At the time, Conrad accepted, and someone else was buried in Tyre, in the Church of the Hospitaliers. A child in the blood to the Old Man, Conrad, now became beholden to him—and Conrad’s maker forbade him to take revenge on Richard.
But the Old Man did not prohibit him from following Richard back or taking revenge on those whom the latter loved. So, when Richard and Berengaria, his wife—by name, it seems—left the Holy Land in the fall of 1192, Conrad travelled, as a stowaway, in Berengaria’s fleet, initially, it might seem, to seek revenge at a time of his choosing.
And here’s the key part: seems Conrad discovered Berengaria’s little fleet took from the Holy Land a gift from Balian of Ibelin, a gift that could have made Richard, or Philippe Auguste, or the German Emperor, or anyone who took possession of it, more powerful than anyone else on Earth—even a threat to the Hashashins themselves. Hence, Conrad says he decided to help make it disappear.”
“So, he has the Ark? Is that what you mean?” asked Tony.
“That I don’t know. I doubt it. If he didn’t use it for his own ends when he could have ruled over everyone, he must have had his reasons. Perhaps his maker forbade it. I don’t know, and I won’t speculate. But I’d say this: among vampires, there are also folkloric legends. One of them: upon getting too close, certain sacred items—among them the Ark—would turn us human, and then instantly kill us. Had he wanted to die then, Conrad probably would have tried approaching the Ark. Yet, he either didn’t out of caution or knows more about that particular legend than the rest of us.
In any case, nowadays, Conrad ‘lives’ in one of many abandoned castles in France. Taxes and repairs are costly, prohibitive without a king plundering commoners to subsidize nobility. If you add one more castle to those turned bed and breakfast, even cows and pigs will be able to afford discount hotels in France—and high-end hotels would go bankrupt. So that option is limited as well. Hence, there are quite a few abandoned castles in France, some quite splendid. Conrad’s is here as well, in Région PACA—as we call Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur—but he doesn’t like being importuned over ‘minutia’.
He is old enough to feed only every few months, so he’s rarely sensed in the feeding grounds; but he never misses a meeting of the Coven of Covens—an event that, coincidentally, will happen in a few days.
Although I am still quite young for such galas, I will, nonetheless, bend the rules, assist, seek him there, and ask if he has any useful information about the Ark. Should he, I will then ask him if he would be willing to help us. I should be back with an answer by Monday.”
“Sounds fair enough,” quipped Tony. “Since the weekend is almost upon us and David and Haim are clearly distressed by all this, and I have to go to Lyon for the weekend, I wonder if I might interest you two gentlemen into accompanying me.
There, in Villeurbanne, I think you might find some friendly faces at Keren Or, Lyon’s liberal synagogue. There, you could not only celebrate a proper Shabbat but, also, perhaps, discretely ask opinions about those ‘hypothetical’ religious conundrums that clearly distress both of you. Maybe someone there can share ideas that could lighten the burden this unusual quest has imposed on you. You both speak French and Hebrew, so I think this change of scenery might not be a bad idea at all.”
“Got my vote!” said David. “What say you, Haim?”
Haim smirked, winked, and then nodded.
19—Conrad visits the Castle
Sunday early afternoon, refreshed and renewed, bringing along a truly large tallit—a gift from someone at the temple—David and Haim said goodbye to their new friends in Lyons, and went to Place Bellecour—a crowded place allowing discrete detection of possible unwanted followers—where Tony awaited them in a limousine, to take them back to the castle.
All along the way back, the chauffer and bodyguards kept studying every suspect vehicle that got too close like hawks; and Tony, more like a vulture, devouring bugnes au rhum with chocolate ice cream, while studying David and Haim like a hawk. Tony had hoped the trip would help alleviate the stress and anxiety being suddenly thrown into this maelstrom provoked in them—anxiety for which he felt, in no small sense, responsible. However, even if they had clearly enjoyed their visit, deep discomfort was as visible in their faces, and as annoying to him, as those chocolate drips in his chin.
