Betrayed (14 page)

The small scarred island slowly appeared at the starboard bow as the ship drifted ever closer, gently pushed by the light summer breeze.

“So this is Oak Island,” remarked Connor, staring at the approaching pile of mud.

“I'd love to know how it got its name,” quipped Angus. “There are barely any trees on it, and not one of them is an oak!”

Connor smiled. “We have stumbled upon another Templar mystery.”

Angus shook his head as he examined the tall wooden scaffold at its centre. “This is what the Templars built for a tribute to Mary Magdalene? A teetering wooden tower?”

“It is not your place to question such decisions!” answered Connor, palms together, imitating the Roslin monks.

Angus laughed at Connor's poor acting skills as they left the rail to help prepare for docking. The boys' curiosity was further piqued as the boat circled to the far side of the island. Large dikes had been built around two of the island's small bays, and the enclosed area behind each dike had been drained of all sea water. A windmill stood beside each dike, its blades steadily turning in the ocean breeze. Water gushed back into the ocean from the base of the windmill,
its tireless pump keeping the seawater at bay.

As they came ever closer to the island, the boys could see that the large wooden tower was in the process of being disassembled. Men were hanging from various parts of the structure, loosening the wooden supports then lowering them down with pulleys to the men waiting on the ground below. Whatever had been happening on the island, it was clear that the operation was quickly coming to an end.

Connor scampered up the mast and helped reef in the sails as they drifted closer to the protected pier. After tying up, the boys helped unload the supplies. Their duties were interrupted when the familiar voice of Sir Rudyard Gunn called to them from the shore.

“Boys! Leave the rest of the unloading to the crew and follow me.”

Connor and Angus ran down the pier and walked with Sir Rudyard down a dirt path towards a temporary village of canvas tents.

“Father, where did all of the trees go?”

“We used the island's trees for building materials,” explained Sir Rudyard. “Using the island's own timber saved us a great deal of time in avoiding any form of transportation over water.”

“But why is it called Oak Island?” asked Connor. “I don't see a single oak anywhere.”

“Excellent question, Connor,” replied the knight, “but one I cannot answer. Perhaps you will discover the answer yourself.”

Sir Rudyard led them to one of the smaller tents, held open a flap and ushered the boys in. Four simple cots and a table with single chair filled the cramped space.

“I will be sleeping here with you for the next little while. Things have changed since my last visit. By the look of things, it appears the project is well ahead of schedule. I want you to stay here while I go and talk to the master builders.”

Gunn slipped through the opening, leaving the boys alone. Connor headed straight for a cot, and after removing his filthy boots, he threw himself onto the hay-filled mattress. Angus sat down at the table, scratching his head.

“Project? What is father on about? There's nothing to this island but a couple of drained bays, a dock and the skeleton of a tower that is in the process of being dismantled.”

Connor rolled onto his side. “I don't care if Prince Henry has completely lost his mind and decided to mine the entire island for mud. I'd follow him to the gates of Hell if he asked me. But you have forgotten one important thing, Angus.”

“And what might that be?” quipped Angus.

“Remember back in the Kirkwall Castle chapel, the meeting?”

“Of course I remember. Who could ever forget seeing the Ark of The Covenant?”

“What did Prince Henry say of Oak Island?”

“My point exactly,” huffed Angus. “He said there was to be a great Templar library built here, or something. I didn't see anything of the sort when we circled the island—just a big pile of mud and tents.”

Connor pointed downwards. “He also said it was going to be underground.”

Angus looked down in surprise. “You mean it's down there?”

As Angus pondered the impossibility of an underground library, the flap of the tent flew open. Sir Rudyard entered,
grabbed the chair and sat down with the boys.

“I have been called back to the mainland. The prince is gathering all of the highest level knights together for a meeting.”

“What can we do to help, father?”

“I need you lads to walk back to the dock and ask for Master Robinson. He is in charge of the Oak Island sappers and miners. I'm sure he will find a task for two young men with strong arms. The workers here are desperate to go home and see their loved ones. Please help them get home as soon as possible by pitching in with whatever work remains to be done.”

