The Templar Heresy

by James Becker

  It didn’t take a lot of effort to find it. Behind the altar, the stone floor was covered with a faded red carpet, but as they walked over it they both realized at the same moment that the floor was not entirely made of stone. The feeling under the soles of their shoes was completely different in the central section.

  ‘Bingo,’ Bronson said shortly. ‘That feels like a trapdoor.’

  Quickly, they moved to opposite ends of the carpet and pulled it back to lay it against the wall. Set into the stone floor was a square wooden door, with a recessed metal ring on one side to allow it to be pulled open.

  Bronson grabbed the ring and levered it up, pulling the door all the way open so that it lay back against the stone floor. Below the door and descending into the darkness underneath the chapel was a flight of stone stairs, a sight that gave Bronson an immediate and unpleasant sense of déjà vu.

  ‘Shades of Shobak Castle,’ he muttered, taking a torch out of his pocket and preparing to descend.

  ‘Surely there must be a light switch somewhere,’ Angela said. ‘I can’t believe the priest or the caretaker would have to use a torch every time he needed to go down there.’

  Bronson shone the torch around the perimeter of the hole, then nodded and snapped off the light.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, and reached out to flick a switch.

  Immediately, the crypt was flooded with light from a couple of fluorescent tubes mounted on the ceiling. The two of them walked down the staircase, stopped at the bottom and stared around them.

  As far as Bronson could tell, the crypt was about one third the size of the chapel above it, and was largely empty. In the spaces on both sides of the staircase a number of anonymous cardboard boxes had been stacked, presumably containing materials that would be needed in the chapel above, perhaps candles and the like. The walls on both sides were concealed behind old and faded hanging drapes, possibly in an attempt to provide a degree of insulation, because the crypt felt quite cold.

  But the dominant feature of the underground chamber, the one thing that could never be ignored, was the design on the stone wall directly in front of the staircase. In colours that looked as vibrant as if it had only been painted a matter of days ago, the wall boasted a huge croix pattée, the most dominant and enduring symbol of the Knights Templar. And, as a further confirmation, suspended from two stone pegs directly below the symbol, an ancient rusted Templar battle sword hung, point downwards.

  ‘Well, that’s interesting and impressive,’ Bronson said, ‘but what I don’t see is anywhere that the relic we’re searching for could be hidden.’

  ‘That’s because you’re an amateur meddling in a world that belongs to the professionals,’ a cold voice spat from behind them.

  Bronson and Angela whirled around to find themselves facing two men who had walked silently down the stairs and now stood just a few feet away, each holding a semi-automatic pistol and giving every impression that he knew how to use it.

  It was Angela who reacted first.

  ‘You!’ she gasped, with a sharp intake of breath. She was staring at one of the two men. ‘I should have guessed.’

  61

  Montsaunès, France

  ‘Khaled,’ she said. Her face was a picture of anger. She looked at Bronson. ‘He’s the director of the Baghdad Museum. He was basically in overall charge of our expedition. That explains a lot. I always wondered how news of our finding that underground temple got out so quickly, but obviously we were keeping him informed on a daily basis.’

  ‘You talk too much,’ the bearded man standing beside Khaled said, his English fluent and almost without an accent. ‘Before we leave here I’m going to teach you some manners.’

  ‘Enough, Farooq,’ Khaled said. ‘First of all, we have to find what we’re looking for. These two might be useful for a little while longer.’

  ‘What are you looking for?’ Angela asked, ignoring Farooq’s warning and immediately deviating from the strategy she and Bronson had discussed earlier that morning. ‘And what have the Knights Templar got to do with a Mandaean temple in Iraq?’

  Khaled shrugged. ‘Everything, and nothing, really,’ he replied. ‘Both were heretics, and both shared the same gnostic beliefs, at least to some extent. You saw the carved face in the underground temple, and I’m assuming that you are bright enough to know who it was supposed to represent.’

  ‘John the Baptist,’ Angela said, after a moment.

