Betrayed (11 page)

“They have got guts,” agreed Connor. “I'll give them that much. If I heard an explosion like that, I would have been off running into the arms of my mother. These soldiers are a determined bunch.”

Angus wiped his beaded brow. “So what do we do now?”

Connor thought for a moment. He looked at the ground around him. Suddenly he had an idea. He grabbed one of the charges, carefully untied the binding and opened up the linen that held the powder.

“Whatever you are doing, you better do it fast,” said Angus, looking over the precipice. “They're halfway up.”

Connor grabbed two handfuls of gravel from the ground, threw it in with the powder, then quickly tied it back up. He jammed a fuse through the linen, put it to the coals and lit it.

“Gravel?” asked Angus.

Connor gave a quick glance over the wall. “I thought I might give our surprise some teeth.”

He threw the charge over the wall. Another explosion cracked through the air. The boys looked over the side. The scene was very different this time. The men lining up to scale the ladders were staggering around in severe pain. A couple of soldiers lay unconscious on the ground.
The gravel had inflicted serious injury on almost twenty men. One ladder had been abandoned, but on the original ladder, the lead soldier had managed to hang on during the explosion. He had regained his footing and now scowled at them as he made a dash for the top of the wall.

Angus ran into the shop and reappeared with a cannonball. With his broad shoulders bulging, he staggered back to the wall and heaved it onto the ledge. Taking a quick peek for aim, he then simply rolled it off the wall. A scream, followed by a dull thump, indicated that the ball had found its mark.

The boys released four more gravel-filled charges, this time throwing them towards the soldiers hiding behind the rocks. Their efforts were rewarded when the stunned English commander gave the order to retreat. Angus and Connor beamed huge smiles.

“We did it!” shouted Angus.

Their excitement, however, was tempered by the rhythmic thumping of the battering ram. A loud crack sent a shiver down their backs.

Connor glanced back at the castle. “They're breaching the main gate! Angus, take the remaining charges in the wheelbarrow to the front gate. Explain to them what we did here at the wall. See if we can't give those soldiers at the gate a bit of a surprise as well.”

Angus nodded and left at a gallop with the wheelbarrow. Connor then turned his attention back to the beach and the harbour. The wall below him was deserted. He scanned the beach. Only a few English soldiers remained at the seaside, organizing a pile of weapons that would be used once the main gate was breached. He could only guess that most of
the English forces had now massed behind the battering ram, ready to storm into the sea fortress itself.

An explosion echoed across the harbour. Angus must have started his attack. Another boom resonated through the late afternoon breeze. The rhythmic beating of the battering ram suddenly stopped. Connor couldn't bring himself to feel that they had achieved a victory. At most, the explosions had only bought them a little more time. There were only a limited number of charges left in the box. Once that advantage had been exhausted, it would only be a short while before the English would attack again. If only Prince Henry would return with his fighters! But how? The English had blocked the entrance to the harbour with their ships. With the land so rugged, it would take at least a day for the knights to walk back to the castle and by that time, it would be far too late.

A third crack of thunder echoed throughout the harbour. The sound gave Connor another idea. He returned to the shop and gathered the remaining charges. He brought them to the cannons and returned to the shop for an equal number of cannonballs. He took two charges and placed one in each of the barrels. Using the push rod that lay next to the guns, he shoved the charges until they hit the very end of the barrel. Finally, he rolled a cannonball down the tube until it rested against the charge.

Connor moved in behind the cannon. They were already aimed towards the harbour entrance. He shoved a wick into the hole at the back of the cannon then lit it with a hot coal.

The sizzling sparks disappeared into the barrel. Nothing happened. Connor waited another second. He was just about
to investigate the front of the barrel to see what had gone wrong when the cannon exploded in a blast of thunder and smoke. Connor fell backwards from the shock. Finding his senses, he shook his head to remove the ringing from his ears, then looked excitedly towards the harbour. A black dot arched gracefully over the water and tore through the sail of the more distant ship. Connor couldn't believe it. He had overshot his target!

