Stephen Lawhead - Celtic Crusades 02 - The Black Rood

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PART I

November 10, 1901: Paphos, Cyprus

The summons came while I was sitting at my desk. The afternoon post had

just been delivered - the office boy placing the tidy bundle into my tray -

so I thought nothing of it as I slid the paper knife along the pasted seam. It

was only upon shaking out the small cream-coloured card that my full

attention was engaged. I flipped the card over on the blotter. The single

word, 'Tonight’ written in a fine script, brought me upright in my chair.

I felt my stomach tighten as an uncontainable thrill tingled through me.

This was followed by an exasperated sigh as I slumped back in my chair,

the card thrust at arm's length as if to hold off the inevitable demand of

that single, portentous word.

Truth to tell, a fair length of time had passed since the last meeting of the

Inner Circle, and I suppose a sort of complacency had set in which

familial household was to be appropriated for a meeting of certain august

members of the Ladies' Literacy Institute and Temperance Union, a gaggle

of well-meaning old dears whose overabundant maternal energies have

been directed to the improvement of society through reading and

abstinence from strong drink - except sherry. Worthy goals, to be sure, but

unspeakably dull. Instantly, my resentful resignation turned to unbounded

elation; I was delighted to have a genuine excuse to forego the dull

agonies of an evening which, if past experience was any indicator, could

only be described as boredom raised to the level of high art.

Having shed this onerous domestic chore, new vistas of possibility opened

before me. I considered dining at the club, but decided on taking an early

supper so as to leave plenty of time for the cab journey to the chapel

where the members of our clandestine group met on these rare occasions.

With a contrite heart made buoyant by a childlike excitement, I

contemplated the range of alternatives before me. There were several new

restaurants in Hanover Street that I had been meaning to try, with a public

house nearby recommended by a junior colleague in the firm; off the leash

for the night, I determined my course.

When work finished for the day, I lingered for a time in my office,

attending to a few small tasks until I was certain the office boys and junior

staff had gone, and I would not be followed, however accidentally. I feel it

does no harm to take special precautions on these infrequent occasions; no

doubt it is more for my own amusement than anything else, but it makes

me feel better all the same. I should not like even the slightest carelessness

on my part to compromise the Inner Circle.

After a pint of porter at the Wallace Arms, I proceeded around the corner

to Alexander's Chop House, where I dined on a passable roast rabbit in

passing on the street. For them it is a discipline which, faithfully applied,

may lead to greater advancement in time; for the Inner Circle, it is an

unarguable necessity - now more than ever, if such a thing can be possible.

Admittedly, these arcane concerns seem very far away from the honest

simplicity of life on the Greek island where I now find myself. Here in the

sun-soaked hills above Paphos, it is easy to forget the storm clouds

gathering in the West. But the writing is on the wall for anyone with eyes

to see. Even I, the newest recruit to our hallowed and holy order,

recognize dangers which did not exist a year or two ago; and in these last

days such dangers will only increase. If ever I doubted the importance of

the Brotherhood, I doubt it no longer.

Our meeting that night was solemn and sobering. We met in the Star

Chamber, hidden beneath the chancel, as it affords a more comfortable

setting for discussion. I took my seat at the round table and, after the

commencement ritual and prayer, Genotti asked to begin the proceedings

with a report on the Brotherhood's interests in South America and the need

for urgent intervention in the worsening political climate. 'While the peace

treaty concluded in the first months of last year between Chile and Brazil

remains in force,' he said, 'efforts to undermine the treaty continue. It has

come to my attention that agents in the employ of Caldero, a dangerous

anarchistic political faction, are planning an attack on the palace of the

Chilean president. This attack will be blamed on Brazil in an effort to

draw the two governments back into open conflict.'

Evans, our Number Two, expressed the concern of the group and asked

Genotti's recommendation. 'It is my belief that the presidential staff must

be warned, of course, so that protective measures may be taken. I also

advocate, with the Brotherhood's approval, monies to be advanced to fund

overall aims of the Inner Circle - not least because such meddling in the

power structures of sovereign nations possesses a vast and unperceived

potential to seduce us away from our prime objectives.'

