Knight's Cross (The Shipwreck Adventures Book 3)

by Christine Kling

  As she dressed she heard voices, but she could not make out what they were saying. At least it sounded civil. She hoped the people here would be kind. It would be ridiculous to find she had sailed all this way only to exchange one prison for another. She combed her hair, and, when she was satisfied that she was presentable, she ventured out onto the deck.

  A man and a boy were seated in a wooden boat tied alongside. They were chatting with Alonso.

  “Come, my dear. Meet our new friends.” He put his arm around her waist. “This is my wife, Arzella.”

  She looked up at him in surprise.

  He pointed to the older man, “This is Turan. He worked as a sailor on French boats for several years and speaks the language well. And this is his son, Kadir. They were kind enough to bring us a loaf of bread and some goat’s cheese.”

  “Thank you very much,” she said.

  “Welcome to Kekova Roads, Lady.”

  Arzella turned to Alonso. “Kekova—that is what the fisherman said.”

  “Yes, Turan has been explaining to me that Kekova Roads is what they call this stretch of water inside Kekova.”

  Turan smiled at her. “We have invited you and your husband to come ashore with us. My wife will prepare a midday meal, but before we eat, we would like to show you around the village of Kaleköy.”

  Arzella looked at Alonso. He nodded and said, “That is very kind of you. We would be happy to join you and your family on shore. Give us a few minutes to dress and we will be at your service.”

  When they were safely in the confines of the cabin, Arzella said, “You told them I was your wife?”

  “Of course. In my heart, you are my wife. These are deeply religious people, and they would not accept us otherwise. I told them that you and I married against the wishes of our families, and we have fled to find a place where we can live and raise a family in happiness.” He took both her hands in his and placed them at her waist. “This story is not so far from the truth.”

  He removed the silver ring from her right hand. “With this ring, I vow to love you and our child for all the days of my life. Do you take me as your husband?” He placed the ring on the finger of her left hand.

  “I do,” she said, and then she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

  After walking through the few streets of the village, Turan offered to show them the castle. The walk up the steep path would have been easier without the skirts, but Arzella didn’t mind. It was wonderful to be on land, smelling the rich smells of sunbaked earth and thyme. And the view from the hillside over the islands grew more spectacular the higher they climbed. Alonso had given her a small journal of blank pages he had bought for doing the ship’s accounts, and she’d found charcoal in the boat’s stove. She’d brought her sketchbook and charcoal in a small cloth sack, and she stopped on the trail to sketch the view looking up at the ramparts.

  Turan was leading them, but they had already attracted the attention of the entire village when they first came ashore. Turkish women in soft-colored skirts and simple blouses, all wearing scarves to cover their hair, reached out to touch them and chattered away in a foreign tongue. They crowded around to watch her draw. Alonso had brought his bronze telescope, and the children appeared to dare one another to run up and touch it. Half the village followed them up the trail.

  A white-haired man with a long beard approached Alonso and spoke to him in their foreign tongue.

  Alonso shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  Turan said, “He asks what brings you to Kaleköy.”

  “Tell him my great-grandfather, a Knight of Saint John, visited here many years ago, and he grew to love this village. His real name was Jacques de Chambray, but people called him Le Rouge de Malte because of the color of his hair.” Alonso touched his own hair.

  As Turan translated, the old man smiled and nodded, then said a few words, smiling even more widely. Turan said, “The old one here says he remembers the stories of the red-haired Knight, and he welcomes his great-grandson to Kaleköy.”

  Although the castle had looked imposing from afar, once they reached the walls, Arzella saw that it was not what they had been hoping for. There was nothing left but ruins. Whatever had once stood within the walls was gone. There were no intact rooms, only the defensive walls surrounding a small, open theater. There did not appear to be any place to hide his treasure, and, judging from their current entourage, to do so in secret would be impossible.

  “Imagine,” Alonso said. “This fortress was built over seven hundred years ago by the Knights of Saint John. The people in the village were Christians then. This was a stopping point for pilgrims en route to the Holy Land, and the castle was their defense against Ottoman raiders.”

  “I am glad we live in these modern times, when people no longer hate each other because of a difference of religion.”

  “Are you really so certain things have changed?”

  “Look around you. These people do not believe in Jesus Christ as we do, but neither do they want to kill us because of those differences. We live in an age of science and reason.”

  “I keep trying to tell you, Arzella, though we have met many kind strangers in Asia Minor, the world has not changed as much as you would like to think.”

  Next to the castle ruins, she saw many odd little buildings scattered in an olive grove. “What are those strange stone monuments?” she asked Turan.

  “Those are Lycian sarcophagi,” he said.

  “Who were these Lycians?” she asked as she turned a page and sketched the strange forms.

  Turan shrugged. “They were the ancients who lived in these lands in the time of Caesar and Alexander the Great. When the Knights built the castle here many years ago, the Lycians were already gone many hundreds of years. But their tombs remain scattered all over this region.”

