The Devil's Path (An Alexander Scott Novel Book 1)

by Richard Turner

  Scott smiled at Kate’s sound logic. With a wave of his hand, he let Kate take the lead while their companions walked a few feet behind, looking for any sign of trouble.

  They walked through the narrow streets that meandered through the old city of Rhodes. It seemed to bend one way and then another at the next intersection. They managed to get themselves turned around a couple of times, but with helpful directions from some of the locals, they managed to find their way. The first church mentioned by the father had been converted into a granary many years ago. Kate poked around for a few minutes, looking for something that might help, but realized that it was a dead end. The next church they went to was still standing, but was dedicated to Saint John, patron saint of the Knights Hospitaller. Kate knew that the church would not have been standing at the time of the First Crusades, so they passed it by. With the sun beginning to drop on the horizon, they trudged through another narrow maze-like alleyway followed closely by a couple of kids, who happily scattered after Scott threw some coins behind them. Eventually, they came to the last church recommended to them by the priest. To Scott, the church looked like an uninspiring stone building that seemed to be out of place with some of the newer houses built next to it over the centuries. A nearby Mosque’s minaret towered above the top of the medieval structure, making it seem smaller still.

  Seeing the name engraved in Latin above the entrance to the church, Kate began to smile.

  “Good news?” asked Scott, seeing the expression on Kate’s face.

  “I think we may have found what we’re looking for. The inscription above the door says this is the Church of Our Lady of Arimathea.”

  Scott looked at her, trying to recall where he heard that before.

  Kate said, “It was Joseph of Arimathea, who according to legend was supposed to have taken the Grail and hidden it away, so a church dedicated to Joseph of Arimathea built at the time of the Crusades seems a bit more than a coincidence to me.”

  The front entrance to the church was open.

  Leaving Gray and Thomas outside, Scott and Kate warily stepped inside the church and took a quick look around. The church was almost completely empty. A fine coat of dust seemed to cover everything; there was just one old chair sitting alone in the empty space. Several cats lying in the sun on the stone floor seemed to be the only inhabitants. It looked and felt old and unwanted, like it had been neglected and abandoned for years.

  “Hello, is there anyone home,” called out Kate, first in Latin and then in English and French.

  A few seconds later, the sound of feet shuffling from somewhere in the shadows caught their attention.

  Straining his eyes, Scott saw a young man emerge from the dark shadows at the far end of the church, a cane in his hand; he was hunched over and dragged his right foot behind him as he walked.

  “Bonjour, puis-je vous aider?” said the boy in French as he slowly made his way to the only chair in the room and then sat down.

  Hearing French, Kate smiled, and then in French she introduced herself and Scott to the man. The young man smiled in Kate’s direction. He said his name was Pirapus, and explained that he had learnt French as a child so he could speak with the pilgrims who regularly visited the church on their way to the Holy Land.

  “Is there a priest here?” asked Kate.

  “No, he left years ago,” replied Pirapus. “The church has not been used for worship for quite some time now. My great-grandfather and I live here as caretakers until a new priest arrives.”

  Seeing the dilapidated shape of the church, Scott wondered how much work ever got done. He suspected that they lived there out of the kindness of the church to keep others from taking it over until someone arrived to look after the church.

  Kate bit her lip; it was starting to look like another dead end. Realizing she had nothing to lose, she asked if the young man knew the history of the church.

  Pirapus shook his head and then said, “I only know what my great-grandfather told me and all he ever said was that the church was built to revere knights who fought in the crusades. You should really speak with Father Vasilliou in Constantinople. He was the last priest here, but he left more than a dozen years ago. I believe that he preaches at the Church of Saint Constantine.”

  “Vasilliou,” repeated Kate, memorizing his name.

  “If there is nothing else I can help you with,” said the young man, “then I must go and sit with my great-grandfather. He is very sick.”

  Kate thanked the man, while Scott slipped him some money to look after his great-grandfather.

  After the man had shuffled out of the room, both Scott and Kate stood there looking about the rundown church, not sure of what to do next.

