The Devil's Path (An Alexander Scott Novel Book 1) Page 11

  “You know Kate this place is a mess. We could be at this for days,” said Scott, rolling his parchment out.

  Kate said, “I know, but I am sure my father would have come here. If we can find where the Grail is…or went, then I know that together we can find my father.”

  Scott could see the pained look in her eyes at the mere thought of her missing father. “So we’ll just have to read faster,” said Scott with a reassuring smile.

  After a couple of hours of sifting through the pile of books, a young novice priest in his early teens brought down a bowl filled with apples and pears along with a jug of water and a couple of cups. He placed them on the table. Turning, he was about to leave when he saw Kate, a grin formed on his youthful face.

  “Yes,” said Kate, noticing the expression on the boy’s face.

  “You truly do look like your father,” said the boy.

  Kate froze in place, her mouth hung open.

  “Say that again,” said Scott, almost falling out of his chair.

  The boy seemed surprised at Kate and Scott’s reaction. “I said that the mademoiselle looks like her father,” said the boy. “I can see it in her eyes.”

  “You met my father?” stammered Kate, reaching for a chair to sit down in before she fell down. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest.

  “Oui, mademoiselle, he was here a month or two ago. I can’t rightly remember when, but I do know that he stayed with us for a week, perhaps ten days, before leaving,” said the boy, recalling the events.

  “Who else met Miss O’Sullivan’s father,” queried Scott.

  “I am not sure,” said the boy. “There was me, Fathers Hulot and Suchet, and my friend Henri, he’s a novice like me,” said the boy proudly.

  “Maybe we should have been more open with Father Hulot,” mused Scott.

  “Pardon Monsieur?” said the boy.

  “Nothing,” said Scott curtly. “What is your name, son?”

  “My name is Jean Dominique Gerard.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Jean,” said Scott as he introduced himself and Kate.

  A few minutes later, after washing up and making themselves a bit more presentable, Scott and Kate knew they had to tell the truth and went in search of Father Hulot. They found him at the back of the Abbey pruning his well-kept rose garden. Walking up, Scott apologized for their earlier deceit, then told the priest the truth and asked for his forgiveness. Hulot simply smiled and cut a white rose.

  “A thing of beauty for a real beauty,” said Hulot as he handed the rose to Kate.

  “Father, you took vows,” playfully admonished Kate.

  “Yes, and I honor them faithfully, but I am still a man, and I can admire one of God’s beautiful creations,” said Hulot smiling. “Come with me, my children, we have a lot to talk about.” With that, Father Hulot led Scott and Kate back inside the Abbey. They walked past a group of men trying to install a new pane of glass high up in the ceiling of the Abbey. They soon came to a locked side door. Father Hulot looked about, made sure no one was watching, and then fumbled under his robe for a key. Finding it, he unlocked the door and held it open while they all swiftly stepped inside.

  Scott saw that it was an immaculately kept private library. Books and scrolls in near pristine condition were stored in shelves all around the small room. The only light was from an oil lantern hanging from a hook on the wall.

  “My children, there are only two other people on Mont Saint-Michael, who have access or even know of these sacred texts’ existence,” said Father Hulot. “I have only ever shown one man this room before today, Mademoiselle O’Sullivan’s father, and now you two.”

  Kate walked over to the shelves, her hand trembling as she pulled out a Bible written in Greek. She turned to look at Scott, her eyes glowing in the light. “My God, Alex, this is one of fifty Bibles written for Constantine I, in the Fourth-Century AD.”

  “331, to be precise,” said Father Hulot with a slight cant of his head.

  “Father, Miss O’Sullivan’s father has gone missing,” said Scott, looking at Hulot. “Do you know where he could have gone?”

  Hulot shook his head. “I am not even sure what he was looking for in here. He would never say, and I respected his privacy. All I know is that your father was a very persuasive man, he seemed to know about this room, how I do not know, but he badgered me for days until I finally relented and let him use these books for his research. Then one morning we awoke to do our prayers, and he was gone. Now if you will both excuse me, I have other duties to attend to as well.”

