“Don't play with me!” Sir Richard roared, his voice startlingly loud in the quiet of the evening despite the bustling of the market. “You know a lot about these heretics – devil-worshippers – you even have the black eyes they all share, which suggests to me you were one of them at some point if you're not still some agent of theirs. I believe the symbol we've seen painted on flat stones around the town is related to this Dagon and his followers. Tell me what you know about it, now, or by God I'll see you tried as one of them!”
The man sighed and Sir Richard softened his tone, surprised to see a tear spilling down the merchants face. “Tell me what I need to know, Leontios and I'll see you well rewarded.”
The merchant nodded slowly, his expression unreadable as he pondered his options. “They… they gave us all a choice. Join them and reap the rewards when the Deep Ones return to reclaim their rightful place, or watch as our families die. I joined them but...” More tears streaked his face which twisted in anger as he continued. “My wife Alexis – a good Christian, incorruptible,” he smiled, gazing into space, “refused. As I should have!”
There was silence for a while until Sir Richard prodded the man to continue.
“They sacrificed her to Dagon.”
The sounds of the market continued around them as Sir Richard and Jacob watched the Greek merchant relive his wife's death, the pain evident in his damp eyes.
“I vowed then to see them stopped, but I could do nothing by myself and could approach no-one for help. The villagers are too frightened to do anything for fear of losing their loved ones and, until you arrived, there seemed no way to stand against them. The religion only came to prominence recently, brought here from somewhere in Mesopotamia I've been told, but I believe their underground cavern to be much older than any of the Christian buildings on the island. You've seen those bas-reliefs – they depict scenes from a time long forgotten by any historian. And the Dagonites seek to bring those times back; to destroy Christian, Muslim and Jew alike so their evil god and his brethren can enslave us all!”
“I knew this was all true,” Jacob mumbled fearfully. “I knew it...”
“Well, we're here now,” Sir Richard said, throwing a murderous glance in his superstitious sergeant's direction, “and our Order won't allow these blasphemers to continue their evil ways, I can assure you. Tell us what we need to know to stop them.”
Leontios nodded, hope flaring in his eyes. “They believe I'm still one of them; that's why I'm still alive. I discovered some wild mushrooms that, when ingested, make my pupils enlarge as theirs do when they...partake of Dagon's victims' blood...Don't ask me how it works, but it makes them insane – the blood-lust carries even good people away into a vicious madness. They don't remember what they did when they awake in the morning back in their own beds.”
“Is Father Vitus involved?” Sir Richard asked.
Again the merchant shrugged. “Almost everyone in the surrounding villages is involved in one way or another. But only those with black eyes are part of it; the rest do nothing through fear of retribution. It is said Dagon can enslave a soul, even in the afterlife.” He shuddered before continuing in a small voice. “Father Vitus is, I believe, Dagon's high priest.”
The knight was shocked by the man's assertion. It had become more and more apparent the Greek priest was involved, somehow, in the disappearances, but...high priest of Dagon? Nothing they'd seen in St Luke's suggested the man was so intimately involved in the twisted religion. His eyes were normal and when he prayed to God Sir Richard would have sworn the man was as devout in his Orthodox belief as the Hospitaller was in his own Catholicism. Sir Richard simply couldn't believe it.
The traders had packed away their wares by now and the market was silent around them and Leontios's face twisted in panic as he realised his collusion with the Hospitallers might be noted.
“Here, take this and sleep with it by your side.” He pressed a small, flat stone into Sir Richard's gauntleted hand and the knight examined it curiously. It was inscribed with the symbol they'd seen on the house on the outskirts of the town; a line with five smaller lines branching off it, like a tree. “It'll protect you,” the merchant promised, “as it protects the buildings you've seen with the same stones outside. I must go now – if they discover I'm helping you they'll kill me as they did my wife.”
He pulled away from the knight's grasp and headed off into the shadows. “Come to me again if you need me. But act quickly – Dagon is coming!”
