“Santa Maria!” Lucio’s voice drifted back down the stairs, just before a loud blam that reverberated through the house.
Schweikert drove back to the highway and pulled off on the shoulder of the road. D’Brouchart, one of the Healer’s sons, a girl, a boy, Dambretti, Clementi, Grine, the cook, the Healer. Seven adults and two children. Not bad. Seven. An auspicious number. He had to ditch the van before the police came looking for it. He turned about and headed back to the chapel. He drove the van around the side of the edifice and parked it very close to the back wall of the apse. The tall, stained glass windows seemed to glow of their own accord in the late afternoon light filtering through the dense growth of old oaks. He pulled a roll of clothing from behind the seat and began to change clothes. It would be dark soon.
Chapter Eleven of Twenty
neither may he contend with him that is mightier than he
The arrival of Catharine de Goth at the front door of Ramsay’s home just after seven heralded another flap of activity. Edgard d’Brouchart was summoned at once from the apprentices’ quarters by a very excited Gil Pairaud. The chef was speaking French so rapidly as to be almost unintelligible. By the time the Grand Master put on his light jacket and walked to the house to see what was amiss, the woman he had not seen in over eight hundred years was sitting firmly ensconced in the parlor, sipping a glass of brandy while the entire household except Simon and Lucio, stood about or sat about alternately staring at her and trying to make idle conversation… a useless endeavor. She seemed very calm and possessed of her composure when the formidable figure of the Grand Master pulled open the doors and stood staring at her as if she were a specter, which indeed he thought she might be.
Everyone clamored to their feet at the sight of the Master, including Catharine. She stood holding the crystal snifter lightly in both hands as she looked at him steadily from light green eyes. Simon’s eyes in another color. Her long blonde hair was arranged neatly in a small twist on the back of her slender neck. Her youthful figure was encased in a pastel blue suit of conservative cut. She could have been a business executive on her way to a high-level meeting. Her demeanor and bearing exuded confidence and money.
Edgard was astounded by the change. She was no longer the soft young woman with the perpetually worried look that he had once known and his heart sank to his feet as a slight frown crinkled her smooth brow. Though she showed no other outward signs, it was clear to him that she was shocked at his appearance. He placed one hand subconsciously on his stomach and cleared his throat, unsure of how many of the people in the room might know who she truly was. He glanced about at the faces present. Planxty, Stephano, Gil who was standing slightly behind him in the doorway waiting for instructions, Simeon, Greta and Vanni whom Simeon had promised to look after while Lucio rested. None of them should have known who she was. Good.
“Miss de Goth?” He smiled slightly and bowed to kiss her hand briefly.
“Monsieur d’Brouchart.” She returned his smiled.
“I am quite pleased to see that you are well,” he told her stiffly. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Have these good folks seen to your needs?”
“They have been most hospitable, Edgard,” she told him. The others continued to stare at this woman who called their Master by his first name. A woman who looked very familiar but was a complete stranger to them.
“Monsieur Clementi…” The Master turned to Stephano. “Please allow me a bit of privacy with our guest. Simeon, please stay. Monsieur Grine, if you would take the children to the library.” He turned to Gil. “Please lay out another place at supper, Gilliuame.”
They began to fall out of the parlor and Edgard took a seat on one of the green velvet chairs, facing her as she resumed her own seat. Simeon took up a position slightly behind his grandfather in front of the hearth.
When the doors were closed, Edgard looked up at his grandson.
“You have met Simeon?” he asked her.
“Yes. They were all quite friendly.” Catharine smiled at him and her milky cheeks reddened slightly. “I must apologize for my unannounced arrival, but time was pressing.” She glanced at the ceiling again. Lucio Dambretti was directly above them. His presence was almost tangible at this point. She gazed openly at Simeon who looked very much like his father, wondering if this was perhaps her son, but they had called him Simeon, not Simon.
