Seal of the Third Golden Eagle

Seal of the Third Golden Eagle

The Secret Adventures of Alexander Dumas and Jules Verne

John Pirillo

Copyright 2016

Smashwords

Prologue

The mighty vessel was tossed like a cork on stormy waters, descending into the vast and horrid unknown depths like a spent rocket, hurtling past huge outcrops of volcanic rock and broken shards of vast crystalline rock that gave off eerie glows as their vessel swept past them.

All they could think of was keeping hold of the grips they had found as the mighty ship floundered in the grip of a vortex so powerful that it could suck into the depths a whale of mighty proportions without a second thought.

The metal and glass of the vessel groaned and heaved, some parts appearing as if they might shatter and break, but somehow they held as the ship continued its uncontrolled tumble into the depths of the vast hole they traversed in the ocean floor.

Ahead a huge building made of gold and crystal loomed in their view. They were going to strike it.

Everything they had done to get so far was now coming to an end. The huge building protruding from the side of the vast hole rushed to greet them with arms of destruction spread wide.

They screamed!

Chapter 1: Where It All Began

A brilliant flare of light shot up from the island they approached. Its brightness rivaled that of the morning sun for a moment and then it faded.

The sailors aboard the vessel were wide-eyed and fearful, some of them dropping to a knee to pray, but he found it only amusing, if not somewhat mysterious and...What was the word that Russian called it, the one with the tangled beard...mystical? That was it. Mystical.

He had to laugh. He did and his men looked to him, feeling comforted somehow by his somewhat dismissive behavior. He gave them a smile of encouragement, and in moments everyone was back on station, silent, but calmer. Then a second flare fired from the island and this one burst so high into the heavens, that not even the Far East rockets he had seen could fly that high.

Now, he was not only mystified, but a bit anxious over what he was sailing into. When he had promised the Pope he would endeavor to meet with this stranger he spoke of, he had no idea that all the terrible things that had been mentioned, might actually be true. The taste of doubt cast its fiery fingers into his gut and wrenched them.

His men once more looked to him, so he steeled himself, and nodded. A new signaling device. Nothing more.

They calmed once more.

He sighed. The lies he had to perpetrate to move forward. So many of those he had to deal with hadn't the consciousness of a squirrel and were just as ready to bolt upon the slightest provocation.

But, this was one of those rare moments when a man could see into the future and tell it was leading to great things, even while it was also a moment of the darkest necessity. For his mission had been to secure the Seal of the Third Golden Eagle, an occult device that had been raised from the coffers of one of the lost emperors of France: King Dubois Cologne. Some say he was related to the Great King of England, the once and future king, Arthur. King Arthur. That even Merlin had a hand in the creation of the mystical symbol. He snorted softly. Legends were often just overblown statements of reality made to give some sense of excitement to otherwise boring lives.

Personally, he poo-poohed such thoughts as mysticism and nonsense. He was a practical man. A man with but one goal: to unite France. Under his rule. And then the rest of the nations of Europe. One by one. Until they were free of the tyranny of low thoughts. His plan was to unite the world under a more generous philosophy than it currently was ruled by. At that time he didn't consider whether his ambitions might be tantamount to declaring the death of thousands, only that progress had its price.

Never one to worry about the common man so much, as to travel the more lofty lanes of thought of the great philosophers and military heroes of the past like Aristotle and Alexander the Great. Men he admired as much for their thought, as for their insight into the nature of man. A great leader must be stronger than those he served; those he led. Stronger, not always of body, but of thought. Thought was the ladder that led one to heaven, even as Jacob's ladder of biblical terms.

Yes, he was a well read man. Rare for his day, as most considered a loaf of stale bread the height of their concerns, and the goal of their too short lives. Let the dreamers dream and the others...

Napoleon Bonaparte brushed off those dreary thoughts, the petty worries, and shrugged his cloak over his right shoulder as the vessel he rode neared the rocky shores before him. He took his hand from behind his tunic, where he had been warming it and relaxed. So far. So good.

Heave to! He ordered his men.

One of them, a bright young Lieutenant. One Lieutenant Defray, eager to please him and also quite looking forward to the adventure before them, was the first to leap into the freezing waters. He and several other soldiers tugged the boat the rest of the way onto the shoreline, allowing Napoleon to merely step out onto the drier sands, rather than get his boots wet. He admired their glossy polish. They were made of fine seal leather and had cost him a small fortune, one which he had no intentions of wasting by wetting them with salt water, even if for a greater purpose.

He had allowed himself to be talked into this mission because it fit his personal agenda. An agenda he had been striving for quite diligently for some time now. France needed a strong leader and new direction. He intended to be the one who offered that choice, held the lantern of reason that guided a new and profoundly stronger nation that was founded on thought and lofty ideals.

Lieutenant. He called out.

The young man saluted. Sir?

"You will see to the boat that it remains safely ashore. I and my men will continue to the rendezvous point. Should we not return within two hours, then you are to return to our ship and sail home, letting the Pope know by carrier pigeon that our mission was a failure.

Yes, sir! The Lieutenant saluted and spoke at the same time.

Pope Pius VI, Giovanni Angelo Bruschi, as he was known to his loved ones, had struck a secret alliance with Napoleon, pledging to step aside from political matters if he, in turn, would step into the matter that had been brought to his attention by a mysterious stranger.

The Lieutenant immediately began shoring the landing vessel so that it would not be taken back by the rising tides.

Napoleon watched his man's shoes catch curls of swirling sand and foam from the surf as he made headway against the push and pull of the surging waters. At first he was in to his waist, and gradually, he and the other soldiers who had hopped out to help had the boat safely drawn from the water and were dragging it inch by inch, foot by foot, up the sloping beach away from the waterline.

Napoleon fully expected that the Lieutenant and his men would venture into the woods a pace or two to gather stone and wood to pinion the boat to the shore as best he could, and worst case scenario hold the boat in place by sheer force of strength. That's how much he trusted the men, and how earnest they were in serving him. He earned their respect through lofty ideals and the hammer of reason, leveled by stern command. It was the only way to gain both respect and love.

That's how much he trusted the young man's stamina and his willingness to obey. He had been working with him for several years now, preparing him for the much stronger leadership role he had in mind, but was not yet ready to divulge that. Better that the man cultivates his manners and obey, even if somewhat reluctant to be left out of the adventure.

Napoleon led his men across the damper sands into the rough stones that lay to the back of the beach. The stones were cut and laid carefully, even if very aged by the look of them.

He had to wonder as he briefly touched the edge of one, what kind of instrument had been used, for he did not recognize the cut, or the manner of the cut. Puzzled for a moment, he allowed himself to step over the lower of the stones and into the first brush