When he asked them point black what was wrong, David told him someone at the temple had mentioned on May 2019, Wotanists celebrated a century since the death of Guido List, the man of the “Runic Circle of the Armanen Futharkh”, suggesting this might explain recent pagan rituals added to the more regular anti-Semitic paraphernalia. David had also decided to visit some relatives at a Jewish cemetery in Lyon, rue Abraham Bloch, a site neo-Nazis had recently desecrated several times. And there again—aside from the horrible graffiti, on the seemingly endlessly repainted wall, endlessly sprayed over with fresh hatemongering—he had also found the sign of origin, and the swirling wind, which even then, on a very hot summer day, felt as cold as a corpse when it touched his exposed skin.
Haim had accompanied him, and, strangely enough, perhaps because his pants were of thicker cloth, hadn’t felt the cold so much. They had even argued about how cold the wind was, in what sense it rotated and how clear or diffuse the eyewall was.
Watching them interact, Tony was beginning to have second thoughts on having enlisted them. The mission at hand seemed like a bird of prey that had clawed their lives and firmly gripped them, ready now to start devouring them. This might already have become all too personal to them—and good operatives who take missions personally fail when mediocre ones that exercise detachment don’t.
On the other hand, the two seemed no only happy to partake on the matefaim aux pommes with vanilla ice cream, but genuinely happy to be doing this, solid, and unbreakably loyal to one another. And the more the task ahead felt daunting, the more determined to succeed at any cost they seemed to be. Once such doubts stopped spinning inside his mind, thankful neither of them could read it, Tony shook his head and exhaled like a surfacing whale: at this stage of the game, they would have to stay the course.
Early that night, when the limousine had almost arrived at the castle, Siegfried messaged Tony: “Our very old friend will finally visit. Hope to see you all soon.”
Dinner that night became a concert of forks falling on the floor, near-misses as hands lost their grip on plates, jars and glasses, nervous laughters, the entire castle help clearly feeling on edge, noticeably uneasy, resenting being kept in the dark far more than usual.
To prevent accidents, the Countess had been anything but subtle: “Mon cher Pierre, si vous ou quelqu’un d’autre parmi les employés decide venir nous espionner, ce sera à vos riques et perils—vous prendrez vos vies dans vos mains,” so Pierre, while dying to know what was going on, knew the Countess better be taken literally. So they didn’t take their lives in their hands trying to snoop, he gave all non-essential personnel leave to go visit the nearby town, and kept the staying skeleton crew on a very short leash.
Severian, perhaps predicting or sensing some unusual curiosity, came with Conrad in a sports car worth probably over a million euros, both dressed in extremely elegant casual style—the roaring and tire squealing image of two affluent men in the prime of life looking for a really good time in Monte Carlo.
“Since Severian kindly introduced me to all of you, and it’s quite easy for me to read your minds, to allay your doubts and fears, let’s save time and get directly to business,” Conrad began. “It’s a rather long story, so I suggest you refill your coffee cups.”
The Countess lifted a finger, and seconds later cups were being refilled and dishes removed, surprisingly, now without ‘faux pas’. Conrad continued only after this was done and silence restored. “For the benefit of everyone, let’s recapitulate on a few well-known things, and others not so generally known, concerning the Third Crusade. Guy of Lusignan had a claim to the throne of the Kingdom of Jerusalem—a claim though his wife. In thos
e feudal days, women were very much used to acquire power, hence traded like horses. But in October 1190, Queen Sybille and her two daughters by Lusignan, died. With Sybille’s death, the new legitimate Queen of Jerusalem was now Isabella, stepdaughter of Balian d’Ibelin. Isabella had been married since the age of 11, after being separated from her mother and stepfather at age 8. Her husband was a non-entity, Humphrey de Toron.
Since Jerusalem was a kingdom under threat, d’Ibelin decided it needed a strong king. On the grounds Isabella had been married against her will and before the legal age of consent, d’Ibelin and his wife convinced her to break her marriage. Once this was done, she married me.
Because of that, d’Ibelin strongly supported my claim to the throne of Jerusalem.
However, Richard the Lionheart backed Lusignan, the brother of one of his obstreperous vassals in Poitou. Hence, during Lionheart’s first year in the Holy Land (Richard arrived in June 8, 1191), d’Ibelin was persona non-grata in Richard’s court.
Then I sent Balian as an emissary to talk to Saladin; and that didn’t make him any more popular among Richard’s entourage: they even called him traitor to the Christian cause. By then, Richard was not my best friend, needless to say.
