Tommy had already taken a look at the stone box, but that didn’t keep the sight from stopping his breath as he stepped closer and beheld the shield engraved on the surface. A Templar cross was cut within the shield’s borders, surrounded by four other, less elaborate equilateral crosses. It was a symbol synonymous with the legendary Crusader, Godfrey of Bouillon. Tommy thought it, though he didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t need to. The fact that the symbol was here in France made no sense. The great leader was purportedly buried within the confines of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem.
Then Tommy reminded himself of where he was. This land would have fallen squarely into the area that was considered part of Godfrey’s property.
Was this the true burial spot for one of the greatest leaders of the Crusades? Or was it one of his followers? Tommy had put off the answers until he had more time with the evidence. He was only seeing the tip of the iceberg at this point.
The other three hadn’t seen the surface of the sarcophagus yet and were unaware of the engraving. Tommy had kept that a secret to only be revealed by their own eyes.
“Incredible,” said one of the men from Oxford. His gray hair and beard were badges of honor in a world where one’s depth of knowledge was dependent on years of experience. This was Dr. Tim Hathaway, an anthropologist from London. He’d been an expert in his field for more than 30 years.
The other man — one of similar age and manner — was Dr. Nicholas Remming. He nodded in agreement. “Well done, Tommy. Well done indeed. A Templar burial site. Astonishing.” Remming had been a professor of medieval studies for 22 years and had taken part in more than a dozen digs across Europe.
“Not just a Templar, Doctor. These perfectly align with images often associated with Godfrey of Bouillon.”
The older man raised an eyebrow and fired a suspicious look Tommy’s way. “We’ll see.”
The researcher, Dr. Cherie Sauvad, took a few pictures with her smartphone and then began putting on gloves she’d brought in. Her graying brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun. The hairdo stretched the shallow wrinkles on her forehead, almost making them disappear.
“I hope you gents are ready for this,” she said.
The other three nodded, and she motioned for two of the workers outside to join them in the sepulcher. The men — both of Asian descent — hurried inside with crowbars and shovels.
Sauvad motioned to the sarcophagus lid. “Be very careful,” she said. “Make sure the lid doesn’t fall into the box. The last thing we need is to crush the remains.”
The two Oxford men took a nervous breath as the workers wedged their tools into the seam between the top and the bottom of the box. When they were satisfied with the depth, they leveraged the iron, and the lid came off its housing. The workers nodded at each other and slid the top a few inches toward the far wall. Dust tumbled out and over the lip of the sarcophagus. The two older men covered their faces with handkerchiefs to ease their breathing.
Once there was enough room for the workers to get their fingers under the lid, they set down their tools and took up positions opposite each other on either end. With a curt nod, they hefted the heavy object and slid it to where it was slightly less than half off the bottom. There, they held it in place, letting most of the weight rest on the sarcophagus’s rim.
“Perfect,” Sauvad said. “Just hold it there for a moment.”
The two workers pressed down on the lid’s edge to keep it in place as she moved closer.
When the dust settled, the cave’s occupants all stared inside to see what secrets the stone box held. They all expected bones, probably wrapped in medieval clothing or armor.
Instead, what they saw was a dusty shield. No skeleton. No armor. Just a shield.
Everyone in the cave frowned.
“Where’s the body?” Sauvad asked. “I don’t understand.”
Dr. Remming glanced over at Tommy. “You’ve kept this area secure since its discovery, yes?”
“Of course,” Tommy stammered. “We’ve had video surveillance and guards posted around the clock. If someone tried to get in here, we’d have known about it.”
Sauvad continued gazing into the sarcophagus. She reached out and ran a gloved finger along the shield’s edge, wiping a thin layer of dust from the surface. Her action revealed a pale yellow metal.
“Gold leaf on the edge,” she said. “If someone broke in here to steal something, they would have taken this with them.” She looked closer and wiped her hand across the breadth of the shield. “What’s this?”
She repeated the action three more times until everyone in the chamber could see clearly the image on the metal surface.
It was a black eagle, a symbol used by one of the greatest kings to ever live: Charlemagne.
“Wait a minute,” Tommy said. “That can’t be right.”
“It must be a forgery,” said Hathaway. “Charlemagne is buried in Aachen. Everyone knows that.”
“Yeah, but there’s no body here. Maybe this wasn’t meant to be a burial chamber.”
“Why, then, is there a sarcophagus?” Remming asked. “And why is it on Bouillon land?”
Tommy put his hands on his hips and stared at the shield. “Dr. Sauvad, may I use your gloves for a moment?”
“Certainly.”
“What are you doing?” Hathaway asked, his voice full of uncertainty.
“Just having a look.”
Tommy lifted the shield from its resting place and stared into the shadow underneath. A yellowish object caught his attention. Propping the shield up with one hand, he used the other to reach under. A moment later, he laid the shield back down and held up the object he’d removed.
It was a circular medallion with five half circles surrounding it. Every eye in the room stared at the small treasure.
“What is it? Who was the owner?” Sauvad asked.
“Where is the owner?” Remming asked.
“Look,” Tommy said. “On the back. There’s something inscribed on the metal.” He peered closer. “It looks like Latin.”
Sauvad read the lines out loud before the others had a chance. “It says, All who draw the sword will die by the sword.”
“Why in heaven’s name does it say that?” Hathaway asked.
The two workers suddenly drew pistols out of their jackets and pointed them at the other occupants.
“Hand over the medallion,” one of them said in heavily accented English. “Do it now, and don’t try anything stupid.”
The two Englishmen took a moment to process what was happening.
“What is the meaning of this?” Remming demanded.
Tommy answered for them. “They’re stealing this artifact. Which, I don’t have to tell you two, is a bad idea. You won’t get out of here with it.”
“We’ll see,” the worker who’d spoken before said. “Medallion. Now.”
His voice grew louder but still not loud enough to be heard outside the cave.
“You two positioned yourselves perfectly,” Tommy said. “Nobody can see you thanks to where the walls cut off. But they’ll see you come out. Then what’s your plan?”
“Not your concern. Now give me the medallion, or I kill her.” The worker pressed the muzzle to the side of Sauvad’s head.
She trembled but didn’t dare move.
“Okay, just take it easy,” Tommy said. He held out the object and moved his hand slowly toward the gunman. “Point the gun at me, not her. She’s not the one holding what you want. I am.”
“Shut up,” the gunman snapped.
When Tommy’s hand was at full extension, the gunman shoved Sauvad out of the way and snatched it from the American.