The Furness Secret

by Mark Williams

  The effect on King John was profound. He made no sound but slumped ashen faced over the Abbot’s desk. His head was held in his hands, nothing coming from his lips. The whole room was filled with a deathly silence, everyone too nervous of the King’s mood to speak. At long last, John raised his head from the desk and got to his feet. He was of average height for his day, maybe five foot five inches. But as the King stood in front of the Marshal, the older man towered over him.

  “We must send some men of our own to check the monk’s story. Will you arrange for it?”

  William strode from the room to follow the King’s instructions. It just left Brother Simon and Abbot Hugh, alone in the room with the despairing monarch. The monk picked up a goblet that was resting on a table at the rear of the room. He took a long draft from the bowl watched with amazement by the Abbot. Hugh had personally supervised the preparation of the Templar’s cider that morning. And he knew it was spiked with a toxin from a pricked toad.

  Brother Simon proffered the goblet to the King. John was often wary of accepting food or drink from anyone, other than those in his service. However, having seen the monk take a long sip, the King followed, feeling in dire need of refreshment. The Abbot was grateful that the drink was not passed to him, as he was not sure he could offer an excuse for refusing, without betraying his knowledge.

  When William returned to the Abbot’s house, he gave a quizzical glance to the monk, and received a slight nod in reply.

  The following morning, the Marshal bade King John farewell. He had business in Gloucester, whilst the court was onward bound to Newark. He would never again see the King alive.

  March 70 A.D. – Lake Tiberius – The Teacher Returns

  Judas was old now. And weary with his task. He’d spent the second half of his life preaching, cajoling and trying to convince. But he’d met with little success. He knew he was no great orator. It saddened him to the bottom of his heart that he looked like failing in his life’s great mission. He could not contemplate what it would mean for his future, for everyone’s future. It seemed a long time since he had been received any positive reception from his sermons. Some of his earlier certainty, he could feel ebbing slowly away.

  Worse than his own failings, over the last two years, he had seen some of his Master’s teachings written down. It had been explained to him that this was the way his Master’s followers could ensure that the word would endure. But the old man had been unsure.

  Some tales had been corrupted in the telling. People who had never heard the preacher talk were interpreting his words incorrectly. The writers obscured the beauty and purity of the original words. Many of those who professed to follow the Master were too focussed on the messenger, not the message. There was confusion over the teacher’s stories. Many were taking literally tales that were meant to be metaphorical. Even, the story describing the origins of the Master himself. To Judas, it seemed a hopeless task to promulgate the original meaning.

  He had even seen his own actions described as traitorous in some of the documents. The thought struck viciously at his heart, and at his very soul. Had the other followers learnt nothing from the great teacher? Surely, what was important to remember was not to love this world or the things of this world, but to focus on the love for God.

  Those that loved this earthly domain with all its lust and enticement for the eyes could not follow the true God. Believers should be focussed on finding the pure spirit within them. Yet many of the teacher’s new followers were focusing more on the manner of his birth and death, than on communicating with the eternal spirit. The old man thought this at best a distraction, at worst a heresy. He had even heard recently, that those who were teaching, as he, were being insulted, and even in some cases assaulted. Some, decried people like Judas as being Antichrists. How could this have happened?

  The old man, bent under the weight of his task, would continue to try. Would soldier on until his days ended.

  But something was about to change.

  As he once more travelled slowly down the well worn dusty track alongside the lake, his mind drifted back to the last time he’d seen his Master and teacher. It was around this point on the shore, close to the city where he’d heard the first sermon all those years ago. It seemed like a different lifetime.

  On that long ago morning, there had been seven of the teacher’s followers present. And they’d sat down with him for a breakfast of fish they’d caught on the lake. The Master had sought to reassure them of their own ability to preach. A deep sigh shuddered its way through Judas’ body. Sometimes the old man even wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing. And then it happened.

  The vision had appeared suddenly on the roadside. Looking as serene as ever. But the edges of the silhouette were a little blurred and hazy, just like the last time. However on this occasion Judas was by himself. The Master raised his hands in a gesture of blessing. And spoke in the same clear, gentle voice that always filled his student with an overwhelming sense of peace and contentment.

  “It is to you, and you alone, my best and most loyal follower, that I need to entrust a great and dreadful task.”

  The student gazed at the Master and listened intently as the details were explained.

  “I cannot tell you how you can achieve that which I have asked of you. But I beg you to keep strong, teach as I have taught you, and prayer will bring you the answer.”

  Judas did not reply. His mind was racing with thoughts of how he could possibly succeed in the mission his Master had set. He briefly lowered his gaze to the road. When he looked up the vision had gone. It was the last time his mortal eyes would ever gaze upon his teacher.

  Afterwards, he spent three days in intense and desperate prayer. The memory of the teacher’s words still remained within him as keen and fresh as ever. The great spirit of love and righteousness, to whom he prayed, was providing him no answer. And he was no nearer to working out how he could complete the precious task to which he had been assigned. Once more he fell to his knees to urgently seek for an answer. And as if by divine intervention, an idea began to crystallise in his mind.

