C. Palov - Templar's Code

“I should throttle you,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “This isn’t a summer jolly. It could well prove a dangerous expedition.”

“Said the voice of doom and gloom.” She removed a knotted plastic shopping bag that was looped around her wrist. “Play nice or you don’t get the goody bag. And in case you’re wondering, I packed two flashlights and my digital camera.” Displaying a complete lack of remorse, Edie handed him the bag. “So, how did you do it, oh great one? How did you figure out that there was a cave behind the waterfall?”

His anger dissipated, Caedmon said, “Knowing from the Narragansett legends that Yawgoog had built a cave, I suddenly recalled how the ancient Visigoths would temporarily divert the course of a river. They did this in order to dig a cave in the exposed riverbed. Once the cave was dug out, they then directed the river back to its original flow, their ill-gotten gains cleverly concealed.”

“And Jason Lovett was convinced that the Knights Templar found the Visigoth treasure vault in the south of France. Probably buried under a river. Guess the Templars knew a good idea when they saw it. So let’s flip on these flashlights and check out Yawgoog’s cave.”

They each took a torch. Walking side by side, they entered the cave. A few feet into their trek, Edie abruptly came to a standstill.

Physically recoiling, she pointed at the nearby wall. “What in heaven’s name is that ?” she screeched.

His gaze alighted on a horned, winged, claw-footed figure carved in high relief. “No creature of heaven, I can assure you. That is Asmodeus.”

“ That is butt ugly!”

“I stand corrected. Grotesque appearance aside, Asmodeus is the king of the demons, customarily invoked to protect buried treasure.”

“Buried treasure?” His companion surprised him by leaning forward and kissing the horny-toed creature. “Love that.”

“Shall we continue with the tour?” Flashlight in hand, he illuminated a tunnel that was approximately five feet in height.

“Don’t forget to duck,” Edie said over her shoulder, leading the way. “I have to admit, I feel like one of those kids in the Christmas story with visions of golden plums dancing in my head.”

He ambled close behind in an uncomfortable crouch. “I believe it was sugar plums prancing about.”

“Not in my vision. We are so close to finding the Templar treasure trove!” she excitedly predicted. “Where do you want to retire to, a Caribbean island or the south of France?”

“I’m not one to spend my pennies before they’re earned.”

Caedmon was admittedly relieved when, a few moments later, the tunnel gave way to a small anteroom that better accommodated his tall frame.

He swiped at a low-hanging cobweb. “I see a crudely fashioned staircase on the opposite side of the chamber. Would you like to wait here while I go downstairs and investigate?”

“Not on your life! We’re equal partners, remember?”

“Yes, of course. How could I forget?” he deadpanned. “But I hope you don’t mind if I take the lead. My fragile male ego will be shattered if you fend off the dragon while I’m pulling up the rear.”

With an airy wave of the hand, Edie gestured for him to precede her down the steps.

Like the rest of the cave, the stairway had a dank, tomblike feel to it, Caedmon grateful that neither of them suffered from claustrophobia. When they reached the bottom step, he directed his flashlight beam around the sunken chamber.

His breath caught in his throat.

Rendered speechless, he could do little else but gape, stunned to be standing in an octagon-shaped room. The corners of the eight stone walls were decorated with a life-sized medieval Knights Templar—replete with broadsword and helmet—carved in bas-relief on the smooth rock surface. Directly opposite the entrance there was a stone altar placed upon a low dais. Circular architecture, based on the tenets of sacred geometry, was oftentimes executed as the eight-sided octagon.

Eight .

Symbolic of paradise regained. For it was on the eighth day that man, who had been created in the image of God, attained a state of divine grace. No coincidence that the Templar cross had eight points.

Staggered by the find, Caedmon next aimed his torch at the ceiling. The celestial firmament—sun, moon, stars, and the seven known planets of the fourteenth century—had been incised into the ceiling. It brought to mind King David’s awestruck exaltation in Psalms: “The Heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handiwork.”

“As above, so below . . . how bloody apropos,” he breathlessly uttered. For so long the Templars had been hidden in the shadows, but he was beginning to see more clearly.

If only I’d known about this New World sanctuary when I’d written my dissertation.

Certain that fourteenth-century Templars once stood where he now stood, he closed his eyes, envisioning a group of initiated knights solemnly standing in a circle, heads bowed, flickering candlelight casting a golden hue onto their bearded faces as they enacted a sacred ritual.

But a ritual for which religion?

The moment the question popped into his head, the evocative image vanished.

Barely able to contain his excitement, he turned to Edie, surprised at her crestfallen expression.

“Where are the ingots? The florins? The gold, frankincense, and myrrh?” she moaned. There was no mistaking her disappointment. “Somebody beat us to the treasure. Or maybe there never was a treasure.”

“In and of itself, this sanctuary is the treasure. In the mystery rites, it is here, in the symbolic grave, that man is freed from his earthly bondage by accruing divine knowledge.”

“Oh, yeah, whoop-de-do. Testis sum agnitio .”

Ignoring her sarcasm, he again marveled at the beautifully executed design, his gaze alighting on the magnificently carved knights. How many centuries had they kept silent sentry?

So many dark secrets to keep.

“My God, I can’t even begin to imagine how long it took them to build this. How many hours of pounding away with hammer and chisel, of hauling in stone, and carting out the debris. No doubt it was a project years in the making.”

“Looking on the bright side”—Edie rolled her eyes, clearly an impossible undertaking in her opinion—“the fact that the sanctuary exists proves that the fugitive Knights Templar journeyed to the undiscovered New World.”

“Bringing with them a treasure so valuable, so sacred, they built this subterranean chapel to house it.”

“Hel-lo,” she chirped in a singsongy voice. “Mission control to Caedmon. The chapel is empty.”

He shook his head. “The Templars wouldn’t have carved Asmodeus if there had been no treasure. Something of great value was safeguarded here. And may be here still,” he impetuously added, hit with a sudden burst of hope. “Hidden away.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Let’s case the joint.” Edie’s glum mood instantly improving, she frenetically aimed her flashlight around the chapel.

Caedmon also aimed his torch around the chapel, turning in a slow, deliberate circle.

“Stop right there!” Edie shouted. “I just saw something. Behind the altar.” She charged onto the dais.

Caedmon followed, the beam of light illuminating a shallow niche, some eighteen inches square and approximately four inches deep, carved into the wall. The niche was five feet above the ground.

“Given its placement in the room, centered behind the altar, this niche may well have housed a holy reliquary or devotional object.” As he spoke, it belatedly occurred to Caedmon that in a Christian church this was the space customarily reserved for a crucifix. Ironically, the Templars had been accused by their inquisitors of denigrating and spitting on the holy cross. And while he’d always considered that a baseless accusation, it was curious to note that there were no crosses anywhere in the sanctuary.