by Alex Scarrow
‘I wouldn’t,’ said Liam, peering under the flap from the other end of the cart. He looked at Becks, and saw muscles tensing beneath her peasant’s gown. The last thing they needed was her twisting the head off one of John’s guards. ‘Becks,’ he said quietly, ‘don’t hurt him.’
‘Affirmative,’ she replied, a hint of resentment in her voice.
The guard laughed at that. ‘Hurt me, would you? Well now … this I would most like to see — ’
Raised voices came from beyond the archway, echoing off the stone walls inside — a commotion within. The guard retracted his hand and nodded politely at Becks. ‘Pity,’ he muttered, then pulled his head out from beneath the canvas.
‘What is it?’
The higher-pitched voice of a younger man. ‘He comes! He knows the monk!’
Cabot grinned like a wily fox at the guard captain. ‘There, what did I tell you?’
The captain stepped back from the cart and stood to attention as the clacking of approaching boots on cobblestones grew louder in the twilight. Presently the archway filled with the flickering glow of a blazing torch and Liam spotted the short squat silhouette of a man with long hair standing in the middle.
‘What in damnation is going on here?’ a voice barked angrily, echoing off the masonry. ‘Let him through!’
Cabot tweaked the reins and the cart rattled through the low archway and finally came to a rest inside the castle walls. The squat figure stood on the ground beside Cabot, a dark shape puffing pale blue clouds of breath.
‘Sebastien Cabot!’
‘Aye, Sire.’
‘Last I heard, you were abroad killing Turks!’
Cabot wheezed a laugh. ‘I tired of such things.’
A young squire holding the flickering torch hurried round the back of the cart and approached them. John’s face was finally illuminated by the dancing amber light. Liam could make out a slender effeminate face, decorated with a wispy beard and moustache that fluttered with each breath, and framed by fine, long, tawny hair. He was smiling warmly at Cabot. ‘Sebastien,’ he said, after looking up at the old man’s battle-scarred face a little longer than was polite, ‘I cannot tell you how good it is to see you again, my old friend.’
Cabot jumped down from the cart and John wasted no time in wrapping his arms round him.
‘’Tis good to see a friendly face,’ added John.
Cabot gingerly returned his embrace. ‘How is my student?’
John released him and stepped back. He shrugged. ‘I am still a clumsy fool. More likely to hack my own head off than another man’s.’ He glanced up at Liam. ‘So … you have a son now?’
‘No, he is not my son.’ He turned and looked at Liam. ‘He — he is here to …’ Cabot was searching for words.
‘What? Sebastien?’
‘Sire, I believe this lad and two more of his friends in the back may help in retrieving the item that has been lost.’
John sighed. ‘So you have heard of this, as well, eh?’
A long silence passed between both men, an unspoken understanding of the matter at hand.
‘Then let us not talk carelessly out here,’ John said quietly. He beckoned Liam to climb down. ‘Come.’
CHAPTER 31
1194, Oxford Castle, Oxford
Liam followed Cabot and John as they talked about old days. They crossed the enclosure and entered the dark and cold interior of the keep’s main entrance. Inside his eyes adjusted to the gloom and his ears rang with the echo of boots on stone as they ascended steps that took them upwards in a cramped spiral.
Behind him he heard Becks’s lowered voice. ‘Do you trust Cabot?’
‘We’ve no choice,’ he whispered. His words seemed to bounce and echo up the stairs towards the monk and John, still talking convivially.
Finally they emerged into a grand hall invitingly lit by an open fire and rings of fat-dripping candles on candelabra suspended from several oak support beams that crossed high above. Liam suspected it was the glow of this hall he must have seen earlier.
John turned his attention to Liam, Bob and Becks. ‘So, Sebastien, these three friends of yours … we can talk openly before them, I presume?’
Cabot nodded. ‘They are to be trusted.’
John waved a hand. ‘You may sit,’ he said, slumping down on a wooden bench near the large crackling fire. Liam noticed, for the first time, how gaunt and unwell the man looked.
