Blood trickled down the intruder’s cheek. Ana mustered her remaining strength and brandished the mop handle. Vanita grabbed a washbasin and raised it over her head.
Turning toward an end table, the thief seized a book and ran from the room. Ana followed him. He fled down a stairwell just as the housemother and several other sisters arrived.
“Who was that?” the housemother cried.
Ana steadied herself against the wall, unable to answer because she couldn’t catch her breath. Her stomach ached where the assailant had punched her. Bile rose up in her mouth, making her gag as she spit it out.
Vanita put her arm around Ana’s shoulder and helped her stand up straight. “He was from the Clan,” she said as Ana leaned against her. “I guess we can add them to our list of enemies.”
Though the Papa had commissioned Teo to learn more about Deu from the Knights of the Cross, the library at Castle d’If left much to be desired. Its holdings were meager, and what was on the shelves emphasized military strategy, not theology. The uncataloged books were strewn around the room in random fashion. Teo couldn’t imagine a worse library than this one.
Nevertheless, he was a scholar, and that meant he had the patience for difficult research. The quest for knowledge was even more alluring when it presented obstacles, for it brought greater satisfaction when those obstacles were overcome. Teo sifted through treatises on tactics and armaments for the better part of the morning. Though he failed to find anything of spiritual value, he never knew what he might discover when he reached for the next book. Insatiable curiosity kept him going when others would have given up. He had assumed the knights wouldn’t own any copies of the New Testament, a suspicion confirmed after talking with Odo. Even so, Teo hoped to find a hidden gem in the pitiful library.
Another hour slipped by. Teo had examined all the shelves but one when the noon bell signaled the daily ritual. He walked to the library door, which opened onto the gallery that encircled the courtyard of Castle d’If. People were beginning to gather down below, though Teo couldn’t see their faces in the dimness caused by the awning overhead. As Odo ascended the stairs to the gallery, Teo met him by the altar.
“What’s the purpose of that sailcloth up there?” he asked.
“It rains here in winter. Who likes to get wet?”
“But it’s sunny much of the year. Don’t you wish the chapel were brighter?”
“It doesn’t need to be brighter. I know the words by heart. I could say them in complete darkness.” Odo paused. “Where have you been, anyway?”
Teo jerked his thumb toward the door behind him. “Taking a look at your library.”
“Interested in battle tactics, are you?”
“Yes, but that’s not what I’m searching for today.”
Teo could see from Odo’s expression he wanted to know what his visitor was seeking. Let him wonder. People like Odo drove Teo crazy. They were suspicious of anything out of the ordinary. Yet somehow these conservative types always ended up with power, which they used to suppress changes for good.
“I have to conduct the ritual now,” Odo said, “but afterward we must address your use of the library.”
“Is that so?”
Odo nodded, then turned toward the altar and began to fill a chalice with wine. A listless crowd milled about in the courtyard. Teo hurried back to the library and finished examining the books. None of them dealt with religion. Frustrated, he was about to leave when he noticed something scrawled on the spine of a book on the bottom shelf. He bent to examine the volume, which was tucked in the room’s most obscure spot. The title was Flanking Maneuvers for Infantry and Cavalry. But underneath the title someone had written two words: Secret History.
Pulling out the book, Teo opened it and perused the pages. It was a hand-copied text about warfare. At the end of the volume, several blank leaves had been sewn in. Teo flipped them one by one. His breath caught when he saw what was written on the final page. It was a reference to the Sacred Writing: Hymn 69:21, 28.
“Teofil! We need to talk!”
Teo jumped at Odo’s loud voice. He stuffed the book in its place and stood up. “I’m over here,” he said, dusting his hands.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to forbid you from using the library,” Odo said.
Teo frowned, though he wasn’t surprised. “Can I ask why?”
“It’s a long-standing policy. The library is reserved for the knights’ use.”
“But I have a valid reason to be here.”
“Even so . . . it’s our policy.” Odo shrugged and held up his hands. “What can I do?”