  When they began their descent down the path to the village, the sun came out from behind the clouds. The water changed from silver gray to the iridescent blues and greens of a peacock’s neck and tail. Out in the water off the village, Arzella saw a half-submerged sarcophagus and a stone staircase that led down below the surface of the water.

  “Why are those ruins in the water?” she asked.

  “This place was once part of the Lycian city of Simena. The other half of the city was across the channel on the island of Kekova. The city sank into the sea after an earthquake, around the time of Jesus Christ. There are many more ruins of the sunken city on the island.”

  “You know of Jesus, then?” Arzella asked.

  “Of course,” Turan replied. “In all the world of Islam he is revered as a great prophet.”

  “Fascinating,” Arzella said. “So we really aren’t so different, are we?”

  Turan smiled. “Not at all.”

  When they arrived back on the beach, Turan showed them more of the ruins of the sunken city. Children were swimming and diving off the staircase that led into the sea.

  Alonso stopped walking and raised his telescope to his eye.

  “Turan, you called Simena a two-part city. Is there much more to see across on the island of Kekova?”

  “Yes, there are houses and a harbor all underwater and many more sarcophagi. The harbor is very well protected, and it once had room for several boats. After the earthquake, the entrance to the harbor grew very narrow. We cannot see it from here, but perhaps you can see the high red cliff that stands over the inner harbor with your looking glass. That is how you can locate the entrance.”

  Alonso held the glass to his eye for a long time. “Ah, yes,” he said. “I can see it from here. Fascinating.”

  Villa del Priorato di Malta

  The Aventine Hill, Rome

  April 25, 2014

  Hawk was the last one through the chapel door. Virgil had called on the radio over half an hour ago, ordering them to convene in the church. He’d been waiting for Hawk to show up before speaking.

  “You took your time,” he said after the big man slid into a pew.


  “Wanted to bring the fire chief’s official word on the fire. It was arson.”

  “No shit. What a surprise.”

  The men sat, hands folded on their laps, staring straight ahead.

  “What about the damage?”

  “The back end of the carriage house will need rebuilding, but we got the cars out before they were damaged.”

  “What the hell happened out there?” Virgil asked.

  Not one man spoke.

  “You guys got skunked by some little girl?”

  “We were one man down. What happened to Priest?” Jacko said.

  Virgil said, “He was detained.”

  Dutch rubbed his hand across his mouth and spoke into his palm. “Asshole.”

  “Leave Priest out of this. I don’t want to hear whining or excuses. I brought you men in here because I know you to be the best. And you’re being paid to be that good.”

  Jacko said, “We can only be as good as the information we are given. We didn’t know she was here.”

  Hawk said, “I went by the room. The way she broke out of those zip cuffs, I don’t buy her as some innocent little girl.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “She was out of there pretty damn fast. Who is she?”

  “You’re not here to ask questions. I want answers.”

  “We searched the grounds thoroughly. We found a chef’s coat in the carriage house. It’s possible she had an accomplice. Someone who came in with the caterers.”

  Virgil put his hands on his hips and spoke to the floor. “Goddammit.” He looked up and made eye contact with each one of them individually. “How did you let him get in?”

  Hawk said, “Sounds like you know who that was. Like maybe you were even expecting him. With only four men trying to cover an estate this size, you might have told us.”

  “Instead of spending all afternoon riding around in their Bugatti,” Dutch said. “I don’t care how fucking awesome that car is.”

  Virgil pulled in air through his nostrils and raised his chin as he stared at the men before him. He felt his face flush with heat, then he was surprised by a flash of déjà vu. How many times had Virgil silently berated the brass for not telling their men what the real situation was? Or for sitting back off the front lines, enjoying luxuries their men would never know.

  Hawk continued. “If you’d told us you had a prisoner inside and you were expecting someone to break her out, we might have worked it differently. But we thought we were there to babysit a bunch of fat cats who’d come for Friday dinner.”

  The doors at the rear of the church opened, and Signor Oscura strode into the chapel.

  Virgil nodded once in his direction.

  Signor Oscura walked to the front of the church, and he said one word. “Explain.”

  Basilica dei Santi Bonifacio e Alessio

  The Aventine Hill, Rome

  April 25, 2014

  Cole took the lead in order to clear the way. The path they’d been directed to follow was overgrown with vines, and the ground was uneven. The flashlight behind them offered some light, but they were still in danger of hitting their heads on low-hanging limbs. After twenty meters, they came upon a white marble bench. Just beyond, the garden opened up, and they entered a small courtyard. The yellow light on the corner of one building was a spot that lit up the lovely fountain in the middle of the stone square.

  “Stop right there.”

  Cole stopped, and Riley came up to stand beside him. He reached over and took her hand.

  “What were you doing in the garden here?”

  Cole squeezed Riley’s hand, trying to convince her to let him take the lead. “We climbed over the wall from the villa next door,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “We didn’t like what the Knights were serving for dinner.”

  “Don’t be flippant, young man. There was a fire next door tonight.”

  Cole was wondering what their captor had overheard of their earlier conversation, when Riley spoke up.

