The Seal(38)

This second visit, however, Marcus deigned to approach the gold with a different slant of mind. After all, he told himself, what lay in that cave was nothing less than the good gold of the Order – that which had been vouchsafed to secure the Holy Land from the infidel hordes who sought to destroy the memory of his Lord! Surely this fact bespoke its virtue? Did the gold Byzantines not carry the Lord’s image stamped on their surface? Did they not recall that other brightness that smiled from heaven upon the earth and all its creatures? He had come to think of himself as the gold’s keeper and, therefore, its lord. His intention was not now to hear of its impiety, but instead he had set himself the task of putting to rights what Jacques de Molay had defamed.

It was in this way, in expectation of a new friendship, that Marcus had entered the cave that morning and sat before the barrels that caged the gold’s brilliance, as if it were enough to bend an ear for the gold to call forth its hidden eloquence.

Many hours passed and it was full night when, anticipating the oncoming tide, Roger de Flor took himself over the rock shelf, leaving Marcus to his contemplation. Outside the waves crawled towards the mouth of the cave as if to swallow it, but within, the silence pressed into the corners of Marcus’s soul. This did nothing to discourage his determination. He waited until the early hours. Until it seemed to him, as he sat in that state of numbness, that the world was beginning of its own accord, to die away, and that his suspicion – that the gold had a heart – was soon to be realised.

When the gold began to share with him the anxious activity of its spiritual force, it was in little communications – small trembles that could be felt in the veins and in the head. Towards this interaction he tilted his body, attentive and polite. In response the gold shone inside the barrels with an intensity that would burn an unguarded eye, and the spirit of it worked loose and lifted up from the body of the gold Byzantines. Having found, at last, a sympathetic ear, it began to make a traffic with his soul.

Take me into thine self . . .it said.

Feel how I can restore the fire in thine heart! I am of the same fire that in ancient times shone down from the sky and was seen as the light of goodness. I am of the same fire that at the turning point of time expelled from its womb that living god who died upon a cross for the sins and sorrows of all men. I can teach thee the mysteries of that were taught to Tubal Cain, and thou shalt cast the brazen sea within thine soul, as Hiram has cast it before thee!

Marcus narrowed his eyes against this, but in his mind the words made a lustre that illuminated all that had been, was and would be. It was a numinous image that passed before his mind’s eye: the Order and the sacrifice of Christ sat poised on one side of a great balance whose fulcrum was made from gold. On the other side rested the world of men, sin, ruin and devastation.

His cavalry shall only be honoured through the work of the Temple. The Temple shall only continue through the activity of gold whose lord thou hast become!

It was made plain to him, therefore, that the salvation of his soul rested upon the safety of the gold.

Now as he sat upon his horse he held the reins with a tight hand full of anxious tempers. He must do well by the good gold of the Order or find his soul lost to his spirit.

When the party crossed the Roman bridge over the fast-running river and made its way up the incline to the fortress of the Temple, Marcus looked up to see its structure hanging over the little village of whitewashed houses and cobbled streets like a mountain of stone. The fortified walls made a high ring around the citadel and the keep. It made him tremble, that marvellous castle of the Order. As long as the gold was safe, all would one day return to how it had once been and the glory of untroubled days would make these last months pale into a fearful dream.

Full of quickening urges in his limbs, sensing the pulse of his blood and the in-and-out flow of his breath, he crossed the great gates ahead of his retinue.

It was as his horse was taken away and he stood upon his legs proving the solidity of the earth at his feet that a messenger came hastily from out of the buildings to greet him.

The sergeant gave Marcus an urgent letter sealed with the Grand Master’s seal.

Marcus was full of anticipation. Finally, his Grand Master was calling them home – he and the gold.

He fumbled with the parchment. His fingers trembled and his heart rose up into the vaults of that autumnal sky. Perhaps the Pope had agreed to a new Crusade to retake the Holy Sepulchre? It would be a fine thing to wade knee-deep in the blood of His enemies once again! To live to die . . . what had Etienne called him? An avenging angel of the Lord!

The seal tore away and he opened the letter. His eyes fell upon the words written in the familiar hand and it took a moment for his mind to reach an understanding. When it did, the blood fled from his legs, and the air escaped from his lungs, and he lurched forward while at the same time the ground began to move towards him.