Templar's Code

CHAPTER 49

“ ‘God is in the details.’ Who said that, Flaubert or Mies van der Rohe?” Edie, propped against a menagerie of flounced pillows in the middle of the bed, peered over the top of an art magazine.

“No bloody idea.” Caedmon sat on the other side of the guest bedroom at a large oak desk, his arse planted on another of Rubin’s unbearably uncomfortable chairs. This one a Gothic revival fit for a feudal baron. “On second thought, didn’t Michelangelo first coin the phrase?”

“Well, whoever said it, I agree with Gloria Steinem”—Edie wickedly grinned—“ ‘the goddess is in the questions.’ ”

“Well put.”

Craning his neck, Caedmon glanced at the clock on the night table: 10:05 P.M. Time to set out on his quest, smash his nose to the grindstone, and decipher the rare 1614 frontispiece.

“Still convinced that the Muses have something to do with Bacon’s secret message?”

“Mmmm . . . er, yes.” Elbows on the table, he rubbed his eyes. “In Greek mythology the Nine Muses, offspring of Zeus and Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory, divinely inspired the arts. But more important than that, in a time before the printing press was invented, the Nine Muses were the source of oral knowledge.”

Tossing her magazine aside, Edie got off the bed. Silk, satin, and tasseled pillows tumbled in her wake. Unlike Rubin’s boudoir, the guest suite was a veritable explosion of clashing Victorian pattern, the color green being the only common denominator.

Edie stood behind his chair. Wrapping one hand around a spiny Gothic chair post, she reached over top of him and snatched the Mylar-covered print. “Okay, we’ve got Nine Muses with Pallas Athena, the tenth muse, in the twelve o’clock position. We can only hope that a picture isn’t really worth a thousand words. Otherwise it’s going to be a very long message.”

“And that’s a mere sampling of the mythological objects. We mustn’t overlook the occult symbols—the two columns, the ladder, the tree, the mulberry, and of course, the All-Seeing Eye.”

Lifting her wool skirt, she hitched a hip onto the edge of the table. “Yeah, I noticed the ladder, the tree, and the piece of fruit in each of the muse panels, but I thought that was just a decorative element.”

“Trust me, nothing in this frontispiece is purely decorative. In fact, the ladder, the tree, and the mulberry represent the three branches of the hidden stream of knowledge.”

“As in alchemy, Kabbalah, and magic, right?” She scooted closer, her outer thigh pressing against his forearm.

“Correct. The ladder symbolizes magic, specifically the type of celestial divination practiced by John Dee. Since one can climb up and down the rungs of a ladder, it represents direct two-way communication between heaven and earth.” With his index finger, he lightly circled a medallion with a leafy tree. “This is the Kabbalah Tree of Life, which symbolizes the process by which the universe came into being. It’s more familiarly depicted as a diagram with the ten Sephiroth that represents the ten attributes of God.”

“Ten seems to be a popular number. There are, after all, ten muses illustrated on the frontispiece.”

He wearily nodded, having already tried, unsuccessfully, to use it in a numeric cipher.

“And finally there’s the mulberry, which changes in color from white to red to black during the ripening process. The change in color symbolizes the three stages of the alchemical process, known by their Latin names: albedo, rubedo, and nigredo.”

“White, red, and black. The same three colors that make up the Templar Beauséant.” Using her arm to support her upper body, Edie reclined back. “Coincidence or do you think the Knights Templar were practicing alchemy in their secret sanctuary?”

“I won’t know the answer to that until I decipher the frontispiece. That’s the nature of the esoteric beast, the creature too often leads one into a bloody labyrinth,” he uncharitably grumbled. Framing either side of his face with the palms of his hands, he, again, stared at the engraved illustration. “The secret of the Templar relic could well be hidden in this frontispiece, and I’m determined to break the code.”

“You do know that your interest in the Knights Templar borders on idolatry,” Edie chided, pointedly glancing at his silver ring.

Caedmon let his hands drop to the tabletop. “The first person to launch that accusation was my aunt Winifred, a sharp-tongued spinster with whom I spent the summers of my youth. She lived and died in the hillside village of Garway in far-flung Herefordshire. The only noteworthy attraction in the village was St. Michael’s where, in the twelfth century, the Knights Templar constructed a circular church.”

“Is the circular church still standing?”

“Alas, no, but the foundation of the Templar church is visible.”

“I’m guessing that’s all it took to fuel your youthful imagination.”

“The vicar, something of an amateur historian, was quite knowledgeable about the Templars.” He smiled, the memory a pleasant one. “That first summer I haunted the local library, reading everything related to the Knights Templar. The more I learned about their heroic exploits in the Holy Land, the more enamored I became. Aunt Winnie put her foot down when she caught me creeping about in the garden dressed in a white bedsheet, clutching a brolly in one hand and a butter knife in the other as I reenacted the Siege of Acre.”

Chuckling, Edie reached over and smoothed a lock of hair from his brow. “As an adult, do you ever, you know, fantasize about being a Knights Templar?”

“You mean do I still imagine myself swinging a broadsword at Acre? No, never,” he retorted, emphatically shaking his head. “The fact that the Templars didn’t shave, rarely bathed, and that they took a vow of celibacy doesn’t make for a lusty male fantasy.”

“Oooh, I want to hear more about the lusty stuff.” As she spoke, Edie provocatively shimmied her shoulders.

“There’s a reason why St. Bernard of Clairvaux famously wrote that ‘the company of women is a dangerous thing, for by it the devil has led many from the straight path to Paradise.’ ” He gestured to the small stack of books on the tabletop. “Since I’m on this blasted quest, I must refrain from the pleasures of the flesh.”

She scooted her backside off the edge of the table—landing squarely in his lap.

Unable to help himself, Caedmon slid a hand under her skirt.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Edie leaned in close and whispered, “If you don’t tell St. Bernard, I won’t tell St. Bernard.”