The Jealous God Page 20

  Luke Matthew sat straight up in his chair. This was exactly what he had been expecting. Treachery and treason. King William Henry had ostensibly been placed on the throne by Omar, the Prophet, even though, it had not been the real prophet who had put him there. Omar had decided to leave well enough alone when he had returned to New Babylon after the clash with Jozsef Daniel. He had been unable to decide how best to proceed in reversing the empire building or re-building Jozsef had initiated, and since, the populaces of the new European Empires had seemed content enough with their new Royal Families, he had done nothing. In fact, he’d not had time to devise a plan, nor less so, time to implement anything that might topple the new governments and replace them with democratic entities without causing a great deal of political repercussion, rebellion and possibly, out and out war. Now it was obviously too late.

  “Then, Your Highness…” Luke said carefully “we must assume you no longer recognize New Babylon as an authority and do not consider England as part of the New Order of the Temple?”

  “You are very perceptive, Sir.” The king grinned at him. “I knew you would be. You are, after all, Scots, and subject to the King of England, since the Scots no longer have a reigning sovereign. I would expect you to honor my wishes and obey your King if you intend to remain Scots.”

  Mark Andrew simply could not believe this. Luke Matthew had been right, and he’d been an idiot.

  “Exactly, what is that you would wish of us, Sire?” Mark Andrew fought to control his rising temper.

  “I would wish… nay, command you to go in peace to your estate in Scotland. There I would expect you to take up your proper places in Scottish nobility and execute the King’s will in MidLothian.”

  “Whattar ye sayin’?!” Mark half started from the chair and heard the guards stationed behind him move closer.

  “I’m saying I am offering you both a joint governorship over MidLothian. Scotland is in need of strong leaders. Leaders capable of enforcing the King’s will. There are many problems there in light of the war. The people are cowering in their houses, refusing to work,and refusing to acknowledge the need to provide the Crown with the appropriate funds to finance the protection of our combined borders. In other words, Scotland is not carrying her weight, Sir. Our Royal treasury is a bit short of funds. The stock market, as you know, is in ruins and recovery is slow. Perhaps, too slow to avoid disaster from other sources if we do not take immediate action. Gold is still gold, Sir Ramsay, and I hear you have a special talent in that respect.”

  “I dunna know wot ye’re talkin’ aboot.” Mark Andrew settled back in his chair as the King’s ulterior motives for detaining them, settled into his brain. He cast a warning glance at Luke Matthew. This situation was going from bad to extremely bad.

  “I believe you do,” William Henry said as he contemplated his fingernails. “I am not the puppet you think I am. Omar Kadif put me on the throne, yes. That is true, but the man in New Babylon who claims to be the Prophet, is not the man who put me here.”

  “How so?”

  “There!” The King clapped his hands like a child and then pointed his finger at Mark Andrew. He looked about again at his entourage, nodding his head happily. “How so? How quaint! Would you mind displaying a bit of your chivalric heritage, Sir Ramsay? Would you challenge me to single combat on the field of honor? Shall we break out the warhorses and javelins? Lances and maces? Do you prefer dirks to daggers? Would you like to show your tattoos to my cabinet members? Perhaps you would allow us to examine the Golden Sword of the Cherubim? The Ark of the Covenant? Can you give us your candid impression of Robert the Bruce? Was he truly the lady’s man they say he was or was it all just more Scottish hype?" He looked over the brim of his cup and smiled wickedly at them.

  "I am offering you peace, Sir Ramsay. I am offering you the opportunity to use your talents in defense of your country and your home. The chance to serve your King and your subjects… and they would be your subjects as long as you swear allegiance to the Crown. I can use a man with your talents and skills and your… historical sense. Your honor and your loyalty would be greatly rewarded.” William Henry leaned toward him and raised both eyebrows, continuing to speak in a much lower voice. “I would love to hear some of your stories… say around a nice campfire on your island? We could make it an annual event… the Royal Hunting Party? Deer, coney, puffins for the Royal Table? Just the guys, so to speak, out in the wild and wooly, telling tales by the campfire? It would be glorious, and perhaps, you could tickle the Royal Ear by passing along the secret of eternal life?”

  Luke Matthew squirmed about in his seat, turning redder and redder and Mark held up one hand to stop him from whatever outburst was nearing the surface.

  “So...” Mark Andrew nodded and seemed to be thinking seriously about the King’s offer. “If you know so much about me, then you would know I cannot be bought. I have no need of money or riches. I need no subjects to bow to me. I could have had that long ago if that was what I wanted. I fail to understand why you do not simply request support from New Babylon. Whether you regard Omar Kadif as the true Prophet or not is of no matter. He still recognizes you as King and would readily do what he can to maintain your Kingdom for you and I assure you, Sire, he still wields a great deal of power in that regard. If it is money or gold you need, then I’m sure he would supply you with it. As far as these other things you mention, you are more than welcome to hunt the Isle of Ramsay at your leisure. I would be glad to join you, if possible, any time you wish.”

