Deus Le Volt

by Jon de Burgh Miller

  ‘I’m a trader who got caught up in your little war unintentionally.’

  There was a loud crash from outside, and Lechasseur and Peter were brushed aside as the men who had been praying with Reynald rushed off to see what was happening.

  Lechasseur knew he had his man. Although he had not yet had a chance to explore Reynald’s time snake, he detected the same feeling, the same air of arrogance. He was sure they’d jumped back to the time just before the knight or monk or whatever he was had travelled to the future, but as the man they’d seen in 1950 had been so much older, perhaps he had got the date wrong?

  ‘You’ve had quite a journey, haven’t you?’ asked Lechasseur, wondering if he could catch a guilty look that might confirm his suspicions.

  But the man returned Lechasseur’s gaze levelly. ‘I have travelled far to get here,’ he said. ‘And my journey is not yet ended.’

  Lechasseur could see from the man’s eyes that if he started asking about time travel, he would be wasting his time.

  A familiar voice called from the church entrance. ‘Saracen!’ It was Timothy. ‘We’ve come to get you. It isn’t safe here any longer.’ Timothy’s words trailed off as he saw Reynald. ‘You...’

  Before Lechasseur could stop him, Timothy had pulled his sword from its scabbard and was charging forward, clearly intent on running Reynald through.

  At that moment, the church started shaking slightly, as if rocked by a minor earthquake, and a bright white light shone from nowhere to fill the room. When the light dimmed, Lechasseur saw to his astonishment that Reynald had moved safely out of the way of Timothy’s charge, and in his place now stood a gaseous red apparition, a skeletal knight with its palms held out to Timothy, as if to welcome him to Hell.

  Timothy slowed to a halt, his eyes fixed upon the monstrous sight. ‘Lord save me,’ he whimpered. ‘What trickery is this?’

  The apparition stood silently, the deep black recesses of its eyes staring invitingly at Timothy, beckoning him forward.

  ‘The spirit of Saint Peter is calling to you,’ taunted Reynald from the other side of the room. Timothy half-glanced to where Reynald stood, doing his best not to take his eyes off the ghostly figure.

  From the corner of the room, Peter began to speak. ‘You were exiled for practicing witchcraft. We should have killed you when we had the chance. What evils have you brought upon us, Marseille?’

  Reynald smiled. ‘Since I left those fools, I’ve learned many things. Many wonderful things, many terrible things. I’ve made discoveries to make you tremble, discoveries to make you weep.’

  Reynald walked toward Timothy and from within his tunic took a long, tapering spike made from some pale material. He held the spike toward the apparition, and with a tormented scream, it shimmered and vanished.

  The chapel was silent but for the sound of Timothy’s heavy, terrified breathing.

  ‘How did you do that?’ Timothy whimpered. ‘What power do you possess?’

  ‘See this,’ Reynald ordered, holding the spike out for Timothy to inspect. ‘Take a good look.’

  Timothy gazed at the object in Reynald’s hand. ‘There’s blood on the end of it... and an inscription... a pentagram...’ He began to sob and backed fearfully away from Reynald.

  ‘The Holy Lance!’ Peter suddenly cried. ‘The sacred relic used to pierce Christ’s side during his crucifixion. You’ve found the Lance!’

  Reynald chuckled. ‘It found me.’ His voice became a husky growl. ‘The most powerful object in the whole of Christendom, and it found me. And to think you threw me out for being a heretic!’

  ‘Oh God,’ Timothy wept. ‘Oh Almighty God.’

  ‘Timothy,’ Peter said. ‘He is one of the devil’s deceivers. We can’t be sure he speaks the truth.’

  Reynald ignored the preacher. ‘My dear Timothy,’ he said sternly. ‘Do you remember the words of the Pope? What he told us that fateful day at Clermont?’

  Timothy nodded and began to mutter through his tears. ‘He said that the Turks had violently invaded the lands of the Christians, depopulating them by pillage and fire and looting them of all their treasures... The Holy Lance of Christ, that which gives eternal life to all who are pierced by it, gone forever, robbed by the wicked race.’

  ‘Eternal life,’ said Reynald in acknowledgement. ‘My gift to you.’

