Knight of the Cross (6 page)

“Surely not,” Jacob growled. “Human sacrifice?”

Sir Richard watched as the couple were led to the altar and a large man approached them. He struck each of them brutally on the forehead with some knobbed cudgel and their protestations ended instantly as they slumped, either dead or unconscious, onto the floor.

It always amazed the Hospitaller knight when he saw people die in front of a crowd. This was the first time he'd been witness to a human sacrifice, but he'd seen plenty of hangings, beheadings and even more inhumane executions in the name of justice. Always, without exception, the normal people there to witness it – men, women and children alike – became so carried away at the sight of someone else's suffering that they'd scream and cheer and sing and make merry as if it were Yuletide. And when it was over, and the unfortunate victim was swinging from a gibbet, the people would head home – happy at their day's excitement.

This, though...this was a level beyond that. The crazed chant reverberated around the great room as the man with the cudgel stepped back to let the masked priest pass. The figure produced a long, wickedly curved knife and moved towards the first of the unconscious victims. He leaned down, running the blade across the man's throat methodically, as if the exact size and depth of the killing cut was somehow gravely important then, as the blood spilled from the horrific wound, he placed a cup underneath and collected it.

When the vessel could hold no more he stood up and placed it on the altar, producing another, similar cup from somewhere beneath the great stone monolith. He stood, as if catching his breath as the worshippers chanted and screamed in delight.

“Come on, we've seen enough,” Sir Richard said, silently offering a prayer for the dying couple's souls before grabbing his sergeant-at-arms by the sleeve and heading back up the tunnel towards the main door.

“Eh? Aren't we going to help her?” Jacob demanded, staring in horror as the loathsome masked priest bent next to the girl who was just returning to consciousness, her eyes opened wide in terror as the face of her would-be killer swam into view.

“How the hell are we going to do that?” Sir Richard shouted over his shoulder, running now, as if desperate to put as much distance between himself and the repugnant rite that was occurring in the cyclopean cavern behind them. “She's dead already! Now move, before they finish their filthy ceremony and start to head back to their homes!”  Tears of rage and sorrow streamed down his face as he ran, sickened to be leaving the girl to her fate but knowing there was nothing he could do to save her.

“Where are we going?” Jacob demanded, hurrying to catch his master. “What are we going to do?”

“First, we get out of here,” the knight replied. “Then we find Leontios – I have some questions for him. After that we'll head back to St Luke's and rest, before we take this news to the Grand Master in the morning.”

They reached the front doors and, swords still in hand, burst through, ready for any attack.

None came.

The guards they'd killed earlier hadn't been discovered and the village lay enshrouded in silence. All was quiet, just as it had been when they entered the hateful tunnel a short time ago.

As they passed the field from earlier on that day neither man was surprised to see the 'straw man' had returned, watching in silence from the gloom as they passed.

* * *

“Flat stones?”

“Aye, Leontios, stones that bear some inscription. We've seen them dotted around the town. What are they?”

The Greek merchant's eyes flickered nervously around the market and he shrugged his shoulders but the Hospitaller knight grabbed him and slammed him against the sandstone wall.

“Don't play with me!” Sir Richard roared, his voice startlingly loud in the quiet of the evening despite the bustling of the market. “You know a lot about these heretics – devil-worshippers – you even have the black eyes they all share, which suggests to me you were one of them at some point if you're not still some agent of theirs. I believe the symbol we've seen painted on flat stones around the town is related to this Dagon and his followers. Tell me what you know about it, now, or by God I'll see you tried as one of them!”

The man sighed and Sir Richard softened his tone, surprised to see a tear spilling down the merchants face. “Tell me what I need to know, Leontios and I'll see you well rewarded.”

The merchant nodded slowly, his expression unreadable as he pondered his options. “They… they gave us all a choice. Join them and reap the rewards when the Deep Ones return to reclaim their rightful place, or watch as our families die. I joined them but...” More tears streaked his face which twisted in anger as he continued. “My wife Alexis – a good Christian, incorruptible,” he smiled, gazing into space, “refused. As I should have!”

There was silence for a while until Sir Richard prodded the man to continue.

“They sacrificed her to Dagon.”

The sounds of the market continued around them as Sir Richard and Jacob watched the Greek merchant relive his wife's death, the pain evident in his damp eyes.

“I vowed then to see them stopped, but I could do nothing by myself and could approach no-one for help. The villagers are too frightened to do anything for fear of losing their loved ones and, until you arrived, there seemed no way to stand against them. The religion only came to prominence recently, brought here from somewhere in Mesopotamia I've been told, but I believe their underground cavern to be much older than any of the Christian buildings on the island. You've seen those bas-reliefs – they depict scenes from a time long forgotten by any historian. And the Dagonites seek to bring those times back; to destroy Christian, Muslim and Jew alike so their evil god and his brethren can enslave us all!”

“I knew this was all true,” Jacob mumbled fearfully. “I knew it...”

“Well, we're here now,” Sir Richard said, throwing a murderous glance in his superstitious sergeant's direction, “and our Order won't allow these blasphemers to continue their evil ways, I can assure you. Tell us what we need to know to stop them.”

Leontios nodded, hope flaring in his eyes. “They believe I'm still one of them; that's why I'm still alive. I discovered some wild mushrooms that, when ingested, make my pupils enlarge as theirs do when they...partake of Dagon's victims' blood...Don't ask me how it works, but it makes them insane – the blood-lust carries even good people away into a vicious madness. They don't remember what they did when they awake in the morning back in their own beds.”

“Is Father Vitus involved?” Sir Richard asked.

