Rodin landed on my chest and rooted around my pocket. “Hey, I was going to eat that later.” I pulled out some jerky, broke off a piece, and held it out between my fingers. Rodin snatched it up and gulped it down. He nudged my hand with his head, and I looked in his large bronze eyes, which softened as he turned his head. “You are so bad,” I said with a smile. “You want the rest? Here you go,” I gave him the second half, and with a quick wiggle of his head it disappeared. “I can’t resist that face.”
“So that’s why he stays down here,” the baron said as he stepped into my room.
“He’s been eating more, lately.”
“I’m not here to check up on him.” He sat down on a barrel beside the pyramid of cannon balls. “I want you to attend a meeting with me.”
I sat up and Rodin slid down into my lap. “Anything to leave this room.”
“Good, we leave in an hour.” He stood up. “What do you know about the Acropolis and ancient Greece?”
“I’ve read a ton of books about it, from mythology to historical accounts.”
“How well can you read ancient Greek?”
“As good as English. My father made me start when I seven. He believes you can only understand the philosophers in their original tongue.”
“Excellent, then be prepared to hike up there in an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
The baron walked out and Rodin flew after him. Probably trying to get more food. I gathered what I might need and made certain to fill my pouch with percussion caps for my Thumper. When Mr. Singh ordered me to go through the pockets of the henchmen, I’d found very little, only weapons like brass knuckles, knives, a revolver, and a couple of Thumpers. But the guys who carried Thumpers had a bunch of caps, and I took them all.
An hour later, I met the baron and Rodin on the gangplank. We walked down, and I waved to Mr. Singh and Ignatius. I thought they might come with us, but only the baron and I departed. Rodin sat on the shoulder of the baron’s tailcoat.
We wound through the city from the airdocks toward the towering Acropolis. I couldn’t stop staring at the buildings around me. We weren’t in ancient Greece, but the old winding streets and buildings cast me back to a world I’d only read about. As we started up the hill, ruins lay all around us. Fallen columns and crumpling walls lined the stone path, and I imagined myself in another world, one in which the gods of the myths and the stories from Herodotus came to life.
The baron looked around as well. We stopped at the ruins of a temple and he ran his hand along the marble column.
“Aristotle used to speak right here,” I said.
“He was Alexander the Great’s tutor,” the baron said as he stepped up into the temple. “Have you read his writings?”
“Every one of them.” I smiled remembering fondly those days trapped in my father’s office. I was happy to be here out in the world, but those days were now tinged with a nostalgia that made my heart ache. “My father made me read everything he’d ever written. ‘If it was good enough for Alexander of Macedonia, it is good enough for you,’” I said in the best impression of my father I could manage.
Skipping down a set of marble steps I saw the remnants of a large clay jar. “What is this doing here?” I asked.
“This is supposedly the pithos, where Diogenes lived.”
“Who?”
Really, you don’t about Diogenes? I would have thought you’d know all about him. Alexander famously said, if he couldn’t be Alexander the Great, he would want to be Diogenes the Little Dog.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course,” the baron said with a playful chuckle. “For a time, Diogenes lived in a jar here beside the temple of Cybele. Plato called him the insane Socrates.”
“Wow, I’m pretty certain that’s a great compliment. I’ve read both Plato and Socrates. It always amazes me that all these great philosophers knew each other.”
“For certain, an exciting time.”
I stepped into the broken jar, the biggest I’d ever seen, but still too small to live in. “I think there’s more room in between the helium sacks on the Sparrowhawk.”
“Diogenes was an ascetic; he believed things control us, and that by shedding all possessions he could gain greater wisdom. He destroyed his only bowl after seeing a young boy drink from his hands, and said, “What a fool I’ve been carrying this bowl around.”
As I sat inside staring out on an amazing view of the surrounding temples, I asked, “How did he meet Alexander the Great?”
