by D. N. Carter
The connection with twelve is explained and how it came to be important within the symbolism of Jesus and his twelve disciples at the last supper, which was later included into the myth and symbolism of King Arthur and his twelve Knights of the Round Table. This symbolism is all divulged slowly as the story unfolds, leading you to its final conclusion and what the real secret behind the Holy Grail was, and still is, with its effects upon the people during the Crusades and why and how it is still so relevant even today.
Outremer reveals that the secret which has waited thousands of years to reveal itself is a secret that trails from the pyramids of ancient Egypt to ancient sites in Great Britain and Europe’s greatest cathedrals. A secret that connects the Knights Templar, King Arthur, Jesus Christ, ancient Egyptian, Babylonian and Sumerian myths, the Ark of the Covenant and Moses and even Oak Island in Nova Scotia: this is the secret behind the true Holy Grail revealed. Outremer strips away a lot of the hype and sensationalism to reveal in their true form what those secret codes of antiquity were and stood for that both the Templars and Sufi mystics knew. Not just about a bloodline, but a secret far more important for future generations’ benefits that includes the John the Baptist mysteries and Johannite heresy. The hidden meaning behind the symbolism of a ‘Finger’ pointing to the heavens as a sign of John the Baptist and why it was viewed as so significant and reproduced exoterically within later famous paintings, especially those by Leonardo da Vinci. The early Templar seal was a ‘Lamb of God’ image, which was also John the Baptist’s main symbol. A hand pointing upwards was an ancient symbol for an offer to be taught and be invited to learn secret teachings.
Throughout the story, a mystery unfolds about bloodlines that stretch further back into antiquity with their descendants originating from two original ancient lines, and as Outremer reaches its conclusion, revealed for the first time are the true origins and impetus behind the nine original knights going to Jerusalem and founding the Knights Templar. Outremer details the secret from antiquity that the Templars guarded. It relates to all of us today, and not just a bloodline but a secret that reveals mankind’s true origins, our true past that stretches back many thousands of years before accepted history, but also our true potential as well as a legacy from antiquity that still waits to be uncovered; more correctly, recovered!
Prologue
Outremer was the European name given to the lands of the Middle East and the Holy Land, the Levant! It literally meant ‘The land over the sea’.
In AD 1095, at the council of Clermont, Pope Urban II called for a crusade to bring the Holy Land under Christian control, declaring, “God wills it!” Four years later the Crusaders captured Jerusalem and massacred the inhabitants following a bloody siege: all 70,000, including women and children, both Jews and Muslims. The Crusaders carved out several small kingdoms in the Middle East centred on powerful castles and fortified cities. The First Crusade went from one of liberating Holy places from Muslims to one of trying totally to destroy Islam. This caused many Muslims to start a defensive jihad, which evolved into an offensive jihad. However, the facts are not that simple or black and white.
Then sometime between AD 1110 and AD 1120 in the aftermath of this great First Crusade a small band of nine knights that included Geoffroi de Saint-Omer and Hugues de Payens vowed to devote their lives to the protection of pilgrims in the Holy Land. Just how nine knights were supposed to protect many hundreds over a thousand miles cast the first doubts as to their true raison d’être. They were called ‘The Order of the Poor Knights of Christ’. King of Jerusalem, Baldwin II, granted them use of the captured ‘Al Aqsa’ Mosque built on Temple Mount in Jerusalem, the ancient site of the Temple of Solomon. From this, they then became known as the Knights Templar. Under the patronage of St Bernard of Clairvaux the order received Papal sanction and legitimacy and were granted sole right to wear the distinctive white robe with a red cross emblazoned upon their white mantle surcoats.
Jewish and Islamic legends speak of sealed secret passages beneath the well of souls where the Ark of the Covenant was ‘reputedly’ hidden. It was rumoured that these nine knights after years of secret excavations recovered something. No one knows what exactly for certain, but within a hundred years, by AD 1220, the order owned land all over Europe, amassed considerable wealth, built 80 cathedrals and 500 abbeys in France alone on an unprecedented scale and became the first bankers of Europe. Their ‘White and Black’ Beauseant standard flag, which was black on top and white beneath, was seen everywhere. However, they also incurred great jealously and the Templars would be drawn towards another threat.
