The Lost Spear of Destiny: Karen Blakehurst Adventures, #2

By Brent Peacock

A clue hidden in an ancient Druid tomb, revealed by an earthquake, leads Archaeologist Karen Blakehurst on a frantic treasure hunt across Britain. Did the Templar Knights hide the Holy Spear of Destiny somewhere in England centuries ago?

Does the Spear really hold the power legend claims? Does it even exist? No one knows! But influential and wealthy men dog her every step, waiting for the opportunity to take it for themselves should she discover its hiding place.

Karen and her team race to keep ahead of the mystical Guardians and the vicious Catholic Paladins, as they try to solve the mystery of the fabled Lost Spear of Destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brent Peacock
• Release date: Aug 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476309538

Brent Peacock

Brent Peacock is 58 years old and has been happily married to his wife Jo for 39 years. They have four adult children and live on the Gold Coast, Australia. Brent has been involved in motivational and leadership seminars for the past 30 years and holds a Dip. Theo. Brent likes Caving, Golf, Movies and reading. Brent and Jo are self confessed travelholics. Most of the references to overseas cities and places in his books come directly from their travels worldwide. Brent answers the following questions. Your favourite city? Paris. Your favourite place in the world? Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming. Your most scary moment? Flying from Grand Canyon to Las Vegas in a small 6 seater plane during a gale force wind. The most life changing place you have been? Monument Valley, Utah. It is one of the most spell binding places on Earth.

Book preview

Prologue, two weeks from today.

THE SOUND OF THE GLOCK firing caught Harrison Owen by surprise. He tried to lunge sideways, but the bullet hit him in the chest, just to the left of his heart. It tore through his lung, and nicked his aorta, blasting a hole big enough to make him to bleed to death in minutes. The power of the 9mm charge pushed the slug on, slicing his spinal cord as it went. It exited his body through his back and lodged in the wooden door behind him. Owen slumped to the ground with a groan, clutching at his chest in an effort to ease the crippling pain, which almost caused him to pass out.

HARRISON!! Karen yelled as she ran towards him not caring about her own safety. Falling down at his side, she cradled his head in her hands. Blood began to pool under his body as he looked into her eyes and spoke her name one last time.

"Karen, I love you, he whispered weakly as she stroked his forehead. She looked up at the shooter and through her tears cried out, Why?"

You didn't really think we would let you live did you, Doctor Blakehurst? Now that we have the spear, you've outlived your usefulness!

You bastard! You said on the phone if we gave you the spear, you would let us all go!

Don't be so gullible Karen, you should have known that would never happen! You're too easy persuaded; you came to meet us without any backup. Those two bodyguards of yours will rue the day they let you come here unprotected!

He pointed the gun at her mother Marion, who was still sitting bound to the chair.

Shoot me if you must, but let Karen go! she cried.

None of you are going to leave here alive! We can't have any witnesses, don't you understand that? the Paladin replied

You may think no one else knows we came here, but you're wrong. I didn't trust you right from the first time I talked to you! The police are on their way, you won't escape!

Nice try Karen, I almost believed you! You would have made a good actress!

He turned the gun towards her, and with a cruel smile clenched the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot was almost deafening at such close range. Out of reflex Karen's whole body tensed before the bullet hit her and she closed her eyes in fear.

Chapter One.

Jerusalem,

4BC.

THE SOUND OF A HAMMER striking iron filled the air. Apart from the wailing of a small group of women, there was no other sound. A human voice suddenly screamed in intense pain as the hammer missed the huge nail, striking the victim's wrist with full force.

'Little matter,' thought Centurion Marcus Arillus, 'that thief would be dead in a few hours anyway, a shattered wrist is of little consequence!'

