‘Peculiar? What do you mean by that?’
‘A — a … strong man. Extraordinarily strong,’ added Liam. ‘And really tough. And with certain unusual fighting techniques.’
‘There is talk that this hooded fiend has shrugged off crossbow bolts and the like. That he is unstoppable. That it is the Grailitself that protects him from harm.’ John shook his head slowly. ‘You know … perhaps there is some truth to this Templar nonsense.’
‘Sire,’ said Cabot, ‘I have seen this Bob do just the same.’
John’s eyes darted from Cabot to the support unit.
‘This is correct,’ Bob rumbled. ‘I am capable of suffering extreme damage and deploying damage-limitation counter-measures.’
John turned to Cabot. ‘Sebastien, this ox of a man speaks a sort of English, but I have no understanding of what he just said.’
‘What he said, Sire, is that he can do exactly what this Hooded Man can do. I have seen, with my own eyes, Bob take arrows that would kill any ordinary man … and yet he did not even blink.
‘Aye. It’s not the Grail, Sire. It’s not magic or godly powers or anything. This Hooded Man is just another … well, I suppose I’d say he’s just another man like this Bob.’
John studied them in silence for a while, a finger caressing the tufted tip of his chin. The sound of popping and hissing logs filled the hall. Finally he stirred. ‘And you say you are here to help?’
Liam nodded. ‘S’right. We’re going to get the Grail back for you.’
CHAPTER 32
1194, Oxford Castle, Oxford
The quarters they had been assigned were clearly meant for noble-born guests: four rooms high up in the keep decorated with fine tapestries and embroidered cushions. Perhaps a true sign that John valued their presence was the distance from their windows to the fetid smell of the city of Oxford below.
The brazier in Liam’s room burned brightly, filling the cold damp chamber with a welcoming warmth, and a wooden table with a bowl of loaves and preserves and a flagon of imported wine had been set out for them.
‘… I was his sword master — in fact I tutored all three of the King’s sons: Geoffrey, Richard and John,’ continued Cabot, tipping the flagon into his cup. ‘They were but boys then, long before political rivalries separated them. Geoffrey was the eldest and Henry’s favourite. Richard was always the headstrong one … the one ye knew would seek to place his name in history.’
‘And John?’ asked Liam.
Cabot shrugged. ‘A gentle boy. Certainly no swordsman. I saw in Richard, though, something to fear. A man who could become great … all-powerful. A man with the cold-hearted ruthlessness to take all the kingdoms of Europe and make them one. When Geoffrey died and it was clear Richard would succeed his father … I knew there would be plenty of blood.’ Cabot’s face creased with a lacklustre smile. ‘I too was younger then and I craved the glory of war.’
‘How long were you a Templar, then?’
‘I joined as the sergeant to Sir Godfrey Cottleigh’s service fifteen years ago and we went to the Holy Land to do our duty: to protect Christian pilgrims. It was in those years, peaceful years by all accounts before the fall of Jerusalem, that I learned of the order’s secrets.’
‘Secrets? The Grail?’
‘And so much more.’
Bob and Becks seemed to perk up. Liam suspected they were both carefully studying his face, his body language, for telltale signs of truth or deception.
‘What?’
Cabot looked at him, uneasy with breaking oaths of secrecy he’d long ago been sworn to.
‘Mr Cabot? What else is there?’
‘Ye understand, in telling ye … more, I am betraying the order of Templars. Do ye understand this?’
‘But you left them anyway, right? So …?’
‘Aye,’ he shrugged. He tipped the cup of wine down his throat. ‘After Jerusalem fell and Richard announced his crusade to retake it, I learned how much blood would be spilled in the name of God. When King Richard arrived in the Holy Land with his army, I saw in him a powerful obsession. A dangerous obsession.’ Cabot’s eyes met Liam’s. ‘He had learned of the Treyarch Confession … he’d come for the Grail.’
Becks stirred. ‘I have no details of a “Treyarch Confession”. What is this?’
‘The Treyarch Confession is an account written by a man called Gerard Treyarch. He and his brother were soldiers in the First Crusade. They were among the Christian army that first captured Jerusalem in 1099. Ye know of this?’
Liam didn’t. He turned to the other two. ‘Bob? Becks?’
‘The First Crusade is launched by Pope Urban II in 1095. The objective is to capture the city of Jerusalem and expel the Muslims. The crusade is successful and in 1099 after a short siege the crusaders enter the city. In the days that follow the soldiers are said to have massacred every Muslim inside …’
Cabot nodded. ‘Men, women … children.’
Bob continued: ‘The city of Jerusalem and the Holy Land remain in Christian hands for nearly a century under a succession of ‘guardian’ Christian kings. It is known as The Kingdom of Heaven and peace ensues for nearly ninety years. Then, in 1187, the Muslims finally retake the city under the successful general, Saladin.’
‘Saladin?’ said Liam.
Bob nodded. ‘Saladin is merciful and allows Christians to remain in the city, and orders his men not to ransack the Christian holy places.’
‘So, what is this Treyarch thing, then, Mr Cabot?’ asked Liam.
Cabot began guardedly. ‘During that century of Christian rule and peace, Gerard and Raymond Treyarch are said to have discovered something in the vaults beneath Jerusalem. The Treyarch Confession is said to be Gerard’s account of this.’
‘Discovered what?’
‘An ancient thing.’
Cabot pressed his lips firmly together as if he was willing them to remain closed.
‘And?’
‘The story goes … a scroll that was over a thousandyearsold. From the time of the Christ.’
‘Jay-zus!’ Liam blurted.
Cabot frowned at him. ‘Indeed … the time of Jesus Christ.’
‘What did it say?’
‘I have never read the Treyarch Confession, but I have heard it reveals nothing of what was in the text from the time of the Christ … it is only an account of what they did with it.’
Cabot bit into an apple. ‘It is said they transcribed the text of the original message to a ciphered form and then destroyed it.’
Liam sat up straight. ‘Destroyed it? Why?’
‘’Tis unknown.’ Cabot hunched his shoulders. ‘Perhaps because the truth it contained was far too dangerous for mortal man to know? Perhaps it contained the real spoken words of God and they have a power we do not understand.’
‘And this rewritten version — this encoded version,’ said Liam, ‘that is the Holy Grail?’
‘Ahh, ye are half right, lad. It is that version, and the key to deciphering it — those two things together are what is known as the Grail.’ He nodded warily. ‘’Tis a good thing that the Grail is two parts, kept separate.’
‘You believe it has powers, Mr Cabot?’ said Becks.
‘I believe it had the power to send both the Treyarch brothers mad.’
‘Uh?’ Liam’s eyes widened. ‘Seriously?’
‘Raymond Treyarch, ’tis said, killed himself in Jerusalem, and Gerard ended his years in some monastery in Aquitaine where he wrote his Confession and, as the story goes, went quite insane.’
The fire was dying down. Liam reached for another log and gently placed it on the pile of glowing, pulsing charcoal and embers. ‘So then, we know one half of the Grail has been stolen by this hooded fella and his bandits …’
‘Aye, the enciphered text.’