  ‘Bravo. Well, the Templars shared that belief.’

  Angela shook her head in frustration. ‘I know that. But why was it necessary to murder all of my colleagues? What was the point of that? And poor Stephen in Italy. Why did they all have to die? What’s so important that you had them all killed?’

  ‘Simple,’ Khaled replied. ‘They knew too much. I’d been hoping that someone would find that temple for years, and once they did, that knowledge had to die with them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You really don’t know?’

  ‘Of course I don’t,’ Angela almost shouted.

  ‘So what was it?’ Bronson demanded. ‘Part of some twisted Islamic crusade?’

  A smug look passed over Khaled’s face, and he shook his head. ‘This has nothing to do with religion, except in the most peripheral manner. This was all to do with money and rewards.’

  The surprise must have shown on the faces of Bronson and Angela.

  ‘It’s really very simple,’ Khaled went on. ‘The Mandaeans of southern Iraq were nothing to do with the Knights Templar except that they were both heretical groups, both worshipping John the Baptist. That was the Templar heresy, if you like. They were accused of worshipping a disembodied head, of spitting and trampling on the cross, and denying Christ. All of which made perfect sense if they did worship John the Baptist, because that would have made Jesus Christ a usurper, somebody who came along after the event, as it were, and stole all of John’s glory. They would have reviled and rejected him and everything he stood for.

  ‘Years ago, I discovered a parchment that stated unequivocally that not only were the Templars Johannites, but during their excavations on the Temple Mount they had recovered the head of John the Baptist, placed there for safe keeping and veneration by his followers at some time in the first century AD after he was beheaded. Over the years, John’s disciples had established groups in a number of countries – including the Mandaeans of Iraq – to follow what they saw as the only true religion.

  ‘But the really interesting claim made in the parchment was that the head of the Baptist became the “truth” so jealously guarded by the Templars. It became, in fact, the Baphomet idol that they worshipped, perhaps their most sacred treasure. After the order was purged, somebody realized that the Mandaeans were the best hope of keeping the truth alive – the sacred truth about the Baptist, I mean – and stated that in a temple below the sands was a clue to the final resting place of the Templars’ Baphomet, the head of John the Baptist.’

  Khaled stopped talking, as if that were the entire story, his whole justification for what he and his companions had done.

  ‘But what possible use would it be to you to find the head – and all it would be today is a skull, I presume – of a man who died two thousand years ago?’ Angela demanded. ‘The skull of a person who may have been John the Baptist, though there’s no chance you’d ever be able to prove that.’

  ‘You still don’t see it, do you?’ Khaled smiled again. ‘Despite everything I’ve told you. Baphomet was the Templars’ sacred “truth”, the reason why they denied Christ. Even under the most painful and prolonged tortures, no Templar ever revealed its true location or admitted anything about it. When the order was forced out of Outremer, the land beyond the sea, after the fall of Acre, that relic went with the survivors to a place of safety. And,’ Khaled paused for emphasis, ‘the important thing is that all their other assets went with it, most especially the treasure of the Templars in the Holy Land, the contents of the treasury of Acre that Tibauld de Ga
udin took with him when he fled from that doomed castle ahead of the final Mamluk assault. So, find one, and you find the other,’ he finished. ‘Find the relic and you also find the treasure.’

  ‘So this was just a treasure hunt?’ Angela asked, as she realized the essential truth of what he’d just said. ‘Nothing to do with a search for historical truth or an important relic, just a grubby little expedition so you could get your hands on something that didn’t belong to you.’

  ‘After all these centuries, it doesn’t belong to anyone,’ Khaled pointed out. ‘But, yes, that was the whole purpose of what we’ve been doing. That was why your companions had to die, and why you, too, won’t be walking out of here.’

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed,’ Bronson pointed out, ‘but there’s no treasure down here. Unless somebody’s helpfully packed it away in those cardboard boxes for you, which I doubt.’

  Khaled’s smile didn’t waver.

