Baphomet's Meteor (1972.DAW No. 35) Read online

  One day, perhaps, some patrol from his faraway planet would discover him. At such a time, he would be able to bring to his leader an empire already subjugated, and he-would be showered with honors.

  CHAPTER I

  ☆

  1275 A.D.

  William of Beaujeu, Grand Master of the Temple, had every reason to be satisfied. The Commanderies of France, England, Italy and Spain were flourishing. On the other hand, the situation in the Holy Land was disturbing.

  Leaning over the stem rail of the ship, William thought* fully contemplated the attenuated wake of foam on the jade and emerald billows.

  The weather was magnificent: weather such as only the Mediterranean can offer its faithful admirers. Birds, flying nearly level with the crests, foretold the approach to land.

  Some cable-lengths apart, ten other vessels, loaded to the brim with chargers and the provisioning necessary to an army, scudded along before a stiff breeze.

  Beside the Grand Master was another high dignitary: Peter of Sevry, Field Marshal of the Temple. The latter contrasted with William to an astonishing degree: while the first, thin and ascetic, seemed the classic figure of a friar-knight, the second—a thickset and rubicund giant— appeared tailored for the good life and gallant company.

  On the bridge, behind them, squires and knights chatted in high spirits, all cheered by the imminent arrival of the convoy. This crossing had been achieved under the best of auspices: favorable winds, clement weather and not the slightest harassment by Saracen vessels.

  Before long the gray line of the shore appeared on the horizon: Cyprus, the marvelous island, the veritable paradise protected by the billows from pagan armies, where the Crusaders, weary from combat, found peace, calm and repose in an enchanted setting.

  This sight, announced by the lookout, was greeted with the cheering of all the passengers, knights and bondmen, who rejoiced at the thought of regaining solid ground. The old hands praised the merits of this white city to the novices, the charm of its palaces, its baronial halls, and the sweetness of its nights.

  Their enthusiasm seemed to bring the Grand Master from a dream. He stood to bis full height and sighed: “Well, my worthy Peter, you have nothing to say?”

  “I was respecting your silence, Master. . .

  “And I appreciate your thoughtfulness. You know my projects are vast and ambitious. This time, thanks to the reinforcements we bring, to the gold and abundant provisions, I hope to finish once and for all with that accursed Sultan of Egypt, Bibars....

  “That demon has taken Caesarea, Jaffa and Antioch from us! May he bum forever in the flames of hell. Now we hold only Tripoli, Acre and Sidon; little enough compared with the flourishing realm of old. That is reason enough for taking the offensive once more. . . .

  “By the Christ who died for us on the Cross, I swear to you that the wretch will not profit from his conquests much longer. In the hold of this ship we bring powerful weapons that shall occasion him some Gehennas. However, die time has not yet come. Before that, we needs must settle some differences on this fair isle of Cyprus.”

  “You are thinking of the throne of Jerusalem, Master?” “Most certainly. King Henry HI of Cyprus plays no part in my plans. Let his damned soul be the puppet of the Hospitalers. Charles, Count of Anjou, will suit our convenience much better. Thanks to heaven, I bring enough gold to establish him on the throne. It is also reported to me that Bohemond VII, Count of Tripoli, does not like us overmuch. What do you say to Guy II, of Jebala, to replace him?”

  "Djebail? They say he is well-disposed toward us....”

  "I am certain of it. And, once my supporters are assured, I can throw myself into an assault on those places which Bibars wrested from us in unequal combat Soon, my Brother, we will enter our castle at Safad once more, and the one at Beaufort too.”

  “I pray the Holy Spirit to aid you, Master! However, the pagans are without number and we are but a handful, for it is useless to count on much support from the Hospitalers; the knights of your cousin, King Philip of France, are something less than certain, as are the forces of Edward I of England....”

  “I overlook nothing. Nevertheless, thanks to Mary, Star of the Sea, who brought us safely to port, I am in possession of some weighty arguments. You know what Greek Fire is?”

  “Indeed, I do. Those flaming balls of naphtha have been the cause of enough ravages in our ranks!”

