Blades of Valor (9 page)

“As you know, King Arthur’s Merlin was once a Druid. His knowledge of science and potions gave him seemingly magical powers among ordinary people. Then Merlin turned his back upon the Druids and founded Magnus all those centuries ago. There, he taught others the Druids’ skills to be used against them, dark skills, so dark that through hypnosis we can change a man’s mind, much as Thomas was caused to bury his childhood memories so very deeply. But these skills can also be used for good, and Merlin’s new Immortals used them throughout the country to combat the Druids in hidden warfare. That generation taught another generation to do the same, and that generation another, so that down through the centuries, the Druids could never reach their ultimate goal. Magnus served us—”

“I know this,” Katherine said wearily. “The story is told when we come of age.”

Sir William smiled. “It is important enough to repeat. And I want you to think of it as you force your heart away from Thomas.”

The knight resumed his tale. “Magnus served us well. For hundreds of years, the Druids did not know of our existence, and time and again, from secret positions in society, we defeated them. Even after the Druids finally discovered our purpose, they could not locate Magnus, and when they finally knew of the island castle, it took generations for them to conquer it, barely years before your birth. Their surprise attack and ruthless slaughter twenty years ago all but destroyed us. Only a few survived.”

Sir William closed his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was strained.

“You must understand, Katherine. Each generation has sacrificed all to fight the Druids, a terrible battle hidden from the people. Now that Magnus has finally fallen, now that there are so few Immortals, the Druids boldly and openly begin to control the people. They now seek to complete the terrible act that Merlin fought to prevent through the founding of Magnus.”

“Am I to know of this act you reference?” Katherine asked. “Hawkwood always said I must not be burdened with the knowledge.”

Sir William searched her eyes and made his decision. “You shall be told, although few are. And you shall be told as we travel to the Holy City, Jerusalem.”

“What of Thomas?” Katherine asked.

“There are still knights of the Crusade hidden in this land. They will be told. Thomas must be executed on sight.”

Eighteen

O
n donkeys, they traveled in a staggered line. Umar, one of the men who had posed as an assassin in St. Jean d’Acre, ranged the dusty road several hundred yards ahead of Katherine and Sir William. The other, Hadad, kept pace an equal distance behind. Both were alert for any signs of ambush and would cry warning at the first indication of a bandit attack.

It was not until they had departed from the high hills, so treacherous with hiding spots, and reached the road to Damascus in the Valley of Jezreel that Sir William felt relaxed enough to drop his constant search of the land around him and finally begin conversation.

“Soon enough,” he said, “we reach the valley of the River Jordan. There, we will turn south and follow the river to Jericho. Another road will take us into the mountains of Jerusalem.”

“You know a great deal about this land,” Katherine replied. A breeze swept through the valley so that the travel was almost comfortable. Were it not for the hard saddle and the uneven gait of the donkey, Katherine might enjoy the journey, for in all directions the distant hills carved a hazy horizon against the pale blue sky. But even with physical comfort, her mind and heart grieved for Thomas, and that clouded any joy she might feel in the freedom of the wide expanse of the valley.

“I know little.” Sir William contradicted her with a smile. “What I know comes from conversation from the two who guard and journey with us. For generations, their families have served the Crusaders.”

Katherine was not sure that she wanted to discuss the matter that filled her with so much distress. Now that Sir William deemed conversation more appropriate than constant vigilance, she wished to keep him from the subject of Thomas for as long as possible.

“Tell me,” she asked, “how is it that knights of the Crusades still live in this land?”

Above them, a hawk circled and screamed. Sir William glanced upward and the tanned skin around his eyes crinkled as he squinted against the sun.

Then his shoulders relaxed and he faced her again. His blue eyes were serious as he studied her.

“For two hundred years,” he began in response to her question, “the Crusaders fought and struggled to keep this land. Enough years that entire generations were born here. Indeed, many were the noblemen who had the opportunity to return to the homeland of their fathers, yet refused. The castles established here, after all, were their true homes.

