Knight of the Cross (8 page)

* * *

Krymmeni Thesi's church was a small building, but sturdily built from the local sandstone and appeared well maintained. There was a large three-barred crucifix above the small but functional altar and crude but pleasant enough paintings showed scenes from Christ's life, death and rebirth.

It seemed to be nothing more than a normal Orthodox church. There was nothing openly sacrilegious about the place. No obscene bas-reliefs had been carved into the walls and the book that lay open on the marble altar was just a bible.

As they tied their mounts to a post outside Sir Richard held up an armoured hand and the two soldiers stopped in their tracks, breath held, senses straining.

The sound of men speaking could be heard, muffled by the heavy stone and oak construction of the building, but it appeared to come from the vestry, to the rear of the altar through a narrow doorway.

The knight drew his dagger, knowing a sword would be nothing more than a hindrance within the cramped confines of the church and Jacob followed his lead as they crept through the doorway, the muted voices becoming louder as they went.

“Leave one alive,” Sir Richard whispered.

They walked silently into the vestry where two Greeks stood chatting. They had short wooden sticks by their sides and looked dangerous, each of them being a fair bit taller and broader than either of the Hospitallers.

“Hey!”

The men spun at the unexpected voice, hands reaching out instinctively for their weapons, large dark eyes wide at the intrusion.

The nearest of them roared in anger and charged, his massive bulk bearing down on Jacob, ready to slam the smaller Englishman into the wall.

Before he could reach the sergeant Sir Richard threw himself shoulder first into the charging Greek, slowing his momentum and sending him barrelling sideways into the wall. At the same time the knight punched his dagger deep into the man's groin, feeling warm blood spill onto his hand despite the gauntlet he wore. He pulled the blade free and the man landed with a gasp on his backside, the breath blown from his lungs and his life-force oozing from the mortal wound.

The second of the men stood stock-still, eyeing the Hospitallers warily, but with no fear in his black eyes, only anger.

“What do you men want?” he demanded.

“We need to know how to get into the underground cavern,” Sir Richard replied as he moved forward, Jacob following a little way to the left, giving their opponent two oncoming targets to worry about.

The man's gaze flicked between his silently approaching opponents, sweat beading on his finely wrinkled brow. “I wouldn't tell you Catholic scum where it is,” he spat. “Even if I knew.”

Beneath the ground, the rhythmic sound of a chant could faintly be heard and Sir Richard knew they had to act fast before any more innocents like the earlier night's couple were sacrificed.

“Get him,” he grunted, launching himself at the man who tried desperately to defend himself, swinging his wooden cudgel around and grinning as he felt it connect with the knight's bicep.

The cultist's pleasure was short-lived though, as Jacob moved in and hammered his chain-mailed elbow into the man's mouth, smashing teeth and bone.

Reeling but still alert, the guard's cudgel came round again, but Jacob threw his arm up, deflecting the blow harmlessly to the side and again battered his elbow into the cultist's face.

This time the man stumbled and fell, landing shakily on one knee, and the sergeant-at-arms punched him in the side of the head, knocking him to the ground where he lay, cursing under his breath but too groggy to rise and defend himself.

“How do we get down there?” Sir Richard demanded, grasping the man by the hair and yanking his head up viciously.

“Fuck you!”

The Hospitaller slammed the pommel of his dagger into the cultist's cheek, drawing a howl of agony from the man whose sinister black-pupiled glare turned at last from defiant to frightened. He tried to mask his anxiety by spitting in his inquisitor's face, but didn't have the strength and the bloody glob ran down his chin pitifully.

“Listen to me,” Sir Richard said. “You can get out of this alive if you tell us how to get into the cavern from here. We're going to torture you until you do. So tell us now and save yourself a lot of pain.”

The man thought about it for a moment, emotions creasing his sun-darkened face as he struggled to decide what to do before, almost hysterically, he screamed another “Fuck you!” at the Hospitallers.

The chanting from underground had grown louder. They didn't have time for this.

“Tell us, now!” Jacob roared, stamping down on the cultist's calf. The crack of bone snapping echoed around the room and the man screamed in rage.

“Tell us!” Sir Richard repeated his sergeant's order, but the whimpering man simply shook his head.

Jacob leaned down, dagger in hand and pressed the tip against the man's rectum. “You
will
tell us, right fucking
now,
how to get into that cavern or I'll stick this up your filthy arse.” He pressed on the blade, the point piercing the man's clothing and drawing blood.

It was enough.

The heretic, tears of humiliation coursing down his cheeks, told them what they wanted to know before Sir Richard knocked him out cold with another blow to the side of the head.

“We're leaving him alive?” Jacob asked incredulously as his master tied the man's hands behind his back and left him face down on the hard stone floor.

“Aye,” Sir Richard replied. “He told us what we wanted to know, didn't he? He's no threat now so I'm not murdering him while he lies there unconscious, there's no honour in that. Come on, let's get into that cavern!”

* * *

The chanting had grown louder as Stephen and Sir Jean de Pagnac led the Hospitaller force along the gloomy corridor to the cavern. Whatever ceremony the blasphemers were performing tonight was well under-way, judging from the near-hysterical shouting that assailed them as they neared the great chamber.

“Our job is to stop anyone from escaping,” Sir Jean reminded the men behind him. “Don't kill anyone unless they're a threat. Hopefully these blasphemers will come along without a fuss.”

Stephen laughed, cocking an ear in the direction of the chanting. “Are you hearing what I'm hearing?” he asked his master. “You think that lot are going to come along quietly, without a fight?”

