journal.

  Outside my tent I found Akbar and his two charges staring up into the vast blue sky.

  ‘Is Andre back already?’ I queried, shielding my eyes to get a look at the incoming craft. To my surprise I saw two large helicopters airlifting a huge freight container our way. ‘Surely that is not the shipment of white powder I ordered?’ If it was, the amount I’d been sent was rather excessive.

  ‘It is Molier,’ Akbar said surely and then looked my way. ‘I told you he would come.’

  I stared back at him, praying to god that Akbar was wrong, when Kadar and Kamali yelled a warning to us to get out of the way.

  The choppers had bypassed the helipad and were positioning themselves right over where we were standing. We retreated to watch the large container lower to the ground in front of us with a thud. The choppers then detached their towlines and returned to whence they’d come. In the wake of the commotion, a deathly silence ensued, or it certainly felt so by comparison.

  The container had a door, which seemed to indicate that it was for habitation, but there was not a single window.

  You should return to your tent, Mia, Albray advised as he appeared beside me. Molier won’t be able to exit the container until after sundown.

  And then what will I do? I felt so unprepared. I still didn’t know half of what I felt I needed to know to confront Molier. I had to get back to Ashlee’s story and finish it.

  I had no sooner turned toward the tent when the sound of the container door opening behind me scared me to a standstill—I was almost too afraid to turn.

  ‘Dr Montrose?’

  Surprised to hear a female voice, my apprehension lessened and I turned to see a young woman walking toward me who was French judging by her accent. She was petite and dressed for an office in a suit, French bun, makeup and sensible boots.

  ‘Hello, I am Tusca Resi, Mr Molier’s private secretary.’ She held a hand out and I shook it, then she kissed me on both my cheeks. ‘Mr Molier has been greatly looking forward to meeting you.’

  I am certain about that. Albray voiced what Akbar and I were both thinking.

  ‘My employer suggests that you might like to join him for dinner this evening, which will give you time to read this.’ Tusca pulled an old double-ended scroll from under her arm and held it out to me.

  The wooden handles on the rods of the ancient text were ornately carved. The parchment was bound tight around one rod of the scroll and then secured to the matching rod at the top of the document. These were then bound to each other by a piece of red leather.

  ‘What is this?’ I accepted it, curious, and glancing to Albray to see what he made of this development I was alarmed to see his shocked expression.

  ‘I could not tell you,’ Tusca informed me, ‘but Mr Molier assured me that it would be of particular interest to you.’

  ‘I see. Well, thank Mr Molier for me.’

  ‘Would six o’clock this evening suit you for dinner?’ Tusca inquired and when I nodded she retreated to inform her employer.

  ‘You should not have agreed,’ Akbar said once Molier’s secretary was out of earshot.

  ‘He’s my employer, Akbar.’ I looked at the Arab in appeal. ‘What would you have had me say?’ When he gave no further comment, I headed for my tent. ‘If I am not prepared to hear everyone’s view regarding this excavation, then how am I to know I am getting the whole truth?’

  ‘That creature twists the truth.’ Akbar followed me and, gently grabbing hold of one of my shoulders, he brought me to a standstill to heed his words face to face. ‘Whatever he tells you, you may rest assured that just the opposite is true.’

  ‘Later, Akbar.’ I decided I wasn’t having this debate right now. I had way too much reading to do.

  Inside my tent, Albray was just as discouraging. Please, Mia, do not read that document, Molier is trying to discredit me in your eyes.

  My knight seemed overly dramatic, but in his thought conveyance I could hear and feel his distress. Do you recognise this? I held the scroll toward him and he nodded.

  It is the journal of Lillet du Lac. He seemed almost nauseated when telling me this.

  ‘But I—’ I pulled myself up before speaking out loud. I thought you were in love with her?

  I was…He seemed at a loss to explain for a second. But that does not mean that the feeling was mutual, for as I have already informed you, it was not. Albray was frustrated. You must understand Cathar belief to understand the woman who wrote this account, for I did not understand her for a long time and in the interim we had…a few clashes.

  Have you read this document, Albray? I asked, feeling that he might be getting worked up over nothing.

  I don’t have to read it, Albray barked, walking off his frustration for a few paces to collect himself. I was there.

  Albray, my employer has asked me to read this and is probably going to test me on it over dinner. This was a joke, but Albray was not amused. Nothing could ever taint my high opinion of you. If this account is scathing, then I must concede this woman did not know you as well as I do.

  Clearly, Albray knew that nothing he could say was going to stop me reading the homework I’d been given. Then please dismiss me, he requested, but you must promise to call me to you before you go anywhere near Molier.

  Of course I shall call you. The idea of going alone was laughable.

  Promise.

  His insistence had me worried; what the hell did he expect me to find in this manuscript? I promise.

  I dismissed Albray before untying the red leather that bound the scroll closed.

  It unfolded to reveal a large emblem, crowned by the title of the House of du Lac. The stamped emblem was scarlet red in colour and portrayed a dragon emerging from a lake with a lily in its mouth, which was contained inside the emblem of a five-pointed star. It was highly detailed and very impressive. The parchment had obviously been reinforced by some modern backing paper, which had prevented the old document from crumb
ling to pieces.

  The text itself was in an old dialect, D’oc, that had been employed in the south of France around the time of the Crusades. D’oc was related to the provinces of Languedoc. I had a couple of computer programs that I could refer to if I found it difficult to follow the language. The penmanship was beautiful from the outset, and a pleasure to read.

  ‘So, tell me your story, Lillet du Lac.’ I settled at my desk with a cup of tea and some nibbles. I switched on my computer in case I needed to research a word, or anything else, and then began to devour the story of the Cathar priestess and my Knight of Sion.

  PART 3

  LILLET

  13TH CENTURY

  FRANCE

  LESSON 16

  PERSECUTION

  DECEMBER 31ST 1243

  I am Lillet of the House of du Lac, a priestess of the Church of the Holy Mother, and a daughter of the blood of the Royal House of Judah. In Narbonne, my family have resided since the kingdom once known as Septimania thrived. It was to here that my great foremother, Mary Magdalene, came when fleeing the Holy Land with her children to preserve the royal line of David. Down through the centuries my family has fought to reclaim their rightful title. For a brief time in the eighth century, my forefather, Theodoric, was decreed by King Pepin of the Franks, by the Caliph of Baghdad and even by the Pope, to be a true king of the House of Judah and the seed of the royal house of David.

  A fact that the Church of Rome has since tried very hard to conceal throughout the centuries.

  For eight months our one hundred and fifty warriors have held at bay a force of ten thousand men, preventing the Frankish force from scaling the high pog upon which the fortress of Montsègur is perched. This mountain is riddled with secret caves and pathways, which has enabled supplies to trickle in and communications to be sent out. But our besiegers tighten their defence and access to the outside world is becoming harder to maintain.

  Montsègur has been besieged before and barely has a scar to show for it, but this time I fear Hugues de Archis and his Crusaders, by order of King Louis IX and the Inquisition, mean to topple the last bastion of the ‘Church of God’ left in Occitania, no matter how long it takes.