The Knife
The Knife
It was heavy. The package came in with the LL Bean and Sportsmen’s catalogues, assorted bills and advertising shit. It must have weighed 4 or 5 pounds. The wrapper was plain brown, no return address and the script with his name and address was fancy hand written in large type. Tom carefully opened the package and inside was a long narrow box, carved from well-oiled teak with a metal clasp and riveted edges. It appeared ancient and had that smell of old furniture. He carefully slid the clasp sideways and opened the box. The inside was lined with old felt and inlaid in the felt was a magnificent knife. The knife was beautiful. He’d never seen such intricate carvings on a weapon before.
Tom researched antiquities for the Smithsonian. He’d come across a lot of unusual weapons during his career but nothing like this. It was Damascus steel and the metal layers added beauty to the piece. The handle appeared to be some sort of ebony with extremely detailed carvings which looked like they’d never been touched. This was an obvious museum piece, so why would it come through the US postal service, and why was it addressed to him.
In the lid of the box was a piece of parchment. He quickly put together a research kit; gloves, plastic sheeting, glass plates and magnifying lights. He gently removed the document; it felt ancient but intact and heavy. He carefully unrolled the scroll, “it’s made of cured lambskin” he thought, “probably pre-Columbian, maybe 13th century.” It flattened easily without cracking and he placed it under a piece of glass to protect it. The writing was English, very old English, but Tom knew he could decipher the script with access to the Smithsonian databases.
He lit a cigarette and excitedly began reading the parchment. He slowly translated the ancient script into more modern speech but it took all night and most of the next day. He worked diligently for 23 hours straight with no rest, little to eat and nothing to drink. He used everything at his disposal, a Personal Computer tied to the Smithsonian database, two standalone laptops for privacy and his I phone. With these tools he could search a dozen databases at the same time.
Excitement grew as this message from history began to take shape. First words, then sentences, then paragraphs and finally the story came through. Each word revealed a process and that process explained the knife. Tom sat back in his office chair, lit another cigarette, long past due, and fixed a strong Gin and Tonic to stave off dehydration.
This knife was a personal message. It seems it was made during the late 13th century by a skilled Black Smith, a true craftsman. His patron was none other than King Edward I of England who ruled from 1272-1307 AD, son of the dreaded Henry (longshanks) of Brave Heart fame. “History from the movies….God damnit.” The knife was meant as a gift from Edward to Sir Carlson, one of Eds favorite knights, as a reward for re-capturing York from the heathen Scots.
In return for removing the Scots from Britain he sought financial help, once again, from Pope Boniface VIII. The Pope was requesting the money that Henry had promised him for a failed campaign to add Sicily to the Papal domain and was threatening to excommunicate the King if the money wasn’t paid. So to gain grace from the Pope Edward was to clean house throughout the British Isles of all Jewry. Old King Edward issued an edict to remove all Jews to appease the pope, through force if necessary. Eds buddy Sir Carlson had no trouble killing Jews and was only too happy to oblige his liege.
The Black Smith was half Jewish on his mother’s side, and quickly caught up in the exodus. He worked diligently to complete the knife for King Edward, loyal servant that he was, and produced such a work of art that the knife was documented in Edwards’s papers as a treasured gift to Sir Carlson of Cambridge. Before the Black Smith lost everything to this latest purge he completed the blade as ordered but added an ancient Jewish curse.
Curses were common during the 13th century and not taken lightly. This curse applied to the first born son of the first born son in the house of Carlson and would follow the knife eternally until the lineage was no more. This knife, through deed or accident, was meant to destroy the house of Carlson.
Tom chain smoked Marlboros and chugged his second, then third gin and tonic. He was, by now, well aware of the meaning of this gift. Tom was the first born son of the first born son of his dad, William Carlson. Their family history dated back almost a thousand years throughout England and they’d traced ancestors to the four families involved in the extermination of the Jews under Edward I and Pope Boniface VIII.
“Wow…wow…history sure comes alive; this knife is meant for me…. This deadly weapon is meant for my demise.” He just stared at it amazed, “Fuck.” Tom gently removed the knife from its box and studied it closely. The intricate patterns in the handle were pristine; this knife was not used, or not used often. None of the details were marred or even worn. He noticed the pattern in the carvings were not structured but chaotic. He turned on his magnifying light and took a closer look at 10x magnification. The carvings were very small detailed pictures and the detail was magnificent. He changed magnifiers to 30X and those details came alive.