“Then the Mamelukes finally swept the land. They destroyed the castles and all the power of the Crusaders. For many who survived, it was impossible to return to Europe. For others, unthinkable. They began to wander the Holy Land, for as wanderers, they could avoid the Mameluke soldiers easily, much as we do now by traveling in a small group and in the native dress of the people who live here.”

The hawk screamed again, and Sir William paused to watch in admiration as it dove in a magnificent rush. The hawk disappeared briefly in tall grass, struggled and flapped its massive wings, then rose again, screaming in frustration that its talons were empty.

“These knights are not Immortals,” Katherine said.

“No,” Sir William said. He understood the question behind her statement. “Would that there were now many of us to continue the fight. But we have no Magnus here in the Holy Land, no haven to impart to them the secrets and knowledge we use to combat the Druids.”

He smiled again. “However, the knights recognize fellowship and, here among enemies, have learned to assist one another where possible. You might be surprised at how quickly news can travel from outpost to outpost, through messengers trusted by these knights. I myself have many friends among them. Not Immortals, but good and capable men.”

The conversation stopped and the silence between them weighed heavy. For both knew the other’s thoughts.
Good and capable men now seeking Thomas for the purpose of his death.

The donkeys swayed and plodded their sure steps for several more minutes before Katherine dared speak aloud again.

“Yesterday,” she whispered, “you told me I would understand why Thomas must die.”

And to herself she continued,
As if that is consolation for the pain I bear.

“You, I am certain, know much of the politics of men,” Sir William said. “For Hawkwood would have trained you as thoroughly as any Immortal in the old schools of Magnus.”

Katherine nodded. What was there in politics that the man she loved would so coldly betray her? What was there in politics that demanded the man she love be sentenced to death?

“There is also the politics of religion,” Sir William said. “Something I wish were not so.”

“Religion is a matter of God, is it not?” Katherine asked.

“I am not sure how Merlin himself might have explained it,” Sir William said, “but these are my private thoughts.”

Despite herself, and the dull pain of loss of hope in Thomas that made her ache every moment, Katherine felt intrigued.

“I prefer to think of faith as separate from religion,” Sir William explained. “Faith is from God, the joy and peace He gives us with our belief in His eternal presence and with the belief in His promises to us. Faith, thus, is the private communication between God and each of us.”

Katherine nodded. For had she not spent many hours in prayer? Had she not consoled herself countless times with such faith in her God?

“Religion,” the knight said, “is man-made. It is the necessary structure here on earth for men to learn and teach this personal faith. The church, then, though imparting the truths of God, is made and maintained by men. Church buildings are man-made; so is the structure of the religion. We have a pope who oversees bishops, who in turn oversee priests, who in turn oversee the common man.”

Katherine nodded again.

“Still there are many men of true faith. Thus, God ensures that faith is passed from generation to generation. Yet because religion is of this earth and of men, it is flawed. Some men use the structure of religion for their own purposes and claim faith merely for the power it gives them within the structure. You have seen, I am sure, bishops fat and well clothed while the poor starve naked before them.”

“Yes,” Katherine said. “This troublesome fact leads many to doubt the truth in religion.”

“Truth in
religion.
Is there truth in the stone walls of a church? No. The truth is in the contents of
faith.
One must look beyond the stone walls of the church to see it, just as one must look past the structure of religion.” Sir William paused as he searched for words. “The fat, greedy bishops are imperfect, but this does not mean the message they bring is equally imperfect. The structure in which God passes along faith is far from perfect, yet this does not mean the truth delivered by the structure is imperfect. Faith itself—the ultimate truth of God and His Son—is pure.”

Katherine considered the knight’s statements, then despite herself, laughed aloud, a laugh tinged with pain.

“I did not jest,” Sir William protested.

“I find irony in a philosophical discussion while my heart grieves over the physical death of Thomas.”

