The Jealous God Page 13

  “I would like to meet him,” she said. “I would like to make an educated decision.”

  “About what?” he asked her as they stopped at a busy street corner.

  “About what he is. Where he came from.” She looked up at the cloudless sky.

  “You are interested in religion then?” He asked her. “You are a philosopher, perhaps, on a pilgrimage?”

  “A pilgrim. Yes! I like that.” She turned her lovely eyes on him.

  “Are you here alone?” He looked about.

  “Yes.” She looked down at herself. “I travel alone.”

  “Ahh. Well, are you hungry?”

  She did not look needy in the least, but he felt compelled to offer her dinner or something… anything.

  “Would you share your berries?” She nodded at the basket.

  “I was thinking more of supper or maybe late lunch?” He raised both eyebrows.

  “Are you allowed?” She frowned.

  “Allowed to eat?” He smiled.

  “I can see you eat quite often.” She shrugged. “I meant, are you allowed to dine with women?”

  “I especially like to dine with ladies. They are much more interesting than bearded old men.”

  “Then I would like that very much.” She turned around abruptly and started back in the opposite direction.

  “Where are you going?” he called after her.

  “I know a nice little place this way.” She laughed. “With air conditioning!”

  “What is your name?” He caught up with her, and she turned to look up at him. “I’m Levi d’Ornan.”

  “Ahh! A French, Catholic Jew who speaks with a slight Scottish brogue?” She smiled again and took his free hand. “My name is Menaka Keshini.”

  “Menaka? Is that Arabic?”

  “Yes, it is.” She nodded and shook his hand vigorously.

  “But you are not Arabic.”

  “No. My mother is American.”

  “Ahhh. A Yankee, Christian Muslim with a… is that a Russian accent?”

  “Actually, I am a Mormon.” She laughed again.

  “What about the New Order of the Temple?” he asked as they started off again.

  “I am undecided.”

  Levi shook his head. He did not believe her, but he was beginning to think she was merely trying to flirt with him which was extremely flattering.

  They entered the cluttered confines of the rear portion of a quaint restaurant. The crowded establishment opened onto the sidewalk, spilling most of its tables and diners into the street where they could eat, talk and take in the sights of the market. Menaka obviously preferred somewhere a bit more discreet and spoke softly to one of the waiters who escorted them to a small table in a corner of the actual building.

  “Did I hear Greek?” he asked as he held her chair for her.

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, my father learned English in Greece and taught it to me. I must have inherited his accent.” She nodded her head under the long covering. “We will have curried rice and the choicest portions of the lamb.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “The proprietor is Greek and he thinks I am.”

  “Mutton.” He wrinkled his nose. Not on his preferred food lists. He sat down across from her and waited for her to remove the head covering and the lower portion of the thing that covered her face with great anticipation. More than he would even admit to himself, he wished to see her face.

  “You do partake of the lamb, do you not?” She asked him.

  “I have indulged occasionally.” He smiled at her peculiar choice of words. “I haven’t smeared any blood on my doorpost lately, if that’s what you mean.”

  “No? You do not observe the Passover?” She looked surprised.

  “I told you I am Catholic.” He shrugged. “We observe Easter rather than the Passover.”

  “But you are Levi, the son of the Priestly Line.” She pushed back the hood and his mouth fell open slightly. Her face taken as a whole far exceeded the promise of the eyes alone.

  “My father is a Rabbi,” he said and then wondered why he would tell her such a thing.

  “And you are a Christian Jew just as I said.”

  “It’s a long story,” he muttered as the waiter came to the table bearing a tray with a silver decanter, two tiny glasses etched with beautiful Grecian figures and two bowls of yellowish rice.

  “I would love to hear it, Father d’Ornan,” she told him when the waiter had left them. She poured his glass full of the dark red wine. “Tell me how a son of Jacob would forsake his royal heritage and take up the cross of the Temple.”

  “Only if you tell me what your beautiful name means.” He blinked and, again, wondered what on earth he was doing. “And, please, call me… James.”