The penalty for theft in the Roman Empire was swift and brutal. Death by crucifixion, the most painful and lingering form of torture the Romans could dream up. Nails were driven through the wrists and feet of the victim, pinning him to a crude wooden cross, which was then raised and set into a hole in the ground. Over the next twelve hours the hapless victim had plenty of time to reflect on his stupidity. Hanging between heaven and earth, he slowly bled out while his lungs filled with fluid from the trauma afflicted on his body. Each breath became increasingly hard, as the capacity of the hanging man's lungs were restricted more and more by the fluid. This forced the victim to push up on the nails in his feet, and to pull himself up using the nails in his wrists so he could expand his chest for air. Each push brought massive shocks of pain, making the very act of breathing a nightmare. The Roman soldiers made bets on how long the victim could go before gasping for another breath. This was a sadistic lottery, each agonising breath bringing yells of delight from the winner, and howls of disgust from the losers.

It had been a long night for the Centurion. Some Jewish religious zealot had been brought before the Roman Governor, Pontius Pilate, charged by his own people with inciting a revolt against the ruling Romans, a crime punishable by death. Marcus Arillus had been assigned with the arrest warrant for the man, who was found in the Garden of Gethsemane with a small group of his followers.

The trial went on into the night. Pilate had little interest in sentencing the man, Jesus, son of Joseph, from the small northern town of Nazareth. From all accounts it looked like a cooked up plot by the ruling Sanhedrin party of the Jews to get rid of a popular teacher and small time prophet. Pilate even had the man flogged with the cat of nine tails, thinking this would be enough punishment for the angry Jews, after which he declared, I find nothing that warrants death in this man!

Instead of sympathy, the Jews rose up as angry mob, crying out to Pilate and telling him that if he let the man go, Caesar himself would hear of the failure of his ruling Pilate to dispense justice.

Arillus had always thought Pilate was weak. Basically a man who failed at everything he was assigned to, Pilate had been sent to the worst trouble spot in the Empire. Judea was a hot bed of rebellion and religious fervour. The presence of the Romans with their standards depicting Roman gods was a gross offence to the Jews. They used every opportunity to challenge Roman authority, the charge of 'You are no friend of Caesar' being the strongest.

Pilate looked at the cruel men in front of him and shook his head.

I have whipped him and will let him go! he declared.

Away with him, crucify him! yelled the mob, until Pilate called for a bowl of water and stated, I wash my hands of this man, do what you want with him!

'A typical cowards response!' thought the Centurion as he looked at the face of the man accused. Amazingly this man showed no hatred, his eyes even showing compassion for the Roman governor.

Arillus knew the next few hours would be long and boring. Two other men had been sentenced that night, both found guilty of stealing from the Roman Empire. If the truth was known they probably were only trying to feed their families or keep themselves alive. God knows it was hard enough to survive in this backward sewer-pit of a country. The Romans took everything they could as tribute from the Government of Judea. This caused the ruling Jews, under their puppet King Herod, to tax the population so severely, most working families were restricted to only one meal a day. Some didn't even get that!

Three men to execute meant three times the hassle and god alone knows how many hours before they actually died. The soldiers amused themselves by dividing up the small amount of clothing the victims had, leaving the men with only a loin cloth to cover their genitals, sometimes not even that.

'Who really cares if these Jews get offended at the sight of a naked body?' thought Arillus. 'It didn't matter what the Romans did, these people objected to just about everything! We should kill them all and do the world a favour!' he thought as his men crucified the three condemned criminals.

'Make that two criminals and one man who upset the wrong people!' he corrected his thoughts.

The day dragged on, some of his men were dozing in the shade of a huge sycamore tree, trying to escape the heat of the sun. No such luxury for the condemned. They bore the midday and early afternoon heat full on their battered bodies. Those two thieves were really kicking up now, moaning and crying out for water. The man in the middle, Jesus of Nazareth, remained silent, even refusing a sponge filled with water and a drug to lesson the pain. It was as though he wanted to suffer to the full extent possible.

Around the six hour of the day a dark cloud, most likely a typical Judean thunder storm, rolled over the city. Strangely, this cloud stayed overhead for hours, thunder crashing and rain pouring down on the morbid scene.

A runner appeared looking for the Centurion. He carried a message from Pilate himself. The Jews had requested the condemned men be taken from the crosses before nightfall, as that was the beginning of their special religious day, the Sabbath.

