Geoffrey sat at a table overlooking the river. His morning ritual of remembrance and gratitude for all who had come before him. His ma and da, who had rebuilt this little haven upon reclaiming entitlement of the family claim on this property.

They had worked hard and at the same time raised him whilst tending its patrons. His earliest memories were off the smell of baking bread and people sitting and laughing with a wine or some other offering. The cafe had always been a place where stories were shared, and lives connected.

Sipping thoughtfully on his first coffee of the day which warmed him as dawn lightened the sky, he became aware of the milk cart drawing to a halt with a whinny from the ancient pony Bella.

“Morning” Cried the milkman as he offloaded the crate. “Morning” replied Geoffrey and a chilly one at that he added.

The milko agreed and shushed the pony forward, no time for chatter he said. Still a cart full of milk to deliver and I don’t want to do it in the rain.

Geoffrey sighed and carried the crate into the cafe, after looking to the sky, it may well be a miserable day, yet often these days held surprises unlooked for.

As he went back to his coffee and looked again to the river, he noticed a small skiff pulling to the bank. Very unusual for this early in the day. Two persons, a rower and a gentleman passenger looked up towards the cafe. The passenger jumped to the timber boardwalk as soon as the little craft was made safe.

The finely dressed individual made his way up the bank and straight for Geoffrey.

Morning said the visitor as he as he raised a hand in the air. You also, replied Geoffrey .

I am not quite open yet, the kitchen stove not yet lit. Tea or coffee I can manage if that is what you seek.

Thankyou that would be welcome on this nippy morning, though that is not the reason for my visit, said the stranger.

Somewhat confused Geoffrey ushered him to a table and poured a coffee and placed it in front of him.

My name is Pierre Fontaine, said the gentlemanly stranger, as he lifted the cup to his lips.

Yes, that is welcome he smiled appreciatively.

I am a solicitor from Paris he said as reached into a satchel on his shoulder and placed a package on the table.  

  “Oh” said Geoffrey , eyeing the brown paper and string wrapped package now before him.

This is the reason for my early morning visit, you see I have just this morning arrived by river boat. I was instructed to deliver this to you at this time on this day by my associate. I know nothing more of it. Only that it has sat in the company safe for many years awaiting this date. My firm is a very old Parisian law practice with many generations of familiar clientele and yet this is very strange indeed.

Mystified Geoffrey picked it up and weighed it in his fingers, metal he thought and deftly plucked apart the knotted string and paper to reveal a very large ornately wrought bronze key on a round link of iron.

Oh, said Pierre, how strange. Scratching his head. The last thing he had expected and why such a mystery.

Who commissioned this service Geoffrey asked. Is there money owed or any more information to be had.

No said Piere. Attached to the package was a direction giving this location and for the package to be delivered on this date to the resident with no charge. I can only assume an agreement was made and account paid sometime in the past as we don’t have any record of it. 

Very unusual. To be honest we really didn’t know what to do with it and if I didn’t have to come today for other business it may have been overlooked entirely. Anyway,I am pleased you were here and now the task is completed. He finished his coffee doffed his hat said his goodbye and began his walk back to town.

Geoffrey scratched his chin with the key absently saying farewell to his unexpected guest. There was no note or explanation, but a memory lurked just below his grasping as he slipped the key into his coat pocket. Past time to get that stove on and the bread and pastries heating, the breakfast patrons would be venturing this way soon enough.

As it turned out the chill morning became a very busy morning with regulars dropping in for a hot croissant and coffee, which continued into lunch with a hearty soup, some crunchy loaf and a glass of red being the order of the day.

So, it was mid afternoon by the time Geoffrey sat for a bite himself and felt the heavy key in his pocket.

Turning it in his fingers he noticed that the ornate head of the key was actually a sigil a cross with two horizontal bars of unequal length in a circle.

He had a memory of seeing that sigil somewhere recently. Holding it to his forehead as if to open his memories he smiled.

Cleaning out the wine cellar a month back he had seen that exact cross engraved on the back of an old cask stacked with others at the back.

That is strange he thought what relevance could a key have to a cask.

The cafe was empty so a perfect time to go down for a look, taking a lantern off the hook he walked downstairs into the dark cold cellar heading straight to the back corner where the unused casks were stacked against the wall.

It had only been by chance that he had even noted the marking, as the cask had needed to be wedged. Clumsy oath that I am, I had knocked it and very nearly collapsed the whole stack.

