The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death (44 page)

“It has to do with Mid-Summer. The Great
Ritual. Pagan rites. You should know. Like Isis and Osiris in a
manner of speaking. She will no doubt be matched up with one of
these… these… fellows before the night is over to perform sex
magick,” the Knight of the Sword crossed himself quickly. “They
profane everything, it seems. Even sex magick. The King of the Hunt
or some such will mate with her. An abomination. The pagans used to
use magick to ensure the success of the crops by pairing a young
virgin and a young man who had successfully killed a deer on this
night. Have you never studied the traditions of the Celtic people?
I should think that your association with Ramsay would have taught
you something about them. Besides, you were in Scotland with Robert
the Bruce, weren’t you? You’ve seen the chapel, haven’t you? You
should get your head out of the sand, my friend. Let’s go.”
Beaujold nudged him and started up the stairs.

“Virgin?” Lucio looked back down the stairs
at the French Knight, ignoring everything but the one word. “Do you
think she is a virgin, Brother?” He whispered the question to Simon
who was very close behind him.

“I do not think about such things,” Simon
told him. “But I doubt it. I am told that there are no virgins left
in America over the age of twelve. I’m afraid the great experiment
failed.”

“That sounds very sad,” Lucio frowned at the
healer. “Surely that can’t be true. Can it?”

Simon shrugged. He didn’t know if Lucio was
talking about America or the lack of virgins. He glanced back at
Christopher once to make sure the apprentice had not wandered off
and they walked casually up the same staircase they had only
recently carried a very heavy rug. When they reached the second
floor corridor, they picked up the pace and by the time they were
halfway up the second set of smaller stairs to the third floor they
were practically running. Beaujold drew up short in front of the
door to the bedroom where they expected to find Ramsay.

He made a silent signal and they drew their
swords in unison, all except Christopher who carried nothing but a
long dagger concealed under his jacket. He had no intention of
helping them kill his Master. Beaujold tried the door knob and
found the door not only unlocked, but slightly ajar. He pushed the
door open very slowly with the hilt of his sword. It swung inward
silently and he bolted inside, spinning around in the center of the
room as Dambretti and D’Ornan followed reluctantly, stopping just
inside the door. Christopher hung back in the hall, watching for
anyone who might come up the stairs behind them.

“He is not here!” Beaujold told them as they
looked around the empty room. “We must regroup.”

Dambretti motioned Christopher into the room
with them and then watched as Beaujold inspected the chair where
the pieces of blue nylon rope lay in a pile on the floor and two
pairs of handcuffs dangled from the arms of the chair. Christopher
could not help but smile. His Master had escaped!

They stood in a semi-circle looking down at
the chair as if waiting for Brother Ramsay to suddenly appear
there. They put away their swords and looked at each other in
confusion. The three Knights disagreed with Christopher’s
summation. Beaujold and Simon were both sure that von Hetz had beat
them to him. Dambretti did not voice his opinion, but he now looked
sincerely worried for the first time since they had mounted this
hare-brained mission.

“Who are you?” A female voice interrupted
their murmured comments and they spun on their heels as a group,
each reaching for his weapon. The blond woman in the lavender gown
stood framed in the open doorway, looking at them mildly as if she
found strangers armed with broadswords in the upper reaches of her
house on a daily basis. Beaujold dropped the section of rope he had
been examining to the floor and clamped his jaw shut, unsure of
what to do next. Dambretti removed his hand from the hilt of his
sword and smiled as he nudged Simon, urging him to do the same. The
young woman had exchanged the myrtle leaves for a crown of pink
roses. She looked like a fairy princess even to the sullen
Frenchman and the look in the man’s eyes was not lost on the
Italian. The man had normal feelings after all!

“Sister Discretion,” Dambretti stepped
forward, putting on his best smile as well as putting himself
between Beaujold and the lady. “We were looking for Sir Ramsay.
Your guest from Scotland. Sister Valentino sent us up to bring him
down for the ceremony.”

She looked dazed or drugged. The chair, the
rope and the handcuffs seemed lost on her. “I wonder where he has
gotten off to?” he added after a moment.

He heard Beaujold draw a sharp breath behind
him, but the princess’ eyes lit up as a smile played on her
lips.

“Did Cecile really send you?” She narrowed
her eyes sharply.

