Chapter Three: The Guardian Stone
Francesco de la Piedra was a slender man in his thirties. He was good-looking, despite the weight of responsibility having aged him slightly. Dark brown hair brushed the top of his shoulders and an ancient sword in a leather scabbard hung across him, giving him the look of a gung-ho adventurer. His blue eyes were alight with life and his gaze was warm and friendly. The hands that pressed Nigel's in greeting, as he introduced himself, were dry and strong. The Englishman had come around from his faint to find the tall man staring out of the window, waiting for him to return to the world of the conscious.
This man, who spoke English with a mixture of French and Spanish inflections, pulled a wooden chair with a purple velvet seat next to the bed in which Nigel was back safely lying on.
"Welcome to El Pueblo Ocultado de la Piedra, Nigel. Or Pueblo de la Piedra is the shorter version," Francesco said, grinning and waving an arm to embrace his surroundings.
"El Pueblo Ocultado de la Piedra…The Hidden Village of the Stone…" Nigel muttered, translating the name.
"Usted habla español?" Francesco asked, pleasantly surprised that this foreigner appeared to be a linguist.
"Sí," Nigel replied, nodding his head. He did speak Spanish.
"Fantástico!" Francesco beamed wider. "Et français?"
"Oui." Yes, he was indeed fluent in French too.
"Merveilleux! You shall fit in well here, my friend."
"Señor de la Piedra, can you tell me –"
"About your friend?" Francesco said, predicting the question. "This American woman?"
Nigel nodded eagerly, making as if to sit up.
"Yes, do you know if – "
Francesco raised a hand, begging the young man to be still and listen. Feeling incredibly weak and remembering what had happened last time he'd moved too much, Nigel complied and lent back into the soft pillows.
"I saw a woman in the tomb. She was a slim woman with slightly dark skin, long black hair and a small crossbow in her hands. Is this the woman of which you speak? Professor Sydney Fox?"
"Yes," Nigel said, but his voice was wary. He didn't like the sorrowful expression on Francesco's face.
"I'm afraid I have bad news for you then, Nigel…"
"No! Oh God…"
"She and D'orage, the leader of the two men I have held in my prison, fell into the river that runs through the tomb. The current pulled them both out of sight. I commanded a thorough search along the river, but neither of them was found. I'm sorry."
"Are you telling me she's dead?" Nigel's voice was hollow.
"She may have been picked up by a boat or made it to the shore and found help. But in many places the river is thick with weeds, if she got caught up in these…"
"No!" Nigel clapped his hands over his ears, not wanting to hear suggestions that Sydney had drowned. "She can't…" His voice broke. "I'd…"
His heart heavy, Francesco looked down at the pale young man who had somehow just managed turn an even whiter shade.
Suddenly, the Englishman's features slid into solid determination.
"I won't believe it!" Nigel cried. "I have to look for her!"
His expression grave, Francesco firmly held the younger man down. Nigel struggled. Though he weakened almost at once, he grew angry at being restrained and this restored his strength.
"You have already lost a dangerous amount of blood, and we have no way to give you a transfusion here. I cannot allow you to loose any more," Francesco said, sternly, keeping his strong hold on Nigel. "If your friend is somehow alive, you'll be no good to her dead."
Rational sense caught up with Nigel and he slumped against the bed once more. Francesco released him and became rather concerned as he saw the amount of exhaustion that swept over the wounded man. He took hold of a weak wrist and checked Nigel's pulse.
"Nicole, are you there?" Francesco called, his expression still worried. He turned to the doorway and a slim nine-year-old girl with dark-hair stepped out from behind the frame. "Get your mother and the doctor."
"Is he…?" the girl queried, tentatively.
"Now, Nicole."
"Yes, Papa."
Francesco's concerned face kept spinning in and out of focus as Nigel looked up at it and he found himself panting for breath.
