Page 52 of The Hidden Lord
Carved into the protected surface of the stone was an intricate design of breathtaking complexity. A spiraling circle of overlapping swords arranged in perfect geometric harmony. At the center of the spiral sat an elaborate heraldic crest, its details preserved with remarkable clarity thanks to centuries of protection from the elements. Each individual sword blade bore different markings that were unmistakably astrological symbols, rendered with the precision of a master craftsman.
“This is extraordinary,” Gabriel murmured with awe as he studied the carved spiral. “The level of craftsmanship, the sophistication of the design … this represents many hours of skilled work by someone with access to the finest tools and materials.”
Henri found herself enthralled by the intricacy of the carving. Each element of the design had been executed with meticulous attention to detail, from the flowing curves of the spiral arrangement to the precise rendering of each astrological symbol.
“Look at the central crest,” she managed to say through chattering teeth, pointing to the heart of the spiral with a finger she could barely feel. “Those are clearly the Pendragon arms, are they not? The dragon motif is unmistakable.”
Gabriel nodded grimly. “Which confirms our suspicions about the Arthurian connection. But we are going to lose our fingers if we try to study this properly in these conditions.” He looked up at the darkening sky, where heavy clouds promised even worse weather to come. “We need to document this thoroughly, but not here. We will carry this to the carriage and create a detailed record before we lose what little light remains.”
The journey back to their carriage through the increasingly hostile weather was slow going, requiring careful navigation of ground that had become even more hazardous as the temperature continued to drop. By the time they reached the relative shelter of their conveyance, both were shivering uncontrollably and desperate for warmth.
“Get inside,” Gabriel instructed Henri, taking the full weight of the stone and waiting for her to take her seat before heaving it onto the opposite bench.
Henri settled back with a weary sigh, grateful to escape the biting wind that had cut across the moor like a blade. Her cheeks were numb, her gloves damp from brushing sleet from her cloak, and her limbs ached from the uneven terrain. Across from her, Gabriel settled onto the bench seat, his hand resting on the slab next to him with the kind of care he might have afforded a fragile diplomatic dispatch. He called out to the coachman to return them to their inn.
They did not speak as the vehicle lurched into motion. The rattle of the wheels and the steady clop of hooves on the frozen road were accompaniment enough. Henri closed her eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the enclosed space seep intoher bones, while Gabriel leaned back, silent and thoughtful, one hand still resting atop the blanket-wrapped stone.
When they reached the inn, full dark had fallen and the scent of roasting meat wafted from the kitchens. The innkeeper showed them upstairs to a modest bedchamber with a low ceiling, a flickering fire in the grate, and a narrow table beneath the casement window. He promised to bring a tray of food along shortly, to Henri’s relief.
Gabriel placed the stone on the table, unwrapping it with care while Henri pulled off her damp gloves and moved closer to the fire. The room was more comfortable than the carriage had been, though still carrying a draught that hinted at the age of the building.
“We will examine it now,” Gabriel said quietly, already retrieving a roll of parchment, graphite sticks, and pencils from his portfolio. “While the details are fresh in our minds.”
Henri joined him at the table, watching as he laid the parchment over the stone’s surface and smoothed it flat with the side of his hand. Despite the chill in his fingers, his movements were precise.
He began to take the rubbing in slow, even strokes, working from the outer edge inward. Gradually, the shapes began to emerge. The spiral of swords, the fractured crown at the center, and the arcane markings they had only glimpsed in the failing light.
Henri watched in fascination as the image slowly emerged.
“The precision required for the original carving,” Gabriel murmured, pausing to warm his fingers before continuing, “suggests a hand well-versed in both art and astronomy. This was not the work of a local mason following simple orders. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were recording.”
Henri studied the developing rubbing. “Someone preserving something sacred. Hidden knowledge, perhaps. This could bethe work of Matteo di Bianchi himself. But why bury it beneath an abandoned altar in the middle of the Yorkshire moors?”
“Perhaps,” Gabriel said, adding subtle shading to indicate the depth of the carved symbols, “we will understand once we decipher the message embedded within the design. But first, I need to ensure we have a complete record of every detail.”
The documentation process took nearly two hours, with Gabriel working by the light of a small oil lamp. He captured not only the overall design but also the specific details of each astrological symbol, the precise angles of the sword arrangements, and the intricate elements of the central Pendragon crest.
Henri found herself impressed by Gabriel’s approach, the way he systematically recorded each element of the carving without allowing excitement over their discovery to compromise the accuracy of his work. It was the kind of disciplined attention to detail that spoke to years of training in situations where precision could mean the difference between success and failure.
“There,” Gabriel said finally, setting down his pencil and examining his completed sketch with critical eyes. “I believe I have captured all the essential elements. Now we can attempt to decipher what this remarkable piece is trying to tell us.”
Gabriel stored his documentation materials and withdrew the Malory manuscript from its wrapping. The ancient text looked fragile and precious in the lamplight, its pages yellowed with age but still clearly legible. Henri watched with growing anticipation as Gabriel began the complex process of cross-referencing the symbols in his sketch with specific passages in the medieval manuscript.
The deciphering was painstaking work, requiring Gabriel to examine each individual element of the spiral design and match it with corresponding entries in the manuscript. Henri helped where she could, pointing out symbols that might have beenoverlooked and suggesting alternative interpretations when Gabriel was uncertain about a particular marking.
“This symbol here,” Gabriel said, indicating one of the astrological markings with the tip of his pencil, “is Leo. And this arrangement of letters … if I am reading the pattern correctly …”
He continued working, occasionally muttering under his breath as he worked through particularly complex sections of the code. The room grew colder as the evening stretched on, but neither Henri nor Gabriel paid attention to the discomfort as they became increasingly absorbed in unraveling the ancient puzzle.
“I believe I have it,” Gabriel announced finally, looking up from his work with satisfaction after nearly an hour of careful translation. “The complete message reads, ‘The Lion’s gate opens when the Silver Queen reigns in Arthur’s sky. From cliff to sea, let the bloodline flow.’”
Henri felt a thrill of excitement as Gabriel spoke the deciphered words, immediately beginning to work through their possible meanings. “The Silver Queen! That must refer to the moon? Medieval and Renaissance texts often used such poetic language when referring to celestial bodies.”
“Precisely my thinking,” Gabriel agreed, setting down the manuscript and focusing his attention on Henri’s interpretation. “And ‘Arthur’s sky’ likely indicates a specific location associated with Arthurian legend, or perhaps a particular astronomical alignment that would have been significant to anyone familiar with the traditional stories.”
Henri leaned forward to examine Gabriel’s sketch of the spiral more closely, her mind working to connect the deciphered message with the visual elements of the design. “Look at how the swords are arranged within the spiral. The hilts all face inward toward the central Pendragon crest, but the blades point outward in different directions, almost like compass points.”
Gabriel followed her observation with renewed interest, studying the arrangement with fresh eyes now that they had the deciphered message to guide their interpretation. “And this sword here …” He pointed to one that appeared slightly longer than the others, its blade bearing what they could now identify as the astrological symbol for Leo. “It is angled distinctly southwest from the center of the design.”
