“My God, I hope we don't meet that thing down here,” Jacob murmured, eyeing one bas-relief that depicted some great tentacled beast towering over buildings and the people that prostrated themselves beneath it.
The sergeant turned to look at Sir Richard as he let out a small gasp which echoed along the fetid corridor.
“Dagon.”
The knight was gazing at an eye-level carving, shadows from the flickering torchlight making it almost seem to move of its own accord. It depicted a tall, humanoid figure with obscenely long legs, arms and even fingers that appeared to be engaged in the act of stealing a small child from its screaming, yet unresisting family.
“We're not going to find anything down here,” Sir Richard mumbled, tearing his eyes away from the bas-relief. “Look at these pictures: every one of them has the moon or stars in the background. Whatever this twisted religion is, it prefers night time. Come on,” he pushed past Jacob and headed back along the tunnel towards the big wooden entrance door. “We'll get some rest and come back here later tonight. Perhaps we'll be able to see exactly what these people get up to when the stars wheel overhead and they think no-one's watching them...”
* * *
The Hospitallers had left the tunnel, apologising to the workmen they'd disturbed – Sir Richard even giving the glowering foreman a small donation of silver for their trouble – and made their way back to St Luke's to await dusk. The family of the man who had died in his sleep had gone to stay with relatives according the Father Vitus, leaving his body in the care of the priest to be prepared for the funeral. The Greek quizzed them on their investigation's progress but the knight gave nothing away, simply asking for a meal and some wine before he and Jacob retired to their room for a nap.
They awoke refreshed and ready for their night's work in Krymmeni Thesi. The sun was just setting, its red light throwing sinister shadows across the buildings outside the Hospitaller's bedroom window as they climbed through it into the street rather than alerting Father Vitus to their movements.
Sir Richard didn't believe the priest had anything to do with the disappearances or the strange religion that apparently operated out of the tunnel in Krymmeni Thesi, but he didn't see any reason to tell the secretive little man where they were going tonight. The less people that knew, the better.
That said, the big knight mused, scratching his beard as they jogged through the street, our guide from earlier seemed to think Vitus must have known about Krymmeni Thesi. So why didn't he tell us when we asked about it?
It was a question for another day – they had enough to worry about that night.
They reached the village soon enough; thankfully the strange figure that had been standing in the field observing them earlier in the day hadn't returned. Sir Richard didn't want the volatile Jacob chasing through a field, sword drawn, to deal with the 'straw man'.
No, the journey was uneventful, although the very air again seemed charged with negative, oppressive energy. Two normal men might have given up and gone home, but the Hospitallers had seen, and done, much fighting for Christ. The idea of devils and demons wasn't enough to stop Sir Richard's investigation.
The houses stood silent and unlit, just as they had the previous night when the Hospitallers had fought and killed two of the black-eyed men. The unearthly, threatening atmosphere that had followed them ever since they'd left St Luke's became almost unbearable as the two soldiers walked silently towards the tunnel entrance they'd visited earlier in the day.
The five workmen from earlier – the very same ones from the look of them – still stood on guard at the top of the stairs, although Sir Richard growled at their incompetence as they again lounged about the low, ancient stone wall that marked the staircase down to the tunnel.
As they watched from the shadows a couple, dressed in dark hooded robes approached the entrance, showed something they wore around their necks to the guards and were waved down and through the entrance without a word passing between any of them.
“Interesting,” Sir Richard muttered to his sergeant. “If we had a couple of those amulets or whatever that was they had we might be able to just walk straight through. But, since we haven't,” he stood up, beckoning Jacob to follow, “we need a diversion to get them away from the entrance.”
Jacob shook his head. “A diversion? What for? They might outnumber us but they're just farmers and labourers. We can take them.”
Sir Richard crept away to a nearby house, gesturing his sergeant to follow.
“We can't just walk up and butcher them,” he replied. “We have no proof they're doing anything wrong and you can be sure their foreman told his superiors that we were sniffing around earlier. If they were all to die violently, without any hard evidence of wrong-doing, the locals will go crazy and the Grand Master'll have our heads.” He halted, peering into the windows of the house, checking no one was around. “Make sure no one appears from a side street like they did before.”
Jacob drew his sword and peered around at the darkness, vowing not to be blind-sided again as Sir Richard drew out his tinderbox and struck flint against steel. There was a wooden outhouse with some damaged old furniture in it attached to the main building and with the suffocating climate on the island it was simple enough to set it alight.
“Come on!”
Jacob followed his master's lead back to the tunnel entrance just as the guards caught the smell of burning in the air.
“What's that?” one of them asked, sniffing loudly. “You smell that?”
The Hospitaller's couldn't fully understand what was being said as the Greeks spoke excitably but the gist of the conversation was obvious and the alarm apparent as the slowly building fire became large enough to cast an orange glow in the sky.
The men began to hurry over to extinguish the blaze before it got out of hand and Sir Richard grinned in satisfaction.
Then there was a shout and the guards halted in their tracks. The foreman berated them, pointing down at the stairs leading to the tunnel. There was some heated argument then, particularly by one guard but the foreman ran over and punched the dissenter hard in the face, knocking him back against the low wall.
