The Furness Secret

by Mark Williams

  The loss of her lifelong partner of over forty years had done for his Gran. Despite the boy’s best efforts she had just wasted away. And his mother had been no help at all. She was even more pissed than usual. Used the death of her father as an excuse to step up her weekly units. No time to help him out trying to keep his Gran going. He smelt his mother sit down next to him. The stale smell of tobacco was wreathing her clothes. The local vicar said a few words. Just general crap really. He’d never even met Tom’s grandmother. Then the music started and the coffin slid slowly out of view.

  The boy sighed. It would just be him and his mam now.

  August 1125 A.D. – Temple Mount Jerusalem – The Discovery

  It was six years since King Baldwin had set up the new Order. During those years, the group had expanded in size to over forty knights. Now that they had the authority of the King of Jerusalem behind them, they were receiving greater gifts from the local nobles. Not just armour and horses, but also land, which they could manage to create a regular income to support themselves.

  King Baldwin had made a temporary palace for himself, on the Temple Mount in the al-Asqa mosque. But by 1125, he had created a new palace on the western side of the city. Hugh wanted the King’s old building as the headquarters for his new Order. Baldwin had provided no objections. And so the Order became in Latin, Pauperes commilitones Christi Templique Solomonici. That is the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon, or as they would become known, simply the Templars.

  Beneath their new headquarters was a great underground cavern, known as the Stables of Solomon. The space was full of arches and vaults creating a cool labyrinth, which the knights used as an area to stroll and relax and to escape the worst of the afternoon sun.

  One of the knights, Roland who had only recently joined the Order was especially fond of exploring the farthest reaches of the complex. He was aware that there was a series of tunnel openings that opened on to the rear of the space. He had even heard rumours from the local population that there may be secrets buried within. Perhaps there were hidden riches, or religious secrets from ancient Jewish history.

  Roland had been intrigued and had gone to the trouble of hiring a few labourers to carry out some basic excavations. Whenever he was not required for an expedition with his companions, he would be down in the stables reviewing how the dig was progressing. But several months of searching had produced nothing, and he was near to abandoning his venture.

  One day in August, in the height of the Jerusalem summer, he was down in the Stables, escaping the worst of the stifling heat. Wandering in quiet contemplation through under the vaulted arches, he suddenly heard his name called. Roland approached the site of the latest excavation and squeezed carefully into the opening of the narrow tunnel. As he approached the front of the dig he could make out something being held up in the torchlight. It didn’t sparkle or gleam, but he could vaguely make out the outline of a small earthenware jar. He doubted this was of much value, but nonetheless he took it from the labourer. Then he made his way back to the main chamber.

  The first Templar Master, Hugh, had been aware of Roland’s studies and had told him he would be greatly interested in any find that was made. Now that an item had been found, he had called all the knights together in their headquarters, so that they could all share in the discovery. He spoke to the assembly in a low gruff voice that Roland had to strain to hear.

  “This jar has been found in one of the old tunnels at the rear of the stable complex.”

  All the knights already knew this.

  “Roland, you found the object. It is for you to open it.”

  The lid on the pot was sealed shut. So the knight opened the jar, by the simple expedient of smashing it with the flat of his sword. Inside, Roland discovered a small square codex. He picked it up delicately and began a careful examination. The covers of the book were made of ancient mottled leather. They were kept together by means of a clasp extending all the way from the front to the back. Unfastening the metal clip, the knight revealed three or four pages of papyrus that had been cut into sheets and bound tightly between the leather covers. Roland took a quick glance at the first sheet. Then he placed the book on the table, besides the ruins of the jar and looked around at his fellow Templars.

  “You can all read some Greek. Pray draw near and observe the first word of the scroll.”

  They all gathered around and peered at the top of the papyrus. The Greek word was apocalypses – apocalypse – often translated as revelation. Roland’s eyes widened. Was this an early copy of John the Apostle’s Revelation? Surely it wasn’t the original? Hugh took charge.

  “Anselm is our best scholar. Please, take the document, go and study it and translate as best you can.”

  The knight, whom he was addressing, nodded, picked up the ancient scroll and retired to his study to begin the work.

  Three days later Hugh was standing in the main room of the Temple building. He was concentrating hard on the section of St John’s Gospel that he was reading. He looked up as he heard the sound of scurrying feet. Anselm rushed up to him, ashen faced, with the document held out in front of him in a trembling hand.

  “Well, Brother Anselm.”

  “I have hesitated Brother Hugh, as to what I should do with the information that is contained within the book, uncovered by our fellow knight. It took me but twenty fours to provide a translation. Since then I have spent two days in deep prayer and meditation. I have been close on many occasions to throwing the document on the fire. But…”

  “What is it my friend? You are a most learned man. Most of your life has been spent in study. You have seen many ancient texts.”

  But one look at the shocked and distressed expression of the scholar told the Grand Master that something in the document had deeply affected him.

