Alex Scarrow - The Doomsday Code

John shook his head. ‘It matters not,’ he smiled tiredly. ‘I’ve far greater things to concern me these days than royal protocol.’ He looked at Liam. ‘You asked to whom I was referring?’

Liam nodded. ‘The madman?’

‘My older brother,’ he said, sighing, ‘the king.’ He seemed to spit that last word out. ‘He has brought ruin on us all with this reckless crusade of his. Which, all are saying, has been a failure. Jerusalem remains in Muslim hands. But to make matters worse the fool allowed himself to be kidnapped for a ransom.’

He pulled absently on the meagre sandy-coloured tuft of his beard. ‘And it is I who has had to throttle the poor and squeeze the nobles for yet more taxes — when there simply are none left to be had.’ He gestured to a tall, narrow arched window that looked out on the city below. ‘You will have seen them out there … The people, they are hungry and they blame me for this. Not him . Not Richard the Lionheart .’

He sighed. ‘We are all ruined by this crusade. The guards outside, I have not paid. They remain at their posts because here in this castle at least there is food.’

‘It is little better outside the cities, Sire,’ added Cabot. ‘The villages and towns barely survive.’

‘And all this,’ muttered John, ‘for a fool’s errand.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Liam. He noticed a sharp glance from Cabot. ‘ Sire .’

John looked up at him. ‘Sebastien tells me you know of things only the Templars should know of.’

‘If you mean … Pandora?’

John frowned. The term didn’t seem to mean anything to him.

‘The Grail?’ Liam added.

‘Aye, this grail.’ John laughed. ‘What is it? A cup? A goblet? That is all. A cup that the Christ may have used once! But Richard, like all those other Templar fools, believes such a thing has great powers! That insane fool believes carrying this cup into battle would make him unbeatable! That’s what this crusade has been about, you see? Not to free the Holy City from the Muslims … but to retrieve what was left behind when the city fell. To retrieve this … this foolish relic !’

The log fire spat a smoking shard of charcoal on to the stone floor. John watched its glow slowly fade. ‘A madman’s treasure hunt … that’s what this fool’s crusade was about.’

‘Your brother found this grail, Sire?’ asked Becks.

John nodded. ‘Yes. He did. And had a party of his best Templars take it here for safe-keeping.’ He laughed nervously. ‘But I–I … He will blame me for this, I know it. He will kill me.’ Liam noticed John’s left hand trembled in his lap. ‘I had his men take their treasure to Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland. For greater safety, you understand, for secrecy. The royal palace is not secure. This castle is not secure. I thought it would be a safer place!’

‘But they were ambushed,’ said Cabot. ‘It was taken.’

‘And on his return, I have no doubt Richard will have my head on a spike,’ uttered John. Conscious that his hand was shaking, he tucked it away into a fold of his robes.

‘Sire, it is this matter, this reason why I have brought these three here. They say they can help ye get it back.’

‘And can you?’ He looked from Liam to Bob, to Becks. ‘I have heard all the rumours too. I have heard of this Hooded Man who cannot be killed, it seems. A demon, say some. A wrathful angel, say all the peasants and villains that are flocking out to the forests to join him. And you can steal it back from him, you say?’ John didn’t look entirely convinced.

Liam glanced at Becks, hoping she had something useful to say, but she stared back at him silently. And Bob continued to dutifully, and none-too-helpfully, monitor the conversation.

‘I think, Sire … that this grail could’ve been stolen by someone who’s come from the same … uh … same place as us.’

‘And what place is this?’

Liam bit his lip. They’d explained as best they could to Cabot, and that perhaps was a time contamination they’d need to clear up later. He wondered what the consequences would be for Maddy and Sal in 2001 if he tried explaining to the future king of England the basics of time travel.

‘It is a place very far away, Sire. With strange ways about us. But look — this Hooded Man is no demon or angel.’ He jerked his head at Bob. ‘It’s probably another peculiar man like Bob, here … that’s all.’

‘Peculiar? What do you mean by that?’

‘A — a … strong man. Extraordinarily strong,’ added Liam. ‘And really tough. And with certain unusual fighting techniques.’

‘There is talk that this hooded fiend has shrugged off crossbow bolts and the like. That he is unstoppable. That it is the Grailitself that protects him from harm.’ John shook his head slowly. ‘You know … perhaps there is some truth to this Templar nonsense.’

‘Sire,’ said Cabot, ‘I have seen this Bob do just the same.’

John’s eyes darted from Cabot to the support unit.

‘This is correct,’ Bob rumbled. ‘I am capable of suffering extreme damage and deploying damage-limitation counter-measures.’

John turned to Cabot. ‘Sebastien, this ox of a man speaks a sort of English, but I have no understanding of what he just said.’

‘What he said, Sire, is that he can do exactly what this Hooded Man can do. I have seen, with my own eyes, Bob take arrows that would kill any ordinary man … and yet he did not even blink.

‘Aye. It’s not the Grail, Sire. It’s not magic or godly powers or anything. This Hooded Man is just another … well, I suppose I’d say he’s just another man like this Bob.’

John studied them in silence for a while, a finger caressing the tufted tip of his chin. The sound of popping and hissing logs filled the hall. Finally he stirred. ‘And you say you are here to help?’

Liam nodded. ‘S’right. We’re going to get the Grail back for you.’

1194, Oxford Castle, Oxford

The quarters they had been assigned were clearly meant for noble-born guests: four rooms high up in the keep decorated with fine tapestries and embroidered cushions. Perhaps a true sign that John valued their presence was the distance from their windows to the fetid smell of the city of Oxford below.

The brazier in Liam’s room burned brightly, filling the cold damp chamber with a welcoming warmth, and a wooden table with a bowl of loaves and preserves and a flagon of imported wine had been set out for them.

‘… I was his sword master — in fact I tutored all three of the King’s sons: Geoffrey, Richard and John,’ continued Cabot, tipping the flagon into his cup. ‘They were but boys then, long before political rivalries separated them. Geoffrey was the eldest and Henry’s favourite. Richard was always the headstrong one … the one ye knew would seek to place his name in history.’

‘And John?’ asked Liam.

Cabot shrugged. ‘A gentle boy. Certainly no swordsman. I saw in Richard, though, something to fear. A man who could become great … all-powerful. A man with the cold-hearted ruthlessness to take all the kingdoms of Europe and make them one. When Geoffrey died and it was clear Richard would succeed his father … I knew there would be plenty of blood.’ Cabot’s face creased with a lacklustre smile. ‘I too was younger then and I craved the glory of war.’

‘How long were you a Templar, then?’

‘I joined as the sergeant to Sir Godfrey Cottleigh’s service fifteen years ago and we went to the Holy Land to do our duty: to protect Christian pilgrims. It was in those years, peaceful years by all accounts before the fall of Jerusalem, that I learned of the order’s secrets.’