Authors: Christopher Dinsdale
Antonio and Connor landed on the pile of building rubble, then quickly threaded their way through the cavern, ignoring the sloshing of the sea water around their feet. The floor of the cavern curved upward, and their feet finally stepped onto dry land. Even though he had helped it rise out of the floor like the legendary phoenix, Connor still shook his head in amazement at the structure that loomed before him.
If a five-year-old had been asked to create a pyramid out of a pile of sticks and string, it would have looked something like this rickety tower. An unwieldy assortment of boards, beams and logs struggled upwards into the natural cathedral ceiling of the cavern. Connor was amazed how it managed to hold together with nothing more than a series of sailors' knots and a handful of discarded bent nails. The banging of metal against stone reverberated through the damp air. Dirt and small rocks fell to the ground in rhythmic showers, echoing like rain sizzling on the still surface of a pond.
Antonio cupped his hands and tilted his head back. “Prince Henry!”
The drizzle of dust and pebbles stopped. Three heads simultaneously materialized along the uppermost wooden ledge and peered down into the gloom below. Illuminated by a single oil lamp, Prince Henry, dishevelled and dirty, wiped the dirt from his brow with his filthy sleeve and
propped himself up on an elbow.
“I thought you two were heading up to the temple for a rest.”
“I
was
asleep until Connor woke me up,” complained Antonio, pointing his thumb at his shorter companion.
Connor bounced excitedly. “We heard something above us! A scratching sound!”
“Most likely a groundhog,” muttered Antonio, straight-faced.
“Groundhog?” asked Angus, confused, looking to Na'gu'set on his right.
“A big burrowing rodent that is found in this area,” explained Na'gu'set. “But I do not think a groundhog could dig this deep.”
“It wasn't a groundhog!” said Connor, giving Antonio an exasperated look.
“Could it be a rescue attempt?” shouted Angus, almost losing his balance in excitement.
Prince Henry steadied the boy with his arm. “Take it easy, lad. You fall from here, and it won't be a pretty sight.” He looked down at Antonio. “What do ye make of it, Antonio?”
Antonio nudged Connor with his elbow and smiled. “Connor heard it first, and I told him it was his imagination, but then I heard the scrapings myself, and I'm pretty sure it sounds like someone coming down to get us. From the volume of sound, I would guess that they are at least forty feet away from the temple ceiling.”
Prince Henry pushed himself up and sat on his knees. “Well, that is a possibility worth checking out. We will be right down.”
The three workers carefully clambered down the wooden
scaffolding, and the group made their way back to the rope ladder before climbing back up into the temple. There they collapsed onto the smooth floor, their chests heaving from exertion.
“I'm afraid our gourmet meals of bruised fruit and stale bread are beginning to take its toll,” Antonio gasped. He lifted the wineskin from the table and took a small sip of water.
“What I would do for even a bowl of cold porridge,” muttered Angus.
Antonio passed the skin to Na'gu'set, who also sucked back some water.
“Listen,” whispered Connor. “There it is! I can still hear the noise.”
Silence fell upon the temple. Everyone's ears strained to hear the faint scraping against the rocks. The men glanced at each other, the glimmer of hope raising their weary brows.
“Thank God,” muttered Angus. “That means we can end our backbreaking work down in the cavern.”
Prince Henry shook his head. “Nae, lad. We must continue.”
“Why?” asked Angus, surprised. “They're digging a shaft to rescue us! Why continue to kill ourselves on a now pointless effort?”
Prince Henry, slowly straightening and stretching his back, waved the group to the table that displayed the design of the temple. He turned the diagram until it faced him. The men peered over his shoulder and studied the complicated picture of tunnels, shafts and chambers.
“Part of our design for the chamber included foiling any attempt to build a second shaft down into the temple. It would be an impossible task to avoid the traps without
detailed knowledge of the original engineering.”
He pointed to the maze of safeguards surrounding the underground temple. “There is only one narrow space to break through the ceiling without setting off the traps. Right here, at the northwest corner.”
