The Templar’s Bowl
by
Peter “Lou” D’Alessio
Copyright © 2011
Chapter 17: The Things That Are Caesar's
When the great spear fell into such evil hands, time bent as if it had doubled over in pain. There is a price to be paid by those who do not know the difference between miracles and magic when playing in the realm of the Spirit. The horrific underlying moral values of German socialism was like nothing ever inflicted by the human race on itself... and believe me when I tell you, they’ve inflicted a lot! This was depravedly different. It mingled the usual military sadism with the lunacy of black magic and bound it with the bands of religion. Poor religion. Most people believe it references God or Allah or Odin or the like, and is what we are required to do on our Sabbaths and Holy Days. Religion is only that by which we see our world, that by which we create our moral standards. To go to a church and stand there stupidly in silence, half asleep... then go home and rave over a sports club from Wisconsin, screaming insanely and viciously at the team from Chicago whose totem is the Bear—you tell me what passes for the actual religion.
This was the way of the Nazi regime. A twisted religion built around human sacrifice and the black eagle totem. Their knowledge of Templar treasures and religious relics caused my mentors to prepare for the defense of the ages. As we possessed the greatest relic of them all, the Holy Grail, its safety was obligatory—and so too, the safety of the coast of Canada was at issue. But also at issue was the pride of the spirit of man. The void opened, and from it slowly emerged those whose shame of their progeny had so despoiled their nobility that rising from the void to restore their honor was mandatory.
In the year of Our Lord 1191, on the sixth day of February, Pope Clement III, in short, sanctioned the Order of Hospitalers, an Order of Teutonic Warriors and Care Givers. Because few of the Europeans in the early Crusades spoke German, a rich German noble house in Jerusalem began the Hospital of Saint John to give comfort to the wounded German Crusaders. These Teutonic Knights were splendid men of great moral fiber and great courage. Clement had granted them the wearing of a black and white outer cloak with a black cross off the left shoulder, and with full black attire they gained accolade after accolade on the battlefield and still cared with great skill for the fallen. Unlike the poor Templar Knights whose symbol was two warriors riding but one horse, the black-clad Teutonic warriors were supplied with arms of the best temper, and horses of the most excellent breed. So skilled were these men in the nursing of the sick, and so renowned for their valorous action in battle, that at the fall of Jerusalem Salah el Din allowed them to stay and keep the workings of the Hospital. More than any of the dead, the Nazis had profaned these Knights, twisted their symbols, and showered their spirits with shame beyond shame. Templars would guard their treasures and protect the Grail as they had for centuries, but the Teutonic Knights would rise up to reclaim their honor—and it would not be an easy task. Their corporeal beings had fallen to dust centuries past, and men do not rise from the dead no matter how good a reason they have. How do you stop things you can’t fully touch?
I tell you now that which is contained in no ideology; not Christian, Islam, Jewish... no major religion speaks of this, nor professes to believe it. Yet, to the many primitive cultures, to whom magic and the wandering of souls is everyday fare and systematically mixed with the sacred, it is a most natural state. There are many souls affixed to the forms they held in life, that stand as they did in existence, and will wait at vigil until the end of days for true peace to come to them. They stand in the darkness of the void, holding their convictions and watching over mankind. These are the guardians of the Word and Promises of a God who measures the worth of His human race by these souls, these near-perfect believers in the Truth of God and the worth of Man. Christ, when asked to whom should we offer our lives to, give our homage to, God or Caesar, the Lord said: Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God, the things that are God’s. Hitler’s armies were for mankind to deal with, conquer or be conquered. Mankind must render to Caesar his price for them to be men. But the evil magic being brought about by the misuse of Sacred Relics—the Spear of Destiny in particular—was far beyond the scope of anything the Human Race had ever seen. Not even the Germans realized the great rift in time and space these things were causing.
I had fallen asleep in the spring, and when I awoke it was early summer. I struggled at first to learn on what battlefield, at what time in history I had fallen. But I could not animate my arms or legs, or even turn my head to look about. When my panic subsided and reality returned again, my still-sleepy eyes spied an ancient monk of my acquaintance sitting at the foot of my bed, alone in the room. He neither smiled nor frowned, but sat with a contemplative expression that made me suppose he was lost in thought, possibly even prayer. His eyes lowered to mine, and for several moments we just stared at each other. Then his eyes began to circle and outline my reclining body—and my eyes automatically followed his. It was then that I realized there were lines and hoses running in and out of my veins and natural openings from one end of my body to the other. When my eyes returned to the monk, he had retrieved his bowl and was preparing to press a small bit of bread into my mouth.