* * *
Sir Richard's rest was plagued by dreams and nightmares that night. Dagon appeared again, the paralysis that had held the knight fast to the bed previously returning along with the monstrous stick-figure, who stood looking down on him from its faceless head high above. The terrified Hospitaller tried desperately to reach for his blade, or stand up, or even just to scream, but he was held motionless against the bed as the monstrous figure leaned towards him.
The knight had been close to death many times before but facing your own doom while holding your sword in your hand like a man was nothing compared to the crushing, hopeless sense of terror he felt as Dagon reached out to tear his unresisting body apart. An image of his two young sons came to him and a wave of sadness engulfed him as he realised he'd never see them again; never teach them to wield a sword, fish in the Calder or ride a horse.
Suddenly, just as the horrific head and slender arms were about to take him, the apparition shrank back and stood, motionless. A moment later, the black figure left the room and the knight rose with a strangled, choking cry, clutching the inscribed stone Leontios had given him.
Praise be to God, it had worked. The stone had worked!
Relief flooded through him and after a time his breath slowed, his heartbeat returning to it's normal, steady rate until finally, exhausted, he began to drift back into sleep with a small smile on his lips.
Then the realisation hit him like a crossbow bolt to the guts. After everything that had happened over the past few days, it finally sank in, and his breath caught in his throat again.
This is really happening – Dagon is real! Jesus Christ Almighty, protect us...!
They made their way to the dining area in the morning to find Vitus and Athenais who handed them each a plate with bread, cheese and smoked meats and cups of cool water before bowing respectfully to the men – never meeting their eyes as usual – and leaving the room to perform whatever duties she had that day.
“How's your investigation going?” the priest asked, watching his housekeeper as she left and sitting down at the little table with them as they broke their fast.
Sir Richard shovelled a lump of bread into his mouth and looked the little man in the eyes. “We know what's happening to the people that are disappearing,” he said. “And we're going to do something about it, just as soon as we finish this.”
Vitus raised an eyebrow but clasped his hands as if offering a prayer of thanks to God. “Tell me, are these people dead?” he asked.
Jacob nodded his head vigorously, spilling water from his mouth as he washed down a slice of salted pork. “Dead as anyone's ever been,” he said. “You should have seen it” –
“Enough!” Sir Richard growled. “We don't know if all the victims are dead,” he said, glaring at his sergeant. “And it's probably just as well Father Vitus didn't see it.” He turned his attention back to the Greek priest. “We'll be leaving as soon as we finish breakfast and will no longer have need of your hospitality, which we thank you for. You've been a good host.”
“Thank Athenais for us too, if you would, father,” Jacob nodded, eyeing the man grimly.
Vitus returned a thin smile. “I'll pass it on to her. I hope you can put an end to the evil that's roaming our streets.”
“We'll see,” the big knight replied, washing down a final mouthful of food as he stood up. “We'll see. Come on, Jacob. Time we returned to the fortress and reported our findings to the Grand Master.”
* * *
“He
re? On my island?” Foulques de Villaret asked, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Are you sure about this Richard?”
The English knight nodded, his bearded face deadly serious. “I am, Grand Master. We saw the young man's throat being cut and it's obvious the girl was about to suffer the same fate as we left. The fact we could do nothing to help her will haunt me for the rest of my days. May God rest her soul.”
De Villaret sat down heavily, head tilted back, gazing at the ceiling. “I'll not suffer devil worshippers on this island. We must put an end to this blasphemy.”
Sir Richard nodded. “In God's name, we must.”
The knight had omitted many of the details of the last few days. He hadn't mentioned his dreams or their sightings of the eldritch straw man in the field. Such anecdotes would merely make him and Jacob sound like hysterical children.