“But the men above helped to build the chamber,” said Connor, “so they should know about the safe angle into the temple as well.”
“You're right, Connor. And from the sound of the scraping, it seems like they are attacking the problem correctly. But just a slight mistake will cause either a triggering of the flooding mechanism or a collapse of rock into the chamber itself. See right here? They will require a perfect angle between the drainage pipes. If I could talk to them, I'd tell them not to try it. It's too dangerous for them and for us. We don't need to lose any more good men.”
“You knew they were going to try something like this,” argued Antonio. “They couldn't just sail away from the island, knowing there was a still a chance that you were alive down here in the temple.”
Prince Henry stared grimly at his friend. “If they do make it through, then we can truly celebrate. But what if they cave in the temple or set off the flooding mechanism? Then we will need some other way out in order to escape certain death. We must keep working at our attempt to access the drainage system.”
A moment of reflective silence fell over the gathering.
“Then it's back to work,” moaned Angus.
“I'm afraid so. Antonio and Connor, try to get some sleep. As long as nothing changes, you can come and relieve us in four more hours.”
Connor glanced up at the arched ceiling that prevented his rescue, then back to Prince Henry, who had rescued his family long ago, as he descended down through the grate. Exhausted, Connor collapsed onto the floor. In his wildest imaginings, he could never have guessed his life would end like this.
The leg of the chair grazed Black Douglas along his temple, releasing a trickle of blood past his left eye. Surprised by the attack, he lowered his bulk and threw up his arms in self-defense, but the second assault did not come. Robertson and a second foul-smelling mountain of a knight were on Princess Sarah before she could reach the oil lamp resting beside her bed. With their combined weight, the men easily pinned her face first to the ground, twisted her arms behind her back before dragging her back up onto her feet. Sarah writhed in anger, her eyes burning red with tears and hate.
“What do you mean leave?” she screamed. “I'm not going anywhere without my brother!”
Black Douglas thanked the planners who had put the women's tent far away from the rest of the camp. No one of importance would hear Sarah's angry outburst.
“You are obviously hysterical over the death of Prince Henry,” cooed Black Douglas, composing himself. “It's best if we remove you as quickly as possible from this terrible situation.”
She strained once more against the iron grip of her captors, then lowered her voice to a menacing growl. “I told you, I'm not going anywhere.”
“The next ship for New Jerusalem will be leaving within the hour. And don't worry, Princess; I'll travel with you to help you through your grieving.”
He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She bristled with anger.
“After you told me how the beam in the ship broke loose and knocked me unconscious, and then you risked your life to rescue me before the ship sank, I thought that you truly were a man who deserved my brother's respect. Now I see the weak, desperate man you really are. You had my brother's trust, and he made you his second-in-command of the Templar Order. And how do you repay him? With cowardly betrayal!”
Black Douglas smirked, as if he found the conversation amusing. “If anything, Princess, it is your brother who betrayed me. The Templar Order would have faded into obscurity if it were not for the strength of the Douglas clan. I deserve to lead the Order.”
Sarah paused, her eyes narrowing. “You really are mad. The only reason he brought you into the Order was to help unite Scotland. The Templars would have been perfectly fine, perhaps even better, without you in our ranks!”
Black Douglas flinched at the slap to his honour.
“The truth hurts, doesn't it? You are a traitor!” hissed Sarah.
Black Douglas strode up to the princess, his cheeks twitching in anger. He lowered his voice to a menacing growl. “You don't know how much I'm looking forward to carrying on this conversation during our sail to New Jerusalem.”
Sarah glared right back. “I would rather die here with my brother on Oak Island than be stuck on a ship with you.”
The two glowered at each other in a test of wills. After what seemed like an eternity, Black Douglas cracked a patronizing smile and backed off. “Princess Sarah, you of all people should know how important it is to maintain the Magdalene bloodline. With your brother gone, the life of a Sinclair princess becomes all the more important to the continuation of the Order. You must live and have children. Therefore, it will be my great honour to help you achieve such a noble task.”