“We will, father.”

“Be prepared for any task, boys, large or small. You are now Templar knights. You will be working from sunrise to sunset, rain or shine. As soon as you finish your first task, you will go directly to Master Robertson and receive the next one. Is that understood?”

“Aye, sir,” they answered in unison.

“Good, then I will leave you to it.”

It was not hard for the boys to find Master Robinson on the dock. With his thunderous voice, he was directing men in the reloading of the ship that had brought Angus and Connor to the island. Skids of timber, pulleys and huge metal tools were being transferred into the vessel. Master Robinson was filthy from head to foot, and his mood was just as dark. He broke from his barking and eyed the approaching boys with blazing contempt.

“Who are you two and what are you doing on my island?”

“Sir, I'm Angus Gunn, son of Sir Rudyard, and this is my friend Connor MacDonald. My father sent us to you to
help with the work.”

Robinson spat into the mud. “Only men of the Order are supposed to be allowed on this island. What are two babes in swaddles doing here?”

“Sir,” replied Angus, “we
are
members of the Order.”

He guffawed in surprise. “Oh, really? The Order must be scraping the bottom of the bucket back in Scotland to send children overseas. Well, fellow knights, my name is Master Robinson.”

They shook hands.

“Aye, well I see you do know the Templar handshake.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Connor and I helped fight off an English attack at Kirkwall,” offered Angus.

“Ah, that was the work of you two, was it? News travels fast among the Order. I heard about your part in the battle. Will we ever be rid of the blight to the south? Just like the pestilence, they keep returning to darken our shores year after year. I suppose our victory at Bannockburn still churns in their gut! They won't rest until they have the Scottish people once again subjugated to their will. That's the reason we need to get back home as soon as possible, laddies, so we can fight 'em off once and for all. It's a blessing that our work here is nearly complete.”

Connor looked around. “How will a boatload of sappers help defend Scotland?”

“Don't be deceived by appearances, lad. These men are more than just skilled builders. Many are also the best fighters in all of Europe. My greatest fear is that Prince Henry may have stretched us too thin. It has left our Scottish homeland vulnerable to further attack.”

“But what about Oak Island?” queried Angus. “Is this not important too?”

“Ah, the project here is a masterpiece, a jewel that will be cherished by Templars for all time and perhaps, someday, also cherished by the rest of the world. But at what cost? Must we sacrifice our homeland to the Sassenach? Must our families back home pay such a heavy price?”

Angus puffed out his chest. “My father said that he would sacrifice everything for Prince Henry's dream.”

Master Robertson nodded. “Aye, even if we were to lose everything we had in Scotland to the English, at least we'll go to our graves in peace knowing that we've kept their lecherous paws off of our most holy of treasures.”

He broke the moment of contemplation by slapping the boys hard on the back.

“Well then, I want you to follow the empty carts back to the lift and help bring to the dock the loads of dismantled timber. It's after midday, and the men are getting weary. Prove to me that you are not the snivelling babes you appear to be!”

The boys followed the rutted trail to the massive wooden structure near the centre of the island. It was as wide as the chapel in Kirkwall but twice as high. Within its base lay a square-shaped pit which disappeared deep into the ground. Looking down, they could see men hammering together a wooden platform across the dirt floor of the pit. They introduced themselves to an exhausted master builder named Philip who gave the boys a cart and told them to load it up then push it through the soft earth to the awaiting ship at the pier.

By sunset, the boys could see that the height of the structure had been reduced by almost a quarter. With darkness came an end to the activities. After a quick meal
of porridge and ale, the boys dragged themselves back to the tent. They threw their filthy clothes on the single stool and thankfully collapsed onto the small cots.

