Betrayed (23 page)

“Connor!”

Connor was shivering in the cold Atlantic surf when he heard his name being called over the booming of the breakers. He looked back towards the beach. Whipper was
standing at the water's edge, hand up to his eyes to minimize the morning glare.

“Aye, Whipper? What have you?”

“I fired the cannon four times into the ground, one every ten seconds, just as the prince ordered. And the hour glass is now running. One cannon blew three of its rings on the final charge.”

Connor nodded. “No matter. Throw the broken cannon into the bay, since we have no need for it. And have the men at the ready when we return. Na'gu'set and I have almost finished taking the measurements.”

Whipper De Sousa stared into the flooded bay that had sealed off the secret Templar chamber from the outside world. A Portuguese engineer by trade, he knew he was Prince Henry's best hope of pulling off this impossible rescue. He ran his fingers through his greying goatee and contemplated the formidable situation. Realizing that worrying about the odds of success was not going to solve the dilemma, he marched back to the work station that had been hastily constructed on a flat area just above the rocky beach.

Connor held the loose ball of string in one hand while the other hand followed the line under the surface. He felt a sharp tug. He reached under the water and pinched the string at the exact spot where the string touched the top of the hidden entrance to the Temple. He carefully lifted the string out of the water and tied a knot in it to mark the measurement. Lifting his head, he was relieved to see an eruption of water next to him, followed by a head gasping for air.

“Well done, Na'gu'set,” Connor called out. “Some day you will have to teach me how to swim like that.”

“Is that the last measurement?” Na'gu'set asked. His teeth
were chattering from the bitter cold of the ocean.

“It is. Go and warm yourself by the fire. I'll fetch you a bowl of soup.”

Connor stepped back onto shore and passed his friend a wool blanket that had been left warming in the sun. Na'gu'set gladly took the blanket as he hunched near the fire. He nodded thanks when Connor passed him the warm bowl of fish stew. Connor then made his way over to the rest of the men at the work station and passed Whipper the final piece of string. Whipper jotted a few more notes and measurements around a sketch of what looked like an elongated wooden wall. After muttering to himself in Portuguese and adding a few more figures, he looked up into the concerned faces of the crowd.

“Can it be done?” asked Connor.

“It has to work,” fretted Sir Rudyard. “My son is down there.”

Whipper glanced sympathetically at the stricken knight. “Given the small group we have, it will be difficult, but not impossible. I only wish I could have the original plans for the entranceway, but Na'gu'set's measurements are going to have to do. Even if we do finish this contraption and get it in place, I have no idea whether Prince Henry at the other end will find success with his handmade devices!”

“It's the only chance our friends have of escaping the temple,” argued Connor. “We have no choice. We have to try.”

“Aye, you're right on that, my young friend. You know, I'd give anything a go if it would give them even the slightest chance of escape.” Whipper turned to the builders. “Well, come on, lads! Let's get back to hewing the lumber. We need to finish the construction by sunrise!”

The twenty-six men worked without a single break as the evening turned to night. The clear, cool night passed with frustrating speed, and soon the men were faced with the indigo of morning twilight. The final product resembled a giant door, but larger and thicker than even the gateway into the Kirkwall Sea Fortress. Several men were busy applying a thick layer of tar to the door's perimeter. Two blacksmiths hammered and screwed eyehooks into both the bottom and top of the door while others worked feverishly on a large wooden raft now taking shape on the shore of the small bay.

Meanwhile, underground, Prince Henry looked at the hourglass on the table next to the giant door. They were almost out of time.

“Brothers!” Connor shouted. “We must move the gate into position! We cannot delay any further!”

Everyone dropped their tools and took up their positions around the massive gate. They placed long cylindrical logs side by side in a path from the gate to the water's edge. Even with all the men, the gate would be too heavy to lift on its own, so the Templar engineers had opted for the most ancient version of the wheel to help move their load. On Connor's count, the men heaved on ropes that were attached to the ocean end of the gate. With each heave, the gate slowly rolled along logs, its progress made more difficult by the pebbly sand on which the rollers sat. Some of the men waded into the Atlantic and heaved on the ropes while others pushed on the far end. A few climbed onto the raft itself, guiding the leading edge of the gate to the middle of the giant float. In the centre of the large raft sat a line of five boulders, each one encompassed in rope
netting. It took the strength of every man to lift the gate up onto its edge and then rotate it so that the gooey tar side of the gate faced downwards. The raft sank low into the water as it took on the combined weight of the boulders, gate and men. Connor held his breath. If the raft could not take the full weight of the project, their plan was finished.

“Quickly!” shouted Connor, as the raft started to submerge. “Three of you, jump off!”

Several men lunged into the icy water, leaving only three behind with the gate. The raft slowed its rate of submersion until it rested just inches above the water line. Everyone on the beach muttered a sigh of relief.

“Only a few minutes left!” shouted Connor, glancing at the hourglass on the beach. “Hurry!”

The crew pushed the raft and gate further out into the bay, then moved it sideways until it hovered over the submerged entrance. They then lowered the top of the gate into the surf until it rested on the upper support beam of the entranceway. The eyehooks on the gate lined up perfectly with the thick iron hooks installed the evening before on the top of the entrance. Pushing iron pins through the sets of rings, they secured the top of the gate to the entranceway.

