C. Palov - Templar's Code

“Excellent. All we have to do is figure out the correct order in which to read the letters. I suggest we go clockwise, using Pallas Athena as our start point.”

Edie watched, her excitement mounting, as Caedmon next wrote out a long string of letters, thirty in total. She noticed that his hand quivered slightly, his excitement mounting.

“We must now determine where the word breaks occur.” His gaze narrowed as he stared at the string of thirty letters. Then, lips pursed, head cocked to one side, he made four slash marks. That done, he carefully placed his pencil on the table. A student finishing the exam.

“My God . . . it all makes sense now. The auto-da-fé of the fourteenth century. The witch hunts of the seventeenth century.” Lurching to his feet, Caedmon snatched the deciphered message off the table and strode to the other side of the room. With the sheet of paper clutched in his right hand, he furiously paced back and forth across the Aubusson carpet. “This is an absolutely astounding revelation and it certainly explains why the church and the monarchs of the day slaughtered anyone and everyone who had knowledge of the Templar secret. Even in our day and age, this could ignite a religious conflagration.”

Edie scooted back her chair and headed to where Caedmon stood at the window. Curious, she plucked the sheet of paper out of his hand.

moses/egypticus/mined/thoths/stone

“The only three words I completely comprehend are ‘moses mined stone,’ ” she said, wondering what all the hullabaloo was about. “I assume that refers to the fact that Moses carved the Ten Commandments on the stone tablets. Of which there were two, not one. That’s straight out of the book of Exodus, so no shocker there.”

“Well and good. However, the addition of the other two words radically alters the cipher’s meaning. The full message reads ‘Moses Egypticus mined Thoth’s stone.’ Same Moses, but different stone altogether.”

“And why is that significant? Or even shocking?”

“ ‘Thoth’s stone’ is a figure of speech, a metaphor for the Emerald Tablet. In his encrypted frontispiece, Francis Bacon is boldly claiming that not only was Moses, the patriarch of the Old Testament, an Egyptian, but he had the fabled Emerald Tablet in his possession.”

Caedmon walked over to the table and gracelessly plunked down on the Gothic monstrosity. Hunkering forward, he braced his elbows on top of his thighs as he held his head in his hands.

“It’s truly astonishing. Breathtaking, in fact. My God . . . the Emerald Tablet . . . the Templars’ modus vivendi, ” he whispered. “Not only did the Knights Templar have the Emerald Tablet, but Moses may actually have possessed the bloody thing— the most sacred relic in the whole of ancient Egypt.”

Edie rejoined him at the table. “The Emerald Tablet. Um, sounds familiar. Just having a little trouble accessing the correct memory bank.”

“In a nutshell, the mystery religion of ancient Egypt adheres to the premise that our physical reality is created by a Divine Mind. What you and I call ‘God.’ Through an extensive process of spiritual transformation, mankind can have direct knowledge of God and in so doing alter or re-create the material world.”

“Emphasis on the word knowledge .” She was finally beginning to understand the centuries-long hullabaloo. “And the knowledge that we’re talking about is the secret of creation. Wonder if Tonto Sinclair knows that Yawgoog’s Stone is really the Emerald Tablet.”

Caedmon snatched his cell phone off the table.

“Who are you calling?”

“I’m ringing Rubin.” Their host maintained a private residence two floors above the bookshop. The guest suite was one floor above Rubin’s apartment.

Edie glanced at the bedside clock. “It’s kinda late for—”

“Wakey, wakey,” Caedmon boomed in an obnoxiously loud voice. Activating the speaker feature, he put his cell phone back on the table.

“Who the hell is ringing at this hour?” a very irritable Rubin barked back.

“It’s the town crier.” Caedmon grinned. “Put on the kettle. We deciphered the frontispiece.”

CHAPTER 51

Garbed in dressing gowns and bedroom slippers, Caedmon and Edie trudged down the steps to Rubin’s private residence on the second floor. Caedmon had the Mylar-encased frontispiece and the decoded encryption clutched in his right hand.

As they approached Rubin’s flat, the door flung wide open.

“Comrades! The battle is joined. Time to gin up the troops.” Rubin, wearing a black velvet smoking jacket, complete with monogrammed breast pocket and silk ascot, handed each of them a full martini glass. If one ignored the spiky punk coif, he looked like the lead character in a Noel Coward play. At seeing Caedmon’s askance expression, Rubin sheepishly smiled. “I couldn’t locate the teakettle.”

“It’s usually found on top of the Aga.” Caedmon ushered Edie through the doorway. Stepping inside the ultramodern flat, he pointedly directed his gaze toward the kitchen, a sleek chrome kettle in plain sight.

Rubin walked over to the built-in bar and retrieved a third cocktail glass. Raising his glass in their direction, he cheerfully said, “I’m absolutely over the moon that you deciphered the frontispiece. Well done, Sir Peter. And kudos to the lovely Edie as well. Mazel tov.”

Edie’s eyes opened wide. “Boy, he is in good spirits,” she murmured under her breath.

“Dear Peter, I’m about to collapse with anticipation. Do tell! What is the encrypted message that Sir Francis left for posterity?”

Barely able to contain a triumphant smirk, Caedmon handed Rubin the sheet of paper with the decoded encryption.

Moses Egypticus mined Thoth’s stone.

The other man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re certain?”

Caedmon wordlessly nodded.

“Unbelievable. Francis Bacon actually had the sacred Emerald Tablet in his possession.” Rubin’s left hand noticeably shook, gin and vermouth sloshing over the side of his martini glass. “I am utterly staggered.”

Yes, it is staggering, Caedmon thought, still marveling at the revelation. Sought after by pharaohs. Confiscated by Moses. Uncovered by the Knights Templar. And rediscovered by Walter Ralegh. The damned thing had been secretly bandied about for centuries.

The Emerald Tablet .

Nearly fourteen years after the disgrace at Oxford, he’d discovered a missing link actually existed that connected the Knights Templar to ancient Egypt. A missing link that would validate his derided dissertation.

He had only to find the relic.

Visibly agog, their host motioned them toward a low-slung white divan. Mounted on the wall directly behind the settee was a triptych by the twentieth-century abstract painter Francis Bacon. A ghoulishly ironic homage to the famed artist’s namesake. In the near corner a white baby grand piano took center stage.

Bustling over to the kitchen, Rubin retrieved a cerulean blue serving plate piled high with coconut macaroons. “A celebration is in order.” All smiles, he gallantly extended the plate in Edie’s direction.

“Gosh, thanks.” If she thought martinis and macaroons a curious pairing, she hid it well. “And one for the road,” she added, plucking a second macaroon off the plate.

“The only pleasant memory that I have from childhood,” Rubin confided as he set the plate of confections on the glass-topped Noguchi cocktail table, “is Aunt Tovah’s Passover macaroons. Being a smart lad with a voracious sweet tooth, I charmed her out of the recipe before she met her just desserts.” As he sat down on the armchair opposite, he giggled at the tactless pun.