The Crusader ("The Crusader" Prequel to "Kingdom Come") (10 page)

The
complete journal was no more than forty pages, but the beautiful sketches had
slowed her progress down considerably.  Staring at their faded quality was an
invitation to daydream of a time gone by, and Rory was entrapped in their spell.
In fact, she had been scrutinizing a particularly lovely drawing of a crumbling
citadel when an odd notation, hastily written, caught her eye.

Acre, it
said. Somewhere by the bottom of the page she caught the name of the all-mighty
Saladin and another strange name she couldn't quite make out. El-Hadid or
Jadid, she thought. Curious, she rubbed her eyes, trying not to grind mascara
into her corneas, and tried again.

A
Christian offering of Peace. That much she could decipher. But she couldn't
figure out if Sir Kieran meant the Christian armies offering a truce or
Saladin's army offering a gesture of harmony. The writing was smeared, as if he
had written in haste and failed to properly sand the ink before it could dry.
El-Hadid's name came up once more, directly linked to Saladin, and Rory's
interest was piqued.

Turning
the page, she was distressed to note it was completely blotched, almost
illegible. Squinting at the smeared writing, she picked up her pen and began to
transcribe the page letter by letter, hoping to make some sense of it. In the
distance, she could hear a cock crowing, announcing the onset of a bright new
day. But she ignored the rooster and everything else around her; all that
mattered at the moment was the message Sir Kieran had had such difficulty
writing.

Again, a
mention of an offering a peace. A Christian offering. El-Hadid had offered,
Kieran had accepted. But like the pieces to a puzzle that didn't quite fit, Rory
put the pen down and started to read aloud, hoping she would be able to better
sound out the words. A syllable here, a word there, but nothing that made a
great deal of sense. Sir Kieran was trying to tell a story, a story that had
been mussed and faded by the passage of time, and Rory felt her frustration
mount.

Then came
the name Simon again. This time, the words surrounding the name were biting and
angered. She thought she came across the word 'betrayed', but she could not be
sure. The further she read down the page, the more she began to realize a
change in Sir Kieran's attitude. No longer was he the tolerant knight she had
come to know; his fury was evident, a disbelief in what had become of his
glorious mission to rid the Holy Land of the Muslim insurgents.

Even
with the volatile emotions Rory was sensing, still, Sir Kieran never rambled
and he was very exact in what he wished to say. If only she could make sense of
it. Nearing the end of the journal, she came to suspect that he had somehow
been double-crossed by Simon, but the exact circumstances had yet to make themselves
clear. El Hadid was mentioned again, but almost in passing. More muddled ink, a
few water stains and brown splotches she thought might be blood.

Confused
with the tale to the point of frustration, Rory hunched over her collapsible
desk as her tent began to warm with the first rays of a new sun. As she sounded
out several more words, writing a few of them down for future reference, she
came across a clear reference to Jesus Christ. Not God, as he had referred to
his Lord throughout the chronicle, but Jesus Christ himself, and words pleading
forgiveness from God's only son.

Rory
took off her reading glasses, the hazel eyes circled with fatigued and her brow
permanently furrowed as she struggled to read the final passages of the
journal. The last page was completely illegible, so she focused on the bit of
comprehensive text preceding it. Finishing the lines, she read them again and
again. Then she simply stared. Suddenly, as if a fire had been lit, her eyes
bulged to the point of exploding and she stood up so quickly that her chair
toppled.

Staring
at the volume still clutched in her hands, Rory tried to read the passage again
but realized she was shaking so badly that such a feat was impossible. Taking a
step back, away from the table, she stumbled on her overturned chair and
scrambled from the tent.

The
journal remained clutched against her chest as she struggled across the sand,
shoeless, striving for the grave on the crest of the hill. Blinded to all else
around her, she knew she had to make it to the grave. She had to see him.
Knowing he could not respond to her, but still, it was imperative that she
reach the man if only to see the truth for herself. Good Lord... was it really
possible?

