Thank you to all who read the last chapter and for comments.
Here, the plot thickens!
CHAPTER 17
The men surrounding the reliquary fell silent, their eyes fixed upon the ornate box. How could something that was so pleasing to the eye and not particularly large be so dangerous?
"To protect the treasure at all costs," Aramis said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the room. "But why would Hubert de Ricart, a man of God, have such a valuable box in his possession in the first place? We're already thinking that this must have been with him in his tomb if we're correct in that it contained valuable papers giving information as to the real whereabouts of the Templar treasure."
"Perhaps it was a ruse for anyone who robbed the tomb," Athos speculated. "The box is valuable, yes, but nothing compared with the value of the hidden treasure. Whoever found this was supposed to think that this was the real treasure and would desist from exploring any further; perhaps they were not expected to be able to read or think for themselves."
"Do you really believe that?" Aramis asked.
"I do not know what to believe," and Athos rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "Without getting a look at the copy of that Latin document in Tanquerel's possession, all we are doing is coming up with more and more wild guesses."
"What of the heraldic symbols on the front?" Fitzwilliam had picked up the box and tipping it so that he could see the two identical shields tha t were either side of the lock.
"That is the crest of the de Ricart family," Athos quickly answered. "We saw many examples of it outside and within their home in Normandy. The shield is much as you see here. It actually has a sable background with the ordinaire being a plain, gold cross that divides the shield into four. Top left and bottom right are the animal charges – the rampant lions - whilst the other two opposing quarters each contain another cross as the heraldic charge. I suppose that is to emphasise the family's faith and the lion their bravery. No doubt de Ricart's ancestors had been embroiled in plenty of earlier conflicts given Normandy's history and the links with England."
"You know your heraldry," Fitzwilliam said in all innocence.
The corners of Athos' mouth twitched into the beginnings of a bitter smile as he thought of his own family crest and all that he had forsaken.
Instead, he rolled his eyes. "It comes in useful to have a little knowledge when surrounded by the nobility at the French court."
And with that, Fitzwilliam seemed to be satisfied. He was too busy looking at the stones that acted as the lions' eyes. "Are they diamonds?"
"That is what I was thinking," Athos agreed.
They turned their attention to the circle of gold engraved on the back with a most irregular shape and a number of little lines and marks.
"What is this?" Fitzwilliam asked.
Willoughby shook his head. "I have no idea. It is not anything I have seen that is related to the Templars."
"Let me see." Aramis reached for the box and held it up, tilting it this way and that to see if a change of angle enlightened him. He glanced at Porthos who stood peering over his shoulder, but the two men were nonplussed. "Do you recognise it?" he asked, handing it to Athos .
It was not long before he ventured a comment. "It is familiar."
"That's what I thought," Aramis concurred, "but I can't for the life of me think why."
A few minutes passed as the Musketeers wracked their brains and made observations regarding the markings surrounding the odd shape.
"Do you think the wavy lines on the left are supposed to be the sea?" Aramis offered.
With the seed of the idea planted, Athos gasped his recognition. "Of course! It's Normandy."
"You sure?" Porthos frowned.
"Absolutely. It is a map. Look," and he held it so that his brothers were able to see it as he pointed out several of the marks. "That snake-like line represents the river Seine. The elaborate mark there is the letter R and is in the right place for what must be Rouen so that curling mark there must be the C for Caen."
"And that strange letter there on the coast is le Mont St-Michel." Aramis could hardly contain his excitement. "But I can't determine what that one is there," and he pointed to a strange engraving south-west of Rouen.
"Can you not?" Athos was looking pleased with himself. "That is an F for Falaise and the tiny mark to its right is not a scratch but the position of the de Ricart estate."
"Is that engraving on the side also a map?" Willoughby wanted to know, trying to suppress his own eagerness at the progress they were making. Everything about the reliquary so far was confirming the link to de Ricart and the Templars. Might it go further and hint at the location of greater spoils?
The shape on the box's left side was even more unusual. Set in an oval, it comprised a series of small squares and rectangles, seemingly randomly positioned with another meandering line cutting between them, a circle and a cross mounted on a base of three steps.
"I don't think I've ever seen a cross like that," Fitzwilliam admitted.
"It's the Calvary cross," Aramis went on, pleased to be able to contribute. "The three steps are supposed to symbolise the hill of Calgary; Golgotha if you prefer. They also stand for the virtues of Faith, Hope and Love."
"Another symbol adopted by the Templars," Willoughby added. "But what does it mean?"
