When the Teutonic Knights had gone the way of the Templars in a less violent manner, of course, but gone none-the-less, he had taken the cue from d’Brouchart and continued his own secret Order of Teutonic Knights in the far reaches of Eastern Europe. Keeping alive the Cathar religion and perpetuating the line of the Merovingian Kings of France whenever and wherever he could by way of the Holy Communion of Blood. Now, to his dismay, he was learning that d’Brouchart had been doing the same thing! His son, Simon of Grenoble. Louis Champlain, his Knight of the Golden Key. His Knight of the Baldric, who had been initiated into the Order in sheer ignorance in this very castle. And of his most recent additions, a grandson as Knight of the Throne. Even the late Konrad von Hetz had once served with the Teutonic Knights in Germany, apparently long enough to partake of the Holy Communion of the Inner Circle before defecting to the rival brotherhood of Templars. It all made perfect sense now. The Templars had always been involved in the events evolving in the south of France. He had not known the extent of their involvement. In fact, he had never even met any of them until his sister had fallen in love with one of them! No, he had just been an ignorant country bumpkin, unaware of what was going on around him until it was too late.
His studies of the history that he had lived in ignorance, showed many of the behind-the-scenes machinations that had taken place far above his head, but on reflection, he understood many things that had puzzled him immensely at the time in which they had occurred. But that was usually the way of it. The people never really knew what was going on until far too late. There was always something in the news these days that showed how ignorant the common masses were of what their respected leaders had been doing behind closed doors. The KGB, the FBI, the CIA, the Surete, Scotland Yard, the list was endless. And the latest things coming out concerned the activities of the Fox before they were the Fox, when they had been known as the Dogs of Shaitan. Omar Kadif was going to have to make some public announcements soon, one way or another, either refuting or confirming that his elite army was actually the remnants of a brutal band of cutthroats who once wreaked havoc in the less well-developed regions of the near and far Middle East. Anarchists and atheists they were said to have been or at best, devil worshippers. He was waiting to hear what the Prophet had to say about the atrocities that had supposedly been committed even when he had taken them over and redirected their aimless wanderings. The Prophet’s shining image had already been tainted by his former General’s International Identification Program, which Omar had wisely discontinued, but this was something new to tarnish his white and purple uniform with blood red stains and that would be another story to follow up on. Now he had his sister to deal with. She had to pull herself together. If she could reconcile herself with d’Brouchart through their mutual offspring, their chances of survival would greatly improve.
Catharine had wandered across the room to the tall windows overlooking the front lawn. She stood, holding back the draperies, staring out into the pre-dawn grayness.
“What does he look like?” she asked him.
“Who, Levi?” He crossed the room and stood beside her.
“No. My son. You know what he looks like? Why have you kept this from me?”
“I have seen him several times both before and after I knew who he was. I did not feel that you needed to know until now when the truth seems determined to become known,” he told her gently and wrapped one arm around her. “He is the very image of his mother. Blonde. Blue eyes. A bit small, perhaps, but that was most likely due to his premature birth in less than ideal conditions. He was a bit pale and seemed rather sad, but that may have been because of his lack of a sufficient upbringing. I mean, what monk could replace the loving care of a mother?” He hugged her. “I think you would be proud of him. He has shown himself to be quite brave, I understand. A hero, you might say, engaging in all sorts of worthy causes in the name of God. A priest yes, but also a Healer of men. The personal physician to the immortal Knights. A good man, they say. Not like Edgard much, I should think, but Edgard has changed. He is not the man you knew, Catharine. I don’t know why he allowed himself to age and grow rotund.”
“Rotund?” She turned her blue eyes on him in wonder. “Edgard? Rotund? You mean fat?”
“Well, he is rather portly as they say.” Aristoni shrugged. “He is no longer the dashing fellow you knew. No! I’m sorry. Give me just a bit of time, Catharine.”