Sarah recoiled, stunned by his words. “What is your twisted mind suggesting? That I marry you?”
He closed in on the princess until his callous stare filled her vision. “It's destiny that has brought us together, Sarah. Consider it. We have an opportunity to combine the two greatest Scottish bloodlines into the most powerful clan our nation has ever seen. The great honour of bearing my children and being the wife of the future king of Scotland will be yours and yours alone.”
Sarah's expression evolved from disbelief to a calm defiance. She leaned ever closer until their noses touched and her gaze bore into the dark abyss of his icy stare.
“Go to hell.”
He blinked in shock, then slowly backed away. Without warning, a heavy backhand caught Sarah just above the ear, causing her head to snap viciously sideways. A searing explosion erupted in her head as she crumpled into unconsciousness. Black Douglas smiled at the young woman, hanging slumped between his two henchmen.
“My, she is a feisty one.”
“What shall we do with her?” asked MacDonald.
“She is obviously overcome with grief at the death of her
brother. Carry her to her ship, then gag her and tie her to her bed. Post a guard outside of her room to ensure she is not disturbed by anyone. We cannot afford any more of her interference.”
MacDonald nodded. “Aye, Grand Master.”
Black Douglas helped himself to a bottle of whiskey as the limp princess was removed from the tent. Putting the narrow neck of the bottle to his lips, he allowed the brown drink to smoulder in his mouth before throwing it back as he reviewed the events of the day. Prince Henry was dead. Black Douglas was now Grand Master of the Templar Order, and Princess Sarah was going to provide him with a strong royal bloodline.
He held the bottle up to the heavens, curling his mustache with a satisfied grin.
“Here is to the best day of my life.”
Ow! That hurts! Stop!” Na'gu'set stopped pushing. After edging their way through the damp narrow shaft for what seemed like countless hours, Connor and Na'gu'set had come to their tightest constriction yet. The unending darkness did not help Connor's growing fear of death. He could not turn, stretch, bend or even cough without banging up against the rough confines of the floodway. The tight walls were beginning to feel more and more like the inner lining of his own coffin. He would surely have lost his mind in the crushing blackness if it had not been for the companionship of Na'gu'set. Although quiet for the most part, Na'gu'set's calm, encouraging words at his most frustrating moments always helped Connor back away from the edge of panic.
It was two days since the scraping noises from the surface had mysteriously ceased. Knowing their slim chance of rescue from above had all but vanished, the men had sombrely refocused their efforts on once again breaking through to the floodway. It was now their only chance for survival. A mild victory was achieved when they did finally crack through the bottom of the stone floodway, but everyone knew that the real challenge was at hand. Prince Henry, Antonio and Angus warmly embraced
Connor and Na'gu'set, the slenderest members of the party, before they hoisted their greased and half-naked bodies up into the cramped floodway. Na'gu'set had been right that any loose clothing would get snagged on the rough surface. It was Angus's last glance, however, that still haunted Connor's memory. It was the heart-wrenching glance of a final goodbye. Everyone realized this was a desperate act bordering on suicide, but no one would dare utter such a thought. Firmly pinned in the tunnel and barely able to breathe, Connor grimaced as he realized that Angus might have correctly predicted the outcome of this desperate folly.
“I . . . I can't breathe,” gasped Connor, his voice muffled by the ring of rock pinning his chest.
“But you are almost through,” encouraged Na'gu'set.
“But it constricts further,” argued Connor. “I don't think I can do it.”
There was a pause.
“Do we go back?” asked Na'gu'set.
Connor managed a wheezing sigh. “Nae. I'd rather die trying to move forward in an attempt to rescue my friends than to live an extra couple of days in that underground tomb.”
Na'gu'set placed a comforting hand on Connor's calf. “Then this is what you must do. When I say, you must blow out all of the air from your lungs. Grab hold of something, anything on the other side then pull with all of your strength. I will push as hard as I can on your feet. The oil that Antonio put on your body should help you slide through the narrow part.”