The Templar's Secret (The Templar Series) (26 page)

In all honesty, she didn’t know how
Caedmon was holding it together. Her thread was seriously frayed.

As they left the city behind, the scenery changed dramatically,
roadside billboards giving way to the rolling foothills of the Sierra de Guadarrama. Nestled in the bucolic landscape were picture-perfect villages bordered by undulating swaths of green grassland, herds of grazing cattle and fields filled with red poppies. It was here, sequestered from the Vatican’s watchful eye, that eight hundred years ago the Knights Templar enjoyed the privileges that came with being the favored sons of the Iberian kings. Showered with land grants, castles, farms and fortresses, they were a force to be reckoned with.

Although they never reckoned on the unrestrained malice of a French king whose long arm extended to even this remote part of the world.

Package opened, Edie offered Caedmon a chocolate cookie. When he refused with a wordless shake of the head, she plucked one free and chomped down on it, in dire need of a sugar fix.

‘Are you
absolutely
certain that you know where the
Evangelium Gaspar
is hidden?’ she inquired anxiously.

Caedmon
spared her a quick glance. ‘The clue couldn’t have been clearer had it been sung by a choir of heavenly angels. It’s right there on the Marqués’s map of Castile-Léon.’

Picking up the photocopied sheet of paper, Edie studied the beautifully executed map, medieval cartography a lost art form. ‘“To see the house where Lucas dwelled, the faithful pilgrim sought the brother’s way. Setting forth from the lion’s castle, he put the French iron in a Spanish
harbor,”’ she recited from memory. Shaking her head, admittedly befuddled, she said, ‘Okay, which harbor am I supposed to be looking at?’

‘There is no
harbor. At least, not a literal one,’ Caedmon clarified. ‘Although harbor is an essential piece of the word puzzle. And it doesn’t matter whether one deciphers the riddle in the original Latin or in modern English, the clues lead to the same place.’ As he spoke, Caedmon reached for his water bottle and, holding the steering wheel with his wrists, twisted the cap. ‘Like you, I originally thought that Fortes had hid the
Evangelium Gaspar
at a Templar naval port.’

‘A logical conclusion since the Templars once had the largest standing navy in Europe
,’ Edie noted.

‘But to solve the riddle, you have to dig all the way down to the root.’
Caedmon took a quick swig of water before he elaborated and said, ‘By that, I mean Fortes de Pinós was a Spaniard who served as grand commander at the Templar preceptory in Paris. In addition to Latin, he would have been fluent in both French and Spanish. To decipher the last fragment of the riddle, both of those languages must be employed.’

Needing a more potent pick-me-up, Edie snatched the Starbucks coffee cup out of the plastic holder. The cappuccino was hours old, having been purchased at the airport. ‘You’re referring to the “he put the French iron in a Spanish
harbor” piece of the puzzle, right?’

Caedmon
nodded as he flipped the indicator and maneuvered the sedan into the left lane. ‘The Spanish word for “put” is
pon
and the French word for “iron” is
fer
. Lastly, the Spanish word
rada
refers to a protected area for ships.’

‘Aka, a
harbor.’ Grimacing, Edie took a sip of the tepid cappuccino.

‘String it all together and you end up with
Ponferrada.
’

Her eyes opened wide, the name ringing a bell. ‘Wasn’t that one of the four Templar fortresses that the provincial Grand Master tried to safeguard from the Church?’

Caedmon confirmed with a nod. ‘Moreover, if you examine the map, you’ll notice that Ponferrada is the only one of the four fortresses that’s situated on the Camino de Santiago.’

Locating
Ponferrada Castle on the map, Edie looked over at him. ‘That’s the famous pilgrim route that leads to the cathedral of St James at Compostela, right?’

‘It is. And, as you know, the Templars were sworn to protect Christian pilgrims, both in
Iberia and the Holy Land.’

