by K. T. Tomb
Now, he approached the shadow to the left of the rock, reaching for it. His hand passed through it. Richard could only reach up to his elbow, before getting caught between the edge of the opening and the boulder. Nonetheless, this was an opening of some sort into the mountain.
Richard immediately commanded his men to help him move the giant rock. His men snapped to attention, having watched him curiously and then quite attentively as Richard’s hand passed into the dark space. However, nine of Europe’s best warriors and their king, try as they might, could not move the rock.
Saladin’s men, commanded by one who acted in the stead of the now almost-comatose Saladin, shouted an order to help with moving the rock. Indeed, most of Saladin’s men were already moving quickly to help with the rock on their own.
One of Saladin’s men shouted something and the boy, Kako, translated for Richard. “Your Majesty. He says we can use a lever to move the rock.”
Richard scanned the mountain. “Good idea. However, we’re above the treeline. It’s not likely we can find a tall enough tree to make a lever. There is not even a bush up here.” He paused. “Tell them what I said.”
Kako nodded and ran to Saladin’s men and chatted with them. Then he turned and ran back to Richard. “Saladin’s men have an idea to make a lever from something besides wood.”
Richard smiled. “What could we possibly use for a lever to move the stone?”
“They say to bind together a lot of swords and use it for a lever.”
Richard laughed. “Ask them if they are joking.”
“Sire, they mean it. They are already talking about it.”
“So, they want us all to lay our swords down and tie them together tightly and make one strong lever out of it?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“That means that none of us would be armed.”
“They worry about that, too. They say that we can all lay down our swords at the same time and they will weave them together with many ropes. And then after the stone is rolled away with the lever we create, everyone gets their sword back.”
“There could be deceit on either side that leaves someone vulnerable and unarmed,” Richard said, thinking aloud, which was unusual for him.
“I cannot say that to them, after they have come all this way. What shall I reply to them, Your Majesty?” Kako asked, his dark eyes worried.
Richard looked at the size of the stone and sighed. He took his sword out of the scabbard. “Tell them that there will be hell to pay if they break my good English broadsword.”
He laid it on the ground before him and a cheer went up. Suddenly, warriors from both sides were laying down their swords and lots of rope was procured, and, as well, a sailor who knew both how to tie knots, and untie them afterward, stepped up to do his finest work.
Kako ran back to Saladin’s men and chattered with them, and then ran back to Richard.
“What do they say, Kako?” Richard asked.
“They say if your good English broadsword gets broken, you will be handed a good scimitar of Damascus steel, and they want to see you try to break it.”
Richard laughed. “The impudence! Let’s get the lever made and roll the stone away!”
Hours later, with the combined effort of warriors from both sides, and swords contributed from both sides, and tightly tied to form a thick metal lever, the rock did move, slowly, as they pried it away from the opening of the cave. When it did, and they peered inside, Richard thought, This is no simple cave. This is a tomb. I hope it won’t be ours.
As soon as the opening was big enough, Richard said, “I want my sword back now.”
Of course, they all did. The knot maker sped to untie the knots from their makeshift lever. Each man found his own sword and took it off the ground and put it back in his scabbard. When they were all fully armed again, Richard led the way into…yes…the tomb.
Chapter Eleven
The entrance into the cliff turned out to be quite large, almost the entire width of the boulder itself, but Richard and the group only opened it wide enough to allow one man at a time to slip inside.
They lit pine-pitch torches they had brought along on the journey, and stepped inside.
It was indeed a cave. Richard put aside his innate fear of enclosed spaces—a nanny had once locked him in a cupboard for being naughty and even after all of these years, he hated to be confined in small, dark places—and he commanded the others to follow. Soon, a half dozen of Richard’s men and a few of Saladin’s men, were moving through the dark cave. The cave was proving to be quite deep, even narrowing at a point and continuing down a considerably long tunnel of sorts…the tunnel from his dream. Richard halted and commanded the others to follow.
Though the tunnel angled up, it was surprisingly wide. Richard could not make up his mind if it were natural or manmade. Later, he would conclude that it was a little bit of both. But now, he mostly noticed the tunnel was angling up, and the aching in his legs was proof of the added strain of uphill climbing. His weary feet shuffled across a stone floor that was deep with silt, as if he were walking through sand on a beach. But he knew this was the nature of some caves, having been in a few as a child growing up in France, where his mother had raised him. Perhaps a river had once run through this one. However, the walls of these caves did not have the mysterious ancient paintings on them, as had some of the caves in France. The walls here were a deep charcoal color, as was the high ceiling.
The cave cut off the biting wind and it was surprisingly comfortable inside, which alleviated his fears about going deeper. The relative comfort of the temperature was a welcome relief after the freezing rigors of climbing Ararat.
The soldier with Saladin approached Richard with wide eyes that sparkled from the light of Richard’s torch. He looked at Kako, to translate, and chattered to the boy for a long minute.
“What does he say?” asked Richard.
Kako said, “Saladin said that no one in his village had ever found this cave, though it was rumored to exist. He said many had looked for it in the past but had failed. Even the elders had dismissed the cave as just another legend associated with the Holy Grail. And in order for us to believe in the Grail, we would have to believe in the Christ as a Messiah, which we don’t, rather than a human prophet, which we do.”