  Timothy looked up, bewildered, as Reynald plunged the Lance into the side of his neck. A glowing field of energy surrounded the object and began to envelop Timothy. While Timothy’s expression was one of pure shock, Reynald’s face was a picture of ecstasy, and he held the Lance in place for several seconds before sharply withdrawing it. As he did so, Timothy collapsed to the floor, his face pulled into an expression of terror, and his body already starting to decay.

  ‘Was that necessary?’ Lechasseur asked grimly, taking a step toward the man.

  ‘It’s all part of my plan,’ Reynald said. ‘Would you like eternal life too, Saracen?’

  ‘One life’s enough for me, thanks.’ Lechasseur backed away toward the exit archway. He had to find Emily and make sure she was safe. Was this guy really a native, or a time traveller fooling the locals with parlour tricks?

  Reynald dismissed Lechasseur with a gesture and began to attend to the positioning of the cross and candles on the altar, as if nothing untoward had happened. ‘It is said that Satan was cast out of paradise for tempting man, but it has recently come to my attention that God was unjust in his punishment.’

  ‘So you’re killing crusaders to make up for that oversight?’ asked Lechasseur, pausing in the archway.

  Reynald picked up the large, jewel-studded crucifix from the altar, admired it wistfully, then replaced it and walked towards Lechasseur, holding the Lance out in front of him. ‘For centuries my family has guarded the Lance, and for many years now, a wonderful creature, more powerful than Lucifer himself, has spoken to me, guided me. When I told the Turks the location of the Frankish army at Dorylaeum, when I killed those souls most determined to recapture Jerusalem, I was doing his work. He speaks to me, and together we’ve found a way to return him to Heaven in the Devil’s place, to become the true ruler of Creation. The successor to the fallen angel will become the risen master, with God as his servant.’

  The Lance began to glow again, a green shadow surrounding it, while a grating humming noise seemed to emanate from its tip. Lechasseur looked closely at the object. It seemed to be made of finely carved bone and etched with symbols and pictures. It had been cut into the shape of a spear-head, and obviously matched the contemporary beliefs of what the Holy Lance looked like.

  ‘According to rumour, you Saracens are in league with the Devil from birth,’ Reynald said with glee. ‘If that’s the case, then I’m sure you’ll soon be one of the chosen. With my help, you’ll soon be part of our great army, ruling the heavens at my master’s right hand!’

  Reynald held out the Lance and lunged toward Lechasseur, trying to impale him through the chest, but the younger man managed to grab his arm and hold it back. As the two men struggled, Peter suddenly cried out. Distracted, Lechasseur momentarily lost his grip on his assailant, and Reynald pushed the point of the Lance home into his leg. A searing pain began to spread through Lechasseur, and drowsiness crept into his mind. He felt Reynald clasp a hand around his neck, and his vision filled with white as he saw the man’s time snake. He had a confused impression of seeing a view from a rooftop, and experiencing a feeling of extreme sadness, before falling heavily to the ground. Then he was looking up at... looking up at himself. He was seeing himself, his own time snake, through Reynald’s eyes. He could feel Reynald controlling the vision, taking him back through his life. He saw himself as a young man in the War, then as a child. Soon he was rushing back past his own birth, to the time of his grandparents and beyond. He saw generation after generation of his ancestors, rippling back through time, until the visio
n seemed to focus on one distant relative, a rejected and mixed-up child who grew up to be a man called Robert the Hunter, a man who would have two children. One of these children would eventually beget Lechasseur’s forebears, while the other... the other was Reynald.

  The vision dissipated and the drowsiness suddenly dispersed as Lechasseur felt the weight on top of him ease. He heard the thud of bodies falling to the ground and sat up to see a couple of large crusaders pinning Reynald to the ground. Lechasseur was breathing heavily as the implication of his vision began to sink in.

  ‘Get up, then,’ a familiar voice said.

  Lechasseur stood up, turned around and smiled. ‘Emily! I knew the cavalry would arrive sooner or later.’

  Emily hurried over to Lechasseur and gave him the best hug she could, given the armour she was wearing. ‘Sorry I’m late. My horse wasn’t as fast as Timothy’s. I take it your investigation has been a success, then?’

