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

by Brendan Carroll

  “I am supposed to represent the Mother.” She made a wry face and wrinkled her nose before lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Actually, I am the Virgin,” she told him and rolled her eyes before glancing around the room, looking for Cecile.

  “You are a virgin?” Dambretti’s eyes widened in surprise and Beaujold nudged his ribs painfully.

  “Yes, you know. The ceremony. Mid-summer’s Eve. The Ritual? The Great Rite? The Virgin and the Stag?” She smiled slightly and glanced nervously at Beaujold, biting her bottom lip. She had gotten him in trouble. She was always getting people in trouble.

  “Ahhh. Mid-summer, of-a course,” Lucio nodded and Beaujold cleared his throat again. “Und-a who has-a ze honor of-a being ze schtag?” He received another vicious jab in the ribs.

  “I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for the festivities tonight,” she told him, ignoring his question. “Personal problems, you see? I hope you enjoy yourself, Sir Schroeder. Brothers,” she nodded to Beaujold and d’Ornan before turning away and moving on toward the patio as if in some strange dream. She had not bothered to kiss any of them.

  Dambretti watched her go and had to be nudged by Simon again.

  “Put your tongue back in your head, Brother. You forgot your accent,” Beaujold growled in his ear. “You are very close to making me angry. You kissed her hand!”

  Dambretti looked at the man in surprise. “Did I? It seems I am always close to something. I believe you are jealous, Brother Tommy. Do you know anything about this mother thing? Sounds delightfully pagan.”

  The Knight of the Golden Eagle leaned around the shorter Knight of the Serpent to watch the young woman in lavender walk toward the patio then make a sharp left turn, entering a door further along under the grand staircase. He wondered who she was and where she was going. Her presence and persona seemed completely out of place with the rest of the members of this strange group of people. There was something very unusual about her. The majority of the guests had drifted out onto the patio where music was playing and bits and pieces of conversations drifted inside from the open doors at the end of the hall.

  “It has to do with Mid-Summer. The Great Ritual. Pagan rites. You should know. Like Isis and Osiris in a manner of speaking. She will no doubt be matched up with one of these… these… fellows before the night is over to perform sex magick,” the Knight of the Sword crossed himself quickly. “They profane everything, it seems. Even sex magick. The King of the Hunt or some such will mate with her. An abomination. The pagans used to use magick to ensure the success of the crops by pairing a young virgin and a young man who had successfully killed a deer on this night. Have you never studied the traditions of the Celtic people? I should think that your association with Ramsay would have taught you something about them. Besides, you were in Scotland with Robert the Bruce, weren’t you? You’ve seen the chapel, haven’t you? You should get your head out of the sand, my friend. Let’s go.” Beaujold nudged him and started up the stairs.

  “Virgin?” Lucio looked back down the stairs at the French Knight, ignoring everything but the one word. “Do you think she is a virgin, Brother?” He whispered the question to Simon who was very close behind him.

  “I do not think about such things,” Simon told him. “But I doubt it. I am told that there are no virgins left in America over the age of twelve. I’m afraid the great experiment failed.”

  “That sounds very sad,” Lucio frowned at the healer. “Surely that can’t be true. Can it?”

  Simon shrugged. He didn’t know if Lucio was talking about America or the lack of virgins. He glanced back at Christopher once to make sure the apprentice had not wandered off and they walked casually up the same staircase they had only recently carried a very heavy rug. When they reached the second floor corridor, they picked up the pace and by the time they were halfway up the second set of smaller stairs to the third floor they were practically running. Beaujold drew up short in front of the door to the bedroom where they expected to find Ramsay.

  He made a silent signal and they drew their swords in unison, all except Christopher who carried nothing but a long dagger concealed under his jacket. He had no intention of helping them kill his Master. Beaujold tried the door knob and found the door not only unlocked, but slightly ajar. He pushed the door open very slowly with the hilt of his sword. It swung inward silently and he bolted inside, spinning around in the center of the room as Dambretti and D’Ornan followed reluctantly, stopping just inside the door. Christopher hung back in the hall, watching for anyone who might come up the stairs behind them.