“Alexander had defeated the city of Thebes, and his army marched on Athens. The city elders, too afraid to meet him, ordered Diogenes to negotiate. They hoped the smartest man in Athens could save the city. After hearing Diogenes had been called the insane Socrates, Alexander rode into the city. He stood in front of the clay barrel looking for the man they called the Little Dog.”
Looking around at the ruins atop the Acropolis, I asked, “Did Alexander destroy the city?”
“No, this damage is from earthquakes and war. A terrible explosion in the 1600s damaged the Parthenon and the building was never repaired.” The baron stood in front of the barrel, cutting off the morning light. “Alexander stood here and told Diogenes he would grant him whatever he wanted, but would take the equivalent from the people of Athens. The Athenian’s concern grew; they treated Diogenes poorly and several feared that Diogenes would take his revenge.”
“What did Diogenes request?”
“He asked the great king to take three steps to the left.” The baron stepped aside and the sun reappeared, warming the barrel. “Alexander spared Athens, for Diogenes had asked for the sun, and Athens would be like the sun. Its wealth would come, not from its gold or people, but from the ideas it would generate.”
“Brilliant.”
“Diogenes was a renowned scholar of cynicism.” The baron motioned for me to follow as he stepped away. “He was cynical of the world around him. Of money, materialism, and the conventions of society, and so he lived in a barrel.”
Cynicism was something I could relate to, as we were sitting on the wrong side of Aegean Sea. Genevieve was in the hands of Colonel Hendrix and the Knights of the Golden Circle. “I don’t think I’d want to live in here, but he’s fascinating.” I sprang out of the barrel and quickened my pace to catch up with the baron.
“I don’t think I would, either,” he said as we continued across the Acropolis. “Another legend says Diogenes dug through a pile of bones, and when Alexander asked what he was doing, he told him he was looking for the remains of King Philip, Alexander’s father. He told the great king that he couldn’t tell the difference between kings and commoners.”
“So, we’re all the same?” I said as I joined the baron. The baron looked down at me. “A powerful lesson to learn for one who was descended from Achilles.”
“Baron, is your blood really a different color?”
“I have bled many times and it’s always red.”
CHAPTER 3
A SECRET TEMPLAR MEETING
At the top of the Acropolis, the giant temple lay in ruin; yet the marble still gleamed in the morning light. Even though many of the columns had toppled over, and pieces of the roof lay scattered around the ground, this place held a majesty that rivaled the cathedrals of Europe.
“The Parthenon, the temple to Athena, patron goddess of Athens.” The baron motioned his cane toward the once gorgeous building.
“Wow, so many of the stories I’ve read in ancient Greek mentioned this place.” Shattered statues lined the ruins with an artistry only rivaled by the great masters of the Renaissance. “When this place was whole, I bet it was stunning.”
“Beauty beyond compare.” He turned to me and made certain my eyes were fixed with his. “We must preserve the past, even as we strive for the future. It is a sacred task set upon the Templar.”
“I thought we fight evil.”
“We do, but if we lose everything we stand for, everything that came before us, the
n we’ve failed future generations. Remember, your life is important, but we must also honor those who came before, and, those who will follow in your footsteps.”
I nodded, but my mind spun like a gyroscope. The Templars weren’t just about war, they wanted to preserve history and honor the past. No wonder my father helped them, why he translated dead languages into words people could understand today. Why he insisted I learn them all.
We left the Parthenon and returned to the city of Athens. Calling the city modern was stretching the term. London was modern, a city bustling with factories and life. Athens, however, remained as it did in the philosopher’s tales I was currently reading—a dusty place, relaxed, with one foot still in the past.
Turning north, we crossed a stream that wound between the buildings. The baron leaned in and smiled, “You’ll enjoy this. The area we’re in is known as the Templar Encampment. After the Crusades, the Order settled in Athens, and we’ve been here ever since.”
My expression shifted from wonderment to puzzlement. “You have a meeting with the Templars. That’s why we’re in Athens?”
