“Please, calm yourself, Brother Thomas. You must practice more tolerance. These things are commonplace,” d’Ornan tried to counsel him and placed one hand on the man’s shoulder, looking into his eyes. “We were all offended by his words. There are many things in the world today which offend our sensibilities, but the world has changed. These people do not understand what happened so long ago. It is not their fault. Society has drifted far from God and they have set up their own versions of what is right and what is wrong. It is not for us to judge them. It is not our duty."
"We are the chosen ones, my Brother. God has chosen us to keep the vigil and when the time comes, we will fight on the side of Christ at Armageddon. We will lead the armies of Christ. We cannot allow these things to stand against that purpose. God will be the one with the final word and we cannot go around making idle threats against everyone who offends us. Everything exists at the express Will of God. That means these people, whom we find so strange, are also here by the Will of God. Whatever His purpose for them, it will not be revealed to us unless He decides to reveal it. The Church has allowed these things to propagate since the times of old and by their silence, have condoned the spread of heresy. They are ignorant of the Truth, but no amount of darkness can put out even the smallest candle. We cannot make things better for them by segregating ourselves from them. How can we teach, if we have no students? How can we lead, if we have no followers? How can we preach, if we have no congregation?”
Beaujold looked down at the shorter man and seemed to relax.
“Besides, these men have been put at our disposal by the Will of God.” D’Ornan smiled at him. “And as I said, He will reveal their purpose. Furthermore, I am happy to say that I believe that He has revealed that purpose to me. They will provide us with the means to enter the mansion tonight and accomplish what we set out to do. You should thank the Creator for His help, not rant and rave about the means.”
“You are right, Brother. I beg your indulgence,” Beaujold clasped the Healer’s arm and nodded.
Dambretti was unimpressed with Beaujold’s apology, but Simon’s rhetoric had lifted his spirits remarkably. The Knight of the Sword only wished to remain on good terms with Simon because of the Grand Master’s high regard for the man.
“Of course he is right,” Dambretti crossed the room and threw himself down on the springy bed. “Times have changed. You know this better than any of us. It is now a crime to persecute them. The authorities protect their rights, but this is far better than the treatment we were all subjected to in the past. I would rather have us all free from such injustices, including them, than to worry that an Inquisitor should show up at the door on any given night to drag us away to the dungeon. I spent enough time there. I, for one, can accept this as the will of God and I suggest you do the same, Brother Thomas. It will all work out in the end and all will be saved, blah dee blah dee blah! As it is written, so let it be done. None will be lost and that is according to the Immutable Will of God. I, like you, am appalled and repelled by the blatant disregard for the teachings of the Christ in this day and age. At least some of the Christians of old thought they were right, but ignorance, like a wine stain on linen, does not go away by itself. The Healer is right. We need to make use of what God provides, no matter how we might feel about it personally and we must… give thanks for it.”
“You!” Beaujold turned on him vehemently. “You seemed to enjoy it, my Brother. Perhaps you have spent too much time alone. And only moments ago you pressed your dagger at my throat for insulting our much beloved Brother Ramsay. Perhaps you would do better to find yourself a woman.”
“Brother Thomas!” Simon exclaimed and then cast a scowl at Dambretti for provoking the man again. “We will do well not to argue and fight among ourselves.” He glanced at Christopher who still stood by the door, looking very pale and put out. The apprentice had no idea what they were saying. He didn’t speak French or Italian. He looked ready to bolt at any moment as if he was sure they were talking about him.
“We are making a very bad impression on the young one.” Simon nodded at Christopher. “He does not understand why we constantly bicker amongst ourselves. I suggest we go over my plan now, while we have time, in English, so that he can see how we intend to carry out our mission like true Knights of Christ.”
Simon motioned for the apprentice to join them and then laid out the plan he had concocted to get them inside the mansion. Christopher would play a part as well, since he was the servant of the much beloved Brother Ramsay and, more importantly, had already been inside the buildings and knew the lay of the land.
(((((((((((((
The ‘much beloved’ Brother Ramsay was having an exceptionally bad ending for an otherwise lovely morning. He had broken his vow twice more and then fell into a blissful, dreamless sleep with his head lying on Merry’s stomach. Now he was without his comfortable pillow and most of what had been left of his dignity.
“Ow!” he complained loudly when Maxie pulled the rope tighter on his ankles.
“If you had been wearing socks… among other things… it wouldn’t hurt so bad,” the big man grumbled and stood up slowly. “You’re lucky I let you get your pants on, dipshit.”
“You are so generous. I am eternally grateful.” Mark glared at him balefully as he tested the damnable handcuffs securing his wrists to the chair. Maxie had passed the rope around his chest, his stomach, his legs and ended up at his feet. The man obviously did not trust him for some reason.
“I know. I’m a fucking angel of mercy.” Maxie grinned at him, causing the ugly scar on his face to pucker. “We are all sooo generous. Especially some of us.” He glanced at the open door of the bedroom where the Pixie had disappeared in tears only a few moments earlier. “Miss Valentino ain’t gonna like this at all. You sure know how to make friends and influence your enemies. Not with the rite of the fucking virgin tonight. Some virgin, eh?”