“Perhaps you forget I’m here by direct order of the Holy Father of the Universal Communion.”
A scowl darkened Odo’s face. “And where is the Holy Father, might I ask?”
“In Roma, obviously.”
“And where are you?” Odo countered smugly.
Teo didn’t reply. He could see where this was headed. Rather than bandying crooked words with a witless fool, he walked out.
Back in his bedroom he removed his copy of the Sacred Writing from his rucksack. Teo was carrying an inexpensive Talyano version while a Chiveisian edition was being prepared at Roma. He looked up the two verses that had been written in the strange book. The first one said, “They put gall in my food, and to appease my thirst they give me vinegar to drink.” A few lines down, the second verse read, “May they be blotted out of the book of life and not be inscribed with the righteous.”
Teo considered the meaning of these words. The writer of the hymn was King David, whose enemies had persecuted him and made his food bitter. In response the king asked Deu to blot them from the book of life. But what did that have to do with “secret history”? And why was nothing written on the pages added to the end of the book? Teo decided he wasn’t going to give up until he found out.
That night when the castle had grown quiet he slipped from his bed and made his way to the door that gave entrance to the courtyard. He tried the knob, but it would not turn. Unwilling to be thwarted so easily, Teo climbed a spiral staircase and emerged on the castle’s roof. A crescent moon gleamed over the quiet city of Marsay across the bay. Teo crept to the sailcloth awning that covered the courtyard and peeked underneath it. Only one story down he saw the narrow gallery—and the entrance to the library.
The awning was held in place by ropes. Each ran from an iron stake through a grommet in the sailcloth and back to another stake. Teo untied one of the ropes, which made the awning droop so that a gap opened up. With the other end of the rope still secured to a stake, Teo dropped the free end into the courtyard and slid down to the gallery. The door to the library was unlocked.
After lighting a candle from the librarian’s desk, Teo located the volume with the blank pages. Somehow the reference to Hymn 69 must provide a key for decoding what was written in the book. But the text about battle tactics was monotonous, and Teo could discover no hidden meaning there.
Approaching the problem from a different angle, he made a mental list of the verses’ main concepts: gall, vinegar, food and drink, blotting from the book of life. What did those things have in common? As Teo racked his brain, a sudden thought occurred to him. Gall is a substance used to make ink, and that relates to books . . . and blotting?
In a flash everything fell into place.
The final pages aren’t blank! They’ve been erased!
Stunned, Teo realized the text must be a palimpsest. Often when scribes were short of new parchment they simply sponged away the ink on an earlier text. Though the writing could no longer be seen, it was still there in tiny indentations. Should it ever need to be revealed again, all one had to do was rub it with a special concoction: a tincture of gall.
The librarian’s desk held writing materials and jars for making ink. Teo rummaged in the drawers until he found the gall, an acidic substance drawn from bulbous growths on oak trees. He dabbed a brush in the gall and smeared it on the blank vellum pages of the book. It stained the pages b
rown, but it also made letters appear.
As Teo read the text he grew excited. The account described Chiveis’s early prosperity under its founder Jonluc Beaumont. Yet soon the narrative took a chilling turn. The great patriarch had conquered a kingdom called Jineve, then journeyed downriver to Marsay. There he entered into a blood oath with several other rulers, all of whom swore to eliminate the religion of Christianism. The high god Astrebril guaranteed his power to those who observed the Pact—and promised the most heinous curses on those who defied it.
Teo tore the pages from the book and tucked them inside his shirt. They were far too important to leave in an obscure library like this. He returned to the rope and shimmied up to the roof, then threaded the line through the eye in the awning and drew it tight once again. As he was tying a hitch knot to the stake, someone hailed him from behind.
Teo leaped to his feet and faced the speaker. He was a stocky, powerfully built man with the characteristic cross tattoo and ponytail of a knight. His arms were corded with the muscles of a warrior. But instead of military garb he wore a coarse-spun tunic and a rope belt.
“What do you want from me?” Teo asked. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be sneaking around on the roof, so he expected trouble.