Porthos was staring hard at it. "I reckon it's a map and we know it." He looked jubilantly at his brothers.
"We do?" Aramis was not convinced.
"We do," Porthos stated. "Just imagine it with a few more little boxes along here and here," and he pointed along the waving line. "We've seen this recently; we've been there."
Athos gave a wry smile. "The de Ricart estate! That's the river that serves the village and the main manor which is there," and he indicated the large, fortified family building. "Of course more structures have been added since Hubert died; it has been three hundred years after all. That circle is the waterwheel driving the mill and the cross is the church."
"So what does the last side show us?" Porthos asked.
It was the shape of a leaded church window with markings to suggest scenes, but which were too small for anything to be determined. Another larger Calvary cross was superimposed on it. Try as they might, they could not fathom anything other than the possibility that it represented one particular window within the church and that it would have to be seen in person for any further clues to be gleaned.
"Now I will never know the outcome," Fitzwilliam moaned in disappointment. It appeared that the trail ended very firmly in Normandy.
"We will write and inform you," Athos said to appease him and looked to Willoughby, "both of you."
The young Englishman's face lit up. "I am glad to hear it for I cannot find the excuse to travel back to France with you."
"That is unfortunate," Athos went on, and he meant it. He had grown to like both of the Englishmen, judging them favourably for their intelligence and integrity. It was hard to believe that he had known both for only a matter of hours and he would have welcomed the opportunity to get to know them more. Perhaps … in the future …
They talked a little longer about the reliquary, but it was all supposition and, when Fitzwilliam announced that he ought to make his rounds for the night, the others decided to part company and retire. The Musketeers, with Porthos carrying the reliquary, entered the inner room that they were to share. Of Tanquerel, there was no sign, but they did not expect there to be.
Having decided to secrete the artefact against the wall under the bed where Porthos was to sleep, and which was farthest from the door, they began to settle for the night. Aramis was briefly curious as to the bones that were contained within the reliquary but a characteristic roll of the eyes from Athos dissuaded him from pursuing the notion of viewing the remains, at least that night. They needed to get some rest before heading for home. If they were to come under any attack that night – and all three thought that highly unlikely – there would not be much room left for fighting but the cramped conditions gave them the advantage of making it extremely difficult for anyone to get past Aramis and Athos, so the reliquary, although not locked away, was relatively safe.
"Why do you think Tanquerel was so insistent that we bring the box in here with us?" Aramis asked as he divested himself of boots and long coat and eased his shirt from his breeches.
"No idea," Porthos answered, "but 'e'd better think twice before knocking for it just so's he can start 'is own treasure huntin'."
There was a lull in the conversation as Amaris folded his clothes and lay them on top of the only chair in the room.
"Aramis," Porthos said softly and, when he had his friend's attention, he inclined his head towards the middle bed.
Athos was curled into a foetal position and facing the door; he was already sound asleep.
They exchanged a knowing glance and grinned.
"It's been a tough day," Porthos whispered. "'E doesn't normally sleep like that."
Both he and Aramis knew that Athos usually stretched out his limbs as he prepared to sleep and would lie on whichever side faced potential danger. Drawing up his knees and wrapping his arms around his body were usually signs of being sorely troubled or ill. Perhaps, in this case, it was an indicator of both, considering the miserable sea crossing he had endured and would have to suffer yet again the following day.
"He hasn't even taken his boots off," Aramis complained softly as he stood looking down on his sleeping brother.
"Don't you go tryin' to remove 'em; 'e's comfortable an' you'll only go an' wake 'im" up. You know 'e's such a light sleeper."
Aramis merely sighed, pulled a blanket from his own bed and gently spread it over the exhausted Musketeer. Athos stirred slightly, his long fingers clutching the edge of the blanket and pulling it up to his chin and then he moved no more.
III
In the early hours of the morning, all three were rudely awakened when a loud and persistent hammering sounded at their door. Although muffled by the thickness of the wood that divided the two rooms, the plaintive, distressed cry for help was unmistakable.
Athos, as if to demonstrate his light sleeping, was on his feet first, dagger already in his hand as Porthos drew his sword and Aramis jumped to his feet. Stumbling to the door, Athos threw it open with one hand and brandished the weapon in his other.
Tanquerel stood unsteadily in the doorway, the jamb being all that kept him upright.
Bruised and horribly bloodied, he gasped, "Help me," and pitched forward.
Startled, Athos dropped his own weapon and caught the emissary, sinking with the unconscious man to the floor.