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

by Brendan Carroll

  “Chevalier d’Brouchart,” she smiled at him and extended her hand like a man, intending to shake hands with him. Instead, he took her hand and leaned over it, kissing the back of it lightly. His kiss seemed to convey the idea that she was perhaps unworthy of a handshake and her demeanor changed as she perceived the slight. She forced a smile before continuing her well-rehearsed lines.

  “I am honored to receive you in my home at last.”

  The coldness of her tone belied the sincerity of the greeting.

  Montague gave her an appraising glance. She was not what he expected. Too delicate and fragile to have taken so many of his Brothers from him and he could see spidery blue veins beneath the skin of her face. How had she managed it? Where was her army? He noticed with some satisfaction the look in her eyes at his Master’s kiss. She obviously did not want to be treated like a lady, but like an equal… no! Like a man, he thought and had to blink in confusion. She was a lovely woman and her clothing flattered her feminine attributes quite well, but her behavior was an enigmatic puzzle. He forced his attention back to the problem at hand. Montague had somehow expected to see someone much… larger? More formidable… a warrior queen, perhaps, riding in on a chariot like the Celtic queens of old.

  “Mademoiselle Valentino,” d’Brouchart said her name as if trying it out for sound. He did not exchange a formal greeting with her. He extended one hand in the direction of his second. “Sir William Montague, Knight of the Holy City. London Branch.”

  “Sir Montague.” She nodded to the man and crinkled her brow at the introduction. The man made it sound as if they represented an accounting firm or a group of attorneys. Valentino instantly picked up on the disdain in the British Knight’s face and smiled at him anyhow. He was not a bad looking fellow and she loved the suit, but there was little comparison between his obviously refined nature and the people he called ‘Brother’. He was much too arrogant for her tastes. When he opened his mouth to speak to her, her first impression was more than affirmed by the few words he spoke.

  “I have longed to meet you, Miss,” Montague told her with conviction and then glanced at her companion, who hung back near the doors to the patio with one hand in his coat pocket. The contempt in the Knight’s voice was insurmountable.

  “Ah, the sting of the double-edged British tongue. Nice accent? Oxford, is it?” she asked, but expected and received no answer. “Please do sit down, gentlemen.”

  “Whatever pleases you, My Lady.” D’Brouchart remained standing until she had taken a chair at the table.

  Valentino poured herself a cup of coffee, determined to ignore his archaic mannerisms that had already begun to get on her frazzled nerves. The night before had been extremely bad and excruciatingly long, but she had managed to capture another of his Knights. Only an extremely large bonus and what he called ‘a cut of the action’ had kept Maxie from walking out on her. Only Ramsay remained at large.

  “I would have preferred to speak with you, Sir d’Brouchart, under the rose.” She eyed the big man critically.

  “By that you mean you would speak to me alone, I presume.”

  The Grand Master turned his blue eyes on the man who stood near the doors watching them resolutely. D’Brouchart nodded and jerked his head ever so slightly to Montague. The Englishman started to protest, but was silenced by the expression on the Master’s face.

  “Maxie will show you to the library, Sir Montague,” she said as she smiled at the Englishman smugly. “You may find some of our collections interesting.”

  Montague stood stiffly, tugged disgustedly on his coat sleeves and glared at the man who returned his look with as much venom as possible above the bandage on his nose. Maxie waited by the double doors for Montague, but gave him wide berth as he passed. He had no intention of having any more of his bones broken by Valentino’s ‘friends’. The Englishman glanced back once at the Master and paused, but d’Brouchart waved him on with one hand. He did not like leaving the Master alone with this woman and the Master had refused to allow him to carry anything other than his small pocket knife for defense. He felt entirely naked without his pistol under his jacket.

  “I’ll get right to the point, sir,” Valentino leaned forward and propped her elbows on the table as soon as they were alone. “I have your people. So far, all are in excellent shape physically, other than a few injuries which they inflicted on each other. It seems they have some sort of internal conflict.”

  She laughed and d’Brouchart raised one eyebrow. His Knights were fighting each other? Without Beaujold. Most likely they were in disagreement concerning what to do about Sir Ramsay.