"He's coming," said the familiar voice of the woman Nigel had seen last time he'd woken up. The woman looked tense, as she hurried into the room and over to a table covered in vials of coloured liquid, sprigs of herbs and an assortment of different sized pestles.
It wasn't long before a portly, middle-aged man with greying hair entered the room at a brisk pace with the girl, Nicole, scampering after him. The girl hung back out of the way, as the doctor approached Nigel's bed.
"Here drink this," the doctor instructed, talking a glass of dark green liquid the woman had prepared.
The glass was tipped against Nigel's lips and he obediently parted them to allow the fluid to flow into his mouth and swallowed. The concoction tasted bitter and smelt of cabbage, but Nigel didn't have the strength to complain or ask what it was.
With the glass half drained and Nigel unable to take down any more, the doctor straightened up and passed it back to the woman.
"Marietta, stay with him," the doctor told her. "Keep a close watch on his breathing. If it becomes strained or irregular call me at once."
Francesco leant over the bed, peering into Nigel's face.
"Nigel? Nigel, can you hear me?" he asked. The Englishman nodded slightly, and Francesco squeezed his hand. "Get the rest you need, mon ami. I will return later."
Nigel watched the departing backs of his host and the doctor, then glanced at the woman, Marietta, who sat down at the foot of his bed. She smiled reassuringly, and Nigel gave in to the lead-weight feeling of his eyelids.
.
.
As he'd promised, Francesco de la Piedra went to visit Nigel again after having had his supper. He found the young Englishman greatly improved after a couple of hour's sleep.
Francesco pulled up the chair again and stared at Nigel for a moment as though trying to decide how best to say what he had to say. Nigel's first panicky thought was that they'd found Sydney's dead body. But then he noticed the enthusiasm dancing in man's eyes.
"Nigel, let me tell you a story…" Francesco leant back in his chair. "Centuries ago, there was once a poor Spanish fisherman who saved the life of a wealthy man from India and the lives of his family, when they were shipwrecked during a storm off the coast of Barcelona. To repay the poor man's kindness, the Indian man gave him a stone. This stone was no ordinary stone, but a large jewel in the amber colour of a tiger's eye. The stone was known as the Guardian Stone…"
"A stone said to possess the power to protect those who own it from famine and war," Nigel filled in, his eyes widening at the other man's mention of the relic he and Sydney had come to the South of France to hunt for.
Francesco smiled widely and nodded.
"The Stone protected the poor man and his family so well that they prospered and the man came to own his village. He then used the Stone to help the others, so that life was good for all the villagers for many years."
Francesco's face darkened.
"However, there is always a bad apple in the barrel. A sceptical and greedy young lad did not believe in the powers of the Stone and was impressed only by the amount of wealth that could be obtained from selling such a gem. One night, this boy stole the Stone and went off to make his fortune from it. He was not halfway to the city before bandits caught him and robbed him of everything including the clothes on his back.
"The next morning, the villagers discovered that the Stone and the boy were missing. A party set off after them and found the wretched thief sobbing in the ditch at the side of the road. He confessed at once and a team of villagers set off after the bandits. They tracked down their camp, but found the bandits slaughtered and the Stone gone. There were fresh hoof prints leading off into the hills. They followed this trail and it was months before they returned to the village. Upon their return they found the village to be suffering from a severe drought. Worse still all they had been able to bring back was the news that they had eventually caught the bandit who had murdered his fellows and taken the Stone. However, the thief had been converted by a band of mysterious monks who roamed the hills and they had sent the Stone away to be hidden.
"The majority of the village decided to leave with intentions to track down their Stone or, if they failed this, to relocate to more fertile land. They set off into the hills and found the monks. These mystical religious men told the travellers that the Stone had been taken to France, where no one would be able to find it. The monks were highly pessimistic and claimed that a Stone of such power would only be used for evil in the coming dark days. However, the villagers continued after the Stone nonetheless, going over the border and across French land until they could go no further. Penniless and exhausted, the villages settled in a valley on the outskirts of Toulouse. The land was rich and the location meant that they would be hard to find, which the villagers welcomed for they had become fearful people without the Stone they had depended on for so many decades.