The man’s tone, however, was mild. “Have you come to bring good news to those who wish to receive it?”
“Is that a trick question?”
The man shook his head.
“Then yes. I have come from Roma to proclaim the message of Deus and his son Iesus.”
“That is my desire too, Teofil. I did not know the full truth of my religion until your arrival. Your speech the other day made everything clear.”
“I hope to make it clear to all the people of Marsay.”
“Tch! Those people aren’t spiritually hungry. However, I know a people who may listen. Long have I wanted to bring them the truth of Deus. Now that you’ve opened my eyes, I have decided to pay their mayor a visit.”
“Who are they?”
“The Jinevans. And guess what else?”
Teo shrugged.
The knight in the rough robe approached until he could reach out and place his hand on Teo’s shoulder. No sound disturbed the quiet night. A slow smile crept across the man’s face, and a mischievous twinkle was in his eye.
“I intend to take you with me,” he said.
C H A P T E R
3
Alight wind ruffled the waters of Leman Sea. Its blue expanse curved away to the southwest under a warm autumn sun. The Iron Shield watched his Exterminati shamans prepare two river boats for lake travel. He sat astride his horse, a sorrel with a white blaze on its nose. The animal, along with a silver-engraved saddle and harness, was a gift from the High Priestess. No doubt the fine steed would convey to the Jinevans an aura of genteel prosperity. That was exactly the impression he wanted to give.
The Iron Shield couldn’t get the High Priestess out of his mind. The woman had attached herself to his consciousness like a leech—burrowing in, sucking his blood, making him itch. He could picture her raven hair cascading down the sides of her white-painted face. He could imagine her swelling curves beneath her gauzy robe. Every time she spoke, her black lips offered an invitation. Every time she moved, her lithe body made her invitations irresistible. Yet she never delivered on her promises. Despite her overwhelming sensuality, the High Priestess gave commands, not favors. Obedience was the dark queen’s only aphrodisiac, and the Iron Shield found himself willing to offer it in full.
He wasn’t exactly sure why. Over the years he had used many women, of course. Yet this one was different. She was dominant, alluring, unattainable. The Iron Shield considered the High Priestess worthy of respect. In fact, her direct access to the powerful god Astrebril made her worthy of fear—the highest compliment the Iron Shield could pay. He longed to provide the priestess with what she desired most: brimstone, salt-stone, iron . . .
And death.
You shall have it all, my queen.
A shaman interrupted the Iron Shield’s thoughts. “Master, should I lead your mount aboard?”
The Iron Shield shook his head, preferring to do it himself. He dismounted and walked his horse up a ramp onto one of the boats. They were clinker-built vessels of the type called a longship. Each had space for sixteen rowers. With their shallow drafts they could maneuver easily on rivers and even be portaged, yet they were stable enough for travel on an open lake like Leman Sea. It would take several hours to sail from the wilderness reaches of the lake to the bustling port of Jineve at the far western end. The Iron Shield left his horse amidships and took his seat in the stern.
By evening the two boats had reached the city and were tied alongside a pier. The port authorities recognized the travelers from their previous journey though the kingdom. As before, the Iron Shield donned an expensively tailored tunic instead of his usual chain mail. He also set aside his heavy mace. Everyone in Jineve believed him to be a merchant adventurer who had come from a faraway kingdom to establish trade. Only his yellow cat’s-eye might have hinted he was actually far more sinister.
A steward walked onto the pier to greet the new arrivals. “Welcome back, Antonio of Roma.”
The Iron Shield gritted his teeth at the use of the ridiculous alias he had adopted. Though he preferred to be unnameable, the present circumstances required a false identity. He inclined his head politely. “I am grateful for your welcome, master steward.”
“The banquet hall at Montblanc Palace is set for an evening meal,” the steward advised. “Mayor Calixte would welcome your company to resume your discussion of commerce.”
Fools! You invite me to supper like a hen inviting the weasel to dine. How ignorant you are! Soon you will have a new queen, and I will reign at her side!
