by D. N. Carter
“By our Lord, you know much indeed, but what about Jerusalem, is that not part of the reason the Crusades started, in order to retake that holy place?” Paul asked, intrigued.
“No, not all, but again, that is an even far lengthier subject that time this night does not allow us to cover. But know that living under either Christian or Islamic rule was not a bed of roses for either side, young Paul.”
“I sense you are a man of great insight and wisdom and I am sad I am not able to learn more from you,” Paul said.
“And I sense you are of a wisdom and understanding beyond your young years for even thinking that of me…but be on your guard for all I say may be in error as it is purely from my own perspective and understanding. You must find your own truths,” Rick responded.
Both looked up as rain fell hard upon the roof loudly. Two drips starting immediately. Rick stood and hurriedly picked up two blackened old horse feed buckets and placed them under the drips to catch the water.
“One day I shall repair those leaks,” he stated and looked up to the darkened ceiling. “Now come, you must sleep; I have many spare rooms upstairs. You can take your pick. You will find blankets, sheets and bed linings in the boxes at the end of each bed you find, but do check them first as it has been some while since guests stayed. I shall find you a candle to light your way.”
“Thank you,” Paul replied, standing up.
“And on the morrow, I shall take you to the Commander of House and Farms. He is the operational officer in charge of non-military Templar commerce operations here. He will sort your horse. And here I wish you to take this, as a gift,” Rick said as he handed Paul a small black box. “It is made from the finest polished Lebanese Cedar wood. It opens but I shall leave you to ponder its peculiarities,” he said with a broad smile visible in the fading light of the fire. “And perhaps should we meet again, you will have discovered its meaning and hidden message.”
“I cannot accept this gift. Please, take it back,” Paul replied awkwardly and embarrassed.
Rick looked at him and raised an eyebrow as if to disapprove.
“No, you must take it. Niccolas will guide you through the basics and I know he would most certainly approve of you having it.”
1 – 37
Paul could sense that he had in part hurt Rick’s feelings by refusing to accept it.
“In that case, if you insist. And I shall try to fathom what it means before we meet again…as I surely hope we shall,” Paul replied looking over the beautifully made and polished little box.
“I have also placed a small vial of rosehip oil in there for you. It will help heal that scar upon your face well.” Rick smiled as Paul looked over the box. He ran his fingers over a small engraving of some letters. He strained to see them.
“Is – Ra – El…oh, I see, Israel,” Paul stated, confident he had read the words correctly.
“Israel, perhaps? But on that box its stands for both Israel and a combination of the names of some ancient pagan deities; though do not be alarmed by that fact. They represent Isis, the sacred feminine deity from ancient Egypt, most probably the most important deity, as you will hopefully one day learn. Then there is Ra, the ancient Egyptian Sun God… and finally El, the root word for Elohim…but the rest, you can fathom yourself,” Rick explained, enjoying the moment as he recognised the enthusiasm register on Paul’s face.
Paul examined the box closer. One side had a fleur de lys type image intertwined with a double knot that was carved deeply into the wood and inlaid with what looked like gold. At the other end, an intricate Dara Celtic Knot. Paul was familiar with this image through his father’s teachings. He knew the meaning of the word. ‘Dara’ was from an old Irish word, ‘doire’, which meant ‘oak tree’, the Dara Celtic knot being associated with the root system of oak trees. The Celtics, and especially Druids, considered the oak tree as sacred. They used to derive meaningful messages applicable in day-to-day life through the language of trees. Oak trees are the symbol of destiny, power, strength, wisdom, leadership and endurance. All these attributes therefore got associated with the Dara Celtic knot. Roots of the oak tree represented in the form of the Dara Celtic knot are symbolic of the great source of inner strength or divine resources we each possess. As Paul remembered these facts, he felt very appreciative of the generous gift Rick had given him. Was Rick a Druid? he asked himself.