But Richard realized that Lusignan had led the crusading forces to a catastrophe (the defeat at the Horns of Hattin), and the barons of Outremer (whom he would need, to support the king and to defend the Kingdom of Jerusalem from Saladin) would never support Lusignan. So, in April 1192, he recognized Isabella and me as the rightful rulers of Jerusalem. At the same time, he secretly put a contract on me, as a result of which, early on April 29, 1192, I was killed, died for the humans, and became an undead.
That ruse allowed Richard to use d’Ibelin as negotiator between the Crusaders and Saladin—and, in August of that year, the Battle of Jaffa led to more momentous developments than most history books tell: Richard’s horse, Fanuelle, was killed in that battle, and Richard was forced to fight on foot.
Since both sides recognized Richard’s courage—and rightfully so, despite the intrigues—Saladin found unbecoming such a brave chevalier would have to fight without a horse. So, he offered Richard a superb Arab charger. And Richard accepted the gift, taking the precaution to first have someone else ride the horse.
The moment the horse sensed someone on its back, it took the bit between its teeth and ran back, right into the middle of Saladin’s camp, taking the rider with him.
Richard assumed it had been a trap. But Saladin was ashamed, and sent the rider back, unharmed, mounted in a more manageable steed. The rider also brought a message, one that Richard, at first, could not believe.
Lionheart had twice been very close of Jerusalem; and in one of those two occasions, had he just gone on a bit longer, would have taken the city, without a doubt. But he didn’t, and so, he failed.
Now, since the Crusaders had lost the True Cross at the Horns of Hattin, one of the greatest rewards Richard could expect, had he taken Jerusalem then, would have been to recover it. But this Saladin would not relinquish. Instead of the True Cross, through the good offices of Balian d’Ibelin, in exchange for Richard’s withdrawal, Saladin offered him not the True Cross, but the Ark of the Covenant. This was precisely the offer the chevalier who had ridden the crazy horse and returned on a second steed had conveyed.
At first, Richard thought it another ruse, like the crazy horse, only worse. So, although he didn’t outright refuse, he procrastinated and demurred.
However, in feudal times, when an overlord was gone for too long, underling dukes, marquis, counts, viscounts, barons, and what not, tended to change allegiances at the drop of a helmet or the appearance of a new suitable wife. In those days, also, vendettas became a most sacred duty to any person wronged and their entire families. And after any unfortunate helmet drop or taking of the wrong wife, vendettas sprang up like mushrooms after the rain.
To quell those feudal fires, the overlord had to be very present, or have someone, not only of his complete trust, but also extremely shrewd and ruthless, as a proxy. The closest Richard ever was to having someone like that in the Plantagenet domains, while he was in the Holy Land, was his mother Eleanor of Aquitaine.
Notwithstanding Queen Eleonore’s cunning, diplomatic gifts and ruthlessness, that wasn’t enough. By then she was also old—and a woman. Richard’s own brother, John II (Lackland) was anything but reliable. And Philip II Auguste, son of Richard’s mother’s former husband Louis VII, King of the Franks, also one of Richard’s former bedmates from adulthood, had left the Holy Land earlier—and soon after that, became Richard’s nemesis.
In short, Lionheart had very good reasons to cut his stay as soon as possible. Now, the departure of Philip II from the Holy Land, on July 31, 1191, had drastically reduced the Christian forces there—so drastically, that a victory over Saladin was next to impossible. But since kings were shown God’s favor by winning wars, Richard could not leave defeated. So, short of a capitulation, a truce was his fastest way out of the Holy Land.
The truce, however, Richard at first didn’t like. He even tried to marry his sister to Saladin’s sister, but she wouldn’t marry a Muslim—a negotiation discovered, incidentally, by Humphrey de Toron, during a falconry excursion.
Now, Saladin’s extraordinary gift to him made the alternative even more appealing. However, taking that gift along would delay Richard and make his journey back home far more dangerous—as he suspected Saladin was going to let everyone know about the ‘souvenir’ he would be taking home, to have others get rid of Richard for him. So he agreed to negotiate a truce, accepted the gift, and made plans to send the Ark by another route.
