Forsberg continued. “In addition to the runic symbols, there are two other fascinating things about the Spirit Pond Rune Stones.” He showed a slide of the map stone Cam and Amanda had examined in Maine the day before. “First, according to this map, Vinland is along the southern coast of New England, not up in Newfoundland as many believe. I’ll let the Vinland experts debate this but it seems pretty significant to me. Interestingly, the carver of this map put south oriented to the right rather than at the bottom. I would argue this helps prove its authenticity—a modern-day forger would have put south at the bottom, correct?” A number of heads nodded. “But why did this carver put south on the right?”
Cam and Amanda shared a smile, leaning forward. Maybe Forsberg could solve the mystery for them.
“I was having dinner with a friend last week and I was explaining the map stone to his fourth-grade daughter. I asked her where she would put south if she were drawing a map. ‘Well, Mr. Forsberg, if I was doing it today,’ she answered, ‘I’d put south on the bottom. But if I was doing it in the olden days, I’d put south on the right because east was always on the top back then.’” Forsberg laughed. “She’d been reading some book about old maps. Apparently the medieval custom was to put east at the top because east was the direction of both Jerusalem and the Garden of Eden, the world’s most important places for Europeans. So this fourth-grade girl actually had a big part in solving the mystery for us.”
He waited for the laughter to die down. “Of course, my wife Cheryl hates this story. She’s always telling me to stop talking about all this stuff so much, that people find it boring. But now I just remind her about the fourth-grade girl and the map, about how the more I talk about this stuff the more I learn.”
He sipped his water again, smiling as it splashed onto his tie. “Okay, back to serious things. The second interesting thing about these Rune Stones is the dating. Back in the 1970s, archeologists found a campsite, a wooden longhouse, right along the shore of Spirit Pond near where the Rune Stones were found. They carbon-dated the floorboards of the longhouse and came up with a date of 1405, plus or minus a decade or so. But because the Spirit Pond stones were originally thought to be dated as 1010 A.D., nobody got too excited about the 1405 date for the floorboards.” He paused here and surveyed the room, a subtle signal that he was about to make a key point. “But we don’t think 1010 A.D. is the correct date of the Rune Stones. Scott Wolter and Dick Nielsen have ascertained that the correct date is 1401.”
Amanda leaned and whispered into Cam’s ear. “This research is all quite new. The Consortium only learned of it a few weeks ago. Most folks here will find this theory fascinating.”
Using more projections, Forsberg explained how, during medieval times, only priests were educated enough to compute the Christian calendar, which they did by using a special chart called the Easter Table. Wolter and Nielsen used the Easter Table to confirm the Kensington Rune Stone date of 1362. Forsberg then demonstrated how certain markings on one of the Rune Stones, long thought to be Roman numerals indicating the year ‘1010,’ were actually inscriptions that, when applied to the Easter Table, denoted the year 1401. “We’re pretty confident the 1401 date is the correct one. It works with the Easter Table and it’s consistent with the grammar and style of the runes. Which means the 1405 carbon dating of the longhouse now becomes incredibly relevant.”
He surveyed the audience again and smiled. “What does it all mean? I’ll tell you. It means that some expedition from Northern Europe was on the Maine coast in 1401. And they are somehow related to the group that was stranded in Minnesota in 1362.”
Which also meant the Minnesota and Maine Rune Stones were consistent with the story told in the Zeno Narrative, the 16th-century Venetian recounting of the Zeno family’s navigational exploits—a group of fisherman were lost far to the west of Newfoundland in the 1360s, one of the fisherman escaped and returned to Iceland to tell the tale years later, and in 1398 a Zeno ancestor led Prince Henry Sinclair and his fleet back across the Atlantic using maps provided by this fisherman.
But Forsberg wasn’t finished. “And do you know how we are certain our conclusion is correct?” He flashed a new image onto the screen—an ‘X’ with an extra line branching perpendicularly upward, northwesterly if it were a map, off the midpoint of the upper right limb of the letter. “We call this the Hooked X. The runologists in Scandinavia had never seen it until we showed it to them—at first they thought it was a mistake, more evidence of a hoax. But I can show you three examples of it.” He displayed the Kensington Rune Stone, this time with a red arrow Photo-Shopped on to point out the Hooked X letter. “It is here, on the Kensington Stone.”