  “Please, Brother Anselm, what can have caused you this severe distress? You must share your thoughts forthwith.”

  The words of explanation when they came were strangled, forced out from a dry and closed throat.

  “The document is a Revelation Grand Master. A Revelation that is incredible in its substance. And it is certainly from the time of the Apostles. But the words are not from John.”

  The older warrior monk pulled a chair close, and began to explain. As he spoke, Hugh’s eyes widened with astonishment. After the explanation was finished, he fell silent for a few moments. Then, with a furrowed brow, he spoke his thoughts aloud.

  “I see your trouble Brother Anselm. You and I must retire to consider this matter. I am in need of your wise counsel and learned experience.”

  The two Templar knights were awake the whole night. Reviewing the document from every angle. Anselm identifying what evidence he had previously studied that could provide corroboration for the Revelation they had discovered. Eventually, the hours of discussion ended. Hugh had made his decision.

  “It is almost as if the discovery should be preordained. That the document should be revealed to monks dedicated to Christ. And given not just to any monks, but fighting monks, our beloved Order of the Templars.

  As you suggest, Brother Anselm, we will henceforth refer to the knowledge we have received as the Great Revelation. And the suggestion of what may come to pass as the Great Prophecy.”

  Anselm wondered where this train of thought was leading.

  “We must, I believe, act to ensure that we are true to the ancient scribe who has provided us with this gift. From what you have told me, we will need to make some adjustments to the way we bear witness to our faith. Each of our fellow knights will need to swear to this new path. Of course for some, the weight of the traditions of the Roman Church may be too strong. They will have to depart our Order.”

  Anselm nodded his agreement.

  “And for anyone who arrives in the Holy City wishing to join with us?”

  Hugh took a moment to consider.

  “You raise an important point. We will need to devis
e some sort of initiation. To come up with some way of allowing us to explain our beliefs. And if recruits are willing to embrace them, a ceremony to mark the moment they join with us.”

  The Grand Master had resolved the issue of belief. But that was but one part of the information they now had in their possession. He continued to share his thoughts with his comrade.

  “And then of course, there is the requirement which is placed upon us, as true worshippers of God, and followers of Christ, by the author of this document. To be in a position to allow the fulfilment of the Prophecy, should it come to pass.

  For our Order to retain its authority, the vow of poverty must remain. At least for us as individuals. But it is clear the Order must have access to wealth. Must be prepared for when the time comes to give material assistance. The Revelation is clear. This must become the true purpose for us as Templars.”

  Hugh was warming to his subject.

  “We will need to make some changes to the way we work. We must ensure that we persuade the King, and the Church, that our role in protecting pilgrims must be expanded. And will require extensive funding. Not the haphazard drizzle that has been coming in our direction. In that way we can always ensure that the Order has the resources needed. For if the time arrives.”

  April 11th 2003 – The Looters

  The City Museum was under siege from a looting crowd. The phone wasn’t working but Malik’s father got the news from his friend and colleague, who’d appeared in a state of breathless panic at their front door. Hakim was galvanised into action. Despite the risks, this was something he had to try and fix. He had to at least attempt to salvage something. Keep some valuables safe from the rabble.

  The collections in the Mosul Museum had been integral to Hakim’s life. Studying them as a young boy had awakened a passion within him. And it had resulted in the study period in England that had changed his life. When he’d met Paula, it had been love at first sight. He could barely believe his luck when she agreed to convert to Islam and to live with him in Iraq.

  Hakim picked up his coat from the chair and shouted out to Gabir and Hussein. They left the house in a hurried column. From the door, Malik could see them scampering together down the hill. One part of the young boy felt left out at not being asked. But the larger part of him was relieved. He felt certain that to venture out into the lawless city was a huge risk. He was scared for the safety of his father and his brothers.

  En route to the museum, Hakim thought how lucky they were that preparations had been made at his workplace for this sort of trouble. Over five thousand of the most easily moved valuables had already been moved to storage in Baghdad. The larger pieces being wrapped in foam rubber to try and protect them.

  But when Malik’s father arrived at his workplace, chaos and mayhem were everywhere. Racing through the entrance archway, he pushed his way through the crowd and found the director pleading with people to leave the Museum alone. The director caught sight of Hakim and scurried quickly across to him.

  “The worst has happened. The statue of Hatra has already gone. And we’ve lost the bronze bands from the Mamu gates. Baghdad has been hit as well. The director there thinks it’s an international gang. It looks like some of this lot know what to take. Quick! Go and check your floor.”

  Hakim bounced down the staircase to his office in the basement. Gabir and Hussein followed right behind him. His job was working at deciphering ancient documents and tablets. It would be marvellous to take the clay slabs he was working on to safety. But they weren’t the easiest of things to move.

  Instead he decided on saving the latest documents on which he’d been engaged. Hakim picked up two cardboard boxes from the corner, and gestured to his sons to do likewise. Sporadic gunfire could be heard echoing round the hall upstairs. It looked like it would be too dangerous to return. They’d be lucky to get out unhurt as it was. They’d managed to save six boxes of history. It wasn’t much. But it was better than nothing. The three men hurried up the stairs and out of the Museum’s back exit.