  Scott was about to say something to Kate when he noticed something odd about a painted fresco on the far side of the church. It was hard to see in the dim light, but something made him want to see more. Walking over, he stopped and stared up at the painting on the pillar for a moment. It was then that it hit him like a bolt of lightning out of the blue.

  “Kate, come over here,” said Scott hurriedly.

  Kate walked over and looked up at the image on the pillar. A gasp escaped her lips. Although faded over the centuries, the painting showed Philippe of Normandy riding into battle against the Saracens. In his hands was the Holy Grail. There was no mistaking it; the image was identical to the one on the scroll that they had seen at Mont Saint-Michael.

  “This can’t be just another coincidence,” said Kate, staring in wonder at the image.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences, at least not like this,” said Scott. “This painting must have been done when Philippe’s squire, David, was still here in Rhodes. When he finally returned to Normandy, he must have brought a copy of the fresco back with him in the form of a scroll. The very same one we saw at the Mont.”

  Kate left Scott’s side and started to walk around the inside of the rundown church, her eyes taking in every nook and cranny on the walls. Halfway along the far wall, Kate stopped. Something caught her eye. Taking out a kerchief from her pocket, Kate began to delicately brush away the layers of dust caked on the wall. At first, there was barely an image, but the more she cleared, the clearer the picture became. Her heart began to race as she stared at the image.

  “Alex, I think I found something,” said Kate, stepping back from the wall to see the painting better.

  Scott walked over beside Kate and looked up at the fresco. On it, three knights were boarding a boat; in the distance was the unmistakable image of medieval Constantinople. An approaching Saracen army could be seen, but what caught Scott’s attention was in the hands of one of the knights: a cup held aloft.

  “Good God,” muttered Scott.

  Kate said, “It would seem that the Grail was here at one time, but by the looks of the men in the painting, it was taken to Constantinople before the city fell in the 1453 to the Ottomans, perhaps it was taken there in a vain attempt to stop the city from falling.”

  “We need a new boat,” muttered Scott to himself.

  Suddenly, from behind them, the front door to the church opened wide, its hinges creaking loudly in protest. Turning to look, Scott saw a man thrown hard against the stone floor. Dust flew into the air where he landed. Instinctively, Scott drew his pistol. Thomas, followed by Gray, quickly stepped inside, and then closed the doors behind them.

  Scott gently pushed Kate behind him. With his pistol in hand, he walked over to the man on the floor. A red welt was beginning to show on the man’s cheek. One of Scott’s men must have struck him.

  “Colonel, we found this guy skulking about. He was trying to listen to what was being said in here,” explained Gray. “After I snuck up on him, I found this on him,” Gray said as he handed Scott an old rusty pistol.

  “He’s none too talkative either, sir,” said Thomas, eyeing the man suspiciously.

  “He probably doesn’t speak English,” said Scott, looking at the confiscated pistol. It was an old Russian Army pistol that
looked like it would most likely jam or explode in the shooter’s face if he ever tried to use it. “He’s just hired help. Our friend from the boat is undoubtedly looking for us right now and probably has spies running all over town trying to find us.”

  “The sooner we are away from here, the better,” said Kate, nervously rubbing her arms if she were cold, in her mind was an image of their tormentor, Duval.

  “Do you think he heard anything?” asked Scott, looking over at Gray and Thomas.

  “I don’t think so, sir, he must have heard you and Miss O’Sullivan speaking with someone, so he got curious and decided to take a peek,” replied Gray.

  Scott looked at the miserable-looking man, and then as hard as he could he brought his pistol down on the man’s head, knocking him out cold.

  “Tie him up and leave him,” ordered Scott.

  Gray and Thomas quickly tied the man to the chair and then stuffed an old rag in his mouth to keep him quiet.

  Scott stepped to the front doors of the church and peered out. There was no one outside waiting for them; in fact, quite disturbingly, there was no one at all. Where there had been children playing when they arrived, now there was only an eerie, quiet, deserted street. Instantly, he felt a chill running down the back of his spine.