  “I don’t want his gold, Ramsay.” The King leaned back, set his cup on a side table and propped his elbows on the arms of his chair. He looked through his steepled fingers at the Knight. “I want to return England to what she was before the Royal Family became nothing more than venerated superstars and objects of curiosity and gossip. When Emperor Henri II finishes crushing the west, he will come this way. I do not intend to relinquish my throne to him, nor do I intend to serve at his feet. I would prefer to become an ally on equal footing with him and thereby, assure the safety and freedom of my Kingdom, including Scotland, without experiencing a devastating war that will leave our people dead and dying in the streets. England will not bow to Henri II, but there is no need to do so. I have an inside line to his ear.”

  Mark Andrew did not make a response to this startling revelation. Omar had been working day and night to establish a link with Henri Christoph, King of Haiti, and had gotten nowhere. How could this supercilious imbecile who pretended to be King, have established an intimate link with the Haitian? But the answer was quite obvious. Jozsef Daniel was behind Henri II and Jozsef Daniel had put William Henry on the throne. Simple. Not only that, Jozsef Daniel had put all of the reigning monarchs in place. Even if the rest of them remained loyal to the New Order of the Temple, England would be the perfect platform from which to launch an invasion of the European mainland.

  “I’ll have no part of it,” Luke Matthew announced suddenly in the ensuing silence.

  “You’ll have no choice in the matter, I'm afraid,” the King told him. “I am negotiating with your brother.”

  “Luke,” Mark Andrew tried to intervene before Luke said something that would assure a minor disaster. He spoke to him in the language of the Saracens, and Luke closed his eyes. He’d not heard the language in years, but it was plain enough. None of the men in the room would be likely to understand. Mark asked him to remain silent, until, he could think of some way to get them out of the mess they were in.

  “How much time will you allow us to think about your offer?” Mark Andrew asked the King.

  “That depends.” The King told him. “There is someone here who wishes to speak with you. If, after you meet with him, you need more time to think, then it will be discussed at that time.”

  The King got up and pulled his robe about him. He left the stateroom with most of his followers in tow. Some of them dispersed in another direction, and soon, only the two Scots and the armed guards remained in the room. The
yacht rocked slowly in the water, and they could hear the sounds of gulls and terns outside. London had become very quiet as the lack of fuel to power the industrial parks and the thousands of private vehicles continued to diminish. People had gone back to walking or riding bicycles. Ramsay had a permit in his pocket to rent a vehicle and fuel enough to take himself and his brother to Scotland. He doubted now he would have the chance to use it.

  Presently, their next appointment arrived through the same door through which the King had disappeared. Two men.

  Luke Matthew could not remain in his seat, and he was immediately seized from behind and forced to sit down again as Jozsef Daniel and Ernst Schweikert walked in without fanfare and sat down across the table from them.

  “Grandfather!” Jozsef smiled broadly at them. “Uncle Luke. I am so very pleased to see you are both alive and well.”

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Louis Champlain was very depressed. He was sitting in Omar’s courtyard, idly tossing bread crumbs to the peacocks when Lucio found him and sat down beside him on the bench. Spring had come and April was promising to be beautiful in spite of the circumstances. They had heard nothing from Mark Andrew or his brother, Luke Matthew and nothing had come from St. Patrick’s in weeks. Omar had sent numerous inquiries to the King of England asking about the two brothers and had received no satisfactory answers. Yes, they had passed through London and yes, they had stopped by Buckingham Palace for a few days, but the King had not heard from them, since they had taken their leave for Scotland. He had promised to check on them at first opportunity, but the promise was superficial at best. They had also apologized for the breakdown in communications between New Babylon and the western islands, but, they had explained, things were very bad on the Continent; and they were having a hard time communicating with anyone. In other words, the King had more important business than to spend much time on two lost brothers no matter who they were. As far as the Isle of Ramsay and St. Patrick’s, they were not actually part of the British Empire and he had no real information about the conditions on the islands, but as far as he knew, they were intact and apparently, doing quite well, just simply isolated due to the war. No one in New Babylon believed King William Henry, but they could do nothing about it… yet.

  “You know Mark Andrew could be anywhere,” Lucio told the Frankish Knight. “For all we know, he is at St. Patrick’s even now. You remember how cut off we were when we were all there, Brother. It was as if the rest of the world did not exist.”

  “I remember! And I enjoyed it,” Louis grumped. “That does not help my feelings to know my wife and my son are completely cut off from me. I fail to see the purpose of remaining here. Omar has this under control. We need to go home.”

  “You realize something is very rotten in England,” Lucio reminded him. “It might be difficult to get into the heart of the Empire without putting ourselves in grave danger. If King William has been able to stop Mark and Luke, then he might do the same with us.”

  “Then we should at least go to Italy.” Louis removed a toothpick from his mouth and flung it at one of the peacocks strutting around the courtyard.