“Take thirty men,” de Villaret said. “Brother-knight Jean de Pagnac will assist you; make up the rest from our mercenaries. It'll be good experience for them.” He fixed Sir Richard with an earnest stare. “If you can – find out the purpose of the sacrifices. But if you can't, just wipe them from the face of the Earth!”
The Englishman nodded. “I will, Grand Master, in the name of God and St John.”
He genuflected to his superior and left the chamber. A sergeant-at-arms spotted him as he walked and shouted for him to wait.
“There's been a man – a local – around asking for you this morning, sir,” the sergeant told him. “Said you owed him money.”
The knight grasped the man's arm. “Leontios,” he murmured.
“Aye, that was the name he gave us. He'll probably be back again soon, if you want to speak to him.”
Sure enough, the Greek merchant appeared outside the fortress a short time later, asking after Sir Richard. The knight shouted for the gate guards to let the informer inside and greeted the man with a small smile when they met in the courtyard.
“Leontios, you're taking a chance coming here.”
“I had to,” the man agreed. “They're planning another sacrifice – more than one – tonight. You must stop them. You don't understand the depth of their evil! The whole point of this – their sacrifices – is to bring Dagon back to life so he can resurrect the rest of his kind. Christ and all his saints are nothing compared to the power of the Deep Ones!”
Sir Richard nodded reassuringly, inwardly questioning the man's sanity. “You can rest easy,” he said, patting Leontios's arm. “We're going in tonight. Whatever they're planning, we'll put a stop to it, I promise you. Your Alexis will be avenged.”
“Then I can help you again,” Leontios replied. “I know another way into their cavern...”
* * *
There were very few English Hospitallers on Rhodes at that time, so Sir Richard noticed the familiar Yorkshire accent straight away.
The voice belonged to another sergeant-at-arms, who seemed more than competent at his job as he shepherded the mercenaries under his command into line with the occasional foul-mouthed roar that seemed almost as blasphemous to Sir Richard as the actions of the devil-worshippers they sought to apprehend.
“I fucking give up,” the sergeant growled, shaking his head as Sir Richard walked up to stand beside him, surveying the men they were to lead back to Krymmeni Thesi. “Useless farm boys most of 'em, and the rest are too old to wipe their own arses, never mind wield a sword properly. Of course, from the rumours going about the citadel, there's some monster hidden away in this village we've to visit. I can hold my own,” he looked at Sir Richard, “but I don't think I've ever had to fight an ancient monster.”
The big knight smiled, warming immediately to the bluff younger man. “Good to have you on board, sergeant. We didn't see any monsters back in that village, so you can put your mind – and those of your men – at rest. It's just a group of devil worshippers and blasphemers. But they're normal men that die like any other.”
Jacob appeared, newly shaven and looking fresher than he had for days. “I see you've met Stephen,” he smiled to Sir Richard, nodding at the other sergeant-at-arms. “Good Yorkshireman, he is. Just what we need for this job.”
“A good Yorkshireman is what you need for any job,” Stephen grunted a dour reply, but his eyes twinkled. “Don't worry though – my master, Sir Jean de Pagnac, is French, but he's a right hardy fighter. Between the four of us we'll be able to keep this lot –” he pointed his thumb at the inexperienced Hospitallers arrayed behind them “– in check, and boot the arses of these heretics.”
The memory of the young man and women being brutally sacrificed in the enormous cavern came back to Sir Richard in a rush and he gripped his sword-hilt convulsively. “I hope so,” he said. “That evil has to be eradicated and who better to do it than God's chosen Order? Mount up!” he roared. “The sun's setting; let's get this over with.”
* * *
The journey to Krymmeni Thesi was a short one, mounted as the Hospitallers were on great warhorses. As they passed through the market near Father Vitus's church the people shrank back, pointing and muttering amongst themselves, wondering what was happening. Such a show of military force was unusual since the island had been taken over completely by the knights, so the locals knew something big was happening.