“Your doctor believes he’s a bloody miracle worker. He thinks the lines and hoses he stuck in your body are what kept you alive. He has forgotten that he was in the back of the house digging your grave when God sent you back to us the first time! That infernal priest has cheered him on all the way, giving you the Last Rites and scaring the hell out of your parents. No matter how long a mother has to prepare for the passing of a child, it is always a shock. God forgive his ignorance.”
I looked out my window at the bay that lay to the East. It was old and familiar like a friend from childhood and, while I had always liked the view, I felt strangely close to that piece of the great ocean now. “How long, Hamet?” I whispered in my broken tongue. He looked towards the door and craned his head so that his good ear could search for sounds in the hall. He smiled slightly as the sounds of very heavily armored men trying to tiptoe silently down a hallway become apparent. Two familiar faces appeared in the doorway, then they became full-bodied apparitions and entered the room.
“He wants to know ‘how long.’ ”
“Ha!”
I knew that grunt! Sure enough, Theobor of Hambor walked to my bedside.
“How long, boy? A thousand short years, four long weeks, and a hundred lifetimes!”
Beaumond now drew near, which gladdened my heart. Our last encounter had left him dead. “De Flor and those crazy Vikings send their best wishes,” he said.
I must have started smiling, for all three of my teachers chuckled at my reactions. They had not treated me as the child I was in a long time, and it felt good. Hamet moved closer to me, as close as the lines in my body permitted.
“Before we speak of the dead, we must talk of the living, boy. You did almost die, and I watched your mother preparing to die a little with you. Though a Templar is not allowed to be alone in a room with a woman, I sat by her side and tried to let her know she was not alone. Your little sister, who now sees us all, did as much to console her as I. Richard, be assured, you are as loved in this world as the next.” The Monk paused and patted his brow. “Your father has gone to sea, and does not know that you live.” An eerie silence seemed to creep over the room.
“Richard, the war that surrounds us has become more that a war. The Great Spear and all its power has fallen to the hands of the sacrilegious, and millions will die because of it. There is a darkness falling upon the world now like in no other time. It will soon pull the entire globe apart. But this is not of concern to us.” My eyes must have widened, for McCorvy stopped and for an instant we just stared at each other. “It isn’t, Richard!” he continued. “Our time for concern over the affairs of mankind is well past. Our only concern now is the protection of the great Templar treasure. You are still in the world of men. You can touch and feel, and we have need of you because of that. A great army is assembling, as is a navy. Neither knows the ways of war in the modern traditions.”
Only silence then, until Beaumond spoke up.
“You know these waters, boy, and the strange boats these Nazis send under the seas to plague us. God has shown us his Purpose for you, cousin. Deus lo Volt!”
Hitler called his U-boat fleet the wolf pack. They would follow allied convoys, pick off stragglers, and disappear back into the depths. It was very effective. In the days prior to the entry of the United States into the fray, Hitler had warned his U-boat Admiral, Karl Donitz, not to touch American ships. So the pack studied the American coastline... and began attacking Canadian shipping. It grew more slowly than most Canadians expected. Nothing concentrated, just picking targets. The truth be known, Hitler could have cared less about the Canadian Navy and what damage the U-boat fleet did to them. They were of no real threat to him—yet. No. The wolf packs were hunting, following old Viking and Templar maps, searching for landmarks and isolated shallows to land in, then send out hunting parties looking for Templar treasures, the vast wealth and a cache of very powerful sacred objects.
By late September 1942, my body (such as it was) had healed enough to be back to normal (or as normal as I ever was) and, shrouded in Geofray’s cloak, was back to rolling around the porch again. Having acquired a taste for killing, I now had a sense that death was coming. My mentors had been coming on a daily schedule, but little was said, as they appeared to be waiting for something or someone. I had a feeling we were little more than a unit waiting for combat. What do I know? One day, as I sat with my sister, Hamet alone appeared—not as a monk, but garbed in the Cross Pattée of a Templar Knight, and carrying not his bowl but a great claymore.
“They’re here! Tonight. In the cave after dark, a war council,” was all he said. I nodded, though who ‘they’ were was very unclear to me. I also had the feeling that all the war news I’d been listening to had not prepared me for tonight.
