by Athanasios
“Excellency, this is highly irregular.” The Secretary saw catastrophe as a result of the proclamation, which gave complete autonomy to two rebellious clergymen. “At least have them justify their actions to the Signatura or Penitentiary.”
Cardinal Ciriaci tried to exert some authority over the ranks, especially the always-troublesome Templars. “They are to renew their mission each quarter annum and report to the Secretary’s office, or any one of the other two mentioned — Signatura or Penitentiary.”
“In the interests of having their mission recorded for future history, I concede to reports on a seasonal basis. This will go to the Apostolic Penitentiary and the Secretary, who will give it to the reigning pope.” Paul breathed shallowly. “As for their autonomy, they have their consciences, and I am certain that they are both harsher administrators than any you could muster, Pietro.” Everyone waited while the ailing pope smiled apologetically and continued.
“Father Martin, regretfully, you will have to act within the ranks of the Templars not your own Jesuits.” Martin nodded and added confusion to his astonishment. “The Templars will go on crusade against the true enemy, our ancient foe, agents, plans and schemes. You will take on the task until it is finished, or you relinquish your responsibility.”
He took a few more moments to catch his breath and continued with an authority that belied his weakening condition. “In all your actions, and in the execution of the duties laid out before you, remember the following — the Roman Catholic Church cannot be sullied by further controversy. We have a solemn and holy duty to our believers to be above reproach. I have faith that you will carry out God’s will and deliver us from this evil.”
- Promise of Life Rewarded -
TIME: FEBRUARY 7TH, 1965. DIGBY ISLAND, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA
The Kennedy assassination dominated 1964. The Warren Commission was then told to get to the bottom of the awful deed. Kosta believed that, in reality, they met to plan the most plausible and publically acceptable scenario.
In February, Adam got into a new toy Kosta ordered from Sears & Roebuck: G.I. Joe. Well into March and April, he occupied himself by devising all sorts of adventurous scenarios for the plastic soldier. At the end of April, Kosta was distracted by the close Stanley Cup playoff between the Leafs and Red Wings. Toronto finally pulled through, with four games to three to claim the cup. Both Adam and Kosta were happy to see the likeable Sidney Poitier win Best Actor for Lilies of the Field, which Adam described as a so-so film. He was at an age where too much talk made him lose interest in what he watched.
In May, they both avoided the daytime soap operas, Another World and As the World Turns. Adam much preferred his studies to what he called “As His Stomach Turned.” They also made their monthly visit into Vancouver, where Kosta picked up information, hard to find items, as well as catching a few movies. They left From Russia With Love humming Love Me Do, while Adam stopped and deadpanned, “Bond, James Bond,” incessantly.
For Adam, that summer was his first introduction to the Beatles, with the release of a seemingly endless supply of singles. She Loves You, Hard Day’s Night, All My Lovin’, Can’t Buy Me Love were on his mind, and out of his mouth, most every day. Kosta thought they were catchy tunes, but preferred Motown stuff — Roy Orbison with Where Did Our Love Go, and Oh! Pretty Woman; the Beach Boys with I Get Around. Louie Louie was deemed safe for radio again, though by that point, nobody cared.
All this happy music was interrupted with news of the civil rights demonstrations, both in the south, as well as across the nation. The summer ended bombings in North Vietnam; nobody believed that would be the end of it.
After such a busy summer, there were a lot of distractions for Adam on the tube. What seemed like an endless supply of really great TV came out that year, which, along with his favorites vied for his attention. Bewitched, The Addams Family, Daniel Boone, Gilligan’s Island, Man From U.N.C.L.E. and the Munsters kept Adam, unblinking, before the living room cyclops. The news also noted the findings of the Warren Commission, citing Oswald acted as a lone gunman. Kosta was awed by the quiet that followed this news. There were rumblings, to be sure, but on the whole, they never simmered to a boil.
In November, the Second Vatican Council continued its reforms, and in services, replaced Latin with English. None of this mattered to Adam, as he looked forward to the release of another Bond flick in December. After they watched Goldfinger in Vancouver, Kosta had to suffer through a few hours of “Bond, James Bond.”