With a slight smile the Iron Shield said, “That sounds delightful. Lead the way, if you please.”
The dinner was the kind of lavish meal served by a people whose exorbitant wealth isn’t matched by the virtue of self-restraint. The fish course consisted of perch fillets in a creamy fennel sauce, while the main plate was marbled roast beef. All of it was accompanied by copious amounts of wine. These people are soft, the Iron Shield noted. Ripe for the picking. As the meal progressed, Mayor Calixte described the kingdom’s iron mines and salt-stone beds, and he even talked freely of national defense. Because the Jinevans spoke a language similar to the Chiveisi, the dark warrior was able to maintain his end of the conversation.
“My business partners would be interested in purchasing iron from you,” the Iron Shield said, “though I need to be certain you can produce a steady supply. What assurances can you offer me?”
Mayor Calixte rose from his chair and went to a stylized map of Jineve on the wall. He was a tall man, though not a warrior, for his rotund build prevented that. “The bulk of the mining colonies are here,” Calixte said, pointing to a region in the north. “The iron supply is nearly unlimited, and we maintain a good road between the city and the mines.”
“Excellent. Perhaps you could have a detailed report delivered to my room?”
“Of course, Antonio. And I will also send you a report about the salt-stone fertilizer we discussed.”
“Very good.” The Iron Shield suppressed a smile as he took a sip of the dry, fruity wine from the vineyards along the northern shore of Leman Sea.
Back in his room that night, he handed the commercial reports to one of his lieutenants, a shaman with a red armband. The man read the reports slowly, then looked up from the parchments. “This kingdom abounds with two of the three commodities the High Priestess desires,” he said.
“My mistress will be pleased.”
“And their defenses are weak. I have seen no soldiers on the streets.”
“They have military forces here,” the Iron Shield countered, “but an invasion army will be assembled in Chiveis to overcome them. Once the Jinevans have been conquered and their resources exploited, further expansion will be possible.”
“Expansion? You mean down to Marsay?”
“Yes . . . and beyond.”
The shaman’s smile revealed his enthusiasm. “An empire in the making! Nothing stands in the way of this glorious conquest.”
“There is one thing.”
The shaman peered at his master from beneath his hood, waiting for an answer.
“Her Eminence requires brimstone in great quantities,” the Iron Shield said. “Everything hinges on that.”
“Ah, of course. For Astrebril’s fire.”
“That is useful to her, but there is something even greater. The High Priestess intends to develop a new weapon from brimstone. It is a poisonous fume that burns whomever it touches. The agony is severe even for those lightly exposed. For those who receive a mortal dose, no words can describe their suffering to the end. It is beyond all endurance. Any army that wields this weapon will send the opposing force fleeing to the hills in terror.”
The shaman lieutenant exhaled slowly. “Such a wondrous creation is surely a gift of the gods.”
“No. It is the gift of one god. Astrebril the Great has revealed this weapon to his queen.” The Iron Shield rose to his full, intimidating height. He pointed his finger at his lieutenant. “And I intend to make sure she gets it.”
Teo had been on the river for a week. The routine was the same every day: the sun rose on the right and set on the left, the rowers pulled the oars, and the banks of the Rone River slipped by. At times the green monotony of the forest was broken by stunning fields of purple lavender, but the fields always ended, and then the forest swallowed the travelers again.
Everywhere Teo looked he saw the relics of the Ancients. Their more recent structures, such as wire-draped poles or elevated highways, were intermingled with honey-colored ruins of an older vintage—walled hilltop towns, castles, stone bridges. At one point the travelers passed through what must have been a great city. On a hill above the river, a few surviving towers from a white temple of Deu lifted lonely crosses to the sky. Teo marveled at the wonders the Ancients had constructed and then obliterated in their colossal fires. Thick vegetation now engulfed the primordial remains. The steady progress of human culture had succumbed to the depredations of nature. Today the crumbled world of the Ancients was largely forgotten. Teo vowed that their God would not be.
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