Solomons scrolls, p.1
Solomon's Scrolls, page 1
part #1 of A North and Swiftwater Thriller Series
SOLOMON’S SCROLLS
A NORTH AND SWIFTWATER THRILLER
RICHARD TURNER
SOLOMON’S SCROLLS
A North & Swiftwater Thriller
By Richard Turner
©2013 by Richard Turner
Published 2014 by Richard Turner
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
CHAPTER ONE
La Rochelle, France
October 13, 1307
Marc Grenier stared nervously into the night and held his breath. A second later, a flaming arrow flew up into the darkened sky before disappearing behind an old windmill. Grenier gripped the hilt of his sword tight in his hand and clenched his jaw. A fiercely loyal subject to the crown, Grenier initially didn’t want to believe the rumors leaking from the king’s court were true, but now there could be no doubt. To his disgust, King Phillip IV of France had secretly signed a warrant for his arrest, along with all the other members of his chivalric order.
“What’s wrong, Papa?” asked Henri, Grenier’s bright-eyed, six-year-old son.
Grenier looked down at Henri and ran a hand through his curly hair. “It’s time to leave, my son,” he replied bitterly. The king’s treachery cut deeper than any of the dozen wounds Grenier had sustained during his time in the Holy Land.
“Why must we leave, Papa?”
“Because we have been betrayed. Come, my son; we must make haste before the king’s men arrive.”
Henri peered into the dark. “Papa, who fired that arrow?”
“A friend did. Now, no more talking, my child. Grab your things, and join the rest of the family in the courtyard.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Henri, be quick. We don’t have any time to waste.”
The boy nodded and took off, running.
Grenier strode purposefully down the tower’s stone stairs and into the courtyard. He waved at the young man holding the reins of a tall, black horse hooked up to a fully loaded cart. Like Grenier, the horseman wore warm clothing from head to toe.
“Is it time to go, my lord?” asked the man, his breath hanging like fog in the cold night air.
“Yes, Andre, it is time. Please see to the cart.”
“As you wish,” said Andre, bringing his right hand up to touch the brim of his worn leather cap.
Grenier took the reins of his horse in his hands and patted his steed’s neck. “I’m sorry, Josephine, but this is one trip you won’t be making with me.”
Young Henri and his mother, cradling a sleeping child tight in her arms, walked into the yard. Hesitantly, she asked, “Marc, are we sure the king’s men are on their way?”
Grenier nodded sadly. “Huguette, my spy within the king’s court, was adamant that the king had signed a warrant a week ago for the arrest of everyone in my order all across France this very morning. And not two minutes ago, a signal arrow was launched by my old friend Louis Darras, warning me that riders are approaching. It pains me to say it, but our lives are in grave danger.” Grenier picked up his son and placed him beside Andre on the cart’s bench. Next, he helped his wife and daughter up onto the cart.
“What about the servants?” asked Huguette. “Surely the king’s men will torture them to learn where we have gone.”
Grenier shook his head. “No, I released them from service to our family just after sunset. I made sure they were paid well and are already on their way to safety.” Grenier hauled his large frame up onto his horse’s saddle. He took one last look around his ancestral home, sadly knowing he would never step foot inside the manor again, and gently tapped his horse’s sides. His mare walked onto the dirt road leading to the Bay of Biscay.
“Papa, look,” said Henri.
Grenier looked over his shoulder and saw his son pointing to the east. Flames lit up the horizon. Anger boiled up inside Grenier’s chest. The fires could only mean one thing. The king’s assassins had arrived and were burning down the homes of anyone they suspected of helping him and his family. Grenier tapped his horse again and urged her to pick up her pace. Since learning of the king’s plot, Grenier had been feverishly planning their escape. Having grown up in the region, he knew the roads to the bay like the back of his hand. With riders closing in, Grenier knew he couldn’t afford to waste a single second.
The cold, gray light of dawn greeted them as they left the trail and rode out onto a creaky, wooden pier. Dozens of seagulls hovered in the air, looking for something to eat—the unpleasant smell of saltwater mixed with the city’s garbage filled the air. A small ship with one mast sat silently on the dark water. A barrel-chested man stood on the docks, his arms crossed, waiting for them to arrive. Grenier halted his horse and dismounted. He rubbed his hand along his horse’s neck and gently patted her one last time.
“My lord,” said the man in greeting.
Grenier smiled and offered his hand. “It is sad that we must meet again under these tragic circumstances, my old friend.”
