The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death

by Brendan Carroll

  His conversation with Valentino concerning Merry’s motives for these visits with him was still ringing in his head. If that was her intent, they would certainly have beautiful children. If they looked like her and were quiet like their father…. The thought was still absurd and yet, somehow amusing. He was about to get into the shower, when she came back into the bathroom, bumping the door open with her hip, without warning. She picked up his dirty clothes and dumped them in a wicker hamper in the corner before beginning to undress.

  He opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came other than a slight whimper at the sight of her tanned body. What about his promise to himself? Her gauzy cotton dress fell to the floor exposing a skimpy lace camisole of pink lace and he was lost beyond redemption. The camisole was even more enticing than nothing at all. She laughed at his expression and slipped the spaghetti straps from her shoulders, allowing the soft lace to fall to the floor with the dress. She grabbed a bar of lavender soap from the counter and smelled deeply of it.

  “This is just heavenly, though vanilla is my favorite,” she told him and raised both eyebrows. She pushed him aside gently and stepped into the shower behind him under the steaming water. He turned around immediately and she held up one hand, stopping him before he took hold of her. The scent of the soap filled the tiled shower as she rubbed the soap over her body covering herself with bubbles. When she successfully coated with the fragrant stuff, she laid the soap aside and looked at him, smiling mischievously. He was speechless.

  “You’ve never showered with a woman?” she asked him. “I have the strange idea that you will like it.”

  She rubbed herself against him like a silky human sponge and ran her hands down his back. It was more than he could stand. Suddenly there was no time for thinking about silly promises, no time for worrying about ulterior motives or even frivolous ideas like soap and such. He had an idea of his own as she wrapped her arms around his neck. It would be a clean exchange of ideas.

  He was too weak to resist this much temptation and he hardly thought that any other man could have done it either. There was no sense denying it; he was a failure as a Knight of the Temple. The revelation almost made him laugh. He felt guilty for one more moment and then his mind was on other things. He pushed her against the tile wall and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She was very slippery and giggly at first, but the silliness did not last long when he pressed the urgent issue at hand. She had no trouble getting down to business without further ado. His resolve was lost for the next several minutes at least. And as soon as it was over, he knew that he had lost more than his resolve. The guilt that she’d wiped away so completely for a few scant moments of pleasure, washed over him and made him feel weak. She literally slipped out of the shower and left him alone with his dark thoughts while she took up her running commentary and endless, unanswered questions again as she dried and dressed. She had no idea what suffering was going on behind the frosted glass door. He took extra pains to wash his hair until she left the bathroom and then stepped out cautiously on the wet floor. He felt a mixture of guilt, anger and bewilderment that caused him to collapse onto the toilet seat with one of Merry’s big towels draped over his head. He felt that he would suffocate and actually wished that he could.

  After several minutes, he pulled himself together enough to get up again and stood in front of the mirror trying to comb his hair without looking at himself. Mercifully, she left him alone for a while. He could hear her in the other room fussing with the meal she had brought up for him. He had just finished combing his tangled hair when more of his lost memories came back to him in a jumbled flash.

  An entire series of images fell into place in one blinding jolt and he had to catch the edge of the cabinet. Anthony had deserted his post at the Villa near Pompeii and disappeared over six months ago, just after the Grand Master had announced his plans to raise him to the rank of Chaplain Brother. A great honor. It was apparent that d’Brouchart had big plans for the young man. Cambrique had even intimated that the Master planned to make the apprentice next in line for Seneschal… some day. An unusual thing. Unprecedented. The Grand Master had never simply raised one of the apprentices without having lost one of the Council Knights and had reason to shuffle apprentices. He would have received full knighthood and everything that went with it except for the Tree of Life. Estates in France and England with house and servants in both countries. The idiot had betrayed the Order just when he was about to have everything any young man could have dreamed of. He would have been set for life. For life!

  He had been dispatched to find the apprentice and return him to the fold or kill him. There was no other way. The search had taken him to Spain, thence to Norway, back to Spain and then finally to America. Now he was here with the same group of pretenders to whom Anthony had betrayed them all. The Order of the Rose. The only thing that Ramsay could attribute the failure of the apprentice to was the fact that the young man had been having trouble with his vow of celibacy and his choice of sexual partners was not exactly in keeping with the Order’s tenants though they tried to be ‘modern’. Twice they had found him guilty of breaking the vow in Rome. Rome. And with one of the Vatican officials at that! Anthony apparently had the same problem that he did with the exception that the apprentice preferred the company of men. Dambretti had tried to tell him about Anthony several times. Dambretti always knew these things, but Anthony’s troubles were over in this lifetime and Mark always tried to make it his business to stay out of other people's business.