“Simeon, my son, please sit down.” Edgard waved one hand toward the sofa and his grandson obeyed him reluctantly. “Simeon, Miss de Goth has come to see her son, I believe. Is your father here?”
“Yes, Sir, he is upstairs.” Simeon’s face drained of color.
“Is he sleeping?”
“I believe so,” Simeon’s voice threatened to fail him.
“We will speak together first and then we will waken him,” d’Brouchart told them. “Simeon, this young woman is your father’s mother… your grandmother, Catharine de Goth.”
“Simeon,” she said quietly. “It is a great honor to meet you. Again, I would apologize for my sudden appearance. I did not intend to distress anyone, but I have longed to see my son and my grandsons since learning that he still lived. I hope that you can forgive me.”
Simeon simply stared at her. The truth of her words could not be disputed. Simon was the image of his mother.
“And my apologies as well, my son,” Edgard did not take his eyes off the woman. “If I had known we would meet your grandmother so soon, I would have prepared you for this. It is a very long, very disturbing story and one that you are entitled to hear at length, but first I would like to hear your intentions, Catharine. What do you intend to do now? Where is your brother?”
“I would not answer that, Edgard,” she said coldly. “Your behavior toward myself and my brother has been less than cordial over the years. I fail to understand why you would want him dead.”
Simeon gasped and turned his blue eyes on his grandfather, but Edgard held up one hand toward him.
“I did not want him dead, Catharine. You never cared to learn what I wanted in that particular matter, but I believe that ungrateful would most likely describe your attitude. Your threats were not taken lightly. You had no concept of what you were doing. You left me very little recourse. I will not apologize for what has transpired between us. Not now, not then, not ever. If you had listened to reason, much of the pain we have all suffered could have been avoided.”
“You were never good at enumerating reasons, Edgard. Excuses, perhaps, but reason?” She laughed softly. “I am tired of running and I am tired of hiding. I only have one wish and that is to see my son before I die. I died for him once and I would die to see him now. To see the one thing that might have saved me. The one thing that you could have given me that might have saved us!”
“You still do not see the whole picture, Catharine.” Edgard sighed and glanced at his grandson. “I never stopped loving you and even now my heart leaps with joy at the sight of your beautiful face.” He patted his stomach and chuckled. “As you can see, you have left your mark on me as well.”
Catharine frowned. Aristoni had not been exaggerating when he had told her that Edgard had changed.
“I don’t understand,” she said and took a sip of her brandy.
“I could have remained untouched by time just as you have,” he told her. “When I lost you, I lost the desire to look at myself in the mirror and so… I changed my appearance or rather, allowed it to change in order to better suit my frame of mind at the time. You made an old man of me, Catharine.”
“I can still see you, Edgard.” She smiled again. “You were very handsome. One of your downfalls and no doubt very troublesome to your vows. Did you also change your heart? Are you truly an old man? I doubt it. You will never be old, Edgard. Twisted, perhaps, but never old.”
“Simeon, perhaps you should check on Monsieur Grine and the children. Make sure that Vanni stays put and doesn't go running off again.”
Simeon was glad to be relieved of his obligation t
o stay in the room. He wanted to scream and shout and perhaps throw up or throw himself off the roof. This was the greatest shock he had ever suffered, even surpassing Greta’s disappearance somehow. He hurriedly let himself out of the room without saying another word and then leaned against the door, wide-eyed with shock. Grandmother? Grandmother? He had another Grandmother? He didn’t want another Grandmother! It hurt too much when they passed away. He didn’t want any more relatives at all and he wondered still why he had allowed his wife to bring children into the world. His heart could only be broken so many times. He drew a deep breath, steadied himself and then went off in search of Planxty and the others.
“This boy, Vanni. He looks familiar,” Catharine asked as soon as Simeon was gone. “Who’s son is he? I can see that Greta looks very much like her father. A beautiful child. Wonderful! And Simeon, you have no idea what you have done to me, Edgard. I would have never believed you could be so cruel, but who is the dark-haired one with the pretty eyes? Not one of yours surely.”