The baron nodded. “You’re a bright lad.” Our casual stride slowed, then the baron stopped. He pointed his cane at me. “Acre was troubling, and the men who attacked us when we landed confirmed it. Something is afoot.”
I swiveled my head like a turret cannon. “Were we followed? I wasn’t even paying attention.”
“I was.” The slight upturn of the baron’s lip let me know he liked my response. “We are just a couple of tourists taking in the ruins. Our shadow ran off while we were talking about Diogenes.”
I kicked myself for not seeing our shadow. I wanted to be a warrior, yet I didn’t even realize we’d been watched. Studying everyone on the street around us, I wanted to find a spy, but all I found were ordinary Greeks ignoring us as they went about their lives.
The baron led me behind some buildings and stopped on a metal plate underneath a window. The baron pressed his signet ring into a small recess in the wall and turned his wrist. A man appeared in the window and nodded. The steel plate beneath us lurched, and I spread my legs, to steady myself. Of course, the baron stood still as we descended below the alley. Another metal plate closed off the opening above us. The mechanics squealed and whined as we slid down a stone passage. We stopped in front of a large metal door lined with thick, rounded rivets. A small port slid to the side and a pair of eyes with bushy gray eyebrows appeared. A muffled but stern voice said, “Password?”
The baron flipped the lapel of his jacket over, revealing a small pin. “Baphomet. Baron Maximilian Kensington and Master Alexander Armitage here at Grand Master Sinclair’s request.”
The bushy eyebrows disappeared and the little port slid shut with a click. One lock opened with a clatter, then a second, and a third. The heavy door slowly opened and we stepped inside. Opulent, white and green marble trimmed with gold surrounded us. Gas lamp sconces lined a long hall, their flickering flames danced across statues of armored knights and tapestries depicting scenes of glory and the symbols of the Templar Order.
“What does Baffomet mean?” I asked quietly.
The baron shook his head, as if not wanting me to ask, but softly said, “Baptism of wisdom.” We walked along a plush red carpet which dampened the sound of our footsteps. The old man with the bushy eyebrows and a cotton-top led us down the hall. “Have the others assembled?” the baron asked.
“Yes, baron, you are the last to arrive.”
“You might want to double the guard. We ran into the Golden Circle last night.”
The old man turned, his eyes narrowing, “That is troubling.”
“Indeed.”
He gestured toward another door and the baron and I continued on. The old man with the bushy hair stepped over to the wall and disappeared behind one of the tapestries.
As we reached the second door, an iron-riveted obstacle slowly opened into a cavernous room which stretched out before us like the interior of a Greek temple. A long rectangular table ran the length of the chamber. Shadows obscured many who sat at the table, but I could tell that six chairs lined each side, and one chair sat at the head. A lone, empty chair sat next to it on the left side of the table.
The booming Scottish drawl of Grand Master Sinclair called from the end of the table. “Baron, so glad you could join us, and I see you brought the lad. Welcome, Alexander.”
The baron bowed his head and I mimicked the gesture. “Thank you sir,” Genevieve’s father said in a somber tone. “We would have been here sooner, but I had to make certain we weren’t followed.”
A French accent from the shadows said, “I object. The boy is not a member of our Order.”
The baron smacked his cane against his open palm, “The boy is the Black Knight. He saved London at the Battle of the Thames, and drove the Milli-train from Zululand. Not to mention he saved my life last night. We were attacked by henchmen of the Golden Circle, and an assassin, a hassassin. I’m certain of it.”
A murmur shattered the stoic silence, and several men at the table said, “Impossible.” The Frenchman said, “The old man of the mountain is a myth.”
Grand Master Sinclair struck a gavel against the table and the echoing sound silenced the chamber. “How could they have known? This was a secret meeting.”
