Knight of the Cross by Steven A McKay Read Free Book Online Page A

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 said, 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?”