Chapter LXXV: Treasure of Jerusalem
18 May 1609
Jafar looked up to the shifting canvas of the officers’ tent and noticed the movement of the fabric as if he were in a malignant trance. The noisy flap of the blank temporary roof kept reminding him of the massive banner with its four crowns that had forced his army into withdrawal.
“Perhaps we should head north to Beirut instead,” one of the officers interrupted Jafar’s contemplation.
“If their best General is to our south,” another chimed in, “we should attack where they are weaker.”
“This is a sound idea,” Jafar imposed while attempting to hold back a growl—he hated having to explain to subordinates who were not privy to the intricacies of the deployment, “but we were sent to capture Jerusalem and our brethren have already besieged Mecca and Medina. We will not be the only ones left without achieving victory.”
There was a low grumbling along the circuit of the table which held up the various maps of the region. “What are your orders then?” the one with the scarred face offered for his master.
Jafar was not immediate in his answer but instead curled his fingers in contemplation around his wiry goatee. “We will move on Jerusalem without the recklessness that we attempted in the first march. There is no other choice but to give open combat.”
The officers and lieutenants present would not betray a hint of cowardice, but they still gave each other looks of consternation at the plan. “Jerusalem is indeed the third treasure of Islam,” one of the lieutenants spoke up, “but we should wage war wisely.”
“And wisely we will,” Jafar quickly returned. “You all have two weeks to prepare the men to march back to Jerusalem.”
---
26 May 1609
“I didn’t get a chance to formally congratulate you; so, congratulations on your victory,” Renault complimented as he grunted his aging weight onto a creaky seat within the Jerusalem citadel. “And is it just me or are these chairs older than I am?”
General Schenkhuizen, sitting from behind his desk, looked up at the comment and couldn’t help but grin at Renault trying to find a comfortable position on the wooden construct. “This isn’t the time for jokes or congratulations yet,” the General responded but with a thankful smile on his sleepless features. “The Persians are bound to return. But congratulations are due to you for getting that out of those tunnels,” the General added pointing with his quill towards the golden box that sat on a side table opposite where Renault was sitting.
The box’s aura filled its side of the room with a golden hue like a snowfall of earthly wealth was diffusing through the air. “I have my Lions ready to take me to Acre,” he said quietly.
“I’ll leave it up to you then to make sure it returns to Spain,” General Schenkhuizen’s laconic reply was lamented by his tired eyes as they perceived Renault’s impending departure.
“I wish I could stay longer to help you,” Renault seemed to guess the mood, “but without Antonio or a replacement, the Substitute wants to make sure the choice for the successor is made with all the available information.”
General Schenkhuizen nodded solemnly and brought his elbows against the tabletop and propped up his forehead wearily. “It’s strange; I always thought that the rightful successor could know all he needed from passing on the tradition.”
“I thought so too for a while,” Renault sympathized, “but successorship does not automatically insure someone the deposit of knowledge the Silent Room has—they have to learn it just like the rest of us. These scrolls will help enlighten that education. Especially with the Disappearance robbing us of so much, the Room needs these now more than ever. Although the truth about the Timepiece will always be handed down through the tradition of the Room, these scrolls will help to enrich that tradition. And, of course, since the Persians are threatening the city, we cannot allow them to discover this.”
“To use the scrolls alone would be dangerous,” General Schenkhuizen admitted, “if the users aren’t the trusted guardians, then they might misinterpret what is written and bring upon a tragedy much worse than what occurred so many years ago… and make all of us lose more than just our friends.”
The grave calculation lingered in the atmosphere between them as both lowered their eyes at the thought of it. “I’ll leave it up to you, then, to bring that to the Peninsula,” General Schenkhuizen said relaxing back into his seat. The weight of the past few days seemed to wash down his clothes in a ruffle of wrinkles.
“Good luck, General,” Renault said with another grunt as he stood up.
“Good luck to us both.”
---
3 June 1609
Riku wiped the sand off of his sweating brow and pulled back the hood that covered his slowly tanning face. The sound of the ocean crashing against brown rocks covered his footfalls as he slipped behind one of the piers. Within the shade, others received him with muted anticipation.
“One of the smaller ships can be taken tonight,” Riku reported, “and one of the merchant vessels can be bribed.”