  “He is not here!” Beaujold told them as they looked around the empty room. “We must regroup.”

  Dambretti motioned Christopher into the room with them and then watched as Beaujold inspected the chair where the pieces of blue nylon rope lay in a pile on the floor and two pairs of handcuffs dangled from the arms of the chair. Christopher could not help but smile. His Master had escaped!

  They stood in a semi-circle looking down at the chair as if waiting for Brother Ramsay to suddenly appear there. They put away their swords and looked at each other in confusion. The three Knights disagreed with Christopher’s summation. Beaujold and Simon were both sure that von Hetz had beat them to him. Dambretti did not voice his opinion, but he now looked sincerely worried for the first time since they had mounted this hare-brained mission.

  “Who are you?” A female voice interrupted their murmured comments and they spun on their heels as a group, each reaching for his weapon. The blond woman in the lavender gown stood framed in the open doorway, looking at them mildly as if she found strangers armed with broadswords in the upper reaches of her house on a daily basis. Beaujold dropped the section of rope he had been examining to the floor and clamped his jaw shut, unsure of what to do next. Dambretti removed his hand from the hilt of his sword and smiled as he nudged Simon, urging him to do the same. The young woman had exchanged the myrtle leaves for a crown of pink roses. She looked like a fairy princess even to the sullen Frenchman and the look in the man’s eyes was not lost on the Italian. The man had normal feelings after all!

  “Sister Discretion,” Dambretti stepped forward, putting on his best smile as well as putting himself between Beaujold and the lady. “We were looking for Sir Ramsay. Your guest from Scotland. Sister Valentino sent us up to bring him down for the ceremony.”

  She looked dazed or drugged. The chair, the rope and the handcuffs seemed lost on her. “I wonder where he has gotten off to?” he added after a moment.

  He heard Beaujold draw a sharp breath behind him, but the princess’ eyes lit up as a smile played on her lips.

  “Did Cecile really send you?” She narrowed her eyes sharply.

  “Ah, oui, Mademoiselle,” Simon answered quickly and laughed nervously. “The Chevaliere Valentino sent us to bring him down for the ceremony. She was too busy to come herself, you see. She said that he was waiting here… for us… for someone…”

  “For an escort,” Beaujold finally spoke up and smiled, incredibly enough.

  “Really?” Her face relaxed. “Then if you… If she changed her mind… Then where is he? Oh, no…” She pressed one hand to her forehead and looked around the room as if for the first time and then frowned at the chair. She looked at the ropes and cuffs in dismay and then swayed slightly as if she would faint. Dambretti caught her by the arm, steadying her. “The Knights!” she exclaimed and looked up at him wide-eyed. “The Knights of the Temple have taken him.”

  Beaujold stepped closer to her. “What Knights? Quickly, child. Tell us. He may be in grave danger.”

  “The Poor Knights of the Temple,” she told them breathlessly. “His brothers from the Order of the Red Cross of Gold. They took him away. Of course he is in grave danger! They’ve come to kill him.”

  The four men looked at each other in alarm. How did she know this? Had Ramsay told her about them? Her comments fit with Beaujold’s assessment and he smiled wickedly at Dambretti as if to say ‘I told you so!’ />
  “Von Hetz!” Christopher breathed to Simon. “I told you so.”

  “Where would they go?” Beaujold asked her and she shook her head. “These Knights.”

  “The basement,” Christopher supplied the answer. “Isn’t that where his sword is?” He asked the young woman in desperation. “They would want his sword.”

  “Yes, I think so,” she nodded and her face changed again as she squinted at the apprentice. “But who are you? How did you…”

  “The basement,” Dambretti repeated the word, taking her by the arm again. “Can you take us there, my beautiful fairy princess? We must hurry.”

  “Sure. Yes,” she nodded her head vigorously. “Yes, we have to hurry! This way.”