  “Well, what would you say to spheres of flame a thousand times more destructive—the fire of hell itself let loose on the ranks of the Saracens?”

  Peter of Sevry made the sign of the Cross.

  “Only the devil can command such power, Master....* “There you are mistaken, Peter. Satan has nothing to do with the matter. Our Baphomet has such engines. Until now, he has not entrusted them to us, fearing that we might make evil use of them. This time, he agreed to grant me this supreme power. I described to him the desperate situation of the Holy Land, and our successive reverses touched him. In his goodness, he condescended to give me one hundred fires wrenched from the sun. With them, I am strong enough to convince the Franks and the English. A discreet demonstration will take place at the proper time. I wager that after having proof of its force, they will agree to unite with us."

  “I am completely astounded, Master.... Is this the fruit of some new alchemy?"

  “There you ask too much of me, Peter. Baphomet gives me not one hint of his magical secrets. The gold with wh-ch he supplies us is fine grade ore; no one has ever found any fault in it. This fire from the sun exists. I, myself, have seen its consequences. Unfortunately, I have no idea how it is compressed into the metal spheres which, strangely enough, are cold to the touch.”

  “In faith, these are great wonders! But would it not be prudent to keep the matter secret so that no word of it may reach that miserable Bibars?"

  “You are right, Peter. Only the Commanders and the dignitaries of the Order will know of the existence of this magic fire. However, while we are at Acre, I shall have a' demonstration for Otto of Granson, Commander of the men-at-arms of the English king, as well as John of Grailly, who leads the French Crusaders. In this way, I shall persuade them to join our forces. But a truce to discourse, Brother, here we are at the quay. Let us pay a visit to noble King Henry.... Our gold will suffice, I hope, to establish the young prince of Salerno, Charles, on the throne of Jerusalem.”

  A gangway had already been lowered but, to the disappointment of the Brothers of the Order, all landing had been forbidden.

  William wanted to reach Acre as soon as possible, so only the Household of the Grand Master was authorized to go ashore.

  A majestic procession formed on the quay: at its head, the Baussant standard, black and white with a cross gules crowning all. Behind it came William of Beaujeu, followed by his faithful Marshal at Arms, both astride magnificent, jet-black chargers.

  A few paces behind them, the Seneschal, second only to the supreme leader, moved at the head of the Household, properly so designated, where were found the Brother-Chaplain, two knights chosen for their feats in battle, a scholar well-versed in the Scriptures, two Brother Sergeants, a Saracen scrivener whose richly embroidered silk cape contrasted with the sober white mantle of the Brothers of the Order.

  Four Turcopoles, the farrier, the cook and the squires kept their respective distances.

  Finally, ten Brothers, formerly noble knights, followed by their sergeants, brought up the rear of the column.

  As it passed, the Cypriots paused, filled with admiration for the exalted demeanor of the Templars, for the beauty of their steeds, the brilliance of their new armor. A group of children, shouting and singing, followed them all the way to the royal palace.

  William’s stay there was extremely brief.

  Before midday he left the royal enclave to repair to the Commandery where, after a frugal repast, he heard vespers before reembarking. The flotilla forthwith took to the open sea, sailing before the wind toward Acre.

  Five other
vessels had joined the convoy to avail themselves of its protection.

  There were, therefore, sixteen in all that hove to, after a short crossing, near the fortress-home of the Templars, situated close to the sea in the port of Acre.

  It was noon and the heat of the sun at its zenith was oppressive. The Templars and their squires streamed with sweat under their armor. However, the Turcopole slaves immediately began unloading the invaluable cargo contained in die bulging bellies of those ships come from overseas.

  The Grand Master and his escort soon arrived at the Commandery where Theobald Gaudin, Master of the Acre Templary, awaited them.

  Four large wooden coffers banded with iron were stowed in a safe place; then the knights were able to take some repose in the coolness of the vaulted chambers.

  This arrival filled the hearts of the inhabitants of the city with joy. They were greatly relieved to know that they were protected by fresh, well-armed troops. The huge amounts of provisions unloaded assured them that they would be well-fed in the case of siege.