  “Thank you, Father,” said Kate, reaching out and touching Hulot on his shoulder.

  “I will be back later to let you out,” said Hulot as he pulled the door closed and locked it from the outside.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not,” said Scott, looking at the locked door. His dislike of enclosed spaces began to intrude into his mind. Taking a deep breath, he focused his eyes on Kate and smiled.

  Kate saw the smile and returned it. “This room holds the key to finding my father. I suspect that we have a lot of work to do,” Kate said as she placed the ancient Bible back on the shelf and went in search of something a little closer to the time of the First Crusade.

  Several hours passed. The door was unlocked, and Father Hulot stepped inside. In his hands was a wooden tray with two plates of food on it.

  “I thought you might be getting hungry,” said Hulot as he walked over and placed the tray on the table beside a stack of books piled up next to Kate.

  “Thanks, Father,” said Scott as he put his blue leather-bound book down and grabbed a plate with cold roast chicken, potatoes, and asparagus on it.

  “That smells delicious,” said Kate, her stomach suddenly reminding her that she had not eaten in hours.

  “Are you getting anywhere?” innocently asked the priest looking over at the stacks of books and parchment scrolls on the table.

  “Not so far,” replied Kate, her voice tired and weary.

  “Well why don’t you call it a day and commence your search first thing in the morning,” proposed Father Hulot. “I have already given direction that two rooms are to be made available to you for the evening.”

  Scott was about to say something, when Kate said, “I…we appreciate your hospitality, father, but I would like to keep looking for another hour or two before packing it in for the night.”

  “I agree, father, can we please have one more hour,” said Scott with a grin on his face at Kate’s unflagging doggedness.

  “Suit yourselves,” said Father Hulot, “I will be back in one hour and not a minute more.” With that, he left and locked the door once more behind himself.

  Scott looked over at Kate. She looked as tired as she sounded. “You look like you could sleep for a week,” said Scott.

  Kate stretched her arms out and rubbed her aching neck with her hands. “One more hour and then I’ll rest,” said Kate as she reached for the next book in her pile.

  Scott shoveled a fork full of chicken and potatoes into his hungry mouth, stood up, walked over to the shelves and then grabbed the nearest scroll from the bottom shelf. Walking back, he carefully opened it and found himself looking at the image of a man riding into battle against the Saracens holding a cup aloft in his hands. Light seemed to shine down from heaven onto the knight as he rode forth.

  “Kate….Kate, please come here,” said Scott, barely able to control his enthusiasm.

  “What is it?” said Kate. Raising a hand to her mouth, she gasped at the image on the scroll.

  She read aloud. “Philippe, son of Robert of Normandy, holding the Chalice of Christ aloft defeats the Saracens at the Battle of Dorylaeum.”

  “So the Grail did become property of Robert of Normandy after his marriage,” said Scott.

  “Where did you find this?” asked Kate, suddenly energized by the find.

  “Down here,” Scott said, pointing to the shelf where he found the scroll.

  Pushing pa
st him, Kate rummaged through a couple of books before she returned to the table with a thin plain leather-bound journal. Seeing Scott looking at her, she said, “It’s the journal of David, Squire to Robert of Normandy.”

  “Squire?”

  “Yes, a sort of knight in training. Usually a young boy, who looked after his master’s equipment while he grew up and learned the tools of the trade and by the looks of it, this young man was quite educated. Probably raised in a church, his Latin is very good,” said Kate before she buried her nose back into the journal.

  Scott turned his head and stared down at the image of Philippe charging into battle with the Holy Grail. It seemed that whoever held the Grail was unstoppable. No wonder people have been searching for it for centuries. Perhaps it was as mystical as the legends had led people to believe, thought Scott. A feeling of dread seeped in. Scott now knew why they were being hunted, why they wanted Kate so bad they would stop at nothing to get their hands on her. They wanted to possess something that seemed to have mystical powers.

