The Lost Treasure of the Templars (39 page)

“Maybe.” Mallory didn't sound completely convinced. “Don't forget that the order made a big thing of poverty and humility, and perhaps Tibauld didn't think himself worthy of having his name at the top of anything, grand master or not.”

“But this is just a piece of well-carved graffiti, something that was never really intended for public consumption, not like an actual flag to be hoisted above a group of Templar knights or flown from the battlements of a castle. We're assuming that this carving was made for one purpose only: to indicate to members of the order arriving at the Sidon Sea Castle at some future date, long after the original garrison had either left or been slaughtered,
that the treasure of the order had been taken to Cyprus and to show its location. Or at least to provide a clue, a starting point, if you like, to allow these later Templars to recover it.”

“Okay,” Mallory replied, “I can't argue with any of that, but I don't really see where you're going with it.”

Robin pointed at the screen again.

“I think it's significant,” she went on, “that the
SOIM
, which we're fairly sure is
HLRN
, the abbreviated form of Hilarion encrypted in Atbash, is placed above the
TBLD
. Tibauld was the treasurer of the order. The treasure was placed in his care and after that he became the grand master, so maybe he was using his own name as a synonym for the treasure itself. After all, he couldn't really spell out exactly what he was hiding, because if he did, then anybody—Templar, infidel, or just somebody looking for booty—would be able to follow the trail and recover it. But only a Templar would know that Tibauld was the treasurer, and that he had taken the wealth of the order to Cyprus.”

“I think I see what you mean. You reckon that the
TBLD
refers to the treasure. And because the letters
SOIM
are placed above the
TBLD
, that means the hiding place is underneath the castle.”

“Exactly,” Robin said. “Tibauld was too intelligent a man to hide the treasure within the castle, or even in an existing cellar or dungeon or anything like that, because he would have known that it would almost certainly be discovered in the future. So I think that he may well have ordered an underground cavity to be excavated somewhere in the lower area, the lower ward, of the castle and buried the treasure in it. That would, if you like, be a literal—in the proper sense of the word—interpretation of the carving. The treasure would be under the castle. So
that would be
TBLD
under
SOIM
, or rather
HLRN
, just like the carved inscription.”

Mallory nodded slowly. What Robin had said certainly made sense, though there was an obvious problem.

“If you are right,” he said, “that does present us with a certain amount of difficulty. You can see the size of the castle, and especially the lower ward. If that was where Tibauld hid the treasure of the order, any markers or indicators he might have left to show where it was will almost certainly have been obliterated during the last seven hundred years. And there's also an obvious practical problem. Even if we could somehow manage to find the location of the hoard, digging it up would probably prove to be impossible. I somehow can't see the Turkish authorities letting us chew up the interior of one of their principal tourist attractions with a JCB digger, and we'd probably need to use something like that to have any hope of finding it.”

“So that's it, then? We just pack up and go home?”

“Maybe. In fact, yes, if you're right. This really is the end of the trail.”

For a few seconds the two of them just sat there, staring blankly at the computer screen. Then Mallory shook his head.

“That really is a bit of a bummer,” he muttered. “I really didn't expect that we would manage to get so far, to follow the trail for as long as we have, and then meet something like this. We can't go to the Turkish authorities and tell them what we've discovered, because we haven't really found anything, just an old bit of parchment and some scratches on a stone in the wall of a long-abandoned castle. None of that is what you might call solid evidence, is it?”

“No,” Robin agreed, glancing at Mallory.

She looked back at the screen, and then her expression changed.

“Hang on a minute,” she said. “There's something about this that doesn't make sense. About the timing, I mean.”

“Timing?”

“Yes. Think it through. Tibauld de Gaudin traveled from Acre to Sidon with the treasure, and when he got there he was elected grand master of the order. But he left almost immediately to carry the treasure to Cyprus, and according to the historic record he never went back to Sidon because he died on the island quite soon after his arrival. So that carving at the Sidon Sea Castle must have been done on his orders after he arrived from Acre but before he left for Cyprus.”

“Obviously,” Mallory interjected.

“Sorry. Just getting my facts in a straight line. So if that timeline is correct, Tibauld must have known before he left Sidon exactly where he was going to store the treasure on Cyprus. That must mean he knew the layout of this castle and local area in enough detail to have selected a suitable spot in advance. If that was the case, then I don't think his solution to the problem was to dig a hole somewhere and bury it. He must have had somewhere more permanent in mind, but somewhere that still fitted the general description of being under the castle of Saint Hilarion. Maybe some building or structure lower down the mountain.”

Mallory thought for a few seconds, then reached out and picked up the topographical map. Down one side of it was the usual legend, explaining the meaning of the various symbols used on the map and other relevant information. When he read one particular sentence, his face brightened immediately, and he pointed at it.

“I think you could be right,” he said. “Just read that.”

Robin looked down at the tiny writing. “I don't understand. ‘The Kyrenia range is sedimentary in origin and principally formed of limestone with some marble deposits,'” she read out. “I thought marble was limestone,” she added.

“It is, I think. Or a kind of limestone, anyway. The point is that there's something interesting about limestone and the way it reacts to acidic water. When rain falls, it will absorb a certain amount of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, and it picks up more from decaying plant material once it hits the ground.”

He paused and glanced back at the topographical chart before turning again to Robin.

She looked puzzled and faintly irritated.

“So?” she demanded. “I really don't want a lesson on meteorology, if you don't mind.”

“It's not meteorology,” Mallory pointed out, “just some basic chemistry that I can barely remember now. The point is that the addition of carbon dioxide to water produces a form of carbonic acid. Limestone is actually calcium carbonate, and that reacts chemically with carbonic acid, causing a slow but consistent erosion of the rock. And that produces cavities that grow larger with the passing millennia.”

