CHAPTER XIX - The Value of Gold
I ate until I was full, feeling much refreshed. A smile now stayed perpetually on my face, making it hurt just a tiny bit, since I was unaccustomed to smiling. I repaid my debts as soon as I’d done eating. I made sure my gold sack was hidden, to avoid giving ideas to the patrons of The Black Sheep Tavern.
“You robbed somebody?” Barny asked, as he sat by the table, playing rocks, surrounded by my sordid friends.
“You shouldn’t ask that sort of question,” I replied, and eyed him dangerously, to give him and the others the impression that I’ve gotten the money by dubious means and they’d better not inquire further.
“Right,” Barny began, tilting his head back in a defensive position. “Sorry I asked,” he added.
“Forgiven,” I replied and took a couple of steps back.
“Wait! You don’t want to play?” Barny asked. I wanted to very much, but I’ll not walk that devil’s road again after having been given yet another chance.
“No,” I replied with finality. “Farewell, see you in the morning,” I said as I turned and went away.
“What came over him?” One of the gamblers asked under his breath.
“He’s always moody, mostly on the bad side,” replied Barny. That was it; really, I wanted to walk away from playing games of chance. I wanted to live my life as cleanly and virtuously as I could, as Raymond the forester would have done had he been in my shoes. Before every important action I took from then on, I asked myself what he would have done had he been in my shoes. Meanwhile the investigation stood still until 31st October of that year.
It was during the new-year celebrations in England — the holy day known as Samhain. I knew little about it at the time and paid it as much heed as I did any other foreign holy day — I respected the participants while ignoring the details of the festival completely. Samhain for the pagans marked a shift in the underworld which allowed the ghosts of the once-living to return to visit their loved ones in the world of the living.
Christians had an opposite view of the meaning of the underworld and talking to the dead, and therefore found their own non-violent way of protesting the pagan customs. They created a mock holy day, commonly known as Halloween, in which they dressed up like ghosts and all manner of apparitions from hell and made it all into a big joke.
Regardless of how a person viewed this holy day, it was an important event in Drentwych. More importantly for me was the fact that another person was taken on that day near the infamous The Black Sheep Tavern.
I had offered a reward to any patron who knew something about the kidnappings. I know Lord Durrant should have offered the reward, not I, but I wanted to make good use of my gold. I thus discovered a property of gold seldom explored by modern science. It seems that gold is a remedy for silent tongues and sudden loss of memory. Some say it’s also a very powerful aphrodisiac, but that I never cared to discover. Not that I held humanity to any especially high standards, but even as low as my opinions were, I was amazed to discover how quickly people turn on one another for just a few coins. Three men wearing priestly robes had been seen in the vicinity of the kidnapping. I quickly delivered my findings to Simon and Lord Durrant, and that very night we sat in council.
“So gentlemen, we have three people dressed as priests seen in the vicinity of the area. What does that tell you?” Lord Durrant asked.
“That the priests could have done it,” Simon replied.
“Don’t be preposterous! The Church does not go about kidnapping people in the dark of night. That’s what criminals do,” Lord Durrant replied.
“Of course, what was I thinking?” Simon replied. Lord Durrant nodded his head and smiled, oblivious to the blatant nuances of skepticism and cynicism.
“Maybe criminals donned priestly robes to avoid suspicion,” I said, feeling as if I was talking to little children rather than adults.
“Splendid! Raymond, take Samyon …” Lord Durrant began.
“Simon,” Simon quickly corrected him. Lord Durrant glared at him and continued.
“Take Samyon with you to the church, question the priests, and find out if perhaps someone stole some of their robes,” Lord Durrant said.
“Yes, milord,” I replied.
“What are you waiting for, off you go then!” He replied, and shooed us away like small children.
I started walking with Simon by my side. “Oh, and Raymond?” Lord Durrant said when I was already several paces away from him.
“Yes, milord?” I turned and asked.
“Do keep your thief on a shorter leash. If his tongue slips again I’ll cut it off,” he said.
“Yes, milord,” I said and left with Simon. I didn’t have to tell Simon anything; for he had heard the Lord’s threat as well as I.