  For a long time, Acre had lived under the constant threat of the Mameluke army. It was rumored that Bibars had at his disposal forty thousand knights and one hundred thousand foot soldiers. What could the twenty thousand inhabitants of the city hope for? Even protected by the thick walls, they feared—with reason—finding themselves submerged by such a tide of humanity.

  The Accursed Tower, key to the fortress, had been hastily reinforced, but Bibars was a known expert in the art of siege. His war machines, his engineers, his miners, would work swiftly to breach the walls. This done, even the bravery of the Christian knights would be incapable of resisting the onslaught of the Mamelukes.

  The arrival of the Grand Master and his knights doubled the numbers of the cavalry, bringing it to more than two thousand. The foot soldiers now numbered almost twenty thousand. Little enough for combat on the open field, but it could be hoped that a siege by the Saracen army would be effectively resisted. Even the Grand Master of the Hospitalers was not unhappy at this influx of Templars, whom he customarily treated as rivals rather

  than as allies. At least he recognized their bravery and, in this desperate situation, any reinforcements were welcome. =

  The visit of the Templar Seneschal, the following morning, surprised him not at all. He willingly agreed to betake himself to the Templary, there to discuss “important questions concerning the safeguarding of the city.”

  When he arrived in the chapter room, he found an old acquaintance in the person of the giant Swiss, Otto of Granson, a mercenary in the pay of the English king, whose broad shoulders accentuated the lofty stature and the elegance of his neighbor, John of Grailly.

  The Hospitaler’s observant glance noted a strange circumstance.

  Usually, at such meetings, all the dignitaries of the Order, Commanders and knights, were present This time the number of Templars was reduced to a strict minimum: the Grand Master, his Seneschal and his Field Marshal.

  Taking care not to seem to notice, he greeted the assembly with, “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.” This done, the monk-soldier took his place at William’s right, while his own Marshal, Matthew of Clermont, moved to stand behind him.

  The Grand Master of the Temple knelt and pronounced a brief prayer:

  “May the grace of the Holy Spirit assist us. Lord Jesus Christ, Saint Peter, eternal and omnipotent God, wise Creator, giver of all things, benevolent guardian and well-beloved friend, pious and meek Redeemer, mild and merciful Savior, I humbly pray and beg of You that You shed Your light upon us. In the name of Mary, Star of the Sea. Amen.”

  After this, he rose and regarded each of his guests with eyes as piercing as those of an eagle, then declared:

  “Good gentlemen, Brother Hospitalers, I have asked you here today for the purpose of claiming from you all the assistance that it is lawful for you to grant me, for I held high hopes; soon the Holy Sepulchre will be in our hands... .”

  The most profound astonishment showed clearly on the faces of all present. William had never had a reputation

  for jesting. Consequently, they could only ask themselves if the Grand Master had not suddenly gone mad.

  John of Villiers, Grand Master of the Hospitalers, made himself their spokesman by objecting:

  “This is marvelous news, noble Brother! Pray heaven that you are right. . . . Unfortunately, such an ambition seems to me less than reasonable. Our numbers scarcely suffice to defend this city, and you talk of going out to conquer Jerusalem.. . . Your words demand some explanation because my limited understanding cannot fathom how you envisage such an achievement.”

  William smiled craftily. He was awaiting the final astonishment of his visitors and took a wicked pleasure in doing so.

  Husbanding his effects, he continued:

  “By all the Saints, the Archangels and the Host of the Blessed, I swear to you, noble friends, that within thirty days the Holy Places shall be free of the vermin that now overruns them. And I am going to give you proof of it, if a jaunt to the heights of Toru doesn’t frighten you.”

  Hospitalers and Commanding Officers consulted each other with swift glances. Nothing stood in the way of such an outing. The surroundings were safe: not one enemy horseman had been reported. Finally, they signified their acquiescence with a nod of the head.

  The seven knights left the cool of the chapter house regretfully and went into the burning courtyard where their steeds, led out by the squires, awaited them.

