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“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.

  The gatehouse was lit by rows of flickering torches. Several large doors had been built into the rock walls below the barbican. Connor was able to catch a glimpse into one of the doors as they passed. His jaw dropped as he saw rows of scribes sitting at tables, surrounded by what seemed like endless stacks of gold and silver coins. Their hands flew with quill in hand as they wrote down numerical figures and information in huge, leather-bound ledgers.

  Connor glanced right, towards the source of screeching metal. A large work area contained a dozen men, labouring over piles of shiny small rings. Many held hammers and pliers as they laboriously wielded the metal links into lifesaving chain mail armour.

  Connor caught a glimpse into a final room to his right. The small room held only three men. With beards as long as their flowing robes, Connor suddenly realized he had seen those men before in the halls of Roslin. These were men who possessed the magical powers of reading, writing and mathematics. The long table in front of the men was covered in an assortment of models, maps, diagrams and toy-like contraptions. Connor could tell they were having a heated discussion about one of the maps, but the group moved on before his curiosity could determine the point of the debate.

  The knights then burst out into the misty air of the outer bailey. Ignoring the grazing chickens and goats, they crossed the wide grassy area and approached the formidable keep that stood watch over the troubled sea. Through an impressively high arch, the men entered the tallest building of the fortress. Connor gaped in wonder as the cavernous rectangular Great Hall opened up before them. Prince Henry led them to the centre of the immense room. A series of parallel tables lay before them, and Connor froze in awe. Laid out like a gift from heaven was a feast worthy of a king. He had never seen so much food in one place in his entire life! A raucous gathering of seated knights were already enjoying the spread as servants brought out wooden platters of roasted pig.

  Prince Henry turned to face the travellers. “I suggest you join in the feast before the rest of the castle arrives. This is for you, a special meal for my friends from distant lands! Enjoy the food, for once the festivities end, we will have much to do.”

  Connor stared at the men, who did not hesitate to sit at the nearest opening on the benches and tear into the feast before them. Angus, noticing an empty bench at the end of the table, turned and waved Connor over.

  “Come on, Connor! We’re brothers now. Sit down!”

  Connor reluctantly made his way to the table and sat down beside Angus. “I think this will take some getting used to.”

  Eyes wide, he filled his plate with succulent pork as the hall quickly filled to capacity. Washing it down with a warming mouthful of wine, Connor felt a wave of warmth he had not experienced since his mother had passed away. He looked down the table, where seasoned warriors were bellowing with laughter and shouting insults. Connor couldn’t help feel that he was now part of a very special group.

  After their stomachs were stuffed to aching, the boys staggered away from the table and approached Sir Rudyard, who was in discussion, ale in hand, with three other knights. Seeing the boys, he introduced them to the group.

  “Gentlemen, here is my son, Angus, and his friend, Connor. Boys, this is Sir Andre de Boullion of Normandy, and to my right, we have Nicolo Auzurra and Tomasso Iacoe of Venice.”

  The boys shook hands with the beefy warriors.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” said de Boullion in a melodic French accent.

  “And if you have the blood of your father in your heart, then you will surely become an honourable warrior,” said Iacoe to Angus.

  “Rudyard,” interjected Auzurra. “when your boys have time, you should send them out to me, and I will show them the latest additions to Prince Henry’s arsenal.”

  Sir Rudyard nodded. “Thank you, Nicolo. I’m sure they will find your designs quite intriguing. But first, I need to give them a tour of the castle.”

  The men parted ways, and Sir Rudyard walked the boys across the hall. “Why are you here, boys?”

  Taken aback by the question, Connor and Angus hesitated.

  “Connor?”

  “I can’t speak for Angus, but I’m here to fight for Prince Henry. I wouldn’t hesitate to lay down my life for him in battle.”

  Sir Rudyard frowned as they stepped out once again into the fresh air. “Prince Henry appreciates your loyalty, but being a Templar must go beyond following your leader blindly into battle. I know he saved the lives of you and your mother. But even Prince Henry has been called to a higher purpose. That is why he has been away from Roslin and his family for so long.

  “The tasks that lie ahead will be extremely difficult. As a Templar, you are no longer master of yourself. You must make yourself a servant to all. You must listen to orders, regardless of your own personal opinion. You must also live in poverty, do penitence and forsake the sins of the world. Will you be able to do this, Connor?”

  Connor did not hesitate. “Everything I now have is due to the mercy of Prince Henry. If he wishes me to live as you say, then I will not hesitate to say yes.”

  Sir Rudyard nodded approvingly. “And how about you, Angus?”

  He smiled at his father. “I am your son. I wish only to follow in your footsteps, father.”

  Sir Rudyard his arms around them both in a warm embrace. “Good. Follow me, lads.”

  He led them across the great hall to a side door. They strolled along a walkway, crossing a small grassy yard, and came to a stop at the base of a building unlike any Connor had ever seen. It was a tall octagonal structure, each corner supported by a single, majestic arch. The eight arches together curved to a high peak, giving the building the appearance of an elongated spider. Between the arches hung thick curtains that slowly moved in the evening breeze. The three men ducked around one of the curtains and entered the shadows of the temple.