  “Other than that,” she continued, “I’d say not much is hurt other than their pride. At any rate, they have been a most interesting experience all in all. I never expected them to be so… human.”

  “I’m sure,” he nodded. “They are quite capable of being very civil. I trust you have talked with them? They are fine conversationalists.” He smiled slightly, not quite sure what to say.

  “Years of practice, no doubt.” She smiled knowingly at him.

  “Let’s talk about what you want in exchange for my Knights,” he suggested and raised his chin.

  “First of all, let me tell you that Anthony Scalia is not with them. He is dead,” she said flatly.

  D’Brouchart did not flinch at this news. He had already assumed as much.

  “You have saved me an irksome task, my lady,” he answered tonelessly.

  “You assume that I killed him?” She seemed somewhat surprised.

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he has come to his fitting reward, as God wills,” d’Brouchart allowed a slight smile to play across his ruddy face. “Now what of my Knights?”

  “Your former apprentice showed me a most interesting formula before he… left us. It is very remarkable, but it is short one ingredient. He did not know the full formula,” she continued. “He told me that you were the only one who knew the rest of the ingredients and how to put it together.”

  “I see.” D’Brouchart nodded slightly, his weight rocking the patio chair when it should not have rocked. He toyed with the cup in front of him absently. “He told you true, Mademoiselle.”

  “Then it’s that simple,” she snapped her fingers in front of her face. “You give me the rest of the secret and I will give you your Knights.”

  “I would see them first,” he countered and looked at her doubtfully. “My sources tell me that you do not have all of them.”

  She practically had all of them. Ramsay was the only one unaccounted for and they were the ones who wanted him. Let them find Ramsay and get rid of him. She couldn’t care less about the arrogant Scot. It would make her day to see him get his just rewards and she hated to think that he might be lurking out there somewhere waiting to exact revenge on her for all that she had done to him. For all she knew, he could have been in the garden, watching them at that very moment.

  “I’ll be honest with you Sir d’Brouchart,” she said and brushed back her hair. “Ramsay is not in my custody,” she told him truthfully. At least this man could perhaps help her keep an eye out for the Knight of Death. She did not believe he would allow Ramsay to kill her outright. “I understand that you want him dead anyway. And oh, by the way, you are being monitored. Anything you might do or say could be used against you in court.”

  “That remains to be seen, young missy," the Grand Master chuckled. "Are you reading me my rights? I didn’t know that you were a police officer.” He gave a slight shrug and eyed her with amusement. He could read the fear in her face. It was just as unlikely that she would want to implicate herself by recording this exchange. “Did you manage to… kill him?”

  She laughed. “I gave him poison that would have killed ten men and I believe, if I’m not mistaken, that one of your Knights, your Knight of the Apocalypse, I believe also poisoned him with mercury before we captured him. At least that is what it looked like he did from the evidence in the lab. And one of them ap
parently stabbed him pretty badly, but no. He isn’t dead. You know he isn’t dead. That would be impossible. If you will just give me that little bit of information I requested, we can get on with the agreement and you can all get out of here and go find your man.”

  “I might remind you that kidnapping is illegal. What makes you think we won’t file the proper charges? Perhaps I might even use your tape as evidence against you, no?” he asked her and folded his arms over his chest. “I assure you, mademoiselle, that we have not existed so long in anonymity. We have always maintained legal residencies and identities just for such occasions as this. The secular authorities have their uses.”

  “Yes, kidnapping is illegal, Sir, but so is breaking and entering, criminal trespassing, horse thievery, assault and battery, attempted murder and rape.”

  D’Brouchart leaned forward in surprise. So his Knight’s had been very busy. Only the last allegation bothered him.

  “Mon dieu!” he said and leaned back again. “Did you say rape?”

  “Yes, Sir. I did,” she raised her chin defiantly. “And convicted horse thieves can still be executed in Texas. Imagine what penalty a rape conviction might carry. You can understand the rest, but that one is unexpected, no?”

  “Perhaps,” he eyed her coldly. This was not the first time he had heard this word associated with members of the Order, but it had been a long, long time… “These are only allegations, mademoiselle. You would have to provide proof. My Knights have done many things in their lives. Nothing is impossible or implausible. It would depend on the circumstances.”

