The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death (50 page)

What she feared most was Maxie finding them
before Mark regained his strength. Her only course of action was to
get him back to the barn, find the keys to his car and get away as
soon and as far as possible and then plan something.

She dragged the blood-stained sword closer to
her when she sat down beside him again and then placed it between
them with the hilt under his right hand. It was the best she could
do. She curled up next to him and laid her head on her hands.
Within seconds, she was sound asleep. As soon as she closed her
eyes and her breathing became regular, a dozen or more green and
yellow orbs, ranging in size from a few inches to more than a foot
across, drifted down from the leaves of the willow tree. The orbs
were ephemeral, quick-moving and silent as they danced about the
Knight's head, zooming in and out.

A tiny smile played across his lips when one
of them paused in front of his face.

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

Noon had come and gone. Valentino walked down
the corridor and onto the balcony in front of Merry’s room,
carrying her cup of chocolate, yawning. She had lost one, but
gained four. Not bad. She had four more bargaining tools to use on
Edgard d’Brouchart. All she had to do was hold them. Since they
could not die, she did not have to worry about feeding them or
providing them with water and so on and so forth. All she had to do
was keep them locked up. Keep them from escaping. Ultimately she
had no real plans outside of getting to d'Brouchart. She believed
that the Grand Master would be forced to show himself in order to
bargain for their release.

The thrill of her dangerous adventure boosted
her adrenaline and the sleepiness dissipated. D’Brouchart couldn’t
afford to lose four of them at one time and no matter how
precarious her situation had become, she was closer than ever to
achieving her goal. Her only real fear was the knowledge that
Ramsay was out there somewhere. He was dangerous.

“Have you checked on them this morning?” she
asked Maxie when he met her in the library.

“Yes, ma’am,” he lied. He’d not had the time.
“They are all trussed up and waiting to be cooked like a bunch of
Christmas turkeys.”

“Take me to see them,” she got up from the
desk and grabbed Gavin Nash’s old journal from the shelf before
following the man outside.

The four prisoners sat blinking in the glare
when Maxie flipped the switch in the basement wine cellar. Maxie
and a couple of her male guests had secured them with electrician
ties, nylon ski rope and bungee cords to the heavy iron racks
anchored to the wall. They leaned or slumped in various poses,
watching her in silence. A motley crew they were, but dangerous
none-the-less and she was not happy to have only Maxie in the house
for protection. If they were to learn the truth of her
vulnerability, she doubted that little strips of nylon plastic
would hold them. The weapons that Maxie had collected from them had
almost driven her to flee into town when she had seen the array of
razor sharp blades.

But the decorations on the hilts, gold and
silver made inlaid with precious and semi-precious stones and
wrought with tremendous skill and craftsmanship made them
irresistible. Her favorite was the black dragon with the ruby eyes,
but the silver and blue caduceus with its entwined serpents and
angel’s wings made her wonder which one of them it belonged to.
There was also a magnificent Egyptian motif rendered in silver and
inlaid alabaster, turquoise, bloodstone and ebony with finely
engraved hieroglyphs on the blade. She had to imagine that they had
been wrought by the same craftsman so fine was the workmanship. The
swords alone were worth a mint. Between her four prisoners, she had
captured ten daggers and knives of various design along with a
number of throwing weapons. Their weapons alone were worth a
fortune. She had wanted to hire a couple of the local fellows to
help them out, but she knew none she could absolutely trust and the
less people involved in this, the better. She eternally grateful
that none of the members of the Order of the Rose were overly fond
of the authorities and some of them were known be rather
unscrupulous souls. She had assured them that she would call the
authorities after they left to make sure none of them were involved
in the investigation. Those things could be rather messy.