  Their eyes slowly adjusted to the low light. Connor gasped in awe at the stunning beauty of the intimate sanctuary. Beneath their feet, inlaid with black and white marble, was a detailed tiling of the eight-pointed Templar Cross. Slicing the Templar Cross through its heart was a thin gold line aflame in a narrow beam of the afternoon sun, penetrating through a narrow gap in the curtains. Above, a huge cross-shaped chandelier hung majestically, its candles illuminating the vaulted ceiling, giving Connor the feeling he was inside a giant eggshell. A five petal rose has been painted onto the inside surface of the ceiling.

  He then noticed the beauty of the curtains themselves. They were not just simple coverings, but elaborate tapestries of people and places detailed in vivid, almost lifelike colour. Sir Rudyard followed his eyes to the side of the sanctuary. “Each tapestry tells a biblical story that remains close to the heart of every Templar knight.”

  “They’re incredible,” whispered Connor.

  He took in each scene. The first one he recognized as Mary Magdalene mee
ting Jesus in the garden after the Resurrection. Next to it was a powerful image of David defeating Goliath with the sling. Connor, however, couldn’t take his eyes off the tapestry to his immediate right.

  “Do you like that one?” asked Sir Rudyard.

  “It’s breathtaking,” said Connor, awestruck. “But I don’t recognize the scene. What is it?”

  Sir Rudyard stepped forward and pointed to the tapestry. “This tapestry describes the construction of the Temple of Solomon. It was a structure designed for God Himself, one in which He could reside, if He so chose. Look at the some of the decorations chosen for God by King Solomon. Palm trees made of solid gold, huge brass lions guarding the doorways and intricately carved statues . . . these were displayed throughout the Temple. Even an indoor sea of molten metal decorated the perimeter of the room!”

  “Incredible,” muttered Connor.

  “Those two pillars near the bottom of the tapestry,” pointed out Angus. “Those are just like the ones outside the castle.”

  “Well done, Angus,” agreed Sir Rudyard. “The original Jachin and Boaz. Behind those pillars was a very special room.”

  “The Holy of Holies,” answered Angus.

  “That’s correct. The Holy of Holies was the room in which God Himself would reside. Hiram Abiff, the architect of the Temple, designed and built Solomon’s Temple using the perfect symmetries of mathematics. It was the mathematical perfection of the building that allowed the Temple to be worthy enough for God Himself to call it home. That is why we strive for all of our temples, including the one we’re standing in right now, to be mathematically perfect.”

  Connor peered closely at the tapestry. “What is that golden box, the one sitting on the pedestal within the Holy of Holies, Sir Rudyard?”

  “Do you see the two golden angels on top of the lid, wings extended towards each other, their tips almost touching? That is the Ark of the Covenant. It is made of solid gold.”

  “Solid gold?” repeated Connor, trying to imagine such a huge quantity of the precious metal.

  “Yes, but the real treasure was actually the item kept within the box itself.”

  “What was it?” asked the boys, in unison.

  “The Ten Commandments. The very tablets on which God had written his laws on Mount Sinai for Moses to take to the Israelites. It is said that an army who goes forth into battle with the Ark of the Covenant fights with the power of God. Needless to say, an army led by the Ark becomes invincible. The Bible records battles where a powerful light flashed out from the Ark, destroying entire enemy armies in a single instant. After word of The Ark’s power reached nearby kingdoms, attacking armies would flee at the sight of it.”

  The boys stared silently at the image of the golden box. The possibility of such a thing existing on Earth was simply too overwhelming for Connor to even contemplate.

  The chapel grew noticeably darker as the sun dipped below the jagged hills of Orkney Island. Noticing the loss of light, Sir Rudyard led the boys outside and back into the castle.

  “You have had a long journey. Your battle training will begin tomorrow, so I suggest you find a mat in the Great Hall and get a good night’s sleep.”

  The three said good night and the boys walked across the Great Hall, pulled out two unused woven straw pallets from a pile in the corner and joined a dozen other men already asleep on the floor. Angus’s eyes were shut before his head hit the ground, and in no time, he was snoring contentedly.

  Connor collapsed onto his pallet and allowed his body to sag under the exhaustion of the past three days. His mind, however, swam with the wonders of all he had just experienced since arriving at Kirkwall Castle. He simply couldn’t fathom what might be in store for him on the morrow.

  Six

  Connor and Angus quietly arose before dawn while dozens of knights remained sprawled on the floor of the Great Hall, snoring off the previous evening’s consumption of strong ale. They quietly piled their mats in the corner of the room then made their way out into the fresh air of the outer bailey. Striding through the morning light, they wandered excitedly around the compound until they could peer over the wall of the sea fortress. They were surprised to see so much activity on the shore below. Leaving the comfort of the small village on the opposite side of the bay, a handful of fishermen made their way down to the dozen skiffs lined up on the shore and pushed them out into the cold sea, their nets ready to haul in the day’s catch. Only one of the large still lay beached on the water’s edge, and workmen continued to swarm all over its length. The boys were amazed as the sailors carefully inserted a huge, newly-hewn mast into the heart of the ship using a complex set of pulleys, scaffolding and ropes.