Drentwych’s church was a stone masonry building two floors high. Obviously, it wasn’t as large and magnificent as Abbot Suger’s later Gothic churches, but compared to the humble hovels and huts everyone in Drentwych lived in, it was impressive, to say the least. A cross carved from black stone hung above the threshold, greeting the comers and goers. My eyes were fixed on the crucified Christian God, portrayed in his moment of supreme suffering. I focused on his closed eyes, as if they may open at any moment. I often wondered at the time why the Christian God hung on the cross, an instrument of torture, but I feared embarking on that sort of conversation with a Christian more than I was curious about it. When my brother died I didn’t much think about what happens to a person when he died. Perhaps I was too young, or perhaps I couldn’t begin to deal with his demise. For me, it was like he went on a journey, never to come home. When my parents died however the question took root in my heart. Why did this happen? Where are they going? I have made many questions in my heart. Yet I knew there were no certain answers, and so I grew frustrated. But it was only when Raymond of the Brooks died, that I truly wanted to know the truth. Now faced with his God upon the cross, my heart burned with questions unanswered. Yet I knew the common man had no answers for me, and a Priest … I feared the church more than anything. It was commonly believed that Jews had horns and were allied with the devil. More than anything, I feared being discovered for what I was, and worse, finding evidence that’s it was true. There was enough darkness in my soul to prove just that. So I just stared at the cross, silently begging for an answer.
“Ray! Quit day dreaming!” Simon said, shaking my shoulder.
“Ah, eh, sorry about that,” I replied.
“So are you going to open it?” He asked. I moved my hand to do so, but I suddenly grew fearful of the notion, so I stopped and just stood there motionless.
“You do it,” I replied, hesitating.
“What’s wrong with you?” He asked.
“Nothing,” I replied impatiently. “Open the door,” I instructed him.
“No, you do it,” he rejoined. I pursed my lips and exhaled through my nose. At that moment the door was flung open by a priest. I should like to point out that Drentwych housed several priests, as this was an immigrant’s town, and thus important to the holy throne.
“What’s all the ruckus about this late at night; even if this be Halloween, the house of God is not a place to go wandering about?” An irate figure demanded. We turned to him and I studied his features in the torchlight.
“Good priest,” I began. “Er …” I stammered.
“Out with it,” the priest replied impatiently.
“Do you happen to know if any of your priestly robes are missing?” I asked bluntly.
“Stolen,” Simon corrected me.
“What?” The priest asked.
“Do you know of anyone who may have stolen …” I asked again.
“I heard you the first time!” He said angrily. “And the answer is no, no one steals priestly robes.”
“Perhaps you can ask the other …” I began.
“No, I’ll not bother more priests this late at night with idle questions,” he said angrily. “Have you two been drinking?” He added and eyed us carefully.
“In that case, we’d like to check the church,” I replied, losing my patience at his rudeness.
“You may not!” He retorted in a raised voice. “This is a house of God, and you may not …” he continued, when I interrupted.
“I have the permission of Lord Durrant; take it up with him, priest,” I replied angrily.
“I forbid it!” He began.
“Step aside,” I commanded, and shoved him out of the way as I stepped inside a church for the first time in my life. I was shaking all over, my heart beating like a drum. I more than half expected lightning to strike me, or to die suddenly for barging into the house of a god.
“Stop!” He called, raising himself up from the floor. I must have shoved him a bit too hard. More priests came to answer his call.
“By order of Lord Durrant, I will inspect this church,” I announced to the priests. “You will let me pass where I will, and you will answer my questions truthfully,” I continued. “Or you will spend this night in jail and tomorrow morning stand before a judge, priest or no.” I tried to sound as threatening as I could. I didn’t know if I was really in the position to make those sort of threats or to follow them through. At the very least it could cost me my job, at worst, my head. But the truth is, I had let my anger rule me, so I hadn’t really considered the consequences.
It appeared to be that the priests believed me, or they realized I was a deranged lunatic capable of many things, for they hurried to get out of the way, eying me warily, those who bothered to look at me at all.
“Ray, what are you doing?” Simon asked nervously.
