“Political cleansing,” Erelim translated.
“We’ve been charged with a hundred crimes,” Ario continued. “The Templars in central France were rounded up during the night of Friday the thirteenth. They’ve been arrested and are being tortured as we speak, along with Grand Master Jacques de Molay and his second in command, Geoffrey de Charney. A war without end is brewing between France and England over territory held by the Norman Empire, who took Britain at the Battle of Hastings before becoming the warring hand of the Church in the Crusades as they expanded through the Mediterranean. Since the Normans believe that they can conquer all of France, the Capetian Dynasty needs money to finance its growing troubles. Their King decided to rampage the Templar Order for funds and apparently Philip the Fair is using the Pope against us.”
Grayson scoffed. “How can he do that?”
“By killing popes until finding one who would be his puppet. They kidnapped Boniface VIII, who died in anguish during the ordeal, then Benedict XI was poisoned. They even moved the capitol of the Church from Italy to Avignon so that the Papacy could be easily controlled. Philip has sent word to all kingdoms, telling local magistrates that they have the official right to retake land donated to the Templars, to seize our wealth and murder any of us found among the population. We’re being hunted, knights everywhere are sinking back into the commoners or hiding among other military orders.”
“But not every king is against us, right? Where are our strongholds, where is it still safe for us?”
“In Scotland, where the nobles are out of favor with the Pope,” said Ario. “They seek help in fighting the tyranny of King Edward I in England. Knights have also taken refuge in Switzerland, taking our accounting records with them. The rulers of Spain and Portugal are friendly, as we have always sought to re-conquer their lands from Muslims. Consider our major centers in France to be under Capetian rule, and our ports in Sardinia will fall quickly if they have our naval fleet. The workers who built our castles along the trade routes to Jerusalem have always respected our values. The Masons will give us shelter.”
“There’s something we need to show you.” Erelim went to the loaded cart and removed the blankets to reveal their gold. “We came upon this in a ghost town being ransacked by Bulgarian mercenaries.”
“Bury it,” said Duncan. “It’ll weigh us down and attract attention. How long have you been here?”
“Two days,” said Tetricus.
“Then someone besides the farmer knows you’re here. The Hungarians traveled far to collect our skulls and we’re on their path home. If we’re being tracked, this gold is more incentive for them to follow.”
“We have to get moving,” Grayson told the rural brothers, who were already collecting the tents and horses.
“This load is too heavy,” said Ario. “Bury the sacks and bring some gold with our supplies on one cart, then we can give the other to the farmer with a bribe to stay quiet. If we need more money we’ll know where it is, but for now we need to travel light. The ports are being watched by agents of the Pope and mercenaries are cheap due to the famines of the north. We’ll head to where the Danube meets the Tisza and travel along the Carpathians into southern Thrace. We can hide in Romania until the arrests are finished and their attention falls back to feudal struggles.” As Erelim and Grayson dragged the excess gold off the cart and the attendants started digging, Duncan saw the orphan among them. “By the grace of God, how did you get here?”
“Stow away,” said the boy.
“You would’ve been safer in Constantinople. We’ll have to leave you with the farmer.”
“It isn’t your decision.” Edmund looked for paternal support from Xenakis, who was getting their horses ready.
“The boy can do as he likes,” said Erelim. “The safest place is with your friends.”
“This boy should have better judgment for who he wants to be friends with,” said Ario.
“My name is Edmund,” he corrected.
“Then listen to me, Edmund. We are attracting flies like the smell of rotting food. Animals will come to chew on us and you as well if you are near.”
The boy looked to Xenakis and repeated his words. “The safest place is with your friends.”
* * * * *
Erelim detached the cart from all but one horse and started off on the uncut path alone to take some gold to the farmer. As he reached the man’s hut, a yell came from inside and he pulled a dagger from his belt. At the door he saw knights in black metal torturing the farmer for the location of the Templar Sergeants. While his wife screamed from the bedroom of their small wooden home, he was praying for God to bring him justice.
A rush of air came from the doorway and a knife landed in the lieutenant’s throat. When he ripped it out in shock, blood poured freely from the wound and Xenakis rushed in with his sword swinging. After he beheaded the leader with a quick slash, the farmer broke loose and scrambled for his harvest tools. He picked up a sickle and sunk it into the closest knight, cutting his shoulder to the bone.
The soldier let out a hollow grunt through his helmet and knocked the farmer down. Erelim shoved him through the wooden slats covering the window and he landed outside, punctured by splinters from the decayed building. The last knight came from the bedroom with a spear, but with an upward thrust Xenakis slit him open beneath his chest plate and dropped him to the floor, where he breathed his last near the severed head of his commander.
The Templar opened the bedroom door to check on the farmer’s family. A pretty wife had once been a blessing, but her beauty became a fault when predators came for blood and she had been penetrated by more than the weapons that took her life. He caught his breath when he saw the children, a little girl and infant both cut apart without restraint. The scene of slaughter left him sick with guilt and he could hear the farmer sobbing where he sat by the front door, holding a vicious head-wound that drained him like a fountain. Erelim took a knee by the crying man without any consolation to give.