Arillus groaned. This meant they would have to kill the victims, if they weren't already dead of course. He waited until his valiant signalled the time had come, then assigned men to break the legs of the crucified, making it impossible for them to push up, effectively drowning them in their own chest fluids.

The two thieves screamed in agony as their legs were broken, both men dying in a few minutes. When the soldiers went to break the legs of the third man, they found him dead already. This was highly unusual. One soldier called the Centurion over to examine the victim. Arillus prodded the man with his sword, getting no response. He turned to the closest soldier, a man named Longinus who held a Roman Legionaries spear in his hand.

Without a word, Arillus took the spear, trusting it hard into the side of the man known as Jesus, piercing up into his lungs and heart. Blood and fluid flowed freely from the gaping wound, the action causing a howl of mourning from the small group of women, (the followers of Jesus,) who were standing nearby.

The victim didn't even react. He certainly was dead. Arillus handed the spear back to Longinus who wiped the blood from the weapon and resumed his post.

Return to Pilate and report the three condemned are dead. We will remove the bodies within the next hour. That should keep the Jews happy! Arillus said to the runner, who saluted and quickly left the grisly scene.

'We go home early tonight,' the Centurion thought as the soldiers lowered the crosses.

Two hours later, Legionary Longinus walked into his home, placing the spear near the door and removing his helmet. His wife greeted him with a kiss, leading him to the tiny meal preparation area. His evening meal was the same food he ate every night, rice, gruel and vegetables. Even the army was too poor to eat like the officers, although the soldiers knew the Jewish rulers dined on succulent fare every night.

'Fat bastards!' Longinus thought as he sat down. He was happy to be home, but the sight of his three-year-old daughter standing near the table brought sorrow to his heart. She was a beautiful girl, apart from the fact she had been born blind. It was like a death sentence to child in this cruel time. Blind people were of little use to modern Roman society; the thing he feared most was what would happen to her after him and his wife died. He knew she would be cast on the scrap heap of humanity, probably turned into a sex slave for some rich asshole! Longinus tried not to think about that too much, it just made him more and more angry. It was the only thing he never talked about with his wife.

He even tried offering sacrifice to the great God Jupiter, the chief Roman deity, but the child remained blind.

Jupiter cares about us as much as the Jew's do, he let slip to his wife one night after dark. She lay beside him in their bed, putting her hand over his mouth.

Don't bring ill fortune on us by insulting the gods, Longinus! Jupiter will do what he sees fit!

'If you believe that woman, you're more stupid than I thought!' he said to himself as he lay beside her in the dark.

The meal was over and his wife cleared the few dishes. Longinus went into the tiny living area to take his daughter on his knee. She was no-where to be seen. A crash near the door made him jump to his feet. The spear! She had knocked over the spear!

Longinus rushed to the doorway, finding the child lying on the floor, the spear under her, across her belly. He gently picked her up, fearing the worst.

Brushing her long hair away from her face, he smiled as he found she was not injured. He carried the child to a chair sitting down and lifting her to his lap as he stroked her head.

Thank the gods you are not hurt! he spoke into her ear.

I love you Daddy, she replied. Your uniform is a really nice colour too!

He laughed as she spoke. She was always pretending she could see and making little comments like that one.

This chair is very small Daddy, do you want me to sit on the one over there? she asked as she pointed across the room.

Longinus looked down at her face and his heart almost stopped. As he looked into her eyes, she was looking back at him. The Irises of both her eyes had changed from white to a beautiful blue and as he moved, she tracked his movement.

Donarta! Come here! he yelled out to his wife. She came running fearing the worst. If the child was hurt, they had no way of getting medical help. The cost was too high! She ran into the tiny room and stopped in her tracks as the little girl turned to look at her.

Hello Mummy, I like the way your hair falls on your shoulders!

Donarta was astounded! Somehow the girl was healed. She was no longer blind! The only thing Longinus could think of was that she had touched the spear. Then he remembered one of the other soldiers talking about that Jesus person they had crucified earlier on. Apparently he had some magical power that gave him the ability to heal the sick!

His blood was on the spear! Did his blood have something to do with this miracle?

Chapter Two.

Wessex,

Britannia,

400AD.