  The next day he set out on foot to travel the ten miles to the home of a wealthy merchant, to whose family he regularly preached. Amongst other goods, the man traded regularly in papyrus. He had made many offers of writing materials to the old preacher. But they were turned down, as he preferred to use the oral tradition of story telling.

  Writing was he now felt, the best method to get his message preserved. It had been proved to him by the documents he’d seen. The ones that purported to contain his Master’s teachings. They may be wrong, but their words were beginning to endure. And now he was in need of some help. The preacher could not write well himself, though he could read. However, he was sure the merchant could provide him with a local scribe, who could provide the service.

  October 18 1216 A.D. – Gloucester – The King’s Demise

  At last thought William, as he received the message that a Templar had arrived at the castle and was awaiting him downstairs, news has arrived. Although he had no doubt that the King’s convoy had been destroyed four days ago, he had yet to receive word of Allard. The Marshal was desperate to discover if the knight had escaped with his life and his cargo.

  One look at Templar James’ face as he descended the stairs told him the truth. The knight had a calm expression on his face without a trace of distress, which would surely have shown if the plan had gone awry.

  “Come Templar. Let us find a quiet corner and you can relay to me your information.”

  Ten minutes later, the Marshal allowed himself a brief sigh of contentment. It appeared that Allard and Henry would be well on their way north by now. And no rumour of suspicion had been heard anywhere in the vicinity.

  William was certain however that were King John to remain long in the area, awkward questions would be asked eventually. Hence, he had come up with the last part of his plan involving the monk and the cider at Swines
head Abbey. It had been the Templar Master in London, who had located a man who was willing to lay down his life, in order to rid the country of the King. William had not asked for the man’s motivation. He did not want to know any more details than were absolutely necessary.

  But William could not allow himself a rest. Later that night the Abbot of Croxton took King John’s dying confession and delivered the Eucharist. In the early hours of the following morning he passed away. As soon as the Marshal was informed, he knew what was required next. A regent would be required for John’s son, the soon to be Henry III. And the forces of Louis of France would need to be rudely despatched from the precious soil of England. The French Prince was about to find his alliance with the Earl of Pembroke was to come to a sudden end.

  William knew how to work the political scene. He succeeded in persuading the English nobles that he was the man who could provide King John’s boy with the best advice. And the reissue of Magna Carta in November documented his new title. He was now, rector noster et regni nostri, ‘our keeper and the keeper of our kingdom’.

  October 8th 2010 – Getting the results

  The chairs were perfectly comfortable, but Chloe couldn’t sit still. She was constantly fidgeting as if she was inflicted with Saint Vitus dance. Tom was sitting by her on the next seat, his stick leaning on the wall beside him. He wasn’t saying much, but she was very glad to have some company. It was the same hospital where Eve had entered the world. And that time Chloe had been by herself. At least she no longer felt as lonely.

  She had been beside herself with worry, but Tom was good about trying to take her mind off waiting for the test results. He’d spent all the last week at the house playing with his daughter and she seemed to be giving him some sort of response. Even though Eve seemed to be out of sorts and in quite a bit of pain.

  Since he had returned home a few days ago, Tom had spent the time, staying at Chloe’s house. He’d explained it was just while he was waiting for the keys to his flat from the council. Her dad seemed to have warmed to him a little during that time. And Chloe was pleased and a little surprised at the older man’s reaction. Might have been the sight of Tom’s uniform, and his obvious combat injury. It meant that the young soldier would be welcome to visit whenever he wanted. Chloe was good with that.

  Today, they’d left the little girl at home with her dad. He’d even agreed to take a day off work to look after her. He never just took unscheduled holiday. Must be going soft in his old age. Or maybe he could sense the worry and anxiety, which were eating away at his daughter. Even though she did her best to keep her feelings concealed.

  Finally, the door at the hospital swung open and Chloe’s name was called. She gathered up her bag and stood up. Tom grabbed his stick as he got out of the chair. Chloe looked even younger than her age. She held on to Tom’s elbow and he placed his hand protectively over hers.

  He half guided, half dragged her into the office and plonked her down on one of the large, blue, padded chairs that were neatly arranged in front of the consultant’s desk. The doctor’s head was down, peering intently on some graphs on her desk. She looked up, glancing at the young couple over her glasses. When she spoke, her voice was low and serious.

  “I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

  Chloe broke down immediately. She grabbed tighter onto Tom and folded herself into his chest. The soldier took a deep breath.

  “So it’s cancer.”

  The consultant nodded.

  “Neuroblastoma. And I’m afraid it’s the worst type. It’s already metastasised.”

  Chloe froze as the doctor explained.

  “It’s already spread from her stomach, around her body. We’re going to need to treat it very aggressively.”

  She gave them a sympathetic look.

  “I’m afraid it’s not going to be very pleasant.”