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Time dragged on at a snail’s pace. There were no more great meetings and things at the old stone house in Lothian settled into the semblance of routine, wherein, differing committees poured over the information contained in the Emerald Tablets. Many heated debates arose over the hidden messages contained in the words of Thoth. Mark Andrew found himself deluged with questions day in and day out as the Knights and apprentices formed an endless line at his door whether he was in his room, in the library, in the kitchen, in the lab, or at the stables. Once, two of Simon's sons had caught up with him in Edinburgh just as he was about to sit down to a nice broiled salmon steak.

  Wherever he went, they followed him, sometimes in twos and threes and sometimes alone. He answered their questions as best he could, though; he found it difficult to explain the inexplicable. Again and again, he told them simply to open their hearts and minds, and the words would become clear in their meanings. From time to time, he was gratified to see some bit of understanding appear in their eyes, but these moments were fleeting and far between. He felt they were struggling too hard, concentrating too much, digging too deep, and as a result finding things that were not there.

  John Paul, regrettably, did not return, nor did any of the other entities from the otherworld. Mark had wanted to speak to his ‘son’ alone, but the opportunity had not presented itself. He had also wanted desperately to spend a few moments with Meredith, but that too had been denied him. Omar returned to New Babylon and Ruth was sent to live at St. Patrick’s. Lucio petitioned the Master daily for permission to travel to St. Patrick’s for personal reasons and the Master refused daily, citing him as the utmost authority within the Council concerning the translations of translations of translations the Master now wanted him to correlate with the writings contained in the Tablets. He wanted charts and graphs depicting cross-referenced materials spanning two thousand years. He wanted to trace the descendents of Jacob, and he wanted Lucio to dig up everything extant on the writings of the Sumerians and the Albigensians which could be found in libraries scattered across Europe and the Middle East.

  The work was exhausting, and Lucio often complained to Mark Andrew it was inconsequential in light of Mark’s identity. He often rebelled completely and demanded Mark simply tell them what they should do and be done with it. But Mark allowed the debates and planning to continue as the Council members slowly formulated a strategy for attacking the Ancient One. They would have but one chance. Of this, they were all quite certain. If they failed, the results would be disastrous. They had failed many times in the past. There would be no second chance this time. Mark had no intention of simply telling them what to do. They had to decide unanimously on their course of action, and then, they had to orchestrate the thing so there was no chance of failure.

  The most perplexing item on the table now was what to do about Eduord de Goth. He had sent a letter requesting a meeting with Edgard d’Brouchart. Edgard had flown to Geneva with Sir Barry and Sir von Hetz along with a sizable entourage of Templars including Peter Rushkin, Remy Touchet and a number of personal body guards.

  They had met with Eduord de Goth in a private banquet room atop one of Geneva’s most exclusive hotels, and the two Grand M
asters had partially reconciled their differences concerning the past and the present detainment of Catharine de Goth. Edgard had presented the man with a letter in her own hand, telling her brother she wished to remain with the Templars and imploring him to join forces with the Order before it was ‘too late’. Eduord had been skeptical of the contents of the letter and voiced his suspicion his sister might have been coerced or brain-washed to write such a thing, even though, he secretly wished to do exactly as she said.

  The meeting had ended on a cordial note and a promise to remain in touch concerning the possibility of merging the two Orders at some future date. Eduord had hinted at the existence of the skull in his possession and had asked, in cloaked words, about the whereabouts of the others. They had discussed the relevance of the Castle Wewelsburg in connection to the Holy Grail, but had stopped short of anything decisive. Edgard had agreed their next meeting should be held at the Castle, and Eduord should consider sharing his wealth of information concerning the importance of the location of the castle. Edgard had condescended to give him a private encapsulated version of the entire meeting upon his return to Scotland and asked him to think it over and give his opinions… in writing… within 24 hours.