“The boy belongs to one of my Knights. I believe you have met him only recently in Romania.”
“Ahh.” Her face lit up. She had been right. There was no mistaking Lucio’s son. She wondered who the boy's mother was and where she might be. She had been sure that the Italian was single. No wife. “Then your Knights marry now? I thought they were required to remain…” She was shocked and it showed plainly on her face.
“Some things change, Catharine, but not all of my Knights are married. Simeon’s mother is deceased, but Simon is remarried… for the fourth time! I am not sure that such unions should have been allowed, but what is done cannot be undone,” he told her gravely. Edgard was not sure he wanted to discuss Simon’s private life with her. In fact, he had no idea what he was going to do with her at all. Seeing her was not much better than a white hot poker in the eye. On the one hand, she was dangerous and he could not help but wish to kill her on the spot and go in search of her brother who must be near at hand. On the other hand, he still loved her. Love! He cursed himself mentally.
“I see. Four wives, but surely then Simon cannot be a priest as I have heard. Your are still keeping the faith then. Passing along the blood.”
“Simon is many things. One thing of which you can be sure, he is not like his father in many respects. Simon has a great destiny, but I should let him tell you what he will. As for the bloodline, Catharine, that is something that we should discuss at length. There are great things in the works and we cannot allow…” his words were interrupted when the cook rushed into the room again, blabbing hysterically in French about a fire in the stables.
“Great day in the morning!”
Edgard was on his feet immediately and headed for the door. Already, the sounds of running feet and slamming doors issued from the foyer. He turned back at the door as the cook rushed past him.
“Catharine! Please wait here! I must attend to this!” The big man hurried from the room, but took time to close the door behind him.
Catharine was left sitting in the beautifully appointed room alone. She raised her eyes to the ceiling above her head. Lucio had not moved. He seemed to be having a terrible nightmare. A fire? Another surprise, but one that she might be able to take advantage of. She got up and walked toward the foyer, placing the snifter on a marble table before opening one of the doors very slowly. One last door slammed somewhere at the back of the house and she heard faint shouts from outside the house and then nothing. The mansion was very quiet around her as if it were watching her, waiting... She could hear her own heart in her ears and the ticking of the clock in the foyer. The staircase led to a darkened hall lit by dim electric wall sconces from the early twentieth century.
Ramsay’s house was imbued with the dark Knight’s energy. He was everywhere, in every piece of furniture, in the wall paper, the light fixtures, the rugs. The Chevalier du Morte had lived here for a very, very long time. She could almost feel his eyes on her as she began to ascend the stairs very slowly. The wood creaked slightly under her feet, but what could they do if they caught her? Kill her? She picked up her pace and then stopped at the top of the stairs. A sound came very faintly to her ears. The sound of a man’s voice, singing. Barely audible in the hallway. At first, she thought it to be a spirit, but the words were Italian. The voice was familiar. Was he singing in his sleep? She’d never heard anyone sing in their sleep! But it was his voice. She followed the sound to the right and stood before a solid mahogany door with a brass handle.
The door opened easily. The room was dim, lit only by an errant shaft of light falling across the bed from an adjoining room where the door stood slightly ajar. She could see her beloved Italian Knight lying in the midst of the bed on his back under a dark quilt or blanket. And she could hear clearly the words he sang. It seemed that he was singing an ancient song in Latin not Italian at all. A church song about the Virgin Mary. Chills coursed up her spine.
His voice wavered and sank and then rose and was interspersed with gasps as if he was having a hard time breathing. This was not right! The song was not about the Virgin Mary, it was from the Virgin Mary to her Son while He was on the Cross. Catharine had heard it before… long ago. In the song, the Virgin was asking Jesus to take her with him.
