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As the bow of the open, single-mast ship roared up the frothing face of a North Sea wave, tipped and slid down the back side of the swell, Connor felt his burning stomach begin to slam once again into the underside of his ribs. He gagged, and leaving his post by the main sheet of the sail, he made a dash for the railing. He threw his head over the side of the ship and heaved out the two sips of water he had ingested only minutes earlier. His head pounded. He felt as if he were going to die.
Someone patted his back. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Connor, pale and shivering, turned to face the concerned gaze of Sir Rudyard.
Angus’s father had to shout over the power of the roaring ocean to make his voice heard. “Getting your sea legs for the first time is the hardest yet most rewarding initiation there is, Connor. Soon you will be a sea rat just like the rest of us, loving the open ocean.”
“Yes, sir,” groaned Connor, as another wave of nausea hit him and he dry-heaved into the sea.
“Don’t worry, lad. This will be a short voyage. Believe it or not, you will live to see another day. In fact, we should have your feet back on solid ground before dinner.”
Sir Rudyard walked away without a single wobble as the rolling deck pitched downwards once again. Angus, not quite as steady on his feet as his father, managed to stagger across the heaving deck to his friend.
“Short?” muttered Connor as Sir Rudyard returned to his post next to the captain. “How can three days of torture be called a short voyage?”
“Cheer up,” said Angus, grabbing Connor by the shoulder. “Your salvation is near.”
Green-faced and gaunt, Connor managed a glance in the direction of his friend’s pointed finger. Under the blanket of the slate-grey sky appeared to be a fierce serpent patrolling the murky horizon. The gaping, fanged mouth of the beast was, upon closer inspection, a wide, sheltered harbour. Behind the jagged outcrops of upper teeth, the high defensive wall of a massive castle formed the monster’s nose. The serpent’s angry forehead was composed of a majestic rectangular keep that dominated the approaching landscape. Two glowing eyes high on the keep’s wall watched the tiny vessel approach. Connor realized that the orange lights were actually fiery signals for their approaching ship in order to help it navigate safely into the awaiting harbour.
Connor did not think that there could be a more imposing castle than Roslin, but this desolate fortification in the middle of the angry ocean was menacingly huge. Positioned to the side of the harbour entrance, it struck immediate fear into those who dared entered its waters. For the first time since stepping onto the sailboat, Connor stopped worrying about his heaving stomach.
“What is that place?” he asked, awed by the approaching stone monstrosity.
“My father has spoken of it,” answered Angus excitedly. “This is the Sinclair sea fortress, Kirkwall Castle! It is Prince Henry’s base for controlling the Orkney and Shetland Islands.”
“Prince Henry controls islands this far north?” asked Connor.
“They were given to him by the King of Norway,” explained Angus, “as part of a settlement between our two countries. The deal narrowly averted a war with our northern neighbour.”
“Unbelievable,” whispered Connor as the castle loomed ever closer. “How could anyone build a structure so huge out in the middle of nowhere?”
Angus smiled. “Remember, the Templars have always considered themselves builders first and fighters second. Father told me in private that their dream has always been to build a new city of Jerusalem. They want to build a city where people can live and worship God freely, above and beyond the reach of crooked popes and vengeful kings.”
“Is this the New Jerusalem?” asked Connor, absorbing the dark, imposing structure through the numbingly cold rain. “It’s not exactly how I had pictured the Holiest of Cities.”
The ship rounded the southern point of the harbour and finally entered its protected waters. Connor gave a sigh of relief as the giant swells of the North Sea gave way to a gentle rocking of calm water. The boys manned their stations and helped the crew tie down the sail. Others prepared to greet the small landing crafts that had been sent out to meet them.
Connor looked over his shoulder toward the frothing grey ocean that separated him from the rolling hills of his Scottish homeland. He had a sudden pang of homesickness. He longed to gaze upon the colourful heather of the Scottish highlands and walk the fields of his father’s farm. Then a flash of anger tore through him. Was he a soft boy who clung to the comforts of home, or was he now a hardened squire, ready for battle? The prince had called him to duty, considered to be an honour above all others. At that very moment, Connor swore an oath that he would never look back towards Scotland again.
Connor climbed down the rope ladder onto the last skiff, and with Angus by his side, departed for shore and whatever might await him.
Five
The rugged shore at the base of Kirkwall Castle was a beehive of activity. The dreary, cool weather did not dampen the spirits of the motivated work parties that swarmed over two large ships that were beached on the smooth pebbles of the harbour’s shore. Like a colony of ants swarming their queens, some workers replaced rotted hull planking while others repaired minor damage to the bow and masts. Both vessels were larger than the ship that had brought Connor to Kirkwall, and he was amazed that ocean vessels could be built to such large dimensions.
Led by Sir Rudyard, the boys followed the other soldiers up the path and through the treeless landscape that led to the massive front gate of the castle. Angus leaned in close and whispered to his friend.
“I hope I remember everything father taught us on the boat.”
Connor frowned. “I wonder how many instructions I missed while running to the rail to empty my stomach.”
“Don’t worry. You will be fine. You’ve got the best memory in all of Scotland.”
Connor frowned. In the past, many had commented on his ability to remember details and events, but those moments were under the normal conditions found back at Roslin Castle. Exhausted and sick, he wasn’t even sure if he could remember his own name right now. As the main gate came into view, however, his mind started to clear. An imposing barbican loomed menacingly out and over the thick wood of the main gates, giving the defenders of the castle a way to terrorize any army that dared attack the entrance. The barbican itself was supported by two massive pillars. Each was carved in the classic Roman tradition, but wrapping round the one on the left of the gate were two menacing serpents, hungrily eyeing the visitors as they made their final approach.
“Those pillars are just like the two pillars that held up the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem,” whispered Angus. “Just like in the stories father was telling us on the boat. Do you remember their names? That’s Jachin on the right . . .”
“. . . and Boaz on the left,” finished Connor, staring up at their incredible height. “Who could have built such beautiful columns out in the middle of nowhere?”
“Only the best builders in the world,” answered a deep voice. It was the voice of Sir Rudyard, who had slid to the back of the line. “So what do you think of Kirkwall?”
Connor whistled. “I would