“Ah, oui, Mademoiselle,” Simon answered
quickly and laughed nervously. “The Chevaliere Valentino sent us to
bring him down for the ceremony. She was too busy to come herself,
you see. She said that he was waiting here… for us… for
someone…”

“For an escort,” Beaujold finally spoke up
and smiled, incredibly enough.

“Really?” Her face relaxed. “Then if you… If
she changed her mind… Then where is he? Oh, no…” She pressed one
hand to her forehead and looked around the room as if for the first
time and then frowned at the chair. She looked at the ropes and
cuffs in dismay and then swayed slightly as if she would faint.
Dambretti caught her by the arm, steadying her. “The Knights!” she
exclaimed and looked up at him wide-eyed. “The Knights of the
Temple have taken him.”

Beaujold stepped closer to her. “What
Knights? Quickly, child. Tell us. He may be in grave danger.”

“The Poor Knights of the Temple,” she told
them breathlessly. “His brothers from the Order of the Red Cross of
Gold. They took him away. Of course he is in grave danger! They’ve
come to kill him.”

The four men looked at each other in alarm.
How did she know this? Had Ramsay told her about them? Her comments
fit with Beaujold’s assessment and he smiled wickedly at Dambretti
as if to say ‘I told you so!’

“Von Hetz!” Christopher breathed to Simon. “I
told you so.”

“Where would they go?” Beaujold asked her and
she shook her head. “These Knights.”

“The basement,” Christopher supplied the
answer. “Isn’t that where his sword is?” He asked the young woman
in desperation. “They would want his sword.”

“Yes, I think so,” she nodded and her face
changed again as she squinted at the apprentice. “But who are you?
How did you…”

“The basement,” Dambretti repeated the word,
taking her by the arm again. “Can you take us there, my beautiful
fairy princess? We must hurry.”

“Sure. Yes,” she nodded her head vigorously.
“Yes, we have to hurry! This way.”

She gathered up her skirts and showed the way
down the back stairs to the kitchen. The servants paid no attention
to them as they passed through the pantry and disappeared through
the laundry room. She led them outside and around the house to the
slanted doors leading down to the basement. They could hear the
sounds of the party on the verandah only a few dozen feet from them
in the growing twilight. Her one thought was to get to Mark Andrew
before it was too late. There was no time to ask more questions. It
was obvious that Valentino had trusted these men with information
about Ramsay and Cecile had changed her mind about the ceremony
just to make her happy.

Merry pushed a series of buttons on the
control panel beside the doors and then stood back as Dambretti and
D’Ornan pulled them open. The stairwell was lost in darkness.
Beaujold and d’Ornan drew their swords and started down the stairs
cautiously. Dambretti followed them and Christopher brought up the
rear behind the woman. When they reached the foot of the stairs,
they stopped. The corridors led off in three directions. Dambretti
drew his sword and the singing sound echoed through the corridors
causing the short hairs on her neck to stand up. He seemed so
familiar to her. What was it about him? He did not fit into the
same mold as the other guests attending the party and his sword
seemed real rather than ornamental. The echo reverberated
unnaturally in her ears.

“Which way?” He turned his dark eyes on her.
Their eyes locked and she knew she had made a terrible mistake. It
was no wonder that this one reminded her of Mark. These men were
the Poor Knights of the Temple!

((((((((((((()))))))))))))

Philip Cambrique, Chevalier d’Orient, entered
the chapel cautiously, unwilling to startle the Master while he was
at prayers, dreading to tell him what news he had learned.

“Most Excellent Prince,” he whispered as he
knelt before the altar beside Edgard d’Brouchart. He crossed
himself as did the Grand Master and then they stood to face each
other. “Forgive the intrusion, but my news is most urgent… and
dire. I have just come from Sir Barry’s office. He reports that
Brother Ramsay’s apprentice, Christopher Stewart, is missing. His
clothes are gone as well. Armand de Bleu has been covering for him
for almost three days now.”

“The boy has run off to save his Master.”
D’Brouchart raised his eyebrows and nodded. “It was to be expected.
Why did they not lock him up? Admirable devotion. Impetuous, but he
is young. I might have done the same in his position.”