“They offered me a bribe to betray you,” the farmer choked as he pointed to a small sack of coins on the floor. “When they hurt my family, I told them everything. My wife...”
He broke down when he saw the knight’s expression. It was the look of someone who had faced the hell of existence, whose heart had been torn open by the same realization that there was no justice in life. The good die first and the rest are left to rot. Xenakis waited until the man passed away, then he went into the woods and untied his horse.
* * * * *
Back at camp, the Templars buried the treasure and collected their gear. The attendants sat in the cart with Edmund, keeping bows and quivers within reach and setting up shields to create a barrier around them.
“If it takes a thousand years, we’ll make the head of the King of France a relic of ancient tyranny. Are we ready to move?” Grayson asked after Xenakis returned, but everyone fell silent when the sounds of the forest were accompanied by voices in the mist. Erelim warned them about the Hungarians and the Sergeants walked beside their Scythian horses, letting their pages guide the unwieldy cart. To avoid drawing attention, they passed north of Sofia and continued towards Belgrade.
In the dissipating haze of the faded path, they came upon three knights blocking the road. Though they were wealthy, their armor was blackened with soot to lessen the sheen. The one in the middle stifled a laugh. “It seems that even the weather is against you. After you left Constantinople, your path became obvious. We put men on every road and paid some of the townspeople, even the priest, who told us what farms to search in the area. Our King will gain favor with the Church and the Pope will reward us nicely for your heads.”
“Or should we test your Magyar bloodline?” Tetricus goaded. “Your ranks are divided in this fog. I see little between us and freedom.”
Erelim rushed them before they could react and drove his shoulder into the Hungarian leader’s armor. Aft
er they both tumbled into the dirt, he pulled off the man’s helmet and bashed his skull in. Grayson used his sword to cut down the nearest horse and crushed the rider underneath.
The attendants dropped behind their wall of shields when bowstrings snapped in the distance. A wave of arrows came whistling by, and through the hail of wooden shafts, they fired back a barrage while Edmund stayed under cover. The ambushing archers started using burning projectiles, so he grabbed a shield and abandoned the attendants, who screamed when they were pierced with fire.
The last Hungarian’s frightened horse was hit by a stray flame and reared up, kicking Grayson off his feet. The knight lodged his blade in Duncan’s neck before Xenakis dragged him to the ground. Tetricus held his broken ribs as he climbed a surviving horse and Erelim mounted the other with Edmund, who blocked incoming arrows in their escape.
* * * * *
The ride was torture for Grayson, whose internal injuries were aggravated by every step they took. The night was cold after they ducked off the road, but with trackers following they avoided building a fire. The following day, they stopped at a trading post south of the Danube. With food and blankets bought with gold that was supposed to be the farmer’s, they returned to Grayson and found him losing color and complaining that he could not survive the pain of eating.
Xenakis poured water over the fire soon after cooking their meal. When he saw Edmund shivering uncontrollably, he gave the boy his blanket and watched him fall asleep. With forced breath, Tetricus changed position and closed his eyes. “Keep the fire burning for the child. There’s little sense in being uncomfortable when we’re doomed.”
Erelim listened to the clatter of the child’s teeth, knowing that the Hungarians would travel through the night to hunt them. The castles that once protected their principles were being reclaimed to dismantle the Templar Order. After the murder of their leaders, thousands of knights who survived persecution would no longer be able to speak the name of their virtue. Sinking into his dreams, he was hopeful that death would bring him closer to his family.
* * * * *
In the morning, they woke up hungry and watered their horses at a river before heading to the road. After a few miles, Tetricus pulled his animal to a stop. Erelim looked back. “What’s wrong?”
“Where are we going?” Grayson lowered himself to the dirt with a painful groan.
“We can travel past Belgrade, or find a church in Romania.”
“We’re moving towards Hungary, where knights wait to collect our heads.”
“What else can we do? We don’t have enough money to reach Venice and Constantinople is being guarded. If we turn back to retrieve the gold, we’ll be cooked alive.”
“There’s still one choice left, for me at least.” Grayson let his horse walk away and sat down as if it would be the last time he’d use his legs. “You two can find a chapel until the storm of the inquisition passes. Maybe God will grant you compassion and you can return to the treasure to live like royalty. I have already been damned, however, and a smart man knows when he’s defeated.”
Edmund jumped to the ground. “But only a coward admits it!”
“You are young, so pride lives bright within you. Someday you will be humbled by life,” Grayson said with a tone of finality. “Until then, I’ll wait here to meet my fate.”
“The enemy will follow this road,” Xenakis warned him.
“If I cannot eat, whatever they do to me will be quicker than slow starvation.” Tetricus smiled at Edmund. “Honor is the only path to take in life, but it will not bring you peace. You must choose to fight in the name of God because the only real victory is beyond yourself.”
The boy wiped the tears from his eyes and said, “I am fighting...”
“Be patient and pay attention. Life is not as complicated as we make it.” Grayson nodded to his fellow knight. “It was a pleasure bleeding with you, Erelim, though I would have preferred to die on a battlefield in Greece.”