  “My friend here did start the fire, but for a good reason. It was a diversion. I was being held there against my will, and he was trying to save me.”

  Their captor didn’t say anything.

  “It’s the truth,” Riley said.

  The silence dragged on for a very long time. Finally, they heard the words, “Turn around.”

  The person standing there holding the flashlight on them was clad in black robes from head to foot, save for the white cloth surrounding her face. She was nearly as tall as Cole, and she wore silver wire-rimmed glasses on her severe, unsmiling face.

  Friends of his back in Florida who had gone to Catholic schools had told Cole stories about nuns busting knuckles with wooden rulers. He had a healthy respect, even fear, of them. He was searching for what to say to her when the nun broke the silence.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Sure,” he said, and he was surprised to realize it was true.

  The nun’s mouth spread in a broad smile. At the corners of her eyes, lines fanned out like rays of sunlight. With her straight nose and her dark eyebrows, her face went from severe to lovely in a moment.

  “Come with me, then. It’s not far. We’ll talk while we eat.”

  The nun took off at a fast pace. Riley pointed to the shoes under her habit. They were black high-tops.

  She led them to a tiny Fiat. “I’ll take you to the convent where I’m staying. There’s a nice kitchen there.” She climbed in the driver’s-side door. “Get in,” she said.

  Cole pushed up the seat, and Riley squeezed into the back next to a box of books and papers. Cole had barely dropped into the front seat when the nun started the little car, threw it into gear, and took off out through the gates. Off to his right, Cole caught a brief glimpse of the piazza in front of the Knights’ villa. He saw several fire department vehicles and a crowd of men milling around. From this distance, he couldn’t tell if any of them were the villa’s security guards.

  They traveled only a few blocks and turned right into a very narrow street. After a hundred feet, the street widened, and the nun pulled the Fiat nose-in to a parking space along a high stone wall.

  “Welcome to Foresteria del Monastero Sant’Antonio Abate—or in English, the Guesthouse of the Monastery of Saint Anthony the Abbot,” she said when she turned off the engine. She held out her hand to Cole. “My name is Sister Ola.”

  They introduced themselves. “We can’t thank you enough, Sister,” Cole said.

  “Come on. You’ve still got some explaining to do.”

  They followed her through an ancient stone gate into a courtyard filled with potted plants, small trees, and the overpowering fragrance of blooming roses.

  She sat them at an outdoor table in the courtyard and soon returned with a tray and three cups of thick espresso. She served the coffee, then went back inside for water and a plate of olives, cheese, and salami.

  “You are too kind,” Riley said.

  “It’s the custom in my country to take care of lost travelers, and the two of you certainly looked lost when I found you at the institute.”

  “The institute?” Cole said. “I thought it was a church that adjoined the Knights’ villa.”

  “Yes, the basilica is on the other side. It’s quite a complex. The whole Aventine Hill is covered with old church buildings. That’s one of the reasons that the National Institute of Roman Studies is located there. I’d been doing research all day, and when I went out to my car, I smelled the fire. I decided to take a walk closer to the wall. I grabbed the flashlight from my car, and then the two of you dropped in.”

  Cole and Riley exchanged looks. “I think we were very lucky you found us,” Cole said.

  “What are you studying?” Riley asked.

  “I’ve been doing research on John the Baptist.”

  Riley said, “I hear a slight accent in your speech, but I can’t place it.”

  “I am from Jordan.”

  �
�Really? I didn’t know there were Catholics in Jordan.”

  “Roman Catholics are not a huge percentage of the population, but there are over eighty thousand of us.”

  “Where did you learn to speak English so well?”

  “I went to university in the US. Notre Dame. That was years ago. I played varsity girls’ basketball during my undergrad years and got my degree in philosophy and theology. My family wanted me to return home after four years, but I stayed on and eventually got my doctorate. As a graduate assistant, I did quite a lot of teaching. But when I returned home, instead of teaching at the university, I decided to enter the religious life.”

  “Do you live in Rome now?”

  “No, I just came for Easter and for the canonizations. While I’m here, I’m researching Saint John and the different ways he is depicted in the various gospels of the New Testament and in the Qur’an. For this reason, I’m also very interested in the Knights of Saint John.”

  “Ah, now I get it,” Riley said.

  She smiled and nodded. “I look forward to hearing the details of your story.”

  Riley looked back and forth between them. “It’s a complicated story.”

  Cole said, “We got separated earlier today and we haven’t had a chance to catch up. I’d like to know what happened to Riley, too. But we also need to find a safe place to stay tonight.”

  “This monastery is a guesthouse. There are no vacant rooms, due to the canonizations. However, we should be able to place each of you in a shared room. Riley can stay in my room, and I’m certain I can find a father willing to offer you shelter. You’ll both be safe here.”

  “Thank you, Sister.”

  “Now tell me how you happen to be running from the Sovereign Order of the Knights of Malta.”

  Over the course of the next hour, they told her the whole story: about Cole’s father during the Second World War, the HMS Upholder, the shield, the folktale about the Silver Girl, and the name of the famous cartographer that was engraved on the shield.