  She gathered up her skirts and showed the way down the back stairs to the kitchen. The servants paid no attention to them as they passed through the pantry and disappeared through the laundry room. She led them outside and around the house to the slanted doors leading down to the basement. They could hear the sounds of the party on the verandah only a few dozen feet from them in the growing twilight. Her one thought was to get to Mark Andrew before it was too late. There was no time to ask more questions. It was obvious that Valentino had trusted these men with information about Ramsay and Cecile had changed her mind about the ceremony just to make her happy.

  Merry pushed a series of buttons on the control panel beside the doors and then stood back as Dambretti and D’Ornan pulled them open. The stairwell was lost in darkness. Beaujold and d’Ornan drew their swords and started down the stairs cautiously. Dambretti followed them and Christopher brought up the rear behind the woman. When they reached the foot of the stairs, they stopped. The corridors led off in three directions. Dambretti drew his sword and the singing sound echoed through the corridors causing the short hairs on her neck to stand up. He seemed so familiar to her. What was it about him? He did not fit into the same mold as the other guests attending the party and his sword seemed real rather than ornamental. The echo reverberated unnaturally in her ears.

  “Which way?” He turned his dark eyes on her. Their eyes locked and she knew she had made a terrible mistake. It was no wonder that this one reminded her of Mark. These men were the Poor Knights of the Temple!

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Philip Cambrique, Chevalier d’Orient, entered the chapel cautiously, unwilling to startle the Master while he was at prayers, dreading to tell him what news he had learned.

  “Most Excellent Prince,” he whispered as he knelt before the altar beside Edgard d’Brouchart. He crossed himself as did the Grand Master and then they stood to face each other. “Forgive the intrusion, but my news is most urgent… and dire. I have just come from Sir Barry’s office. He reports that Brother Ramsay’s apprentice, Christopher Stewart, is missing. His clothes are gone as well. Armand de Bleu has been covering for him for almost three days now.”

  “The boy has run off to save his Master.” D’Brouchart raised his eyebrows and nodded. “It was to be expected. Why did they not lock him up? Admirable devotion. Impetuous, but he is young. I might have done the same in his position.”

  “Brother Barry had him sequestered, of course. But it was Armand who masqueraded as the boy by way of a secret entrance beneath the old building. It seems that they are fast friends and have been spending time after curfew visiting each other. It has happened before. Barry really needs to do something about those isolation cells, Your Grace, though we can't really blame him. The place hasn't been used in decades. Evidence shows that the boys have been using the guardhouse for clandestine meetings for years. Seems that all the students knew about the passageways, but we did not, but that is a topic for another discussion.” Cambrique lowered his eyes momentarily and grimaced. “There is more bad news, Your Eminence. The Ritter von Hetz is gone as well. His apprentice, like Armand, has been covering for him. Sir Barry became suspicious and sent one of the Swiss Captains by his chalet. He is not there.”

  “No!" .” D’Brouchart’s face grew dark as he spoke. "I expressly forbade him to go

  “Yes, I know, Your Grace,” Philip sighed and looked at the life-sized figure above the altar. A strikingly beautiful rendition of Mary of Magdala carved from ebony, inlaid with precious metals and jewels. Her glittering gold and amber eyes looked down at him with deep compassion and sympathetic understanding. Behind her on the wall was a very old portrait of John the Baptist commissioned by Leonardo da Vinci, himself. “Wolfgang said he left quite suddenly and unexpectedly in the wee hours of the morning two days ago. He was most agitated, but bade young Schumacher not to tell that he was gone until he was asked. It seemed that Brother Barry never asked the apprentice if Konrad was home when he called. You will remember that the Ritter expressed his opinion quite openly that the Knight of Death should be brought in, but he also made known his displeasure at not having been chosen for the mission. He did not feel that Beaujold was the proper choice to lead the mission.”

  “Beaujold is hot-headed, but capable,” d’Brouchart nodded thoughtfully as he flicked a bit of dust from the velvet cloth under the statue.

  “There is another matter of which Your Eminence may not be aware,” the Chevalier d’Orient offered hesitantly. “There has been a certain animosity brewing for several decades between the Knight of Death and the Knight of the Sword.”

