“IT’S RIGHT HERE.” Abelard fumbled for something inside his coat pocket, retrieved a sheet of paper, and carefully unfolded it. “Let’s see if you can read it,” he said, handing the paper to Neisen.
In less than a minute, they navigated the aisle of the cathedral and returned to the Round Church where the candle between the quartets of crypts still burned brightly. Neisen moved closer and held the paper to the light. He quickly recognized the same drawing Abelard had shown them at Hilton Head: a circle with a strange drawing above it and eight marks within the circle itself.
Suddenly it hit him—crypts! Standing in the center of the ancient structure, its meaning became obvious to Neisen. Ricoldo had drawn the floor plan of the church with two quartets of crypts in horizontal lines pointing east and west, divided by a central axis.
“Of course,” Neisen whispered.
“As you can see,” Abelard said, “our friend Father Ricoldo was thoughtful enough to draw the floor plan of Temple Church on the wall of his cell.”
“And the marking he placed near the north wall?” Neisen asked.
“The same as that drawn by Beaujeu in his letter to Pope Clement,” Abelard replied.
Class dismissed, Neisen thought as Abelard lifted the candle from its stand and set off toward the north wall of the church.
For a few moments, Neisen remained still, transfixed by Abelard’s actions. The old man had reached the wall and stood before one of the tall, multi-colored stained glass windows that encircled the lower level of the church. Hundreds of prisms refracted the candlelight, flinging it in dancing bands of colors onto Abelard, the stone floor, walls, and vaulted ceiling.
Though Neisen put no stock in Bible stories, the scene of Moses at the Red Sea came to mind. The whirling kaleidoscope of color about the old man was the fabled pillar of fire and the long candlestick in his hand, the rod of God with which he parted the waters.
“Frederick, if you will kindly hurry.” Abelard’s voice broke the spell and erased the fanciful images.
Now we can get down to business, Neisen thought, as he walked over and joined him.
“Another crypt is here.” Abelard pointed at the floor.
Neisen saw nothing but a rectangular piece of stone that appeared to be of about the same dimensions as the lids of the Knights’ crypts. Beside the slab were two crowbars, a hammer, and a chisel. Chips of mortar lay scattered about. He could see a small crack between the lower edge of the stone and the floor. The broken seal explained the dust on Abelard’s clothes.
Abelard put the candlestick down and picked up one of the crowbars. “If you don’t mind, my boy, I could use some help,” he said, nodding toward the other crowbar.
There were no markings on the stone. Neisen remembered The Visitor’s Guide to Temple Church described it simply as a thirteenth century coffin lid.
Following Abelard’s instructions, Neisen inserted his crowbar at the opposite end from where Abelard stood. At the old man’s nod, they both pulled up on the bars and the stone began skidding slowly forward.
“During the centuries a legend has grown up surrounding this stone,” Abelard wheezed as they inserted their bars and pulled again. This time the sound of stone grinding against stone rewarded their efforts as the lid slid forward several feet.
“According to legend this will be the lid for the crypt reserved for the Grand Master who will someday restore the Templars to their former glory. That day has come!” Abelard’s voice was euphoric. “One last pull,” he urged, “we’re almost there.”
Neisen looked at Abelard. The veins in his neck were bulging, his face ashen. “Dr. Abelard, don’t you think you should rest a moment?”
How could I ever explain to the authorities the death of the world’s leading anthropologist while grave robbing in Temple Church? The thought seized Neisen with momentary panic just as Abelard shouted.
“Heave man!”
This time the stone skidded completely aside, leaving only a dim outline of itself on the stone floor where it had rested undisturbed for centuries.
Though Neisen was not sure what he expected to see, he knew it was not this. The square, smooth-faced stones where the lid had rested were the same as the rest of the church’s flooring.
“The Persian workers were skillful at constructing counterbalancing stone hinges.” Abelard forced his aged body into a kneeling position as he spoke and was examining the flooring that had been under the stone. Finally, he stopped moving about and carefully dusted a particular block with his hands. “Look at this,” he said as Neisen knelt beside him.
All Neisen could see was a small groove, no more than an inch long and a quarter-inch deep near the outer edge of a block.
“Would you say that mark is a natural imperfection or manmade?” Abelard asked.
“A stonecutter’s chisel might have slipped,” Neisen suggested. To get a better look, he moved to Abelard’s right, then knelt again and began feeling along the surface of the floor.
He felt it before he saw it. Moving so the candlelight shone directly on the floor in front of him, he saw what it was. “Here’s another mark,” he said.
