Philip Kerr - Dark Matter

“When Moore became Surveyor of the Ordnance in 1669, it is my belief that William Prynne, who was the Keeper of the Tower Records, confided something of the secret of the Templar treasure to him, shortly before his own death in that same year. It is also my belief that soon thereafter, Moore stumbled accidentally upon a small part of the treasure and that he spent the last ten years of his life trying to find the rest of it, with Flamsteed’s help.”

“But, sir, pray explain,” I said. “I thought you said that the treasure of the Templars was taken to Scotland.”

“It was only a rumour that it went to Scotland, and it is more likely that part of the treasure was in London during the early fifteenth century. Following the battle of Tewkesbury in 1471, Marguerite of Anjou used the treasure to buy her life and Richard, Duke of Gloucester, took it to his family estates in Greenwich Park and hid it there.”

“Greenwich Park,” exclaimed Newton. “God’s teeth, this story is the best I ever heard, Mister Pepys. Are you suggesting that our Royal Observatory at Greenwich was chosen because of its proximity to some buried treasure?”

“The pre-eminent sponsor of the new observatory was Sir Jonas Moore,” said Mister Pepys. “It was Moore who acquired the site and who, with the Master General of the Ordnance, organised the Observatory’s construction using money raised from the sale of army surplus gunpowder in Portsmouth. It was Moore who made certain that it was Flamsteed who became Astronomer Royal, and it was the Ordnance who paid and continue to pay his salary.”

“Do you suspect that Flamsteed still searches for the treasure?” I asked.

“I am certain of it,” replied Mister Pepys. “As certain as I am that he cannot ever find it. Moore found only a small part of the greater whole of treasure that still remains intact. And this leads to the second part of my story.”

Newton laughed cruelly. “No sir, I swear you cannot think to amuse me any further than you have already done so. Flamsteed plays Sir Perceval in search of the Holy Grail.”

“For once you say more than you know.” Mister Pepys smiled. “In 1682, I visited Scotland with the Duke of York, where I made the acquaintance of the Duke of Atholl. It was his eldest son, Lord Murray, who declared for King William and fought Viscount Dundee at the Battle of Killiecrankie in 1689. Dundee was killed whereupon Murray found a grand cross of the Order of the Temple of Sion around the dead man’s neck. Murray had a most exact copy of the cross fashioned which he recently gave to me as a keepsake. It is why I asked you here today, to show it to you.”

Here Mister Pepys produced, from the pocket of his coat, a saltire cross the size of a man’s palm which he handed over for Doctor Newton’s inspection. It appeared to be made of silver and was covered with markings which greatly interested my master.

“Why was it thought this was to do with the Order of Templars?”

“Because it was known that Dundee wore a cross of that name. I had hoped you could make some sense of it, Doctor, for it was generally held that this saltire constitutes the key to finding the treasure.”

“The markings are interesting,” conceded my master. “But what are these tiny holes for, I wonder? You say this is an exact facsimile of the original?”

“Exact,” said Mister Pepys.

Newton held the cross up to the window and muttered something beneath his breath. “How very fascinating,” he said, eventually. “This merely seems to be a cross. In truth it is something altogether different.”

“But if it be not a cross,” said Mister Pepys, “then pray, what is it?”

“It’s a constellation of stars,” Newton explained. “The positions of these holes, especially the three holes at the centre of the cross, indicate as much being most distinguishing of Orion, the hunter and master of our winter skies. It is quite unmistakable.”

Newton handed the cross back to Mister Pepys.

“Beyond that,” he said, “I can tell you very little. However, it may be that the positions of the holes, taken in conjunction with the numbers and symbols that also appear on it, may indicate a position on a map.”

Mister Pepys nodded with a great show of wonder. “No sir,” he said. “You have told me more than I ever hoped to know.”

“I am glad to have been of some small service to you,” said Newton, and bowed his head slightly to Mister Pepys.

“This discovery has increased my resolve to discover how the cross may be employed to find the Templar treasure,” declared our host.

“Then I wish you good fortune in your endeavours,” said Newton.

We took our leave of Mister Pepys soon after, and made our way back to the Tower.

“I’m damned if that wasn’t the most fascinating story I have ever heard,” said I.

“’Tis certain the Tower has many secrets,” admitted Newton.

“Would not such a secret be worth killing for?”

Newton stayed silent.

“A treasure in the Tower. Yes indeed. A powerful inducement to commit murder.”

“You know my philosophy, Ellis,” said he. “We must make an observation before we may hypothesise. Until then, I will thank you to keep your idle speculations to yourself.”

Arriving back at the Tower, Newton declared an intention to fetch something from my house; and so I accompanied him to unlock the door, it being my habit so to do since the murder of Mister Kennedy. Entering my house, Newton fetched his reflecting telescope from the same wooden box that housed his microscope, and placed it upon the table. The telescope itself was much smaller than I had supposed, being no more than six inches long and mounted on a small globe so that it resembled some kind of miniature cannon such as would have demolished the walls of a child’s toy castle.

“I have a mind to see the view from the north-east turret in the White Tower,” he declared, carrying the telescope out of the door.

We entered the White Tower and climbed up the main stairs to the third floor, where I lit a lantern, and then up a narrow stone stair to the north-east turret. Newton set his telescope down on a table near the window, and having adjusted the telescope on its plinth, he then peered in a small hole at the top so that he seemed to look back down the body of the telescope toward the polished mirror at its base. And while Newton observed — I knew not what precisely — I walked idly around the turret as might have done one who had been imprisoned there.

I confess, my thoughts dwelled not on bloody murder nor on the treasure of the Templars, but on Miss Barton, for it was several days since I had seen her, so that being in the turret of the White Tower served to remind me of how I was separate from her and, being separate, was not happy until I could see her again. Each hour that I did not see Miss Barton made me feel as if I was dying; but, in truth, death was never very far from my thoughts when I was at the Tower, for there was hardly a walk, a wall, a tower, or a turret that did not have a tale to tell of cruel murder or bloody execution, and so I tried to keep the image of Miss Barton before me as some tormented Jesuit priest might have conjured a picture of the Blessed Virgin Mary to ease his pain.

“What do you hope to see?” I asked Newton finally.

“Orion,” he said simply.

“Is this something to do with the treasure?”

“It is something to do with what Mister Pepys told me, which is an altogether different affair.”

“And what might that be?”

But he did not answer, so, for a time, I went down onto the second level and the Chapel of St. John the Evangelist, where I hoped to divert myself by looking upon the shelves of state records in imitation of Mister Pepys and Mister Barkstead who had once searched there for clues to buried treasure.