‘“The faithful pilgrim sought the brother’s way.”’ Suddenly, Fortes’s riddle made perfect sense. ‘While I’m not as fluent in Spanish as you are, I do know that
camino
is the Spanish word for “way”. So, clearly, Fortes is referring to the Camino de Santiago. The way of St James.’

‘A bit of clever legerdemain on Fortes’s part, I might add, given that Fortes was a brother monk and James was the brother of Jesus.’

In a celebratory mood, Edie reached for another cookie. ‘You’re right, very clever. But what about the first part of the riddle, “To see the house where Lucas dwelled”? What the heck does that mean?’

‘I have no bloody idea,’
Caedmon confessed with a shrug. ‘While I haven’t completely deciphered the riddle, as soon as I realized that Fortes de Pinós hid the
Evangelium Gaspar
at Ponferrada Castle, I couldn’t have jumped higher.’

‘Or driven the Volkswagen faster.’ Edie pointedly glanced at the speedometer. ‘Maybe you should slow down a bit. This is, after all, an unfamiliar road.’

‘We have another two hundred kilometers to traverse,’ Caedmon informed her. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, the deadline looms. I have no choice but to sail close to the wind.’

Properly chastened, Edie looked away from the speedometer. She knew that t
he haunting image of Anala Patel, bound and gagged, was never far from Caedmon’s mind.

‘
We
have no choice,’ she stressed, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. They were a team.
Like Isabella and Ferdinand. Or Holmes and Watson.
‘Luckily, the castle stays open late during the summer months.’ Before leaving Madrid, they had done a quick Google search. Not only was Ponferrada Castle open to the public, but the castle was remarkably well-preserved. ‘According to the website, they don’t pull up the drawbridge until eight thirty.’

Dropping his hand to the clutch,
Caedmon changed down a gear, revving the engine as he took a tight curve. ‘I estimate that we’ll arrive at six o’clock or thereabouts. That’ll give us at least two hours to scour the premises.’

Edie peered over her shoulder; the van was keeping pace with them.

Smiling lewdly at her, Hector Calzada made a very crude hand gesture.

Disgusted, she quickly looked away.

‘I really,
really
,
hope that time wounds all heels,’ she muttered. ‘Were you aware of the fact that the teardrop Calzada has tattooed in the corner of his eye is a Latino gang symbol?’

Caedmon
glanced over at her, clearly surprised. ‘I did think it rather odd.’

‘It signifies that the tattooed individual had a friend or family member who was killed while serving time in prison.’

‘A twist on wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve.’ Caedmon accelerated, passing a slow-moving truck. ‘The Bête Noire also has the Virgin of Guadalupe tattooed on his back.’

‘Believe it or not, that’s another popular gang tattoo.’

‘Bloody hell! Is there nothing that these animals hold sacred?’

‘That’s the weird irony; the Virgin Mary
is
revered to Latino gang-bangers.’ Living in a Latino neighborhood in Washington, Edie had more than a passing familiarity with the culture. ‘When someone has the Virgin of Guadalupe tattooed on his person, it symbolizes that the man is both sinner and saint. Kinda like a medieval warrior monk.’

‘How so?’

‘Think about it: the Knights Templar professed their love of God by slaughtering infidels in the Holy Land. Making them sinner
and
saint. And just like the medieval warrior monks, Latino gangs live by a very strict code that emphasizes God, honor and brotherhood.’

‘
Honor as gangsters define it,’ Caedmon was quick to point out. ‘The Knights Templar did not force their members to commit murder as an initiation rite. What I witnessed earlier today undoubtedly made the angels weep and Jesus Christ prostrate with grief.’

‘I’m not defending these murderous fiends. I just think that you should know who you’re dealing with. “Knowledge is power”, and all that. If they’re not active members of a Latino gang, Calzada and Diaz were affiliated with gang-bangers at some point in time.’ Ravenous, Edie finagled another cookie out of the cellophane package. ‘What I can’t figure out is how they became involved with a Catholic priest.’