“And another,” Abelard replied, pointing to another place on the floor.
“They’re too uniform to be simply imperfections in the stone.” Neisen observed.
“There’s a design here somewhere.” Abelard slowly stood to his feet and, for at least a minute, appeared deep in thought as he looked at the floor around him. “North, south, east, west…” he said, more to himself than to Neisen. “Let’s have a look, just there.”
He moved south of Neisen about eight stones’ width from the north wall and pointed down. Neisen rose from his knees and joined him. In the candlelight, he saw it, just where Abelard seemed to believe it would be—a fourth groove.
“North, south, east, west,” Abelard muttered again. “Let’s try connecting the marks.”
“If we connect them there can only be two possible designs,” Neisen volunteered. With the toe of his shoe, he traced an imaginary line. First, from north to east, then east to south, to west, then back to north again. “A diamond shape,” he said.
With his toe, he traced two new lines between the marks, the first from north to south, the other from east to west. “Now we have a cross,” he observed. “One of two possible designs,” he said with finality, “a diamond or a cross.”
“Let’s try the cross,” Abelard said as he knelt down again where the two lines intersected.
Neisen watched with fascination as the old man began counting the stones. “One, two, three, four…One, two, three. These marks define an area four blocks from north to south and three from east to west,” he said.
“And the significance of that?”
“If we allow twelve inches for each stone that would be thirtysix by forty-eight inches. Plenty of room for a small entrance. Let’s see if we can find the combination.”
Abelard pressed on the stone where the lines intersected. Nothing happened.
“Let’s eliminate all the possibilities,” he said, pressing each of the marked stones in order. Still, nothing.
“Try pressing several stones at the same time,” Neisen suggested. Abelard nodded. Moving out from the intersection of the lines, they began pressing down on several stones at once. The only result was a growing feeling on Neisen’s part that if the stones formed a hinged door there might not be time to find its key.
He looked at his watch. Two o’clock. Abelard said the custodians always arrived at five. That should have given them plenty of time to finish their business. But at this rate?
“Let’s try putting ourselves in the place of the designers,” Abelard said. “What if the Persians built a failsafe into the system, designed in such a way that one man acting alone couldn’t open the crypt?”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Neisen responded. “What difference would it make if it took two men rather than one to open it? I don’t see—”
“All the difference in the world,” Abelard interrupted him. “If it had to be opened by more than one, those opening it illegally would risk disclosure. I do not know what the penalty for desecrating the tomb of a bishop might have been, but being drawn and quartered comes to mind.”
“So let’s suppose you’re right,” Neisen said. “If two men were needed to open it, how would they do it?”
As if preferring the company of his own thoughts, Abelard dropped his head for a moment. “Their weight…Of course, that’s it!” He did not attempt to hide his excitement. “Two men would have to apply their weight on different stones, at the same time.”
“Okay,” Neisen said, trying to follow. “Where would they stand?”
“I think they would have stood as far apart as possible.”
He moved and planted his feet on the stone marking the northern point of the line. “You stand over there.” Abelard pointed to the mark four blocks to the south. Neisen walked over and was about to step on the stone.
“Be ready to jump back,” Abelard warned. “I have no idea how this thing may work,” he said, just as Neisen cautiously put his feet on the other block.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then Neisen felt the ancient stones shudder as though suddenly awakened from a long sleep. From somewhere deep in the bowels of the church came the low, grinding sound of stone against stone. The west edge of the blocks began to slowly drop away as their east edge started to rise.
“Quick! Get off!” There was near panic in Abelard’s voice.
“All clear,” Neisen answered as he stepped quickly from the tilting blocks and joined Abelard at a safe distance.
“Somehow the underpinning for the floor is being withdrawn,” Abelard said. “That’s why one edge is falling and the other is rising.”
The process continued until the east edge of the floor had tilted upward to about a forty-five degree angle. Then the whole slab began to slide backward; slowly at first, it gained momentum as the slab’s weight exerted downward pressure. The process which began so slowly, ended quickly in a shower of dust as more than a thousand pounds of stone blocks slid with a grinding crash into the bowels of the building.
Neisen stood dumfounded, staring at the opening. Then, he looked across at his old mentor and grinned. “I don’t guess we’ll be closing the door when we leave,” he said with a laugh.
Abelard completely missed the irony. “Ricoldo and Bachelor closed it,” he said as he moved to the edge of the pit and looked down into the darkness.