“Shut up, shut up,” I replied as quietly and harshly as I could. We then questioned the priests. They were cooperative but were not very informative, meaning that they tried to avoid us wherever we went. It was as if we were playing catch but without actually running about. Even when we “caught” a priest, he had little or nothing to say. I grew impatient, which seemed to have become a trend. Simon, on the other hand, took it differently.
“Ray, you know who talks like they do?” He asked me.
“Priests?” I answered, stating the obvious.
“No, crooks,” he replied. I listened very carefully then. “When you’re hiding something, you answer as briefly as you can hoping whoever is asking the questions wouldn’t think of the right ones to ask,” he said.
“I don’t follow,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to understand his theory.
“People usually act differently when they’re lying than when they’re telling the truth. Most liars would rather avoid actually making up stories as much as possible, therefore they give short answers,” Simon speculated.
“Makes sense,” I replied. I then addressed the priests: “If you tell me what you’re hiding, I’ll go away.” I received several comments, which it would be disrespectful to the priestly order to repeat.
“Very well, then,” I replied, taking offense but not showing it. “In that case, I’m going to look around EVERYWHERE,” I said, pausing for them to take it all in, UNTIL I find something.” I resumed my search with Simon and it didn’t take long for us to find a hidden passageway.
“Where does this lead?” I asked a priest.
“To the catacombs, the burial caves built at the time of the Romans,” he replied.
“I see,” I responded, getting a bit agitated at the thought of visiting a place full of decomposing bodies.
“You have nothing to look for down there,” the priest added. There was something in his eyes, however, some hint of secret knowledge; a worry. Like a wolf smelling blood, his fear fueled my resolve. I decided we should look there anyway, so I motioned for Simon to take a fresh torch and follow. He did, reluctantly.
Down the spiral descending stairs, we went. Rats scattered about us and the scent of dust hung heavy in the air. Even the most minor of sounds, like our breathing and the sound of scuffling feet carefully making their way resonated off the walls, sounding too loud for my ears. Even the rapid beating of my heart felt too loud. We were frightened to be sure. I imagined unlikely encounters and what I should do when faced with these unknown dangers. Everything from decomposing bodies, animated by some dark magic, to a coven of deadly assassins, or restless ghosts crossed my mind. Sadly, most of my planned reactions included either stabbing it with a sword or running for our lives - this being Samhain eve, had not made the circumstances any easier to bear.
I bent to fit under a Roman archway; Simon had no trouble passing, as he was shorter than I. I paused, looked at a human skull lying about the tombs. A rat fled from beneath it, frightened by the light. I bounced backwards, almost bumping into Simon. He was saved, however, because he bounced even further back, both of us shrieking like little girls. We then paused and stared at each other for a moment, and then simultaneously burst out laughing.
“Who be there?” Asked a strange voice from further away, stopping us in mid-laughter. Simon drew two daggers, slowly and silently I followed his example and drew my sword as quietly as I could.
“Who be there?” Insisted the voice again, louder and obviously angry.
“It is I, brother Kleptophile,” Simon called loudly.
“And I, brother Be-a-veneus,” I said, fumbling with making up a Greco-Roman sounding name.
“Come here,” the voice called. We hid our weapons behind our backs and approached.
The voice belonged to a hunched abomination; that’s the only way I could describe the twisted, deformed, ugly, and smelly creature which seemed a macabre shadow of a human being. The light obviously hurt his eyes, so Simon held the torch in front of us, so that he wouldn’t see clearly.
“Password?” He asked, shielding his eyes from the light. Both Simon and I strained our muscles, ready for confrontation. My heart beat faster, and I felt alive.
“Password?” I began, not sure what to say.
“Why do you question us again?” Simon asked him pseudo-angrily.
“What?” He asked, taken aback by Simon’s tone.
“What do you mean, ‘what’?” he began. “Don’t play dumb with me. We were just here with a friend of ours, remember?” Simon said as he reminded the creature of something which had never happened. “We gave you the package,” he added more softly. “You know, the human package,” he finished.
“Deliver package to Necromancer; Master, don’t need more for ritual,” the Abomination said. I fought very hard to hide my stunned expression.
“No, the Master told us to bring the package here,” Simon argued.
“No,” the Abomination began. “Deal not like that,” he said.
