by DAVID B. COE
Brice’s voice.
Landry lurched to the door. This brought another spasm of pain, but he barely noticed. He peered out at the round chamber and then at the door to Godfrey’s cell.
The pirates were gone. The cell doors were all locked. Two Templars stared out from each barred opening. Even the last, where there should have been three men.
“Where did they take him?” Brice asked. Panic widened his eyes, making him appear even younger than usual. He held tight to the bars on his door.
“Did they put him back in your cell after they cut our bonds?” Tancrede asked.
“I don’t—I don’t think so, no.”
Brice turned to Nathaniel, who shook his head.
“They didn’t,” the second Templar said. “I failed to notice at the time. But now I’m sure. That’s when they took him.”
“What do we do?” Brice asked.
Tancrede’s face was a mask of concern. “What can we do?”
Landry and Tancrede exchanged glances.
“Redman!” Landry bellowed, the echo ringing like a hammer on steel. “We would speak with you!”
After several minutes, Landry tried again. This time, Tancrede joined him. But their shouts went unanswered.
They called for the Monk repeatedly throughout the morning and into the afternoon, but all their efforts were in vain. The pirates did not return, nor did Godfrey. Landry and the others grew ever more worried. During the same interval, Landry gradually regained control over his arms and hands. They throbbed still. He knew they would for days. But he no longer felt quite so powerless.
Not until late in the day, toward dusk, did the pirates bring Godfrey back. Gaspar led them; Redman was nowhere to be seen. Two men trailed the captain of the Gold Prince. They were bald, hulking, so similar in aspect and build that they might have been brothers. They bore Godfrey between them. The knight’s feet dragged on the stone floor and his head lolled, wheaten hair hanging over his eyes, so that Landry could not get a clear view of his face. There could be no question, though, that he had been abused terribly. His tabard, mantle, and armor had been removed, and his body bore terrible marks: bruises, gashes, and what appeared to be burns. His flesh and his breeches were stained with blood.
The pirates lay him inside his cell and locked the door once more.
“What have you done to him?” Landry demanded.
Gaspar led the men back toward the stairs.
“What did you do, you bloody bastard?”
The pirate halted in mid-stride. After a moment, he turned and walked back to Landry’s enclosure, halting just beyond Landry’s reach.
“Call me that again,” the pirate said.
Landry gripped the bars and pressed his face to them. “You’re a bloody bastard. And so is Redman the bloody Monk. Now, what did you do to our commander?”
“Nothing that we won’t be doing to you and your friends, too.” A dark smile exposed yellowed teeth. “With pleasure.”
He walked away, signaling to the other pirates that they should follow.
“How is he?” Tancrede called to Brice and Nathaniel once Gaspar and his men were gone.
“Alive,” Brice said, his voice unsteady. “That’s about all I can say.”
“Describe what you see,” Draper said, grasping the bars beside Landry. “What have they done to him?”
“He’s been beaten, and worse. There’s blood all over his face. Bruises around both eyes and his nose. One of his hands has been… it’s swollen and purple. He’s a mess.” Brice’s voice broke on the last word. “There are marks on the rest of him as well. Wounds everywhere.”
“Is there any water left in your bowl?” Draper asked, his tone steady, reassuring.
“A bit, yes.”
“Try to give it to him. He needs to drink. He’ll have lost blood.”
“All right.” For some seconds the knights said nothing, though Landry heard them moving in their cell. “Most of what we’re giving him is dripping onto his chest or the floor.”
“Is he drinking any?”
“Some, yes.”
“Good.” Draper sighed. “That’s good.”
“Now what?” Nathaniel asked.
Draper eyed Landry sidelong and lifted a shoulder. “Let him rest,” he said. “There is nothing more we can do for now.”
The Turcopole crossed to where he had been sitting against the stone wall. Landry remained as he was and stared at Godfrey’s door, hoping the commander would wake soon, fearing that he might never.
Night fell, and the bells rang. Just hearing them should have rekindled Landry’s hunger. What he had eaten that morning wasn’t enough to count even as a morsel, much less a meal. But he couldn’t think of food, or rest, or anything else other than Godfrey.
For nearly as long as he could recall, Godfrey had been the most important person in his life. He had few memories of his own father or mother. Godfrey had taken him on as an apprentice when he was but a boy, and had been as close to a parent as Landry had known.
He remembered one incident from his childhood – he couldn’t say why this particular memory came to him now – when Godfrey taught him to ride.
“Slowly,” his master had cautioned, setting him in the saddle and showing him how to grasp the horse’s reins.
But of course, Landry had never done anything slowly. He kicked his mount to a trot, and then to a gallop. Within seconds he had lost control of the beast. Its gait jarred him. He started to slip from the saddle. He lost his hold on the reins and grabbed for the horse’s mane.
He fell hard and tumbled to a halt. His shoulder hurt, as did his temple. When he dabbed at the bump there, his fingers came away bloody.
He heard a footfall behind him, and then, “I told you to go slowly, didn’t I?”
Landry turned to look up at him. “Do you ride slowly?”
Godfrey’s expression didn’t change, but he shook his head. “Not always, no.”
“Do other knights?”