  ‘It’s here somewhere,’ he said confidently. ‘The Templars were hardly going to leave it lying about on the floor of their chapel, were they? Don’t forget that as well as being fighting men they were also bankers and engineers. You only have to look at any of their surviving buildings to know that. And perhaps I’ve already noticed something that you’ve missed.’

  ‘What?’ Angela sounded more annoyed than frightened, despite the death threat the Iraqi had issued just seconds earlier.

  Khaled pointed over at the wall behind them, the massive stone wall bearing the red-painted croix pattée, and both Bronson and Angela turned to look where he was indicating.

  ‘On the right-hand side, just there, at about shoulder height,’ he said. ‘There’s a circular patch of discoloured stone.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So if that wall was actually a door, that’s where a man would place his hand to push it open.’

  ‘There could be other reasons for that,’ Bronson said.

  ‘Perhaps there are. Let’s find out. Go over there and push.’

  Khaled gestured to Bronson to start moving, while Farooq herded Angela to the other side of the room.

  Bronson placed his hand on the wall where Khaled had indicated, and pushed as hard as he could. Absolutely nothing happened, and after a few seconds he stepped backwards.

  ‘Solid as a rock,’ he said. ‘Just as I expected.’

  Khaled seemed unfazed.

  ‘Then there must be a key or a catch somewhere,’ he said, ‘something to free it.’ He pointed again, at the centre of the wall. ‘Remove that sword, and then push the stone pegs upwards.’

  Bronson stepped over to the ancient weapon and lifted it down. For the briefest of instants he wondered if it could still be used for its original purpose, but the moment he touched it he realized it was far too fragile. He placed the sword on the floor behind him, then reached up and grasped hold of the two stone pegs.

  He had expected them to be completely solid, but the moment he touched the old stone he could feel a very slight movement. He pushed firmly upwards on both of them, as the Iraqi had told him to do, and felt rather than heard a faint click.

  ‘I felt something,’ he admitted, unable to hide the trace of excitement in his voice.

  ‘Now push the wall again,’ Khaled instructed, his tone noticeably more excited too.

  Bronson did so, but again nothing happened.

  ‘It’s still solid,’ he said, looking round at Khaled.

  ‘Then there must be something else, some other lever that needs to be activated.’

  The Iraqi scanned the chamber, but it was Farooq who pointed out what they’d all missed. On both side walls, about two feet from the back wall, were additional stone pegs, each possibly intended to carry another Templar battle sword.

  ‘Maybe you have to move all three sets at the same time,’ he suggested. ‘And perhaps push on the wall too. That would have been at least a form of protection against the hidden chamber – assuming there is one, of course – ever being opened by a single thief.’

  It seemed as good a suggestion as any, and Khaled nodded.

  ‘It’s worth trying,’ he said.

  He told Bronson to push on the wall, waved his pistol at Angela and ordered her to manoeuvre the stone pegs on the side wall directly behind Bronson. Then he stationed himself and Farooq by the other two sets.

  ‘Right, push now,’ Khaled instructed, when they were all in position.

  Angela knew she had no choice in the matter and, despite herself, she was caught up in the excitement of the discovery, the final revelation that lay at the end of the trail they’d followed across the Middle East and Europe.

  This time, the clicks as some ancient hidden mechanism was triggered were quite audible, and almost as soon as Bronson leaned his weight against the side of the back wall, he felt it start to move. Only a fraction of an inch, but enough to show that Khaled had been right: the wall was actually a massive stone door, pivoted in the centre.

  For a few seconds, as he continued pushing, nothing else happened. But then, agonizingly slowly and accompanied by a dull rumbling sound as of stone rolling over stone, the entire back wall of the crypt began to rotate, its weight carried on some kind of central hinges located at the top and bottom of the wall.

  He continued pushing until the wall would move no further, the openings on both sides now easily wide enough to allow a man to walk through. More obviously, the opening allowed Bronson and the other three people to clearly see what lay inside, beyond the solid stone door.

