Chapter 38 -- Viva la Compagnie
..::When Saunier embarked on a restoration of Rennes le Chateau, he removed the altar stone which rested on two archaic Visigoth columns. One of these was hollow. Inside, the cure' found four parchments preserved in sealed wooden tubes. Two of these are said to have comprised genealogies, one dating from 1244, the other from 1644.
Perhaps the most august and consequential visitor to Sauniere and Rennes le Chateau was the Archduke Johann von Hapsburg, a cousin of Franz Josef, emperor of Austria. Bank statements subsequently revealed that Sauniere and the archduke had opened consecutive accounts on the same day and that the latter had made substantial sums over to the former.
During the 19th century the Priure' de Sion, working through Freemasonry and the Hieron du Val d'Or, attempted to establish a 'revived' and 'updated' Holy Roman Empire -- a sort of theocratic United States of Europe, ruled simultaneously by the Hapsburgs and a radically reformed Church::..
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..::There are at least a dozen families in Britain and Europe today who are of Merovingian heritage. These include the houses of Hapsburg-Lorraine...Our researches have persuaded us that the mystery of Rennes le Chateau does involve a serious attempt by influential people to establish a Merovingian monarchy in France, if indeed not the whole of Europe::...
Baigent, Leigh and Lincoln
Holy Blood, Holy Grail
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Local tradition in Guelph, Ontario, Canada, has it that in 1863 the short-lived emperor Maximilian von Hapsburg of Mexico, with the support of Scottish Rite Freemasons, began a colossal stone church on what is still known in Guelph as the Catholic Hilltop.
It is said that foundations for a structure six times the size of the present day Church of Our Lady were set into the hilltop in anticipation of Guelph becoming the headquarters of a Holy Kingdom in the New World - a New Jerusalem.
William F. Mann
The Templar Meridians
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It was Eugene-Etienne Tache, Quebec Parliament's engineer who came up with the motto 'Je me souriens.'
Tache's own grand daughter, Helene Paquet, stated that the three-word motto was taken from a poem of which the first verse ends with "Je me souviens/Que nee nous les lis je crois sous la rose" -- "I remember/That born under the lilies I grow under the rose". There is one detail that is very significant that is the word rose, spelled in its singular form.
Francine Bernier
The Templars' Legacy in Montreal, the New Jerusalem
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"There is the rose in which the divine word became flesh: here are the lilies whose perfume guides you in the right ways."
Beatrice to Dante - Paradiso
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'You're here! At last.' Athena stood to welcome Wolf Star in after his long road. The two hugged tightly and nose-kissed, smiling, foreheads touching.
'I am. It is good to be here,' he said, sighing, as he slipped off his packs and then fell upon the sofa. 'It has been a long trail.'
Athena didn't wish to inform him just then that they were about to head straight back from whence he'd just returned. But she knew she would have to, soon.
She sat beside him, legs curled. 'Hungry? There's chowder on the stove,' she offered.
'Thank you, cher. Perhaps, soon. I am so weary now I don't know what I am.'
'Lie down. Here.' Athena commanded. Wolf Star stretched across the sofa, groaning. Athena sat beside him and began to massage his head, neck and shoulders. 'After this, you should eat. Unless you're asleep.'
Wolf Star merely groaned. 'This is good...'
After some time, he rolled over on his back. 'There was much of interest on this journey.' His eyes locked onto hers. 'Some things that perhaps you should know about this friend of yours, Daryl.'
'Indeed?' What could he have done now, was Athena's long-suffering aforethought. Could Daryl have met Wolf Star on the road?
'Hm.' Wolf Star wondered where to begin. 'Did you know that he is an antiques collector?'
'Of course. It is how he makes his living. Rather successful at it as well. Why?'
Wolf Star leaned up on an elbow. 'Did you also know that he had come to the Monastery of St.William before us?'
Athena was confused. 'No.'She wondered how that had come to be. 'What happened?'
'He said,' Wolf Star began, looking as though anything Daryl said could hardly be trusted, 'that he'd gotten lost. In the storm. And had simply come upon the monastery in the dark. About 15 miles from where he'd disembarked from the coach stop.' He snorted.
Athena moved his legs over, and leaned back on the sofa. 'How strange.' She pondered it all. 'Was there a storm?'
'Oh yes. Quite a wild one. Lightning and much rain. Llew and I had arrived at St.Agnes, and were glad to be inside for the night...'
Knowing what she now knew, Athena began to get a grasp on what was on Wolf Star's mind.
'Ah. I see.' She got up and headed into the kitchen. 'I am making tea,' she announced.
Wolf Star merely lay, exhausted, eyes closed. He was awakened soon by Athena's return. 'Drink.' She held a steaming mug out to him. 'It's a restorative.'