Sir Jean spread his hands wide, the torchlight flickering off his immaculate blade. “We can but hope,” he replied. “My sergeant is right, though,” he said, louder, turning so the mercenaries behind him would all be able to hear his words. “It's more than likely these people will defend this insane god they worship with their lives. So be it. If they attack us, kill them without compunction. If we can take prisoners, though, so much the better. A show trial and public executions will deter others from following this filthy 'god' of theirs.”

As they neared the cavern they saw more guards arrayed before them. The devil-worshippers had learned their lesson from Sir Richard and Jacob's previous visit and had placed half-a-dozen armed men at the end of the tunnel to stop any more intruders. They hadn't expected a force as large as this, obviously, or there would have been more of them, but even so, Sir Jean knew after their earlier fight with the guards at the front door that these men would not back down, even in the face of their imminent doom.

“Take them!” Sir Jean ordered, pointing his sword at the guardsmen, who all had the same sinister black-pupiled eyes as well as bucklers and short-swords. One of them detached himself from the main party and sprinted down the nearest flight of stairs, no doubt to raise the alarm. “Take them!” the knight repeated.

The men behind him, Stephen included, streamed around him, swords drawn, and engaged the blasphemers efficiently and ruthlessly.

Although the men under Sir Jean's command weren't brother-knights, or even sergeants for the most part, they did wear decent quality light armour, carried sharpened blades of high-quality steel and had been given good training. The guards on the other hand were simple villagers. Poorly armed and untrained they fought with the fury and single-minded belief of religious fanatics, but they were too unskilled to stand against the Hospitallers and the one-sided battle was over within moments.

Sir Jean moved past the bodies to look down on the still chanting congregation below. The guard that had run to raise the alarm was waving his arms towards the altar but the shouts of “Arra! Arra! Arra! Dagon! Dagon! Dagon!” filled the air as the masked priest bent to cut the throat of a woman who struggled against the burly worshippers holding her down against the cold stone until her life-force drained from her body and she lay still.

The priest obviously couldn't hear the guard's warning, and the congregation were too far gone in their murderous ecstasy to take any notice of yet another excited man shouting at them.

Stephen stared at the horrific tableau beneath, his eyes flaring in outrage at the sight of the dead woman and the two children that stood, screaming in grief and terror behind her lifeless corpse. He turned to look at his master, Sir Jean de Pagnac. “In God's name, we can take no prisoners here,” he growled. “These bastards deserve no mercy.”

The French knight nodded. “I agree. We should wait until Sir Richard appears though. If we just start wading into them the priest might escape out the back door in the confusion and take his twisted religion to some other village.”

“Well Sir Richard better hurry up then,” the sergeant-at-arms replied, turning back to the hideous ritual below. “It looks like the priest has a young woman to sacrifice after the two children.”

* * *

As they hurried through the dark tunnel underneath St Luke's – a cramped, low affair this one, which looked like it might collapse upon them at any moment – Sir Richard and his cursing sergeant-at-arms could hear the euphoric shouts of the gathered worshippers and knew it signalled the end of some other poor bastard's life in the name of this ancient Dagon.

“Come on!” Sir Richard raised his pace as the chanting, rather than falling away after the sacrifice, continued at the same volume. “They must have another victim lined up!”

Their cautious jog became a breathless sprint, the desire to prevent the death of yet another innocent proving greater than their own sense of personal safety.

The tunnel was short, praise God, and they barrelled into the great cavern, blades held before them defensively as their eyes adjusted to the light and their ears rang from the chants of the gathered throng.

“Arra! Arra! Dagon!”

The masked high-priest stood at the sacrificial altar which had by now been cleared of its previous incumbent, ready for the two sobbing children that were held by the two burly heretics behind the altar.

“They've got the children from St Luke's,” Sir Richard muttered, watching in horror as the corpse of the woman whose husband had been taken in his sleep by Dagon was dragged over to the grimy stonework that channelled the sacrificial victims' blood below and dumped into it like a sack of rubbish.

“Stop them!” Sir Richard screamed, legs pumping as he tried to cover the distance to the stone altar, Jacob following in his wake. “In the name of Christ, stop them!”

The children were lifted onto the great stone altar and held down by the worshippers before the priest moved from one to the other with his wicked sacrificial knife. Their high-pitched cries trailed off, blood streaming onto the stone below and the priest calmly walked over to stand behind the young woman who watched as the terrible rite was carried out. 

“Athenais!” Jacob cried, taking in the scene before them in shock. “They're going to sacrifice Athenais next!”

The priest turned as he heard the girl's name shouted, tearing the mask from his face to stare, glassy-eyed and confused at the intruders who were running furiously towards him.

“Christ above..” Sir Richard's sword dropped as he realised who it was. Father Vitus. Leontios had been right!

“You little bastard!”

Jacob roared in fury at the sight of the murderous priest standing before the pretty girl he'd grown fond of and lunged at the Greek who had brought them into this whole thing in the first place. Father Vitus never even attempted to move as the point of the Hospitaller sergeant's longsword hammered into his chest and tore through his back in a shower of blood.

The chanting had slowed and finally, now, stopped, as the bemused congregation looked on, unsure what was happening.

The priest's legs slowly gave way and the dead weight was too much for Jacob to hold. He pulled the blade free with a damp sucking sound that seemed to reverberate around the cyclopean cavern.

Sir Richard looked up towards the balcony above and found Sir Jean. “Take them into custody!” he roared into the silence. “Kill any who resist!” He stood, numb, looking down at the children who, just a few nights earlier, had cried out to him in St Luke's when their father had been taken in his sleep and tears spilled from his eyes. How could he let this happen to them? An image of his own young sons – Simon and Edward – filled his mind and he began to sob with the horror of it all.