They brought home a few choice contraptions Kosta had custom made for Digby Island. His precautions didn’t stop there. He reached out to many whom he met while searching for the Codex and offered priceless texts he obtained from the Library of Alexandria. Mathematics and philosophy, in the original hand of Archimedes or Plato, provided the money off which Kosta and Adam lived. Kosta had set these sales up, well before his current existence of eluding shadow groups and shadows. As the money flowed in, Kosta became one of the wealthiest individuals in the world. With his bait and traps set, as well as money enough for many lifetimes, Kosta’s mind was at ease. He settled down to read the rest of the Idammah-Gan. He did this outside their cabin while Adam watched TV. In the northern sun, nothing dark endured, remaining hidden behind words, around sentences and under letters.
- Idammah-Gan Codex - Depth of Correction VIII: Wounded Rib IV: -
TIME: MARCH 28TH, 1244 AD. MONTSEGUR, FRANCE
Ursus’ swollen head welcomed the stone floor. He awoke, facedown and aching from the inquisitor’s efforts to force a renouncement of his beliefs. He wasn’t alone in the dungeon where he had been flung and forgotten. As he roused, he looked around.
He saw many of the other Perfecti, whom Natalie called brothers, staring at him with horror or suspicion. The scars covering his body were what they couldn’t see past. He did not begrudge people their fears or their revulsion; he pitied they even noticed when they faced their end. He didn’t wish for his blue robe to hide his awful features. There was no longer any need to hide.
He tried to get up, but after a few attempts, fell back. On the fifth attempt, he made it to his feet but then dropped to his knees sending a shock through the room. He stood uncertainly for a few minutes until he was sure that he wouldn’t fall again. He felt a welcome breeze on his face and looked to a barred window on his right. His left leg felt broken but he continued forward. On either side of the window, Cathari scattered out of his way. He reached it and gripped the bars, looking out.
The window faced outward beyond Montsegur’s walls and afforded an escape, if he was willing to attempt it. Despite his weakened condition he might still be able to rip the bars out of the walls yet did not wish to go on. Everything he cherished was gone in this world. It was better to follow.
“Why don’t you just get out of here?” A familiar voice approached him from behind. “Rip the bars out of the window and let everyone else out too.”
Simon walked forward, looking disheveled, yet without the marks, bruises or broken bones shared by most everyone in the dungeons. “Go on, save them. There must be over two hundred Perfecti in these dungeons. If you tear the bars out we’ll all go free.”
For a long time, Ursus looked at Simon in the moonlight then glanced back outside. “For what purpose? To be hunted? We’ve been running long enough. The Romans won and that’s all there is. It’s over and the Cathari are finished. I’m exhausted, Simon, I don’t have any fight left in me. Aren’t you afraid someone will see you and finally recognize what you are?”
Simon was shocked, but answered easily. “Here in the dark they’ll think their eyes are lying to them, especially after the torture everyone has suffered.” After a pause, he finally asked, “How did you know?”
“That you’re undead? When I first saw you at the caves I knew. Despite what you do with your unnaturally long life, you are still born of evil and that is what I was born to lead. I’m telling you this because I no longer want to hide. I deserve a death, thousand
s of times worse than what awaits me in the morning.”
Simon came forward, stood beside Ursus, and for a long time, both remained silent. Neither wanted to speak, their situation stealing their words. Both heard whispers in the dark and some sobbing. No one screamed or cried out; most accepted the coming morning’s pyre. Thankfully, most would go to their deaths without argument, preferring to die with dignity. Ursus saw no dignity in their deaths, or even his own.
“Simon, why would I want to stay? I came into this world to hold it for my father and Natalie kept me from that.”
“Did Natalie know?” Simon asked.
“Of course she knew. She was Sangrael; my opposite. She told you this at Sabarthez, or did you forget? Oh, did she know about you?” he chuckled, “No, Simon, rest assured, she didn’t know her mentor was Vrykol.”