His nose told him of sassafras and rosehips, strawberry and blackberry leaves. And honey. He sipped. 'It is good. I brought you lavender honey. Fresh from the monk's hives.'
'Thank you, cher.' She sipped her own tea. 'So. You became suspicious of Daryl because you figured he had known of your connection to the monastery, came there specifically when he knew you would be there, and all just to work some evil mojo on innocent monks and make off with some treasure out from under your nose. Oui?'
Wolf Star lay motionless. He drank some more tea. 'When you put it like that, it doesn't sound very logical.' He swirled the tea in his cup. 'But, no, that wasn't the entire de'sordre...'
'You're getting French with me again...' Athena warned.
Wolf Star sat up. 'Non. Not yet.' He frowned. 'But it was obviously Daryl's intention to get very, very "French" with my sister, who is now become Sister Cecilia, at the convent of St.Agnes!'
Ah. There lies the rub. Athena knew now what the problem was: Daryl. Up to his old tricks, that old coyote. Trouble was, old coyotes didn't realise what they were, to others. Until after they'd put all four paws in it...
'Diosa, he didn't...' Athena muttered to herself. She had to admit, though, that taking on a nun was rather above and beyond Daryl's usual miscalculations. She slowly shook her head in utter amazement. Daryl had outdone himself in reaching for the moon. Always, always, the man wanted only that which was unavailable. C'est fou...
'He didn't.' Wolf Star finished his tea, thumping his empty mug upon the table-chest. 'But only because I let him know that I knew what was in his evil heart and wicked mind!' He began to breathe harder.
Athena squeezed his shoulder. 'You really should eat.' She put up a hand. 'No. Nothing more, now. We can talk about things, later.'
When your eyes aren't shooting sparks and steam isn't coming out your ears, she thought to herself.
Wolf Star stood, about to speak.
Athena gave him the hand:
'No. -- Later.'
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'Oncle is both a Duquesne, of New France, and a McKinnon, of Nova Scotia,' Alain attempted this clarification for Emlyn. 'His blood is at war within himself. French vs. British, or Scottish, anyway.'
'The Marquise Duquesne? Of Fort Duquesne? That family?' Em inquired, having had about enough history lessons via chess moves, which had been ongoing since their arrival, over an hour ago. She hesitated, one finger hovering, then threatened Maurice's bishop with her knight.
'Fort Duquesne was lost, burnt down...your French and Indian War, the Revolution, the innumerable wars of Britain who couldn't decide if they wanted a ruler who didn't even speak English -- George, over that of a Catholic -- James, then Charlie, and between the Jacobites and the Jacobins...' Oncle Maurice waved a hand about his head, before taking Em's knight, '...even I weary of history on such a mad scale. Where was I? Ah, yes, the not-so-divine Marquise. That Dusquene, oui.' He sat back and studied the board, then Em's face, judging her patience.
'So. That is my family's history here in New France. We were banished in the Deportation of 1755. New Orleans, briefly. Shirt-tail relatives were not given any special dispensation, and indeed, the name Dusquene was not a welcome one to British forces at the time. But, we returned, eventually, naturellement; "Un Canadien Errant..."' Maurice half-sang.
'So, Oncle,' Alain, once more, attempted to steer the discussion back to more timely topics. 'Had you heard of this new attempt to reinstate Charles Edward Stuart to the throne and then to the presidency of the US and then, in the Prime Minister's seat -- boom boom boom -- and so to the unification of all North America...?'
'...Under the Scottish banner? You think that it will be St.Andrew's flag and not that of St.George? Certainement not la fleur d'lis!' Oncle Maurice's hand swept the remaining pieces off the board. 'THAT is what would come of such an insane ploy! Utter chaos.'
Emlyn and Alain looked at each other. Wondering, what now?
Although having been tethered to the chessboard, as it were, Em had not been altogether idle; her gaze had taken in the many telling details all about them. Wall art, books on shelf, for example, told her that Oncle M. was not only Catholic, possibly practising, still, in spite of the blatant heresy of gnosticism wildly visible all about them...the Book of Enoch and Jubilees, the Zohar, Sepher Yetzirah, the Bhagavad Gita, and...what is this? -- Surely not! "The Sacred Book of Abraham the Jew, Prince, Priest, Levite, Astrologer and Philosopher to That Tribe of Jews who by the Wrath of God were Dispersed Amongst the Gauls" -- wherever, however did he lay hands on such a chimera? His Baudelaire seemed now quite conservative by comparison...
Meanwhile the more questionable works of the new romantics were proudly displayed by the old masters; she eyed Rosetti's Magdalene that was so beloved of Daryl -- and was that an Aubrey Beardsley? -- cheek by jowl with da Vinci! Scandaleux!
Maurice, she noticed suddenly, was staring hard at her. 'It's your move,' he said both low and slow, making it sound as though she held the fate of the world in her hands. She glanced at the chess pieces scattered about the Turkish carpet.