The truce Balian negotiated in August 1192 was to last three years, during which Christian pilgrims would have free access to Jerusalem. And poor Balian lost big in that deal, leaving Ibelin and Ramla in Muslim hands. As a consolation prize, he got the barony of Caymont, near Acre, and that of Arsuf. My Isabella remained as Queen of Jerusalem, now married to Henri de Champagne, grandson of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Louis VII—so, incidentally, he was first cousin of both Richard Lionheart and Philippe II Auguste.
In any case, dysfunctional families were very common then.
In the meantime, between the night of my birth as a vampire and Richard’s departure from the Holy Land, I was having a jolly good time: after so many battles, I had more than enough blood to feed on—and that made me a very strong newborn in the blood. What wasn’t that great, was to see my widow sleep with another man, night after night, after harrowing night.
Now to the important part: Eleanor of Aquitaine, Richard’s mother, had married him to Berengaria of Navarre. Ever since they arrived to the Holy Land via Cyprus with Richard, however, Berengaria, Joanna, Richard’s sister, and “the Lady of Cyprus”—all three—spent their time essentially doing embroideries, chitchatting, and going to mass in a citadel.
Evil tongues said Richard was much more attracted to Saladin that to Berengaria, or even, to her brother, who became Sancho VII of Navarre—aside from sleeping with Philip II Auguste before they became enemies. Among the chevaliers in their entourage, there was little doubt about what was going on. But since Richard was very brave—and once kill 2,700 hostages because he wasn’t getting what he wanted—nobody dared openly objecting to it.
Gossip aside, how dysfunctional Richard’s family was became painfully obvious on September 29, 1192—when Berengaria, Joanna, and the Lady of Cyprus left, on ships furnished by Robert IV de Sablé, eleventh Grand Master of the Knights Templar; and shortly after, Richard, separately, on ships provided by de Sablé as well.
Disguised as a Templar, Lionheart meant to go back home through a different route, to reach Plantagenet domains as soon as possible, to rein in his brother John (not yet Lackland) and Philippe II (not yet Auguste) and many others.
In Corfu, pirates attacked his ship, but he persuaded them to send him back on his way—they even lent him a ship. Even so, sadly, during a storm, Richard’s group was wrec
ked between Venice and Aquileia, and he ended up in Vienna, where Leopold V of Austria—whom he had offended in the Holy Land—alerted he might be in his lands, had him tracked and found, because a ‘servant’, who was wearing expensive gloves, kept ordering roasted chicken, a delicacy far beyond the means of poor pilgrims at the time.
Mostly through the good offices of Queen Eleonore, Richard’s mother, who kept pestering the Pope, so he would pester the Emperor—to whom Leopold had essentially sold Richard like a slave to ransom. After the Emperor received a massive amount of silver, he freed Richard in February 4, 1194.
Crucially, however, the Ark wasn’t travelling with Richard, but with Berengaria, Joanna, and the “Lady of Cyprus”, instead.
Some night perhaps I would tell you how they went to Brindisi; and I, on the ship that carried the Ark to Pisa, waiting for them to feel safe enough to travel—once they discovered Richard had become a hostage to the Emperor, who was also an enemy of the Papal State.
Seems the Pope got wind of the Ark in Pisa through Melior of Pisa, whom he made “Papal Legate”, so Melior could chaperone those three ladies more safely to Poitou—in the ‘armpit’ of France, if Brittany were its ‘arm’.
Pope Celestin III would gladly have kept the Ark in Rome—had it not been that such an acquisition could not be kept quiet, no matter how many people be silenced, bribed or blackmailed. Since the days of Constantine, the Church of Rome had been just one of five key metropolitan churches in Christendom, and Pope Leo III had worked very hard to fool Charlemagne and solidify Rome’s ascendancy—crowning him ‘by entrapment’ on Christmas day 800A.D.—for Celestine to now miss out on such a great opportunity. Others at the Church, he knew all too well, would want to boast about recovering it, as a supreme sign of legitimacy. To stop them, he would have to kill many people whose support he needed.
But making it public, he knew as clearly, would draw the Emperor’s covetous eyes towards the Holy City again. And this time, given the prize, it would be impossible to stop him—this German Emperor was no Charlemagne: he neither had his power, nor did he have his restrain.
Quest for the Ark Page 20