“Yet that is my point,” the knight said softly. “Because of religion, Thomas and the Druids are deadly dangerous. Can you not see what might happen in England?”

Katherine said nothing in response. But her knuckles were white with tension as she waited.

“How long will it be until the Priests of the Holy Grail have convinced town after town to abandon one religion for another? How long until the priests of the Roman church are powerless?”

The knight closed his eyes as he spoke. “The king of England receives his power because the people believe he rules by the authority of the church and by the authority of God. What then, when the people no longer believe in that authority? What happens to the entire nation?”

By his tone, these questions were not meant for reply, so Katherine said nothing.

“It is not enough horror that the Druids plan to take from the people their faith; they also plan to take total power through devastation of the land.”

“How?” Katherine asked.

“Through a method that Merlin could not abide, a method that turned him against the Druids who raised him.”

“How?” Katherine repeated.

“Do you remember the Earl of York? How generations of his family followed the orders of any secret messenger who showed the ring of the Druid symbol?”

Katherine nodded. She had been told the story by the earl himself, from his place of imprisonment, a dungeon in the town he had once ruled.

“Do you remember what happened to the one ancestor who did not obey a messenger’s commands?”

Katherine frowned in thought, then said, “The earl spoke of a curse that killed his great-great-great-grandfather.”

“Yes. Worms consumed that ruler’s body, though he was still alive. It took seven days for him to die, seven days of screaming agony.”

Sir William clenched his teeth. “The Druids have a simple method to cause such death. A potion to cause deep sleep. Then a small portion of honey placed in a man’s ears, and small parasites dropped within.”

Katherine nearly retched. For the ears led to the inside of a man’s head. How deeply those parasites would burrow. How would it appear as they grew and spilled forth later? As if worms consumed the man.

“Yes,” Sir William gritted in response to her reaction. “Evil horror.”

He took a deep breath. “Katherine, imagine this. The masses of people begin to believe the Priests of the Holy Grail. And at the slightest sign of rebellion, the firstborn of every family dies such a death. Perhaps even before rebellion, the firstborn of the rulers die in such a way. No man would resist. England would be theirs.”

He clenched his fists. “Our education gives us the history of mankind. Five hundred years of dark ages have passed, dark ages when knowledge was scarce and all people were held in chains by ignorance. Only now has the light begun to appear. Advances in medicine and science are upon us
and, through the written word, are shared from man to man, country to country. Mankind now begins to advance!”

Sir William stopped to draw another breath. His voice was urgent. “Katherine, there may come the day when fair laws protect every man, when abundance of food and medicine lets a common man live to be forty, yes, even fifty years of age! When it will be common to read, so that all receive the pleasure you and I do from books! When ignorance is dropped and because of it, leaders of men must respond to the will of the people! This day may someday arrive, even if it takes generations after you and I have left this earth. A day when such abundance and ease of living causes nations to exist in peace.”

Katherine found herself holding her breath to listen to Sir William’s passion.

He stopped suddenly, then dropped his voice. “If the Druids conquer and begin to rule, they will bar the people from knowledge, for their own power is derived from the ignorance of the people. They will end this slow progress that has been made by the learned men of our country. And these ages of darkness—” He faltered. Sighed. Met her gaze. “These ages of darkness will be upon mankind for centuries more.”

Nineteen

T
ell me,” Baldwin said with a sneer to Rowan, “how is it that you know that Geoffrey Harcourt is your father?”

“My mother told me,” Rowan said, showing no irritation at the question. “He married her in a private ceremony in the last year that the Crusaders held Acre. She was born there, not in England. She learned English from him and, in turn, taught me. As did she teach me the code of the Knights Templar, as a way to honor his memory.”

Isabelle watched the exchange with quiet amusement. The three of them stood beneath the shade of a palm tree near a well at the outer edge of Jericho, well south of Nazareth, some sixty miles of travel down the Jordan Valley.