In AD 1187, Christian Europe was shaken to its very foundations by events in the Holy Land during a period of just a few momentous months. Salah al Din Yusif ibn Ayyub, known to his Muslim contemporaries as Nasi the victorious, and perhaps the most famous single figure in the history of the Crusades, even more famous outside the English speaking world than his Christian foe, Richard the Lion Heart, led a brilliant campaign against the amassed Crusader Forces of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Saladin, as he was known to an admiring Europe, was a deeply religious, quiet and even humble man but after an uneasy truce with the Crusaders and a series of provocations and broken truces by them, mainly Reynald of Chatillon, finally his hand was forced. The resultant war that followed forever changed the political and religious map of the Middle East for he gathered a large army and swore to put an end to the Crusaders’ violations once and for all with his famous words “Come to death Templars!”, the consequences of which still reverberate around the world to this day.
PART I
Chapter 1
Into the Underworld
Jerusalem, Kingdom of Jerusalem, AD 1109
Seventy-two feet beneath the Holy Sepulchre and site of Solomon’s former Temple in the cramped, dark and dirty confines of a small tunnel, Hugues de Payens, a French knight dressed only in his dirty white undergarment breeches, squeezed himself onto his side, and pulled away the last wooden bucket of soil to expose a large solid stone. His face heavily tanned, bearded, with sweat streaking lines down his dust covered face, he looked back at his friend Geoffroi de Saint-Omer as the light from numerous candles danced across their faces, the sound of bellows heaving behind them as their colleagues pumped air into the tunnel.
7 – 12
“If the codes are correct and accurate, this should be the final barrier wall. Let us pray what lay beyond is as we have been verily informed,” he said exhausted and began to chisel away around the large stone.
Two hours later, Hugues gritted his teeth, braced his legs against the tight confines of the tunnel walls and pushed the cut free stone with all his remaining strength; it fell, silently it seemed, for an age before finally crashing on the floor some 18 feet below. Air blew past him with a whistling sound as it rushed from the tunnel to enter the once sealed room, throwing up more dust. Quickly he crawled forwards reinvigorated. Excitedly he took a burning lamp passed from Geoffroi, then pushed a larger torch forward through the hole and lit it. The torch spluttered and flickered momentarily before bursting into a bright ball of flame that cast light into the sealed room revealing a large vaulted hall with columns and assorted large stone looking boxes devoid of any inscriptions. The air felt heavy, almost oppressive but odourless. Within moments, Hugues secured a rope and climbed down into the vault followed by Geoffroi, two other knights and one very tired Hugh the First, Count of Champagne, but as he himself preferred to be called, the Count of Troyes. All were exhausted and filthy standing in just their undergarments. In the dim flickering light, Geoffroi checked a small parchment map, orientated it and walked over to a plain black granite box. Hugues quickly started to lever the solid stone lid aside but the weight was too much for him alone, so together, the four knights, watched closely by the Count, eased the lid backwards until it slid off and landed with a bang, breaking in the middle. Hesitantly they approached the opened box and peered in. As light from the flaming torches flickered and danced across the bo
x, bright gold reflected from four winged angels placed at each corner of a large ornately decorated box inside.
“My Lord, ’tis true…the Ark of the Covenant,” gasped Geoffroi emotionally as sweat ran from his forehead into his eyes, making him blink.
“No, not quite but it is part of the same. This is just one of many. It is what is inside that is of the greatest importance,” Hugues whispered, and then smiled.
Hesitantly Count Troyes approached closer.