The baron shrugged his shoulders as he walked toward the table, motioning for me to follow. A valet appeared from the shadows along the wall and pulled out the chair for the baron. The valet disappeared and the baron pointed to spot behind him, which I took to be the place where I should stand. Through the shadows, I could make out some of the faces of the people at the table, and I saw that each one wore the same pin as the baron. Across from the baron sat Lord Marbury. He smiled and nodded his head slightly. Eustache sat beside the baron, he raised his goblet with a large grin.
Beside Lord Marbury sat a portly man with dark hair and a long beard. An older woman sat further down. Next to Eustache a man with long hair but no beard, stared at me, his eyes narrowing into a piercing stare, and his chin bore a wicked scar. Six more men sat at the table, but the shadows hid them.
I wanted to wave to Eustache and Lord Marbury, but I knew this was not the time. My father would be proud that I held my excitement in check and behaved as a proper gentleman should.
Grand Master Sinclair motioned and a valet brought forward a golden tray with several scrolls laying on it. Setting broken sealed parchments down on the table, Sinclair took one and unrolled it. “These are reports from our agents in Africa and the Holy Land about the Milli-train. I also have reports from Europe, America, and elsewhere about the activities of the Knights of the Golden Circle.”
“We have too many reports, most must be false,” the portly Frenchman said from across the table. “The Golden Circle cannot be so widespread.”
“These reports come from trusted sources, and we have no evidence they are false,” Lord Marbury said. “We must consider the possibility that they have grown larger than our Order.”
“A frightening thought,” Eustache said.
“What do we know for certain?” the baron asked.
“The Golden Circle seeks the Crusader Hearts.” Grand Master Sinclair’s voice dropped low, and held a tinge of fear. “The hearts of the four horsemen—artifacts of pure evil—and as any who have read the accounts will attest, the four from the Crusades were the most powerful in history.”
From the shadows, a man with a German accent said, “They already have the ones found on Malta two years ago. Why would they need more?”
“Fantasy at best,” another member at the end of the table said. “You try to scare us with these tales. Where is the proof?”
The woman spoke up. “According to the histories, the Crusader Hearts were destroyed.”
“Yes, exactly,” the portly Frenchman said. “How do we know the Crusader Hearts are real when no one saw them?”
“I saw one,” I said, stepping closer to the table. I knew my place was
to remain silent, but I couldn’t let them pretend the events in Zululand didn’t happen. “A shattered jade heart, the pieces bound together with a silvery metal. I also saw how it transformed the Milli-train. The reason they need them is because Genevieve Kensington destroyed one of the hearts from Malta at the Battle of the Thames.”
All eyes bore through me, and even the baron turned in his chair to glower. I’d been proper, but no more. I won’t let them ignore me, I told myself. I faced the Milli-train, the Iron Horsemen, and the Golden Circle. I know what I’m talking about.
I stood as stoic as a knight as Grand Master Sinclair chuckled, breaking the tension in the chamber. “Alexander Armitage everyone.” He gestured my direction. “Our resident expert on all things Horsemen.”
“He should learn his place when in the presence of this council,” the Frenchman said.
Eustache eyed his countryman. “Or, perhaps you should listen when an Armitage speaks.”
“Wait. Did you say Armitage?” the woman asked, “Is this the descendent of Armand Armitage, the knight charged with the destruction of the Crusader Hearts? I find this troubling.”
My knees wobbled, shattering my stoic stance. Eustache had shown me a book signed by William Armitage, an ancestor of mine. So I knew my family had served the Order in the past, but I had no idea my ancestor had dealt with the Horsemen. I wanted to know more, but how?
“Alexander is not under suspicion.” Grand Master Sinclair grumbled, his Scottish drawl low and fierce. “I do not like the tone of this meeting.”
Another member from the end of the table said, “Then let us return to the point.”
“Agreed.” The baron shifted in his seat and he raked his eyes across everyone seated at the table. “I’ve come to find out why this Order cannot track the Milli-train with any accuracy.”
Several members began to protest, but Grand Master Sinclair pounded his gavel. “Silence everyone!” He turned to the baron. “The answer is simple. We have a mole.”
Iron Lotus Page 2