[Photo courtesy of Scott Wolter]
A ‘HOOKED X’ RUNE ON THE KENSINGTON RUNE STONE
He left the image up for a few seconds before projecting two more images, both with red arrows showing the Hooked X. “And on the Spirit Pond stone. And on a boulder in Narragansett Bay, near Newport, called the Narragansett Stone, which is only visible at low tide on a calm day and even then for only about twenty minutes.”
[Photo courtesy of Dan Lorraine and Richard Lynch]
THE NARRAGANSETT RUNE STONE, NARRAGANSETT, RHODE ISLAND, USA
Cam wished he had a pause button to slow things down and allow him to process the flood of information. But Forsberg marched along, stepping toward the audience and folding his hands behind his back. “So, can anyone tell me how this Hooked X, never seen before in Europe, appears on three separate stones in North America?”
He waited, patiently sweeping the room with his eyes. Cam did the same and noticed the crowd anxiously waiting for Forsberg to continue. “Of course, there can be only one logical answer. The Rune Stones must have been carved by the same people, by which I mean the same group or family or order. Which means the people who carved the Kensington Rune Stone in Minnesota in 1362 are closely related to the people who carved the Spirit Pond stones in 1401 and then also carved the Narragansett Stone.” He smiled again. “Unless, of course, as the mainstream archeologists will no doubt tell you, this is all the most elaborate hoax in history.”
Amanda leaned in again. “I still reckon it was the aliens.” He squeezed her hand.
Flicking off the projector, Forsberg strolled down the center aisle of the meeting room. “So, what does it all mean? I will let you figure that out. But my guess is that it has something to do with the Zeno Narrative, and Prince Henry Sinclair, and the Newport Tower.”
He smiled, slapped himself playfully on the side of his head. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot. The Zeno Narrative is a forgery. And the Rune Stones—Kensington, Spirit Pond, Narragansett—are all hoaxes. And the Prince Henry voyage is just a legend. And the Westford Knight is just natural rock striations. And the Newport Tower is a Colonial windmill.” He paused, surveyed the room. “How could it be otherwise when the archeologists are so certain nobody was here before Columbus?”
Cam had given enough presentations to know the difference between polite clapping and sincere, approving applause. The former was often nothing more than a gesture of appreciation that the presentation had finally ended—similar to a patient’s gratitude when the dentist put his drill away. The latter was what you’d often hear at a concert or ball game—an expression of thanks for entertainment or enjoyment or, as was the case today, knowledge. Forsberg had enlightened his audience, including Cam and Amanda, and they were thanking him for it.
There really was little room for debate on much of what Forsberg had presented—the Kensington Rune Stone was comprised of certain minerals and they weathered at certain known rates. Short of some staggering 19th–century conspiracy involving a team of experts in petrography, runology, religion and medieval history operating in Scandinavia, Minnesota and New England, the stone’s authenticity was a virtual scientific certainty.
Smiling and making small-talk, Forsberg made his way out of the meeting room, turned a corner and pulled out his cell phone. His shirt was wet with sweat
—no doubt he would want to go to his room and change and dump his laptop before returning to the conference. “Do you think it’d be worth it to try to talk to this Forsberg guy?” Cam asked.
“Absolutely. It sounds as if he’s been researching these sites like they’re pieces of a larger puzzle. He’s trying to fit them all together. But it’s too dangerous to wait in the lobby for him—I might be seen.”
The desk clerk wouldn’t give them Forsberg’s room number but they learned the NEARA group was all on the third floor. Using the TracFone Amanda called the front desk and asked to be connected to Forsberg’s room while Cam wandered the third floor, listening for an unanswered call. Ten minutes later they met outside of room 332. “This is it,” he announced.
After moving to the far side of a fire door Cam peered through the glass at the elevator, waiting for Forsberg. Figuring Forsberg would stick around downstairs to answer questions for a few minutes, Amanda sat on the floor and tried phoning Beatrice and Babinaux; she was unavailable and he was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed. “Probably discussing with the other Consortium council members how many of their inner secrets they could trust me with.”
