A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1)
Page 52
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Pierce emerged from his dressing room after splashing some water on his face and removing the hideous black uniform jacket when Melrose entered. He immediately rushed over to his master’s side to aid him, feeling guilty for having not been there when he fell ill.
“Are you all right sir, is there anything I can get you?”
“Scotch. Lots of Scotch.”
Melrose nodded, sensing a side to his master he had yet to witness. He walked to the sideboard and poured the amber liquor from a crystal decanter. When he delivered it, Pierce grabbed it and drank it one gulp. There was a tension in the air that Melrose could hardly stand and was only slightly broken when MacDuff entered the room.
“My lord, the footman said you were ill…” Pierce stopped him with an angry glance and an upraised finger.
“At what point were you two going to tell me?” He asked with a voice shaking between rage and terror.
“Sir?” They both said in unison.
“Don’t Sir me!” He exclaimed, slamming the empty glass onto a table by the window he stood beside. “Why did you not tell me I had to hunt people?! That this whole place is some kind of sick gentleman’s club for the homicidally insane!”
“Because I told them not to,” announced a familiar voice from the far dark corner.
Pierce recognized the owner’s voice immediately, but was still shocked into silence when Tiberius emerged into the full light of the room. He walked casually over to the sideboard and poured three more drinks, then grabbed the decanter to refill Pierce’s glass.
“I think you had better sit down, all of you,” he motioned the others to the chairs and sofa in front of the fire. When everyone had grabbed their drink and sat down he began to speak, only to be cut off by Pierce.
“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“I’ll explain everything that I can,” he replied calmly. “However I might not have all the answers that you want or need.”
Pierce merely stared at him unable to speak not knowing what to say, if he could even find his voice.
“I had better start at the beginning, as I know it,” he said after taking a sip of his drink and then looked at Pierce’s two men. “This cannot be shared by anyone else at the Manor.”
They both nodded and Pierce felt slightly better knowing he was not the only one without a clear picture of what was happening.
“I was born in a medieval village long since destroyed in a country that no longer exists. I was the third son of a minor noble and therefore set on a certain path upon my birth. My oldest brother inherited the land, my older brother was sent to a priory and became a servant of God, and I was given a sword and became a soldier.
“I enjoyed it at first and was very good at it. I was in a good company of fighting men and we travelled, caroused, and generally caused mayhem wherever we went. At this time, in Europe, groups like ours were everywhere. So the kings, princes, bishops, and the Pope decided they could make better use of us somewhere else. Thus began the great crusades.”
“What does this…?” Pierce began to ask, his patience waning.
“You must hear the full story,” Tiberius cut him off. He refilled his drink and passed the decanter around. “I told my brother the priest that I was going on crusade and he was ecstatic about the idea. However he had heard of some of the ruffians’ conduct in the Holy Land and arranged for me to become a Knight Templar. He believed this would further protect my soul for any misdeeds I conducted. Well it didn’t.
“The years I spent as a Templar were the most exciting, bloody, enlightening, and dreadful of my life. Some days we would protect caravans of pilgrims and some days we would destroy them. We saved priceless relics and financed the destruction of others. After ten years of fighting I had lost my faith and felt as though I was losing my soul. I was in Jerusalem at that time, surrounded by a Saracen army bent on exacting revenge on us. Although I was ready to die, I knew that I would take too many with me before I did. It was in this morose state that Victor Lodge found me.”
The three assembled men sat spellbound to the tale that Tiberius was now weaving. They were hanging on every honestly delivered word. He stood up and walked to the fireplace, placed his glass on the mantle, and then crouched down to stare into the fire.
“Lord Lodge saved me from that fiery battle of dust, steel, and death. But more importantly he saved my soul from the path I had sent it down. I followed him willingly from the tavern he found me in to a small building near Herod’s Palace. He told me that he knew all about me and that he had chosen me to help him build a new order, one truly designed to help humanity.”
“So how’s that going?” inquired Pierce with a snort.
Chapter 14