Inside the Megalithic Hypogeum of Hal Saflieni, Malta, 1178
Light from a small fire flickered and danced off the smooth walls carved directly out of the solid rock making the chamber glow in a warm pinkish hue. Various designs painted in red-ochre on the ceiling showed a honeycomb pattern that transformed into a collection of floral spirals, most of which appeared enclosed in pentagrams. Black and red ochre images of a ‘fat lady’ holding an axe were also represented in various sizes. The elderly tall white haired man who had saved Paul and Taqi from the falling stone and wooden scaffolding sat cross legged, his eyes shut as he meditated. Smoke from the small fire was funnelled away naturally through a vent hole above. Situated below ground, the chamber room was on the third and lowest level of the site that contained other rock-cut features such as a ‘speaking chamber’, trilithons, lintelled-doorways, a large cistern and a ‘holy of holies’ surrounded by other ‘embryonic’ chambers. The walls, despite their immense age, remained in pristine condition. Next to the old man were placed several part furled parchments. After a few moments, the man opened his eyes as a noise behind him interrupted his concentration. Large shadows stretched out before him as a very bright light entered the chamber. Slowly he turned his head to see the silhouette of a tall female approach carrying a staff with a very bright round orb attached that was shining out the brilliant white light.
“Sorry…I thought you would have finished by now,” she said softly as she knelt down next to him, the light illuminating the entire chamber. He looked at her closely as she smiled.
“I have been finished a while now…but I wished to savour this moment and place just a little longer,” he replied quietly.
“You still look tired,” the woman said and gently cupped her hand upon his face.
“I am tired. But I am healing,” he replied and placed his hand to his chest then pulled aside his white robe to reveal the scar from the injury he had received whilst protecting Paul and Taqi. “I am lucky to live.”
“That you are,” the woman stated and sat down next to him, placing the staff and light into a small notch that held the staff upright. “Have the stones revealed anything?” she asked.
“I have not checked them yet,” he replied then leaned forwards, picked up a pair of metal tongs and poked around in the diminishing embers of the fire. Awkwardly he tried to clamp a black stone but kept dropping it. The young woman quickly took the tongs and easily clasped the stone and removed it from the embers and placed it upon a small square slab of granite immediately in front of the man. Both sat quietly and looked at the stone as ancient glyphs glowed on its surface, the letters revealed by the heat of the fire. “We need the others to read this accurately,” the old man continued. Quickly the young woman removed several other black and white stones all revealing various symbols and glyphs. She moved them until they all faced upwards so the old man could see them. He studied them for a while in total silence as the woman sat patiently. When the stones began to cool down, the incandescent images upon them started to vanish.
“Has the time come?” asked the young woman.
The old man nodded gently then looked directly at her.
“It has indeed. We must seal this place completely. We must hide our ancestors’ remains until a time comes when once again they can be venerated and respected for who they were,” he answered solemnly with a slight wince of pain registering as he moved to pick up the parchments. Slowly he unfurled them completely. They were identical birth charts to those of Paul and Taqi but there was an extra one for Alisha. They all had Dara Celtic knot symbols and a badge identical to the fleur de
lys enclosed in a double knot as imaged on the small box Rick had given Paul. “Their path is still not set and it is still too early to gauge which one they shall follow, but either way, our time here is done. Our forefathers have guarded it well for over five thousand years…but now we must trust it to Mother Earth herself to protect and watch over, for we must leave and travel,” he explained as he checked over the parchments again.
“You are too weak to travel…you must wait,” the young woman said softly, concern written across her young features.
“Abi…we have no choice. For there awaits a great danger for mankind if what we know and understand falls into their hands now, before they are ready to accept and understand it. These three possess the keys to either protect it and guarantee its passage to the correct time…or reveal it too soon and destroy everything,” he explained further with a heavy sigh and sadness in his voice.
“Then we must make sure they protect it, not the latter. That is what I have always believed my purpose to be…that much I do know so you do not have to travel. You must stay here and heal, you must use the ‘speaking’ chamber, you know its rhythms reverberate to your heartbeat,” Abi said, her voice emotional. “Thousands of our ancestors lay here, and you know they would all agree with me on this matter!”
The old man looked at her as he held the parchments in one hand whilst his other hand rested upon the wound on his chest. He feigned a smile but did not answer her. He looked across the brightly lit chamber. Just two simple small statuettes, one of a sleeping mother Goddess figurine, the other of a stone slab relic depicting a snake symbol with a helix pattern entwined around it, stood on either side of a trilithon stairway entrance, though the stairs led to a blocked solid wall. Several large skulls were placed in neatly cut recesses within the walls. They had particularly large craniums showing a very pronounced and lengthened skullcap, and no median knitting lines like normal human skulls.