Sure, enough as he looked closer with the lantern the cask was indeed marked with the same symbol as the key.

A mystery. A key with a symbol delivered on a prearranged day to a cafe which happened to have only recently discovered a wine cask marked with the same symbol.

Geoffrey looked more closely at the casks stacked in that corner and, whilst moving the lantern around noticed for the first time a shadow low in the wall behind the stack. He moved a few casks and what looked like a keyhole appeared. Reaching into his pocket he drew out the key and inserted it into the hole and turned.

At first there was nothing and then he heard mechanical clicks and movement and a section of the wall opened.

The odors of a long-sealed room wafted out of the darkness. Catching his breath Geoffrey tentatively poked the lamp into the room. The light reflected back at him off polished timber walls. The room was larger in floor area than the cafe above. He entered to find in the center hanging from the roof was a candle chandelier.

“Well bugger me”, thought Geoffrey . All these years he had a mystery right below his feet. A story yet to be unearthed.

Beside the door he found a pole with an oil lantern like something from an Arabian night’s story on top with a wick awaiting a flame to bring it to life.

Ah thought Geoffrey , must be for reaching up and lighting the chandelier. So, he did just that and the room awakened for the first time in who knows how many years.

On wood paneled walls hung ornate tapestries depicting knights, horses and Persian warriors battling it out in what most likely was Jerusalem during the last crusade.

In the corner stood a chain mail suit of armor with a white tabard crested with a red cross and on the wall beside it hung a double edged broad sword and a very nasty looking morning star mace.

Geoffrey looked to the opposite corner where sat a stone pedestal on which was a leather bound book. Geoffrey picked it up with great care, opening to the first page.

In old French was handwritten. This is the journal of Jaques de Molay knights templar.

Geoffrey stood in shock and awe.

Molay was known by all who took note of history. The last Grand master of the templars burnt at the stake in 1314 by the order of pope clement and King Phillip IV after the dissolution of the order and seizure of their wealth. Charged with heresy and satanic worship.

Geoffrey flicked through until the last entry.

October 13 1307.

There is nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. Soon they will come.

Phillip and that black pope Clement’s dogs.

They have accused me and the order of horrendous wrongs. The charges of blasphemy, sodomy and the worship of the dark one himself. I have been warned they come tonight.

I have not much time, so let it be known I lay the same charges at the feet of the crown and the Vatican.

The order of templars were charged with protecting the Christian pilgrims in the holy land against heathens of the worst type. Instead, what we found were a people who lived simply and from their Persian wisemen who worshipped a god who loved all, another history altogether. From their viewpoint we were the heathen’s, the disciples of Satan and his demons who reside in Rome and the royal families of Europe.

It was a hard truth to hear but once heard it was like a light being shone upon the actions of those to whom he had dedicated his very existence. How could the godly be so greedy. So immune to the suffering and murder of the innocent. The intolerance for other beliefs and cultures.

All is twisted. We crusaded to feed a death cult our sacrifices and the murder of a people who saw the world differently. All a ritual overseen by dark souls in the service of a dark hand.

We are undone by our service. I have no doubt that I will be tortured and murdered. For my part in this, I fear I deserve death. Instead of sieging Jerusalem we should have destroyed that Roman sacrilege.

Horses approach. I will hide this my life’s journey that one day truth may be seen.

Jaques de Molay

Grand master of the order of Templars

Geoffrey closed the journal.

600 years dead and yet this man had just awakened a truth which had slumbered within many a soul over time. Geoffrey was not a religious man as such. Yet was still a deeply spiritual and thoughtful being. He had thought much on the history of the world. How religions and powerful families had caused wars and misery through power lust and greed and could not disagree with Jaques last words.

How long had this room been hidden in this cellar. The cafe was an old building which had many new lives. The cellar must have been built over many times, but maybe the contents had been moved here for safe keeping in some distant past.

No matter thought Geoffrey ., with a smile. I will have much to think on and explore. He was known for his stories, and he had just been given the key to the treasure house. If not a dangerous one full of poisonous reptiles.

Yes, he would have to be careful and yet the key had come to him. It was then that a detail which so far had illuded him jumped to mind. Today’s date Oct 13th1937 it was exactly 630 years since that night.

Why was Jaques de Molay’s journal in my cellar and why now has it revealed itself.

A mystery worthy of The Cafe of Memories