‘It is a troubling time,’ said John after a while. ‘I have the people of England in open rebellion against me, I have the barons conspiring against me … all because of the taxes.’ His eyes glistened as he gazed at the flames. ‘Taxes that I had to raise to pay for this foolish crusade of his — and to pay for that madman’s ransom.’ He looked up at Cabot. ‘Believe me … I was sorely tempted to let him rot in captivity.’
Liam leaned forward. ‘Madman?’
‘Sire,’ said Cabot, ‘so … this lad is Liam of Connor. These other two are … Bob and Becks.’
John nodded politely at Liam and, for the first time, acknowledged the support units.
It’s the peasant clothing. Liam suspected that’s how it worked in these times: to be poor was to be less than human; to be no better than the dogs and cats and chickens that wandered this city freely in the dark foul-smelling spaces between shacks; to be almost invisible.
‘You are a soldier?’ John asked Bob.
‘Neg-’ Bob corrected himself quickly. ‘Nay, serr. I be just a normal man.’
Eyebrows rose on John’s slim face. ‘I would wager you could pull a cart as easily as an ox.’
Bob frowned. He was busy processing that comment, trying to determine whether it was praise or an insult.
‘And this is …’ John’s eyes lingered on Becks. ‘Becks, is it?’
‘She was introduced to me as Lady Rebecca,’ said Cabot.
‘Oh?’ John looked sceptically at her mud-spattered rags. ‘A lady is she, now?’
‘Oui,’ replied Becks in perfect Norman French. ‘Je viens de la duche d’Alevingnon en Normandie.’
John’s cynical leer vanished and Cabot smiled. ‘Yes, Sire, I believe she is of noble birth … but I’ve not heard of this duchy she refers to.’
John tilted his head with a formal nod. ‘Madame. S’il vous plait accepter mes excuses humbles.’
‘I am also able to communicate in English,’ she said.
‘Then, please accept my apologies, my dear.’ He gestured at her clothes. ‘It is your rags that — ’
‘We choose not to attract attention,’ she cut in drily.
Cabot’s eyes widened. ‘Lady Rebecca, it is most rude to interrupt His Lord-’
John shook his head. ‘It matters not,’ he smiled tiredly. ‘I’ve far greater things to concern me these days than royal protocol.’ He looked at Liam. ‘You asked to whom I was referring?’
Liam nodded. ‘The madman?’
‘My older brother,’ he said, sighing, ‘the king.’ He seemed to spit that last word out. ‘He has brought ruin on us all with this reckless crusade of his. Which, all are saying, has been a failure. Jerusalem remains in Muslim hands. But to make matters worse the fool allowed himself to be kidnapped for a ransom.’
He pulled absently on the meagre sandy-coloured tuft of his beard. ‘And it is I who has had to throttle the poor and squeeze the nobles for yet more taxes — when there simply are none left to be had.’ He gestured to a tall, narrow arched window that looked out on the city below. ‘You will have seen them out there … The people, they are hungry and they blame me for this. Not him. Not Richard the Lionheart.’
He sighed. ‘We are all ruined by this crusade. The guards outside, I have not paid. They remain at their posts because here in this castle at least there is food.’
‘It is little better outside the cities, Sire,’ added Cabot. ‘The villages and towns barely survive.’
‘And all this,’ muttered John, ‘for a fool’s errand.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Liam. He
noticed a sharp glance from Cabot. ‘Sire.’
John looked up at him. ‘Sebastien tells me you know of things only the Templars should know of.’
‘If you mean … Pandora?’
John frowned. The term didn’t seem to mean anything to him.
‘The Grail?’ Liam added.
‘Aye, this grail.’ John laughed. ‘What is it? A cup? A goblet? That is all. A cup that the Christ may have used once! But Richard, like all those other Templar fools, believes such a thing has great powers! That insane fool believes carrying this cup into battle would make him unbeatable! That’s what this crusade has been about, you see? Not to free the Holy City from the Muslims … but to retrieve what was left behind when the city fell. To retrieve this … this foolish relic!’
The log fire spat a smoking shard of charcoal on to the stone floor. John watched its glow slowly fade. ‘A madman’s treasure hunt … that’s what this fool’s crusade was about.’
‘Your brother found this grail, Sire?’ asked Becks.