  The boys turned away from the wall and made their way to a small stone hut at the southernmost tip of the fortress. It was positioned so that it overlooked the entire harbour, giving the building a clear view to any ship that left or entered the waters of Kirkwall. Connor and Angus could hear a bellows sucking away at the morning air. Sparks danced out of the chimney to the rhythm of the bellows, a cloud of fireflies lighting up the morning twilight. The boys smiled at each other, and they jogged toward the stone building.

  They pulled up short of the building and stared at two strange, but very large metal objects pointing out beyond the castle wall. The cylindrical objects seemed to be keeping watch over the waters of the harbour. Connor ran his hand along its cold smooth surface, the shape reminding him of a gigantic carrot with its pointy end chopped off. Eight thick metal rings were spaced evenly along the length of the cylinder.

  “Hey, look at this!” said Angus, standing at the narrow end, his heels teetering on the edge of the precipice.

  Connor leaned over with his friend. “What?”

  “See? Look inside. ’Tis hollow. What do you suppose it does?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Connor, getting down on one knee to look into the dark hole of the second strange object, “but I reckon someone in the hut might have a clue.”

  They left the edge of the cliff and wandered over to the open door. Inside, Sir Rudyard’s friend Tomasso was shouting instructions in Italian over the roar of a huge bellows that hung from the ceiling like a monstrous, overweight bat. The second man, a blacksmith, his face streaked with layers of soot and sweat, cracked his mallet hard onto the end of a glowing strip of metal, spraying orange sparks into the air.

  Using metal tongs, he carefully moved the glowing metal strip to a piece of wood of the same cylindrical shape as the metal objects the boys had seen near the wall. The blacksmith placed the strip along the length of the wood then began to bash the metal until its flat shape was transformed into the curve of the blackened wooden mold.

  Tomasso nodded his approval and helped the blacksmith add previously curved lengths of metal to the wooden cylinder until the entire piece of wood disappeared beneath iron casing. Eight glowing metallic rings held the metal plates in place. Using every bit of strength his massive arms, the blacksmith lifted his metal-and-wood creation off of the workbench and threw the entire thing into the furnace. Tomasso slapped him on the back and grinned. They turned to get a drink of water but stopped in surprise as they saw the two young men watching them from the doorway.

  “Ah, Sir Rudyard’s son and his friend,” he said, switching to accented Gaelic. “I am glad you dropped by. Come in! Join us in a drink of water.”

  The boys stepped through the doorway and followed the two men to a water barrel. Tomasso dipped the wooden ladle into the cool water and passed it around for all to enjoy. He said something in Italian to the blacksmith, the boys picking up their names, as well as Angus’s father and Prince Henry. Looking back at them, Tomasso switched again to Gaelic.

  “Connor and Angus, you remember Master Iacoe from last night. He is one of the finest blacksmiths in all of Venice. He has travelled this huge distance to Kirkwall to help Prince Henry with his quest.”

  They shook hands. The boys ignored their blackened palms.

  “What are
you making in the furnace?” asked Angus.

  “Ah, that glowing creation will soon become Kirkwall’s newest cannon.”

  “Are those two metal things on the castle wall cannons as well?” asked Connor.

  Tomasso nodded. “Yes, those are finished cannons. They are the first ones we have made for Kirkwall that are of a high enough quality to be used in battle.”

  Angus looked outside the door, confused. “What exactly do they do?”

  Tomasso lowered his voice and leaned in, waving the boys in closer. “Those cannons are the greatest weapon man has ever created!”

  “You throw them at people?” asked Angus incredulously.

  Tomasso laughed. “No, my friends. You don’t throw a cannon. First, let me explain how a cannon is made. Did you see Tomasso place the newly-made cannon into the furnace?”

  The boys nodded.

  “Well, the key now is to burn away the log that is giving the cannon its shape. The cannon needs to be hollow.”

  The boys looked inside the furnace. Already the cylindrical log was engulfed in flames within the confines of the glowing metal casing. Tomasso waved them over to the corner of the shop. Sitting on the table was another cannon, cold and black. Both ends were open. He picked up a heavy metal ball and passed it to the boys.

  “How would you like to be hit with one of these iron balls? It would hurt, no? Would you believe that this cannon could fire a ball with enough force to shatter a hole through the hull of a ship?”

  The boys looked at each other in disbelief.

  “How could such a small contraption throw a ball this heavy at such a speed?” asked Connor. “Prince Henry’s largest catapult couldn’t complete such a feat!”

  “True,” agreed Tomasso, “you would need about half an army to prime then release a catapult stone in order to reach the same velocity. But with a cannon such as this, you two could launch a ball at such a high speed, all by yourselves.”

  Connor frowned. Such a claim could only be made by a lunatic or by a spell-wielding sorcerer.