Valentino walked in front of the four men,
staying well out of reach of the boots as she looked them over. She
could not help but wonder what secrets they held. According to
Gavin’s notes, each one held a mystical secret supposedly given to
them in some magickal ceremony during their initiation. They looked
like ordinary men to her in the harsh light of the barren light
bulbs. Even the dark one looked like a good haircut and a business
suit would have worked wonders. Only the short, blond one seemed to
have received any serious injuries the night before. From the looks
of her office, she would have thought one or more persons had died
violently there. His head hung on his chest and a bloody mat of
hair stuck to the back of it. In spite of the blood, his hair was
his best feature, golden blond like a child of four or five and she
had to resist the urge to touch it when she stopped in front of
him. He raised his head and looked at her with sad, almost clear
blue eyes and she shuddered. It seemed that he could look into her
very soul and an unusual pang of conscience stabbed at her. He had
the air of a priest or a holy man of some sort.

She avoided the dark one’s gaze as he watched
her steadily from deep, black eyes. She would not be interviewing
him; that much was sure. The young one with the pretty blue eyes
and curly dark hair could not have been more than eighteen or
nineteen years old. Probably an apprentice to one of the older men.
She had already tried an apprentice and found that they didn’t know
enough to suit her purposes. He watched her in silence with the air
of a young panther ready to spring. It would either be the sickly
blond or the olive complexioned one. The one who had masqueraded as
Herr Schroeder and flirted with her. She stopped in front of him
and he smiled up at her, crinkling the scar on his face. He winced
as the smile also caused pain in his latest injury: a deep purple
bruise on his left temple. Maybe she would get to ask him about the
scar after all. He was healthy, friendly, relatively uninjured and
seemed almost like the kid in the back of the room with all the
answers to the teacher’s questions. If his hands had not been
restrained, she would have expected him to raise his hand and say
‘Pick me!’ ‘Pick me!’

“Which one are you?” she asked him and took a
sip of her chocolate.

“I am Lucio Apolonio Dambretti, at your
service, madam,” he answered politely.

His smile could have melted the heart of the
stone cherub in the garden. She would definitely have to keep Merry
away from this one or else the same process might very well start
all over. Merry could be so hare-brained when it came to pretty
things. And the accent? Italian, of course, and Italians were
almost as famous or infamous as the French for being lady killers,
unlike the missing Scot who was more likely a killer of ladies.

“And what is it that you do for the Order?”
She returned his smile and took a sip of the chocolate.

“The Order? I put things in order. I read
books,” he said. “Old books.”

“What is your title?” She tried again.

“I am Chevalier l’Aigle d’Or. Knight of the
Golden Eagle,” he said and looked at her quizzically. “Does that
mean anything to you, signorina?”

She flipped through the pages of Gavin’s
handwritten notes to a spot marked with a red ribbon.

“Let’s see.” She held it up to the naked
light bulb and read aloud. “The Knight of the Golden Eagle. Keeper
of the Egyptian Secrets. Scholar of the Book of the Dead. He has
passed through the Mysteries of Egypt, of Osiris and Isis, and of
Serapis. He has seen the sun rise at Midnight and has been over the
threshold of death at Thebes. How romantic. He reveals the light of
the soul. Very impressive, but I have seen the sun at midnight in
Norway. These things do not sound mysterious or useful to me.” She
looked down at him.

“But you have not seen the midnight sunrise
at Thebes. It is much more… enlightening.” He shrugged and cast one
of his knowing winks at Christopher.

Christopher hoped that Dambretti had another
of his endless tricks in store for the woman and he would have
especially liked to see the Knight of the Golden Eagle take down
her ugly bodyguard. The man was beyond endurance with his insulting
remarks and vicious kicks. Worse even than Sir Beaujold. The
thought of Beaujold made his empty stomach turn over. The
vindictive Knight of the Sword was out there somewhere, pursuing
his Master and his Master was not well. If he had not seen how ill
Sir Ramsay had been the night before, he would have no worries
concerning the outcome of such a confrontation as that sought by
Beaujold, but…

“Bring this one, Maxie,” the woman jerked her
head at Dambretti and turned to her watchdog who now sported a
shotgun and a pistol. “I want to see how my method works on one who
is not brain damaged.”

Maxie handed her the shotgun, put the pistol
in his belt and knelt awkwardly beside the Knight. He used a small
pocket knife to cut the bands securing his wrists. He stumbled back
quickly when the Italian pushed himself up and stretched the kink
from his back. Maxie yanked the shotgun from Cecile and trained it
on the rather amiable Knight as he rubbed his numb hands together
and frowned in amusement at the man’s obvious terror. He could have
taken him, perhaps, but the shotgun was ready to fire and someone
might get hit… accidentally. Christopher was a real problem. The
others could take care of themselves, relatively speaking.