John nodded. ‘Yes. He did. And had a party of his best Templars take it here for safe-keeping.’ He laughed nervously. ‘But I–I … He will blame me for this, I know it. He will kill me.’ Liam noticed John’s left hand trembled in his lap. ‘I had his men take their treasure to Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland. For greater safety, you understand, for secrecy. The royal palace is not secure. This castle is not secure. I thought it would be a safer place!’
‘But they were ambushed,’ said Cabot. ‘It was taken.’
‘And on his return, I have no doubt Richard will have my head on a spike,’ uttered John. Conscious that his hand was shaking, he tucked it away into a fold of his robes.
‘Sire, it is this matter, this reason why I have brought these three here. They say they can help ye get it back.’
‘And can you?’ He looked from Liam to Bob, to Becks. ‘I have heard all the rumours too. I have heard of this Hooded Man who cannot be killed, it seems. A demon, say some. A wrathful angel, say all the peasants and villains that are flocking out to the forests to join him. And you can steal it back from him, you say?’ John didn’t look entirely convinced.
Liam glanced at Becks, hoping she had something useful to say, but she stared back at him silently. And Bob continued to dutifully, and none-too-helpfully, monitor the conversation.
‘I think, Sire … that this grail could’ve been stolen by someone who’s come from the same … uh … same place as us.’
‘And what place is this?’
Liam bit his lip. They’d explained as best they could to Cabot, and that perhaps was a time contamination they’d need to clear up later. He wondered what the consequences would be for Maddy and Sal in 2001 if he tried explaining to the future king of England the basics of time travel.
‘It is a place very far away, Sire. With strange ways about us. But look — this Hooded Man is no demon or angel.’ He jerked his head at Bob. ‘It’s probably another peculiar man like Bob, here … that’s all.’
‘Peculiar? What do you mean by that?’
‘A — a … strong man. Extraordinarily strong,’ added Liam. ‘And really tough. And with certain unusual fighting techniques.’
‘There is talk that this hooded fiend has shrugged off crossbow bolts and the like. That he is unstoppable. That it is the Grailitself that protects him from harm.’ John shook his head slowly. ‘You know … perhaps there is some truth to this Templar nonsense.’
‘Sire,’ said Cabot, ‘I have seen this Bob do just the same.’
John’s eyes darted from Cabot to the support unit.
‘This is correct,’ Bob rumbled. ‘I am capable of suffering extreme damage and deploying damage-limitation counter-measures.’
John turned to Cabot. ‘Sebastien, this ox of a man speaks a sort of English, but I have no understanding of what he just said.’
‘What he said, Sire, is that he can do exactly what this Hooded Man can do. I have seen, with my own eyes, Bob take arrows that would kill any ordinary man … and yet he did not even blink.
‘Aye. It’s not the Grail, Sire. It’s not magic or godly powers or anything. This Hooded Man is just another … well, I suppose I’d say he’s just another man like this Bob.’
John studied them in silence for a while, a finger caressing the tufted tip of his chin. The sound of popping and hissing logs filled the hall. Finally he stirred. ‘And you say you are here to help?’
Liam nodded. ‘S’right. We’re going to get the Grail back for you.’
CHAPTER 32
1194, Oxford Castle, Oxford
The quarters they had been assigned were clearly meant for noble-born guests: four rooms high up in the keep decorated with fine tapestries and embroidered cushions. Perhaps a true sign that John valued their presence was the distance from their windows to the fetid smell of the city of Oxford below.
The brazier in Liam’s room burned brightly, filling the cold damp chamber with a welcoming warmth, and a wooden table with a bowl of loaves and preserves and a flagon of imported wine had been set out for them.
‘… I was his sword master — in fact I tutored all three of the King’s sons: Geoffrey, Richard and John,’ continued Cabot, tipping the flagon into his cup. ‘They were but boys then, long before political rivalries separated them. Geoffrey was the eldest and Henry’s favourite. Richard was always the headstrong one … the one ye knew would seek to place his name in history.’
‘And John?’ asked Liam.