  Mark floated on his back in the pool, staring up at the white sky overhead. It was one of those awful days when the sky was neither blue nor gray, but just rather white and uninviting. Summer was failing, and soon, it would be too chilly to make use of the pool. He was thinking of what Luke Andrew and Lucio had presented him with and wondering why they would concoct such a story. Why were these two so desperate to get to St. Patrick’s Island? They wanted him to intervene with the Grand Master on their behalf. He had his doubts about Lucio’s motives. And Luke’s reasons were unclear. Lucio wanted to go and rest, work with the birds a few days just to get his mind back on track. Luke simply wanted to go with him… just in case. In case of what? Luke Andrew had reasoned none of them should travel alone. A good point. But Luke and Lucio? An unlikely pair if there ever was. Highly suspect. But then, he would have never expected Lucio to grow attached to Konrad von Hetz and yet, he had. With Catharine de Goth still residing on the island, the trip was not likely to occur, with or without his intervention.

  They had returned a few days later with an added dimension. Luke Andrew wanted to take Michael and Galen along. Galen and Michael wanted to go horseback riding on the big island; and Lucio wanted to take Vanni to visit with Greta, citing the boy’s loneliness as the reason this time. This had sounded a bit more reasonable to Mark Andrew, though, he was still concerned that Lucio wanted to visit with Catharine. The Grand Master still knew nothing of Lucio’s relationship with her, and Mark was confident such knowledge would only be detrimental to Lucio’s health. The final attempt had been made only that morning when Luke Matthew had petitioned the Grand Master for permission to visit the islands for recreational purposes.

  It seemed Luke Matthew and Merry were bored and wanted to go camping on the Isle of Ramsay. They wanted to take Apolonio and Michey with them, not to mention Lavon de Bleu, Christopher Stewart, Planxty Grine, Luke Andrew, Lucio, Michael, Galen and Vanni. Aha! So Lucio had enlisted or entrapped Luke Matthew into the equation or conspiracy or whatever it was. Not only Luke Matthew, but the entire crew, part and parcel. This request was quickly followed by a request from Peter Rushkin for permission to visit his family at St. Patrick’s and an entirely separate request from Lydia d’Ornan and Simon, who wished to visit Lydia’s sister, Constance, and Simon’s son, Simeon. This had been too much for Edgard, and he had sent Barry to seek Mark’s opinion. Mark had told him ‘no!’ No, no, no! They needed to remain where they were and wait for John Paul to return. John Paul had promised to return as soon as he had gathered certain information and arranged another meeting with the venerable Lords and Ladies of the Abyss. What that certain information was, he’d not said.

  Mark Andrew reasoned they should wait together. Simple.

  He did not realize he had closed his eyes until he opened them at the sound of his name.

  Louis Champlain stood on the edge of the pool, looking down at him.

  “Brother. A word with you, please.” The big Knight turned and walked away toward the tables at the far end of the pool.

  Mark Andrew pulled himself reluctantly from the water and grabbed up his towel before joining him at the ornate white iron table that reminded him so much of the times he had spent here with Meredith.

  “I am thinking of going to St. Patrick’s,” Louis told him without preamble.

  “Wot?! You, too?” Mark Andrew ran the towel over his hair and got the nap stuck in the earrings in his braid. “Dammit!” He yanked on the towel and nearly jerked his own head off in his aggravation. Louis leaned toward him and took hold of the onerous cloth which had become hopelessly entangled in the indestructible silver. He began to work the threads out of the ornate artifacts. Mark Andrew was quite chagrined by this development, but Louis seemed to think nothing of it.

  “You know, Brother.” Louis unfastened the last thread and took the silver trinket in his big hand, looking at it closely. “I have often wondered about this thing. Does it bother you? I mean can you… are you always aware of it? Does it hurt when it’s pulled?”

  “What?” Mark calmed down a bit. “The braid?”

  “Oui`. I think I would be very bothered by such a thing.” Louis told him thoughtfully. “If you were to decide to cut your hair, you would not be able to do so. It would look quite odd to have the thing exposed without the cover of your own hair.”