Bud was
just emerging from his tent when he saw Rory racing up the rise. It took him
less than a second to realize she was barefoot, half-dressed, and staggering
unsteadily. Tossing aside the towel he had been using to dry his face, he took
out after her.

The
entire camp was awakening to the sounds of shouting, the workers in an uproar
as Dr. Osgrove and Dr. Dietrich headed for the dig at break-neck speed. David
bolted from his tent, struggling to put his glasses on as he caught sight of
Bud half-way up the hill, his shirt hanging out of his pants and his boots
untied. With a muttered curse, he followed.

Rory was
oblivious to the cries of the workers or to the sand burning her tender feet.
All that mattered was that she had to reach the grave, to demand answers from a
man who was incapable of replying. But a sleepless night spent immersed in the
crusader's chronicles had muddled her thought processes and after reading the
last startling passage, she was hardly able to think rationally.

She was
only aware of her need to discover answers. But the moment Rory laid eyes on the
knight's eternally slumbering face, all thoughts of disbelief and astonishment
faded. Embracing the journal to her breast, she sank to her knees as Bud raced
up beside her.

"Rory!"
he gasped, putting strong hands on her shoulders to steady her. "What's the
matter? What hap..?"

She
thrust the book at him and he had to take a step back to avoid being hit. His
ice-blue eyes were wide with confusion, concern, and he could see even as she
held the journal up that her hands were shaking terribly.

He took
the book, eyeing David as the man came to a panting halt beside him. "Rory,
what's wrong?" Bud demanded softly, urgently. "Why were you running
up here?"

Rory
continued to kneel by the edge of the grave, her long hair askew, tendrils
blowing softly in the early morning breeze. It was a moment before she was
capable of answering.

"He
knows where it is, Bud."

Bud was
understandably baffled. "Who? Who knows where what is?"

She
didn't say anything for a moment. "Second to the last page. The final
passage. Read it."

Brow
furrowed, Bud did as he was asked with David hanging over his shoulder. After
several tries, he shook his head. "I can't read this stuff, honey. It's
too muddled."

David
took the book from him, hoping he could make a better attempt.  

"I
see the word Jesus," he said, comparing it with a more-clearly written
representation of the word on the previous page. "Here, let me give this a
try; 'Forgive me Lord Jesus that my... mis... mis...."

"Mission."
Rory's voice was barely audible.

After a
moment, her knees creaked softly as she climbed into the grave. Straddling the
body, she suddenly balled her fists and brought them weakly against the chest
of the knight as if to beat the truth out of him.

Her
voice, when she finally spoke, was nearly a groan. "The passage reads like
this: 'Forgive me Lord Jesus that my mission in Thou's Name hath been thwarted.
The diadem of Thou's sacrifice entrusted into my hands is forever sealed,
hidden so that no man can pilfer Its beauty or omnipotence. Until such time
that I can safely transport It to the land of my birth, the whereabouts shall
remain my knowledge alone.'"

David
was still looking at the smeared words she had so eloquently repeated. Bud
stared at her, however, a disturbing twinge of recognition flickering in his eyes.
A growing ember that seemed to bloom as Rory remained bent over the knight, her
fists against his chest and her eyes closed.

"Rory,"
his voice was hoarse. "You don't think…."

"Yes,
I do." She lifted her head, the hazel eyes rolling open to focus on him.
She was terribly pale, ashen with defeat and exhaustion. After a moment, she
simply shook her head. "Don't you see? He's speaking of the crown of
thorns. How much more obvious can it be?"

David
looked up sharply from the yellowed parchment. "What in the hell are you
talking about? He's speaking of Jesus' diadem of sacrifice, not a wreath of
thorny vine. His words could be purely symbolic. You can't possibly think...."

Rory
removed herself from the knight, throwing herself at the edge of the grave.
Reaching out, she grasped David by the ankle and nearly pulled him to the
ground. Hazel eyes blazed into surprised, bespectacled brown.