They waited twenty minutes, taking turns with the books Cam purchased but Forsberg did not appear. Cam began to pace, his nervous energy trumping his patience. “I don’t know how those cops do it, on those stakeouts. I’d go crazy with boredom.” He walked past the staircase door, stopped at the ice machine and reversed course. “It’s almost six, right?”
“Right, just a few … Cam, watch out!”
He turned in time to see a body hurdling through the air at him, backlit from the light on the stairway landing. He raised his arm to shield the blow but was too late. The man’s shoulder drove into his chest, the impact propelling him through the air like a bowling pin. He crashed to the ground and skidded before crashing a second time into the wall, the weight of his assailant crushing his shoulder into the unyielding surface. His head whiplashed against the wall, his vision momentarily going black. Desperate, he tried to squirm away, ducking low to the ground and spinning, speed his only advantage against the larger, powerfully built man. But his attacker’s vice-like grip held tight. The man grunted, hoisting Cam and flipping him onto his belly before shoving his face into the carpet.
He wrenched Cam’s arm behind his back. “Hold still or I’ll break your arm.”
Cam twisted his head, raised his eyes to see Amanda rushing at the assailant, waving a butter knife. “Leave him be,” she ordered, jabbing with the knife.
Her face clouded. “Mr. Forsberg?” She lowered the knife. “What in bloody hell are you doing?”
Cam felt the tension on his arm ease a bit. “Who are you?” Forsberg panted. “What do you want?” Cam sensed a bit of fear in the man, which seemed strange given it was Cam’s face mashed against in the carpet.
“What do we want?” Her voice raised an octave. “You’re the loon who attacked us.”
“And you’re the ones waiting to ambush me outside my door.”
“Oh, what a bloody mess,” she snorted. “We just want to talk to you. Now get off of him.”
“If you want to talk to me, why do you need to lurk outside my door?”
“We’re not lurking, we’re hiding. Someone’s following us so we’re just being cautious.” She sighed. “That’s what we want to talk with you about.”
Forsberg hesitated, then patted Cam down. Not finding any weapons, he sighed and lifted himself off as Cam rolled to his side. Forsberg reached a large hand down to him. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled.
Cam took the hand, allowed himself to be yanked to his feet. “Ex-hockey player, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Just my luck.” He rubbed his left shoulder, tried to lift his arm but only could raise it to his chest. “Couldn’t you have been on the debate team instead?”
Forsberg smiled, gracious in victory. “Well, it wasn’t really a fair fight. You never saw me coming.” He took a deep breath. “Guess I overreacted a bit. It’s just that … well, someone’s been following me, making prank calls, that sort of stuff. My wife just got another threatening call this morning, warning me to abandon my Hooked X research. They actually threatened to kill me. I’m getting a bit paranoid. And then I saw you lurking outside my door….”
Cam decided to trust the man. “Someone’s after us also. Like Amanda said, we were trying to stay out of sight.”
Forsberg smiled again. “Maybe we should start a club.”
Amanda had a better idea. “Maybe we should just go get ourselves a pint.”
CHAPTER 10
[Wednesday Evening]
They met an hour later at the mostly-empty, U-shaped bar of a local Outback Steakhouse. Amanda, seated between Cam and the blond-haired Forsberg, ordered a lemonade and a beer and mixed herself a shandy as she listened to them chat about sports. Men in America were identical to men in England—they seemed to bond quickly, almost intimately, over sports and beer and testosterone. Somehow their violent meeting, coupled with Forsberg downplaying his victory, made the connection even stronger. It was similar to the rugby squads that bashed each other’s heads in for an afternoon and then retired to a pub together to drink their pain away.
The specter of sexual intimacy made it rare for women to participate in this male bonding. Not that she was complaining. She enjoyed the flirtation, the mystery, the sense of discovery and wonder and giddiness in her budding romance with Cam. And as she watched the charismatic Forsberg warm to Cam and his earnest, honest manner, she found herself even more attracted to him, as if her choice was being validated by an independent authority.