“Excuse me, Brothers,” Lucio spoke to them as
if he were leaving for a doctor’s appointment in a crowded waiting
room. He stepped carefully over their feet and legs. “I’ll just be
a few moments.”

“Go with God,” Simon spoke softly to him in
French.

“I’ll be back shortly, little Brother, do not
worry your head,” Lucio assured him in Italian.

As they started out the door, the dark one
struggled to his knees, straining his bonds against the bungee
cords holding him in place, making the iron shelving creak and
squeak in protest. She glanced back at him before closing the door
and he began speaking. His deep voice echoed ominously in the empty
concrete room.

“Heark ye, thou Whore of Babylon for thus
sayeth the Lord God Almighty I am the first and the last. I am he
that liveth, and was dead; and behold, I am alive forevermore,
Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death. And upon her forehead
was a name written, Mystery, Babylon the Great, Mother of Harlots
and abominations of the Earth. Repent; or else I will come unto
thee quickly, and will fight against them with the sword…” he
quoted directly from Revelations. “You would come against the true
Knights of Christ supposing yourself a daughter of Babylon?”

Valentino stood frozen in the doorway,
frowning deeply in confusion. His voice was enough to scare anyone
to death. His verse was one that had always frightened her.
Everything from the Book of St. John’s Revelations frightened her.
His question meant nothing to her outside the obvious insult. She
did not understand what he was asking her. The dark Knight’s frown
dissolved only to be replaced by something even more
incomprehensible: a smile.

“Shut up, you old windbag!” Maxie shouted at
him from outside the door.

“No, wait,” Valentino regained her composure
and turned her frown on the man. “This is really neat stuff. Let me
guess… you are the dreaded Knight of the Apocalypse? The dragon
sword belongs to you, doesn’t it?”

“He is not a joke, signorina,” Dambretti said
from behind her.

His tone was similar to one a father might
use to explain the inexplicable to a child and she did not like it.
“This situation is very serious. You would do well to let us all go
and hope we never return. A lovely woman like yourself should have
better things to do than tamper with the unknown. You do not
understand his question because your order is a fraud. A pretense
based on a lie. But it is of no concern to us. We did not come for
you.”

“Hmmph,” Valentino grumped and hesitated
briefly, then stepped back and locked the door, leaving the rest of
them in darkness. She followed Maxie out as he prodded Dambretti
with the shotgun. “There you go with the male, macho stuff,” she
said as they made their way down the tiled corridor. “You sound
just like Ramsay. Look at you. All of you. Such big, strong, brave
Knights of the Temple. Immortals, no less, and a mere woman has
taken you prisoner. It must really irk your pious asses.”

“Wine is strong, kings are stronger, women
are even stronger, but Truth conquers all,” the Italian quoted
something that sounded like scripture, but she did not recognize
it. She glanced over her shoulder at him and found him smiling at
her again.

“I’m glad we agree on something, sir,” she
quipped as she headed for the verandah. “It is truth I would like
to discuss with you.”

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

Chevalier Edgard d’Brouchart stood, hands on
hips, staring out at the distant limestone hills and outcroppings
from the third floor window of Miss Penelope Martin’s Bed and
Breakfast. The spines of the hills were exposed under the hot
midday sun like the dried bones of a mythical monster. Miss Martin
had been extremely cordial, but had informed them sadly that they
were a day late for all the excitement out at Miss Valentino’s
party. She escorted them up to the last empty room on the third
floor. Only a few of their friends who had rented the rooms for
them had returned from the country and were still probably out
there searching for the missing horses. It was awful, just awful.
Imagine! Thieves and burglars right under their noses. It would be
the talk of the town. And Miss Valentino’s big party had been
ruined. Miss Martin was sadly disappointed that some of her guests
had checked out early, not wanting to be involved in such goings
on. She had counted on a full house for at least two nights. It was
awful! Sad! Frightening!