  “I am aware of it, Sir Philip,” d’Brouchart looked at him disdainfully. “That is why I sent him. You will remember that I also sent Lucio Dambretti. He is Sir Ramsay’s closest associate and a counter balance for Beaujold. And who better to mediate than Simon?"

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Sir Philip lowered his head in obeisance as d’Brouchart continued speaking.

  “The Ritter von Hetz has known Sir Ramsay for a very long time. He probably feels that even together, Beaujold, Dambretti and D’Ornan are no match for him. He may be right. The Will of God is done. If I made a mistake, then God has corrected it.”

  “Sir,” Sir Cambrique snapped his head up. “I offer my services to you. I will go for them. I will take Brother Hugh and Brother Louis with me. They are good men and true and neither of them hold grudges. Nor do they favor Sir Ramsay above the others.”

  “What?” D’Brouchart glared at him and started off at a brisk pace which Philip found hard to match. “And have three more Knights out of pocket? I will go myself. It is what she wants. I have it on good authority that she wishes to meet with me from our operatives in the area and that is the purpose of all this shilly-shallying about. I will go and try to salvage our Order before we are all destroyed. The company of women! Bah!”

  “But Your Grace,” Philip said breathlessly. “Surely you will not go alone. You do not even have Anthony to wait upon you.”

  “Do I appear fragile to you?” D’Brouchart stopped suddenly and turned on the man. His mere presence over powered and cowed the Knight of the Orient.

  “No, Your Grace,” Philip bowed his head again.

  “I will leave immediately,” d’Brouchart started off again more rapidly than before. “I will take Sir Montague with me. He knows his way around America.”

  “Of course, Your Excellency.” Philip was visibly disappointed. “I will make the arrangements.”

  He slowed and watched the formidable figure of the Grand Master disappear down the corridor. If anything should happen to the Master before he could train a new apprentice to replace Anthony, all would be lost as far as the experience and wisdom of the Grand Master’s years of service and at best, he, as Seneschal, would be called upon to replace the man temporarily until his own apprentice could move up to be Chevalier d’Orient and then he, Philip would become Grand Master. The thought was not a pleasant one. He was not ready for the Honor or the Responsibility. He shook his head and went off in search of Sir Montague. The Englishman would not be happy. The Knight of the Holy City was already in an uproar, though a quiet one, at having been summoned from London to attend the Grand Master during this time of trouble. The Seneschal h
ad to smile as he recalled Barry's comic parody of the accountant's attitude: "My God, Jim, I'm an accountant, not a Knight of the Round Table!"

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Christopher spoke up when the woman did not answer Dambretti’s question.

  “To the left,” he told them. “Fourth door.”

  They started off at once and Christopher hung back to speak to the young woman in private.

  “You are in love with him?” he asked her quietly as they followed the three Knights.

  "What?" she whispered.

  "I can see it in your face."

  She nodded her head and then glanced suspiciously at him.

  “If you love him, you must help me and keep quiet,” Christopher said quickly. “Things are not what they appear to be. Shhh.”

  Christopher pulled his Scottish dirk from his belt and took a shorter, folding knife from his pants pocket, flipping it open. He held one in each hand as the three Knights stopped in front of the fourth door. Beaujold opened it suddenly and they rushed inside the small office. The sight of the young man, poised for action with the two weapons in front of him jogged Merry’s memory. Valentino had commented several times on the skill and courage of the young fighter she and Maxie had seen in the basement. Merry nodded to the apprentice and pulled him along the corridor to the next door where she felt above the doorjamb for a key.

  When Beaujold rushed the office, Von Hetz stepped back against the wall with his sword drawn. The shadows cast by the single lamp on the desk made his dark form and craggy features even more ominous. Ramsay sat slumped in the chair in front of the desk. Sweat poured down his face and his hair was limp and stuck to his head. Ramsay raised his head shakily at the noisy intrusion, but otherwise made no attempt to rise. The Flaming Sword of the Cherubim lay on the desk. Von Hetz took a step forward and stood between Ramsay and Beaujold while Dambretti and d’Ornan stayed back on either side of the door.

  “Stand aside, Brother Hetz,” Beaujold told him without preamble. “You have no business here.”