  And now he had followed Anthony’s example, broken his own vows as well and come very close to betraying the Order. He was no better than Anthony. The two men fighting in the dream… it had not been a dream at all. They were here and they were not Ninja warriors or cat burglars. His Brothers were here and they had come to kill him, not Anthony. Not only was he in danger from the insane Valentino and her ugly watchdog, he was in real danger from his own Brothers. But he was immortal just as Valentino had said all along. How dare they presume to think he would stand by and allow them to take his head? He needed his sword. He would be defenseless without it. But these memories as good as they were, were still incomplete. There were still gaps. How had he become mixed up with these Brothers in the first place? They didn’t own him. He had served them long and well. And what about Merry? What would he do about her?

  He finished combing his hair and wrapped himself in a towel before emerging from the bathroom. She met him at the door with a steaming cup of coffee, lots of cream and sugar. It was beginning to be habit and one that he was beginning to appreciate and look forward to: finding himself alone, naked or half-naked with the Pixie. It was like one continuous, unholy, but pleasant orgy. He would never forgive himself. God would never forgive him.

  “Will you…” he began to protest, but she shoved the cup in his hands and pulled him toward the bed where she coaxed him back under the covers. She plumped up the pillows behind him and then she climbed onto the bed facing him with a plate of semi-cold hotcakes, eggs and bacon.

  “What would you like first? Toast or hotcakes? Though they aren’t very hot anymore.” She smiled at him. “Breakfast in bed. I’ll bet you’ve never had it so good, Sir Ramsay.”

  “Merry.” He shook his head and took hold of her hand. How could he tell her what he was thinking? She looked so innocent and was obviously happy. She used her free hand to deliver up a forkful of eggs and popped them in his mouth. “Merry,” he said again and lost part of the eggs on his chest. She picked them off gingerly with the fork giggling, brushing at the hair on his chest playfully.

  "You should let me wax that," she said and laughed again.

  "Egad!" he said, almost choking at the idea. "I have known almost every pain known to man and some possibly invented especially for me, lassie, but I think I will pass on that one."

  He never remembered trying to talk and eat at the same time. Another broken vow.

  “Merry,” he tried once more and caught both her wrists bef
ore she could fill his mouth with something else. For once his appetite was not foremost in his thoughts.

  “Yes, what’s the matter?” She frowned. “You’re not hungry, Mr. Ramsay?”

  “Please, if you don’t start calling me Mark, I’m never going to talk to you again,” he raised both eyebrows, but held on to her hands.

  “Only if you let go of me and let me feed you.” She mocked his look and he dropped her hands.

  It was useless. She buttered the hotcakes and poured honey over them.

  “Here you go… Mark.”

  She cut off a big bite and fed it to him. He let her go on with it even though he would have rather talked to her for a change. He had things to tell her. Things he had to make her understand. But how could she ever understand it? She was babbling about how much better honey was than syrup. Soon she was talking about bees and pollution.

  He chewed quickly and tried to talk, but just couldn’t manage it. He couldn’t imagine how people could talk with their mouths full of food or even between bites.

  When the majority of the breakfast was gone, she removed the dishes from the bed and came back with fresh coffee from the carafe on the dresser. Climbing onto the bed beside him, she laid her head on his shoulder. He hardly knew what to say any more. He had even lost his resolve to tell her what he was thinking. His initial shock at his returning memories was fading somewhat. He was again consumed with guilt about his relationship with her as the close proximity of her body made things start happening under the cover. He sipped the hot coffee in silence for a while just listening to her talk.

  “Merry,” he made one last attempt, changing his tone this time. “Would you leave this place with me?” He wanted to know the answer to the question, even though he knew there was nowhere for them to go.

  He felt her stiffen and then she began to run her finger around in circles in the dark hair on his chest.

  “This is my home,” she said finally. “Why would I leave here?”

  “We could go… somewhere,” he suggested. “To Scotland, perhaps. You would like it there. It’s much more… civilized than this place. A little cold at times like you said, but it has its good points and no polar bears.”

  “Cecile said you had promised to stay.”

  She looked up at him pleadingly and he knew that Valentino had been right. She would never leave her home with him.

  “She said that you were on vacation and that you would stay a while longer with us.”

  “I’m not on vacation and you know it,” he told her resignedly. “They are coming for me. In fact, I have reason to believe that they are already here. I have to leave here and I have to leave soon. This is much more dangerous than your ugly Maxie. I want you to go with me.”

  “Is that a proposal?” she asked him quietly.

  “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. What he was asking seemed somehow wrong in all aspects. There was no hope in it. But something made him go on. “If you like, I suppose it is… of a sort. I know you are not safe here anymore and I feel responsible.”

  “That’s what I thought. You might as well adopt me then,” she nodded her head against him. “You can’t stay and I can’t go with you. That’s a real sorry story, isn’t it?”

  “You can leave,” he told her more insistently. It suddenly seemed imperative that she leave with him. “Why couldn’t you leave? Valentino doesn’t own you.”

  “In a way she does,” Merry told him. “She saved my life. I owe everything to her. But this is my home. This is mine.” She waved one arm lazily in the air. “All of this. I inherited it from my mother's. My grandparents. I never knew any of them, but it is all I have.”

  “Just because someone saves your life doesn’t mean that they own you,” he objected and then frowned. He had saved Dambretti’s life and he felt that he owned him somehow. Somehow. “And land is just land. I could take you to some very wonderful places. You could always come back… if you liked.”