“Well done indeed my good friends and servants of the Lord. If what we believe is indeed within these vaults, then our long journey and that of all humankind can at last continue again on its true path,” he exclaimed almost reverentially. He paused as he took in the sight that surrounded him. Several large box shapes lay upon the floor that looked more like books with two large ring binders through each, holding sheets, but the pages appeared gold on some of them, and copper on others. He coughed and cleared his throat. “History may not remember you for the right reasons in your lifetimes…however, in the future, then and only then, my brothers, will the world know what a great service and miracle you have started this day,” he continued solemnly, the knights just peering at the contents of the opened box, exhaustion and emotion etched upon their dirty faces, their eyes ablaze with satisfaction and happiness.
The Count stood back, hesitated for a moment as if sensing something behind him. The other knights looked at him quizzically as he slowly turned and cast the light from the burning torch towards the far wall. As the light stretched out, it illuminated three very large half-decomposed figures sat propped up against the wall and part dressed in white cotton type robes still remarkably preserved. Two had fair, almost white, hair and the third had red hair still visible and all wearing a bright pale blue sleeveless tabard. Their decomposing skin was almost translucent and pulled taut across their defined features. Their eyes closed, they looked serene. Placed next to them were what looked like copper and leather breastplates with emeralds placed within a square pattern of twelve segments. A strange set of round transparent lenses, with what appeared to be triangles etched within them and joined together, were placed upon each breastplate set. Black and white stones were scattered across the floor as well as several ‘foot long’ sticks in both black and white.
“By the mercy of our Lord,” the Count whispered emotionally as he approached them. When he knelt down toward the nearest figure, he was dwarfed by their immense size, almost twice that of his frame. He gazed upon them in amazement for a few moments, and then looked back at the other knights.
“Elohim; Nephelim’s?” Geoffroi exclaimed quizzically, in awe.
With the sudden recent change in air pressure in the room after centuries of being sealed, the figures started to move slightly under their own collapsing weight. The head of the nearest figure started to slide to its right, then completely fell away from its position and rolled down onto the floor, stopping just short of the Count’s feet as he stood up straight. The head was at least twice the size of a normal person’s. An elaborate necklace with a pendant that had three connecting triangles fixed to a square plate with symbols upon, the most visible one being that of what looked like the letter H with a T placed on it, prominently displayed and highlighted in silver, fell at his feet. “No one must ever know that I was present this day with you,” he whispered.
Megalithic Hypogeum of Hal Saflieni, Malta, AD 1109
No sooner had the Count knelt down to pick up the ornate necklace in Jerusalem, when at that exact same moment, across the Mediterranean Sea upon a raised artificial plateau near the shore on Malta’s east coast at the site of a buried Megalithic Hypogeum, a tall, clean-shaven middle aged looking man dressed in a full-length white mantle stood motionless beneath a single standing, large and very ancient Holm Oak tree. The tree shaded an even more ancient stone burial mound. The man sensed something, like a soft wave of water gently hitting him. The setting sun was reflecting hues of crimson and red off the white undersides of the oak’s leaves to beautiful effect. His long tied back hair matched the white of his clothes. His eyes were closed tightly, his hands resting upon a staff as he breathed in deliberately slowly, held his breath for a moment, and then exhaled even more slowly. A slight breeze blew his mantle tunic top open revealing a black and yellow striped cord with a hexagonal pendant replete with a depiction of a stylised bee hanging around his neck.
Fig 1:
The staff was unusual in that it had a dark polished metallic type horseshoe at the top positioned above a round ball of identical colour. As the sun sank slowly over the horizon, it cast long shadows across the small open clearing within the woods where the great oak tree stood separate from the rest. The round ball section of the staff appeared to glow from the inside and a pale bluish green light began to emanate from it, shining through his fingers. The man opened his eyes wide revealing large piercing blue eyes that reflected the silhouette image of the tree he stood before. His gaze slowly moved downwards to look at the small figure of a young blonde haired girl of no more than four years of age approaching him. Her smile was mesmerising as she stood before him and looked up. He sighed softly and returned the smile. She outstretched her hand for his and when his hand met hers, he knelt down and looked intently into her clear youthful blue eyes.
“We are but the last few of our kind! You cannot understand me, nor grasp what I say to you yet, but now, as my work can again continue, so too is your journey just beginning, my child; so come, we have much to do,” he said softly.