  Lechasseur shrugged and looked down at Timothy’s dead and decaying body. ‘I’d say we had mixed results.’

  Emily put her arm around Lechasseur’s shoulder and helped him out of the church. His leg wound was painful, but he knew it wasn’t too serious. He had to get it cleaned up soon, though, if he was to avoid infection.

  ‘Hold him,’ Lechasseur said to the crusaders, pointing at Reynald. ‘He’s the one who has been killing your men.’

  The crusaders looked at Emily for confirmation. She nodded. ‘Don’t let him out of your sight. We’ll be back before nightfall.’

  ‘I will wait in the church,’ Peter said. ‘I need some time alone to gather my thoughts.’

  ‘If things get dangerous, you may need to find shelter,’ Lechasseur warned him.

  Peter nodded. ‘If I cannot make it back to the camp I will hide in the crypt, though it seems we have things in hand now.’

  ‘Come on,’ Emily said, helping Lechasseur away, ‘let’s find you some help for that leg, and you can tell me all that you’ve seen.’

  10

  Emily had expected to find the streets full of crowds of distressed civilians running in fear from the crusaders, and of Franks looting, pillaging and destroying the Muslim areas of the city. Instead, she and Honoré encountered body after body of crusader knights, lying slaughtered on the ground.

  ‘The Turks must have fought back!’ Emily muttered, shocked by what she was seeing.

  They turned a corner and were confronted by a knight stumbling toward them, blood dripping from his mouth. Emily stopped the man, holding onto his arm. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked. ‘What’s happening?’

  Emily could see in the man’s eyes that he was frantic. ‘It’s... it’s Kerbogha. The Saracen armies have sent reinforcements. We’re no match for them. They’re killing us!’

  The knight pulled from Emily’s grip and hurried away.

  ‘We could go back home, you know,’ Emily told Honoré. ‘We could get your leg seen to by a 20th Century doctor.’

  Lechasseur shook his head. ‘No. Whatever Reynald’s doing is clearly altering time. I’ve seen those people’s time snakes terminate. Whatever chaos he’s unleashing, we have to stop it now. We don’t even know if there will be a future to go back to.’

  Emily sighed. ‘In that case, let’s get you somewhere where we can bandage that leg.’

  They made their way to the main thoroughfare through the city, but soon encountered pockets of battling soldiers from the two factions. Realising that they’d never get back to the camp safely while these skirmishes were going on – at least, not with Honoré’s injury slowing them down – Emily decided to change tack. She led her friend to an alleyway behind a house. There she stripped off and discarded her crossed tunic, and placed her sword and Honoré’s dagger alongside it on the ground. Then she concealed the whole bundle as best she could beneath a pile of earth. Putting her friend’s arms around her shoulders and taking the weight off his leg, she led him back out of the alley and into the open, where there was still no sign of the fighting abating.

  They hobbled over to a nearby house, and Emily pulled back the painted cloth that covered the doorway.

  ‘Help us, please,’ she said as she pulled Lechasseur into the building. ‘We were caught in the fighting. They’ll kill us if we don’t find sanctuary.’

  Inside, a large, middle-aged man was hurriedly trying to usher three young children into a back room.

  ‘We won’t hurt you,’ Emily told the man. ‘Please, we need help.’

  The man stared at the travellers and saw Lechasseur’s injury. ‘Those animals did this to you?’

  Lechasseur nodded. The man glared at Emily, then stood up and went into the back room, returning with several strips of cloth. ‘Bind your wound then leave us in peace.’ He looked at Emily. ‘Your people are not welcome in this city. You have brought dark times upon us.’

  Emily thought about explaining that she wasn’t with the Franks, but time was short and the man had clearly made his mind up long ago, so she settled for thanking him for his hospitality. He clearly thought they were mad, but in times of siege, neighbours frequently pulled together. It was the old Blitz spirit she’d heard of in London – you never knew when you’d be the next one needing the spare blanket from a stranger’s house.

  As Honoré sat on a stool and dressed his wound, he told Emily all about Reynald and what he had seen.

