Betrayed. Christopher Dinsdale
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paused. The next line had left him! Panicked, he blinked into the darkness.
“Solomon . . . found provisions . . . and money to pay the workmen; Hiram, King of Tyre, provided the materials for the building, and Hiram Abiff performed and superintended the work.”
“Stand, young man.”
With a gentle tug, Connor was led by the rope about twenty steps then stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. It was never mentioned what would happen should he fail the initiation. A shiver of fear ran down his spine. Perhaps it was better that he not know.
The hood suddenly lifted. Connor blinked. He was staring into the ebony face of the gatekeeper’s mask. A hand was extended, and they shook in the secretive way he and Angus had practiced on the ship. The gatekeeper finally removed his mask. Connor’s jaw dropped. The rugged, handsome face and blue eyes that were now smiling at him belonged to none other than Prince Henry himself.
“Well done, Connor MacDonald. Welcome to the Templar Order.”
“P . . . Prince Henry!” Connor fell to his knees.
Prince Henry grabbed him and lifted him up, smiling warmly. “Up, young lad, and look me in the eyes. We are all brothers under God.”
Connor rose to his feet and stared into face of his personal saviour. He wanted to say so much, but his tongue failed him.
“I heard about your mother,” continued the prince. “My lady informed me of the tragic sickness. Since coming to Roslin, your mother had been a loyal servant and confidante to my wife, and we will always be indebted to her. We will both miss her very much.”
“Thank you, your highness,” answered Connor, trying desperately to keep his emotions in check. “So will I.”
“As you should, lad. Now, go down the line and meet your fellow knights.”
Starting with Sir Rudyard, Connor shook hands with the line of fighters, each one giving him a warm welcome that was accompanied by the secret handshake. Finally, Angus shook his hand and slapped him hard on the back, grinning from ear to ear. Prince Henry stepped back and addressed the line of men.
“Thank you, my brothers, for coming to Kirkwall on such short notice. As some of you already know, the miracle for which we have all striven is finally nearing completion. Time is of the essence, gentlemen. We must finish our Holy Mission while the necessary supports are in place. Please, follow me.”
Prince Henry led them through the small portal and into the heart of Kirkwall Castle. Connor was amazed by the thickness of the gate itself, solid wood as wide as his own body and nearly twice the breadth of the one at Roslin. Once in the dark gateway, two burly soldiers locked the entrance behind them by placing huge logs on top of two pairs of L-shaped metal braces.
The gatehouse was lit by rows of flickering torches. Several large doors had been built into the rock walls below the barbican. Connor was able to catch a glimpse into one of the doors as they passed. His jaw dropped as he saw rows of scribes sitting at tables, surrounded by what seemed like endless stacks of gold and silver coins. Their hands flew with quill in hand as they wrote down numerical figures and information in huge, leather-bound ledgers.
Connor glanced right, towards the source of screeching metal. A large work area contained a dozen men, labouring over piles of shiny small rings. Many held hammers and pliers as they laboriously wielded the metal links into lifesaving chain mail armour.
Connor caught a glimpse into a final room to his right. The small room held only three men. With beards as long as their flowing robes, Connor suddenly realized he had seen those men before in the halls of Roslin. These were men who possessed the magical powers of reading, writing and mathematics. The long table in front of the men was covered in an assortment of models, maps, diagrams and toy-like contraptions. Connor could tell they were having a heated discussion about one of the maps, but the group moved on before his curiosity could determine the point of the debate.
The knights then burst out into the misty air of the outer bailey. Ignoring the grazing chickens and goats, they crossed the wide grassy area and approached the formidable keep that stood watch over the troubled sea. Through an impressively high arch, the men entered the tallest building of the fortress. Connor gaped in wonder as the cavernous rectangular Great Hall opened up before them. Prince Henry led them to the centre of the immense room. A series of parallel tables lay before them, and Connor froze in awe. Laid out like a gift from heaven was a feast worthy of a king. He had never seen so much food in one place in his entire life! A raucous gathering of seated knights were already enjoying the spread as servants brought out wooden platters of roasted pig.
Prince Henry turned to face the travellers. “I suggest you join in the feast before the rest of the castle arrives. This is for you, a special meal for my friends from distant lands! Enjoy the food, for once the festivities end, we will have much to do.”
Connor stared at the men, who did not hesitate to sit at the nearest opening on the benches and tear into the feast before them. Angus, noticing an empty bench at the end of the table, turned and waved Connor over.
“Come on, Connor! We’re brothers now. Sit down!”
Connor reluctantly made his way to the table and sat down beside Angus. “I think this will take some getting used to.”
Eyes wide, he filled his plate with succulent pork as the hall quickly filled to capacity. Washing it down with a warming mouthful of wine, Connor felt a wave of warmth he had not experienced since his mother had passed away. He looked down the table, where seasoned warriors were bellowing with laughter and shouting insults. Connor couldn’t help feel that he was now part of a very special group.
After their stomachs were stuffed to aching, the boys staggered away from the table and approached Sir Rudyard, who was in discussion, ale in hand, with three other knights. Seeing the boys, he introduced them to the group.
“Gentlemen, here is my son, Angus, and his friend, Connor. Boys, this is Sir Andre de Boullion of Normandy, and to my right, we have Nicolo Auzurra and Tomasso Iacoe of Venice.”
The boys shook hands with the beefy warriors.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” said de Boullion in a melodic French accent.
“And if you have the blood of your father in your heart, then you will surely become an honourable warrior,” said Iacoe to Angus.
“Rudyard,” interjected Auzurra. “when your boys have time, you should send them out to me, and I will show them the latest additions to Prince Henry’s arsenal.”
Sir Rudyard nodded. “Thank you, Nicolo. I’m sure they will find your designs quite intriguing. But first, I need to give them a tour of the castle.”
The men parted ways, and Sir Rudyard walked the boys across the hall. “Why are you here, boys?”
Taken aback by the question, Connor and Angus hesitated.
“Connor?”
“I can’t speak for Angus, but I’m here to fight for Prince Henry. I wouldn’t hesitate to lay down my life for him in battle.”
Sir Rudyard frowned as they stepped out once again into the fresh air. “Prince Henry appreciates your loyalty, but being a Templar must go beyond following your leader blindly into battle. I know he saved the lives of you and your mother. But even Prince Henry has been called to a higher purpose. That is why he has been away from Roslin and his family for so long.
“The tasks that lie ahead will be extremely difficult. As a Templar, you are no longer master of yourself. You must make yourself a servant to all. You must listen to orders, regardless of your own personal opinion. You must also live in poverty, do penitence and forsake the sins of the world. Will you be able to do this, Connor?”
Connor did not hesitate. “Everything I now have is due to the mercy of Prince Henry. If he wishes me to live as you say, then I will not hesitate to say yes.”
Sir Rudyard nodded