by K. T. Tomb
As the children stood and walked away from him, Aineias looked up and saw them on the hill. Every day they came and stood there, watching him and he had never wondered why. He considered them his friends now; after all they had tried their best to warn him. Maybe if he had given up on his silly adventure and turned around, things would have turned out differently for all of them.
He could see the deep purple of their robes billowing in the breeze on top of the hill and the perfect white of their magnificent steeds. He raised his hand to greet them but the figures just turned away and walked over the hill and out of sight.
Chapter Twelve
Two thousand and fifty-five years later...
Tangiers, Morocco, December 1911.
The telegraph machines at the Royal Postal Service, the New York Times and the Peninsular & Oriental Steam Navigation Company had been rattling away nonstop for the past three days. There was news coming in regularly from Tangiers, Port Spartel and even Cadiz. In London, everyone was eager to hear of the condition of the Duke of Fife, the Princess Royal and their daughters, without regular reports and a confirmation of their well-being there were many anxious factions in London.
TELEGRAM from Lord CHARLES BERESFORD: “I desire to ask the Prime Minister a question, of which I have given private notice, namely, whether he can give the House any further details connected with the wreck of the P. and O. steamship “Delhi”; whether there was any loss of life amongst the passengers and crew; whether there was any loss of life amongst the officers and men of the British squadron which went to the assistance of the “Delhi”; whether he can inform the House how many French seamen lost their lives in their heroic efforts to save life; and whether he can see his way to send an expression of gratitude from the British House of Commons to the Government of the French Republic for the gallant part the French officers and men took in the work of rescue, and an expression of sympathy with the relatives of those who lost their lives?”
TELEGRAM from The PRIME MINISTER: “Two telegrams have been received from the Vice-Admiral Commanding the Atlantic Fleet, one on the 14th, the other during the night of the 14th-15th. In the course of the former it was stated: ‘A few passengers and over 200 crew still on board wreck, so far impossible to land anyone today. Much regret to 2705 report three men ‘Friant’ drowned yesterday through steamboat capsizing while attempting to save life. ‘Friant’ arrived first at wreck from Tangiers, and took off some women and children before rising sea prevented further operations. Her assistance was invaluable. Have expressed personally to senior French naval officer and captain of ‘Friant’ gratitude for the services rendered, and profound sympathy at loss of life. We have several cutters’ crews stranded at Spartel, and boat washed up on beach; impossible to recover them until weather moderates. Am sending ‘London’ to Gibraltar this afternoon with considerable number remainder of passengers.’
“The later telegram stated that ‘All passengers were ashore except one injured and his son. Crew were being landed, by rocket apparatus brought over from Gibraltar, at rate of six to eight an hour. Two hundred were still on board 3 p.m. Assistance from seaward impracticable owing to heavy surf. Sixty officers and men with Rear-Admiral Cradock working ashore. ‘Delhi’ lying quite comfortably, and in very shallow water. Only means of transport between wreck and Tangiers is by mules. French military force from Tangiers had been of great assistance in lending tents for passengers and working parties, and supplying food. The Spanish Government has sent the ‘Reine Regente’ to render every assistance. Have thanked the captain, and informed him that in weather conditions prevailing any help from seaward impossible, she is returning to Tangier.’
“I am glad to say there has been no loss of life among the officers and crews of His Majesty’s ships. We deeply regret the loss which has been sustained by the gallant sailors of the French navy, and His Majesty’s Government yesterday telegraphed a message of gratitude and admiration to the British Ambassador at Paris. I am sure the relatives will know that they have the hearty sympathy of the House of Commons and of the country.”
***
“There were no rocks there,” Lady Beecham insisted. “We didn’t run aground on anything that inert. How many ships have been wrecked in the North of Africa, Mr. Anderson? How many submarines have been sunk or lost there? How many more vessels are there that have plied the route and simply vanished into thin air? I’ve seen what I think must have caused quite a few of those incidents and it has nothing to do with the torpedoes and enemy ships that the newspapers use to explain the events away. There’s something much more sinister abroad in the Mediterranean, Sir, something that enjoys the destruction of all seafaring vessels.”
She paused, visibly shaken as she recalled the events of December 12th, 1911. It had been fifteen years but she recalled it like it was yesterday. Lady Beecham remained silent as the maid came into the room carrying a tea tray. She set it down on a table next to her mistress, turned over the cup on the saucer closest to her and then left the room. Lady Beecham poured the tea into the cup and placed the teapot back on the tray.
“How do you take your tea, Mr. Anderson?”
“Two sugars, no milk. Thank you, Lady Beecham.”
She passed him the cup and made herself some tea as well.
“I had dined with the Royal Family that evening and we’d had the most splendid time. The Duchess had allowed me to cling to her and her daughters the entire trip from the moment we left Kent. I was on my way to Egypt for the first time. My husband, Lord Beecham had been stationed there with the British Navy and we had not seen each other for many months. When I closed our London house for the summer, we decided I would visit him in Cairo instead of making the usual trip to our estate in the country.”