They soon left the town behind and reached the fields on the outskirts of their destination, lit by a near-full moon. The bizarre straw man figure was nowhere to be seen; in its place, a man in a wide-brimmed hat walked along with a watering pot, soaking the earth beneath although what plants he might be growing was a mystery to Sir Richard as the field looked like it contained nothing more than simple grass. The sight of a man ceaselessly watering grass with a heavy pot which he would periodically refill from a barrel was a strangely unsettling one, especially in the near-dark and the Hospitaller gripped the painted flat stone Leontios had given him the night before, angry at himself for trusting in protection other than the cross on his surcoat and shield.
The farmer never once looked up at them as they passed, nor did he modify his pace, stop to wipe his brow, or otherwise deviate from his task.
Even the grim sergeant-at-arms, Stephen, shook his head in relief when they'd left the unearthly solitary gardener behind.
As they rode into Krymmeni Thesi they were greeted again with the sight of an apparently deserted village. As before, no lights burned in the houses and no people walked the streets.
“You!” Sir Richard started in his saddle, surprised to notice a figure skulking behind the wall of a house. “Where do we find your headman? Where is he?”
The man moved out from his hiding place and gazed up at the knight, impressive in his well-maintained chain mail and red surcoat with its white cross, and screwed up his black eyes as the moonlight flooded them. “He?” the man asked in a thin, reedy voice before laughing and hurrying off towards the centre of the village.
The Hospitaller spat in disgust and waved his men forward, towards the tunnel entrance on the western edge of town.
When they reached it, Sir Richard and Jacob shared a confused look. A new foreman was there, obvious by his size and bearing, but so were four guards and, although it was dim in the moonlight so they couldn't have sworn to it, the two Englishmen thought some of them had been killed during the previous evening's fight.
It was dark though, Sir Richard thought, shrugging off the superstitious thoughts that crowded in on his already strained frame of mind. A lot of these Greek men look alike.
The foreman turned to face them as the heavily armed horsemen approached and Sir Richard noted he carried a sword and wore a gambeson. The rest of his men were similarly equipped. Clearly, the previous evening's events had resulted in a heightened sense of security at the tunnel entrance.
“What do you want, Hospitaller?” The foreman's hand was on his sword-hilt and he showed no sign of fear or deference as he glared up at the English knight. His men stood and formed a wall behind him, their eyes stony, ready to draw their weapons despite the overwhelming n
umbers arrayed before them.
Sir Richard remained seated on his great warhorse as he gazed down at the Greek. “We seek entrance to –”
The foreman drew his sword slowly and, methodically, moved into a defensive stance. “You've already been down there,” he growled, his dark eyes blazing. “You came back too, and killed innocent men!”
Sir Richard returned his stare steadily for a moment before he lifted his left leg up and over and slipped off the back of his mount onto the ground.
“We are going down again,” he moved forward until his face was almost touching the foreman's. “Whether you like it or not. So get your lackeys out of the way. Now!”
The Greek's head spun and he nodded at his men who instantly drew their swords and stood ready to defend the tunnel entrance.
“You are not going down again! That is consecrated ground – holy ground. We know you defiled it last night. We know you started a fire in our village last night. We know” – he pushed his face up against the Hospitaller knight's – “it was you who butchered our friends.”
By now, Jacob had dismounted as well and stood behind his master's right shoulder defensively, his sword held by his side as another English voice rang out from the darkness behind them.
“Are you deaf? We are going down there, and you aren't going to stop us! Now...move the fuck aside before we tear the lot of you apart!”
Sir Richard shot a surprised glance to his left and saw the bluff Yorkshireman, Stephen, still mounted on his great warhorse and pointing his longsword at the foreman. The Greek was visibly taken aback by the force of the sergeant's admonition, so Richard made the most of the opportunity, reaching out his gauntleted hand to grasp the man around the neck in a vice-like grip.
“You fucking heard the sergeant!” he roared, his voice deafening in the charged atmosphere. “Move your arses out of our way or we'll move them for you!”
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