  “How so?” She frowned at him. “How does one justify committing such crimes?”

  “Murder is not murder when it is done in self-defense or in times of war. Breaking and entering, assault and battery, attempted murder, trespassing, even stealing horses may be necessary to accomplish the Will of God. So it is and always has been. It will always be so. Even rape is sometimes a matter of perspective. During the crusades it was often used to demoralize the vanquished. It was not encouraged, but it happened, none-the-less and it was always… always effective. The nature of war is very cruel beyond imagining. It is very hard to understand how anyone could commit such atrocities when one is sitting at home in front of a comfortable fire, but when one is in the heat of battle and the blood lust is in the veins, it takes on a new meaning altogether and it is not one understood by women!”

  “You’re saying I would have to be there, right? Not only that I would have to be there, but I would have to be a man?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Yes, I suppose that is one way of putting it,” he agreed. “Women might display some other form of barbarism such as castration, but they simply do not have the weapon necessary to commit the crime of rape.” D’Brouchart closed his eyes and wiped his brow with one hand while holding up the other against her protests. “Yes, yes, I know that there are cases in the court right now wherein women have been accused of rape, but women simply cannot… I repeat cannot force a man to engage in sexual intercourse if he is unwilling. There may be other things that one can do, but…. Well, simply put, yes, you would have to be there.”

  “Well, let me tell you something about your precious Brother Ramsay! I was there!” Her face went dark red with anger as she spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Are you accusing Mark Ramsay of raping you, mademoiselle?” he asked and his heart sank, but his face betrayed nothing.

  “I am,” she said defiantly.

  “Your credibility leaves something to be desired,” he smiled at her. “I would have to hear his side of the story. You did, after all, from what I understand, kidnap him and assault him, so to speak, when he was debilitated.”

  “You have some of the facts skewed, sir. I doubt you will hear anything from him about the events occurring prior to your arrival,” she told him as she regained her composure. “He has taken my… friend and left with her. I don’t know if she left willingly or if he abducted her.”

  D’Brouchart’s face finally betrayed him as he studied her face intensely. He felt that what she was saying was at least partially true. So there was another woman! Von Hetz had not recognized the fact that he was receiving emanations from two different women. Two different sets of emotions.

  “If that is the case, you may rest assured that he will be caught and dealt with accordingly,” he told her. “But it must be part of the agreement that you will not press charges against Sir Ramsay or any of my Knights for real or imagined indiscretions. You will allow the Order to handle it. You would be spared the trouble of a public trial and you can know that justice in the Order is much swifter and, in most cases, much more severe than what I hear the courts are handing out these days. Especially in America.”

  “And what of my friend?” She eyed him suspiciously, but with interest. “Will she be returned to me?”

  “She will be returned to you… if she wishes it,” he told her.

  “Will I be allowed to witness the punishment of Sir Ramsay?” she asked point blank.

  “No,” he answered simply.

  She pursed her lips and seemed to be repressing an outburst.

  “So you will give me what I want?” she asked quickly. “The Tree of Life?”

  “I must think on it,” he told her. “You would be immortal? Are you requesting to become one of my Knights? Are you willing to take the vows of the Temple? Are you willing to pass through the Initiation and accept the burden that goes with the Mystery? Is this what you are seeking?”

  “You do not allow women in the order. Don’t be absurd.” She laughed at him. “What was it Ramsay said? The company of women is a dangerous thing? You and your Knights are afraid of women. You go about waging war and hacking each other to bits, murdering and being murdered, even facing the Inquisition, but you are afraid of women and you know why?” She leaned toward him with an evil smile on her face.

  “Enlighten me, please, mademoiselle,” he said without flinching.

  “Because you know that God is a woman,” she said and then leaned back, crossing her arms over her stomach in smug satisfaction.