  “We’re not alone,” said Scott as he closed the doors.

  With a loud snap, Thomas pulled a metal curtain rod from the wall and then jammed it between the metal front door handles. “That’ll hold ‘em for a few minutes,” Thomas said with a wide grin.

  “Check the back door,” Scott ordered Gray.

  Drawing Kate near to him, Scott headed to the back entrance of the church.

  Gray was already there. He said over his shoulder, “Looks like the coast is clear, Colonel.”

  Scott popped his head out. A narrow alleyway led away from the back of the church. Like everywhere else, it looked like it soon joined in with the maze of streets and alleys that meandered haphazardly through the old city.

  Scott did not like it. His gut told him to be careful, but there was no way they could possibly go back the way they came. He looked over his shoulder and then brought a finger up to his lips. As quietly as they could, they snuck out of the back of the church. With Scott in the lead, they walked quickly down the constricted lane. Gray and Thomas, their pistols drawn, brought up the rear.

  They had not gone more than a few hundred yards when a young boy, no more than six or seven years old, walked up to them. He took one look at Scott and Kate and then at the top of his lungs, he started to call out to someone.

  “Frigg,” muttered Scott. “They’re using kids.”

  “What do we do?” asked Kate nervously.

  “Run,” said Scott, pulling Kate by the hand.

  They had not gone ten feet when a man with a shotgun in his hands stepped out from a nearby alley. He saw Scott and Kate run past. Raising his weapon, he was bowled over by Thomas, who hit the man with his shoulder square in the side of his head; his shotgun went clattering down the street.

  Scott heard the commotion but just kept running. Turning a sharp corner, he saw that the narrow lane forked off in two different directions. Peering over his shoulder, he saw the sun in the west. The harbor was to the east. “This way,” said Scott, leading them down the street he hoped would get them back to the safety of the ship.

  A shot rang out, hitting the brick wall right beside Scott. Stone chips flew from the strike, stinging his face. Pivoting in the direction of the shot, Scott saw a man on horseback, a pistol in his hand, taking aim at him. In one fluid motion, Scott stopped, pulled Kate behind him, and then brought his own pistol up.

  Both men fired simultaneously.

  With a loud crack, a bullet struck the wall behind Scott. His opponent had missed.

  Scott’s aim was better. The man on the horse cursed aloud and reached for his bloodied left shoulder. Dropping his pistol, the man dug his heels into his horse’s sides and then rode out of sight.

  “Do you think there’s any more of them?” asked Kate, nervously peering over Scott’s shoulder.

  “What do you think?” Scott said as he took Kate by the hand and began running down the maze-like streets once more.

  Kate knew the answer; she was just hoping that they could make it to safety without any more trouble.

  Turning another sharp corner, they almost ran straight into a young boy leading a horse and cart by hand. Scott instantly grabbed the horse’s reins out of the boy’s hands and ordered everyone onto the cart. Throwing some gold coins at the stunned boy’s feet, Scott jumped up onto the front of the wooden cart. With a loud whistle and snap of the reins, the horse began to trot down the narrow street, its hooves echoing off the brick walls as it plodded along. Kate, her heart racing in her chest, lay flat on the bottom of the cart. Thomas covered the rear, while Gray watched forward.

  Looking over, Scott was relieved to see the Phoenix at anchor in the harbor. He guessed it would take them only a couple of minutes to make it to safety. Moving along at a fair clip, the horse seemed to know its way through the streets. Scott was surprised how well it could maneuver through the never-ending warren of lanes and back alleys.

  The cracking sound of a bullet racing over their heads made Scott and Gray reflexively duck. Looking up, trying to see who was shooting at them, Scott saw a man standing on the roof of a house, a rifle in his hands. He was furiously trying to reload it, when Scott called out to Gray over his shoulder.

  “Got him,” said Gray, resting his arm on Scott’s shoulder. Taking a steady bead, Gray pulled the trigger.

  The noise in Scott’s ear was deafening.