“We can have the smaller ship take Zeren and Abdullah towards Turkish land to the north,” Raul began his plan as he spoke in Persian so that the two foreigners could understand. “Will you two be alright managing a ship on your own?”
“If it is just to the southern coast of Anatolia we can manage until we can get to a friendly port,” Abdullah responded with a gracious smile.
“Excellent,” Raul said as he turned to the others as he spoke, “we’ll take over the smaller ship tonight and then screen her with the merchant vessel. Once any patrols notice us, the slower, smaller one should be able to get away.”
All in the circle nodded to the plan while Madeleine sat back against one of the shaded rocks and gave a feigned sigh. “That’s a pity,” she suddenly said in Spanish, “I was just beginning to have fun running through the desert escaping Persian patrols,” she said with a droll accent. Indeed, her dress had already started to fade from the exposure to the weather of the area.
“Will you give my compliments to your uncle?” Riku said with a pleasant smile as he bowed graciously to her. It elicited only a small grin from the young girl. She simultaneously noticed how Raul avoided her glance.
“I will,” she acquiesced while still keeping her eyes at the brooding Spaniard. They all began to file out from underneath the hiding spot.
“We’ll stay at one of the local inns until nightfall,” Raul stated matter of factly. Willem was kind enough to help Madeleine up the craggy side of the sea-side cliff. Madeleine accepted the hand graciously before accelerating forward next to the younger Turk.
“I hope you see her again soon,” Madeleine said in Persian while winking at their Turkish companion.
Zeren cocked his head to look at the young woman and furrowed his brow at her. “What do you—” he tried to ask.
“Don’t try to fool a woman,” Madeleine interrupted channeling as much haughtiness into the eastern tongue as possible. “The way your eyes look out into the sea—it is romantic.”
“It is also dangerous,” he said without indulging that girl’s bubbly stare. “She had vouched for me and my mission—to have failed means that her life is in danger now.”
Madeleine could only tilt her head to one side. The sudden danger of a loved one seemed strangely pertinent to her. As she walked down the dusty road behind Raul and Riku, she twirled her parasol against her shoulder pensively at those words. Despite the training and the real dangers she had experienced, it was a novel idea to be in jeopardy of losing someone she cared for. Like a flash, thoughts of tombstones in France drove a chill down her back and her face to turn in the direction where none of the group could see her visage. It was in this quick jolt that she saw the entourage entering the city.
“Quick!” she called out to all of them, “Into the next alley!”
---
“General,” one of the aides rushed into General Schenkhuizen’s citadel chamber, “grave news. Eight hundred Persians have been spotted making their way towards Acre two days ago. By the time this message reaches us, they would have entered the city by now.”
“What’s the status of the rest of their forces?” General Schenkhuizen asked quickly as he rose from his seat.
“They’ve begun mobilization again and are moving in our direction,” the messenger answered along with supplementing his report with further information: “the deployment that you’ve requested has been completed and we’re almost ready with the militia.”
The General heaved a sigh onto the table and scratched at his neck absently. The military positions was hard enough of a challenge as at least twenty nine thousand Persians were attempting to come down into the city with his six thousand regulars and thousand militia were waiting, but now he also had to deal with the reality that Renault might be intercepted.
“Did you get any word from Renault?” the General queried.
“I’m afraid we haven’t received any word from Senor de Fronsac,” was the apologetic reply. “He should have reached Acre by now, but we do not know if he was able to disembark before or after the Persians arrived.”
“Any chance that we can reroute the cavalry detachment to retake the city?” the General continued to ask.
“The Persian line is already advancing, sir, and their left flank is patrolling the route around to Acre,” was the response.
The messenger jumped unexpectedly as the General slammed a fist against his table. Jafar was clever as well, he thought to himself. His Persian counterpart understood very well why he was sent to capture Jerusalem and not waste his time with other cities: it was here that the treasures of the old libraries had been hidden. This Persian also knew that the Spaniards would be attempting to sail the scrolls away before they returned and thus they sent a force to Acre to stop any boats from sailing.
“We have no choice,” the General said to his subordinate. “Alert the commanders to prepare to take the field. We must take advantage of his smaller force with the plan I put into place. We can only trust in Renault to take care of himself for now.”