Godfrey smirked. “No.”
“Then why should I?”
Godfrey offered a hand. When Landry took hold of it, the master hauled him to his feet. But even after Landry was standing, Godfrey didn’t release him. “Because you still have much to learn. And because I might not always be here to pick you up.”
“Where would you go?”
“It’s not a matter of… You need to learn patience, Landry, and control. Not of the horse, but of yourself. And not only to avoid falls and scrapes, but because others will come to depend on you. You must justify their faith in you, and God’s faith in you as well.”
“God’s faith in me? I don’t understand.”
A rare smile from the knight greeted this. “I know. But you will in good time.”
A low moan pulled Landry from his recollections.
“He’s waking up,” Brice said.
Draper was on his feet almost before the last word crossed the knight’s lips. “Give him more water.”
“We’ve only a little left.”
“Let him have it all.”
Within a few seconds, Landry heard coughing and a deep voice he would have known anywhere saying, “Enough. That’s enough.”
“Godfrey?” he called. “Let them give you the water.”
“Landry. All of you. I’m all right.”
“Yes,” Tancrede said. “We saw that when they brought you back. You’ve never looked better.”
“How long have I been here?”
“A few hours,” Tancrede said. “They returned with you near to twilight, and it’s been dark for perhaps two hours.” A pause, and then, “What did they want with you?”
“I’m still not entirely certain.” His voice was weak, the words halting. “They asked me questions about the Order, about the wealth we control, and how we might gain access to it. I tried to tell them that we are but one Temple. In Paris, to be sure, but a single Temple nevertheless. Our resources while considerable are not limitless. But Redman…” He paused for a f
ew seconds. “He is filled with malice and greed. He believes we can make him rich beyond all imagining and he is determined that we shall do so, or die.”
Silence followed. After a minute or two, Tancrede asked, “Where did they take you?”
“Down the corridor that leads from the central chamber. It was a long way. And the place where it ends… I had heard about such rooms, but I had never seen one myself. I never care to again.”
A shudder ran through the words.
“I fear they will take all of you there eventually,” he went on. “I wish I could tell you that you will be spared, but his avarice is like a disease. It poisons his heart and his mind. He will not rest until he has what he wants, or until we manage to escape.” Or until we’re all dead.
The words hung in the rank air, unspoken, but heard by all.
Chapter 13
Landry didn’t sleep that night. He sensed that the pirates would soon be back – for him or for one of the others – and he wanted to be awake when they returned. To be prepared, or to bear witness.
He stood at the door, gazing out at the empty stone chamber, and flexing his arms and wrists, working out the lingering stiffness and pain. Draper snored softly behind him.
“Can’t sleep?” came a whisper from the cell next to his.
Tancrede stood at his doorway, eyes shining with torchlight.
“I probably could, but I’m not willing to. You?”
“I feel the same. They’ll be coming for me soon enough. I want to be ready.”
“You think you’ll be next?”
“I do. I’m older than the rest of you. Except Draper, maybe, but they’ll assume that I know more, because I’m French and he’s a Turcopole. They’ll take me, and then I would guess they’ll take you.”
“If your logic is correct, it won’t be me. Gawain is older than I am. Draper’s a lot older.”
“True, but you shouldn’t have angered Gaspar today.”
Landry shrugged, looked away. “Let them take me. Better me than Brice or Nathaniel. Or Gawain, for that matter. They’ll ruin his leg forever.”
They fell silent. Tancrede eyed his door and pulled on the bars, seeming to test their strength.
“What do you suppose this was?” he asked.
“This building, you mean?”
“The whole place. Seems it could have been a Templar fortress. This part of the world was full of them at one point.”
“That could explain how the Monk found it. If he really was a Templar.”
“You doubt me?”
Landry’s gaze snapped to the stairway. Redman stood at the base, several men behind him.
“The man’s as quiet as a cat,” Tancrede muttered.
“You’re right,” the pirate said, crossing to Tancrede’s door. “This fortress did once belong to the Order. I found no treasure here, of course. They must have taken it when they fled. The Templars are thorough in that regard. Still, I did find much else of interest. And now it’s your turn to learn exactly what it was I discovered.” He nodded toward the door.
One of his men hurried forward, unlocked the door, and pulled Tancrede into the outer chamber. By this time, the others had awakened. Draper joined Landry at their door. Gawain took Tancrede’s place. The young knights and Godfrey watched from the gap in their door. Godfrey’s bruises and the dried blood still on his face gave him a ghoulish aspect.
“Strength, Tancrede,” he called, as the pirates led him away along that shadowed corridor. “By His grace, you shall endure.”
Redman laughed at this. “‘His grace.’ A meaningless phrase, clung to by an order bereft of honor. Let’s see how much His grace allows your friend to withstand. Not much, I’d wager.” He followed the pirates and Tancrede into the darkness.
“Pray with me, brothers,” Godfrey said.
Landry crossed himself, closed his eyes.
“Lord, give strength to our brother, Tancrede. See him through his ordeal. Reward his courage, and his faith in You. Preserve him from the wickedness of those who would torment him. Bring him back to us, and grant us the wisdom to find our way home from this place. Amen.”