“But he shouldn’t have aged! Why would he age? I haven’t changed, have I?” She felt of her smooth face. She looked no more than twenty-five. He could not quite remember now how old she had been when she had thrown herself from the parapet. He had been what? Thirty? Thirty-one? He knew he had been at least that. His father had been quite aggravated that he had not married and settled down. The old man would have been livid with rage to learn that he had lived so long and had still not married, nor settled down, nor was he ever likely to do so.
Chapter Eight of Twenty
For a dream cometh through the multitude of business
The bedraggled Knights and other searchers met back at the house just before dawn. Only Ramsay had gotten any sleep the night before and even he looked overwrought as if he had been on a ten day march. His eyes seemed glassy and a bit sunken. Very unusual for the indomitable Knight of Death.
None of them had found any sign of the boy. At half past six, Simeon went up to check on Greta and practically fell back down the stairs, shouting for his father. Greta was not in her room! The Grand Master, who had been asleep through the entire incident, came down the stairs after his grandson, demanding to know what was going on. His Knights stood sheepishly around the kitchen as Simeon had to be restrained by his father and his younger brother from running out of the house again in search of his daughter. Between shouting, ranting and raving, d’Brouchart heard the story piecemeal from the assembly and drew up short at the sight of Mark Andrew dressed in the black uniform with leaves, twigs and dirt smeared on his face and tangled in his hair.
“What the devil are you doing, du Morte?” He frowned at the Knight of Death.
“At th’ moment nothing.” He shook his head and deferred to answer the question, which was obviously directed at his appearance. “I ’ave evra confidence thot th’ boy will be back and th’ lassie as well. I b’lieve they went fur a lark.”
“A lark?!” The Grand Master was livid. “Are you drunk?!” He leaned close to the Scot as if he were sniffing for liquor. “What is this all over you? Where have you been? What are you up to? Why didn’t you wake me up?” Questions poured from the big man and Mark Andrew’s left eye began to twitch. The others backed away still unused to seeing anyone speak to their former Grand Master in such a manner.
“It is my fault, Your Grace,” Lucio spoke up quickly. “I thought that this might lessen the chances of Vanni returning to Italy with me. I asked them not to tell you until we had a chance to look for him.”
“And now my granddaughter is missing as well!” D’Brouchart sat down heavily at the table. Gil brought him a cup of coffee and retreated. “Run off with a half-wild… elf boy!”
“I resent that, Your Grace. He is not half-wild, neither is he an elf.” Lucio raised his chin slightly.
“He is certainly not tame now, is he, Golden Eagle? There is no telling what he will be up to with Greta. She is only a child!”
“She is twice his age, at least, Your Grace,” Stephano ventured a remark. “Vanni is a bit unpredictable just yet, but he is a good boy. He will take good care of her. He knows much about the woods and the wilds as you say. He was most likely just a bit homesick for the forest. You cannot expect him to adapt to our ways so quickly. He probably doesn’t even realize that he has done anything wrong.”
“Perhaps he is with the elves,” Planxty suggested from the far end of the table before the Master could respond. “They like to sing and dance on a good full moon and that was a beauty we had last night. I swear I heard elven voices down toward the rath, but if they were there, the
y hid from us.”
“Father,” Simon said and then sat down next to the Grand Master. “There is no use casting stones at Lucio. He did not know… none of us knew that Greta was with him. They have made fast friends from what I understand. And Vanni is still very young as Stephano says. It is Greta who should have known better. I find more fault with her behavior than the boy’s. Her father raised her better than to go off into the woods in the middle of the night without permission or good reason.”
The front door slammed and they heard Luke Matthew’s voice. Mark Andrew jumped and looked about. Where was Luke Andrew? They had not awakened his son or von Hetz to help them, but surely they had heard the commotion when Simeon had found Greta missing. More voices issued from the foyer and they filed out of the kitchen to see what was happening now.