The messenger immediately ran outward to alert the lieutenants and officers to battle—the Persians were approaching and General Schenkhuizen had to create a miracle while hoping for one for his friend.
---
“They’re beginning to burn all of the ships,” a hooded man said while huddled against one of the walls of the small sea-side town.
“And the way south?” asked their leader as he wrapped his one sleeve over his chest hiding a bulky square object within his garments.
“Also blocked, senor, their army is providing the major screen,” a third cloaked figure whispered.
“Then we have no choice,” was the leading voice again, “We must steal one of the boats tonight when the sun descends. We’ll take the small one farthest from the main port area. The Persians won’t have the ships to chase us if they keep burning these so we should be able to make it out and head towards Alexandria and change ships there. For now, we must keep hidden and make sure none get close to the Scrolls.”
---
“I don’t understand, Your Eminence,” one of the quiet ones asked while leaning in towards the wooden chair of the red clad figure, “Why did we hide the scrolls in Jerusalem in the first place?”
The pungent nature of the Silent Room during the summer months made its presence felt against the nostrils of those within. It elicited a stiffness in stature for any willing to stay in the chamber; moving was a chore in the damp atmosphere. Nonetheless, the Cardinal, in his gothic like towering presence condescended to lean back towards the younger noble. “There was too much instability at the time at home… with the prevalence of that Cult from Toledo, especially. With Toledo being our main hub for studying Hebrew and Aramaic, we transferred the scrolls to Jerusalem where Jewish scholars there could continue the work.”
The younger one, clearly impressed by the attention dared to ask a more complicated question: “If I may ask more, Your Eminence, but what is it exactly that those scrolls tell us that is so important aside from parts of the Old Testament?”
“I’m sure you’ve learned much about why this Room exists,” the Cardinal began, “the scrolls help reveal the very beginnings of this Room’s tradition. It tells us of that other old testament—the history between first and second impact.”
“I think I understand what you’re saying,” Taguchi said slowly as they sat around the main table of the dining room. Aside from his voice, Taguchi could hear the drumming sound of water running in the bathroom where Carlos was cleaning himself off. “So these scrolls tell us about those ‘Keys’ as you call them.”
“Correct,” Hayato said to his cousin, “as well as the Timepiece.”
There was that word again, Taguchi thought. He was still unsure what they were, but he pressed on. “And you say there are two of these Timepieces and these scrolls can tell us the history between when they both arrived on Earth?”
Hayato and Lara exchanged glances. “Something like that,” Hayato admitted. “You have to understand that we have not grasped the fullness of what this all means especially since some of us have been pressed into this service before we’ve had a few years to digest the information…”
Taguchi felt a strange tingling on his back. He knew that Hayato was referring to him. Taguchi was the oldest of the generation and had received training when he was a child. He rejected it when he was around Hayato’s age and opted for a simpler life—something away from the dangers of being… of being responsible for the office that was to be handed down to him. He would force Hayato to take on the role of Matsujun. Inside, his emotions churned with a sense of shame and indignation as if the two parts of him were still warring for temporal control of his actions. There was a hint of jealousy as well—how could Hayato have such a resolve… didn’t he understand what Taguchi had lost during all those years of training? Even Shiori was lost to him… The thoughts of that girl flashed a hint of anguish before Taguchi’s eyes, but he dared not let it show.
“I see…” Taguchi said half heartedly. He let his eyes fall for a moment and then drew them up again. That was when he noticed Pablo’s grave demeanor as he looked out one of the windows. His room mate was obviously listening the whole time but it was a strange kind of stillness that he saw in that man. Obviously Lara and Hayato had a reason for including him into this whole thing but he was not sure what it might be.
“There is one more reason why we need your help in figuring this out,” Hayato said bringing Taguchi’s attention back to him. He took out one of the glass pieces from the case and showed it to Taguchi. Looking at the parchment, he could discern only few words of Aramaic.
“The Twin?
Toma?” Taguchi said out loud obviously puzzled at the significance. That was when a familiar cry and moan reminded him of the young man housed upstairs—the one they called Tom.
Chapter LXXVI: The Twin (coming soon)