  The man stood looking down on the cart as it raced by. A moment later, he fell off the roof and onto the hard stone street below.

  “Good shooting,” yelled Scott over his shoulder.

  “I learned to shoot from my papa. He fought in the Black Hawk War. He surely did,” Gray said proudly.

  Up ahead the street began to narrow, and Scott was worried that it would come to a dead end; instead, they came out on the far side of the harbor. With a loud whistle at the horse, Scott spurred it to go faster.

  Kate popped her head up and saw the Phoenix sitting there in the harbor. It was so tantalizingly close. Unfortunately, she could see that they still had to work their way through the crowded dock and then find a boat to make it to safety.

  “Colonel,” called out Thomas, “we got more company.”

  Looking back, Scott saw two horsemen emerge from the nearest alley and with a loud yell to their horses they began to chase after them.

  “Help Thomas,” Scott told Gray, who quickly climbed back beside the big sailor.

  No sooner had Gray moved when another rider burst out from behind a storehouse, charging straight towards the cart.

  Dockworkers caught up in the melee scrambled to get out the way as Scott’s cart barreled its way down the pier, like a maddened bull being pursued by three horsemen.

  Shots rang out from behind Scott.

  Pulling his pistol from his belt, Scott took a quick glance over at the rider easily keeping pace with them. The man was no fool. He was cleverly using the stacks of boxes littered all over the pier for cover.

  Scott called out over his shoulder. “Kate, can you steer the cart?”

  “I’m a Southern belle, of course, I can,” replied Kate as she crawled her way up beside Scott. Taking the reins of the horse, Kate snapped the reins and steered the horse towards the end of the pier.

  Scott grabbed onto the side of the cart and then took aim. Flashing past him were images of the rider as he sped past the tall piles of goods waiting on the pier. Behind him, Gray and Thomas were busy with a pair of skilled riders themselves. These weren’t local hired muscles, these men were professionals, thought Scott as he took a deep breath to control his nerves.

  A fleeting image...Scott fired.

  Keeping his pistol level, Scott looked over the weapon’s front sight and saw that the man pursu
ing them was no longer there. Scott was about to turn away, when out of nowhere the rider’s horse leapt over a stack of boxes, landing right beside the cart. The rider turned in his saddle and started to raise his pistol. He was mere feet away from Scott; there was no way he could miss.

  With a loud yell, Scott jumped from the cart, grabbing the rider before he could finish raising his hand to fire. Together, they tumbled down onto the wooden pier. Scott felt a sharp pain in his shoulder when he landed with the full impact of the rider’s body on top of his.

  “Alex,” screamed Kate as she saw Scott go down hard onto the pier.

  Gray fired his pistol, his rider tumbled from his horse. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Scott fall with the other rider. Slapping Thomas hard on the shoulder, he said, “Stay with Miss O’Sullivan, I’m gonna help the colonel.” With that, he jumped from the moving cart, landed on his feet, tucked in at the knees, and rolled backwards until he came to a jarring halt against a crate full of dates.

  Thomas propped himself up on one knee and then began to track his rider over his sights.

  Scott let out a painful moan as he rolled over and tried to get back up on his feet. His left shoulder felt like it was on fire. Gritting his teeth, he turned just in time to see his opponent stand up. The man’s face was covered in intricate tattoos. Scott had seen only one man like this before; his opponent was a Maori warrior.

  With lightning-fast reflexes, the Maori drew a gleaming blade from behind his back.

  Scott saw the blade and stepped back, trying to put a little distance between himself and his attacker, all the while looking for a weapon of any kind to defend himself with.

  With an evil grin, the Maori edged forward like a tiger ready to strike.

  Kate had totally lost sight of Scott. Fear gripped her. Behind her, Thomas’ pistol fired. She heard him cheer. The last of their attackers was down. She wanted to turn around and go back to help Scott, but knew she had to get help first. At the end of the pier, she saw men in blue uniforms milling about. Seeing Kate speeding towards them, the men began running towards her with bayonets fixed to their rifles. Pulling hard on the reins, she called on the horse to stop.