“You are the Agent in Place for this milieu?” Robert ventured.
“One such operative. You have made the acquaintance of another.”
“Rantgar, yes, an interesting fellow. We had every hope his intervention might make an end of this mess, but it seems it needs something more, in spite of Paul’s effort with Grimwald.”
“Operations informed me Rantgar would not be arriving,” said the Abbot. “There was a mishap. Oh, they tried to regenerate him from the pattern buffers, and did manage to get him back briefly, but he wouldn’t stick. I believe we’ve lost him, though he did manage to tell us enough to make our invitation. I am glad you have come.”
The Abbot smiled. “Well, not to be impolite, Mr. Nordhausen, but pleasantries aside, we have also learned that you are somewhat of a philologist.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“We were told that you possess knowledge of the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. Is that so?”
“Yes, I can read and translate that system, and I’m well versed in Greek and Latin as well.”
“Excellent, just what we hoped!” The Abbot walked to an oaken door, pushing it open. “I’d love to offer you refreshment, but this matter is somewhat urgent, to say the least. Perhaps we’d best get over to the scriptorium.”
“Then you’ve asked me to come here as a translator?” The professor walked with Abbot Emmerich, their shadows preceding them as they turned their backs on the hearth and started through an arched doorway that opened on a long hallway lit by candlelight. Robert noted the sturdy oak beams imbedded in the stone in the walls.
“Exactly,” said the Abbot. “A curious scroll has come into our possession, and it appears to be a rubbing on Papyrus, inked with indigo and depicting the old Egyptian writing that has confounded us over the millennia. How is it you can read this language, professor?”
“I had an interest from an early age, and apparently I was in a Nexus Point when the transformation at Rosetta occurred. My associates have explained it all to me, but I’m afraid the physics escapes me. All I know is that I can still read and decipher the glyphs. I’m surprised you cannot do so as well. Surely there must be someone from your time that has mastered this?”
“There may have been, but we’re living in the post-Palma world now, and it’s a tad uncomfortable. I’m sorry to say we had no one safe in a Nexus when this transformation occurred. In fact, it was your curiosity about the Rosetta Stone that first put us on to the scheme. Our adversaries can be rather ingenious at times. We’ve learned to respect their resourcefulness the hard way.”
They reached the scriptorium, a cavernous room off the hallway they were in, with heavy wood tables and chairs and musty racks of scrolls of papyrus and parchment. The tables were scattered with writing implements and old leather bound books, and Nordhausen was immediately curious, his disquiet concerning this mission well quashed by the amiable and erudite manner of the Abbot.
“So this is one of your bases of operation in this milieu?” The professor was already looking at copies of inked script. “You’re using uncial script. I’ve always had a fondness for it.”
“Indeed,” said the Abbot. “These monasteries and abbeys have been safe harbors for culture and history through many stormy seas, and perfect locations for our people operating on the Meridian here. But we’re losing them now. The Saracens are burning them to the ground as they come north. They have already ransacked the basilica of Saint Hilary outside Poitiers, though we got our people out safely before they arrived. The city itself they spared, probably because they lack proper engines of war, but they are surely bent on coming here as soon as they might.
“I’m afraid most of my flock here is busy packing away our most vital scrolls and manuscripts. We sent two of our agents, Gratien and Aventinus, with a band of pilgrims heading for Rome, but they were waylaid by Saracen raiders on the road and slain.”
“You are speaking of Saints Gratien and Aventinus… Your Agents?” said Nordhausen.
“Indeed, who do you think the saints are, man? Most of them are our people, working out of the abbeys and monasteries to stand a watch on the history, and record it as well.”
Nordhausen raised an eyebrow, coming to a new appreciation of what ‘the Order’ was about in their war against the Assassins.
“Well,” the Abbot continued, “we got most of the important work safely off to the keeping of the Bishop at Maastricht. What you see here are the inconsequential remains. This Abbey has already stood for 360 years since it was built by St. Martin. It wasn’t supposed to suffer any serious threat until the year 853 when the Normans sacked it, a pox upon them. That’s over 480 years where it stands as a bulwark of Christendom, a growing cultural treasure, and a perfect base of operations here. Then this business took a sudden turn for the worst and it seems we could have a problem now, if we don’t get it sorted out. In a matter of hours.”
“I see,” said Nordhausen. “Then you’ve found the final Pushpoint? You know what needs to be done?”
“We have some ideas, but here,” the Abbot gestured to an open scroll lying on a table. “This is the item we’ve secured, and we believe it may hold the key to unraveling the remainder of this mystery.”
Nordhausen leaned in, moving a candle to get better light on the scroll. “I should have brought along my reading glasses,” he said quietly. “Ms. Linford would not hear if it. That woman can be insufferable at times, but I’m afraid we are much in her debt this time around.”
“The intervention she effected on St. Lambert was regrettable, but nonetheless astounding,” said Emmerich. “How did she manage it, we wonder?”
Robert immediately recognized the writing on the scroll. “Well it all seems to revolve around these lines here,” Nordhausen pointed at the scroll. “This is a rubbing from the stone that was uncovered at Rosetta—the altered stela. We believe it contains instructions concerning the events surrounding this battle. You see these characters? They are at times phonetic, and at other times symbolic. You may get an obvious correlation of a pictogram with some object, but they can also be used phonetically in combinations and with specific determinatives and rules. It’s this bit here…”
He ran his finger along a line of hieroglyphics, reading: “The weave undone… A loose twine… where horses were brought to gather… by the water’s edge.” That last phrase was not on the stela until Maeve began her intervention. Mr. Dorland and I returned to discover this, and sent the information on to Maeve.”
“The apple!” said the Abbot, smiling.
“Which reminds me…” Robert reached in his pocket and fished out the apple Maeve had handed him just before he left. “Compliments of Ms. Linford,” he said. “Yes. Our Maeve managed to sort it all out. That last line led her to the ferry site by the river where Lambert was slain. The riders gathered there by the river’s edge, and it was the simple act of loosening the twine that held the ferry in place that prevented Lambert’s safe escape over the Meuse. How she managed it amazes me as well.”
The Abbot was listening carefully, his brow knit with thought. “And this segment?”
“Let me see… Ah, it reads: ‘Hold them fast… those who drink the wind… lest they trample thy endeavor and the host is made to flee…’ We first believed this to be a reference to the horses the Arabs took while pillaging their way to the site of the battle. In fact, we had an intervention planned and reconnoitered the location we suspected these animals might be located. Our thought was that some sort of stampede or other commotion in Arab camp was instrumental in deciding the outcome of this battle. Yet, when Paul shifted in, there was no sign of a battle at all! Could we have selected the wrong date? Was it October 25 of this year?”