The rest of the guardsmen lowered their heads, muttering under their breaths in anger, but they followed their leader's directions and walked back to their positions in front of the tunnel entrance.
Clearly it was more important to make sure no uninvited guests went into the tunnel than it was to extinguish a fire that could, potentially, destroy the whole village.
“They're leaving it to burn!” Jacob muttered in disbelief. “By all that's holy, whatever they're protecting down there must be important...”
Sir Richard nodded in exasperation. Clearly their ruse wasn't going to work. “Draw your weapon,” he ordered, pulling his own fine longsword from its leather sheath. “Looks like we'll have to try your direct route after all.”
Whereas the Hospitallers had travelled with only light clothing earlier in the day, they now wore full chain-mail, covered by the red surcoats with white eight pointed star of their Order proudly emblazoned on the front. They wore no helmets, knowing the darkened conditions and possible close-combat they'd be faced with would only be made more difficult by a heavy lump of steel the wearer could barely see out of.
“Who's that?” The voice was that of the foreman. He didn't sound worried, or frightened by the sight of two shadowy figures approaching, just surprised. “Who's that?” he repeated, louder, when he didn't get a reply.
Sir Richard and Jacob held their swords behind their backs so the torches that guttered by the tunnel entrance, and the fire they'd set – which was already beginning to burn itself out – wouldn't reflect off their blades and warn the workmen of their impending doom.
They approached the guards who stood up, knowing something was obviously wrong, and the Hospitallers roared their battle-cries into the charred air of the ghost town.
Sir Richard thrust the point of his longsword down and into the thig
h of the first worker to engage him. The man collapsed, screaming in shock as thick blood spurted from the fatal wound which he tried to close, uselessly, with a shaking hand.
Without slowing, the knight brought his blade round and up by his right shoulder, ready to swing it down into the head of his next target. The guard instinctively dodged to the left, thinking he was a step ahead of the big Hospitaller but before he could aim a blow of his own he felt the boot of Sir Richard battering into the side of his knee and he collapsed instantly.
The knight's blade was thrust into the guard's heart and, as the man died, Sir Richard looked up to see his sergeant-at-arms fighting off the remaining three men.
One of them was crouching, bleeding profusely from a terrible wound across the midriff, so the knight jumped forward and ran the point of his sword into the man's face which exploded in a spray of blood and bone while Jacob dispatched another with a thrust to the heart.
The foreman panicked as he realized he was the last of his comrades still standing. He half-ran, half-fell down the stairs to raise the alarm but Sir Richard had guessed his intentions and was able to reach him before he hauled the door open, slamming the man's head against the stone wall before impaling him on his sword.
“Now,” the Knight of Rhodes grunted into the inky darkness, breathing heavily after the exertion, “we find out what these people are doing down there.”
* * *
Again, as it had before, the stench of decay and some half-remembered damp horror pervaded the air of the tunnel and Sir Richard began to think of it as more of a tomb.
This time, though, there was something else in the air: the sound of a large number of people congregated and chanting together as one. The Hospitallers couldn't make out the words through the dark caverns so they slowly made their way along the tunnel again as they had previously, only this time they held their bloodied swords defensively before them, ready for whatever this unholy place might throw at them.
They passed the blasphemous wall-carvings, trying not to look too closely as the sound of chanting grew louder and the walls seemed to close in around them. Every so often one of the Hospitallers would turn with a low cry as they heard a footstep behind them or a whispered laugh in their ear, but they could see nothing in the gloom and the knight assumed it was some trick of the tunnel's construction that was causing the sounds.
Eventually, Sir Richard grasped his sergeant by the arm, slowing their progress as the passage gave way onto a great cavern lit by dozens of torches and they spotted another guard, his back turned to them. It was a measure of their anxiety that the Hospitallers were glad to see a human enemy standing in the tunnel.
“There may be more of them,” the knight whispered, gesturing Jacob back into a shadowy alcove in the tunnel wall.
The pair stood and watched to get an idea of the guard's routine, if any, or if there were any more of the silent watchers. The chanting continued and, although it was meaningless to the Christian Hospitallers, the words became recognizable eventually.
“Arra, Arra, Arra, Dagon, Dagon, Dagon...”
The chant repeated over and over and, despite its obviously blasphemous intent, Sir Richard found the refrain hypnotic and he stood, spellbound for long moments until Jacob nudged him gently.
“What do we do now?”
Sir Richard looked at him in confusion before the realisation of where they were came back to him and he motioned forward.
“We remove that guard and see for ourselves what the hell's going on in that cavern.”
They padded forward, the chant masking any sound they might have made, and the knight grasped the guard from behind, bringing his dagger around, slicing it deep across the man's throat, sending a spurt of blood showering over the blade.
It's hungry tonight, Sir Richard thought, smiling at his blade before he caught himself in disgust, wondering where such a monstrous notion had come from. The chant, the cavern, the ancient obscene bas-reliefs...it was enough to send a man mad.