  ‘And you believe all this Heaven and Hell stuff?’

  Honoré shook his head. ‘Of course not, but something strange is going on. Innocent people are dying, and I suspect we’re the only ones who can stop him. He’s a time channeller, Emily. He saw my timeline, and I saw it through his eyes. We’re distantly related, it seems.’

  Emily looked surprised. ‘I take it the family reunion wasn’t amicable?’

  ‘We need to stop him, but we can’t do it alone.’

  Lechasseur tied the cloth wrap tight and flexed his leg experimentally.

  ‘Will you be all right?’ Emily wondered.

  Lechasseur stood up and walked gingerly around the room. He gave a satisfied grunt. ‘Emily, I think you should get back to the camp. Find Godfrey and the others, whoever stayed behind while this mess was going on. Get them to do anything they can to stop the madness. We need everyone to unite against Reynald. All the Muslims. All the Christians. Do what you can to get a force together. I’ll come and get you when I’m ready.’

  ‘Where are you going? You’re in no fit state –’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Lechasseur said. ‘If Reynald’s a time traveller, connected or not to you or me, then I’m the only one who can understand him, the only one not blinded by all his religious mumbo-jumbo.’ He laid a hand on Emily’s shoulder. ‘Please. Don’t make a fuss.’

  Emily glared at him, then pointed toward the doorway. ‘Off you go then. If you don’t come back in one piece, there’ll be hell to pay!’

  Lechasseur smiled, and limped out of the house. Emily followed him through the doorway, but turned in the opposite direction. She needed to find Simon.

  Lechasseur returned to the church, expecting to find the place deserted. Instead, the green glow that Reynald’s artefact had emanated now surrounded the small building. As he crossed the threshold, he felt a chill gust of wind, and the hairs on his neck began to prick to attention.

  Inside the church, Reynald stood, arms outstretched, staring at the ceiling, his face bearing a fixed grin. Lechasseur looked up and spotted a circular hole in the roof. He hadn’t noticed it before, but seeing how the light poured through it, he couldn’t figure out why. The two acolytes were nowhere to be seen, but Timothy’s body still lay on the floor in the centre of the room, next to those of the guards who had been detailed to restrain Reynald. Of Peter there was no sign. Lechasseur hoped he had reached his hiding place safely.

  ‘So you’ve returned!’ Reynald whispered. ‘I knew you would! You had a ta
ste of the Devil’s power, and now you want it for yourself!’

  ‘Wrong again,’ Lechasseur said. ‘There is no Devil, there are no angels.’

  ‘Look up there,’ Reynald said. Lechasseur looked up through the hole in the roof, and saw that a storm was now brewing in the sky above. Rain began to patter down into the church, quickly forming sludgy puddles around the corpses. ‘Do you know how long we’ve been without rain? The besiegers and the besieged. Heaven and Hell, locked in battle. But now... the knights have broken the city walls, the devils are slaughtering the knights. By bringing the Franks into the city, dealing with the tower commanders, you’ve brought balance to this conflict. Thanks to you, the energies I need to complete my work are flowing abundantly. My plan will complete ahead of schedule, and nothing you can do will change that. Perfection is close to being achieved. My destiny is set in stone.’

  ‘Go on then!’ Lechasseur said. ‘Kill me, if that’s what you want.’

  Reynald turned to him, his eyes glowing like miniature balls of fire. ‘It’s too late for that. You had your chance.’

  The rain began to cascade down even harder. Lechasseur felt it stinging his face, saw it making the marble floor of the church wet.

  ‘Diabolus le volt!’ Reynald shouted to the sky. ‘Arise from the underworld, oh Lucifer.’

  Lechasseur watched the spectacle with fascination. ‘The only thing you’ll summon is pneumonia.’

  The rain was now torrential. Lechasseur was soaked through. The noise of the water hitting the church roof was deafening. A wind was building within the church, moaning through its walls and foundations.

  ‘You go by many names,’ Reynald intoned through the storm, crying out to his God, ‘but soon you will go by one name, as ruler of the Heavens.’

  Lechasseur became aware of the buzzing of electrical pulses being carried on the wind. His vision was getting brighter, too, and bluer.