Valentino chose that unfortunate moment to arrive. She was dressed in a white suit of impeccable cut, with a single red rose on her lapel. She stopped in the doorway and stood glaring at him, her face almost as red as the flower. She seemed to be making a conscious effort to control her temper. After a few seconds, her face underwent a subtle change and her features relaxed.
“I’m terribly sorry about this, Mr. Ramsay,” she said pleasantly and then smiled at him. “But I am very disturbed by your behavior. Merry is down there crying her eyes out because I won’t allow her to come back up here and check on you. Furthermore, she is devastated because I told her that you would not be attending the ceremony tonight. Poor thing, she just doesn’t understand. Sometimes she can be such a child. Tomorrow I’m afraid you will have to leave.”
“You can stop with the games, Cecile,” he said tiredly. “You have no intention of allowing me to leave here. And as far as Merry is concerned, I believe you underestimate her. She knows her own mind very well.”
“And you, sir, have not fooled me for one minute,” she said. “You would try to make me think that you could love her? You pitch your woo at her and expect her to catch it? Bullshit! I have to commend you on your continued evasion of my purposes, but you will tell me where to find your Grand Master before you go. I don’t know how you did it, but you had me believing that you had lost your memory. When I had you under hypnosis, I couldn’t reach you. That is very strange, but I know that you tricked me. I know that you have powers beyond my scope of experience. You know where he is and you will give it up or you will follow your precious Anthony to the grave. Whether you are alive or dead when I bury you makes no difference to me, but it might matter a great deal to you. I am only glad that I have been able to keep you from spoiling her completely. It will take months of therapy to repair the mental damages your rejection has caused, but that is quite all right. I’d rather have her virginity intact than her heart. I can thank you for that much.”
Maxie snorted from his position at the door and then cleared his throat loudly. Appar
ently Merry’s word carried more weight than his.
Mark frowned at the woman and then closed his eyes briefly. Merry had been able to convince the woman that nothing had happened between them… again?
“There is no need to thank me. I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of her. She has been very hospitable to me since I’ve been your guest,” he said evenly and Maxie coughed loudly. “Unfortunately, I do not know where the Grand Master is. The simple truth is that your pet monkey here really did cause a great deal of trouble for both of us when he doused me with your half-assed concoction. I simply cannot give what I do not have, no matter what you do. You might as well bury me now.”
“Don’t tempt me!” she snapped and tossed her head. “I am a bit too busy right now to fuck with you. I don’t have time for you or your friends right now.”
“My friends?” He perked up a bit at this, ironically enough thinking first of John Tellman.
“Yes. What puzzles me is why they are fighting over you. I thought they were going to kill each other and save me the trouble. Or is that some more of your Order’s macho bullshit? Fighting for the right to do the dirty deed?”
He sat digesting her words. She seemed to be talking about the strange events of the night when he thought there were two men with swords fighting above his head. It must have been real, but what had happened? Where were they now? Her question was perfectly legitimate. Why would they be fighting each other?
“You might as well expect more trouble. I told you someone would come for me,” he told her with far more confidence than he possessed.
“Did you?” She smiled at him. “I don’t seem to recall that, but I did expect it.”
“They will be back,” he said even though he knew it would be to his detriment if they came back and found him tied in a chair for their convenience.
“Why were they fighting over you?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You know why. Tell me.”
“Do you think you are the only one who would steal my secrets?” he asked cryptically. “Do you really want to leave me here like this so just anyone can find me?”
“Oh, now you are playing games with me.” She laughed. “Yes, I’m going to leave you here alllll alone. Don’t worry. I’ll do my best to protect you from your Brothers.”
Mark swallowed hard at that thought. If she thought she and her miserable Maxie were a match for what he knew was coming, she was sadly mistaken. His situation was not very hopeful. He had lost too much time regaining his senses and he had allowed his arrogance and his lust for the Pixie to get the best of him. Now he had really gotten himself into trouble. The gravity of the situation was totally beyond her comprehension.
“Pride goeth before the fall,” he muttered to himself in a brief moment of self-deprecation.
“You are in no position to sit and quote scriptures to me,” she retorted hotly. “If I were you, I’d pray for a miracle instead.”
With that final declaration she left him and Maxie followed her out. He heard the precious key turn in the lock. The key that had been within his grasp so many times. He shook his head at his own stupidity.
“I was talking to myself,” he spoke to the empty room in frustration.
“And yet she was right, Brother Ramsay,” a deep voice from behind him, made his heart almost stop.
He twisted his head to see who was coming to kill him now. The closet door stood open and one of the dark figures from his dream stood looking down his long nose at him. The man wore black from head to toe and tall black boots. A broadsword encased in a black leather scabbard hung from his belt and he wore a long cloak on his shoulders. His craggy face was dark of demeanor and his eyes seemed to gleam from deep sockets. His long, dark hair was streaked with silver. He looked like a vampire or an ancient sorcerer. Konrad von Hetz. Knight of the Apocalypse. An unforgiving, brooding man with little to offer in the way of hope. “Pray you should, before it is too late.”