“Ask Saladin what he believes in.”
Kako ran back to the litter where Saladin was being transported and talked softly to him. The old man whispered in his ear. Finally, Kako ran back to King Richard.
“What does Saladin say?”
“That he needs to believe in the Grail if he is to live.”
Richard nodded as they were now angling to the right and up in the cave. He looked again at the excited youthful soldier and told the lad to calm down and take deep breaths. Indeed, the young man had been almost beside himself with excitement.
Richard, too, was excited, but then again, he wasn’t scholarly familiar with the Holy Grail legends and rumors. To him, this was another mysterious cave, albeit one that had been pointed out to him by God. Yes, he was very excited. A sense of apprehension did wash over him at one point, for he did not think he would be able to cope with another major disappointment if the Holy Grail were not found. That, he thought, would be truly unfair—Richard had not asked to be led to this God-forsaken land while the bulk of his army sat waiting, hundreds of miles away.
He was in desolate country and there should have been no hope to survive at all, and yet, it was God who had led him here. It was God who had given him the miracle of the dove and the beam of sunlight to guide him to this mysterious tunnel. And it was God who had, in perhaps the biggest miracle of all, given unto Richard the evil Saladin himself as a traveling companion.
Richard knew that, had he been a mere treasure hunter in search of the Holy Grail, he would not have even gotten this far. This was ordained. In fact, he had dreamed all of this and God had spoken to him personally and showed him the way. And in his dream, he was told he would
find the Holy Grail, and at the Holy Grail, after proving himself faithful to God in this holy quest, he would heal his sworn enemy.
However, Richard did not think of him as his enemy any more. He had spoken with Saladin on a friendly level, consulted with him, and taken his advice. Saladin was a wise and knowledgeable man. And he would be dead very soon if that Holy Grail was not found. Richard knew that should Saladin succumb to death before the Grail was found, that it would seal the spiritual fate of the King of England and that his mortal life would end soon. If Richard died now, it was more than the fear that he would be damned to Hell: All of Europe could fall to usurpers. He tried to stop agonizing over it.
Richard moved over to where Saladin was being transported on a litter made of two poles and stretched hide. The hands of the litter bearers were bloody and blistered.
Involuntarily, he sucked in a hard breath as he saw the damage to their hands.
Richard requested that he take over one end, and the end was reluctantly given up by one of Saladin’s faithful soldiers, with some hesitation. He was not completely trusting of Saladin’s enemy king as a litter bearer. It was unheard of for a king to dirty his hands with such tasks. Yet Richard knew that the most mighty of kings must humble themselves before God. And so, he took on Saladin’s burden.
Swapping the lit torch for the two poles, Richard continued forward through the tunnel, still at the head of the group, but this time, lugging the surprisingly light form of Saladin, who was now either apparently asleep or dead. Richard looked back occasionally at the prostrate man he carried behind him, and in doing so, he did not see once the rise of the man’s chest. He was sure that the man was dead and that he had failed his test from God. However, a few more checks later, as the tunnel suddenly angled sharply upwards, the old man stirred ever so slightly, moaning, as Richard marched upward and forward with renewed determination.
Thankfully, the tunnel leveled once again, leaving Richard with a burning in his legs from the double exertion of uphill climbing and the load behind him. He did not think to pause. He sensed they were getting close to the Grail. A tingling swept through his body. Was it anticipation or the presence of the holy artifact?
Ahead, there was a sudden sharp turn to the left. Richard had been certain that they had been steadily going deeper into the mountain, while going up at the same time. Not very deep, granted, but into the interior, nonetheless. However, this sharp turn told him that they were either heading back out to the surface of the mountain, or that the tunnel was going to hug more of the perimeter of the mountain.
There was a bulge in the tunnel, like a snake with a rat digesting inside, and Richard figured this to be a good spot to rest and eat. Again, according to Richard’s internal sense of time, it was probably noontime, and he was famished.
They stopped and broke bread, and drank cool water and wine. The salty camel’s cheese was sharp and hearty, and a few of both Richard’s and Saladin’s men had been given some honey cakes from the village below. It had proved to be enough, when broken into pieces, for all of them, the sick Saladin excluded. He was too weak to eat, and took only the smallest sips of water from the cup that Richard held to Saladin’s lips.
They continued their exploration of the cave. Richard was sure it was probably late afternoon. While he was pondering this, the tunnel ahead of them began to glow with a faint luminescence.
Immediately, his heart began to hammer in his chest. It was the same sensation that had come over him when they were approaching the end of the beam of light—the Irish legend of the leprechaun’s pot of gold at the end of the rainbow came to his mind. He had a growing sense of awe and apprehension. It seemed that his very beliefs hung in the balance, as did those of his enemy. Together, he and Saladin would discover the truth.
The path continued to widen. A white light that did not seem of this Earth grew in intensity until they finally extinguished the torches. Richard thought of the image of Heaven he had imagined all his life: pure, white beams of light streaming from clouds after a heavy rain.