Cabot shrugged. ‘A gentle boy. Certainly no swordsman. I saw in Richard, though, something to fear. A man who could become great … all-powerful. A man with the cold-hearted ruthlessness to take all the kingdoms of Europe and make them one. When Geoffrey died and it was clear Richard would succeed his father … I knew there would be plenty of blood.’ Cabot’s face creased with a lacklustre smile. ‘I too was younger then and I craved the glory of war.’
‘How long were you a Templar, then?’
‘I joined as the sergeant to Sir Godfrey Cottleigh’s service fifteen years ago and we went to the Holy Land to do our duty: to protect Christian pilgrims. It was in those years, peaceful years by all accounts before the fall of Jerusalem, that I learned of the order’s secrets.’
‘Secrets? The Grail?’
‘And so much more.’
Bob and Becks seemed to perk up. Liam suspected they were both carefully studying his face, his body language, for telltale signs of truth or deception.
‘What?’
Cabot looked at him, uneasy with breaking oaths of secrecy he’d long ago been sworn to.
‘Mr Cabot? What else is there?’
‘Ye understand, in telling ye … more, I am betraying the order of Templars. Do ye understand this?’
‘But you left them anyway, right? So …?’
‘Aye,’ he shrugged. He tipped the cup of wine down his throat. ‘After Jerusalem fell and Richard announced his crusade to retake it, I learned how much blood would be spilled in the name of God. When King Richard arrived in the Holy Land with his army, I saw in him a powerful obsession. A dangerous obsession.’ Cabot’s eyes met Liam’s. ‘He had learned of the Treyarch Confession … he’d come for the Grail.’
Becks stirred. ‘I have no details of a “Treyarch Confession”. What is this?’
‘The Treyarch Confession is an account written by a man called Gerard Treyarch. He and his brother were soldiers in the First Crusade. They were among the Christian army that first captured Jerusalem in 1099. Ye know of this?’
Liam didn’t. He turned to the other two. ‘Bob? Becks?’
‘The First Crusade is launched by Pope Urban II in 1095. The objective is to capture the city of Jerusalem and expel the Muslims. The crusade is successful and in 1099 after a short siege the crusaders enter the city. In the days that follow the soldiers are said to have massacred every Muslim inside …’
Cabot nodded. ‘Men, women … children.’
Bob continued: ‘The city of Jerusalem and
the Holy Land remain in Christian hands for nearly a century under a succession of ‘guardian’ Christian kings. It is known as The Kingdom of Heaven and peace ensues for nearly ninety years. Then, in 1187, the Muslims finally retake the city under the successful general, Saladin.’
‘Saladin?’ said Liam.
Bob nodded. ‘Saladin is merciful and allows Christians to remain in the city, and orders his men not to ransack the Christian holy places.’
‘So, what is this Treyarch thing, then, Mr Cabot?’ asked Liam.
Cabot began guardedly. ‘During that century of Christian rule and peace, Gerard and Raymond Treyarch are said to have discovered something in the vaults beneath Jerusalem. The Treyarch Confession is said to be Gerard’s account of this.’
‘Discovered what?’
‘An ancient thing.’
Cabot pressed his lips firmly together as if he was willing them to remain closed.
‘And?’
‘The story goes … a scroll that was over a thousandyearsold. From the time of the Christ.’
‘Jay-zus!’ Liam blurted.
Cabot frowned at him. ‘Indeed … the time of Jesus Christ.’
‘What did it say?’
‘I have never read the Treyarch Confession, but I have heard it reveals nothing of what was in the text from the time of the Christ … it is only an account of what they did with it.’
Cabot bit into an apple. ‘It is said they transcribed the text of the original message to a ciphered form and then destroyed it.’
Liam sat up straight. ‘Destroyed it? Why?’
‘’Tis unknown.’ Cabot hunched his shoulders. ‘Perhaps because the truth it contained was far too dangerous for mortal man to know? Perhaps it contained the real spoken words of God and they have a power we do not understand.’
‘And this rewritten version — this encoded version,’ said Liam, ‘that is the Holy Grail?’
‘Ahh, ye are half right, lad. It is that version, and the key to deciphering it — those two things together are what is known as the Grail.’ He nodded warily. ‘’Tis a good thing that the Grail is two parts, kept separate.’