“Remind me of the deal then, for I remember differently,” Simon argued.
“Package to Necromancer. In return Necromancer gives boon to Master,” he said.
“You forgot one thing,” Simon stated.
“I not forget anything,” the creature corrected.
“Yeah, you did. What do we get out of it?” Simon said, emphasizing the ‘we’.
“You wait your reward like I wait. Master said reward is power and eternal life, but only if I wait and work hard,” the Abomination said.
“When?” Simon asked. “We are growing impatient,” he added.
“Tonight Master make ritual. Reward comes after,” the Abomination said, growing very impatient. For my part, I was ready for a fight, silently thanking God that we’d fallen on a dumb, talkative minion rather than a smart one. If only he hadn’t been so big, I’d have been even more grateful.
“Where?” Simon asked, still on a roll, but going too far this time, it appeared.
“You not priests!” The Abomination roared, standing straight and flexing his muscles. He clearly stood two head taller than me; four times as strong. Simon bounced back. I sprang back and to the side, as Ivar had trained me.
The Abomination lunged at Simon, hands at his sides, muscles flexing, wicked claws protruding where nails should have been. Simon moved as fast and frightened as a cat. I held my sword in a two-handed grip, swinging from right to left with all my strength, moving my left foot forward and turning my abdomen, spinning to the left. The blow hit him across the mid-back. It felt like hitting strong bones, as if his whole body was as hard as stone. There was blood on my sword, however, so I figured if I can make him bleed, I can kill him.
I didn’t even cause it to budge, however; he just stopped his chase instantly, turning his abdomen and then his feet as well in my direction. His hands were extended to their full length, and he nearly ripped my head apart. I dodged his swing, bringing my weapon closer to my body. I held my sword tightly at my left side and went for a blow with all my strength. When I stabbed him on the right side below the ribs he screamed. I relaxed for a split second, thinking that the blow should have killed him — but it didn’t.
He struck me with his left palm. Luckily for me, he was too close to make use of his claws. Nevertheless, he was inhumanly strong and the blow sent me flying. My back hit the wall with tremendous force. The world spun, and my vision grew dizzy and unfocused. The ringing in my ears killed all other sounds as my sword fell at my side.
Meanwhile, Simon stabbed him with both daggers, drawn from scabbards on his back. The Abomination spun to the right and the left, yet failed to loosen Simon’s grip. He then smashed his back against the stone wall, slamming poor Simon between the bone of his back and stone. As Simon fell, the Abomination spun about once more, stepping on a burning torch by accident. He screamed in great agony.
I had now had sufficient time to recover. I got to my feet, lifted my sword, and charged him once more. He turned as I roared, ready to meet my charge. At the last moment, not slowing down, I bounced to the left. I struck him with my most powerful swing, loosening my grip after the hit so that the momentum wouldn’t slow me down. It was sort of like stopping a mounted charge, only without the mount. He screamed and missed his next swing. Badly injured and bleeding, he nonetheless remained on his feet.
Simon grabbed the torch from behind him. “Hey!” He called out. As the monster turned, Simon stuffed the torch right in his face. Burned, he screamed, and Simon hurried out of harm’s way.
I swung again, feeling my heart nearly burst. I decapitated his head and it fell with a thud to the floor. Both Simon and I gazed at the felled, twisted head. Only then did we realize that the dismembered body was still standing, still trying to swing widely. We both jumped back.
Simon burned it with his torch while I hacked at it. Two more swings and it, whatever ‘it’ was, lay down, burning, and died. This had been my first conscious encounter with the supernatural, though I was too stunned at the time to take it all in.
“Ready?” I asked Simon, preparing to charge the door.
“Yeah,” he replied, holding a dagger in one hand and a torch in the other. I hacked at the door and kicked it until it fell down, then bounced to the side, hiding behind the wall.
“Good minions are so hard to come by nowadays,” a voice called from inside. It sounded like an educated nobleman rather than the sinister tone we were expecting. Damn it, the voice sounded familiar. I took a peek. He was a pale man, taller than Simon but shorter than I. He wore richly woven black garments. Various silver runes adorned his clothes, but I didn’t have much time to study them. Then it struck me; this was the dark warrior who constantly watched Ivar’s smithy when I was a kid. Now I remember quite vividly his words, and the dire intent behind them.