Tall and gaunt in his red robe with the golden cross over the heart,

Pemberton looked around the table to ensure that each of us understood

him precisely. 'Furthermore, gentlemen, it is increasingly evident that the

world has embarked on a new and frightening course. And we cannot hope

to remain uncorrupted by the increasingly corrosive powers beginning to

assert their influence on the individual populations of this planet. South

America is in ferment, Eastern Europe is rapidly sliding towards political

anarchy and chaos, the clouds of war are darkening the skies in a dozen

places.'

Citing example after undeniable example, our wise leader revealed to us

not only the shape and form, but the vast extent of the wickedness about to

fall upon an unsuspecting world. 'New threats call for new strategies. In

short, gentlemen, we must adapt our methods if we are to survive. We

must prepare for a new crusade.'

He went on to lay out for us the battle plan which would shape our future

from that night. When he finished, one by one, we of the Sanctus Clarus,

Guardians of the True Path, stood to renew our sacred vows, and pledge

ourselves to this new crusade.

Our ancient enemy arms itself and its countless minions with new and ever

more powerful weapons of mass destruction, so that night we soldiers of

the Holy Light likewise armed ourselves for the coming conflict. In the

undying spirit of the Cele De, we summoned the age-old courage of those

dauntless Celtic crusaders who have gone before us and, shoulder-to-

shoulder, took our places beside them on the battle line.

The Feast of St. George Anno Domini, 1132

My Dearest Caitriona,

The worst has happened. As old Pedar would say, 'I am sore becalmed.'

My glorious dream is ashes and dust. It died in the killing heat of a

nameless Syrian desert - along with eight thousand good men whose only

crime was that of fealty to a stubborn, arrogant boy. I could weep for

them, but for the fact that I, no less headstrong and haughty than that

misguided boy, will shortly follow them to the grave.

The Saracens insist that I am the esteemed guest of the Caliph of Cairo. In

truth, this is nothing more than a polite way of saying I am a captive in his

house. They treat me well; indeed, since coming to the Holy Land, I have

not known such courtesy, nor such elegance. Nevertheless, I cannot leave

the palace until the caliph has seen me. It is for him to decide my fate. I

know too well what the outcome will be.

Be that as it may, the great caliph is pursuing enemies in the south and is

not expected to return to the city for a goodly while. Thus, I have time

enough, and liberty, to set down what can be told about our great and

noble purpose so you will know why your father risked all he loved best in

cut stone for the arches and thresholds, and were preparing the site for the

arrival of the shipment which was due at any time. Your grandfather and

Abbot Emlyn were standing at the table in the yard, studying the drawings

which Brother Paulus had made for the building, when one of the monks

came running from the fields to say that a boat was putting into the bay.

We quickly assembled a welcome party and went down to meet it. The

ship was small - an island runner only - but it was not from Orkneyjar. Nor

was it one of King Sigurd's fishing boats as some had assumed. The

sailors had rowed the vessel into shallow water and were lifting down a

bundle by the time we reached the cove. There were four boatmen in the

water and three on deck, and they had a board between them which they

were straining to lower. Obviously heavy, they were at pains to keep from

dropping their cargo into the cove.

'They are traders from Eire,' suggested one of the women. 'I wonder what

they have brought?'

'It looks like a heap of old rags,' said another.

The sailors muscled their burden over the rail, and waded ashore. As they

drew nearer, I saw that the board was really a litter with a body strapped to

it. They placed this bundle of cloth and bone before us on the strand, and

stepped away - as if mightily glad to have done with an onerous task. I

thought it must be the body of some poor seaman, one of their own

perhaps, who had died at sea.

No sooner had they put it down, however, than this corpse began to shout

and thrash about. 'Unbind me!' it cried, throwing its thin limbs around. 'Let

me up!'

Those on the strand gave a start and jumped back. Murdo, however,

he and the next eldest, Skuli, had joined with Baldwin of Bouillon. In

return for their loyal service they were given lands at Edessa where they

had remained ever since.

When asked what happened to his brothers, Murdo would always say that

they had died chasing their fortunes in the Holy Land. In all the years of

my life till then, I had never known it to be otherwise. How not? There

never came any word from them - never a letter, or even a greeting sent by

way of a returning pilgrim - though opportunities must have been plentiful

enough through the years. That is why Murdo said he had come back from

the dead. In a way, he had; for no one had ever expected to see Torf-Einar

again - either in this world or the next.

