“Yes, you are. I know who you are.”
“You do?” She looked down at his foot, most of her face lost in the shadows. “And who am I?”
“You are the Healer’s mother. You are my foster father’s grandmother. That makes us related… in a way,” he said, hoping that his guess was right. He’d heard some furtive bits of whispered gossip about a woman named Catharine who was being held on the island at the behest of the Grand Master.
A woman purportedly Simon of Grenoble’s mother, who had intriguingly been suspected of having tried to murder the Knight of the Golden Eagle. No one would say anything further about this ‘prisoner’ and his questions had gone unanswered. He’d searched the crypt below the old cathedral, but that place was not only empty of life, but it, too, was full of spirits like the old tower… very disgruntled spirits. One of them, in particular, was a very freshly implanted ghost of a man, one of the Brothers of the Order of the Red Cross. He’d had a hard time getting away from that one. He did not like encounters with these uneasy wraiths and they naturally gravitated toward him whenever he drew near them. But this woman was not a ghost or a specter, she was very real. Very lovely. Very interesting.
“Whose son are you?” she asked. She had never seen this one. He was not one of the priestly brothers that brought her food and supplies each day.
“My father is Reuben d’Ornan,” he told her.
“You are lying. Reuben has no sons.”
“He is my foster father.” He revised his statement.
“And your real father?”
“Omar Adam Ajax Kadif ibn Adalune ibn Adar, Sultan of New Babylon, Ruler of the Known World, Emperor of the High Seas, Lord of the Ancient Lands of Sumeria, Babylonia and Persia. Grand Imperator of the New Order of the Temple. Prophet of God. Beloved of Allah. Servant to the People.” Joel pressed two fingers to his forehead and bowed low before her in the manner of the ancient Persians and Arabians.
Catharine frowned deeply, smiled and then opened the door.
Joel d'Ornan, also known as, Bari Kadif stepped inside the chapel and looked about the dim interior. The morning light dappled the black floor with overlapping patches of color.
“What do you want?” she asked again in more friendly terms. “Did your father send you?”
“No. I felt your presence. You are in need of company.” He walked slowly into the depths of the eerie chapel. Numerous candles burned on the altar.
“I do not need company.” She followed him. “I need nothing.”
“Everyone needs something,” he countered and then lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “You are an enigma wrapped in mystery. I heard that in a song once. I never knew what it meant until now. The children whisper about you.”
“Do they?” She smiled slightly and then shivered.
His presence was most disturbing. He had an almost mesmerizing voice and his movements were not quite like anything she had ever seen in a man. His age was hard to estimate. He could have been eighteen. He could have been twenty-eight. She watched as he made his way down the center of the darkly gleaming sanctuary. It seemed that he somehow belonged in this place of ominous power, and, yet, he was very different from the Gothic princes her brother had associated with over the years. Some of them had been darkly appealing, but this one was different. “Why do you say you are a prisoner? Surely, the son of the ruler of the world would not be a prisoner. What have you done?”
“I have done nothing other than exist.” He looked up at the scenes of destruction depicted in the stained glass on either side of the sanctuary. “You are Simon of Grenoble’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“That would make you very old.” He looked back at her. “You are one of the immortals.”
“I am a simple woman.” She passed by him and stood in front of the altar on the raised portion of the floor that gave her a slight advantage in height. Her reddish blonde hair fell over her shoulders and framed her fair face in subdued colors.
“What do you do here all day?” he asked, his voice silky. She could detect no malice in him, just simple curiosity. Morbid fascination? He continued to look about, taking in all the scenes depicted on the windows, the sparse furnishings, the carvings on the altar….
“I pray and meditate,” she told him in truth. “I write.”
“You are a nun? A religious?”
“No, just a woman.”
“You have the look of a religious. A persecuted one. You are running from something. A great and terrible secret.”
“A secret is only a secret as long as no one knows. My past is known to many; therefore, it is no secret.”