‘Twice now I’ve spoken to this G-Dog via Skype and my sense of it is that he’s merely the expediter.’

‘In other words,
someone else is conducting the orchestra.’

‘P
recisely. And I suspect that it’s someone within the Vatican. As you’ll recall, the initial ransom email was sent by an individual called Irenaeus. An alias, obviously. Whoever he is, Irenaeus has positioned himself far enough away from the bloodshed that he can’t be held accountable.’

‘Unlike the priest. Which certainly explains his Nervous Nellie demeanor.’ Edie sighed, exasperated by the fact that they were being manipulated by an unseen puppet master.

‘There’s one other thing.’

‘
What’s that?’

Caedmon
reached up and adjusted the rear-view mirror. Staring at the trailing van, he said, ‘I have reason to believe that as soon as Calzada and Diaz get their hands on the
Evangelium Gaspar
,
they’ll take us to a remote location where, to use the vernacular, they will then “pop” us.’

Standing in the middle of the castle bailey, Edie turned full circle.
‘By my calculation, if we “leave no stone unturned”, it shouldn’t take more than a year to conduct a thorough search of the castle.’

Caedmon
peered at the looming stone edifice.

They’d arrived at
Ponferrada Castle forty minutes ago. After rushing through the quotidian preliminaries – parking and purchasing tickets – they’d piggybacked on to the last tour of the day. Their guide had studiously, and with no small amount of pride, pointed out all of the standard features that one expects to see in an 800-year-old castle: curtain walls, barracks, armory, chapel, kitchen, barbicans, great hall and posterns
.
And though he’d carefully scrutinized everything that they’d been shown, Caedmon had not spotted anything that could be construed as a signpost.

Only an interm
inable store of mortared stone.

‘
At least a year,’ he muttered.

Damn Euripides and his infernal proverb.

Bleary-eyed, Edie put a hand to her mouth, unsuccessfully masking a yawn. She then shook her head brusquely, the way people do when they’re trying to ‘clear the cobwebs’. Revived somewhat, she gazed at the nearest watchtower and said, ‘With all of these crenellated walls, the Templars’ castle has a decidedly gloomy aspect. In a no-frills, bare-bones sort of way.’

The observation was bang on. All that remained of
Ponferrada Castle were the stones. And they, in turn, lent the gravitas of the grave. Silent and lifeless.

Despite the
bustling town nestled on the other side of the curtain wall,
el castillo Templario de Ponferrada
was a place steeped in mystery, the heavy weight of history embedded in each arched entryway, each soaring tower. Set on a hillock overlooking the River Sil, it was the perfect medieval construct. Magnificent and forbidding in the same breath. Not even the honey-toned Spanish sun could temper its stern visage.

Had this massive stone edifice been designed to protect a secret?
One that the order feared the Church might not approve of?

‘Hey, English! How much longer are you going to stare at these rocks? You think they’re gonna tell you something?’ Calzada taunted with uncanny accuracy.

Having shadowed him and Edie into the castle – ordered to do so by their master G-Dog – the two Latino cutthroats were now loafing on a bench, their backs propped against a stone foundation wall. Diaz, eyes closed, mouth wide open, appeared to be fast asleep, exhausted from his day’s labor. Calzada lounged beside him, awake, but heavy-lidded. Evidently even monsters suffered from jet lag.

Ignoring them,
Caedmon focused his attention on the curtain wall that bordered the castle.

The bloody gospel could be hidden anywhere in the
se towering battlements, the complex boasting numerous chambers and a total of twelve towers.

A thought that induced a fearful dread, the knot tightening in his lower belly.

Caedmon glanced at his watch; the castle would be closing in an hour.
Damn.
Most of the tourists had already quit the premises and he worried that a zealous guide would soon be shooing them on their way.

‘I suspect that the opening fragment of t
he riddle – “To see the house where Lucas dwelled” – may be some sort of a signpost,’ he said, determined to make the most of the time allotted them.