“My soul is with my family in Heaven,” Xenakis replied. “When you see them, say hello for me. Your freedom and reward are near.”
Tetricus waved for the child to leave. “You were worth knowing, young Edmund. You’ll grow to be a warrior for God.”
He held up his hand until the two were out of sight, then he closed his eyes to get ready for the end.
* * * * *
Erelim put it out of his mind for the rest of the day, but Edmund was sullen during dinner. Through the endless forest, he wondered if he should tell the boy that Grayson likely killed himself after they left. Perhaps the boy was worried and letting an imagination dwell on suffering could be worse than knowing the truth. As a young warrior, his anger would always be a wound sending him headlong into rivers of blood. Those who followed the correct path were punished the most in life, but the child was a responsibility that Xenakis didn’t want. After all, he couldn’t die in silence if he wasn’t alone.
* * * * *
He woke with a small hand squeezing his arm and Edmund pointed over the hill. In a ditch along the foothills of the Carpathians, they peeked over the dirt-mound and saw knights traveling on horseback. There was a round sack tied to one of their saddles.
Edmund readied himself. “Give me your dagger, we can take them unaware.”
“We are a malnourished and pathetic army,” Erelim replied.
“I need a weapon if I’m going to be a man.”
“Use your hatred.”
“I don’t hate,” said the child, growing anxious as the procession grew further away. “I can’t bleed an idea.”
“It can certainly bleed you. Like when hubris sends a sleepwalking soldier and a boy to cut down a dozen knights.”
“I don’t understand where we’re going.”
“Have faith that all has meaning.”
The boy scoffed. “That’s stupid. That’s like jumping off a cliff while saying God will show me the way.”
“The world is meaning and meaningless, making the rise and fall of the infinite tide settle upon little more than whatever mood you might be in.”
“Worship the complicated then, worship love? Why would you tell me this now?”
“Because we’re headed north, where people are full of folklore.”
“I’m hungry.”
“I know you are, son.” Erelim walked to his horse, not realizing what he’d said.
* * * * *
They followed a burnt forest up the mountain path, riding through narrow passageways between stone cliffs. The skeletal trees were scattered on hills covered in charred brush. The sky was draped in a perpetual dusk when Xenakis drew his fingers along a boulder, revealing the black color as soot. “It must have been a bad fire.”
Edmund jumped off his horse. “Do you smell that?”
“I doubt we’re lucky enough to find roasted boar.”
“Fortune may be near,” said the exuberant child, who ran towards the aroma like a hunting dog with a scent.
He was too far to call back without alerting the entire area, so Erelim tied their horses to a tree and followed. In the distance came the laughing and banter of drunken men, who spoke in a foreign language that sounded like they had mouthfuls of food. With dark hair and protruding Gothic noses, they looked to be a mixture of every tribe along the Danube.
The filthy marauders noticed their visitors and invited them to join the meal. While asking the boy questions after handing him a piece of stale bread, Edmund chewed vigorously without understanding their language. Two of the men introduced themselves with verbal disputes over who was the leader of the pack that looked like the rejects of a military legion.
“Do you know Greek?” Xenakis wondered.
“Yes, I am Milos Obilic. I travel to Serbia often to trade. I know four languages, but two are only useful in picking up women.” He laughed with the others.
“Who are you?” the Templar asked, referrin
g to their war party. After Milos spoke proudly, Edmund asked for the translation. “They search for warriors of the Third Age. He says they’re on the trail of the Rebel Serpent.”
“They’re crazy,” the boy concluded.
Erelim asked more questions and Milos spoke with his co-captain, Radu. “They search for Zalmoxis,” he told Edmund. “They need his blood to protect them from the Goddess. Dragon’s blood?”
Milos nodded and handed him a mug that was being passed around. Their beards were crusted with red, but Erelim had assumed that they’d been drinking wine. “Be careful in this land,” said Milos. “There are shadows that swallow people.”
“What did he say?” asked the boy.
“It’s nonsense,” Xenakis replied. “Fairy tales.”
“Yes, be careful of faeries as well,” said Milos, nodding in recognition of the word. “They connect us with the elements, but some are friendly and some are not.”
“Who are you?” the Templar asked again.
“O quam misericors est Deus,” said the proud Radu, repeating their Latin motto. “And let us rejoice that God is merciful. We were created to protect the royal family.”
“We are the Order of the Dragon,” said Milos. “We search for the Order of Thelema, the Archons of the new way.”
“What did he say?” the boy inquired.
“He said they seek the Order of the Will.”
“We were sent to war against vassals of King Sigismund,” said the Romanian. “But now is the battle for the coming of the Third Age. The Archons have arrived to help us return to the Pleroma.”
“You mean humanity?” said Erelim. “You follow Gnostic philosophy?”
“The Dragon Goddess hides here, banished from Sumer. She is the chaos of creation,” said Milos, as if the truth encouraged their lascivious behavior. “Revolution is coming and all of humanity will be reborn.”
“What’s he saying?” the orphan asked.
Xenakis shrugged. “It’s a myth I’ve never heard before.”
“Osiris of the Underworld must unite with her, then Heaven and Earth will meet on the horizon.”