“Abi…then you must leave soonest and travel via Gilgal. You must remove the marker hidden there. Once you have done that, only then can you watch over this Alisha girl…is that understood?” he asked weakly. Abi nodded silently in acknowledgement.
Port of La Rochelle, France, Melissae Inn, spring 1191
“You expect us to believe that? The stuff about Paul I can buy, but the old man business inside some secret shrine in Malta…ptuh…how would you know what they said?” demanded the fishmonger, his tone bombastic.
“Maybe he is the old man in question, you fool!” the Templar shot back in response, irritation at the fishmonger evident.
“Please be calm. He has a valid point. His mind is obviously sharper than he lets on. But I can answer honestly that no, I am not he. Perhaps I add a little here and there to explain certain elements, but I assure you as I have already said previously, all that I say and state is the truth. How I know these details I shall in due course reveal, if you will permit me to continue, of course,” the old man replied politely.
“Ignore the fool and pray continue,” the Templar remarked giving the fishmonger a glare of disdain.
“Gentlemen, please. I beg of you your indulgence and to be peaceable towards one and other, for when I have finished, I shall be asking a favour of all of you,” the old man said softly.
“See, told you. He’ll want payment of sorts!” the fishmonger bellowed and folded his arms.
“You really are demonstrating total ignorance now are you not?” the Templar remarked, sitting up straight and looking hard at the fishmonger.
“You will not be asked to make any payment, I assure you, of any kind when you leave here. You are free to leave at any time,” the old man explained. Silence fell upon the room as all sat eyeing one another.
“Oh for the love of Mary, you boys are a nightmare. Either shut up and listen or buckle up and leave as I for one wish to know what happens next,” Sarah said, exasperated with them, and raised her hands in frustration. “So please, please tell us what happened next. Did he get his poem to her after all or not?”
The old man smiled at her clear interest and frustration as well as her obvious irritation towards the men. He nodded and sat up, sipped some water and leaned forwards to rest his elbows upon the table.
Rochefort-sur-Terre, 15 miles south of La Rochelle, late spring of 1178
After a good night’s sleep free of any dreams, Paul awoke with a start in the unfamiliar bed and surroundings. The room was still dark as he sat up quickly and got his bearings, remembering he was still at Rick’s home. Before he could get out of bed, the door was flung open letting in a shaft of bright sunlight that blinded him momentarily.
“Wakey wakey, young man. The weather is fair this morning and best you be on your way before the road becomes blocked by carts. Come, you shall breakfast with me then I shall take you to get your horse,” Rick half yelled into the room with a big smile across his face.
Within half an hour Paul had washed his face, eaten some bread and cheese, some very ripe tomatoes and a glass of the clearest water he had ever drunk. He had to half run out of the main hall to catch up with Rick, who was already walking ahead of him. Paul’s first thoughts were of getting the horse and getting back home to see Alisha just as soon as he could. Within moments he was standing with Rick at a small horse corral with an attached sheltered horse stall. Two Templars stood guard but no one else was visible. The air was crisp and fresh if a little chilly. Rick coughed and looked around. Several small pack horses were corralled within a sectioned off area further away. One of the Turcoman horses was very tall and well groomed. The other looked older, was more fractious and clearly not happy to be penned in.
“I hope that one is not ours,” Paul said looking at it as it snorted its head up and down.
“No, that one there is yours. It has your father’s initials marked upon its hide, look,” Rick pointed out.
“Gentleman, apologies for my lateness,” a voice boomed out from behind them as several other turcopoles* (*During the period of the Crusades, turcopoles, also ‘turcoples’, ‘turcopoli’ or ‘turcopoliers’, from the Greek: τουρκόπουλοι, ‘sons of Turks’, were locally recruited mounted archers employed by the Christian states of the Eastern Mediterranean but it also became a rank within the Templar hierarchy itself.) and knights suddenly appeared. “Morning vespers ran over,” he shouted as he approached them.
“Paul, this is the Commander of House and Farms Administration I mentioned you have to meet,” Rick explained and proffered his hand to shake the commander’s hand. They shook firmly. The Commander looked Paul up and down quizzically, took the note of purchase from Paul’s hand without a word and read it carefully. Quickly he checked it then thrust it back to him.
“That one there is yours. Feel free to take her when you are ready,” he said loudly, pointing at the nearest and better looking of the two horses, then quickly turned and walked away to join several other Templars and their squires.