‘Why couldn’t I think of it before? Why couldn’t I remember?’ I wondered.
“Surrender, ‘Master’!” I called after a moment’s hesitation, belittling the title ‘master’ with my derisive tone.
“Oh, but I am not the Master,” the voice said, mocking us.
“That’s right,” Simon sneered.
“The Master is currently at the cemetery; you should go there before it’s too late if you intend to stop him,” the voice said. I looked at Simon, who looked at me, neither of us sure what to do.
“By all means go, I won’t try to stop you,” he added.
“We’d rather take you out first,” I announced.
“My revenge is best saved for those who wronged me,” he said. I knew he didn’t recognize me. I wanted to question him about Ivar, and the nature of strife between them. Then again, I was more eager to kill him and keep Ingrid and Ivar safe, than I was interested in solving this enigma.
“Enough talk. To battle!” I roared.
“Very well, but it’s your funeral,” the voice said. I readied myself to storm in, visualizing the room from the glimpse I had of it when we toppled the door. I made plans to feint a charge and then drop and roll to the side, clear of any hurled attacks.
“Do answer one question before you foolishly charge, brave warrior,” the voice said, stopping me abruptly.
“Ask,” I said.
“Why do you seek to stop us when you can gain so much by helping us?” He asked.
“Because I want nothing you have to offer!” I replied.
“But you haven’t heard my offer yet,” he protested. “I can grant you eternal life,” he said.
“No, thanks, my life’s hell enough without you extending it indefinitely,” I replied. He chuckled.
“You seek justice? It is I who was wronged! I am in the right! God brought me back to life, God empowers my vengeance. Stand with me and you stand with God!” He said.
“Don’t care. Not interested.” I replied dryly.
“I can offer you power beyond the dreams of mortal men,” he proposed.
“Not interested,” I lied flatly. The fact is, I was more than intrigued, but Raymond the forester would have said ‘no’ so that was the right thing to do. “I am only interested in the ending, with your death lord.” I added.
“Then you are a fool! I cannot be felled by any mortal man.” He spat.
“That kind of power? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” I asked, pretending I was either intimidated or intrigued. “What kind of powers exactly are we talking about here?” I asked.
“More than enough to make you lord over all mankind,” he said.
“Be more specific. Big words with little meaning do not impress me,” I replied.
“Supernatural strength, speed, and endurance,” he began.
“You yourself possess so much of these traits,” I mocked.
“I’m not finished,” he continued; my cynicism was clearly not working very well. “Magic healing, everlasting youth,” he promised.
“Sounds wonderful,” I said.
“Oh, it is,” he said, pleased with himself.
“But how can you just ‘grant’ these powers? Don’t I have to study for centuries or something of the sort?” I asked.
“Oh, no, my powers are in my blood. If I share my magic blood with you, I share my powers, no dull studies to be had.” He said.
“And what exactly do I have to do to ensure my share?” I asked.
“Ray, you’re not seriously thinking …” Simon began. I motioned him to be silent.
“I’m glad you’re final- “he began. He had to stop in mid-sentence, I’m afraid. I charged him while he was busy explaining to me the magnificence of his powers. He responded, but not fast enough to avoid my assault.
I tried the ‘charge and bounce to the left’ move that I’d used on his minion, but barely hit him. It felt as if I was striking some sort of liquid instead of flesh. Only then did I notice how the shadows were moving about my opponent as all color drained from the room.
He just stood there motionless, while shadows moved about him as if he was himself hidden inside a reflection. Shadow-tentacles attacked me, and I dodged first one, then two. The third grabbed my feet and lifted me off the ground as if I were a freshly-caught fish.
Seeing this blatant display of magic, I lost all my confidence. Simon threw the torch at our adversary, thus saving my life, since he abruptly burst into flames as if a potion of Greek-fire had hit him. I dropped head-first on the stone floor, losing my sword in the process. He moved with impossible speed, extinguishing himself with his hands.