Forsberg interrupted her musing. “So, Amanda, Cam says you two just met. He must be quite a charmer to convince you to tag along to a conference like this, eh?”
Forsberg smiled, his rugged features somehow softened by the scar on his square chin and the small chip on his front tooth. An unspoken question lurked beneath the surface inquiry. Setting down her glass, and a bit surprised she had finished almost half of her shandy already, she met Forsberg’s steel blue eyes. “Actually, we came specifically to see you, to hear your speech on the Spirit Pond stones.” She turned to Cam, who nodded his assent for her to continue. “As I said before, we’re in a bit of trouble. We reckoned perhaps you could help.”
She and Cam alternately recounted the events of the past few weeks, beginning with his first meeting with the Gendrons and ending with their realization that Prince Henry was heir to the Jesus bloodline. “Monsignor Marcotte believes Vatican hardliners are trying to prevent us from discovering some type of genealogy that will prove Jesus and Mary Magdalene produced a baby, Sarah—which, by the way, means ‘princess’ in Hebrew,” she concluded.
Forsberg remained silent for a few seconds, sipping his beer. He took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Wow. What you guys are saying explains a lot, fills in a lot of blanks for me.”
When he didn’t continue, she tilted her head. “Do you care to explain what you mean by that?”
Forsberg smiled. “Of course. I just need to digest things for a sec.” He took another sip of his beer, ordered another round and took another deep breath. “Okay, here we go. The speech I gave a couple of hours ago was science. That’s what I am, a scientist. I deal in facts and hard evidence. But part of science is the laws of probability. There’s too much going on here for this just to be a series of random occurrences. I can’t buy that the Hooked X on the different Rune Stones is just a coincidence. Nature doesn’t work that way. The world doesn’t work that way.”
Cam smiled. “I like that. ‘The world doesn’t work that way.’ That says it all right there.”
“Thanks. Anyway, I’m a scientist but I’m also a human being and this whole Hooked X thing keeps me up at night, wondering. What does it mean? Why was it used?” He reached for a cocktail napkin, pulled a pen from his blazer pocket and drew an upside-down V. “Throughout history, this has been the symbol for the ph
allus, the penis, the male member.” He drew another V, on top of the upside down one, forming the letter X. “The V symbol indicates the womb, the vagina, the birth chamber. Together, the two symbols make the X, symbolizing the union between man and woman.” He looked up. “You with me so far?”
They nodded.
He added another line perpendicular to the upper right stem of the X. “This line turns a regular X into a Hooked X.” He sat back, turning the napkin toward them. “Any idea what the hook might signify?”
Amanda ventured a guess, focusing on the small V inside the larger V. “Could that be a baby in the womb?”
Forsberg grinned. “Exactly.” He turned to Cam. “Men never get that but women all seem to. Scott Wolter’s wife, Janet, was the one who first figured it out.” He glanced back to Amanda. “Is the baby in the womb a boy or a girl?”
“A lass, I suppose. It’s a small V, a female form.” Suddenly it hit her. “You mean Sarah? You think the hook in the X represents Sarah?”
He nodded. “That’s exactly what we think. We think the Hooked X rune is an embedded code, a message from the carvers that the Jesus bloodline—from Jesus and Mary Magdalene through Sarah and, based on what you’ve just told me, down to Prince Henry Sinclair—had journeyed to the New World.”
She and Cam stared at the Hooked X scribbled on the cocktail napkin. It was an outrageous, outlandish theory. But it was consistent with everything they had learned and seen thus far.
Forsberg shrugged. “So what do I know? I’m just a geologist. But I will say this: You guys tell me the Vatican is maiming and murdering people because they’re afraid that Sinclair and his group left some kind of genealogical evidence of Jesus’ bloodline here in America. And that explains a lot of what’s been happening to Scott Wolter and me—like I told you we’ve been followed and have been getting threatening phone calls ever since we started talking about this Sarah stuff. My wife’s scared. I’m scared.”
Cabal of The Westford Knight: Templars at the Newport Tower (Book #1 in the Templars in America Series) Page 20