CAESAR ELECT CONSTANTINE III SAT in his tent, convening a counsel of war. The weather outside was brutal; cold Artic winds blew down from the north, bringing with them a severe drop in temperature and sleet mixed with light sprinklings of snow. Around the table his assembled Generals shared the same glum look.

The news from the spies was bad, very bad in fact. To the West, the wild Irish Scotis' were massing for an invasion of Wales. In the East, the Saxons from Gaul and Normandy continually raided Essex and the surrounding country. In the North, word had just come through of an alliance between the barbarian Picts and Scots, one that had been threatened for years but now was a reality. Emperor Hadrian had built his great wall across the North Country to keep the barbarian hordes out of Britannia. For two hundred years the wall had acted as a perfect deterrent as long as the Romans had enough troops to fight along it; but now with uprisings in Gaul and the Slavic mountains, the army was stretched thin. Too thin! The great wall was largely unmanned, all the Northern invaders had to do was climb it. Constantine had neither the manpower nor the resources to stop them. Too many wars over too many long years had sadly depleted the once great and feared Roman Legions. Rome's fighting force was a shadow of its former self. The glory days were gone; all he could do now was pull back and hope to regroup at a later date.

What news, Arthur? Constantine asked as the mighty King of the Britons entered the tent.

I bring grave tidings Lord Caesar! said Arthur bowing before the ruler of the Roman Empire. The Picts and Scots are massing at the wall. Within the week they will be ready to strike at Wessex, even crossing the River Itchen. We can hold them, but without re-enforcements I fear we will suffer defeat, possibly even losing Camelot!

We have no more troops my friend. What hope is there of raising an army from the people to the South?

My men are doing that as we speak Caesar, but I fear there will be too many barbarians for us to push back.

Constantine looked at the others around the table.

My friends, as Romans we do not retreat. These invaders may think they can beat us, but we are superior in every way. If we have to die on the field of battle, so be it! Ready the troops, man the defences, be ready to repel any river crossing and with the help of the God's we will gain victory!

The Generals stood as one, lifting their right arms in salute and crying out, HAIL CAESAR! HAIL CAESAR! HAIL CAESAR!

As they left, King Arthur stood to one side until he was alone with Caesar.

We have little hope Constantine. Even if we can hold them, we can't push them back! You Romans may have great fighting skills, but my spies report we will be outnumbered five to one!

I know my friend, I know! replied Caesar.

The army of the Picts and Scots easily crossed the wall and to their surprise met no resistance at all. This spurred them on as they marched south towards the waiting Roman Legions. All along the way, every time they entered a town or settlement, they found no Romans. Astonished at this lack of resistance, the invaders pushed onwards, taking mile after mile of Britannia, without losing a single man.

The final barrier the massed army of invaders faced was the mighty River Itchen. In anticipation of their arrival the Romans had removed every boat and raft from the northern side of the river. Trees were felled for miles, their wood shipped over the river away from the approaching hoard. The two Roman bridges crossing the river near the towns of Camelot and Bishopstoke were destroyed, the lumber carted away to the south bank. Roman scouts placed the invaders only twelve hours away as Constantine rolled his major weapons into place on the south bank of the river.

The cold night gave way to bright sunshine, the invaders reaching the river three hours after daybreak. At an average width of one and a half miles the river was a formidable obstacle. Across the water Roman legions waited. Although the army had been depleted by troops being taken to fight in Gaul and the Slavic regions, the sight of the massed Legions shook the Picts and Scots. Every 100 yards, huge wooden towers over fifty feet high, with multiple levels faced the river, surrounded by Roman troops. None of the barbarian army had seen structures like them before. The might of Britannia's Roman Legions stretched along the riverbank for over two miles, the size of the army far bigger than the invaders had expected.

Unable to find boats, the barbarians set about scavenging any wood they could to construct rafts, barges and punts. Farmhouses and huts for miles around were stripped of timber; wooden carts, storage bins, fences and even well covers suffered the same fate. The process was slow and frustrating, but eventually a fleet of makeshift watercraft stood ready on the north bank of the river.