  A short while later, the door opened, and Father Hulot stood there holding the door wide open, his face stern and unbending.

  “Kate, that’s our cue to leave,” said Scott with a nod to Hulot as he stood up.

  “Oh yes,” said Kate, pushing back her chair and standing up.

  Father Hulot locked the room behind them and then, with a lamp in hand, he led them out of the abbey.

  The night sky was crystal clear. A near full moon hung low on the horizon, bathing the sea around the abbey in a brilliant shimmering silver light.

  After being cooped up for hours, the cool night air felt refreshing on Scott’s skin.

  Father Hulot led Scott and Kate down a steep winding path until he came to a narrow two-story house. “These will be your quarters for the evening. I will come by after morning prayers to let you back in the room,” said Hulot. With that, he left Scott and Kate to open the door to their accommodations and step inside.

  As soon as the door opened, a small, round woman in her mid-fifties with long black hair greeted them. She smiled and welcomed them into her home and then showed them where they would be staying for the night. Scott’s room was upstairs, while Kate was in a room right next to their landlady’s. Kate said that she was exhausted, excused herself, and went straight to her room. Scott asked for some hot water to wash with and an iron to do his clothes for tomorrow. Their host warmed up some water and then took Scott’s clothes with a smile, saying she would iron them herself, not trusting a man to be able to do it without burning his clothes. A short while later, feeling more himself, Scott wandered upstairs to his room, laid down on his bed and wondered what the morning would bring, but before he could even think about it, he was fast asleep and snoring loudly.

  Chapter 12

  The sun had barely begun to climb above the gray horizon when there was a loud knocking at the locked front gates at the base of Mont Saint-Michael.

  The lone guard, a retired soldier who had lost an arm in the Crimean War fighting against the Russians, slowly pulled on his black leather boots, With only his long stained linen shirt on, he shuffled to the door, cursing under his breath whoever was on the other side. Opening a small aperture, the guard, his head pounding from too much alcohol from the night before, peered out and saw a man standing there dressed in a blue uniform, accompanied by at least half a dozen men patiently standing around waiting for the barred door to be opened.

  “Who is it and what do you want?” queried the guard scratching his behind.

  “Good morning, monsieur, my name is Captain Chabot. I am from the Gendarmerie in Cherbourg,” said the man in the uniform.

  “What of it?” replied the guard gruffly, looking into the man’s eyes. They were gunmetal blue, hard, and forgiving.

  “I have been sent here at the by the authorities in Cherbourg at the behest of the English Government. I need to speak with Colonel Scott. He is an American officer,” said the police officer. “You may have seen him walking around the abbey in the past few days.”

  “I don’t know any, Colonel Scott,” said the guard scratching his head. “Why do you want to talk to this man? This is a place of God now, not a prison.”

  “My good man, you are wasting my time this is important. I must speak with Colonel Scott immediately. He is wanted for questioning regarding the deaths of two men,” said the officer bluntly.

  The guard couldn’t recall seeing any new faces around, nor had he heard of a Colonel Scott, but then again, he spent far too many nights in bottle these days for him to be sure. With a resigned shrug of his shoulders, the guard walked over and unlocked the gate.

  No sooner had the gate opened when the Gendarmerie officer stepped inside, saw they were alone, and then with a cruel look in his eyes he jammed a knife as hard as he could into the unsuspecting guard’s ribcage. With a low moan, the dying guard collapsed onto the cold damp ground. Two men stepped forward and then dragged the dead guard by his heels into his tiny guardroom. Placing him in his bed, they threw his blanket back over the guard, to make it look like he was still sleeping.

  “You two go back and stay with the carriage,” ordered the Gendarme to a couple of men dressed in driver’s uniforms. They nodded their acknowledgement and then stepped away. Looking up at the Abbey perched on top of the hill, the imposter ordered two more men to head back down the causeway and wait with the carriage until they returned. With the remaining thugs, the policeman began the long winding climb to priests’ quarters nestled right next to the Abbey.