Sighing, Maurice stood, stretching. 'It is tiring, sitting for so long. I weary of the town, as well.' He strode to the window, peering out into the bright autumn day. 'Let us head into the country, shall we? Are you hungry yet?' Not waiting for a reply, he continued, 'Of course we are. A picnic and a fine gallop, what say?'
Em had learned in that hour-plus, that any question was merely rhetorical and would be answered by the man himself. So. She merely smiled. Alain glanced her way, as if to say, 'you see how he is.'
'That sounds lovely, Maurice,' she finally got in a word.
Maurice smiled. Like the cat packing the canary for a picnic.
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It was the irresistable scent of pumpkin pie that finally awoke Wolf Star, who, after venting all his sister-protective-spleen, had at last given in to exhaustion and fell out on the sofa, leaving Athena to shake her head in astonishment and make pie.
'After dinner, cometh the pie.' Was her declaration.
And so, once the fish chowder, cornbread, and grape, apple, celery and walnut salad had been decimated, along with the pie, Athena bethought that it was time for a few words of enlightenment herself.
'Feeling a bit less vengeful yet?' She sat herself beside Wolf Star before the fire, where she warmed a pot of cider.
No answer was forthcoming, which she'd expected, and so continued: 'I had a visit from Emlyn and Shannon after you left. They were quite upset about something they assured me you and I should take action about immediately.'
Wolf Star looked at her, silent.
'Yes.' Athena poured the hot cider into their mugs.
'It seems that Emlyn's former fiance, Daryl, who had been kidnapped by an unscrupulous antiques dealer, St.John from Nova Scotia, then taken by Russian ship to Alaska, then by train to Toronto...where, wanting no part of this nefarious plan, of course, had managed to escape and find his way here to me.'
Still, Wolf Star sat, unresponsive. Then, 'Yes. I was here, you know, when he arrived.'
'And you left, directly after.' Athena reminded him. 'Emlyn and Shannon had discovered something later, after Daryl had left for town and parts beyond unknown...that along with this whole plot of St.John's, to remake the Americas...are you listening?' Athena asked, tilting her head about Wolf Star, to latch onto his gaze.
'Um.' He answered.
'Hm,' Athena continued, 'they then discovered that the whole coup to overtake Canada and the US was merely the foundation; part, if you will, of a larger, more insidious plan.'
'Which is?' Finally, some show of interest from Wolf Star.
'Which is, that St.John and Alex Kidd, who appear to be the ringleaders of this plot, also plan to implement some sort of spiritual coup as well.'
Wolf Star took up his mug and frowned into his cider. 'How so?'
'We have now heard that the real treasure they are after is something they're calling The Holy Grail. Exactly what that is, to them, I'm not sure. But, they had information that it was being hidden in a monastery somewhere in the northeastern part of either Canada or New England.' She put a hand upon Wolf Star's knee. 'And, that was why they asked us both, to travel the time trail back to the monastery, to warn them that danger could soon be at their door.'
Athena slapped his knee and stood.
'But, thanks to you, I can tell them that the man who was KIDNAPPED, DRUGGED and HELD PRISONER, while trying to escape those who had instigated this wicked plot -- the man who was taken across the country, chased by goons and thugs off into the night, then when he found refuge from a thunderstorm, by chance, in a monastery, HE has been "safely" sent away. And so now the poor monks won't have any trouble from HIM.
'...The man I have known well like a brother for the past thirty years or so. Yes, the monastery is safe from HIM,' She repeated, tapping her foot. Not looking at the man smoldering on the couch, she ended her rant with: 'How very noble of you. Well, at least your sister is safe. From Daryl...that wicked wolf.'
Taking her cider upstairs to the loft, Athena left Wolf Star below. Alone. He sighed. 'Et tu, Brut?'
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'There is wine. In the cellar. Un moment!' Maurice disappeared down a stairway.
'Alain!' Emlyn hissed, when he was gone. 'I haven't had a chance to get a word in! Neither have you.'
Alain sighed, nodding. 'C'est vrai. It is always this way, with him. But, he is simply trying us out, to find out how serious we are. You are doing grand, you will see. At some point, we will have dialogue.'
Emlyn sighed as well. 'Then, we're off to the country, I guess.'
'Avanti! Tourjours!' Alain exclaimed.
'You forgot "storm the Bastille!"' Maurice's head reappeared coming up the stairs. 'We will pick up everything else, along with more cliche's, en route. Allons-y!' Maurice had changed into jodhpurs, and was now pulling on a leather jacket. And a cloak.
'I hardly have riding gear with me,' Em began.
'Not to worry.' Maurice herded them out the door. 'Everything is at the stables. Allez!'
Emlyn wondered: whatever next?
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