Their sound slumber was abruptly broken by the thunderous voice of Master Robinson. Poking his head inside their tent, he cursed the boys with every lazy name he could think of before he moved on and began insulting the occupants still sleeping within the next tent. Half asleep, they threw their clothes back on and stumbled through the early morning mist to the kitchen tent. As they ate with the other weary labourers, the boys nearly jumped out of their skins when two heavy burlap bags slammed onto their table. Master Robinson let loose a sadistic chuckle.

“It's a good thing you lads came along when you did. I've got the perfect task. These are bags of acorns, shipped all the way here from the largest, healthiest trees in all of Europe. And behind me,” he said, stabbing his thumb towards the dock, “are another two dozen bags, just like those. The prince wants you to plant these acorns evenly across all of the bare spots on the entire island. And before you ask me why, I don't have a clue, so don't bother asking!”

Robinson then tossed them two metal trowels. “Start at the water's edge at the southwest corner of the island and work your way inwards. Understood?”

“Aye, sir.”

Leaving the boys, he turned and stomped off towards several men struggling to bring down one of the larger tents in the settlement, bellowing at them in full fury not to damage the canvas.

“Planting acorns?” asked Connor. “Is he serious?”

“I'd follow Prince Henry anywhere,” mocked Angus.
“Where those not your exact words? The southwest is the other side of the island,” he added, picking up his porridge bowl from the mud. “Come on, we better get going.”

With a trowel in one hand and a bulging sack thrown over their opposite shoulder, the boys slogged their way through the misty twilight air. The familiar feel of mist and mud carried Connor back to his abandoned family farm. He could see his mother and father dancing in the swirling moisture, beckoning for him to drop his sack and to join in the family merriment. His heart grew heavier with each step, and he half-expected their burnt-out homestead to suddenly appear in front of him, his parents' graves fresh in the damp earth beneath his feet. Thankfully, Angus nudged him, breaking the disturbing trance.

“Hey, Connor, what do you make of that?”

Ahead of them was what used to be the southern shoreline of the island. From one side of the small bay to the other, a large coffer dam prevented the ocean from flooding the muddy inlet. The wooden windmill that the boys had seen from the boat creaked and groaned next to the dam in the brightening sky. A pipe extended from the windmill into the wet mud of the bay, sucking at the sea water leaking through the imperfect wall separating ocean from land. A wide avenue of planks extended from the shore, down along the muddy bottom of the bay then back towards the island, disappearing from view behind a steep drop-off.

When Connor and Angus arrived at the edge of the shoreline, they were stunned to see two fully dressed knights suddenly materialize below them in the bay. They strode along the planks toward the bend that would take them up onto the island.

“Where in blazes did they come from?” asked Connor, bewildered.

Angus leaned over the edge of the precipice. “You're not going to believe this! Look!”

Connor leaned forward as well and gawked, stunned, at the sight below him. The planks led into a mysterious entrance nearly hidden at the bottom of the bay.

“What is it?” he stammered. “Some sort of cave?”

“Not with that thick wooden frame around the opening. It has to be manmade. My guess is that it's a tunnel of some sort.”

Connor shook his head in wonder. “A tunnel at the bottom of a bay . . . It must be the entrance into the underground library that Prince Henry mentioned back in Kirkwall.”

The knights noticed the two lads staring over the edge of the shoreline. They marched up the embankment and stopped next to the boys. One was tall and wiry and sported a thin goatee. The shorter of the two, his head ablaze in a shock of red hair and grizzled beard, glared at them with hazel eyes.

“I do not recognize you. Who are you and what is your purpose?”

Angus took charge, straightening himself. “I'm Angus Gunn, son of Sir Rudyard Gunn, and this is my Templar brother Connor MacDonald. We have just arrived on the island.”

“And what is your purpose on the island?” he asked.

“We were sent here by Master Robinson to plant acorns,” offered Connor, pointing to his sack.

“Acorns?”

The two knights looked at each other, then burst out in raucous laughter.

“Then I suggest you tend to your duties,” one said,
catching his breath. “If Master Robertson finds out that you have been slacking, he might also send you to plant pretty rows of heather up on the hill!”