“That it is.” The ship’s captain snapped his fingers, and six young men jumped onto the pier to quickly unload the cart.
“Tell me, Jacques, do you think we have sufficient provisions for the journey?”
Jacques flung his head back, laughing. “I should say we do. I couldn’t believe the list you sent me when I read it. As you can see, there is barely room on board for all the provisions you asked me to bring.”
Grenier took a cursory look at the ship. His friend was right. Wooden boxes of all sizes and barrels of provisions took up almost every spare inch. There was barely any space on the deck for anyone to walk around.
“My lord, I’ve never started a voyage with so many supplies. Where are we going, China?”
Grenier opened a pouch on his saddle and handed the captain a worn, cloth map. “Here. Study this before we depart. I’ve marked the route I’d like you to take.”
Jacques nodded and walked back onto his ship to find a lantern.
“Papa, will we ever see France again?” asked Henri.
Grenier picked up his son in his arms and held him close. His heart ached, but he knew he had to tell his son the truth. “I doubt it, Henri, but you never know. Things change, and thankfully, God doesn’t let kings live forever.”
“Where are we going?”
“Far, far away. So far, the king’s men will never find us.”
“Henri, quit bothering your father and come join Sarah and me belowdecks,” said Huguette.
“Yes, Mother,” he replied dejectedly.
Grenier placed his son down. “Do as your mother says, and by the time the sun rises, we’ll be far away from these shores.” He watched his son take his mother’s hand and climb onto the ship’s cluttered deck.
“Sire, I think I hear riders approaching,” reported Andre, looking to the east. He drew his sword and stepped in front of Grenier.
“Damn,” uttered Grenier, reaching for his sword. “I prayed we’d be long gone before any of the king’s men arrived.”
“Don’t worry, my lord; I’ll delay them long enough for you to escape.”
“No, Andre, I must do this. Go with my family and promise me you’ll protect them from harm.”
The younger knight shook his head. “Sire, I don’t mean any disrespect, but you’re not the man you used to be. You can barely see out of your right eye and aren’t half as fast as you used to be. On top of that, sir, you haven’t drawn your sword in anger in over a decade. No, sir, I will deal with these bastards while you look after your family.”
Knowing his young apprentice was right, a lump formed in Grenier’s throat. He wasn’t the man he once was. Grenier hesitated for a moment.
Andre’s voice grew insistent. “Please, sire, go now.”
Grenier cursed as he jumped from the pier down onto the waiting ship.
“My lord, what the hell’s going on?” asked Jacques.
“We have to set sail,” he replied.
“Now?”
“Yes, now, before it’s too late.”
“What about your man? Surely, we can’t leave him behind.”
Grenier’s tone grew tense. “He knows his duty. Now, do yours.”
“Yes,
“No, we’re too late,” said Robert Junot, leaping from his horse. In front of him stood a man with his sword drawn. Junot looked past the swordsman at a ship slowly sailing away from the pier. His body shook with rage. Junot’s prize was getting away, and he could do nothing about it.
Three other knights joined Junot on the dock. A man with a deep scar running down his face and long, scraggly black hair spat in Andre’s direction. “Sire, shall I deal with this dog?”
Junot shook his head. “No, Mathieu, he is mine.”
Mathieu bowed his head slightly. “As you wish, sire.”
“Now, young man, you will tell me where your lord is going, or I will make sure your death is a particularly unpleasant one,” said Junot to Andre, slowly unsheathing his sword.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but even I do not know where he is going,” replied Andre politely.
Junot’s face contorted. “You’re lying!”
“No, my lord, I am not. Only my master knows where he is going. He never told me what he planned to do once he left these shores, and I never bothered to ask.”
Junot bared his stained teeth. “You damned fool. I’m going to make you pay for your foolishness.”
Andre brought his sword up and respectfully saluted his foe. “So be it. My life is in God’s hands as it always has been.”
Junot stepped forward and brought his sword up. He edged closer before slashing at Andre’s head.
With countless hours of practice under his belt, Andre saw the move coming and easily parried the blow to one side. Then, with a flick of his wrist, Andre sent his blade toward his opponent’s neck. Junot, the wily veteran, leaped back, avoiding the thrust.
“I see your master has taught you well,” said Junot. “Tell me, boy, have you taken your vows to be a knight yet?”
Andre lunged at Junot’s face with his sword. Only to have his lunge blocked. “No, sire, I have not.”
“Then you are innocent and have no reason to die. Lower your weapon and become a member of my order. I could use a man like you.”