The first picture was of a caravan with horses and camels together led by cross wearing crusaders. “That makes sense since the House of Carlisle not only killed the Jews of England but gained prestige by sending their sons on all three crusades,” Tom Thought. Nothing to be proud of in retrospect but it gained favor from the king as well as power and wealth for the house of Carlson. The second picture was of a castle with the Carlson’s family crest on the door. Each picture recounted the history of the House of Carlson in sequence. There were pictures of wars with the Huns, then the Prussians, then the Spanish and finally the French. Each picture was carved so meticulously that the Carlson Crest and even the facial features of the men were clearly seen under magnification.
He slowly turned the knife over to view the other side of the handle. This was more modern and showed scenes of his ancestors during the American Revolution, World War I, World War II and the Falkland Islands conflict. That floored him. His father was a helicopter pilot during the Falkland conflict and was killed when Tom was thirteen. He thought, “Was this image of his father, who carved it, how the hell did they know?”
Tom just sat there exhausted and shaken, to have an artifact of this historic significance in his home; this close at hand for private examination was a researchers dream. However, the personal, private history of his lineage captured in this relic was overwhelming. This was as far from science and as close to the occult as he’d ever been. Though he was physically exhausted he felt elated. This knife was his heritage and he was a part of that heritage.
In an epiphany, he understood not only the historic significance of the Knife but its history. He had to decide whether to share this history or maintain it as a personal family heirloom. Obviously, whoever sent it meant it for him and just for him. Items like this aren’t tracked through historical records but are meant for private collection, and why not his collection?
Tom got up, stretched his stiff back and legs and wobbled on his feet, probably from the Gin. He needed to put this treasure away so he could continue to study it later and in a lot more detail, but where.
His book shelves were floor to ceiling and the highest shelf would allow him to keep an eye on the knife without attracting attention from other curators or a thief. He got the step ladder from the closet and set it up so he could reach the top shelf. Still wobbly from his stiff joints and gin he climbed the ladder to carefully place it on the shelf.
Then, he thought, “I should display this, a thing of beauty is meant to behold not store in a box.” He opened the box and tilted it so the knife could be seen resting in its velvet and gently placed it on the shelf. Satisfied, Tom began to climb down.
Gin and stiff joint make a man clumsy and as he took his first step on the ladder he almost missed a rung. Tom grabbed the shelf to stabilize him and the shelf wobbled, just a little. He looked up at the knife and noticed it slowly pull loose from the felt and, handle first, topple from the box. The weight of Damascus steel made the blade follow the handle and slide onto the shelf, then it slowly pivoted over the edge. Tom held his breath and watched as the knife, in slow motion, blade first, came toward him. He instinctively turned his face away so the knife would not hit him square in the head and in doing so the knife cleanly sliced the side of his neck, grazed his shoulder and stuck point first into the floor.
In shock, Tom descended the ladder and stared at the knife thinking “what the hell happened.” He then saw blood hit the floor in a spray, then a stream, then a gush, and realized he was hurt, badly hurt. He stumbled to the bathroom and grabbed a towel from the shelf to stem the blood flow all the time aware he was losing consciousness. He grabbed his I Phone and tried to focus, “just dial 911, then they’ll come, it’ll be OK…just dial 911” but his phone was dark, the power bar showed 5%. With his last strength, he pulled himself toward the knife and swung his arm to point directly at the blade, then everything went black.
It took four days for the smell to reach the hall. Tom’s neighbor called the super and told him something was wrong.
They expected the worst and called the police. The super let them in and it was obvious Tom had been dead for a couple of days. The cops on the scene were baffled and couldn’t figure out what the hell happened so they followed protocol and called in a detective.
Detective Jean Phillips showed up within the hour. She photographed every inch of the scene, followed the blood trail and reasoned that it was a freak accident, nothing more; but what an accident. By the miniscule amount of blood on the blade, the box set on the top shelf and the ladder placed just so she figured out what happened and ruled out foul play.
The knife would have to be taken as evidence so the forensics team removed it from the floor and tried to put it in an evidence bag but the sharp blade and weight of the knife cut right through. Jean asked to see it and they gingerly handed it to her, handle first. She noticed the intricate carvings in the handle and was amazed at the detail. Tom’s magnifying light was still on so she put the knife under the glass for a closer look. The detail came alive. She could make out camels, horses, castles and men all in microscopic detail.
She turned over the knife and there was the modern history too; that stumped her. She noticed the age of this Knife and figured it was hundreds, maybe many hundreds of years old. So Why were there modern motifs carved in the handle. That’s not normal for something this old.
The detective carefully scrutinized each miniature picture, each specific detail, but the last picture, the final statement carved in this knife floored her. In relief appearing on the edge of the handle was a man, deep in thought, leaning over what appeared to be a laptop computer and magnifying light.
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