Luke Matthew and Luke Andrew were in the foyer, along with Konrad von Hetz and Greta d'Ornan and Lucio's son. All three of the men were dirty and scratched and looked as if they had been chased through a bramble patch by a wild bull.
“Now what the devil is going on here?” d’Brouchart demanded at once.
Luke Andrew let go of Greta’s hand and she ran to her father. Simeon scooped her up in his arms. She was as dirty as the rest of them.
Vanni stood looking at his father with wide-eyes. He held his drum under his arm. His hair was tangled and full of leaves and debris.
“Vanni!” Lucio went to kneel in front of his son. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” The boy shook his head. “We went to see Nanna. He told me to come back on the full moon and play for him.”
“Nanna?” Lucio frowned and looked up at Luke Matthew who still had one hand firmly on the boy’s shoulder.
“Nanna?” D’Brouchart turned on Mark Andrew. His eyes were wide now with a new emotion. Fear.
“Yes! Si`!” Vanni told them. “We had a grand time. Didn’t we, Greta?”
“Greta?” D’Brouchart spun around to face the girl as she clung to her father’s neck. “Did you see this creature?”
“Yes, Grandpapa! He was terrible and wonderful!” She beamed at him. “I’m sorry, Poppi.” She looked at her father and then began to cry on his shoulder. “I didn’t think we would be gone that long. I didn’t mean to make everyone mad and upset.”
Simeon patted her head and glared at his grandfather.
“Let’s sort this out in the kitchen, eh?” Levi relieved his brother of the girl and carried her down the hall.
“I’m going up to bed,” Luke Andrew announced and yawned. “I’ll file a written report in the morn… this afternoon!”
Mark watched in fascination as his unruly son stomped up the stairs leaving muddy footprints on the risers.
“Luke?” Mark Andrew eyed his brother.
“It is just as Greta said. It was wonderful.” His brother winked at him. “Dunna warry aboot it, Brother. Th’ bairns wair safe and sound when we found them.”
“But I dunna understand,” Mark told him as he took his arm and dragged him after the others.
“Ye will shortly,” Luke muttered under his breath.
The story was eventually poured out along with two pots of coffee. Lucio took his son upstairs after the first thirty minutes to bath and bed and Simeon followed suit with his daughter already asleep on his shoulder.
Stephano had disappeared along with Planxty, unwilling to witness the massacre that they both thought would be forthcoming between Lucio and the Grand Master. The rest of them sat around the table with the chef plying them with coffee and pastries left over from the day before, while Luke Matthew told the story.
His story related that Luke Andrew had stayed on at his uncle’s house after Mark had left. Merry had fixed supper for them, showing off her new cooking skills she had learned from Gil Pairaud’s lessons. Omar and Ruth and Bari had retired for the night along with Merry at about eleven thirty. He and Luke Andrew had gone outside for a ‘nip and a smoke’ and Konrad had ridden up about that time to say that he had seen someone… two someone’s running across the meadow toward their house. Konrad had asked if they had seen anyone and naturally they had not. But then they had decided that it could have only been Greta and Vanni. Luke Matthew and Konrad had taken the horses out to look for them and Luke Andrew had followed on one of the four-wheelers.
They had spotted the two children under the oaks in front of the chapel, but the children had panicked when they’d seen the two horsemen thundering across the meadow toward them and they had run into the woods west of the chapel and disappeared. The men had followed after them into the woods until they reached the river where they had to ditch the four-wheeler and the horses and follow them on foot. After about an hour’s chase they had caught up with them again, but this time they had been surprised to find them in the midst of a faery circle. The elves had not run away when the three Knights had approached, but had, instead, invited them to join in the merry-making, offering them wine and bread and cheese and all sorts of good things to eat. They had only meant to stay for a few minutes until they could coerce the two errant children to come home with them without being rude to the elves or giving offense to the amazing creature leading this little Sabbat celebration.
But, Luke Matthew had shrugged, you know how faeries are!