“You have a brother?” He was picking up on many of her thoughts now. She was not as easily approached as his mother had been. She was wary of him. Distrustful. “He loves you very much. If I had a sister such as you, I would love her very much. Treasure her. Protect her and keep her. I would slay any man who would approach her. I would keep her safe, offering up her beauty and grace only for the enjoyment of God.”
“What do you know of my brother?” She narrowed her eyes and glanced about the empty sanctuary. His words and manner of speaking were a far cry from what she had expected.
“I know he is searching for you,” he said evenly and looked directly into her deep emerald eyes. “He searches and searches through crystal angles. Very dangerous. The hounds of the barrier travel through the angles. He should use only the circles and curves, but he is desperate to have his sister home with him. He has lost a part of himself. Such sadness. Such suffering.” Again, his voice trailed off to an inaudible whisper, and it seemed he said more. Although she could not understand the language and was, furthermore, not even sure if he had spoken.
“He knows where I am.” She turned away from him quickly, frightened now that she had let him in. “Would you care for some wine? Or do they allow you to drink? You look very young.”
“I am older than I look.” He smiled. “I would be honored.”
She skirted the altar and led him to the transept where she had set up her small living quarters. A mattress on the floor, a single chair and a small writing desk. Papers and pens and a large Bible lay on the desk and a number of baskets and boxes were stacked about the floor. One of the baskets gave up a bottle of wine and two wooden cups. He stood watching her curiously as she poured a bit of wine in the cups and handed him one.
“I’m afraid I’m not equipped to entertain guests,” she told him and sat down in the only chair. “You should not be here. No one comes here. I am not allowed visitors.”
“Your brother would rescue you. I would rescue you as the knights of old rescued the fair damsel of hope from the thorny bower of despair. The dragon of lies would perish upon my lance of truth; and I would bear you away upon my great steed of promise. Together, we would live happily ever after in the garden of earthly delights.” He sipped the wine and did not look directly at her as he spoke. She listened to these ramblings with her mouth slightly open, unable to believe that he might possibly be serious. He had been reading too much.
“Why do you not want him to do that?” He jerked his head about suddenly, startling her, smiling at her as if he’d read her thoughts.
“I am happy here.” She waved one hand about. “I am tired of running. I pray only that I may live quietly until my death.”
“They are not going to execute you,” he said. “You did nothing wrong.”
“How do you know?”
“I can see it in your mind,” he said. The scene in Lucio Dambretti’s bedroom was quite clear in her thoughts. “You suffered a great deal. I know the man who was there with you.”
Catharine stood abruptly at these words.
“How?” she whispered the words.
“I am the son of the prophet. I can see things. I see that the man wanted something from you, and you gave him what he wanted in return for sparing the Knight’s life. You are in love with the Knight of the Golden Eagle. That is no crime. He should count
himself blessed.”
“You should not be here!” she said and the panic began to rise in her voice.
“Why do you not simply tell them what is in your mind? Why not tell them what you see in the future?”
“They would not listen! You must leave now!” She set her cup on the table.
“The man who attacked your Knight is not a man. He is an angel.”
“That’s impossible! He is a murderer!”
“The one is not mutually exclusive of the other,” Isaac told her casually. “He is an angel. His name is Abaddon. I know him because I, too, am an angel. Not all angels issue from your Divine Deity. Some come into being of their own accord. By spontaneous genesis. Some by accident. Some by fell design. Genesis is not uniquely possessed by the Creator. Others may create by His Divine Will.” His voice was hypnotic, and she knew he spoke every word in truth.
Catharine pressed her hands over her ears. She did not want to hear this.
“You have no reason to fear me, Catharine. I can help you.” He continued to smile at her. “My mother also loves the Knight of the Golden Eagle.”
“That is ridiculous!” She fled past him toward the door of the chapel. “Go! Get out! I do not want to see you again.”
