Authors: Christopher Dinsdale
Connor did not think that there could be a more imposing castle than Roslin, but this desolate fortification in the middle of the angry ocean was menacingly huge. Positioned to the side of the harbour entrance, it struck immediate fear into those who dared entered its waters.
For the first time since stepping onto the sailboat, Connor stopped worrying about his heaving stomach.
“What is that place?” he asked, awed by the approaching stone monstrosity.
“My father has spoken of it,” answered Angus excitedly. “This is the Sinclair sea fortress, Kirkwall Castle! It is Prince Henry's base for controlling the Orkney and Shetland Islands.”
“Prince Henry controls islands this far north?” asked Connor.
“They were given to him by the King of Norway,” explained Angus, “as part of a settlement between our two countries. The deal narrowly averted a war with our northern neighbour.”
“Unbelievable,” whispered Connor as the castle loomed ever closer. “How could anyone build a structure so huge out in the middle of nowhere?”
Angus smiled. “Remember, the Templars have always considered themselves builders first and fighters second. Father told me in private that their dream has always been to build a new city of Jerusalem. They want to build a city where people can live and worship God freely, above and beyond the reach of crooked popes and vengeful kings.”
“Is this the New Jerusalem?” asked Connor, absorbing the dark, imposing structure through the numbingly cold rain. “It's not exactly how I had pictured the Holiest of Cities.”
The ship rounded the southern point of the harbour and finally entered its protected waters. Connor gave a sigh of relief as the giant swells of the North Sea gave way to a gentle rocking of calm water. The boys manned their stations and helped the crew tie down the sail. Others
prepared to greet the small landing crafts that had been sent out to meet them.
Connor looked over his shoulder toward the frothing grey ocean that separated him from the rolling hills of his Scottish homeland. He had a sudden pang of homesickness. He longed to gaze upon the colourful heather of the Scottish highlands and walk the fields of his father's farm. Then a flash of anger tore through him. Was he a soft boy who clung to the comforts of home, or was he now a hardened squire, ready for battle? The prince had called him to duty, considered to be an honour above all others. At that very moment, Connor swore an oath that he would never look back towards Scotland again.
Connor climbed down the rope ladder onto the last skiff, and with Angus by his side, departed for shore and whatever might await him.
The rugged shore at the base of Kirkwall Castle was a beehive of activity. The dreary, cool weather did not dampen the spirits of the motivated work parties that swarmed over two large ships that were beached on the smooth pebbles of the harbour's shore. Like a colony of ants swarming their queens, some workers replaced rotted hull planking while others repaired minor damage to the bow and masts. Both vessels were larger than the ship that had brought Connor to Kirkwall, and he was amazed that ocean vessels could be built to such large dimensions.
Led by Sir Rudyard, the boys followed the other soldiers up the path and through the treeless landscape that led to the massive front gate of the castle. Angus leaned in close and whispered to his friend.
“I hope I remember everything father taught us on the boat.”
Connor frowned. “I wonder how many instructions I missed while running to the rail to empty my stomach.”
“Don't worry. You will be fine. You've got the best memory in all of Scotland.”
Connor frowned. In the past, many had commented on his ability to remember details and events, but those moments were under the normal conditions found back
at Roslin Castle. Exhausted and sick, he wasn't even sure if he could remember his own name right now. As the main gate came into view, however, his mind started to clear. An imposing barbican loomed menacingly out and over the thick wood of the main gates, giving the defenders of the castle a way to terrorize any army that dared attack the entrance. The barbican itself was supported by two massive pillars. Each was carved in the classic Roman tradition, but wrapping round the one on the left of the gate were two menacing serpents, hungrily eyeing the visitors as they made their final approach.
“Those pillars are just like the two pillars that held up the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem,” whispered Angus. “Just like in the stories father was telling us on the boat. Do you remember their names? That's Jachin on the right . . .”
“. . . and Boaz on the left,” finished Connor, staring up at their incredible height. “Who could have built such beautiful columns out in the middle of nowhere?”