I recovered quickly and got up from the floor, grabbing my sword. He clawed me with his hands, the movement too fast for me to register or respond to in any way. I tried blocking the blows with my sword, but it was too late, I was already bleeding from a dozen wounds, my clothes ripped to shreds. Simon threw a dagger at him, but he caught hold of it easily.
At this point I saw red and lunched at him like a maddened beast, flailing with my fists. We wrestled, which was a bad course of action, for I quickly discovered that he wasn’t lying about his superhuman strength. We bumped into a wall, then fell over each other. As he lay on top of me, he tried to choke me, digging his prolonged nails into my neck. I flailed my fists at his face desperately, tightening the muscles around my neck to enable me to keep on breathing.
Simon jumped on his back, stabbing repeatedly with his dagger. I was half-crazy by then. I felt his blood dripping on me, stinging against my open wounds. Then, in a fury of stabs and blows, he died ― or at least I thought he did. It seemed as if a fire engulfed and consumed him in just a few moments, leaving only small puddles of blood, some of which continued burning. I reasoned that perhaps he had failed to put out the fire the first time or else some divine hand had saved us. Simon stood over me and inspected my wounds.
“You’re not hurt too badly,” he said. “Can you get up?”
“Maybe,” I answered, as giddy as one would expect after receiving a dozen ‘light’ wounds. I got up with little difficulty in spite of my dizziness. I inspected my wounds; mere red marks remained where only moments before had been gashing cuts. Only then did I realize that he had probably been telling the truth about the endurance part as well―what an idiot I was.
“I’m all right, Simon,” I said.
“There’s some blood left on the floor,” Simon remarked.
“We shouldn’t touch it. It’s probably tainted by the devil or something,” I replied.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he replied, and eyed the pool with disappointment.
We inspected the room. A ledger lay open upon a writing desk. A few tomes of knowledge sat on a bookshelf attached to the wall. A coffin lay on the other side of the room, where a bed should have been. We both tried to read the ledger, but neither of us was adept at reading or writing, at-least in whatever language was written there, so we picked up the books and moved to leave the room. I let Simon carry the books while I pried the coffin open. It was empty; no dead body lay inside. Simon started going upstairs, only too happy to leave this dreadful place. As soon as he exited the doorway, I bent down and collected the monster’s blood which had spilled on the floor. I used cloth to soak it up, and then squeezed the cloth into my water-skin, repeating the action until I collected it all.
I knew beyond any doubt that what I was doing was wrong, but I was seduced by the promise of supernatural powers. This was a monster and his blood, an unholy thing, offered abilities I could only dream of. I wanted as much as I could get and more. I told myself that this is what Raymond would have done if faced with diabolical magic, but it wasn’t true, and deep down inside I knew my reasoning was false. Something was now nabbing my insides, as if screaming to be heard — warning me to get away. I didn’t listen, though, as the sum of my desires lay there, so close, in the pool of blood. Besides, even as I wrestled with listening to common sense that told me to leave this place, another pressing thought found its way to my head. If I am to face this creature’s ‘Master’ and have any chance of winning out against him, I had better exploit every advantage at my disposal. Would not God approve that I used the power of the dark to fight for the side of the light? Yeah, I was only doing what I must, I reasoned. Now that was all right, I rationalized. It didn’t even feel wrong anymore.
“Ray, where are you?” Simon called.
“Coming!” I replied and hurried to join him.
We ascended the stairs and arrived at the church again. Lord Durrant waited for us there, tapping his foot impatiently against the stone floor. Priests gathered behind him, waiting for us, eyeing us as if we were condemned men.
“Raymond, Samyon, how good of you to join us,” Lord Durrant began.
“Milord!” I began.
“There’s no excuse,” Lord Durrant said loudly.
“But Milord!” I protested.
“You barged into the church!” Lord Durrant said angrily.
“Yes, but …” I began.
“You threatened the priests in my name!” He shouted.
“Yes, but …” Simon said.
“You treated them as if they were common criminals!” Lord Durrant said furiously, eying me dangerously.
“But wait!” I pleaded desperately.
“I should have your heads,” he said irately. “Maybe I will.”
“We have proof!” I shouted. Lord Durrant became mute and so did all the priests.
“We have just fought two monsters. Not people; monsters. There’s a dead monster and a pile of dust downstairs to sh