Again the merchant shrugged. “Almost everyone in the surrounding villages is involved in one way or another. But only those with black eyes are part of it; the rest do nothing through fear of retribution. It is said Dagon can enslave a soul, even in the afterlife.” He shuddered before continuing in a small voice. “Father Vitus is, I believe, Dagon's high priest.”

The knight was shocked by the man's assertion. It had become more and more apparent the Greek priest was involved, somehow, in the disappearances, but...high priest of Dagon? Nothing they'd seen in St Luke's suggested the man was so intimately involved in the twisted religion. His eyes were normal and when he prayed to God Sir Richard would have sworn the man was as devout in his Orthodox belief as the Hospitaller was in his own Catholicism. Sir Richard simply couldn't believe it.

The traders had packed away their wares by now and the market was silent around them and Leontios's face twisted in panic as he realised his collusion with the Hospitallers might be noted.

“Here, take this and sleep with it by your side.” He pressed a small, flat stone into Sir Richard's gauntleted hand and the knight examined it curiously. It was inscribed with the symbol they'd seen on the house on the outskirts of the town; a line with five smaller lines branching off it, like a tree. “It'll protect you,” the merchant promised, “as it protects the buildings you've seen with the same stones outside. I must go now – if they discover I'm helping you they'll kill me as they did my wife.”

He pulled away from the knight's grasp and headed off into the shadows. “Come to me again if you need me. But act quickly – Dagon is coming!”

* * *

Sir Richard's rest was plagued by dreams and nightmares that night. Dagon appeared again, the paralysis that had held the knight fast to the bed previously returning along with the monstrous stick-figure, who stood looking down on him from its faceless head high above. The terrified Hospitaller tried desperately to reach for his blade, or stand up, or even just to scream, but he was held motionless against the bed as the monstrous figure leaned towards him.

The knight had been close to death many times before but facing your own doom while holding your sword in your hand like a man was nothing compared to the crushing, hopeless sense of terror he felt as Dagon reached out to tear his unresisting body apart. An image of his two young sons came to him and a wave of sadness engulfed him as he realised he'd never see them again; never teach them to wield a sword, fish in the Calder or ride a horse.

Suddenly, just as the horrific head and slender arms were about to take him, the apparition shrank back and stood, motionless. A moment later, the black figure left the room and the knight rose with a strangled, choking cry, clutching the inscribed stone Leontios had given him.

Praise be to God, it had worked. The stone had worked!

Relief flooded through him and after a time his breath slowed, his heartbeat returning to it's normal, steady rate until finally, exhausted, he began to drift back into sleep with a small smile on his lips.

Then the realisation hit him like a crossbow bolt to the guts. After everything that had happened over the past few days, it finally sank in, and his breath caught in his throat again.

This is really happening – Dagon is real! Jesus Christ Almighty, protect us...!

They made their way to the dining area in the morning to find Vitus and Athenais who handed them each a plate with bread, cheese and smoked meats and cups of cool water before bowing respectfully to the men – never meeting their eyes as usual – and leaving the room to perform whatever duties she had that day.

“How's your investigation going?” the priest asked, watching his housekeeper as she left and sitting down at the little table with them as they broke their fast.

Sir Richard shovelled a lump of bread into his mouth and looked the little man in the eyes. “We know what's happening to the people that are disappearing,” he said. “And we're going to do something about it, just as soon as we finish this.”

Vitus raised an eyebrow but clasped his hands as if offering a prayer of thanks to God. “Tell me, are these people dead?” he asked.

Jacob nodded his head vigorously, spilling water from his mouth as he washed down a slice of salted pork. “Dead as anyone's ever been,” he said. “You should have seen it” –

“Enough!” Sir Richard growled. “We don't know if all the victims are dead,” he said, glaring at his sergeant. “And it's probably just as well Father Vitus
didn't
see it.” He turned his attention back to the Greek priest. “We'll be leaving as soon as we finish breakfast and will no longer have need of your hospitality, which we thank you for. You've been a good host.”

“Thank Athenais for us too, if you would, father,” Jacob nodded, eyeing the man grimly.

Vitus returned a thin smile. “I'll pass it on to her. I hope you can put an end to the evil that's roaming our streets.”

“We'll see,” the big knight replied, washing down a final mouthful of food as he stood up. “We'll see. Come on, Jacob. Time we returned to the fortress and reported our findings to the Grand Master.”

* * *

“Here? On my island?” Foulques de Villaret asked, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Are you sure about this Richard?”

The English knight nodded, his bearded face deadly serious. “I am, Grand Master. We saw the young man's throat being cut and it's obvious the girl was about to suffer the same fate as we left. The fact we could do nothing to help her will haunt me for the rest of my days. May God rest her soul.”

De Villaret sat down heavily, head tilted back, gazing at the ceiling. “I'll not suffer devil worshippers on this island. We must put an end to this blasphemy.”

Sir Richard nodded. “In God's name, we must.”

The knight had omitted many of the details of the last few days. He hadn't mentioned his dreams or their sightings of the eldritch straw man in the field. Such anecdotes would merely make him and Jacob sound like hysterical children.

“Take thirty men,” de Villaret said. “Brother-knight Jean de Pagnac will assist you; make up the rest from our mercenaries. It'll be good experience for them.” He fixed Sir Richard with an earnest stare. “If you can – find out the purpose of the sacrifices. But if you can't, just
wipe them from the face of the Earth!
”

The Englishman nodded. “I will, Grand Master, in the name of God and St John.”

He genuflected to his superior and left the chamber. A sergeant-at-arms spotted him as he walked and shouted for him to wait.