Steve Berry - The Templar legacy

In my opinion, the true motive for the crime was found in the priest's bedroom. There, the assailant had pried open a briefcase. Papers remained inside but it was impossible to know if anything had been removed. Drops of blood were found in and around the briefcase. The constable concluded that the murderer was searching for something and I may know what that could be.

Two weeks prior to his murder, I met with Abbe Gelis. A month before that, Gelis had communicated with the bishop in Carcassonne. I appeared at Gelis's home, posing as the bishop's representative, and we discussed at length what troubled him. He eventually requested that I hear his confession. Since in truth I am not a priest, and therefore not bound by any oath of the confessional, I can report what was told me.

Sometime in the summer of 1896, Gelis discovered a glass vial in his church. The railing for the choir had required replacing and, when the wood was removed, a hiding place was found that contained a wax-sealed vial holding a single sliver of paper, upon which was the following:

This cryptogram was a common coding device popular during the last century. He told me that six years earlier the abbe Sauniere, from Rennes-le-Chateau, found a cryptogram in his church, too. When compared, they were identical. Sauniere believed that both vials had been left by the abbe Bigou, who served at Rennes-le-Chateau during the French Revolution. In Bigou's time, the church in Coustausa was also served by the priest from Rennes. So Bigou would have been a frequent visitor to Gelis's present parish. Sauniere also thought there was a connection between the cryptograms and the tomb of Marie d'Hautpoul de Blanchefort, who died in 1781. Abbe Bigou had been her confessor and commissioned her headstone and marker, having an assortment of unique words and symbols inscribed thereon. Unfortunately, Sauniere had not been able to decipher anything, but after a year of work Gelis solved the cryptogram. He told me that he was not entirely truthful with Sauniere, thinking his fellow abbe's motives unpure. So he withheld from his colleague the solution he had determined.

Abbe Gelis wanted the bishop to know the complete solution and believed he was accomplishing that act by telling me.

Unfortunately, the marshal did not record what Gelis said. Perhaps he thought the information too important to write down, or maybe he was another schemer, like de Roquefort. Strangely, the Chronicles reported that the marshal himself disappeared a year later, in 1898. He left one day on abbey business and never returned. A search yielded nothing. But thank the Lord he recorded the cryptogram.

The bells for Sext began to ring, signaling the brothers' noontime gathering. All, except the kitchen staff, would gather in the chapel for Psalm readings, hymns, and prayers until one PM. He decided to have his own time of meditation, but was interrupted by a soft rap at the door. He turned as Geoffrey stepped inside, carrying a tray of food and drink.

"I volunteered to deliver this," the younger man said. "I was told you skipped breakfast. You must be hungry." Geoffrey's tone was strangely buoyant.

The door remained open and he could see the two guards standing outside.

"I brought them some drink, too," Geoffrey said, motioning outside.

"You're in a generous mood today."

"Jesus said the first aspect of the Word is faith, the second is love, the third is good works, and from these come life."

He smiled. "That's right, my friend." He kept his tone lively for the two pairs of ears just a few feet away.

"Are you well?" Geoffrey asked.

"As well as can be expected." He accepted the tray and laid it on the desk.

"I have prayed for you, Seneschal."

"I daresay that I no longer possess that title. Surely, a new one was appointed by de Roquefort."

Geoffrey nodded. "His chief lieutenant."

"Woe be unto us-"

He saw one of the men outside the door collapse. A second later, the other man's body went limp and joined his partner's on the floor. Two goblets clattered across the flagstones.

"Took long enough," Geoffrey said.

"What did you do?"

"A sedative. The physician provided it to me. Tasteless, odorless, but fast. The healer is our friend. He wishes you Godspeed. Now we must go. The master made provisions, and it's my duty to see they're accomplished."

Geoffrey reached beneath his frock and produced two pistols. "The armory attendant is our friend, too. We may need these."

The seneschal was trained in firearms, all part of the basic education every brother received. He grabbed the weapon. "We're leaving the abbey?"

Geoffrey nodded. "It is required to accomplish our task."

"Our task."

"Yes, Seneschal. I've been training for this a long time."

He heard the eagerness and, though he was almost ten years older than Geoffrey, he suddenly felt inadequate. This supposed junior brother was far more than he appeared. "As I said yesterday, the master chose well in you."

Geoffrey smiled. "I think he did in both of us."

He found a knapsack and quickly stuffed a few toiletries, some personal items, and the two books he'd taken from the library inside. "I have no other clothes but for a cassock."

"We can buy some once we're gone."

"You have money?

"The master was a thorough man."

Geoffrey crept to the doorway and checked both ways. "The brothers will all be in Sext. The way out should be clear."

Before following Geoffrey into the hall, the seneschal took one last look around his quarters. Some of the best times of his life had been spent here, and he was sad to leave those memories behind. But another part of his psyche urged him forward, to the unknown, outside, toward whatever truth the master so obviously knew.

MALONE STUDIED ROYCE CLARIDON. THE MAN WAS DRESSED IN loose-fitting corduroy trousers smeared with what looked like turquoise paint. A colorful sports jersey covered the man's thin chest. He was probably in his late fifties, gangly as a praying mantis, with a comely face full of tight features. Dark eyes were sunk deep into his head, no longer bright with the power of intellect, but nonetheless piercing. His feet were bare and dirty, his fingernails unkempt, his graying hair and beard tangled. The attendant had warned them that Claridon was delusional but generally harmless, and almost everyone at the institution avoided him.

"Who be you?" Claridon asked in French, appraising them with a distant, perplexed gaze.

The sanatorium filled an enormous chateau that a placard out front announced had been owned by the French government since the Revolution. Wings jutted from the main building at odd angles. Many of the former salons were now converted into patient rooms. They stood in a solarium, surrounded by a broad embrasure of floor-to-ceiling windows that framed out the countryside. Gathering clouds veiled the midday sun. One of the attendants had said Claridon spent most of his days here.

"Are you from the commandery?" Claridon asked. "Did the master send you? I have much information to pass to him."

Malone decided to play along. "We are from the master. He sent us to speak with you."

"Ah, finally. I have been waiting so long." The words carried excitement.

Malone motioned and Stephanie backed off. This man obviously thought himself a Templar and women were not part of that brotherhood. "Tell me, brother, what have you to say. Tell me all."

Claridon fidgeted in his chair, then sprang to his feet, shifting his spare frame back and forth on bare feet. "Awful," he said. "So awful. We were surrounded on all quarters. Enemies as far as the eye could see. We were down to our last few arrows, the food spoiled from heat, the water gone. Many had succumbed to disease. None of us was going to live long."