The Templar's Code (18 page)

Standing above the tree line, she could see across a vast expanse of wilderness. “Wow, what a view!”

“Indeed, it’s quite inspiring,” Caedmon murmured, his gaze fixed on a lone boulder positioned at the far edge of the granite shelf. “Unless I’m greatly mistaken, we have discovered our divining rod. Shall we?”

Edie eagerly fell into step beside him. “Hopefully, there’s a map and a big Jolly Roger carved on it.”

“Curious you should mention the Jolly Roger given that the famous pirate logo originated with the Knights Templar and was frequently used to mark their grave sites.”

Walking around the boulder, they came to a standstill in front of a crudely incised carving.

“Well, it isn’t a Jolly Roger.” She squinted to better make out the weathered image. “Do you recognize it?”

“Most assuredly.” Going down on bent knee, Caedmon fingered the carving, the image incised in hollow relief. “It’s the Templar battle standard. Better known as the Beauséant.”

“Beauséant . . .” She accessed her memory banks, going all the way back to Madame Girard’s high school French class. “That comes from the word
beau
, which means beautiful, right?”

Caedmon nodded. “However, in medieval French, it translated more closely to ‘glorious.’ The Templars were known to shout ‘Beauséant!’ as they charged into battle.”

“The medieval version of the Rebel yell, huh? I think we should get a photo. For the family album,” she added with a playful wink. A few moments later, photo taken, she showed him the image on the review screen.

“Okay, what am I looking at?”

Still on bent knee, Caedmon rose to his feet. “Bear in mind that this Beauséant, or battle standard, is carved in stone. That said, a battle standard was a large cloth banner held aloft on a wooden staff that served as a rallying point for one’s army during battle. When it came to the Beauséant, the Templars had a simple code of conduct—as long as it flew, they must fight.”

“I’m guessing that the actual banner would have been brightly colored so it could easily be seen from a distance.”

“Indeed, the Beauséant comprised three armorial colors: red, white, and black.”

“A simple but bold fashion statement.”

Caedmon placed his hand on top of the boulder. “This is a clue, I’m certain of it. No man would go to the trouble of climbing a granite tower to carve this image without a reason.”

“True, but this is what I don’t get: If the Knights Templar hid their treasure trove in Arcadia, why leave secret clues as to its whereabouts? They did, after all, know where they hid it.”

“But not everyone in the Templar colony would be privy to the treasure’s whereabouts. Only a select few.” He glanced at the silver signet ring on his right hand. “The grand master and his inner circle. There’s also the possibility that the clues were left for their Scottish brethren. In the event that calamity struck.”

“Which is
exactly
what happened. A tragic calamity befell the colony at Arcadia.” While she hated to play the devil’s advocate, Edie knew that Caedmon sometimes suffered from myopic vision when it came to the Knights Templar. “That being the case, there’s a very real possibility that someone, say the Scottish branch of the Templar family, found out about the massacre, sailed to the New World, deciphered the clues, and collected the treasure.”

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it. Speaking of which, the Beauséant faces due west.” He removed the GPS device from his cargo pants. “According to the GPS receiver, that also happens to be the direction of Yawgoog’s stone bridge. There may well be a connection between the Beauséant and the stone bridge.”

Resigned to the fact that Caedmon would not surrender while the Beauséant still figuratively flew, Edie led the way back to the other side of the granite ledge. It was a little past one o’clock; they still had plenty of time to find Yawgoog’s bridge and hightail it out of the Arcadia Wilderness Area before sunset.

A few minutes later, having safely navigated their descent, they headed due west.

Lifting his head heavenward, Saviour inhaled, savoring the invigorating aroma of cedar and pine.

Head cleared, he readjusted his earphones. He’d been tracking Aisquith and the Miller woman since they left the Hope Valley Inn. An easy enough feat. He simply aimed the parabolic dish on his listening device and he could hear the couple’s every utterance. Stalking prey had never been easier.

And the fun part?

The couple were oblivious to the fact that he followed in their wake—although he’d learned his lesson and would be more careful this time.

Last night, he’d misjudged Edie Miller, thinking her little more than a silly bitch. She’d proved him wrong. Not only was she tenacious, she possessed an admirable cunning.
Would she fight back?
He hoped so. Without question, the Brit would prove a worthy contender.

Saviour smiled, anxiously anticipating the bout.

Hearing the sound of rent fabric, Saviour glanced down, his jacket snagged on a branch. Shrugging, he yanked the lightweight nylon free. It was the sort of careless mishap that would normally enrage him; he took such care with his wardrobe. But not today. Today, his thoughts, his emotions, were all attuned to the thrill of the hunt.

So much better than stalking furry mammals. A deer could not scream. A fox could not beg for mercy. A rabbit could not plead to be put out of its misery. Only one kind of prey could scream and beg and plead.

