"So I've been told."

"Well, then-we are an organization dedicated to research and study. Our mission is intellectual and social."

"But you are the true heirs of the Temple?"

"When Pope Clement the Fifth suspended the order, the Templars became part of other orders. In Aragon, they became part of the Order of Montesa; in Portugal, King Dinis created a new order, the Orden do Cristo; in Germany they became part of the Teutonic Order. Only in Scotland did the order itself never dissolve. The uninterrupted existence of the Order of Scotland embodies how the Templar spirit has come down to our own days. In the fifteenth century the Scottish Templars became part of the French Garde Ecossaise, which protected the king, and they supported the Jacobites in Scotland. Since 1705 the order has been in the open; that year it adopted new statutes, and Louis Philippe of Orleans became its Grand Master. There were Templars who took part in the French Revolution, in Napoleon's empire, in the struggle for Greek independence, and of course they were part of the French resistance during World War Two……"

"But how? Through what organization? I haven't found historical references to the order operating as such. What are they called?"

"Miss Jimenez, through the years the Templars have lived silently, dedicated to reflection and study, taking part as individuals in these events, although always with the knowledge of their brothers. There are various organizations-lodges, if you like-in which groups of knights meet. These lodges are legal; they are scattered through many countries, and they exist under the laws of each one. You should change your focus on the Order of the Temple; as I say, in the twenty-first century you will not find an organization like that of the twelfth or thirteenth-it simply doesn't exist.

"Our institution here is devoted to studying the history of the Temple and the individual and collective events associated with it, from its founding to our own day," the professor continued. "We examine archives; as historians we review certain obscure events; we seek out old documents… I believe I detect a look of disappointment on your face."

"No, it's that…"

"You were expecting a warrior knight? I'm sorry to disappoint you. I am just a professor retired from the University of Cambridge who, in addition to being a believer, shares with other knights certain principles: a love of truth and justice."

Ana sensed that behind Anthony McGilles's words there was much more, that everything couldn't be that clear, that simple.

"Professor, I appreciate your kindness in explaining all this. I know I'm taking advantage of your patience, but I wonder if you could help me understand an event that I think the Templars were involved in?"

"I'll try, of course. If I don't know the answer, we'll go to our computerized archive. What's the event?"

"I'd like to know whether the Templars took the Holy Shroud that is now in Turin from Constantinople during the reign of Balduino the Second. The shroud disappeared at that time and didn't reappear, in France, until almost a century later."

Had she imagined just the slightest ripple in his urbane demeanor?

'Ah, the shroud… So much controversy! So many legends! My opinion as a historian is that the Temple had nothing to do with its disappearance."

"Would it be possible for me to explore a bit in your archives? I've come all this way…"

"I think we can arrange that. I'll have Professor McFadden help you."

"Professor McFadden?"

"I must go to a meeting, but I leave you in good hands. Professor McFadden is our chief archivist, and he'll help you with anything you need."

McGilles picked up a small silver bell and rang it gently. The butler entered immediately.

"Richard, take Miss Jimenez to the library. Professor McFadden will meet with her there."

"I appreciate your help, professor."

"I hope we may be of service to you, Miss Jimenez. Good day."

A.D. 1291

Guillaume de Beaujeu, Grand Master of the Temple, carefully slid the document into the secret drawer in his writing table, his lean face troubled. The missive from the brothers in France was yet more proof fhat the Temple no longer had as many friends at the court of Philippe IV as they'd had in the time of good King Louis-may God protect him and glorify him, for there had been no more chivalrous and valiant king in all of Christendom.

Philippe owed them gold, a great deal of gold, and the more he owed, the more his resentment against the Temple seemed to grow. In Rome, too, there were religious orders that could not hide their festering envy of the Temple's power.

But in that spring of 1291, Guillaume de Beaujeu had another problem, more urgent than the intrigues within the courts of France and Rome. Francois de Charney and Said had returned from their incursion into the Mameluke camp with devastating news.

The Mamelukes dominated Egypt and Syria, and they had taken Nazareth, the city in which our Lord Jesus grew from childhood into manhood. Today, their flag flew above the port of Jaffa, scant leagues from the Templar fortress Saint-Jean d'Acre. For a month the knight and his squire had lived among them in their advance military encampment, had listened to the soldiers and shared bread, water, and prayers to Allah the Merciful with them. They had passed themselves off as Egyptian merchants who wished to sell provisions to the army. The information they had gathered led to one inescapable conclusion. In only a few days, fifteen at the most, the Mameluke army would attack Saint-Jean d'Acre. That was what the soldiers were saying, and it had been confirmed by the officers with whom. de Charney had fraternized. The Mameluke commanders had boasted that they would be rich when they seized the treasures safeguarded in the fortress at Acre, which they vowed would fall, as so many other fortresses had fallen to their armies.

The soft breeze of March presaged the intense heat of the coming months in a Holy Land watered with Christian blood. Two days ago a select group of Templars had filled chests with the gold and treasures that the Temple kept within the fortress. The Grand Master had ordered them to set sail, as soon as they were ready, on a course for Cyprus and from thence to France. None of the brothers wanted to leave, and they had pleaded with Guillaume de Beaujeu to allow them to stay and defend the city. But the Grand Master would not be swayed: The survival of the order depended in great part on them, for they were charged with saving the Templar treasure. Now all was ready for their departure.

Of all the knights, Francois de Charney was the most distraught. He had held back bitter tears when de Beaujeu ordered him on a mission far from Acre. The Frenchman begged his superior to let him stay and fight for the Cross, but de Beaujeu forbade further argument. The decision had been made.

The Grand Master descended the stairs into the cool dungeons of the fortress, and there, in a room guarded by knights, he inspected the massive chests that were soon to depart for France.

"We will divide the treasure among three galleys so as not to stake all on one. You each know which ship you will be embarking on. Be prepared to set sail at a moment's notice."

"I do not yet know my ship," said de Charney.

Guillaume de Beaujeu's iron gaze fixed upon de Charney. More than sixty years of age but still strong, his face weathered by the sun, he was one of the most veteran of the Templar knights. He had survived a thousand perils, and as a spy he had no equal unless it be his late friend Robert de Saint-Rimy, who had been killed during the defense of Tripoli when a Saracen arrow pierced his heart.