  All, however, were anxious to learn what miracle could truly inspire their host to hold such designs.

  They did not have long to wait.

  A quarter of an hour later, William reined in his horse on the summit of a low hill overlooking Acre and the neighboring countryside.

  On his right, about a hundred meters away, was a rocky eminence, at which he pointed.

  “Look closely at those stones, gentlemen.”

  Everyone stared intently in the indicated direction.

  “Now place your gauntlet in front of your eyes and do not, under any circumstances, remove it."

  Whereupon, the Templar, using both spurs, raced away toward his target. Drawing a sling from one of his saddle-holsters, he placed a grayish sphere, about the size of a fist, in it Then he threw this projectile with all his might and, wheeling abruptly, fled at a gallop from the spot hit by that inoffensive-appearing ball.

  Some seconds later, a blinding light burst from the ground. Rocks showered around the knights, some striking their shields, while an appalling explosion almost deafened them.

  Shocked, they stared in the direction of this apocalyptic thundering, holding their rearing mounts with difficulty.

  A high column of dust in the shape of a mushroom, whose revolving summit rose rapidly, hid the point of impact.

  As the slight wind drove it inland, they saw that a vast crater had unquestionably replaced the outcropping of stony crags.

  For a long time the deafening echoes of the explosion reverberated among the hills, then silence fell once more.

  “By Saint George!” -growled Otto of Granson. “What kind of lightning was that?”

  “Saint Dennis preserve me!” John of Grailly whispered. “How can you talk of lightning from a cloudless sky? The earth just vomited the fire from its entrails....”

  John of Villiers did not utter a word. He urged his horse at a trot toward the smoking crater, stopped some distance from it and contemplated the molten pit for a long time. Then, shaking his head thoughtfully, he rejoined the little group of knights, crossing himself repeatedly.

  William still wore his ironic smile. Without seeming interest in the general consternation, he whipped his horse to a trot and headed back toward the Commandery.

  A difficult task lay ahead: he was going to find himself faced with divergent interests; how could he reconcile them with his own?

  Minutes later the seven knights reentered the cool of the chapter room.

  Without dela
y the Grand Master of the Hospitalers launched into a harsh diatribe.

  “Noble Brothers,” he began angrily, “the faith and abnegation of the Knights of the Temple have already been placed in doubt by certain individuals. Though it is far from my intentions to accuse their leader of dealings with Satan, nevertheless this fire surging suddenly from the rocks irresistibly makes one think of demoniac intervention. Never has man raised up such infernal flames, unless by devilish incantations. I acknowledge that this is an all-powerful weapon whose effects on the pagan hosts would assure us certain victory. But, in your soul and conscience, Brother William, can you swear that you would never use it against Christians in order to become supreme master indeed? Further, can you prove to me that our Lord Christ would approve of such a lightning bolt, even against the Saracens? Have you envisaged the use that could be made of it, should it fall into ambitious hands? Hurled from the sky on some unfortunate city, it would reduce ramparts and houses to nothing. All inhabitants, the lowly and the exalted, would be killed without distinction. No, William! By heaven, I adjure you to destroy these evil devices immediately, for if you do not, you put your immortal soul in peril!”

  The Grand Master of the Templars had let his dangerous rival speak without interrupting. He had blanched with rage at the accusations brought against the Holy Order which he represented, but had succeeded in containing himself. Now he exploded:

  “By Christ, placed on the Cross for our transgressions, you are going to take back your offensive words or, if not, you shall smart for it. How dare you doubt my Brothers or myself? Never have we had any ambition other than to deliver the Holy Places and to establish the True Faith throughout the world. You know our motto: Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed Nomine Tua da gloriam! We have no wish for glory; all our actions have as their object only the glory of the Lord! You seem to be saying that springs forth by power of the Evil One. Very well, in that case, the Holy Relics, the consecrated wafer would have power to extinguish it on the spot. I, myself, have made the test and I can assure you that they are without effect. ... It is nothing more than the end result of some alchemy, strongly hermetic certainly, but with nothing of the demoniac about it. I swear it by the Virgin Mary!”