Behind them, among the sobs and whispers, they turned to see one of the pitiful, tortured souls come shuffling forward with bleeding feet. He was a small man, who held his broken and bent hand to his chest, his head bent low as he concentrated on moving to the window. Once he was a few feet away, he raised his head and Ursus looked at pupils that were slits, instead of round.
Some of the prisoners around the old man scurried to get away from him as a voice, not his own, spoke in a guttural tone. “Lord, why do you forsake us?” The little man’s back stooped lower with the additional weight of another. “We look to you to lead us to our destiny, yet you plan to leave us.”
Ursus sighed deeply and laboriously, finally responding to the wretch. “Leave this pathetic soul alone now!”
The man collapsed and both Simon and Ursus felt an icy chill fly past them, into the night. Simon blurted out, “How did he take possession of a holy man like that? Are they now able to inhabit priests?”
“Priests? Why does it make a difference?” Ursus replied, irritated at the intrusion. “This was just another attempt to get my attention. I wish that there was a distraction from all of this death and torture — something on which I could place my attention.” He continued to think about this and vowed that when he returned, he would live his life to the end. He and Natalie promised each other to see what a full life was. They wanted to enjoy small things, instead of facing doom until a final bloody, violent end. He would not seek grandeur or awesome spectacle. He would revel in the mundane.
“You will not save yourself, but rather die?” Simon asked.
“Yes, and willingly. The people, who have elected themselves judges in this world, will exact their punishment. I can’t blame them. Why would I continue to live, Simon?” He continued to think about the wonderful times he and Natalie shared as they traversed Toulouse and Aragon helping people.
“I’m not arguing with you,” Simon replied, “Everyone has a right to choose their death.”
Against a far wall, there came a clamor of a key in a locked door. The heavy wood swung open and two long pikes were thrust forward to push anyone out of the way. At the end of the pikes were two burly, chain mail-clad guards, followed by three others with drawn swords. Following them were two black robed Dominicans and their bishop, who wore a red mantle over his black robe and carried a scroll. Behind the armed guards, the two monks kept their hoods drawn over their faces, while after them, the bishop drew his back to reveal a stern, bearded, uncaring face. He drew out the scroll he carried, and after unrolling it, proceeded to speak.
“We, inquisitors and vicars of the Bishop of Albi, after having conferred with wise and expert men, and using the apostolic authority vested in us, do state and pronounce sentence, without right of appeal, that the houses, properties and dependencies of the guilty, be completely and utterly destroyed. We also order that the materials from these houses be given up to the flames, unless we decide that the said materials be used for pious ends.”
Some laughter erupted in the back of the dungeon, followed by jeers and cackles. “You can dress it up any way you want, brother, and wear any robe you wish, but you’re nothing more than thieves.”
“How dare you?” the bishop asked. “Who said that? You’re all heretics, preaching against the holy mother church! Come forward and show yourself!”
“Why? So that I can be beaten further? Soon enough I’ll die, but you’ll still be a murdering thief!” The voice stopped but for a few seconds continued to chuckle in disgust.
One of the mailed soldiers who had drawn a sword added, “Come on, Padre. Don’t pay any attention to heretical ravings.” With that, the group retreated, their presence ending as it began, except for the parting words from the soldier who had spoken last. “Make your prayers to God, heretics. We’ll soon be back to lead you to your judgment.”
Sobs followed, and some of the imprisoned screamed at their confirmed doom. Simon and Ursus turned back to the window and were silent for a few moments.
“Natalie once told me that I didn’t have to cause so much pain, because too much existed already. Over the past years I saw she was right,” Ursus thought out loud. He remembered the vow they made to break the chain they had followed for millennia. They would enjoy all their years refusing to die brutally. No matter what they would refuse followers whether they were right or wrong, because in the end, it’s just a matter of opinion.
“That is why the Gnosis of God is so vital,” Simon said, snapping him out of his reverie. “Without faith, life has no meaning. Rather, it is a long stream of experiences that have no significance.”