"This," Francesco indicated with both hands, "is the village that they built. Even though they settled here for good, the villagers intended for their descendants to one day continue the quest for the Stone that had been taken from them."
As Francesco came to the end of his story, Marietta came in and turned on the oil lamps hung around the room. She left some grapes in a chalice on a table near the bed, before leaving the two men to talk further. Francesco offered the fruit to Nigel, who shook his head in decline, then put one in his own mouth. The Frenchman swallowed the grape and wiped a drop of juice from his chin with the back of his hand.
"It is said that the monks left clues to the whereabouts of the Stone," Francesco continued, "so that once the dark days were over, men pure of heart would be able to find it. The first of these clues is in a tomb just south of Toulouse, not far from here."
"Hmm, a tomb containing the remains of one of the monks who died on the journey," Nigel added.
Francesco couldn't have grinned wider if he'd tried.
"Yes, yes. And this tomb is the one I found you in this morning! You were searching for the First Scroll of the Tiger, weren't you?" the Frenchman cried, jumping up with excitement.
"Yes," Nigel said, carefully.
"You've got to help me find the Stone!" Francesco said, eagerly. "Was the Scroll there? Did you find it?"
"I, uh, yes, but D'orage took it," Nigel replied, hesitantly.
Deflated somewhat, Francesco sank heavily back down onto his chair.
"I can remember what it said though."
The blue eyes snapped back up to Nigel's face.
"You can?"
"Well, um, most of it…I think."
Francesco grasped hold of Nigel's hand.
"What did it say? Wait! I'll write it down."
The Frenchman sprung to his feet, rummaged around in a writing desk and sat back down with some paper and a pen. He looked at Nigel expectantly.
"Uh, let me think…" Nigel closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in concentration. "Mire el tigre…y vaya a la cumbre…Es marcado por el ojo."
"Look at the tiger and go to the summit. It is marked by the eye," Francesco translated, scribbling wildly.
Nigel nodded, opening his eyes.
There was a polite knock on the open door. Francesco turned and waved the waiting man in.
"Señor de la Piedra," the man said, crossing the room, "the American woman has been found."
Francesco instantly pressed a palm against Nigel's chest, rightfully predicting that he would try to bolt upright.
"She was seen alive and well in Toulouse," the messenger continued. "There is an Englishman and a younger American woman with her."
"Preston and Karen…" Nigel muttered, in relief. "Oh, thank God…"
"It seems she is looking for us, Señor. She has been making enquires around the town."
"Indeed. I expect she is looking for her friend here," Francesco said, gesturing towards Nigel.
"D'orage is also alive. He has guards tailing Professor Fox."
Francesco frowned with annoyance.
"Then we cannot risk bringing her to Pueblo de la Piedra," he said, regretfully. He turned to Nigel. "I'm sorry, mi amigo. But it is good that she is alive, yes?"
"I must go to her," Nigel insisted.
Francesco shook his head sadly.
"That would be suicide. D'orage will have his guards on the lookout for you as well."
"But she must fear that I'm dead!" Nigel cried. "I've got to let her know I'm okay."
Francesco sighed and turned to the messenger.
"Pedro, do you think you'll be able to get a written message to Professor Fox?"
"Yes," the man replied. "But, Señor, it must be cryptic or else if D'orage gets hold of it…"
"I know, I know," Francesco muttered, looking thoughtfully down at the paper on his lap. The pen sprang to life and scrawled a couple of lines. The Frenchman then held up the sheet for Nigel to read. "How's that?"
"It's fine. But does this mean I won't be able to see Sydney until after someone's recovered the Stone?"
"I'm afraid so," Francesco said, genuinely sorry. He handed the message to Pedro and rose to his feet. After swinging the chair back to its proper place, he faced Nigel again. "Don't worry, we'll help you watch her back."