  “We are not afraid of women. The words of the Ancient Rule of Order are the company of women is a dangerous thing, and the devil has turned many men from the path to Paradise by providing female company. This is not anything to do with fear. Wives and lovers produce children… love and jealousy… lust and all sorts of distractions too numerous to list. If a man is to devote his life to the service of God, he must put aside things that are distracting to his purpose. The love of women or of a woman is one of the most powerfully distracting forces in this world. A man in love or even in lust will stop at nothing to protect what he feels is his or to get what he would desire to be his. This is a fact you cannot deny. Look at Sir Ramsay. He has lived for almost nine hundred years and he is not inexperienced in the matters of the female psyche, but now he is lost, perhaps permanently, because of the company of two women. Two women and he has known thousands, perhaps millions, yet it takes only two to bring about his fall. Besides many people including my Knights overlook the obvious. The Rule says the company of women, not the love of a wife or mother, is a dangerous thing. Perhaps our Brother should propose to her. But you have not answered my question, Chevaliere Valentino. Do you want to be a Templar?”

  “No! I do not. I want to be immortal. I am perfectly happy with my life as it is. I enjoy my freedom and my position as High Priestess of the local chapter of Order of the Rose. I don’t have to go around being all secret and bound up by vows and such,” she told him adamantly. “Besides, after I am immortal, I will most likely leave this place and never look back. I should think that immortals would have better things to do than hang out in petty little cowtowns like Waco, Texas. I can do whatever I please and I don’t have to answer to anyone.”

  “You will answer to God whether He is male or female or both,” he told her and smiled slightly. “So you just want to be immortal and that is all? Then why not allow me to bestow the
Mystery upon you and you alone in return for my Knights?”

  Valentino narrowed her eyes. That was not a bad offer. But what about Merry? But then, what about Merry? Merry was not upstairs in her bedroom. She didn’t know where Merry was at the moment and she was almost positive that Miss Meredith Sinclair could be found in the company of the venerable Mark Andrew Ramsay, wherever he might be. Even though she had been denying it, she had almost given up on Merry already. Where had Merry been while she had almost been killed the night before? Merry had fallen in love with the Knight of Death. Of all things! She might as well be sleeping with the grim reaper. And it was all for naught.

  These men would not allow Merry to keep her precious Mark Andrew. They would haul him away kicking and screaming and there was nothing that he or Merry could do about it. But she, Cecile, would live forever. And she could replace Merry a dozen times… a thousand times! One thing she had no intention of doing was spending eternity alone. Hell, she might even go straight for a while. The Golden Eagle had been very pleasant company after her experience with Mark. Much better than Mark ‘Precious’ Andrew Ramsay indeed. He was as brutal as she had expected him to be and she regretted losing her virginity to him. But Lucio... ahhh, now that was another story altogether. She could hardly believe the difference between the two of them. She might just find herself another Italian lover for a while, live in Rome or maybe on the French Riviera…

  “Agreed,” she said with finality. Her greed had won over her fleeting love for Meredith.

  “I would like to see one of my Knights at least… alone, before we consummate the arrangement,” he told her.

  She smiled at him. She could do that. She just happened to have one available for viewing.

  Chapter Eleven of Twelve

  Reproach hath broken my heart; and I am full of heaviness. Broken hearted

  Mark Andrew stood quietly looking down at Merry in the strange little observatory with his arms crossed over his chest while tapping one thumbnail against his bottom teeth. She looked innocent, beautiful and his heart leapt just to see her again. It was hard to believe that she had ever been touched by the hand of man. She seemed ephemeral somehow, like a dragonfly’s wings or a faery creature. Even after a night spent in the pouring rain, tramping through the mud and now sleeping on a bare wooden floor, she was lovely to look at. Mud was spattered on her face and her hair was tangled with bits and pieces of twigs, leaves and grass in her curly locks. Her eye make-up was smeared under her eyes, but only added to her spritely beauty. In spite of her beauty, he could not get two very vivid thoughts out of his mind. She had been in the room with Lucio when Maxie had pinned the Knight to the bedpost, the same bed that he had shared with her on several occasions. What had Merry been doing there with the Italian and had she not been gone long enough for him to become worried? She had been gone a long time after he had fallen asleep. The memory of Maxie bursting into that very same room to find her with him raced through his mind. Had Maxie also found Merry there with Lucio in a similar arrangement?