  The fluorescent light from the ceiling of the crypt penetrated deep into the hidden chamber, revealing a room about the same size as the crypt itself, with a solid stone floor and a few rows of simple wooden pews. At the far end an unadorned stone altar had been constructed and on the very centre of it was a small square shape. Apart from that, the newly opened chamber appeared to be completely empty. No chests. No piles of bullion or whatever form the Templar treasure of Outremer might have taken.

  Khaled took in the sight and then, with a muttered curse, stepped forward to check for himself. A few moments later, he stepped out again, his face like thunder.

  Angela laughed briefly, and he stared straight at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You didn’t manage to translate the final section of the inscription, did you?’ she asked. ‘Because you never saw the last clue to the decoding that we needed, the carving that we found on one of the stones in the Western Wall Tunnel. That’s why you had to follow us into Jordan, to Shobak Castle.’

  ‘So what?’ Khaled’s voice betrayed his anger and frustration.

  ‘There was a phrase in that last part of the inscription that didn’t make sense to me when we translated it, but it’s making perfect sense now. The phrase was “there was safety in separation”. We’ve both followed the same trail all the way from Iraq to Jerusalem, on to Jordan and finally to this place, here in the French Pyrenees. But what you didn’t know, because you never decoded the second part of the inscription, was that at some point during the movement of the Templar treasure of Outremer, and the sacred Baphomet relic, the custodians obviously decided to separate them. And because the head of John the Baptist was infinitely more valuable than any kind of worldly possession to the Mandaeans, and maybe also to the Templars, that inscription led us to the location of the relic, but not to where they hid the treasure. That’s somewhere else entirely. You’ve lost, Khaled,’ she finished. ‘This is the end of the trail. The treasure isn’t here, and all this has been for nothing.’

  ‘Maybe,’ the Iraqi snapped, ‘but at least I’ll still be alive to carry on the quest. For both of you, it’s time to die.’

  Simultaneously, Khaled and Farooq raised their pistols and aimed them directly at Bronson and Angela.

  62

  Montsaunès, France

  ‘Maintenant!’ Bronson shouted. ‘Vite!’

  He jumped to the side, putting his body between Angela and the two armed men.

  Khaled and Farooq pulled t
he triggers of their pistols virtually simultaneously, the double report thunderous in the confined space.

  Bronson staggered backwards as the two bullets slammed into his chest, knocking him down. His fall took Angela with him. She tumbled on to the stone floor, cracking the back of her head, and lay still as Bronson’s dead weight awkwardly covered her body.

  Neither Iraqi got a chance to fire a second time. Even as they were shifting the aim of their weapons, two black-clad men stepped down the staircase, silenced sub-machine guns in their hands. When they fired their weapons, the reports sounded like flat metallic slaps, but the effects were devastating. Khaled and Farooq danced briefly and clumsily as the subsonic nine-millimetre bullets slammed into them, before both collapsed to the stone floor.

  From the chapel above, similar sounds could be heard, silenced weapons firing followed by the heavy thud of bodies falling to the ground.

  One of the newcomers walked over to the splayed bodies of the two Iraqis, the muzzle of his weapon aimed straight at them, while the other one strode across to where Bronson and Angela lay in an untidy tangle of limbs.

  His face pinched with concern, he bent over the two silent figures.

  ‘Monsieur Bronson,’ he said, and reached out to feel the Englishman’s neck, checking for a pulse.

  Then he straightened up again, a slight smile crossing his face as Bronson groaned and struggled to move, his hand rubbing his chest. He sat up, clearly trying to catch his breath, then glanced down and behind him at Angela.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, panting as he gasped for air, and relief flooded through him when she nodded, before both of them climbed very shakily to their feet.

  Bronson grabbed her and held her tight, the sensation spoiled more than somewhat by the bullet-proof Kevlar vests that both were wearing under their outdoor clothes, protective garments that they had donned in the lay-by outside Saint-Martory earlier that morning. The French had insisted on that before agreeing to Bronson’s somewhat risky scheme.