He
lowered his voice. ‘The Temple has had many tasks, some of them secret, some of
them open-faced. Some come to us from the past but one, however, lies in wait
for the future . . . the seal points to this. This is the thing, Jacques, the
Kingly secret. The secret of the King belongs not in our time but is of the
future. David knew of it and he passed it on to his son, Solomon, who knew how
the Temple had to be built though he could not build it. This task fell to
those of Hiram’s line since they knew how to transform and redeem the world.
You have heard tell of the legend of Cain and Abel? David and Solomon were of
Abel’s line, from him have spawned the priests, the thinkers, those who know.
Hiram was of the line of Cain, from him came the sons of the widow, those who
have fire in their will, those who do. We brothers of
the Order are children of the widow. Below her veil she conceals the secret of
the divine marriage. There is good reason why much of this has been forgotten.
It is a dangerous secret, since it does not discriminate between good men and
bad . . . it shall have any master that claims it . . .’
Christian
motioned with his gnarled hands and the Grand Master looked below the lid to
the hidden seal.
Outside a cloud
swept across the sky and covered the sun.
Afterwards, the
Grand Master closed the hinged lid and sat paused for a long time, looking down
to his hands, to the ring. His face was drained of blood.
He moved his
head with a jerk and stood awkward and out of breath . He did not speak , his eyes formed a
question .
Christian closed
his own to dispel the images that those eyes made upon his mind. ‘The wisdom of
God is inscrutable,’ he said.
After a long
moment the Grand Master said, ‘I will go now and prepare the men.’
Christian nodded
and tears filled his eyes. ‘St Michael protect you.’
He watched the
Grand Master’s thin, square-shouldered form leave the room. Those shoulders
were bent a little now, for they had grown a further burden.
4
DEPARTURE
The end of all things is at hand.
1 Peter 4:7
T hey
came out onto the dry sand, casting no shadow and seeing little. The bay of
figs was empty of bigger ships, except for the galley that lay down in the
water some way off. Nearer to shore, boats and barges lit by stars mingled
polite and circumspect in the pleasant night, with only the sound of a gentle
ocean lapping at the edges of the sand.
The three
knights gathered together under the sickle moon that, resting over a cloud,
cast ghostly wisps of light over their dark apparel and the wooden barrels at
their feet.
To Etienne its
light reflected the sun’s body force and gave it the look of a monstrance
wherein dwelled the dark image of the sun’s spirit. He let his gaze linger on
it a moment, allowing the strength of such a thought to fill him, and then,
squinting, moved his eyes firstly towards the line of short waves polishing the
west face of a rock wall and secondly to a distant light that flickered and was
gone. Etienne cupped his hand and made the sound, and another flicker of light
appeared in answer.
Beneath his
unyielding countenance he felt good and bad at once – loose and
stretched. Happy to be beyond the gates of Famagusta, which had seemed to him
more and more like a prison, and at the same time anxious that all go smoothly
and without incident.
‘It is the
Eagle, I see her beak,’ said the old Scot Andrew behind him. A veteran of two
Crusades, he cast his two small eyes like beads over the indistinct line of the
galley. ‘Aye, the slaves are shackled, by what I can see of it . . .’
‘You have good
eyes, Andrew!’ said Marcus. ‘On a clear night might you not see Syria then?’
‘My eyes are all
that works aright in this carcass of mine. I should throw myself against a
spike if they were gone.’
A warm breeze
moved over the water and the tide making small boats bump together. The men
tuned their ears to sounds and their eyes to shadows.
Etienne
lowered his voice. ‘The Temple has had many tasks, some of them secret, some of
them open-faced. Some come to us from the past but one, however, lies in wait
for the future . . . the seal points to this. This is the thing, Jacques, the
Kingly secret. The secret of the King belongs not in our time but is of the
future. David knew of it and he passed it on to his son, Solomon, who knew how
the Temple had to be built though he could not build it. This task fell to
those of Hiram’s line since they knew how to transform and redeem the world.
You have heard tell of the legend of Cain and Abel? David and Solomon were of
Abel’s line, from him have spawned the priests, the thinkers, those who know.
Hiram was of the line of Cain, from him came the sons of the widow, those who
have fire in their will, those who do. We brothers of
the Order are children of the widow. Below her veil she conceals the secret of
the divine marriage. There is good reason why much of this has been forgotten.
It is a dangerous secret, since it does not discriminate between good men and
bad . . . it shall have any master that claims it . . .’
Christian
motioned with his gnarled hands and the Grand Master looked below the lid to
the hidden seal.
Outside a cloud
swept across the sky and covered the sun.
Afterwards, the
Grand Master closed the hinged lid and sat paused for a long time, looking down
to his hands, to the ring. His face was drained of blood.
He moved his
head with a jerk and stood awkward and out of breath . He did not speak , his eyes formed a
question .
Christian closed
his own to dispel the images that those eyes made upon his mind. ‘The wisdom of
God is inscrutable,’ he said.
After a long
moment the Grand Master said, ‘I will go now and prepare the men.’
Christian nodded
and tears filled his eyes. ‘St Michael protect you.’
He watched the
Grand Master’s thin, square-shouldered form leave the room. Those shoulders
were bent a little now, for they had grown a further burden.
4
DEPARTURE
The end of all things is at hand.
1 Peter 4:7
T hey
came out onto the dry sand, casting no shadow and seeing little. The bay of
figs was empty of bigger ships, except for the galley that lay down in the
water some way off. Nearer to shore, boats and barges lit by stars mingled
polite and circumspect in the pleasant night, with only the sound of a gentle
ocean lapping at the edges of the sand.
The three
knights gathered together under the sickle moon that, resting over a cloud,
cast ghostly wisps of light over their dark apparel and the wooden barrels at
their feet.
To Etienne its
light reflected the sun’s body force and gave it the look of a monstrance
wherein dwelled the dark image of the sun’s spirit. He let his gaze linger on
it a moment, allowing the strength of such a thought to fill him, and then,
squinting, moved his eyes firstly towards the line of short waves polishing the
west face of a rock wall and secondly to a distant light that flickered and was
gone. Etienne cupped his hand and made the sound, and another flicker of light
appeared in answer.
Beneath his
unyielding countenance he felt good and bad at once – loose and
stretched. Happy to be beyond the gates of Famagusta, which had seemed to him
more and more like a prison, and at the same time anxious that all go smoothly
and without incident.
‘It is the
Eagle, I see her beak,’ said the old Scot Andrew behind him. A veteran of two
Crusades, he cast his two small eyes like beads over the indistinct line of the
galley. ‘Aye, the slaves are shackled, by what I can see of it . . .’
‘You have good
eyes, Andrew!’ said Marcus. ‘On a clear night might you not see Syria then?’
‘My eyes are all
that works aright in this carcass of mine. I should throw myself against a
spike if they were gone.’
A warm breeze
moved over the water and the tide making small boats bump together. The men
tuned their ears to sounds and their eyes to shadows.
Etienne
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