  October 26th 1216 A.D. – Furness Abbey – Return to the Abbot

  Brother Robert had worked his magic again. For the second time in two years Allard rode his horse up the bank and breathed a sigh of relief. The sands had been safely crossed once more. But this time Allard was not accompanied solely by the monk. As he turned in the saddle he could see the long wooden cart only a few yards away from the grass. Brother Henry was in the driver’s seat with concentration etched across his face.

  “I know the way. Brother Robert, pray return to your Priory. We will meet you here in the morning for the return trip.”

  With that, the two Templars continued on their journey and were relieved to pull up in front of the Abbey’s gatehouse after less than half a day’s travel.

  Abbot Ambrose looked tired. The last year had aged him further. Allard regretted placing the old scholar under so much pressure. But needs must. The Templars were delighted with the work of Ambrose’s craftsmen. The storage room closely resembled that of the Temple in London.

  With the contents of the wagon stowed, Allard breathed a sigh of relief at finally completing the task that had been set him by the Grand Master, albeit with a lot of help from the Earl of Pembroke.

  The Abbot gave him an itinerary of the treasure, which would normally serve as the basis for a Letter of Credit for the bearer. But this was no ordinary deposit. It had been agreed that a specific form of correspondence, including key code words, from the Templar Master, or a release note from His Holiness himself, would be needed to allow access to the funds. Allard, had been given the exact format of letter that would be required from the Templars, to release the stored wealth. He had passed it to the Abbot who had locked it away securely.

  At the same time Allard reviewed the inventory sheet and checked it was complete. Eventually he nodded his agreement. Ambrose then reached into his desk and produced a leather pouch that already contained several sheets of paper.

  “Brother Templar, please accept this as a small gift from the Abbey. I have already placed within it your original instructions, together with the chamber plans from the master mason. You can place it with the inventory for safekeeping.”

  “I think not friend Abbot. I will take the instructions and the plan away with me as you suggest. They will be given to the authorities in the Holy Land as evidence of our success. However, carrying details of what we have stored, would I feel, be pushing recklessness too far.”

  He handed the inventory back to the monk, who took it from him and replaced it with care back into a desk drawer. Allard picked the pouch up from the table. The monks had attached a cord and he placed the loop round his neck, tucking the leather next to his skin for safekeeping. He resolved to ensure it would remain in position, until he was able to fully discharge his obligations.

  Allard knew his next step would be to travel to the Templars’ base in the Holy Land. The Templar Master Guillame de Chartres would be given the pouch from the monks, describing the hoard’s exact location in the Abbey’s grounds. That would be end of the matter as far as Allard was concerned.

  Fighters from all over Europe were readying themselves to take up the cross and to join the Fifth Crusade called by Pope Innocent III. The fifth Crusade, would they never end? After leaving the Abbey at Furness, Allard was swiftly on the way to the south coast to find the next group of Crusaders sailing for the eastern Mediterranean. At a brief stop in London, he visited the Templar Church and retrieved his armour and weaponry. Relieved to return to being a knight, Allard looked forward to delivering the pouch in person to Guillame when he arrived in Acre.

  October 26th 1216 A.D. – The Baggage Train Arrives

  Abbot Ambrose paced up and down in front of his desk. The message that he had hoped might never arrive, had been brought to him the previous evening. One of the Cartmel monks had handed him the scroll, embossed with the Templars’ two horsemen seal. The visitor from last year was on his way and would be arriving the next morning. The monastery had less than two days to ensure everything was ready for the knight’s arrival.

  The Treasurer of the Abbey was the only one
of the Abbot’s team who knew anything about the chamber beneath the nave floor. Ambrose had ensured that the mason, who’d constructed the room, had been moved on. And he was unconcerned about the peasants who’d provided the hard labour. There was no one in that group of importance. Who would they ever meet to tell? Ambrose called his Treasurer and asked him to check that the chamber was clean and ready for their visitor.

  The next morning arrived all too quickly. But the knight didn’t get there until shortly after the midday meal. The Abbot’s Prior arrived at his house to inform him a large wagon had pulled up in front of the gatehouse. Accompanied by a plainly dressed man on horseback. Ambrose told his Prior, to assemble all the monks in the Chapter House and await his instructions. He wanted them out of the way for the next hour, whilst he dealt with the arriving load.

  He hurried along to the gatehouse. The wagon was drawn up alongside the building. Two men were standing in front, both tall. The Abbot instantly recognised one of them by his scar. But he was not dressed this time in the Templar uniform. The knight caught sight of Ambrose and shouted across to him.

  “Good day to you Brother Abbot. As promised a cargo of goods from Swineshead.”

  Close enough to the truth thought Ambrose.

  “Preparations for storage are complete, I trust?”

  The Abbot nodded that they were.

  “Very well then. Show myself, and my companion the location. There’s no need of any labourers for us. We will stow the goods ourselves.”

  The two men followed Ambrose, carrying the first of the wooden chests between them. Less than an hour later, the three men stood stooped over at the foot of the staircase in the chamber beneath the nave. The Abbot himself was holding the torch that lit the room. All of the lockers were now full and locked.