Ursus looked at Simon’s earnestness and faith and despaired for mankind. He saw what most leaders saw at times — honest belief given freely, or empty faith given desperately. He wanted neither. The time for leadership was over and he deserved better. For him, the trappings of power held no allure. He didn’t care to be Redeemer, Messiah, Savior, the embodiment and culmination of ideals. He wanted to explain all of this to Simon, but only answered with the most important point he had learned; through lifetimes of toil, turmoil, blood, pain, torture and struggle.
“You’re a fool. Trying to give meaning to something as important as life is folly. Your faith, any faith, is just a self-important excuse for your life. Don’t relinquish your responsibility to a god or a devil. Instead, take it and use it to add meaning to your life; don’t assign it to anybody else. You’re weak and petty to put that power in the hands of a figment of your imagination.”
The words hit Simon like blows and knocked him speechless. “Natalie believed like you do and I agree with your desire to do good, to help people in any way you can.” Ursus was adamant, though he could explain no more. “Spend your existence any way you wish, but I tell you this: take control of your life and your will. Don’t relinquish it to anybody.
“Most people live their lives for goals they, or others, have set for them and if they don’t succeed, what then? With each little loss, do they count their lives a failure, until they tally all the little shortfalls and decide it’s time to stop? When you look at how you’ve lived life, will you calculate all your victories and disappointments and judge whether it was better you lived, or had never actually been around to draw breath?”
At this point, it seemed to Simon Ursus was delirious, but he did not stop his soliloquy.
“Do you live your life for the moments when you’re happy? Do you live your life to feel good? To experience joy and to indulge the senses that give you pleasure? Good food. Good drink. Good sex. Good shit. Good piss. Rest when you’re tired. Why do people live their lives?
“When you look at a cripple, begging for alms in the street, do you feel sorry for him? Does that mean that you think your life is better? This is presumptuous and arrogant. Would it be irony if they were happier in their life than you are in yours? Would you envy them then? Beloved children and pets are to be envied. They live their lives without responsibility, for their food and shelter is provided. They are shown affection and are cared for.”
For some time, Simon could say nothing. “Why must you go?” he finally said, barely above a whisper.
“Don
’t deify me, Simon; I’m not worthy of worship. I’ve already told you this world holds nothing for me. I don’t want to be here, so leave me alone to my death.” Ursus turned from the window and watched as Simon, with a pained expression, backed away, only to be brought up short with sharp words. “Get away from me! Allow me to have my last hour without having to answer your questions!”
Hurt that he was being driven away, Simon responded, “I don’t want to worship you, Ursus. I already have my God, for whom I’ve sacrificed my death. I don’t care who you are or fated to be. I want you to live because I don’t want to be without you. We have been through a lot together; I just don’t want you to go.”
“I do,” Ursus said weary of the argument. “Natalie convinced me of her faith and led me away from mine. Now that this faith is shattered, I am faced with my earlier doom. I swear I don’t have the strength left to defy it. I would rather die.” Ursus stated his thoughts to anyone who listened. He knew he was addressing more than Simon, even more than the pitiful remnants of the Cathari who waited for their end the next day. He hoped he would reach someone in a more secular time.
He wished for someone who searched for the truth and was not swayed by explanations for lack of responsibility. He looked for someone who saw past the characters in myths, fables and religious allegories.
“Please, Simon, go. Don’t argue with me, for I am too weary to control myself. I want to rest. I want to die and I want to be punished for my actions and that for which I was intended, by all that is profane and damned.”
Ursus watched as Simon faded into the darkness, among the rest of the convicted heretics. He wondered if what he told Simon would ever go beyond his own ears. If it would ever reach anyone who would believe him. Would there be anyone who looked at the whimpering about burden of leadership and awful price of power and believe it? Would an inability to believe also be married to a failure to take up this power they thrust upon their leaders? In the end, was all of this terminal debate merely a question of burden of blame? Did no one want to hold the reins of power because they didn’t want to be blamed for a task, doomed to failure?