They had all ended up singing and dancing for quite some time before they had been able to make a graceful exit. Most fascinating of all had been the huge, muscled beast with long tendrils of hair and tusks like a wild boar, but gentle of nature and word. This was Nanna according to Vanni. The creature that had invited him back on the full moon to play his drum. Nanna had thanked them for coming and allowed them to leave before the party was over. Luke concluded his narrative by declaring that the creature was the most unusual thing he had ever seen in his life, and since no harm had been done, the children should not be treated too harshly for their misadventure.
Children will be children, Luke had explained and then stated that had he been in their shoes, he would have done the same thing.
“Nanna!” d’Brouchart said the word again and shook his head. “What does it mean, du Morte?”
“I don’t know,” Mark Andrew said quietly. It had certainly been a strange night indeed. First he has an encounter with an angel and then the Lord of the First Gate shows up in Lothian to dance in the woods. It didn’t make sense to him. The angel had said something about Nanna, Sarakiel, the Watcher presiding over the spirits of the children of men who transgress. The one called Meredith was taken from you and given to Sarakiel. The one you know as Nanna. Mark Andrew choked on his coffee and sprayed the table in front of him. “Did you see anyone else?!” he almost shouted the question and everyone turned to look at him in dismay. How could he have forgotten Ashmodel’s words so soon?
“Just the elves!” Luke Matthew answered him quickly. “I didna recognoize any o’ them. I didn’t see Sim or Il Dolce Mio, if that’s what you mean.”
“No.” Mark wiped at his mouth with his sleeve and tried to regain a bit of dignity. “I’m sorry. I’m tired. If you will all excuse me, I would like to get a bit of rest before I… we go to America.” He stood up and looked down at Levi. “I assume that you will be going, Father?”
“I will.” Levi nodded.
“Good.” Mark Andrew started down the hall as the phone began to ring in the library. “Phone’s ringing!” he called over his shoulder and continued up the stairs.
Simon hurried down the hall to answer the phone. The Healer looked drawn and tired. He walked slowly back toward the kitchen with the phone, nodding his head tiredly.
“Oui`! Oui`!” He glanced at his father.
“Who is it?” d’Brouchart asked him.
“It is no problem,” Simon mouthed the words Louis Champlain.
“We were up.”
“Yes, he is.”
The Healer handed the phone to the Grand Master.
“Oui`?” D’Brouchart frowned. “He is well. They are all well. Why?”
A long
pause followed as Gil refilled the Master’s cup and offered the others more of the rich French coffee. Everyone else declined.
“Are you sure?” D’Brouchart’s voice had changed subtly. “Did she leave a number?”
Another pause and then the Grand Master gestured for a pen and paper. Levi produced the items from his pockets.
The Grand Master scribbled down a number on the paper. He spoke a few more words to Champlain and laid the phone on the table.
Simon, Levi and Konrad sat waiting patiently for him to tell them what was wrong. Instead, he folded the paper very carefully and tucked it in his pocket before picking up his coffee again. He took a large swallow and the sound seemed to reverberate in the heavy silence in the room. It was quite obvious that he was not going to share the nature of the call with them.
“I suggest that you two get some rest if you are going to make the long trip to America without arriving as zombies.” He nodded at Levi and Konrad.
The two men excused themselves and left the kitchen wondering where the illustrious Grand Master had heard of zombies. As soon as they were gone, he cast a look at the chef. Gil was very adept at picking up on not-so-subtle hints and this was an obvious dismissal. He turned off the burner under the kettle and hurriedly left the father and son at the table. Luke Matthew had leaned against the wall and was snoring peacefully with his mouth partially open.
Simon glanced at the Knight of the Orient and then frowned at his father.
“What is it?” he asked after a moment.
“This is for you, my son.” He took the folded paper from his pocket and laid it very deliberately on the table.
Simon stared at the slip of paper as if it might come alive and attack him.
“What is it?” he asked again and reached for the paper cautiously. His father caught his hand.
Thoth, the Atlantean Page 16