"Not
this time, Dr. Peck," she snarled. "I've spent fourteen months
listening to you refute every theory I've ever entertained, but I refuse to
allow you to reject the truth of Sir Kieran's words. He's speaking of the crown
of thorns, for God's sake. Ottis was right all along when he pinpointed
Nahariya as the crown's location because somehow, he came into the knowledge
that a crusading knight buried along the Pilgrim Trail was in possession of
Christ's diadem. Don't you get it? By word of mouth or by smoke signals,
somehow, Ottis heard the rumor and wrote it down!"

Dave was
struggling to keep his balance. "Hell, Rory,
how
would he hear such
a thing? What you are suggesting is so far-fetched, it's absurd even for you."

"The
world was a smaller place back then. News and rumor traveled by word of mouth
and it would not have been unusual for the story to be passed along, divulged
to a scholarly priest by a passing traveler."

Peck
tried to pull his leg free without much success. "You're talking about a
two hundred year lag between Sir Kieran's acquisition of the crown and Ottis
deciding to put the information to parchment. Two hundred years for this rumor
to be floating around!"

"Time
and conditions didn't move as quickly as they do today. Stories were kept
sacred, told and retold. If one didn't know how to write, which most people
didn't, oral recitation was the only way to pass along vital information."

David
shook his leg again, nearly tripping. The frustration in his voice was evident.
"All right, so the old priest heard the rumor and wrote it down. But that
still doesn't explain or justify Sir Kieran's mysterious words. He doesn't mention
the crown by name, Rory. His journal is open to interpretation, just like the
rest of your holy manuscripts."

She was
possessed with certainty. "He says the diadem of Thou's sacrifice, David.
What else could he mean but the crown worn by Christ when he sacrificed his
life for the sins of Mankind?"

Bud
knelt beside the grave, prying Rory's fingers off David's leg. Holding her
hands tightly, his expression was gentle and concerned at the same time. As
crazy as this quest had been from the onset, it seemed to be growing in power
and mystery. Bud was coming to wonder if there weren't greater forces at work
around them, arranging the happening of events with appalling coincidence. He
just didn't know what to believe any more.

But it
was apparent that Rory had interpreted the knight's journal to suit her own
failing ambition. Smiling gently, he brushed a stray piece of hair from her
eyes.

"How
can you be so sure your knight had the crown?" he asked. "There has
got to be more to it than one solitary passage. Did he allude to it at any
other time?"

She
shook her head unsteadily. "No... I read the whole journal, Bud. Sir
Kieran was a powerful knight with a good deal of intelligence and principle.
Toward the end of his chronicle, the pages became very difficult to read, but I
came to understand that he had either been entrusted with an important task, or
possibly that he was a part of a group involved in a significant mission. At
any rate, it had something to do with Saladin himself and one of Saladin's
generals. After that, I could make out very little because the ink was so badly
smeared."

Bud was
caressing her hands in a comforting gesture. "Why do you think he's
speaking about the crown of thorns?"

She
shrugged faintly, struggling to reclaim her composure. "Because he kept alluding
to his sworn duty of God's choosing. How he was the only man worthy of such a
task. At the conclusion of the journal, his attitude changed dramatically as I
came to understand that his brother Simon betrayed him regarding this particular
duty. I don't know the details of the treachery. But clearly, a holy relic is
enough to kill a man over, even one's own brother." 

"Even
if that's true, it still doesn't explain why Saladin and his general would be
involved with a Christian relic," Bud pressed gently.

The
madness was fading from her eyes as fatigue took its toll. "Oh, hell, I
don't know," she murmured, removing her hands from Bud's warm palms and
putting them to her head. "Nothing about this guy has made any sense from
the beginning. In his journal, he kept talking about a Christian offering from
Saladin's general, never clear as to what the offering was, but it suddenly
seemed to make sense when I read the last passage of the journal. Saladin's
general gave Sir Kieran a Christian offering of peace. A holy relic."