Andre shook his head. “Never!”
Junot let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, have things your way.”
“I shall,” Andre replied, slashing at Junot’s stomach.
Junot blocked the attack with lightning-fast reflexes and drew a hidden knife from his belt. A fire burned in his eyes as he jammed the blade deep into Andre’s side, twisting the knife from side to side, trying to cause the maximum pain and damage to his opponent’s innards.
Andre gasped and collapsed to his knees. Sweat poured down his ashen face. He knew his wound was mortal. His breaths became labored as he prepared to die.
“My son, you were a worthy adversary,” said Junot, raising his sword above his head. “For that, I’ll grant you a swift death.”
From the back of the ship, Grenier watched in horror as his young apprentice’s head fell from his body. Blood gushed like a fountain as the headless corpse tumbled onto the pier. Grenier clenched his fists tight. The assassin picked up Andre’s head and held it up in triumph. He ensured that Grenier could see him celebrating the young man’s death.
“Papa, who was that man?” asked Henri.
Grenier looked down and saw his son standing by his side. His heart ached that Henri had been on deck to witness Andre’s death. Grenier’s voice couldn’t mask his sadness. “You’ve never met him before, Henri.”
“Do you know him, Papa?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s my brother,”
Henri gave his father a puzzled look. “I don’t understand. Why have I never heard of him before?”
“He’s not my real brother. But he once was a member of my order and my closest friend when I served our king in the Holy Land.”
“Papa, I don’t understand. If he was your friend, why did he kill Andre?”
“Because that man has fallen from grace and embraced the king’s greed over his vows to help and protect others. Today is going to be a long day, so please head below and try to get some sleep.”
Henri stamped his foot. “Papa, do I have to?”
“Yes. Now do as you’re told.”
“Yes, Papa.” Henri lowered his head and reluctantly walked away to join his mother and sister.
Jacques walked over to Grenier’s side, holding the cloth map in his callused hands. “Sire, I’ve been a sailor all my life and never seen such a detailed map.”
“Yes, it’s almost a work of art, isn’t it?”
“These lands to the west, are they real?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Unless you know something I don’t, this is the first time anyone has accurately mapped land west of Hibernia.”
Grenier smiled. “And your point is?”
“Sire, we’re risking everything on this journey; how can you be certain that map isn’t a forgery?”
Grenier patted his friend on the shoulder. “Trust me; it’s not.”
“Sire, I’m not trying to be difficult, but how can you be so confident?”
“Because my father traveled there once before and, on his deathbed, he left me this map. Our future, my friend, lies in the lands of the mists.”
CHAPTER TWO
The Democratic Republic of the Congo
Present day
An early-morning mist blanketed a long mountain ridge covered in tall, lush trees.
In a small clearing, a young female mountain gorilla stirred from her sleep and stretched her arms over her head. She yawned loudly before rolling over onto her side. A yellow-and-white butterfly sat perched on a fern, and she reached out to touch it, only to see it flutter its wings and fly away. She went to chase it but accidentally poked her older sister in the ribs, waking her. Unimpressed at being woken up, the older sister pushed the child away and flashed her displeasure by baring her teeth. The younger sibling jumped back and ran off on all fours, looking for some berries to eat when her mother woke and lazily reached over, grabbing hold of her. She hugged her child tight and, despite her objections, started to groom her head.
One hundred meters away, on a small hill, something crawled slowly through the underbrush to get a clearer view of the gorillas. Careful not to make a sound or sudden movement, a man hidden under a camouflaged ghillie suit stopped moving and made himself comfortable. He cautiously slid out a spotter scope and focused it on the head of the family, a four-hundred-pound silverback. He studied the gorilla for a few seconds before scanning the rest of the troop. He was happy to see that all eight family members were still alive.
“Blackjack, this is Red-One. Do you read me?” asked a man with an Australian accent in the scout’s earpiece.
“I hear you loud and clear, over,” replied the Congolese scout into his radio.
“Good. I don’t think the police know we’re coming, so keep a close eye on the gorillas for us, and let me know if the silverback makes any sudden moves.”
“Roger that. As far as I can tell, we’re the only ones out here.”
The Australian chuckled. “The cops are probably all still in bed.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Wait a second; John’s getting a call.”
The scout rested and sipped some water from his CamelBak while he waited.
“Crap, I just got word that the cops know we’re here and have sent some people to try and stop us. Somebody must have talked.”
“Bob, don’t worry. If you pick up your pace, you should be here long before the cops arrive.”