She approached the bed and looked down on his face. She had never really expected to see him again. Aristoni had told her that she would never see him again. His eyes were closed and his face was contorted as if in great pain. Whatever was causing the pain was not evident and he continued to try to sing the song between struggling for every breath.
“Lucio?” She leaned over him slightly. She had to wake him. He was in terrible distress.
His eyes fluttered open and he stared at the canopy over the bed without moving. He stopped singing and opened his mouth. His breath came in short little gasps.
“Lucio? It’s me, Catharine de Goth. What is wrong?” She touched his face and he still did not move his head. Only his eyes which continued to flutter rapidly as if he were fighting to keep them open. He looked at her, but without comprehension.
“Lucio!” She was becoming quite alarmed now. “What is wrong?! Can you hear me? Can you see me?”
Still there was barely a response from him as he continued to blink at her.
She reached hesitantly for the cover. This was terrible!
She almost ran from the room, shouting for help. Slowly she pulled the cover from him as her own breathing began to match his. Her heart was pounding in her ears. The cause of his pain was immediately evident and she pressed her hands to her mouth to keep from screaming. He clutched his exposed stomach with both hands. A great red stain surrounded him. The white sheets beneath the blanket were totally covered with blood. The smell of it struck her nose like a physical blow. She stepped back instinctively and looked down at the floor. The blood had even run from the mattress onto the floor.
It was too much! But there was no sign of what had caused the perfectly executed wound that ran from his sternum out of sight under the cover. He continued to breath, but he was beyond communication.
“Lucio, my brother!” she cried. Steeling herself, she stepped closer and pulled the blanket completely off the bed. The slice stopped just above his navel and he was trying to hold it together with both hands.
“Who did this to you?!” She looked about in terror.
The fire! The fire must have been a diversion! There was a murderer in the house!
“Where is he?” she asked the questions that she knew he could not answer.
She regained her wits and turned to run. She would have to find Edgard! Simon! Where was her son? Simeon had said he was upstairs? Was he also injured? She rushed into the hall and bounced off of someone very solid in the dimness. A man grabbed her roughly and shoved her back inside the room with the Italian.
“Who are you?!” she shrieked as she caught herself on the bedpost. The impact of her body shook the bed and caused Lucio to cry out in pain and panic. “What are you doing?!” she
shouted at the tall man advancing on her. “What do you want?! Murderer! Murder! Murder! Help us! Someone help us!!”
The man grabbed her again and slammed her into a chair beside the bed while pressing one hand roughly over her mouth. “Be quiet, Mademoiselle,” he told her and leaned to look in her face. He was dressed completely in black. She had never seen him before. “I have been waiting for you.”
She was astounded, but nodded her head in agreement and he removed his hand.
“That’s better. Aren’t you happy to see your Knight again? I’m sure he is happy to see you,” he said and then turned and kicked at the bed, causing another moan when the bed shook the stricken Knight unmercifully.
“Who are you?” she asked in a raspy whisper. “What do you want?” she asked again as he went back to the door and locked it, tucking the antique brass key in his pocket.
“Be very still now. We do not have much time,” the man told her. “You have a bit of information I would like. Answer my questions and this will be over very quickly. If you do not cooperate, little bird, I can make things worse.”
“Worse? You are a monster! Did the Church send you?” she asked. Her vision darkened and she felt she would faint.
“The Church?” He actually laughed as he climbed onto the bed with Lucio and sat down across the Knight’s legs. “No. No. No church sent me. I just have an inquiring mind.” He pulled Lucio’s hands from the wound as the Italian struggled weakly to keep them in place. Catharine closed her eyes and looked away.
“What do you want to know, monsieur?” she asked him and then forced herself to look again.
“I want to know where your brother keeps the pretty toy wrapped in linen. The skull.”
“What skull? I don’t know what you are talking about!” she shouted at him.
“Shhh. Now watch.” He leaned over the Knight and acted as if he was listening for his heartbeat.
Thoth, the Atlantean Page 22