But the predator had to exercise patience when stalking human prey.

On Thessaloniki, he used to spend an inordinate amount of time studying each and every prospective john, carefully scrutinizing the man’s facial expressions, his eye movements. The way he dressed. The aperitif he ordered as he pretended to read the newspaper
.
Sometimes he would spend hours in the pursuit of one man, waiting and watching instinctive to him.

So, too, killing.

His smile broadened.
Let the games begin.

Edie estimated that they’d gone approximately a quarter mile when they reached the edge of the swift-moving river.

Worried they’d come to the proverbial dead end, she stared at the stone bridge comprising gigantic rectangular granite slabs that extended from one side of the riverbank to the other.

Frowning, Caedmon’s gaze was glued to the gushing white-capped water that flowed across the middle of the bridge.

“The Indians forgot to mention that a fifteen-foot waterfall flows right down the middle of Yawgoog’s stone bridge. Which makes crossing the river next to impossible,” Edie glumly remarked. “Some bridge.”

“Interesting that Dr. Lovett made no mention of the waterfall in his field book. Evidently, he didn’t consider it pertinent.”

“Dr. Lovett didn’t mention a lot of things in his little notebook. Too paranoid that someone would steal his notes and beat him to the treasure. Okay, scoutmaster, now what? As near as I can tell, this is a bridge to nowhere.”

“Quarried and built by man . . . but to what end? As you said, it’s impossible to cross to the other side.”

“Are you sure this is even man-made?”

“There’s no doubt in my mind. See these rough-hewn marks?” He pointed to the edge of the nearest block. “These slabs were obviously cut from the local granite, of which there is an abundance.”

“Using the same tools employed by fourteenth-century stonemasons.”

Caedmon nodded. “The Indian tales mention that Yawgoog wore a leather apron as he constructed his fabled bridge. European stonemasons similarly garbed themselves in leather aprons.”

“Okay, we’ve got the how of it figured out. Any ideas as to why it was built?”

“My gut instinct is that this is related to the carved Beauséant, but . . .” He shrugged, clearly at a loss.

“Let’s backtrack,” she said, hoping to kick-start a brainstorming session. “What do we know about the Beauséant? We know it means ‘glorious’ and that the actual banner was red, white, and black. We also know that the Templars—”

“Red, white, and black . . . of course.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth as he contemplated Yawgoog’s bridge. A few moments later, he said, “Since the Beauséant was carved onto the boulder, the colors were
implied
.”

Even though she had no idea why that was relevant, Edie encouragingly nodded her head. “I’m with you. Keep rolling.” She made a rolling motion with her hand.

“Mind you, I’m thinking aloud, but it could well be that the oak trees that bracket either side of the bridge are a clue. You may not have noticed but the grove of trees on one side of the river bank is
white
oak and the grove on the opposite bank is
red
.”

She glanced at the massive old-growth oak trees. “How do you know? They look identical to me.”

He made no reply. Instead, he picked up a dried oak leaf near his boot tip. Then, bending at the waist, his eyes glued to the ground, he walked several feet before picking up yet another brown, sun-dried leaf. “The proof is in the foliage,” he said, showing her the two similar but uniquely different oak leaves. “The lobes on the white oak are round.”

“And the lobes on the red oak are pointed. It was probably blown across the river last autumn. But how do you know that these two oak groves were intentionally planted?”

“Had God’s hand been involved in the design, one would expect mixed groves on either side of the bank. But, instead, there’s one species on each bank. Red and white. Clearly, the oaks relate to the Beauséant.”

“All right, then riddle me this: Where does the black come into play? Lest you forgot, the Beauséant is made up of three colors, not two.”

“Indeed.” For several long seconds he stared at the two oak leaves he still held in his hand. “Medieval battle standards can be thought of as a type of shorthand. Then, as now, each armorial color had a specific meaning. In heraldry, black symbolizes the virtue of wisdom.”

“Which is another name for knowledge. And the Latin phrase ‘I am a witness to knowledge’ is engraved on the Templar signet.” She pointedly glanced at his ring finger.

“Moreover, the color black is represented by the numeral eight.” He turned to her, smiling. “And as anyone familiar with the Knights Templar knows, there are eight points on a Templar cross.”

“So the color black has a strong connection to the Knights Templar.”

“
And
the color black is symbolic of the grave, underground caves, and the primordial void.” He flung the two oak leaves to the ground. “Riddle solved.”

Without any explanation as to what he was doing, Caedmon stepped out onto Yawgoog’s bridge, purposely striding to where stone met water. Turning his back, he slid his knapsack off his shoulders and deposited it on the granite slab. He then removed the GPS receiver from his pocket, placing it on top of the knapsack.