He shined his flashlight at the chockstone, but none of it remained.
Sam stepped through the new opening, into a narrow passage, and a moment later, Caliburn passed him, barking as he led the way.
They all followed the retriever.
Caliburn took them to a large vaulted room. Like an old catacomb, there were rows and rows of tombs scattered throughout each end of the vault.
Sam said, “Which one, Caliburn?”
The dog ran toward a big one at the end, and simply placed one of his paws up on it.
There was no fancy inscription or anything on the tomb to identify the person inside, but it was the grandest one inside the private necropolis.
An old iron bar, once used in the lowering of the tomb’s cover, was used to pry it open again.
Inside they found what they believed to be the skeletal remains of Belisarius and a single shard of a sword. At a glance, it matched the other side of Caliburn. Next to it was a book made of vellum. Sam picked it up and fixed his flashlight on its pages.
The writing was almost illegible, but there was no mistaking the title — King Arthur of Camelot.
Guinevere was the first to make the connection. She said, “Could it be?”
“Could what be?” Sam asked.
She took a reverent breath. “That here lies King Arthur!”
“What?” Sam and Tom replied.
“Think about it. All this time, we’ve assumed that the story of King Arthur was set in England, but what if we were wrong?”
“I’m not following you,” Sam said. “The story of King Arthur was set in England. Besides, if this is King Arthur, who’s dead in that secret grave we found in Glastonbury?”
“That was Mordred, an Anglo who tried to fight off a young Saxon named Belisarius in the sixth century. We knew the General had come from Germany, which at the time was part of the Roman Empire.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “I’ll take the bait. If that’s the case where did King Arthur come from? And Camelot?”
Guinevere shook her head. “You’re missing it. King Arthur never existed. Nor did Camelot. Belisarius did and so did Merlin. Think about it. If Merlin was from Britain, why was his forge supposed to be in a grotto in Majorca?”
Sam grinned. “Because it was under the Byzantine Empire at the time.”
“Exactly.”
Sam frowned. “But what of this book?”
“King Arthur of Camelot?”
Sam gave a puzzled nod. “Yeah.”
“It was an ideal. Belisarius fought for Justinian the Great because he believed in what the man was trying to achieve. Not only did the Eastern Roman Emperor restore nearly 45 percent of the Roman Empire in his life, but he was determined to set about creating a new order of rules that was just and fair for everyone within his kingdom. You said it yourself, that his Corpus Juris is still used today in law systems around the civilized world.”
Sam smiled. “And so, Belisarius, wrote about Camelot — the perfect kingdom — with a Round Table, where everyone had a place, where knights were chivalrous, and the kingdom was ruled in peace…”
Genevieve interrupted his thoughts, and said, “The one thing I don’t understand is how did anyone ever hear about King Arthur if the only book has remained buried here all this time?”
Sam said, “After failing to bring order to the Anglos in Briton, a young Belisarius joined Justinian’s campaign to reclaim the Roman Empire. During the campaign, he wrote stories to remind him what he was fighting for.”
“About the perfect civilization?”
“Yes. A perfect empire, inspired by the notion of all that was good and just in Camelot. But he soon learned that any real change took centuries, and the people to make it. A king, no matter how good their ideals were, needed time and for the people to make the difference. As a deeply religious man, he was buried nearby the supposed burial site of Jesus and the Resurrection. His book was left in his tomb — for an honest knight to come along.”
“Galahad?” Guinevere asked.
Sam shook his head. “No. The man’s name was Geoffrey of Monmouth and he was in the process of ransacking Jerusalem in the name of the First Crusades.”
Guinevere said, “Belisarius knew his tomb would be pillaged one day?”
Sam nodded. “I believe so. And when Geoffrey found the book during the 11th century he instantly saw the benefit that his kings might have in his new book, Historia Regum Britanniae — which would place England’s kings as the rightful rulers.”
Caliburn barked loudly and bared his teeth.
All eyes turned to the passageway — where three heavily bearded men, their faces covered with Arabic keffiyehs, and holding Israeli Uzis had arrived.
Chapter Seventy-Three
They were all herded out of the Zedekiah's Cave at gunpoint.
Sam noticed as they passed the mouth of the quarry that the two guards, they had bribed to enter the ancient cavern were dead — their throats cut.
They were taken outside the Damascus Gates, where a helicopter was waiting for them. Any thoughts of escaping while they were still within the Old City were quickly discarded when one of the men mentioned that they had been paid to steal a dog, and they didn’t care less if they had to shoot any of the people with the dog.
Tom and Genevieve were the first to be put into the AH-1 Cobra helicopter.
Next went one of their captors, who pointed his handgun — a 9mm Jericho 941 pistol — at Genevieve’s head. The man said, “If anyone plays badly, I will shoot her in the head. Understood?”
There was a general murmur of agreement.
Caliburn was then lifted into the helicopter. The dog’s eyes were somber as he moved with his tail resting between his legs, until he was all the way at the back of the helicopter.
Sam and Guinevere were pushed into the back of the helicopter next, and the man who appeared to be in charge climbed in last.
The third captor climbed into the pilot’s seat in the cockpit. He switched the helicopter’s engines on, and they were in the air within minutes.
Sam said, “Where are you taking us?”
The captor in charge said, “Into Jordan.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s easier for the man who pays our wages to meet you there…” The man tilted his head and made a half-grin. “Well, not you, the dog…”
Sam said, “Someone must really like dogs?”
“Not all dogs. Only this one.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know the man’s name. Only that he goes by the codename of Excalibur and that he’s offered a princely sum for the return of a very specific dog — a golden retriever, who has the unique ability to change the color of its fur to hide into its surroundings.”
Sam said, “So then, if it’s not personal, and you’ve been hired to get the dog, why take us?”
“Excalibur doesn’t care whether you live or die. But I know a man in Jordan who would pay a high price for captured tourists — particularly Americans…”
“What will he do with us?” Guinevere asked.
The man shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Does the farmer ask what the butcher is going to do with his animals?”
Guinevere turned away, so that he couldn’t see her fear.
The man said, “Ah, you are very beautiful. You can guess what such a man would do with you? No? Maybe, I should keep you as my own slave? Or one of my wives? The other wives will be pissed by your beauty, but what can they do about it?”
Sam met Guinevere’s steely gaze. Neither said anything. They didn’t have to.
Guinevere smiled lasciviously at her captor.
The man smiled back, revealing missing teeth. “Good girl… I’m going to enjoy…”