On the raft, the men tied rope from a second set of eyehooks on the bottom of the gate to the netted boulders. They placed a lever under each boulder then waited for the command. Connor took a deep breath. All eyes were on him. He had vaulted from a first level Templar knight to leadership status. He did his best not to let the tension eat him alive. His thoughts were one hundred feet below the ground with his trapped friends, knowing their predicament and the horrible fate that awaited them should this plan
fail. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer of hope. The men, seeing Connor take in a moment of silence, also lowered their heads, asking God for His hand in a miracle today.

Connor then turned his attention to the hourglass as the final grain of sand fell into the lower chamber.

“Now!”

The men heaved on the ends of the long wooden levers, and the middle three boulders tumbled halfway to the edge of the raft. The men slid over to the remaining two rocks to move them as well, but they needn't have bothered with the effort. The three boulders and gate contained more than enough mass to slowly tip the nearly-submerged raft onto its side. All five boulders, gate and three men slid into the ocean with a terrific splash as the raft rocketed up onto its side. The gate quickly sank from view.

No joyous cry went out from the men for a job well done. It would still be an excruciating amount of time before they would find out if their work would indeed be part of a larger miracle. The crowd simply gathered on the beach and stared at where the gate had descended to the bottom of the bay. And they waited.

The three exhausted men sat on the floor of the Temple, watching the final grains of sand fall in the hourglass.

“Are we really going to attempt this crazy idea?” asked Angus.

“It's either that or starve to death,” answered Antonio, rubbing his stomach. “And I'm really getting tired of gnawing on dried cobs of maize.”

“My biggest worry,” said Prince Henry, “is whether we still have the strength to open this door.”

Angus glanced at the stone doorway. “But what if they weren't able to finish the entrance gate in time? If we open the door now, we'll be drowned as the water rushes into the temple.”

Antonio grinned. “So then it's a choice between a slow certain death by starvation or painfully swift death by drowning with perhaps a slight chance of survival. I myself will take the second option. That way we'll get it over with quickly, regardless of what happens.”

“But when the water comes into the chamber,” asked Angus, “how are we going to see? The water will drown out all of the lamps.”

“Not this one,” Antonio said, holding up a replica of Mary Magdalene's boat to France. At the top of the mast
was a tiny wick. “The oil is kept in the hull, and I have tied the ship to the table with this string. If the water rises, then it should simply float on the surface and provide us light.”

Prince Henry looked once more to the hourglass. The upper reservoir was empty. He struggled to his feet, made his way over to the stone door then waved for the other two to join him.

“It's time to see if Connor and Na'gu'set were able to follow through with their end of the plan. Remember, we need to control the speed at which the water enters the room. Too fast, and the floor drains won't be able to handle the amount of water pouring in, meaning that there is a real chance we could drown right here in the library. Too slow, and we'll also drown because we didn't keep to the assigned schedule.”

“Och, aye,” said Angus, grabbing hold of the lever embedded in the base of the door. “I'm ready. Let's give it a go.”

Prince Henry and Antonio joined Angus's hands on the lever, and they heaved as one. The door didn't budge.

“That was not a good sign,” said Antonio.

“It's the water pressure,” explained Prince Henry. “All of the water in the tunnel is pressing down on the door. It will be difficult to roll the door back into the wall, but it's our only option. Shall we try again, lads?”

Angus loosened up his broad shoulders, frowned and grabbed the door with the others. Bracing their feet and gritting their teeth, they heaved for their lives. In a deadly tug of war, the men strained against the water pressure until their faces glowed red from effort. Suddenly, a loud crack reverberated through the wall, and a thin sheet of sea water sprayed their faces. The three men, bent over and gasping
from the effort, examined the result.

“We cracked it open,” said Prince Henry. “That's good. But at this rate, it will never empty the entranceway in time. We need to open it further.”

“Shall we?” suggested Antonio, stepping into the spray and grabbing onto the lever one more time.

The other two joined him, and with a second heave, the thin sheet of water exploded into a raging torrent.

“How's that?” asked Angus, shouting over the torrent of water.

“Perhaps too good!” yelled Prince Henry. “Look at the drain.”

The roar of the water was deafening. In the centre of the room, the square drain that led down to the underground cavern swirled the water into a frothing vortex. Angus watched nervously as the neck of the swirling whirlpool narrowed and pinched itself off. The water level in the Temple was rising swiftly.

“Can't we just close the door a little bit?” questioned Angus.

“The pressure of the water is too high,” shouted Prince Henry. “There is no chance of closing it further.”

Antonio sloshed back to the table. “Grab your bags and keep them above the water. Start filling them with air. We might need them sooner than we thought.”

As the water level reached their knees then their waists, the men hurried to fill their tar-coated bags with air by blowing hard into the small open end. After a minute, Angus was seeing stars and feeling as if he were about to lose his balance, but with the water lapping at his chest, he doubled his effort. Soon the water was at his shoulders.
Prince Henry nudged him.

“Good enough! Now insert the reed and pull the drawstring so the tar makes it airtight. That's it. Plug the end of the reed with your thumb. Don't forget to hold on to the bag for buoyancy!”

Angus fought the growing sense of panic as his feet gently left the floor. He wrapped his arms around the bag, which now looked like a floating bagpipe. Being a non-swimmer, like almost every other Scot he knew, he avoided being in deep water at all costs. He said a silent prayer thanking God for giving Antonio the inspiration to make the air bladders.

“The water's still pouring in, and we're running out of headroom,” shouted Antonio, looking up at the narrowing distance to the ceiling.

“Even if they were able to cover the entrance,” yelled Angus, “what if the gate doesn't seal off the ocean properly? The water will never stop coming in!”