Ramsay sat perfectly still, awaiting his fate, waiting for his heart to start beating again. The man drew the sword and he winced at the sound the blade made as it exited the scabbard. A disturbingly familiar, zinging sound. The bell-shaped hilt was configured in the likeness of a coiled black dragon with red eyes. He drew what he thought to be his last breath with his head still attached to his body and instinctively closed his eyes, waiting for the blow to fall.
Instead of finding his head on the floor, he felt pressure on the ropes at his bare ankles. He opened his eyes and saw the dark Knight kneeling in front of him, cutting the ropes with the blade. The man stood up and bent over the handcuff attached to his right wrist, inspecting the device briefly, before pulling a chain with a number of small metal devices attached to it from under his collar. Mark watched in silence as the man worked on the lock. Within a few seconds he was free.
The man backed off quickly and pointed the sword at him.
“Get your boots and your shirt.”
Mark hurriedly followed the instructions, noticing that his boots were remarkably similar to the pair his ‘rescuer’ wore. “I thought you were going to kill me,” he commented dryly as he sat on the bed, pulling them on.
“That could be in the offing, Brother,” the dark man told him solemnly.
“How long have you been in my closet?”
“Since before breakfast. I came while you were enjoying your shower.”
“That long?” Ramsay felt his temper rising. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“You know who I am, Brother Ramsay.” The man shrugged slightly and then placed the point of the blade under his chin and knelt on one knee in front of him. “I have come to offer my help. You are in grave danger here and I believe that you are well aware of it.”
Mark raised his eyebrows. This was an odd bit of irony coming from a man pressing a wicked blade against his throat.
“So I see,” Mark said quietly trying not to move his head.
“Come with me. We have to hurry.”
The man stood up and turned on his heel toward the door.
“What about John Tellman?” Mark asked as he joined him at the door and then wondered why. John Tellman was Cecile’s accomplice. Nothing more. He had to get these things straight in his mind. John Tellman was not a Templar, but Konrad von Hetz was.
“Who is John Tellman?” The man frowned down at him as he tried the door knob. He bent in front of the door and used the same probe that he had used on the handcuffs to open the door. So simple! He had to learn how to do that.
“Another who calls himself my brother,” he continued in the same vein simply to have something to say. An attempt to distract the Knight from his purpose. When lost, stay lost until someone finds you. That was his motto.
“Where is your sword? Still in the basement?” the man asked as he opened the door wider and peered cautiously into the hallway. He seemed totally unconcerned about John Tellman.
“I suppose so,” Mark leaned out the door to look as well. “I don’t know. I thought I had it… at one time, but I … lost it.”
“We will go back to the cellar to get it,” the man told him and stepped into the hall.
A few moments earlier, he would have agreed wholeheartedly. He wanted the sword, but he did not want to accompany this dark fellow down to the basement. Besides, Maxie was probably watching them or already on his way up with his trusty shotgun.
“Why don’t we just leave it there and buy another one?” Mark offered hopefully. He only wanted to get away from the house… Now!
“Do not trifle with me, Brother,” the tall man turned on him, still holding the sword at a dangerous angle.
Mark took a deep breath and followed the man down the hall. Anything was better than sitting strapped to a chair, waiting for God knows what to happen, but then it had already happened, hadn’t it? At least this man seemed much more adept at what he was doing than John Tellman. He cursed himself for fixating on John Tellman. The man was most likely dead already. And he cursed himself for falling asleep
after breakfast. Especially with his head on Merry’s stomach and this fine fellow in his closet.
Why did he sleep so much? His stomach growled and a second, nagging question popped into his mind. Why did he eat so much?
(((((((((((((
The house, from the second floor down, was full of people. All sorts of people. Cleaning crews moving furniture to get at the corners. Maids dusted and polished the furniture even as the carpet crew moved it. Other workers cleaned the windows and the chandeliers hanging above the grand staircase. Two florists argued loudly about where to place their arrangements. Caterers tromped in and out the front door carrying all sorts of foods, beverages and dining equipment, while the sound of lawn mowers and hedge trimmers drifted in through the open front doors. No one paid any attention to the two men coming down the stairs from the third floor. They were unaware of the long sword carefully concealed under the tall man’s cloak. They could have been guests or interior decorators. They were not the only strangely attired persons in the house. They walked boldly down the hall past Merry’s door and down the staircase to the foyer. Mark held his breath, waiting to be recognized at any moment.
“Is this how you got in?” Mark asked him in surprise as they cleared the front steps.
“Yes. Sometimes the direct method is best.” The dark Knight nodded to a brass lamp standing near the living room door. “I came in with the window washers, carrying that lamp. It reminds me of a campaign I was on in Gaul once.” He talked as they made their way casually around the house toward the basement. “The enemy had laid siege to the city and had subsequently breached the wall in several places. The confusion was so great, all we had to do was throw cloaks over our armor and ride into the midst of the enemy camp at night to take what we wanted.”
The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death Page 28