  “I never thought much about it.” Mark shrugged. “I’ve always worn my hair long. I don’t intend to change it now.”

  “Why?” Louis seemed to perk up a bit at this statement and Mark narrowed his eyes suspiciously. For some reason, Louis’ own hair seemed quite a bit longer than he ever remembered seeing it. The slightly wavy, golden locks were tucked behind his ears and almost reached his shoulders.

  “I don’t know.” Mark frowned at him thoughtfully and then added "I think it keeps me in touch with my roots, though I've forgotten which roots."

  “Did you wear your hair long when you were in Jerusalem? It was forbidden by the Rule. You did not wear your beard long like the rest of us,” Louis reminded him. “I remember.”

  “Oh, aye. Ye’re roight.” Mark smiled. “I furgot aboot thot. I've troied beards from toime t' toime and I dunna care fur them. I'm constantly dippin' them in me soup.”

  Louis chuckled and then pulled his shirt off to Mark’s surprise. “You see this?” He pointed to a strawberry birth mark on the back of his shoulder. “Do you know what that means?”

  “No,” Mark said quietly.

  “It means I am a direct descendent of King Merovee, the King of All the Franks.”

  “Ahh. Yes, well.” Mark looked away from him as he slipped his white pullover back on. “We all have our crosses to bear, so to speak.”

  “And I have always kept my hair short,” Louis told him.

  “But you are growing it now?” Mark looked back at him.

  “Oui`. It is time,” Louis told him cryptically.

  “You will make a good King, Louis.” Mark Andrew stood up. “You are worrying for naught.”

  “I am having dreams.” Louis looked up at him.

  “Pay attention to them.” Mark Andrew smiled slightly. “If everyone is bound and determined to go to St. Patrick’s, then I’ll go with you. I cannot risk allowing it otherwise. I would like to see the castle again and perhaps take in the big island once more. John Paul knows where to find us.”

  “Good!” Louis stood up. “Let us go together to Sir d’Brouchart and tell him.”

  “Tell him.” Mark Andrew nodded. He knew what Louis meant. They would not request permission. They would simply tell him they were going. For better or worse, they were going.

  Chapter Six of Fifteen

  Wisdom is good with an inheritance: and by it there is profit to them that see the sun

  “Are you sur
e it will be alright?” Levi’s voice sounded very uncertain and almost regretful.

  “Of course!” Simon smiled at his father and then winked. “It would be perfect. You realize, of course, she will no doubt be very confused by your… family?”

  “I have warned her,” Levi laughed nervously. “She seems brave enough.”

  Edgard took the phone from his son.

  “Levi?” He frowned at Simon. “This young lady is a stranger.”

  “Not to me,” came the startled reply.

  “She will be a stranger to us,” Edgard said. “You must see to it she remains as such.”

  A long silence answered him.

  “I’m sure she will be no trouble,” his tone had changed perceptibly. “She is not overly nosy, Sir, and I will see to it you are not disturbed.”

  “Do not trouble yourself. I will not be going, my son.”

  D'Brouchart held out the phone to Simon.

  “Levi?” Simon turned his back on his father. “We will be looking forward to meeting her. She enjoys camping?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, well, no matter. You don’t have to go with us. Not everyone is going to the big island. Please be careful on your journey and go with God.”

  “And you, Father.”

  Simon folded his phone and turned back to d'Brouchart.

  “You upset him,” he admonished the Grand Master.

  “I did nothing of the sort!” his father retorted. “The woman will be trouble.”

  “You don’t know that. Besides, you told me to encourage him.”

  “But this is quite sudden.” Edgard walked to the window and looked out toward the stables. “I do not have a good feeling about this trip. Every time we divide, we are compromised.”

  “We are not leaving the confines of our domain, Father,” Simon reminded him again and sat down on the leather sofa in his father’s office. “We will be among Brothers.”

  “And so will she.”