  Lucio glanced at his companion and frowned at his long, blonde hair, which now brushed his shoulders. Lucio could not get used to seeing the Frankish Knight with so much hair. He looked entirely different, somehow younger and more… barbarian… no… that was not the right word.

  Lucio picked up a small wooden box from the pavement and set it on his knees.

  “I would ask your forgiveness, Brother,” the Italian began slowly. “There is something I have been putting off for quite some time.”

  Louis frowned at the Italian and then looked at the box with growing suspicion.

  “A while back I received a gift for you,” Lucio told him and chewed his lip nervously. “I don’t know why I haven’t given it to you, but considering the source and the events that have occurred since then, I would make the excuse the time did not seem right somehow. Now I am thinking we may never see our homes again, and I should make amends and apologies and hand it over before something else happens. I have had it in my luggage too long, and it is wearing on my heart. I hope you will forgive me… but here, take a look before you decide what to do with me.”

  “That would be wise,” Louis agreed and eyed the box, which was made of simple varnished wood with brass hinges and a tiny padlock. “Who gave you this, Brother?” he asked as Lucio pulled a chain from around his neck with a small gold key attached to it.

  The Italian bent over the box and worked on the lock without removing the chain from his neck.

  “Catharine de Goth,” he muttered. There were several other people in the courtyard. Most of them, members of the Council and other Templars in very much the same mood as Louis Champlain. They had all fallen into somber states of depression as the time wore on and nothing seemed to be improving.

  “De Goth?” Louis whispered and his eyes widened.

  Lucio took the lock off the box and slipped it into his pocket.

  “I don’t know the significance of this gift, Brother.” Lucio placed one hand on the lid. “I don’t know if, perhaps, it should not have been presented by someone greater than me, perhaps, and in a different setting. I don’t know.”

  He shook his head and an odd feeling came over him as if he was about to do something almost sacrilegious. “I’m sure she could have chosen someone better for the task. I hope you won’t take me to odds to explain it because I can’t. She simply said to give it to you, and you would know what to do with it. I had intended to discuss it with Mark Andrew, but it never seemed to fit into the conversation and when I had the opportunity… I felt I would be somehow betraying her trust… and yours.”

  “Did this belong to Mark Andrew?” Louis leaned away from him slightly. He could not imagine Catharine having had some sort of treasure or gift when she had been taken from Lothian to St. Patrick’s Island. “Where did she get it?”

  “She found it at St. Patrick’s,” Lucio's voice was barely audible. "She is such a great lady, Brother. I love her so."

  Lucio seemed reluctant to remove his hand from the box. He had often sat in the privacy of his room, handling the golden bees with growing reverence. They had become very special to him in an odd sort of way, and he knew deep down, he did not want to give them up. He knew this reticence had been the true reason, he had kept them for so long, but his guilt was becoming unbearable, and as he had watched Louis fall into deeper and deeper depression as the war played out and the garbled reports came in from England and Ireland about the conditions surrounding the place where his family was sequestered, his guilt had grown disproportionately.

  Catharine was still there as well and worse, Bari Kadif was still on the island at last report, and he also felt guilty at having left her there with him. She had very obviously been afraid of him and with good reason. If Bari had been able to commit the heinous crime that had led to Ruth’s death, then Catharine had every right to fear him. Lucio had made a preemptory attempt to convince Mark Andrew and then Edgard d’Brouchart to release her or send her to Germany to her brother’s keeping, but they had refused to listen to him, citing her own refusal to leave the island when they had offered her freedom the first time. He also knew such was not her wish. She wanted them all to go to Germany with her and that had been impossible to even suggest before the war had begun and now, here they were, stuck in New Babylon.

  “It… they were in the chapel," Lucio raised his voice a little. "In plain sight. I suppose you could say they belonged to Mark Andrew at some point or rather he had them in his possession for quite some time. But Mark Andrew has possession of many things, Brother. He has always been a keeper of sorts and now that means even more. That does not necessarily mean they belong to him. I think these belong to you.”

  Louis nodded. Mark Andrew had become the Keeper of the Key, the Golden Key to the Ark of the Covenant. Was it time? Was this the Key coming home to him now?

 
Lucio removed his hand from the lid, and Louis set it down on the bench between them. He did not want to open it. Did not want to see what new burden was about to be placed on his shoulders.

  “Go on.” Lucio looked about. “It might be important.”

  Louis raised the lid very slowly. A black velvet cloth covered the contents. When he reached to take hold of the edge of the cloth, he saw his hand was shaking slightly. When the golden bees were exposed to the bright morning light, the breath left his body entirely, and he felt he would faint.

  He began to murmur something in French… old French that was unfamiliar to Lucio.

  The Frankish Knight, and heir to the throne of the Frankish Kingdom and the Holy Roman Empire, picked up one of the exquisite treasures in his large fingers and held it up to the light. They were no bigger than shirt buttons, but the detailed working was amazing.

  “How many?” he asked in English.

  “Three hundred sixty-five.”

  “Holy Mary,” Louis whispered and reverently laid the bee back in the box. “I never thought to see them.”