He realized that he was witnessing a miracle. A completely closed cave was flooded with bright light that illuminated every rock.
Every face, Muslim and Christian alike, was wide-eyed in the wonder of it all.
Chapter Twelve
Richard was at the fore of the group, holding his end of the wooden poles that carried the leader, Saladin, who was nearer to death than life.
The light was bright enough to guide their way over the sometimes rough stones and large rocks that presented obstacles along the tunnel’s path.
Maybe we are in Heaven, thought Richard. He had once heard talk from dying soldiers of a dark tunnel and a luminescence at the end, but did the stories ever speak of carrying one’s bitter enemy behind them on a makeshift litter? To Richard, that was a miracle, too, that he cared for the health and well-being of his bitterest enemy.
The path began a lazy turn to the right, leading them, Richard was reasonably sure, back to the outside of the mountain.
The light became brighter and brighter. All warmth in the tunnel seemed to disappear instantly. If it weren’t for the strange white light, he would have been sure they were heading toward some opening back onto the cold face of the mountain. Because of the white light, which was so unlike anything he had ever seen before, Richard did not know what to think. All he could do was march forward with determination as his men and Saladin’s men exclaimed quietly about the cave of light, what it meant, and wondering if they should fall on their knees and pray.
“Nay, keep going,” Richard said.
I wonder if I’m passing the test that was mentioned in my dreams, he thought. After all, here I am with Saladin on Ararat looking for the Holy Grail. That was what was required of me in the dream. Now God just has to do his part and show me the Grail so I can redeem myself.
And then, self-doubt crept in. Regret crept in. And even though it was war, the sheer numbers of his slayings crept in. A sharp fear went through him that instead of God rewarding him, this adventure to find the Grail would be a failure and the cave might become his tomb if his enemies, and possibly even his men, retaliated against him for a wasted journey.
Richard, why did you order those twenty thousand Muslim men murdered? God’s voice in the dream was coming back to his mind and he shuddered in fear. He hadn’t really known it was so many. He’d thought perhaps three thousand to five thousand. The worst part, he couldn’t even voice, not even to his priest. Just because he didn’t know how to transport so many, he had had Muslim women and children prisoners slaughtered at Acre. Not just men. Every one of the prisoners. The terror at his sin prickled at the ends of his fingers and down his back as the excitement of the quest for the Grail began to feel as if he was about to meet the exact reward that he deserved for being a bloodthirsty murderer who was every bit as heinous as Saladin and his men. If not more so.
He guessed that if he drank from the cup and God found him unworthy to do so, it would be the last sip that he ever took. He swallowed in fear, and yet did not back down from his obedience to God. He must save Saladin’s life, even if it meant his own death. In the choice between duty to God and duty to country, he knew which was more important. And he pressed on.
He heard de Mandeville’s voice behind him: “Your Majesty?”
“Yes?” he said, not faltering in his step.
“I believe we are under ice, under the glacier and that the light, the white light that we see, is the sun shining through layers of ice and snow.”
He was furious with de Mandeville. Was the man trying to say that it was not a miracle that they walked in a cave with no torches lit? “No, the white light is a miracle. You can touch the walls and see that they are not ice. They are stone. Solid stone. The light does not come from without the cave. It comes from within.”
He heard de Mandeville clear his throat. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said unconvincingly.
Richard pushed what de Mandeville had said out of h
is mind and kept on bearing the front of the litter on which Saladin barely breathed, if at all.
Richard had plenty of reasons to fear that God was about to punish his cruelty and wickedness, many of which were being considered now among his men for that uncommon act of cruelty: the mass slaughter of thousands of Muslims. He was certain that his knights were trying to ease their own minds of the evil nature of his murderous orders, and of their complicity. When confronted by a miracle such as the white light inside a cave, it was only natural to wonder if one was even worthy of seeing these miracles, or if they were even miracles. Richard knew what they were thinking because he was thinking the same thing: Will I be punished for what I have done?
Why had he had swords run through twenty thousand helpless prisoners until he was sloshing through blood? He did not know. He really didn’t. The decision had seemed to come to him in an arrogant and murderous instant, though it had been suggested to him by de Sable the day before the mass slaughter had taken place. It was de Sable who had suggested that it would be a laborious task to keep track of the prisoners, and feed them and keep them watered and contained, especially with Saladin keeping pace with them with his own murderous army. Richard had scoffed at de Sable’s suggestion and decried it, but the next day, in an evil acquiescence that accepted de Sable’s solution as the most practical, Richard had not only manifested it, but had heavily participated in it with his own sword. His own flesh had reeked of death for days afterward. He could scarcely bear the stench and he even remembered what it smelled like.
Execute twenty thousand men? The very idea had sickened him, but de Sable, Master of the Knights Templar had planted the bad seed in his mind and Richard had allowed it to fester overnight. It had come to pass by his own orders. He remembered de Sable’s very words: “They would willingly die for their heathen God, my lord. To them, it is an act of honor to die in the name of Allah. You will not hear one peep of dismay or fear from them and they will line up bravely to be martyred and released into their greatest adventure. They believe it with all of their hearts, that this is the most honorable way to depart from this life.”