  “I’m selfish I suppose. I want the best of both worlds.”

  He thought over her words. She was no longer talking about lands and houses.

  “Does that mean you want me and Valentino… both of us?” This was not what he had expected at all.

  “Yeah, I suppose,” she said and her tone changed. “I guess that’s what I mean. She represents stability. She is all I’ve ever known as far as love.”

  “That’s not right,” he felt his anger rising. That was what Valentino had told him and now he was hearing it from her. “She doesn’t love you. She can’t love you like a man can love you. Like a man loves a woman, I mean. When a man and a woman are in love, it’s… well… It simply is not possible.”

  “Are you saying that you love me?” she asked and raised her head to look at him.

  “And what if I said yes?” He looked in her eyes, frowning fiercely. He wanted to rip Valentino from her mind and he felt that he could do it if he could just remember the proper technique.

  “I would say that you are deceiving yourself,” she shook her head and smiled sadly at him. “I would like for you to stay here for a long time, I think. But if I left with you, I think you would get tired of me and leave me somewhere.”

  “That’s very unfair.” He was truly hurt by her assumption.

  “We both know what you are, Sir Mark,” she took on a tone that he’d not heard from her before. A mature tone and he felt that the real Meredith was speaking to him now and the not the babbling girl. “It is not something you can change. If Valentino is right, then you are not free to make the choice. You will have to go back to them. You know this is true.” She picked up his right hand and held out his little finger in front of his face. The small silver ring glinted on his finger. “A man doesn’t wear a ring like this for no reason.”

  He looked at the ring with the IAAT engraved on it. He still did not remember what it meant to him. Earth, air, fire, water? That was what the letters stood for, but he didn’t quite remember what it meant.

  “That is something you cannot deny.” She mistook his silence for understanding. “Oh, I like to play dumb, Mark Andrew. It's easier to face life that way. Drifting inside a bubble. Being irresponsible." She smiled and he saw real sadness in her eyes for the first time. "You are very important to them. You are the Alchemist. You know the secret of the Philosopher’s Stone. You know the secret of the Great Work. You can change base metal to gold. You know the secrets of the universe. What about that? It’s not something just anyone can do. Do you think they would let you get away from them? That alone would be enough to make them track you down forever. But you are also the Chevalier du Morte. Do you really think they would let you just go away? They have to have you. Cecile told me that you are the only one that can release them from this life. Think of it. They can’t die without you. I’ve heard of people not being able to live without someone, but that is really a strange twist.”

  He looked at her in amazement. This was the clearest picture he had heard concerning his identity, since he had found himself in this strange place with a ragged memory. This time it didn’t sound like a fairy tale. It sounded perfectly reasonable and moreso because he knew it was true. The horrible visions and dreams that had been plaguing him were not visions and dreams, but memories. The only problem was that he did not remember the secrets he was supposed to possess. They were still locked away somewhere in his brain and he couldn’t reach them. And for once he was eternally grateful that he had been unable to remember them. If he had, then he might have truly betrayed the Order under Valentino’s hypnotic spells.

  If Valentino had lived five hundred years ago, she would have been burned at the stake and she would have deserved it much more than the Templars who had died at the hands of the Inquisitors. The Order had been disbanded and the Templars had scattered, but he and his remaining Brothers had escaped the massacre intact and set up again in secret. They had hidden themselves away, breaking off entirely from the Templars who had escaped to Scotland and eventually l
et the outer circles of the Order of the Knights of Christ practically and literally die around them while the inner circle lived on under the new Order of the Red Cross of Gold with a new Grand Master.

  It was an almost unbearable guilt that they all shared at having deserted the original Brothers, but their responsibilities to God and to the world had been greater than their own feelings of loyalty and so they bore what they had to bear and did what they had to do. Not even the Grand Master of the Holy Order of the Temple of Solomon had known of the innermost circle alive and functioning within his Order and while the world came and went around them, covering them over with layers of dust, silt and blood, they held to their original purpose, their original onus and gradually they had built a new, hidden empire beneath the currents of mainstream civilization. It was one of the main reasons that Anthony had to be found and brought in line. Merry was right. He had to go back. One way or another, he had to go back, but he did not intend to go back in a box. He shuddered at the vague memories of having had the dubious honor of opening several bound boxes over the years, delivered to him by various members of the Order. Fallen Brothers needing his services. He closed his eyes against that memory

  “You know it’s true,” Merry said again. “But you might as well enjoy yourself while you can. While it lasts. You can’t make it any worse than it already is and once you are reunited with your Brothers, you can ask forgiveness or confess or whatever it is you do. I’m sure no one is keeping count hereabouts.”

  “But you are wrong. Nature keeps count of all things. I am a Knight of the Temple and there are repercussions,” he said aloud and the words sounded strangely familiar in his ears. “I am Christ’s legal executioner. The words of Saint Bernard, not mine.” He smiled and then added “Not the dog.”