She paused and lifted the Wedgewood teacup to her lips and gracefully sipped her tea. The reporter was too entranced by his surroundings to be bothered by the delay. The room around him was opulently decorated. He had never seen as many priceless pieces of art in one place outside of a museum. Invaluable Turkish rugs dotted the highly polished mahogany floors which were perfectly accented by a small fortune in Victorian furniture. An elaborate grand piano was the centerpiece of the room.
She noticed his attention was wondering and she cleared her throat.
“Ah, yes,” he started, “I apologize, my mind was elsewhere.”
He took a quick look at his notes and spoke again.
“What time did the incident occur, Lady Beecham?”
“I remember quite clearly that I was awakened by a jolt of the ship. When I looked at the clock, it was a half past twelve in the morning and I got out of bed and pulled my dressing gown on. I went to the porthole to look outside but of course it was pitch black and the weather was calm; we hadn’t had rough seas since the day after we had left England. As I was getting back into bed, there was another jolt and instinctively I looked to the porthole again.”
She paused and looked down at her lap. The reporter noticed that she was wringing her hands uncontrollably. She was distraught.
“Would you like us to continue the interview at another time, Lady Beecham?” he asked politely, fully aware how recalling the unfortunate events could be affecting her.
“Not at all, Mr. Anderson,” she replied quickly. “I promised you an exclusive and that is what I intend to do.”
She sat up straight and smoothed the dress over her lap taking a few deep breaths before she continued.
“You have to understand, Mr. Anderson, what I saw at that window changed my life forever. For years I thought that I had imagined it, that it was too fantastic to be true. However, as the years have gone by I have become more sure of it and today I have no doubts. That night I saw the tentacle of a giant octopus outside my stateroom window.”
“Excuse me, Lady Beecham?” Anderson asked.
“A giant octopus, Mr. Anderson, and when I went to the window, there it was in the water right beside the ship. It seemed to be looking directly at me as I w
atched it. It had a very large grey head with brown eyes and a beak that looked wide enough to bite the S.S. Delhi in half if it so wished. Several times did it lift its enormous tentacles from the water and lower them again. It was almost as if it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to destroy us or not. Then just as suddenly as it had appeared in the water, it raised two of its tentacles, wrapped them around the ship and shook it so violently that I had to grab hold of the window frame so as not to fall down.
“Then the monster lifted two more tentacles out of the water and took hold of us, lifting and then slamming the vessel down into the water so hard that the hull was breached and the engine rooms began to flood. I remember the sensation as the ship rose in the air, it was like nothing I’d experienced before, in fact, and I never relived it again until the first time I traveled on an aircraft. When we fell to the water, the impact threw me to the ground so violently that I hit my head on the floor and lost consciousness. It was the rush of the cold sea water coming into my cabin that woke me up. I only had enough time to grab my boudoir case and run for the upper decks.
“When I got to the deck it was nowhere in sight, everyone was already gathered there panicking in the darkness but I kept hearing that the ship had run aground, no one else seemed to have been aware of the beast’s presence at all; or of the role it placed in the destruction of the ship. I actually began to think right away that I had imagined everything or that I must have been dreaming and had awakened when the cabin started to flood. I went to the railing and looked into the water, of course there was nothing there but as I stepped back from the rails, I saw the splintered banisters and the twisted steel of the deck where the creature had held the ship in its powerful grasp, lifting it from the water and dropping us to our ruin.”
“Lady Beecham, forgive my interruption but don’t you think the damage could have been caused when the ship hit rock?”
“Mr. Anderson,” she replied, smiling like someone who was used to being met with skepticism, “The S.S. Delhi had three passenger decks above her mid-ship deck, she was almost five hundred feet long and almost sixty feet wide. How in the world would the banisters and the flooring of the uppermost deck be damaged from having run aground?”
The End
Return to the Table of Contents
THE
LAST CRUSADE
An adventure novel
by
K.T. TOMB
The Last Crusade
Published by K.T. Tomb
Copyright © 2014 by K.T. Tomb
All rights reserved.
Ebook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
The author wishes to dedicate this book to the late
Robert B. Parker.
The Last Crusade
Author’s note: There were a few twists of history and names during the creation of this what-if historical adventure. I hope you will enjoy this quest for the Holy Grail.
–K.T. Tomb
Chapter One
A lone messenger—carrying the standard of the German Emperor and wearing the Crusaders’ tunic—rode swiftly toward them, shouting, “Coeur de Lion! Coeur de Lion!”
“Halt!” King Richard called out and his order was relayed back to the warriors he led. When the messenger pulled up in a cloud of dust, he bowed briefly.
“Wolfgang! I watched you in the battle at Acre. Speak freely!” Richard said.
“Your Majesty, I have urgent news from near Jerusalem,” he said in French. “Is that where you travel, to fight Saladin again?”
Richard nodded. “Yes. This time, we shall finish him off. What is your news?”
“Our Holy Roman Emperor Frederick Barbarossa is dead. He and his horse drowned in a river.”