The little girl squeezed his hand tightly, and simply smiled back at him.
Port of La Rochelle, France, Melissae Inn, spring 1191
A tall figure cloaked from head to toe in a dark grey, almost black, ankle length over tunic with a bright blue sash wrapped around his middle and over his right shoulder stood with his back to the main entrance door of the two storeyed Melissae Inn. A former manor house, it was situated alone at the top of a raised outlet of land that jutted into the harbour opening of the protected straits of the Pertuis d’Antioche, part of the Bay of Biscay to the south of La Rochelle. The port echoed with the sounds of traders, sailors and builders working upon the new half completed outer harbour wall and castellated towers that flanked the entrance. Several large Genoese galleys were berthed alongside Hospitaller and Templar ships along with several merchant Cog vessels; their sails were being furled away.
With stables, a sizable bunkhouse and a natural fresh water well, it was a haven for travellers and pilgrims to stop and rest as many passed by on the path named the ‘Allee Stella Maris’ due to several myths and stories that surrounded it being named as such, which the inn fronted onto. It had commanding views north across the sheltered harbour and west overlooking the open Atlantic ocean beyond. The sun was casting its last rays on the horizon creating bright shimmering starbursts of light upon the calm waters, which silhouetted him to those inside the inn. A chilly breeze gently blew and he raised the hood up over his head. He stood a while longer gazing out towards the open ocean as raised voices and laughter filled the air with a cacophony of noise he would rather not hear. Stephan, the inn’s proprietor, exited the door looking more like a blacksmith than an innkeeper with his oversized boots and dark leather apron and sleeves rolled up on his arms. Large in both size and character, his receding ginger hair gave away his older age despite his face being youthful and kind looking.
“I think it’s about time you came inside and warmed yourself. That wind will chill you before you realise it,” he said loudly to be heard above the noise. He wiped a small drinking goblet with a cloth as he waited for the man’s reply and adjusted a small sign that hung bearing the name of the inn and an image of a bee, a beehive and a scallop shell.
The man raised his right hand in acknowledgement but carried on looking out across the harbour. A horn blew in the distance and echoed out as workers constructing the harbour entrance fortifications were called to stop their day’s work. The regular and repeated thuds and
metallic clanging sounds started to cease almost at once. Only the noise of several horses tied up near the inn neighing and making the odd snort as a Mareschal farrier tended them now punctured the air, plus the occasional laugh and female shriek coming from inside the inn. As the last rays of the sun set in bright crimson and orange hues on the long streaks of cloud on the horizon, the man turned slowly, pulled the hood and cloak around himself tighter and walked toward the inn’s main entrance. Built from both local sandstone blocks and with large wooden beams, the inn was a solid refuge against the bitter Atlantic winds and weather that could batter the shoreline during the winter months, but mostly the bay afforded La Rochelle a temperate climate all year, almost identical to its southern French ports on the Mediterranean. It made for an ideal location as a major Freeport for traders.
Stephan was already lighting a fire in the large open fireplace at the far end of the big room when the man entered. Long wooden tables and benches were filled with people. There were both male and female manual workers, field labourers, stonemasons with their tools still firmly wrapped around their waists and toolboxes at their feet, sailors and several soldiers. Two men, one a Knight Templar and the other a Knight Hospitaller, sat nearest the main fire, still fully dressed in all their over chain mail, mantles and finery, their swords and helmets placed upon the wooden table in front of them. They were eating quietly. The pair looked tired and weary, the noise of the other guests clearly an unwelcome intrusion. As the tall man approached their table, they looked up at him, almost in disdain but noted he was clearly elderly. It was obvious they did not want him, or anyone else, sitting near them, but the big single chair next to the fire is where the tall old man wished to sit. He paused in front of the two knights, pulled his hood back slightly to reveal his aged features; his eyes still a sharp blue that seemed to look directly into them. They looked at the fine silver and gold thread embroidery on his blue cloak sash and on the sleeves of his over tunic.