Bari followed her slowly and then stopped very near her at the door. The silence was profound in the sanctuary and she could hear her own breathing. The sounds of the waves breaking below the cliffs, the calls of distant sea birds and the sighing of the wind gave the bizarre situation an almost romantic air; and she froze as he placed one warm hand on her cheek.
“If Abaddon finds the skulls, there will be nothing left of this world and your Knight will perish along with the rest of us,” he spoke these words directly into her mind. His lips did not move, nor did he blink as he delivered this ominous warning.
Catharine’s eyes widened and she wanted to scream and cover her face, but she was unable to move, unable to run, unable to close her eyes.
“You should let me help you. We could leave this place and travel to your brother’s castle. We could warn him before it is too late. I could be of great help to him and you would find me a most suitable replacement for your gallant Knight. There are so few of us and so… many of them…”
Catharine lurched forward when he removed his hand.
“Why?” she asked quietly. “Why would you help him?”
“I have no desire to be destroyed, Catharine.” He stepped closer to her and took her arm. “I can be many things.”
He kissed her before she could pull away from him and then she looked at him again. He now looked very much like Lucio Dambretti in the dim light of the sanctuary, but she knew that this was all wrong.
“Leave me alone!” she shouted at him and backed away.
“When you are ready to leave this place, just say my name. Joel Isaac Grenoble. We are tied together. Don’t you see?” He smiled at her again and the illusion faded. “I pray that you will not wait too long. Your brother grieves for you and he needs our help.”
Catharine simply stared after him as he made his way back across the roof of the chapel. If only she could reach Lucio and warn him of this new threat.
(((((((((((((
Luke Andrew had missed another chance to tell his father about the skull in the chapel. Mark Andrew had come out of Barry’s office in an uproar with his brother on his heels. They had not even stopped when Simon had run after them, shouting for them to stop. He looked about the deserted corridor and saw his two loyal followers standing in the hall, watching him.
“Brother Galen, Brother Michael.” He nodded to them. “There is something we must do.”
The two ‘junior knights’ rushed toward him. They had been elated to come home to Scotland and even more pleased that Luke had welcomed them so warmly. He had missed them immensely.
“What is it?” Galen asked breathlessly. “What is wrong with my father and Uncle Mark?”
“I don’t know about them.” Luke jerked his head slightly in the direction in which the three Knights had disappeared. “But we must check on our buried treasure.”
“Ahh.” Michael nodded. He had wondered if the skull in the pillar at the chapel had been moved. When the subject of the skulls had recently surfaced again, his first thought was about the secret he shared with Galen and Luke Andrew. “So it is still there?”
“That is what we must learn,” Luke told him and set off toward the opposite end of the building. He glanced at his watch. They had an hour and forty-five minutes before the next meeting. They passed by Lavon’s office where Omar and Christopher Stewart sat talking with Vallen Martin in low voices. The new apprentice was comforting the weeping Martin while Christopher was speaking to him intently. Their passage was not noticed. Most of the others had gone back to the big house, drawn by the savory smells from Gil’s kitchen.
The trio exited the building on the west side and cut back toward the north, and the chapel.
“Did you ever learn where it came from?” Galen asked as they hurried along through the meadow. “It gave me th’ creeps. I mean, ye know thot a dismembared ’ead shud make ye feel weird, but this one really made me feel weird! It was loike I knew ’er,” Galen practiced his brogue. “When I looked into those hollow eyes…”
“Hush, Galen!” Luke shuddered. “In answer to your question. No. I never learned where she came from. And that is what worries me. My father never asked about it. It is as if he knew nothing about her. Someone else must have brought the head to the house.”
“But who?” Michael asked him.
“I am trying to remember. It was just before my mother and Brother Simon and Brother Lucio went off with Louis to Dover, I believe. Everything is so muddled now.” Luke frowned. “Lucio was here, Simon was here and my mother. Louis and Oriel were here. Nicole was here. Nicole! Now there’s someone who might have done such a thing. But why? And then there were others were here as well, but I just can’t imagine anyone other than my father who would have dealings with such things. Well, no one around these parts. There are others interested in them, but they wouldn’t have put one in the attic. It had to be either my father, whom I don’t believe it was or Nicole and I don’t understand why… or perhaps…”
“Poppi might have done it,” Galen spoke up. “He is interested in everything. My step-father would not have done it without consulting Uncle Mark, but my real father does all sorts of things without consulting anyone.”