Richard’s heart sank. He took a deep breath of the hot desert wind and let it out again. “What of the German campaign?”
“It is ending. After the Emperor’s death, the Turks hit us hard. King Philip or King Leopold may take up Barbarossa’s campaign, but most of us, barely a thousand who are left, are going home to Germany.”
“As bad as that?” Richard asked, shocked that their numbers were so decimated.
“Worse, Majesty. There is plague breaking out among the troops on the road closer to Jerusalem. I was sent to warn you before you got close to the city.”
“Are you sure it is plague?” Richard asked, shocked even more. “Not siege sickness?”
“It is plague, Sire. I have seen the dead with their underarms burst open.”
“That is a sure sign of it. Well, this is unexpected, on all counts,” Richard murmured in chagrin. He had no immediate supply provisions to take the German campaign under his wing, even if he could stop them from fleeing. Nor did he wish to bring plague into his own troops.
“Unexpected, indeed, Majesty. Our hearts are broken from the loss of our leader, and our troops are withdrawing before more of us succumb to plague. I am ordered to officially announce that Jerusalem is yours, should you choose to take it without us, against Saladin. I know there were plans that we might again fight alongside you, but now, we cannot. It is a fearsome time for all Christians to head into Jerusalem.”
“Thank you for the news and the warning. Please relate my sorrow at the loss of Barbarossa to your countrymen.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall do so. Is there a return message about the English campaign?”
“We shall proceed onward toward Jerusalem, as planned,” Richard said firmly.
The blond man nodded, his face stoic. “Very well, Sire.”
Richard paused. “Will you join us, Wolfgang?”
“With respect, I cannot, Your Majesty. I am charged with my final duty of warning all those on this road of the growing plague in Jerusalem, and of Saladin’s men punishing the Christian pilgrims in heinous ways. Then I go to my ship bound for home. I have paid for my passage. If I fail to board the ship, word will be sent to my family that I am dead.”
“Carry out your duty, then. And Godspeed,” Richard said.
“Godspeed to you and your men as well.” Wolfgang galloped past them on his sweat-streaked horse.
Richard waved his hand and his army, once again, rode behind him toward Jerusalem. The men were quiet—no one dared to ask him anything. They rode in silence for quite some time as King Richard grew to feel more and more unwell. Blasted ague, he thought, shivering, even in the merciless heat.
Bearing the news of Barbarossa’s death and the subsequent loss of even fringe support from Germany, Richard the Lionheart didn’t know if it was his spirit or his body that suffered more. One thing he did know was that his enthusiasm for the Third Crusade seemed to wane like the high, thin clouds that promised rain but never delivered it. News of plague in Jerusalem was even more disturbing. And now with the German Emperor dead, Leopold and Philip would squabble for position and surely, at home, Richard’s brother, John, would make even more trouble than he already had. But it would not do to turn back. The King of England did not retreat. Ever.
He was, however, tired of this arduous journey, and yet, there was still Jerusalem to conquer. He was set on taking the Holy City from Saladin and wanted it so badly that he could taste it. However, the scurvy and ague were definitely getting to him, as well as to the other men. When they had gone to Acre and fought Saladin, he and his men had feasted on quinces. That seemed like a long time ago. But then, everything in the desert seemed ancient and unchanging, except for the sky. It was sometimes difficult to keep track of the days, the weeks, the months.
Suddenly, his horse stumbled and went down on his knees. Nearly unseated because his legs weren’t in the stirrups, Richard leapt from the quivering horse that squealed in pain, his knees scraped from the rocks.
“Henri!” Richard called out sharply. “Right front foot. Perhaps a thorn.” He handed the reins to his personal groom, who
hurried close, got the horse up and examined his feet and knees.
There was a cut on the front right hoof and Henri pulled a long thorn from it as the horse shuddered. He cleaned the wound with water, spread unguent and packed it with herbs. Then he tied a clean cloth over it to hold in the herbs. He let the horse’s leg down again and patted him.
“He didn’t break his knees, I hope?” Richard asked.
“Let me walk him and see the damage.” The groom walked the horse in a tight circle or two, concern creasing his face. “Your Majesty, his knees are only bruised and scraped, but his foot should rest tonight. If he is not galloped for a few days, he will recover.”
“I hope so. I am fond of him and I should hate to think of eating another horse gone lame.”
The groom looked horrified. “No, Majesty.” He paused. “My deepest apologies, but I have no fresh horse for you. The only horses left are broken-down nags seized from our slaughtered enemies, packhorses and those otherwise under harness, plus a few small donkeys that are not fit for a king.”
“It simply would not do for me to arrive in Jerusalem on the back of a donkey,” Richard said. “Some pilgrims might think I was mocking our Lord.”
The groom half smiled. “No one would dare think that of you, Your Majesty. But our horses do suffer so in this harsh climate and under these road conditions. Perhaps we can obtain you a fine Arabian?”
Richard rolled his eyes at the very thought. “It seems almost treasonous to consider riding one of their blooded horses in our campaign.”