Jacob had moved to deal with the only other guard that seemed to be around, silencing him quickly with a sword thrust to the kidney and a couple of cracks on the skull with his pommel. He crossed back to stand with his master and they gazed down on the scene below, the chants of “Arra! Dagon!” filling the huge cavern as they rose in intensity.
“Look,” Sir Richard growled, pointing to two separate places behind the great stone altar.
Jacob squinted into the gloomy haze beneath them, trying to see what his master had spotted before his eyes widened in anger.
Three red surcoats bearing white, eight-pointed crosses, hung from long poles like trophies.
“At least we know what happened to our brothers,” the knight muttered, before he shrank back out of the light as something seemed to be happening at last beneath them.
A figure at the rear of the room, well-lit by the large candles and torches on the altar before it although its face was hidden by a crude mask, stepped forward and raised its arms to the worshipping throng which seemed to hold its collective breath reverentially.
Silence reigned for long moments and, as time extended, Sir Richard felt the uncontrollable urge to cough.
He looked at Jacob, staring at him in horror, his face turning scarlet, fists clenched tightly, but at last the knight couldn't hold it in any longer, even though it would give them away to the gathered worshippers and he opened his mouth, a hacking cough bursting from his lips.
“Welcome!” The priest shouted, raising his arms and the gathered mass of people gleefully returned his greeting, filling the cavern with their voices.
Offering a grateful prayer of thanks to God the Hospitallers settled down to watch proceedings as the priest continued his oration in Greek. Occasionally the people replied in kind, obviously well-versed in whatever black mass this whole event constituted but the two Englishmen couldn't keep up and had no idea what was going on.
Eventually the congregation took up the “Arra! Arra! Arra! Dagon! Dagon! Dagon!” chant again, this time with even more enthusiasm, the syllables cascading horrifically around the ceiling of the centuried cavern. A movement off to the side caught the watchers' eyes and they stared in shock as a young couple were dragged through the throng who shouted and laughed in joy as the man and woman passed, crying and screaming as they went.
“Surely not,” Jacob growled. “Human sacrifice?”
Sir Richard watched as the couple were led to the altar and a large man approached them. He struck each of them brutally on the forehead with some knobbed cudgel and their protestations ended instantly as they slumped, either dead or unconscious, onto the floor.
It always amazed the Hospitaller knight when he saw people die in front of a crowd. This was the first time he'd been witness to a human sacrifice, but he'd seen plenty of hangings, beheadings and even more inhumane executions in the name of justice. Always, without exception, the normal people there to witness it – men, women and children alike – became so carried away at the sight of someone else's suffering that they'd scream and cheer and sing and make merry as if it were Yuletide. And when it was over, and the unfortunate victim was swinging from a gibbet, the people would head home – happy at their day's excitement.
This, though...this was a level beyond that. The crazed chant reverberated around the great room as the man with the cudgel stepped back to let the masked priest pass. The figure produced a long, wickedly curved knife and moved towards the first of the unconscious victims. He leaned down, running the blade across the man's throat methodically, as if the exact size and depth of the killing cut was somehow gravely important then, as the blood spilled from the horrific wound, he placed a cup underneath and collected it.
When the vessel could hold no more he stood up and placed it on the altar, producing another, similar cup from somewhere beneath the great stone monolith. He stood, as if catching his breath as the worshippers chanted and screamed in delight.
“Come on, we've seen enough,” Sir Richard s
aid, silently offering a prayer for the dying couple's souls before grabbing his sergeant-at-arms by the sleeve and heading back up the tunnel towards the main door.
“Eh? Aren't we going to help her?” Jacob demanded, staring in horror as the loathsome masked priest bent next to the girl who was just returning to consciousness, her eyes opened wide in terror as the face of her would-be killer swam into view.
“How the hell are we going to do that?” Sir Richard shouted over his shoulder, running now, as if desperate to put as much distance between himself and the repugnant rite that was occurring in the cyclopean cavern behind them. “She's dead already! Now move, before they finish their filthy ceremony and start to head back to their homes!” Tears of rage and sorrow streamed down his face as he ran, sickened to be leaving the girl to her fate but knowing there was nothing he could do to save her.
“Where are we going?” Jacob demanded, hurrying to catch his master. “What are we going to do?”
“First, we get out of here,” the knight replied. “Then we find Leontios – I have some questions for him. After that we'll head back to St Luke's and rest, before we take this news to the Grand Master in the morning.”
They reached the front doors and, swords still in hand, burst through, ready for any attack.
None came.
The guards they'd killed earlier hadn't been discovered and the village lay enshrouded in silence. All was quiet, just as it had been when they entered the hateful tunnel a short time ago.
As they passed the field from earlier on that day neither man was surprised to see the 'straw man' had returned, watching in silence from the gloom as they passed.
* * *
“Flat stones?”
“Aye, Leontios, stones that bear some inscription. We've seen them dotted around the town. What are they?”
The Greek merchant's eyes flickered nervously around the market and he shrugged his shoulders but the Hospitaller knight grabbed him and slammed him against the sandstone wall.
Knight of the Cross Page 4