But now, here he was: to my eyes, little more than gristle and foul temper,

but alive still. Of his great fortune, however, there was not so much as the

pale glimmer of a silver spoon. The man I saw upon that crude litter had

more in common with the sore-ridden beggars that huddle in the shelter of

the monastery walls at Kirkjuvagr than a lord of Outremer. Even the

lowest swineherd of such a lord would have presented a more impressive

spectacle, I swear.

We untied him and thereby learned the reason he had been carried to shore

on a plank: his legs were a mass of weeping sores. He could not walk.

Indeed, he could barely sit upright. Still, he objected to being bound to his

bed and did not cease his thrashing until the cords were loosed and taken

away.

'After all these years, why return now?' asked Murdo, sitting back on his

heels.

'I have come home to die,' replied Torf-Einar. 'Think you I could abide a

heathen have it. Two faced demon spawn each and every one. A plague on

the swarthy races, I say, and devil take them all.'

He became so agitated that he started thrashing around again. Murdo

quickly said, 'Rest easy now, Torf. You are among kinfolk. Nothing will

harm you here.'

We carried him to the dun, and tried our best to make the old man

comfortable. I call him 'old man' for that was how he appeared to me. In

truth, he was only a few years older than my father. The ravages of a life

of constant warring and, I think, whoring, had carved the very flesh from

him. His skin, blasted dark by the unrelenting Saracen sun, was as cracked

and seamed as weathered leather; his faded hair was little more than a

handful of grizzled wisps, his eyes were held in a permanent squint and his

limbs were so scarred from wounds that they seemed like gnarled stumps.

In all, the once-handsome lord looked like a shank bone that had been

gnawed close and tossed onto the dungheap.

We brought him into the fortress and laid him in the hall. Murdo arranged

for a pallet to be made up and placed in a corner near the hearth; a screen

was erected around the pallet to give Torf a little peace from the comings

and goings in the hall, but also to shield others from the ragged sight of

him, to be sure.

The women scurried around and found food and drink for him, and better

clothes - although the latter was not difficult, for the meanest dog mat

would have been better than his own foul feathers. My lady mother would

have preferred he had a bath before being allowed beneath her roof, but he

would have none of it.

When the serving-maid came near with hot water and a little Scottish

soap, he cursed her so cruelly she ran away in tears. He called upon

prepared for him, and heard what I took to be an animal whimpering.

Creeping close, I looked on him to see that he had fallen asleep and one of

the hounds was licking the lesions on his exposed leg. The pain made poor

Torf moan in his sleep.

Jesu forgive me, I did not have it in me to stay by. I turned away and left

him to his wretched dreams.

Over the next few days, I learned much of life in the East. Sick as he was,

he did not mind talking to anyone who would listen to his fevered

ramblings. Out of pity, I undertook to bring him his evening meal, to give

my mother a respite from the tedium of the chore, and sat with him while

he ate. Thus, I heard more than most about his life in the County of

Edessa. In this way, I also discovered what had befallen poor Skuli.

True to his word, Lord Baldwin had given Torf and Skuli land in return

for service. Nor was he ungenerous in his giving. The two brothers had

taken adjoining lands so as to form one realm which they then shared

between them. 'Our fortress at Khemil was crowned with a palace that had

fifty rooms,' he boasted one night as I fed him his pork broth and black

bread. His teeth were rotten and pained him, so I had to break the bread

into the broth to soften it, and then feed it to him in gobbets he could gum

awhile and swallow. 'Fifty rooms, you hear?'

'That is a great many rooms,' I allowed. He was obviously ill and

somewhat addled in his thoughts.

'We had sixty-eight menservants and forty serving-maids. Our treasure

house had a door as thick as a man's trunk and bound in iron - it took two

men just to pull it open. The room itself was big as a granary and hollowed

out of solid stone.' He mumbled in his bread for a moment, and then

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PARTINovember10,1901:Paphos,CyprusThesummonscamewhileIwassittingatmydesk.Theafternoonposthadjustbeendelivered-theofficeboyplacingthetidybundleintomytray-soIthoughtnothingofitasIslidthepaperknifealongthepastedseam.Itwasonlyuponshakingoutthesmallcream-colouredcardthatmyfullattentionwasengaged.Iflipped...

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Stephen Lawhead - Celtic Crusades 02 - The Black Rood

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