  January 1129 A.D. – France – Troyes – Gaining Support

  For two years after the Templars had received the Great Revelation, the Grand Master followed the plan he had outlined to Anselm. As requested, the scholar had spent many weeks in prayer and study, in order to formulate a code of Christian beliefs. A system based on the information they now had in their possession. All of the existing knights, had, somewhat to Hugh’s surprise readily agreed to follow the new way of worship.

  Further, an initiation ceremony had been established for potential recruits to the Order. Word was getting round, throughout the lands surrounding Jerusalem which was controlled by Christians, of the protection provided by the Templars. And the support they were receiving from the King of Jerusalem. A steady stream of itinerant knights, arrived at the Temple Mount headquarters, and passed through the initiation rites to become full members.

  However, despite the gifts of land and wealth that Hugh had received, a great concern remained. To the Grand Master, the Templars were still too dependent on the local nobility. If the Order was to establish itself as a permanent institution, he believed that it would need connections back to the Christian power base in the West.

  And so in 1127, Hugh had embarked on a trip to try and rally just such support. His mission had produced results well beyond his expectations. He had been helped greatly, in that he had received an introduction from King Baldwin to Bernard of Clairvaux. This monk was one of the most influential theologians of his age. A man who was to be made a saint a mere twenty years after his death.

  Bernard was delighted that a fighting force had been established in Jerusalem. And that it had rules, based in many ways on those of the European monasteries. He welcomed Hugh with open arms. Bernard’s reception was not lost on Europe’s nobility and the Grand Master was feted wherever he travelled. Many gifts were granted to the Templars. Even Henry I of England, had donated gold and silver. In addition, the King had provided land in Chancery Lane. This would allow the Templars to build their first house in London.

  Now, in the first month of 1129, Hugh had reached the pinnacle of his trip, at Troyes, the capital of the counts of Champagne. A Convocation was being hosted there, of influential church leaders from across France. The Grand Master was given the opportunity to address the assembled clergy.

  He spoke in the great square in the centre of the city. Hugh had developed into a practised orator, and had honed his address over the last two years. He eloquently described the situation of the Christians in Jerusalem. And across Outremer, which was the name given to those lands on the eastern Mediterranean under Christian control.

  The Holy City was at present accessible to pilgrims from all over Europe. But in bloody detail, Hugh went over the horrors and atrocities that had been visited upon unarmed travellers, by the barbarous forces of Islam. He described the murder of devout monks, the brutal rape of good Christian women and the callous slaughter of babes and infants.

  He went on to reveal how the Order of the Templar Knights had been created. Emphasised the vows of chastity and poverty that all the knights had sworn. He set out the strict prayer routine that was observed by the entire Order when they were at their headquarters.

  The Grand Master spoke for over an hour. The weather was cold, but his clerical audience listened enthralled, to the stories from the Holy Land. Hugh finished with an impassioned appeal to all of them. To return to their own lands and to lobby their congregations in support of the Knights Templars. To cajole them to back the Holy Order who were engaged on the task of defending the Christian faith in the land of their Lord’s birth.

  April 15th 2003 – Protest at the Governor’s House

  It was three weeks after the invasion had started. The family had spent most of the time cooped up together in the main room of the house. Being in such constant, close proximity ratcheted up the frequency and amplitude of the usual family arguments.

  That morning, Mali
k’s father and brothers had a heated discussion on the US appointment of a new governor, Mashaan al-Juburi. Gabir and Hussein were incensed about the situation and wanted to join a protest in front of the Governor’s building. His father was adamantly opposed. He didn’t get his way.

  Malik eventually heard what had happened from his distraught mother. Or what she said had happened. What she’d been told anyway.

  There had been a crowd gathered in the street. They were mostly young men, of about twenty, including Gabir and Hussein. Anger was the overwhelming emotion running through the throng. Maybe it was an outlet for the feelings about the hated invasion. There was immense resentment of the meddling American presence. There were screams of protest, chants and shouting. The crowd was hostile, emotional and looking ever more dangerous. Suddenly, the outline of US troops could be observed on the roof of the Governor’s office.

  That just inflamed the crowd, which was becoming ever more animated. Events were escalating rapidly. Spiralling out of control. Then suddenly, shots could be heard cracking from the top of the governor’s building. Just warning fire, aimed at the row of shops across the street where most of the men were gathered. Firing above the heads of the angry gathering.

  But windows were getting shattered. Shards of jagged glass rained down on the ducking protestors. Blood began to flow and screams of pain mingled with those of protest. The mood deteriorated further. A tipping point was reached, and someone picked up a stone. Then everyone did. Most of the throws glanced harmlessly off the building’s facade. But the strongest could reach the troops on the roof. And Gabir and Hussein were amongst the best throwers.