“Amen,” the rest intoned.
Over the next few minutes, most of the others retreated into their cells. Landry remained by his door. So did Godfrey.
He could see the commander more clearly now. Godfrey’s injuries distorted his features. His eyes were mere slits within the swollen skin.
“You should sleep, Landry,” he said. “You can do nothing for him from here. His fate is in God’s hands now.”
“No. It is in the hands of demons. Of men whose evil seems limitless.”
“By God’s grace—”
“God has forsaken us, Godfrey! Can’t you see that? Look around you! Look at what has become of us! Acre has fallen! The Grail is lost! And we are captives in a place no one knows exists! God’s grace is lost to us.”
“You forget yourself, brother,” Godfrey said, ice in his words. “You believe you know what God does and does not do? You would presume to judge Him, or declare that you can speak to His grace with more authority than the Lord Himself?”
His cheeks burned as if he had been slapped. “No! I merely—”
“You have lost faith, Landry.” Godfrey’s tone softened slightly. “I understand. It happens to all of us at one time or another. But you must find your faith again. Because before long, you will go where I have gone, and where Tancrede is now. And you will not survive that place in the absence of faith. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“Pray on it.”
He swallowed, nodded. Turning away from the door, he faltered. Draper watched him. Neither of them said a word. Landry retrieved his blanket, draped it over his shoulders, and sat against the wall. His hand shaking, he crossed himself again and prayed. He began with the Apostles’ Creed, though he and the others had, as usual, recited this together earlier in the night. As he finished, he thought he heard a cry from far off. He listened and soon heard it again. A scream. Tancrede, in torment.
You see? he wanted to shout to Godfrey. Where is God’s grace now? Tancrede is being tortured!
He kept this to himself. Squeezing his eyes shut, he recommenced his recitation. The Creed again, and again, and yet again. The words filled his mind, but failed to block out the horrors of Tancrede’s suffering.
He finished the Creed one last time and turned to the Angelus. Once. Twice. Five times. At some point, he realized he could no longer hear Tancrede, but this did not bring any solace. His friend had passed out, perhaps. Or died. Or been silenced by some brutality.
When Landry was done with the Angelus, he started Glory Be, and then a prayer of contrition.
But they were words and little more – noise in his mind to overwhelm his fear.
“Lord, where has my faith gone?” he whispered, tears running over his cheeks and into his beard.
He resumed his prayers, reciting one after another, until eventually he fell asleep.
When he awoke sometime later, he was ashamed. The last time he had drifted off while praying, he was a boy, newly taken on as a squire by Godfrey.
He intended to start the prayers again, but stopped himself at the scrape of a footstep outside his cell. Leaping to his feet and stepping to the door, he saw the two bald pirates supporting Tancrede, while another opened the door to the knight’s cell.
Tancrede looked even worse than Godfrey had. Blood glistened on his face, his neck, his naked chest. His bruises were so severe they rendered him almost unrecognizable. One of his legs hung at an odd angle. Landry feared it was broken.
He wanted to berate the men, but knew it would do no good. This was Redman’s handiwork, and he was nowhere to be seen.
“Bring him water,” he said instead.
The nearest of the men startled at the sound of his voice, but recovered quickly.
“We don’t take orders from you. If Redman wants him to have water, he’ll have it.”
The man’s face fell. He glanced at one of his companions.
“Maybe a little water couldn’t hurt,” he said. “Redman doesn’t have to know. He’s right: if this one dies, we’ll be blamed for certain.”
The second man hesitated, then nodded. They set Tancrede in his cell and locked the door. One of the men ran up the stairs, and came back only a few moments later bearing a small flask that Landry assumed contained water.
He entered the cell and reemerged seconds later.
“It’s in there, in the bowl,” he said to Landry. “His friend can see to the rest.”
Landry didn’t reply.
“Gawain?” Draper called from beside Landry. “Can you give him the water?”
“I can, but I doubt he can swallow it. He’s in a bad state.”
“Do what you can,” Draper said.
“You the Turcopole?” asked the pirate with the key.
Draper didn’t answer right away. For a few seconds, he only stared, like a man incapable of speech. Then a quiver went through him and he lifted his chin.
“I am.”
The pirate unlocked the door to their cell. “We’re to bring you next.”
Landry and Draper backed away from the door as they opened it. One of Redman’s men leveled a sword at Landry’s heart. The other beckoned to Draper. Draper crossed himself, half turned to Landry. Their eyes met. Landry knew he should say something, but he had no idea what. His emotions were too roiled, too conflicted. He had convinced himself that Tancrede would be proven right, that he would be next in Redman’s torture chamber.
He should have been the next one to go. Draper was a good man, honorable, brilliant, as brave as any knight in their Order. But he was more scholar than warrior. He didn’t deserve this. Landry should have said as much. He wanted to say as much. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to utter the words. Fear for his friend warred with a shameful sense of reprieve.
“Pray for me, brother,” Draper said. “As you have for the others. As I will for you.”
Landry nodded, his throat tight. Draper followed the men out. The man with the sword waited until Draper and the other pirate had exited the cell before backing out himself and shutting the door.