“Only the best builders in the world,” answered a deep voice. It was the voice of Sir Rudyard, who had slid to the back of the line. “So what do you think of Kirkwall?”
Connor whistled. “I would not like to be part of the army ordered to attack it. It looks impregnable.”
“Aye, she is a thing of beauty. But appearances can be deceiving, young Connor. Nothing created by human hands can ever be considered
perfect
. The Templars believe that perfection can be reached only through the studies of science and mathematics. Have you heard of the ancient legend of Troy?”
The boys shook their head.
“Troy was a fortified city in the same part of the world as
Jerusalem. It was as close to a perfect fortress as the world has ever seen. Some armies were simply destroyed outright by the mighty Trojan warriors. Others managed to lay siege to it but realized it was a futile effort, as the citizens inside had access to unlimited water and food, and soon they gave up their attack. It really was a perfect city in every respect.
“Then a secret marriage took place between the wife of a Greek king and a Trojan prince. The powerful Greeks decided that such outright deceit must not go unpunished. They sent the entire Greek army, the largest fighting force in the world, consisting of hundreds of thousands of soldiers and thousands of ships, across the sea to finally conquer Troy, once and for all. Year after year, the Greeks continually attacked and laid siege upon Troy, but the city was so well designed it resisted the offensive and remained strong and free.
“Finally appearing to give up, the Greek army disassembled their war machines and marched back to their ships on the coast. Trojan spies watched them sail away to the west, back towards Greece. In defeat, the Greeks left one thing behind for the Trojan people. At the front gate of Troy, the Greeks, in admiration it appeared of the resilience of the Trojan people, had left a huge wooden warhorse as a gift to the victors. The people of Troy broke out in wild celebration. They accepted the Greek gift and wheeled the wooden horse in through the main gates, placing it at the centre of their city for all Trojan people to admire.
“Then, in the dark hours of early morning, once the celebrations had ended and the streets fell quiet, a small door opened up in the belly of the horse. A dozen Greek soldiers slipped out of its hollow interior and melted into
the shadows of the quiet streets of Troy. The Greek soldiers stole their way to the main gate, killing the Trojan watch, and taking control of the gate mechanisms. The Greek invaders then raised the city's most important defense, its perfect wood and iron main gate.
“Unbeknownst to the Trojans, the Greek ships had only sailed as far as the horizon, then quickly returned to the Trojan beaches on the breezes of the moonless night. Seeing the gate open, thousands of Greek soldiers charged into the defenseless sleeping city, pillaging and murdering the population without mercy.
“In a single night, the entire city of Troy had been defeated. The few Trojans who were not killed were bound and shipped back to Greece to be put to use as slaves. The once proud Trojan people were destroyed by the only flaw in their perfect city. And what was the flaw, lads?”
Connor frowned. “The Trojans themselves were the flaw. They had a perfect fortress, yet a single human mistake brought defeat to a whole nation.”
Sir Rudyard smiled. “Well said, Connor. So look around. This building may look imposing, and it is, for I helped build it myself, but still, the massive walls and weapons that protect the Kirkwall Sea Fortress are only as formidable as the soldiers housed within its walls.”
The two boys smiled in anticipation. They didn't feel anywhere near deserving of such honour as this, but a sudden burst of sunlight through the dreary grey sky lit a fire within Connor's heart. His contribution to the Templar cause might end up being insignificant, but at least he could live with the knowledge that he had tried his best to repay his family's debt to the Sinclair family.
They came to a stop in front of the closed gate. The two pillars seemed to reach up out of the ground like massive arms, flexing their huge muscles to maintain the height of the protruding defensive wall that now loomed above their heads. The group of men spread out in front of the gate, their heads lowered. A small door opened, almost undetectable in the thick wood of the gate. A cloaked figure, face hidden behind a black mask, stepped out into the stiff sea breeze. A long white tunic hung under the cloak. On the chest of the tunic was the black cross of the Sinclair clan. His cloak undulated in the ocean breeze, giving the strange gatekeeper the appearance of a mysterious apparition.