From his command post on the highest hill facing the river, Constantine surveyed the enemy. Arthur stood near him in silence, the grave look on his face giving away his feelings.

A mighty army Arthur!

Yes Lord Caesar, but we have the river on our side!

That we do my friend, that we do!

Arthur's leading knights stood near. Sir Galahad, Sir Percival, Sir Tristan and Sir Lancelot, the Generals in Arthur's army, stood waiting for commands. Each General was attended by his Knight's advocate, these roles taken by Sir Gawaine, Sir Lucan, Sir Kays and Sir Modred. The eight men were among the most feared warriors in Britannia. Hero's of many battles, each having personally killed over thirty of the enemy, they were highly respected among Romans and Britains alike. At Arthur's right hand stood the mystic Druid, Merlin the magician with his faithful wolfhound Atlas. Since childhood, Merlin had been the guide and teacher to the King, as appointed by Arthur's father, Uther Pedragon, himself a great leader and mighty warrior amongst the Britains.

Are the towers ready? Constantine asked his Generals.

Yes Lord Caesar, we await your word!

Tell the tower troops to fire when the boats reach mid stream. The current is fastest there, we'll have more chance of destroying their fleet at that point.

Yes Caesar!

From the far side of the river a cry went up. The mass of Scots and Picts seemed to move into the river as one. Pushing their crude boats onto the water, men with paddles and oars struck out from the shore, a crowd of craft so thick, it looked almost possible to walk across them to the far side. Each boat carried between ten and fifteen men. As many as were able rowed and paddled against the swift flowing river while the passengers hung on for their lives. The narrow point where the army chose to cross still measured just under a mile wide, making the task of paddling a tough one. The water temperature was only 38oF. If a man fell in he would freeze within minutes, if he could swim that is. Swimming was not a skill taught to the northern invaders by their parents. Constantine hoped to use this to his advantage.

Heavy snow began to fall, dropping the air temperature to almost freezing. The splash of water from the paddles chilled the invaders to the bone. A cold sub-artic wind blew rain and sleet mixed with the snow onto the make shift fleet of vessels.

Steady, steady, wait for them to get to the middle! called Constantine.

NOW! he cried as he waved a red cloth.

Along the fronts of the huge towers, shutter windows opened on every level. Archers rose up from their hiding places, fitting flaming arrows to their bows. They fired a deadly arch of arrows at the flotilla. It was a classic trap; the invaders had sailed right into it. Hundreds of flaming arrows found their mark in the bodies of the Picts and Scots on the water. Those that missed the invaders hit their boats, setting fire to the wood and spreading burning tar across the decks. Impossible to put out, the flames quickly caught the timbers and ropes used to make the rafts, and at the same time set fire to clothing and human flesh all around the blazing areas.

The screams of men on fire filled the air, their only hope of staying alive was jumping in the water, which in itself meant death by drowning or the cold. Wave after wave of Roman arrows filled the sky, shredding the invading army, and causing widespread panic among the barbarians. Realising how hopeless the situation was, many of the rafts tried to turn back, only to strike others behind them still trying to cross. The river was filled with the dead and dying bodies of the northern army. On the bank, still more boats were being pushed into the water, causing chaos for the others trying to retreat. Caught by the swift current, flaming rafts crashed into fully laden boats, causing them to also catch alight. Hundreds of the dead floated on the surface of the water, while more and more waves of arrows flew at the men left alive. Burning boats began to break up as the ropes that held them together burnt apart. Flaming logs and planks became deadly obstacles to the boats still moving on the water.

On the far bank, the barbarian generals looked on in horror as their army was decimated. The commander-in-chief signalled his sentinel to blow a horn to sound the retreat, but for the vast majority of the once great invading army it was too late. In the space of only thirty minutes, the invasion was over. More and more arrows found their mark, cutting down over 80% of the barbarian force as they tried to get back to the far side of the river.

A Roman trumpet sounded, followed by many others as they picked up the chorus. Like magic, the assembled legionaries moved into lines, allowing others from behind to quickly carry Roman galleys, up to this point hidden by the mass of soldiers,