“Brother Barry had him sequestered, of
course. But it was Armand who masqueraded as the boy by way of a
secret entrance beneath the old building. It seems that they are
fast friends and have been spending time after curfew visiting each
other. It has happened before. Barry really needs to do something
about those isolation cells, Your Grace, though we can't really
blame him. The place hasn't been used in decades. Evidence shows
that the boys have been using the guardhouse for clandestine
meetings for years. Seems that all the students knew about the
passageways, but we did not, but that is a topic for another
discussion.” Cambrique lowered his eyes momentarily and grimaced.
“There is more bad news, Your Eminence. The Ritter von Hetz is gone
as well. His apprentice, like Armand, has been covering for him.
Sir Barry became suspicious and sent one of the Swiss Captains by
his chalet. He is not there.”

“No!" .” D’Brouchart’s face grew dark as he
spoke. "I expressly forbade him to go

“Yes, I know, Your Grace,” Philip sighed and
looked at the life-sized figure above the altar. A strikingly
beautiful rendition of Mary of Magdala carved from ebony, inlaid
with precious metals and jewels. Her glittering gold and amber eyes
looked down at him with deep compassion and sympathetic
understanding. Behind her on the wall was a very old portrait of
John the Baptist commissioned by Leonardo da Vinci, himself.
“Wolfgang said he left quite suddenly and unexpectedly in the wee
hours of the morning two days ago. He was most agitated, but bade
young Schumacher not to tell that he was gone until he was asked.
It seemed that Brother Barry never asked the apprentice if Konrad
was home when he called. You will remember that the Ritter
expressed his opinion quite openly that the Knight of Death should
be brought in, but he also made known his displeasure at not having
been chosen for the mission. He did not feel that Beaujold was the
proper choice to lead the mission.”

“Beaujold is hot-headed, but capable,”
d’Brouchart nodded thoughtfully as he flicked a bit of dust from
the velvet cloth under the statue.

“There is another matter of which Your
Eminence may not be aware,” the Chevalier d’Orient offered
hesitantly. “There has been a certain animosity brewing for several
decades between the Knight of Death and the Knight of the
Sword.”

“I am aware of it, Sir Philip,” d’Brouchart
looked at him disdainfully. “That is why I sent him. You will
remember that I also sent Lucio Dambretti. He is Sir Ramsay’s
closest associate and a counter balance for Beaujold. And who
better to mediate than Simon?"

“Of course, Your Grace,” Sir Philip lowered
his head in obeisance as d’Brouchart continued speaking.

“The Ritter von Hetz has known Sir Ramsay for
a very long time. He probably feels that even together, Beaujold,
Dambretti and D’Ornan are no match for him. He may be right. The
Will of God is done. If I made a mistake, then God has corrected
it.”

“Sir,” Sir Cambrique snapped his head up. “I
offer my services to you. I will go for them. I will take Brother
Hugh and Brother Louis with me. They are good men and true and
neither of them hold grudges. Nor do they favor Sir Ramsay above
the others.”

“What?” D’Brouchart glared at him and started
off at a brisk pace which Philip found hard to match. “And have
three more Knights out of pocket? I will go myself. It is what she
wants. I have it on good authority that she wishes to meet with me
from our operatives in the area and that is the purpose of all this
shilly-shallying about. I will go and try to salvage our Order
before we are all destroyed. The company of women! Bah!”

“But Your Grace,” Philip said breathlessly.
“Surely you will not go alone. You do not even have Anthony to wait
upon you.”

“Do I appear fragile to you?” D’Brouchart
stopped suddenly and turned on the man. His mere presence over
powered and cowed the Knight of the Orient.

“No, Your Grace,” Philip bowed his head
again.

“I will leave immediately,” d’Brouchart
started off again more rapidly than before. “I will take Sir
Montague with me. He knows his way around America.”

“Of course, Your Excellency.” Philip was
visibly disappointed. “I will make the arrangements.”

He slowed and watched the formidable figure
of the Grand Master disappear down the corridor. If anything should
happen to the Master before he could train a new apprentice to
replace Anthony, all would be lost as far as the experience and
wisdom of the Grand Master’s years of service and at best, he, as
Seneschal, would be called upon to replace the man temporarily
until his own apprentice could move up to be Chevalier d’Orient and
then he, Philip would become Grand Master. The thought was not a
pleasant one. He was not ready for the Honor or the Responsibility.
He shook his head and went off in search of Sir Montague. The
Englishman would not be happy. The Knight of the Holy City was
already in an uproar, though a quiet one, at having been summoned
from London to attend the Grand Master during this time of trouble.
The Seneschal had to smile as he recalled Barry's comic parody of
the accountant's attitude: "My God, Jim, I'm an accountant, not a
Knight of the Round Table!"