“So?” Robin demanded again.

“So one of the principal characteristics of limestone is the ease with which caves are formed in it by this chemical process. I don't think Tibauld de Gaudin had any intention of just digging a hole and burying the treasure of the Knights Templar or sticking it in a building near here. I think he knew that the mountain underneath the castle of Saint Hilarion was riddled with caves, and he picked one of those to be the final resting place of the wealth of
the order. So what we have to do now is find which one he chose.”

*   *   *

On the other side of the café, Salvatore was becoming restless, and debating the advisability of buying another cup of coffee, just in case he had to go to the lavatory and the targets chose that moment to leave. To add to his discomfort, the seats were hard, and he was slowly growing numb.

He was also puzzled because he had no idea what the targets were planning on doing next. Like Toscanelli, he had expected that once they arrived at the castle they would head to wherever they believed the treasure was hidden, but unless they thought it was somewhere in the café—which seemed unlikely at best—it didn't look as if they were doing anything other than a bit of research, studying images on a computer and a map taken from a book the man had purchased in the gift shop.

Not for the first time, the Italian wondered if their masters in Rome had got it all very badly wrong. Perhaps Jessop and her male companion were simply taking a holiday. But the more he thought about that, as he pretended to be engrossed in the newspaper open on the table in front of him, the less likely it seemed, simply because of the places they had visited since they slipped away from Britain. Tourists would be unlikely to visit the Sidon Sea Castle, a fortification constructed by the Knights Templar, and then the castle of Saint Hilarion, known to have been used by the order, unless they were looking for something, and obviously something to do with the Templars.

But at that moment something changed. Jessop, who had until then appeared somewhat morose, suddenly smiled, wrapped her arm around her male companion's
shoulders, and kissed him on the cheek. Both of them were visibly more animated for a few seconds. Clearly they had made some kind of discovery, because the man moved the computer to one side and began studying the map in much more detail.

Jessop murmured something to him and he nodded. She got up, walked over to the counter, and ordered two more cups of coffee, which at least made Salvatore's immediate decision slightly easier. As soon as she had sat down again, he left his seat to collect another drink for himself. Clearly the two targets wouldn't be leaving the café for at least a few more minutes.

He watched them as closely as he could without making his surveillance obvious. They seemed to be alternating their attention between whatever was displayed on the computer—and because of the angle of the screen Salvatore couldn't see what that was and he wasn't prepared to risk walking close to their table—and the unfolded map.

For almost a quarter of an hour, the targets appeared to be engrossed in their task, and then it looked as if they had found what they were looking for, or at the very least had reached a decision, because the man closed the lid of his laptop and slid the computer into the bag he had with him while Jessop folded the map. Moments later, they both stood up and walked out of the café.

As they passed his table, Salvatore took his mobile from his pocket and pressed the speed-dial key for Toscanelli's phone. His call was answered almost immediately.

“Sì?”

“They're on the move,” Salvatore said in Italian. “They've been looking at something on the man's computer and studying a map.”

“Something on the Internet?” Toscanelli asked.

“I don't know, because I couldn't get close enough to see,” Salvatore replied, standing up and following the two targets out of the building. “Wait.”

He had expected them to purchase tickets and then enter the grounds of the old castle, but instead they did the opposite, heading away from the buildings and walking down the road toward their hire car.

“It looks like they're leaving the place,” Salvatore reported. “They're either going back to their car or heading somewhere else on foot.”

“I didn't expect that,” Toscanelli said. “Nico's already inside the castle, waiting for them. I'll get him back straightaway and into the car. You follow on foot until we know what they're doing.”

“Where are Emilio and Flavio?”

“In the other car, waiting down the road, just in case the targets leave the area. I'll alert them as well.”

Salvatore pressed the button on his Bluetooth earpiece to end the call and turned in the same direction as the targets, following them down the road fifty or sixty meters behind. As they approached their vehicle, the man took a set of keys from his pocket and seconds later the hazard warning lights flashed to indicate that he had unlocked the car. The moment he saw that, Salvatore crossed to the other side of the road, took out his mobile phone, and speed-dialed Toscanelli's number while he pretended to use the device to take photographs of the castle wall that towered above the road.

“They're definitely on the move,” he reported. “I'll head back and collect the motorcycle. Make sure that Emilio knows they could be heading his way.”

Salvatore ended the call, then turned away and walked up the road up to where he had left his motorbike.
Behind him, he heard the sound of a car engine starting, and the crunch of tires on gravel or stone as the vehicle began moving.

Just before he pulled on his helmet, a few minutes later, his phone rang.

“They haven't gone that far,” Toscanelli told him, now obviously making a conference call. “There's a parking area for coaches just down the road, where it forks right to lead up to the castle. Emilio was parked just beyond that. The two targets have turned in there, and now they're following a rough track that runs around the side of the mountain. They're driving slowly, and I think they're looking for something.”

He paused for a few moments, apparently making a decision.

“Salvatore, don't go down the road for the moment. Stay near the castle and find somewhere that will give you a good view of the track. I want to know the moment they stop and what they do then. Nico and I will follow them. Emilio and Flavio, you cover the end of the track, because it doesn't go anywhere and they'll have to come back the same way. This could be the endgame,” he finished. “I don't know how they've done it, but somehow they must have discovered where the hoard was hidden. So all we have to do is wait until they recover it and then take it off them.

“Remember,” Toscanelli finished, “the orders from Rome are quite clear. The targets are not to leave the island. When they find what we're looking for, they can take its place. It's been undiscovered for over seven hundred years. With any luck, their bodies will remain hidden for centuries. As a bonus, you can all take a turn with the woman before you kill her. Or even afterward, if that's your thing.”