“Maybe.” Luke shook his head. “I don’t believe it was Simon. Simon, the younger, was very stern about things like this. He would have considered it very unholy and the other Simon, he was… too sensitive to such things. Maybe the Grand Master put it there or Konrad! Konrad might have done it.”
“Maybe so. I doubt it,” Michael disagreed. “He would have looked for it by now, and we would have heard about it.”
“You’re probably right,” Galen agreed and shuddered at the thought of having taken something that belonged to the Master.
“Well, whatever.” Luke picked up his pace. “We’d best hurry!”
“And then he said ‘I assure you, my lady, that his heart will not be broken’.” Mark Andrew drew up short at the sound of Semiramis’ voice. He and Luke Matthew were on the back porch of Luke’s house. His hand was on the door handle, but it refused to work correctly. The women were in the kitchen, and their voices drifted clearly to the two Knights. Mark held up his other hand to stop his brother.
“And I said ‘How so? If I leave with you, he will surely die of grief.’ And he said ‘That is quite impossible, for I have already taken his head. His heart is quite intact if you would care to see it. And his face is still most beautiful to look upon if you can but ignore the one wound.’ You can imagine my horror upon seeing the head of my lovely Gilbrand in the bottom of the golden casket.” Semiramis actually laughed and two other voices joined hers.
“But that’s so horrible!” They heard Merry Ramsay’s protests. “He died for you! How ca
n you sit here and laugh?”
“Because Gilbrand left him no choice,” Semiramis explained. “I warned him to leave before it was too late and he laughed at me and said that no man on earth could budge him from my side. I warned him again, and he called me a foolish woman and went out forthwith to challenge Adar in front of his men, insulting him mightily with cutting lies and cruel words! Lord Adar could not be so shamed in front of his Captains. It was Gilbrand who was but a foolish man. He was a lovely young man, but rash.”
“So what did you do then?” Meredith’s voice was more controlled.
“I had him buried with great honors in a fabulous tomb full of riches, and I went with Lord Adar to the Land of Khem for a while. But my heart returned again to Naboplasser’s realm in the north and the prospect of war with the hordes of the east. So I left him there and did not see him for many ages.”
“And only now the truth begins to emerge,” another voice spoke up and Luke Matthew leaned close to him.
“Th’ ’orned one,” he whispered in his brother’s ear. “Tis unwoise t’ listen t’ this, brother.”
But Mark could not seem to move. He was mesmerized by what he heard and horrified to think that these four women were discussing him with such seeming insouciance as if it was of no great importance. As if he was an appropriate topic for afternoon tea! It fascinated and infuriated him at the same time.
“So it would seem,” Meredith seemed as unconcerned as the others. “Nanna has explained a great deal to me, and I am pleased to learn more about you. I’m afraid that my conception of you had not been very favorable until now. I can understand why he was so taken with you. It seems that we have all been quite deceived.”
“I hope you will not hold it against him. He has always had a great weakness for beautiful faces,” Semiramis sigh. “Unfortunately, the trait seems to be even more magnified in our beautiful son, Adalune. Though his methods of courtship are a bit less intense than his father’s. He has a more forgiving nature. He does not brood and mope about like his father. Adalune would never throw himself on his sword for the sake of a broken heart. He would simply grow a new one or seek different company.” Her laughter was like the laughter of gulls on a bright summer shore. “Adalune has had his own share of misfortunes as far as his love interests have progressed, but I believe that this latest falling has turned out quite well. Jasmine loves him very much, and she owes him a great deal, which only adds weight in his favor. She is very accepting of his eccentricities.”
The Jealous God Page 6