He was staggered by the power of the weapon. He didn't think it was humanly possible to shoot anything so heavy so far. An idea suddenly came together in his head. He quickly moved to the second cannon. The first one had fired over the target. Attached to the side of the cannon was a long, adjustable rod that supported its barrel. The concept of cannon fire had to be the same as archery, he thought. He removed the pin that connected the support to the frame and using his shoulder, lowered the neck of the cannon one notch. He replaced the pin and, approving the new angle, placed a wick into the cannon and tried again.

A second explosion tore through the air. Connor excitedly followed the path of the ball. This time the ball crashed with a tremendous splash only a stone's throw from the hull of the first ship.

Connor grumbled in frustration. The first angle was too high and far. The second was too low and short. There was no adjustment between the two notches. If he was firing an arrow, he would simply take a little power out of the bow in order to hit the target. But he didn't have control over the power in the cannon . . . or did he?

He grabbed a new charge, opened it and carefully removed one handful of black powder. He then retied the
package and shoved it deep into the first cannon. Finishing the preparation, he fired. Connor held his breath. He watched the ball sail through the air and come crashing down hard onto the deck of the nearest ship. He could see the ant-sized men running above deck in panic. Nodding in approval, Connor reset the second cannon with identical settings. Going from cannon to cannon, he fired the weapons until he ran out of charges. Three of the shots hit the nearest ship, which was beginning to list to the port side, taking in water through gaping holes in its hull. The second English ship moved next to its crippled sister, in an attempt to help the many sailors who were abandoning the sinking vessel. In their confusion, they didn't notice the four smaller ships approaching from the west until it was too late. By the time the warning was sounded, Prince Henry's ships were already upon them.

Prince Henry's men leapt upon the damaged English ship like a pack of wolves ripping into an injured deer. Even if Connor had more charges, he would not dare shoot, as the six ships were now entangled in a fight. The hand-to-hand fighting against the invaders from the south quickly became a rout for Prince Henry.

For the first time that day, Connor allowed himself to lean against the wall and smile.

The small chapel was packed with a churning sea of humanity. Connor was amazed at the transformation. Only four days ago, the chapel had seemed open and tranquil. Now he could feel bristling energy among the gathering of Templar knights. So secretive was the meeting that twenty well-armed men were guarding the perimeter of the chapel to ensure that the words which were about to be spoken would not be overheard by uninvited ears.

“I can't believe we're here,” whispered Connor, “standing among the most important men of the Order!”

“It's a miracle,” agreed Angus. “Still, we've been relegated to the very back of the chapel.”

“It will take years to work our way through the ranks,” said Connor.

“I know,” said Angus. “Still, I wish I could be up there with my father.”

Connor could just see the top of Sir Rudyard's head, in the centre of the crowd, just to the right of the prince himself. He shrugged at the aspiration.

“I don't care where I stand. I'm just happy to be here among these knights. Isn't that Black Douglas next to your father?”

A set of hulking shoulders next to Sir Rudyard pushed
a black-mopped head of hair above the rest of the crowded meeting.

“Aye, that's him all right,” replied Angus. “Hard to miss, wouldn't you say?”

The crowd fell silent as Prince Henry rose above the centre of the gathering, closed his eyes and stretched his arms out before God. On the altar behind the prince, a mysterious object lay draped under a golden cloth. A prayer by Prince Henry officially opened the meeting. He then looked around the room, smiling proudly in admiration and gratitude.

“My friends, I thank each and every one of you for your heroic efforts during the attack on Kirkwall Castle three days ago. We lost twenty-three good men to the English. I'm sure everyone now realizes that the toll would have been much higher if it were not for the ingenious thinking of our young friends, Angus Gunn and Connor MacDonald. It was their creative use of cannons and black powder charges that turned the tide in the attack.”

A spontaneous cheer erupted in the chapel as hundreds of eyes fell upon the boys. Connor tried to lower his head in humble acceptance, but he couldn't keep a small grin from escaping. The thanks and slaps on his back during the last three days from the men he admired he would keep within his heart as treasure beyond compare. He glanced over at Angus, whose cheeks were glowing the same shade as his fiery hair.