The ghostly figure approached Sir Rudyard, where they conversed briefly. Then Sir Rudyard shook the hand that materialized from beneath the cloak and moved to one side. One by one, each man did the same, following the order of Templar rank. Angus and Connor were the last to approach the gatekeeper.
Connor watched as Angus was led a few steps away by the gatekeeper until they were out of hearing range. He wished he could somehow eavesdrop on the conversation. His tired mind was trying valiantly to remember the lines that had been taught to him as he rode the swells of the North Sea. Strangely, the apparition did not shake Angus's hand. Instead, he watched Angus sit on the ground before him, his legs bending and feet together until they formed a square. The apparition then pulled out from beneath the cloak a small book with the Templar cross on its leather cover. He passed it to Angus, who held it against his chest. He placed a black hood over his Angus's head. Finally, a noose was slipped loosely around his neck. After another
low conversation, Angus stood up, still blindfolded, and was led by the noose to the line of Templar knights. His father removed the noose and hood, shook hands with his son, then proudly hugged him. Angus moved down the line of men, shaking their hands in turn. After shaking hands, Angus stepped aside and gave Connor a flash of a smile.
Connor swallowed hard and respectfully walked up to the masked gatekeeper. He sat on the ground and formed the square with his legs. He was handed the Templar Book of Codes, and the world disappeared as a hood was placed over his head. Then a rough rope fell around his neck. A voice spoke.
“What supports our fortress?”
“Three pillars,” answered Connor nervously.
“Pray, what are their names, brother?”
“Wisdom, strength and beauty.”
“What do they represent?”
“Three grand masters: Solomon, King of Israel; Hiram of Tyre; and Hiram Abiff, who was killed by three fellow-crafts.”
“What were the concerns of these grand masters while building Solomon's Temple?”
Connor paused. The next line had left him! Panicked, he blinked into the darkness.
“Solomon . . . found provisions . . . and money to pay the workmen; Hiram, King of Tyre, provided the materials for the building, and Hiram Abiff performed and superintended the work.”
“Stand, young man.”
With a gentle tug, Connor was led by the rope about twenty steps then stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.
It was never mentioned what would happen should he fail the initiation. A shiver of fear ran down his spine. Perhaps it was better that he not know.
The hood suddenly lifted. Connor blinked. He was staring into the ebony face of the gatekeeper's mask. A hand was extended, and they shook in the secretive way he and Angus had practiced on the ship. The gatekeeper finally removed his mask. Connor's jaw dropped. The rugged, handsome face and blue eyes that were now smiling at him belonged to none other than Prince Henry himself.
“Well done, Connor MacDonald. Welcome to the Templar Order.”
“P . . . Prince Henry!” Connor fell to his knees.
Prince Henry grabbed him and lifted him up, smiling warmly. “Up, young lad, and look me in the eyes. We are all brothers under God.”
Connor rose to his feet and stared into face of his personal saviour. He wanted to say so much, but his tongue failed him.
“I heard about your mother,” continued the prince. “My lady informed me of the tragic sickness. Since coming to Roslin, your mother had been a loyal servant and confidante to my wife, and we will always be indebted to her. We will both miss her very much.”
“Thank you, your highness,” answered Connor, trying desperately to keep his emotions in check. “So will I.”
“As you should, lad. Now, go down the line and meet your fellow knights.”
Starting with Sir Rudyard, Connor shook hands with the line of fighters, each one giving him a warm welcome that was accompanied by the secret handshake. Finally,
Angus shook his hand and slapped him hard on the back, grinning from ear to ear. Prince Henry stepped back and addressed the line of men.
“Thank you, my brothers, for coming to Kirkwall on such short notice. As some of you already know, the miracle for which we have all striven is finally nearing completion. Time is of the essence, gentlemen. We must finish our Holy Mission while the necessary supports are in place. Please, follow me.”
Prince Henry led them through the small portal and into the heart of Kirkwall Castle. Connor was amazed by the thickness of the gate itself, solid wood as wide as his own body and nearly twice the breadth of the one at Roslin. Once in the dark gateway, two burly soldiers locked the entrance behind them by placing huge logs on top of two pairs of L-shaped metal braces.