  Excitement and nervous energy coursed through Kate O’Sullivan. Turning over, she just could not sleep anymore. Pulling the warm covers off, she jumped out of bed onto the cold stone floor and got dressed. She dug out her one remaining clean outfit: a long light-gray skirt and a matching shirt with an ivory rose brooch, her favorite. Walking into the kitchen, Kate was surprised to see their host already up boiling a kettle of water on her large cast-iron stove. The delicious aroma of freshly baked bread filled the small kitchen. Seeing that Scott was still sleeping, she took a cup of tea and a piece of warm bread covered with a large helping of strawberry preserves. Thanking their host, Kate headed straight back to her room. Making sure that her door was closed, Kate reached under the covers of her bed and pulled out the journal that she had been reading the night before. No one saw her slip it under her dress. She meant no harm. Kate planned to slip it back where it belonged when they resumed their search in a couple of hours. Opening it, Kate began to read.

  Jean, the novice priest, was on his way down from the Abbey to fetch a fresh pale of water from a well at the base of the hill when he was surprised to see four men walking towards him. One, he noticed, was a tough-looking man from the Gendarmerie.

  “Good morning, sir,” said Jean respectfully. “Is there anything I can do for you gentlemen?”

  The policeman stopped and smiled at Jean. “I hope so. Would you happen to know if there are any Americans staying here right now? It’s very important that I speak to them.”

  “Oh yes,” replied Jean cheerfully. “There are two of them?”

  “A man and a woman?”

  “Exactly, they arrived here yesterday. I’ll be happy to show you where they are staying if you would like.”

  “That would be most helpful,” said the policeman with an evil glint in his eyes - he had them.

  Jean turned about and started back up the hill to the house where Kate and Scott were staying, closely followed by the Gendarme and his three companions. He didn’t notice as the imposters all drew pistols and placed them discreetly behind their backs.

  Kate heard a light knocking at her door. “Just one minute,” she said as she hid the book under her pillow. Standing up, she stepped to the door and opened it. Scott was standing there in his dark-blue suit, a piece of toasted bread in his hand.

  “Sleep well?” asked Kate.

  “Like the dead,” replied Scott, instantly wishing he had said something else.

 
“Ready to get right back to work in Father Hulot’s library?”

  Scott was about to say something, when there was a loud knock at the house’s front door.

  “Coming,” said their landlady as she shuffled out of sight and made her way to the front door.

  Scott suddenly felt a chill run down his back. He was not sure why, but something did not feel right. His heart began to race.

  Opening the door, the landlady was surprised to see Jean and four strange men standing outside in the cool early-morning air…one of them dressed in the uniform of a Gendarme.

  “Yes?” said the landlady.

  “Are Monsieur Scott and Mademoiselle O’Sullivan up yet?” asked Jean.

  Before the woman could answer, a thug stepped up behind Jean and smashed him over the head with a heavy leather Jack Sap, knocking the boy out cold. The poor landlady’s eyes instantly widened. A scream tried to escape her lips, only to be silenced by a blow to the side of the head by another one of the Gendarme’s goons.

  “Run,” yelled Scott as he pulled Kate out of her room and pushed her down the hall away from the commotion happening at the front entrance.

  “My book,” said Kate, trying to push her way back inside her room.

  “What book?” protested Scott.

  Pushing past Scott, Kate reached under her pillow, grabbed the stolen journal, and then sprinted out of her room.

  Scott followed close behind. They almost made it to the door at the back of the house when a voice yelled out, “Stop!”

  Ignoring the call, Kate and Scott charged straight out the back door.

  A shot echoed loudly down the hallway.

  Rock and dirt showered Scott as the bullet struck the wall beside his head. Seeing a lane that zigzagged past several houses leading up towards the abbey, Scott grabbed Kate by the hand, and together they ran for their lives.