"No, I am convinced the Templar Knights would have hidden the item here, beneath the protection of God, in the most reverent area of Edinburgh."
"Then perhaps there is some sign we are missing."
Will agreed. "Let us reconsider. We are dealing with a cipher after all. A martyr may not be a martyr." While Nathaniel looked up to the heavens for inspiration, Will sank into one of the wooden pews and rested his chin in his hand. Thinking aloud, he said, "David dedicated this foundation to the Holy Rood. His mother, St. Margaret, brought that precious relic, a fragment of the True Cross, back to Scotland from the land of the Magyars." He mused, "Margaret ... martyr," then shook his head with frustration.
Craning his neck, Nathaniel continued to examine the shadowy ceiling of the abbey with curiosity.
"Nat! Concentrate on the matter at hand," Will insisted.
"There. Do you see that?" Nathaniel pointed at the main arching beam of the abbey roof.
"This is no time to search for bats."
"There! On the beam!" Nathaniel urged.
With irritation, Will followed his assistant's pointing finger. After a moment of squinting, he identified a badge above the centre of the aisle: a red cross on a square, half white, half black. "One of the Templar flags," he said thoughtfully.
"If you had spent more time on your studies of the Christian faith, and less in the stews of Bankside, you would know that the red cross is the mark of a martyr."
"Nathaniel, you are a constant source of inspiration to me. Disregard all I said about you."
Will dropped to his knees to examine the stone flags of the aisle. Hammering his fist on the one directly beneath the badge resulted in a hollow echo.
"Where the martyr stands in black and white," he said with a pleased smile. "I think we have it." With his nail and then with his knife, he scraped the dirt of centuries out from around the edge of the flag. "If we had a tool, we could prise it up," he said.
"I will search." Nathaniel hurried off into the gloom of the abbey. Will heard him searching cupboards and opening doors, and after a while he returned and shook his head.
"What now?" Nathaniel asked.
Will looked towards the door to the palace. "We cannot afford to leave this to another day. The Enemy could arrive at any moment." He paused, and said to himself, "Though Kintour said they could not walk near the entrance to where the Shield was kept."
"Why could they not walk here?" Nathaniel asked suspiciously.
Will ignored him. "No, there is no choice. We must break through this flag. Fetch me that iron candleholder."
"I fear your constant desire for attention is getting the better of you," Nathaniel said. The candleholder was several inches higher than Nathaniel, and he had to brace himself to lift it with a grunt. He staggered over to Will and lowered it slowly to the flags with another grunt.
"You are growing soft, Nat. I must work you harder." Will braced himself and lifted the candleholder as high as he could. When he brought it down hard, the resounding crash boomed off the walls of the abbey. Nathaniel jumped and looked to the door. At Will's nod, he ran to it and peered out. Listening for a moment, he said, "Nothing yet. I can hear the music from the festivities. Perhaps it drowned out your attempts to bring disaster round our ears."
Once he had closed the door, Will brought the candleholder down again. A few flakes cracked off the centre of the flag, but it remained solid. With mounting anxiety, Nathaniel checked out of the door again.
The third time Will thundered the candleholder against the flags there was a loud crack, but no sign on the surface of the stone. The fourth time the flag shattered into pieces that plunged into a dark hole beneath. Cold, damp air and the smell of great age rushed out of the space.
Nathaniel checked out of the door one final time and then rushed back to Will with relief. But peering into the void by Will's shoulder, he grew hesitant. "There is something about that sight that fills me with dread," he said.
"Then let your heart beat slower, Nat, for I would have you wait here," Will told him.
Nathaniel bristled. "Are you saying I cannot match the courage and fortitude of the great Will Swyfte?"
"No, Nat, I am saying I need someone here to keep watch at my back," Will lied.
This placated Nathaniel, and his relief showed in his face, which pleased Will quietly. Crouching on the edge of the hole, Will prepared to lower himself in. "Wish me luck, Nat. Fortune favours fools!"
CHAPTER 24
ehind Will, a shaft of light plunged down into the hole from the abbey and he could hear Nathaniel moving around the edge, trying to follow his progress. With a single candlestick for light, he edged along walls lined with stone blocks, well aged and glistening with damp, the floor perfectly level. Despite the fine workmanship, he was aware that after four centuries collapses could lie ahead, perhaps even drops into the foundations.
The stale air told him that wherever the tunnel led, it was sealed. After a few paces, it sloped down until Will estimated he was at least twenty feet beneath the floor of the abbey.
Finally, he came to a raised step. The change in the timbre of the echoes suggested a large space lay beyond, but the candlelight barely penetrated a foot into the chamber.
A stone column topped by a plinth stood just inside the entrance. Carved into the top was the Templar cross and an image of two Knights on a horse, underneath which was engraved Sigillum Militurn Xpisti-the Seal of the Soldiers of Christ.
Lowering the candle, Will saw a legend had also been engraved:
Under God's ever-watchful eye,
A Shield against Earthly decay shall lie.
But the fires of heaven and hell consume
The unworthy seeker who enters this tomb.
Studying the message of damnation, Will was puzzled by the reference to the "fires of heaven," but could see some greater meaning was coded into the legend. "There is a mystery here," he mused aloud.
Amid the disorienting echoes, Will edged past the plinth into the suffocating darkness of the chamber. It was impossible to tell how large the space was, or where the Shield was located. As he progressed, the candle revealed that plain flagstones were about to give way to ones engraved with the Templar cross, stretching as far as the candlelight penetrated.
The tone of the legend encouraged Will to advance with caution. Pausing at the line of Templar stones, he took one hesitant step. When the flag cracked and fell away beneath his boot, he threw himself back. From above, a stream of silvery powder fell towards a gleaming black liquid smelling of pitch that lay beneath the broken stone. As the powder landed, the liquid burst into a column of fire.
Kicking back several more steps as the heat scorched past his face, Will caught his breath and realised how close he had come to being incinerated. The flaming column died down a little, but still blazed intensely at its base. Its glare revealed a vast chamber bigger than the floor of the abbey, with the cross-marked flags reaching to the far wall where a niche held an object that he couldn't quite discern.
As Will rapidly processed what had happened, he realised some of the meaning of the legend on the plinth. Fires of hell, burning beneath his feet. He guessed what fires of heaven meant. Returning to the tunnel, he reclaimed a heavy chunk of the broken entrance flag and tossed it out onto the crossmarked stones. Two flags shattered. One ignited another hidden pool of the pitch-like liquid, while the other released a gush of the flaming liquid from above.
Somewhere, he guessed, there was a path across the flags to the niche that would not end in death, one the Templars had left should they, or their heirs, ever need to reclaim the Shield for their own use.