The Awful Secret (38 page)

The tide was full and the
Brendan
well afloat when the procession came down the track alongside the stream. A soldier walked in front, then came the five abjurers, each barefoot, each holding their cross two-handed before their faces. They looked like a line of scarecrows, shuffling along in their shapeless hessian robes, with their scratched, tufted scalps. The dwarf Eddida was the leader, and after the last man, another soldier was followed at a distance by the coroner, his officer and clerk. The older, tallest man came in the centre, the hands holding his cross tight against his face.

De Wolfe was tense with anger at Bernardus and apprehension in case his elaborate plot was discovered at the last moment. As he walked, he cursed himself for allowing his sense of duty to Gilbert de Ridefort to have landed him in this situation. Far from wanting to help this man escape, he would now have cheerfully cut his evil, demented head from his shoulders – but it was too late and he was caught in a trap of his own making.

The sad cavalcade reached the bottom of the track where it became pebbled. This was the most dangerous spot for the venture: it was nearest the alehouse where, in the doorway, Abbot Cosimo and the three Templar knights stood to see the departure of the abjurers. The sheriff was not there: he was too incensed at their easy escape to want to witness it and was at the back of the tavern with Ralph Morin as they supervised the impending departure of most of the men-at-arms, the rest being left to secure the village for a few days.

As he came level with the alehouse door, de Wolfe saw that Cosimo’s gaze was again directed at Eddida and he wondered what strange emotions so attracted the abbot to the dwarf. He suspected that unnatural desires were the most likely reason for his fascination, though these little men were always objects of curiosity and cruel derision. The Templars watched the procession clamber across the pebbles, then turned back into the room behind to collect their arms and saddle-pouches ready for the journey home.

De Wolfe sighed with relief, especially when the Italian priest also vanished into the tavern to join them. He strode across the stones to where the forced emigrants were wading through the knee-high wavelets to reach the side of the knarr. As the crew hoisted up little Eddida with coarse comments about his size, John splashed into the shallows and caught up with de Blanchefort. For a moment, he even considered sticking his dagger under the killer’s ribs, but good sense prevailed. ‘You evil bastard, I hope you rot in Hell!’ he offered as a farewell.

As he grabbed the ship’s side, de Blanchefort gave him an enigmatic smile. ‘If there is a hell, brother – though I’ve come to doubt it – then I’ll see you there!’

He swung himself aboard and de Wolfe backed away in frustration.

The small vessel was pulled astern by a pair of long oars until it had enough sea-room to raise the clumsy sail and turn out into the bay.

In sullen anger, the coroner walked back to where Gwyn and Thomas waited for him at the edge of the beach. The little clerk was still pale and shaking with the insult his faith had received from de Blanchefort’s blasphemy.

‘Shall we saddle up with the rest of them?’ asked Gwyn, pointing to the preparations behind them where the men-at-arms were checking their horses’ harness. The sheriff and constable were already mounted and the Templars were helping Cosimo’s surviving guard to saddle the abbot’s mare.

‘Let’s wait a while. I’ve no stomach for listening to de Revelle complaining half-way to Exeter.’ John turned to watch the
Brendan
moving away from the shore, her sail now filled with the breeze. ‘Maybe a bolt of lightning will strike that black-hearted swine out there.’

A few minutes later, the horsemen moved off and Ralph Morin shouted across to de Wolfe that they would see the Templars and abbot on their way for a few miles, then return to Exeter through South Molton, a more direct route than via Barnstaple. ‘We’ll catch you up in an hour or two, or when you stop to eat,’ promised the coroner. He watched the procession plodding up the track through the glen, lined by silent widows, fatherless children and old men.

‘Why didn’t we go with them?’ asked Gwyn.

‘I want to see that damned ship well out of sight,’ answered the coroner bitterly.

They saddled their own horses and climbed up to Lynton, then to a nearby headland on the seaward side of the valley of rocks. Here they had a panoramic view of the coastline in either direction, from the great prominence of the Foreland Point on their right across to a headland near Martinhoe on the left. Sitting in their saddles, they watched in silence as the little ship clawed its way across the westerly breeze, making slowly northwards towards the Welsh coast, clearly visible over twenty miles away.

Then, suddenly, from around the Foreland, they saw two long lean ships racing side by side, each propelled against the wind by a dozen oars on either side. High curved posts rose at stem and stern and their whole appearance was blatantly foreign. Like two greyhounds after a badger, the predatory galleys sped after the clumsy knarr, the gap closing rapidly as the three men watched.

Thomas de Peyne crossed himself for the tenth time that morning and murmured quietly to himself in Latin, ‘Requiescat in pace!’ while Sir John de Wolfe’s feeble belief in a jealous God was suddenly strengthened.

Those readers who wish to learn more about the nature of the Awful Secret, are recommended to read the following paperbacks:

Andrews, R., and O. Schellenberger,
The Tomb of God,
(Warner, London, 1996; ISBN 0 7515 1961 8)

Baigent, M., R. Leigh and H. Lincoln,
The Holy Blood & the Holy Grail
, (Arrow, London, 1996; ISBN 0 09 968241 9)

Gardner, L.,
Bloodline of the Holy Grail
, (Element, Shaftesbury, 1996; ISBN 1 86204 152 0)

Theiring, Barbara,
Jesus the Man
, (Corgi, London, 1993; ISBN 0 552 13950 5)

Also many Internet sites reached through
Rennes-le-Chateau etc.

¹
Now called Preston Street.

²
Now Gandy Lane.