Knight of the Cross (7 page)

“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 numbers 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!”

Outnumbered more than six-to-one as they were, Sir Richard expected the guards to back down. Instead, he found his blade instinctively swinging up across his body as one of the tunnel guards tried to cut him in half.

As the steel met with a dull metallic clang the Hospitaller roared in anger. “Attack!” He batted his opponent's blade to the side, hammered his left, gauntleted fist into the man's face then stabbed him in the stomach.

The Greek guards appeared to have no fear of death though, throwing themselves recklessly at the Hospitallers, swords flailing wildly with cries of hatred bursting forth from their lips.

Jacob ducked as a sword whistled past his ear, rising to slam his right shoulder into his attacker's chest, throwing the man stumbling backwards. The sergeant pulled his arm back and rammed the point of his sword into his attacker's midriff.

The man fell to the ground, blood trickling from the side of his mouth, black eyes staring up at Jacob while making a strangely disturbing groaning sound that seemed to come from deep in his chest. 

On his other side, the dour Yorkshireman, Stephen, traded blows back and forth with another of the Greek guards, the sounds of steel on steel reverberating deafeningly in the arid night atmosphere before the guard slipped, falling to one knee with his sword hand outstretched to break his fall.

Stephen's longsword swept mercilessly down, hammering into the guard's neck with horrific force, the jolt shuddering along the Hospitaller's arm as his victim's neck was shorn through and the head toppled to the ground in a hideous gout of blood, only a long, thin flap of skin keeping it attached to the body.

In the space of a few moments the guards' numbers had been whittled down by more than half, but the remainder came on despite that, screaming in fury, their black eyes cold and apparently fearless.

Sir Jean de Pagnac stabbed his blade into one attacker's thigh, while Sir Richard turned and batted the final guard's weapon aside and leaned in to smash his forehead against the man's face.  As he fell, blood already beginning to stream down his face and around his thick lips, the Hospitaller leaned forward and slid the point of his sword into the man's neck, opening a huge wound that carried his life away in a wave of crimson.

In the calm that followed the shocking violence all that could be heard was the sound of laboured breathing as the victorious Hospitallers sucked in air, trying to regain their equilibrium.

The fight had been an easy one. Not one of the Hospitallers had so much as a scratch on them – indeed most of them hadn't even had to strike a blow.  And yet...

The ferocity and single-minded fury of the tunnel's unskilled defenders had shaken the soldiers who still had to make their way down the staircase in the sands and enter the foreboding tunnel.

Whatever drove these devil-worshippers was enough to impel them to fight to the death even against insurmountable odds.

“That was...strange,” Sir Jean said, looking at his knightly counterpart. “Badly outnumbered, and by this lot,” he waved a gauntleted hand back at the impressive-looking force behind him. “Yet those men chose to give their lives in defence of this shrine or whatever it is.”

“They fought like they were possessed,” Stephen agreed, looking around at the shadowy village. “This place has an evil, twisted feeling.”

Sir Richard wiped the blood from his blade on a dead guard's gambeson before sheathing the weapon and turning to face the rest of the men. “Indeed,” he looked at Sir Jean and Stephen. “Whatever's going on down here has pervaded the entire village. If we don't do something about it now, it could spread throughout the whole island and our Order will find itself homeless again.” He patted Jacob on the shoulder and addressed Sir Jean. “My sergeant and I have been told of another entrance to this tainted shrine, where hopefully we'll come face-to-face with the leaders of this  religion. We'll head there now, while you take the rest of the men down into the tunnel and make sure no-one escapes when I interrupt whatever blasphemous rite they're in the middle of.”

“Assuming that informant's information was right,” Jacob muttered.

“Leontios has led us right so far,” Sir Richard retorted. “I believe his story, now...let's move.”

Sir Jean de Pagnac nodded as his superior officer rode into the darkness with his faithful sergeant-at-arms, then ordered two of the mercenaries to guard the rest of their horses.

At the bottom of the staircase Stephen lifted the latch on the great door into the shrine and slipped inside, the remaining Hospitallers following at his back.