“The English have been sent back home with their tails between their legs after what, I must say, was a most generous ransom paid to King Henry. Congratulations, men. We have again proven ourselves to be the true defenders of Scotland!”

The crowd responded with a huge roar.

“The attack, however, signifies a different and more aggressive strategy on the part of the English. This was their first assault upon Sinclair land by their navy. I cannot help but suspect that they had somehow been briefed regarding the possible weaknesses of our sea fortress. Their attack was quick and well-coordinated.”

“What are you suggesting, Prince Henry?” shouted one. “A spy? Here among us?”

A disturbing grumble rippled through the crowd.

“A Templar traitor?” shouted another. “When we catch him, he will regret the day he ever crossed us and our noble cause!”

A more menacing murmur of agreement followed the accusation.

Prince Henry held up his hands. “Please, fellow knights. We have no evidence to substantiate the charge, only speculation. But still, we must doubly commit ourselves to the highest degree of loyalty. It disturbs me greatly to think that one of us has attempted to betray the Order. However, suspecting each other of unproven treachery will only weaken our brotherhood. All I ask at this time is that we be prudent regarding the sharing of information. We are entering a very sensitive time in our history, in which either eternal greatness or complete failure will be our final destiny. As well, the English menace is certainly a factor that we must all take seriously.

“As you know, I have now acquired a fleet of over sixteen fighting ships loyal to the Sinclair clan. Even with our tremendous efforts, however, we will never be able to match the endless resources of the English crown. There is
a real possibility that the English will return, perhaps next time in even greater numbers, as they continue their efforts to subdue the will of the Scottish people. It is for this reason that I have had to make slight changes to our Holy Plan. What I am about to reveal to you must forever stay within this room. Do you swear upon your very lives?”

Every member in the room stabbed an imaginary dagger into their heart. “We swear to the Great Architect, Our God Almighty, to keep our promise of secrecy or die by the same treacherous methods that befell our founder, Hiram Abiff, the builder of Solomon's Temple.”

Prince Henry held out a hand to someone in the innermost circle. A short, broad-shouldered man leapt up onto the podium and took his place beside the prince. Framed by a mass of dark, curly hair and thick beard, his dark eyes sparkled in the golden candlelight. The prince put a hand on his shoulder.

“I know some of you have already met my friend and brother, Antonio Zeno. For those of you who have not had the chance to meet the lad, Antonio is one of the world's finest mapmakers. Working for his family's Venetian trading company, he has taken part in mapping expeditions from the coast of western Africa all the way to the Holy Lands themselves. In a chance meeting that could only be described as God's will, I rescued him after a shipwreck ten years ago from a group of angry islanders just north of Kirkwall. After the rescue, I shared with him my vision for the future of the Templar Order. Since then he has willingly joined our cause and has already played a crucial role bringing us to the brink of unimagined success.

“Many of you are not aware of the mission of which
I speak. After the attacks three days ago, I am sure you now understand why secrecy is so important. But today, my friends, is the day you will discover why I have been away for so many months at a time. Please lend your ears to Brother Antonio.”

Connor was amazed how Antonio Zeno didn't seem at all flustered by the fact he was surrounded by some of the most feared warriors in Europe. He had the sneaking suspicion that Zeno was likely much more than just a simple mapmaker. Zeno stepped forward and addressed the crowd with a deep, rhythmic accent.

“Thank you, Prince Henry. It is an honour for me to aid the Templar Order. To understand my part in all of this, I must first take you back to the time of the Vikings. The Norsemen were tremendous explorers and traders. Their ships were by far the best of their time, hundreds of years ahead in design of any other single-sailed vessel in Europe. Their amazing fleet carried them as far south as the Mediterranean Sea and the coast of Africa. They also sailed east into the Baltic Sea and down the rivers that stretch into the very heart of Prussia.