The Last Templar

Chapter 61

Eastern Mediterranean—May 1291

"Put that longboat to sea!"

Despite the raging maelstrom around him, the shipmaster's shout echoed deafeningly inside Aimard's head. As another wall of water battered the galley, his only thoughts were for the reliquary as he rushed toward the ship's forecastle.

I have to save it.

He flashed back to the first night of their voyage when, after making sure the crew and the rest of his brothers were asleep, he and Hugh had quietly made their way to the forecastle, Aimard clutching the chest entrusted to him by William of Beaujeu. The Templars had enemies everywhere, and, with their defeat in Acre, they were now vulnerable. The chest had to be secured well out of sight, safe from any searches that might befall them. Aimard had shared his concerns with Hugh shortly after leaving Acre; both he and Beaujeu trusted the man implicitly. He hadn't expected the shipmaster to present him with such a perfect solution.

He remembered how when they had reached the ship's bow, Hugh had raised a flaming torch to expose a deep cavity, slighdy larger uhan the chest, that had been hacked into the back of the bird's head. Hugh climbed up and sat astride the ship's figurehead. Aimard took one last look at the ornate chest before lifting it and handing it to the shipmaster, who carefully placed it into the opening. Close at hand, a brazier burned beneadi a small vat of molten resin, the surface of which rocked slowly in keeping with the increasingly heavy swell on which the Falcon Temple was riding.

With the chest jammed firmly into the hiding place prepared for it, Aimard carefully used a long-handled metal pot to scoop up resin that he handed up to Hugh, who then poured it into the gaps between the chest and the sides of die cavity. After a moment, a bucket of water was dashed over the hot resin, sending up a sizzling cloud of steam. Hugh nodded to Aimard, who then handed him die final stage of the reliquary's concealment. A piece of thick wood, chiseled to the curve of the figurehead, was laid over the opening. Hugh hammered it into place using wooden pegs, each thicker than a man's thumb, then all this too was sealed with molten resin that was quickly hardened with water. The task completed, Aimard watched for a moment longer until Hugh scrambled from the figurehead to die safety of die deck.

Looking around, Aimard saw that no one had observed their actions. He thought about Martin of Carmaux, who was resting down below. There was no need to tell his protege what he had done.

Later, when they reached port, it might become necessary, but until then he would let the whereabouts of the reliquary remain known only to himself and Hugh. As for the contents of the chest—that was something for which die young Martin wasn't yet ready.

A lightning bolt snapped Aimard back to his present predicament. He pushed his way through the rainsqualls and almost reached the forecastle when another mountainous wave slammed into the Falcon Temple, its brutal force lifting him off his feet and hurling him back against the chart table, impaling him on its corner. Martin was quickly with him and, despite Aimard's garbled pleas, the young knight helped him up and dragged him over into the waiting longboat.

Aimard fell into the barge and, despite the searing pain in his side, righted himself in time to see Hugh clambering over the edge and joining them. The shipmaster was clutching a bizarre circular device, a navigational instrument that Aimard had seen him use, and was busy locking it into position. The knight pounded his fist angrily at the side of the boat and looked on, helplessly, at the figurehead, which stood proudly resisting the remorseless battering of the angry sea before snapping like a twig and disappearing under the foaming water.