The Templar’s Bowl
by
Peter “Lou” D’Alessio
Copyright © 2011
Chapter 21: The Things That Are God’s
We walked along the beach before we turned towards the cave. It was no surprise to McCorvy that his friend Halamin had returned to the ages—that, for some reason, suddenly was of no surprise to me, either. I left my crew to make the boat secure and light the night fires. It had become apparent to me that while all had temporal forms, outside of the German army, we still weren’t visible to the living. And that explained our uncanny luck at not being spotted or discovered by the local military. Neither our ships, our fires, nor us could be seen by what scant bodies still strolled or patrolled the beaches. Canada was at war, and the throngs of native Canadians, vacationers, and miners of the Money Pit (as the treasure well on Oak Island had been christened) were not out and about in great numbers for fear of the very U-boats we hunted. After several ferries carrying civilians were attacked and sunk for seemingly no reason but to kill, the chill of the sense of a new kind of more direct war—and twisted Nazi brutality—had chilled the population as if an arctic wind had blown across them. Intermittently, patrol boats of Canadian or British origins, sharing our cause from the far side of Heaven, would motor by cruising the coasts and the river, much to the fascination of my Vikings. They were awe-struck by the foul smell of diesel gasoline having replaced the wind as a source of power. It changed the sea for them; it changed being a sailor when no effort or knowledge was needed to move a boat. They were convinced mankind had grown stupid in its old age—and though it was for different reasons, I agreed.
The talk of Halamin had ended all discussion with Hamet. There was a strange solemnity with the old monk that prevented even consoling him—it was not his way to be consoled, having seen so much death throughout his own lifetime and the centuries that followed that it no longer fazed him. As we neared the cave entrance, Beaumond came out into the night to meet us. He looked tired and older to me, in a very world-weary way. His gauntleted hands fell on my shoulders and he held me still and just looked at me. I had no way of knowing what had been or would be transpiring at the cave, but I knew that if a defense needed to be made, Geofray would be the first to retire to the void. My eyes were glad to see him well and alive (such as “alive” was). Theo, however, was another matter. My first sight of him answered many questions I had not been allowed time to ask.
We entered and made our way past the makeshift table into the treasure room. Theo was slowly restacking about a third of the swords he had given to the Teutonic Knights. With great care and with sadness on his face, he wiped them down with oil and returned them to the racks that had held them. He was completely absorbed in his task and heard us not.
“Theo!” I called out.
He stopped and with his back towards me, then lifted his head and began to turn. As he did so, there was the sound of steel or iron being dropped to stone. Four swords had materialized in mid-air and crashed to the floor of the cave. The sound froze Theo’s body. He winced, making the sign of the cross upon himself, then at last looked at me. Seeing the expression on my face, he spake with the sound of great compassion in his voice. “As they fall their weapons return here, where I must make an accounting and store them for sleep until they are needed again.”
Geofray saw me mentally counting all the fallen. As my spirit seemed to be falling with every sword I tallied, he again patted my shoulder. “Don’t count, Richard. These are the things that are God’s, and mankind has rendered them back into His care. There is a great battle raging even now on the coast in that place your Vikings know as Markland—land of trees—and you call Labrador. Many on both sides are fallen. But who owns the day, or if they must converge upon each other again, we cannot know.”
There was a great oaken chair with a padded seat, a seat of State or the resting place for a grand potentate, and I slid down into it. There was an uneasy silence for a moment; Theo shuffling the weapons into place intermittently broke it, but it had no effect upon the mood. “Is this the purpose of my life?” I muttered to myself. “To shuffle Vikings up and down a river, half-visible to the world? Is this my whole purpose of being?”
Beaumond, who stood watching the weapons being stacked in their place, shook his head and walked to me. He stood squarely in front of me and gazed at me as he had the weapons. Then he slapped me: boldly, soundly, and with enough force to pick me out of the chair, tumble the chair, and send both me and the chair crashing into a wall. “Have you forgotten the vows you swore to when you began the true life of a Templar?” he asked calmly. “You were given a job to do... for His purpose and glory, not yours!”
At this point Egil walked in—just in time to see my mentor boot my bottom. “I dink he like you!” was the only comment he made to me as I struggled to rise. “The boat be ready when you are, cap’in!”
The great Teutonic army had raged across tundra and freezing forests and twice, at great expense, blocked the beginnings of invasion. Only the remnants of what appeared to be an automated weather station at an isolated place in Labrador (or Markland—the land of trees as the Vikings from the time of Erickson did indeed call it) would be found decades later. And few would know these remnants as the monuments of a great battle. These knights, mad for revenge upon their progeny, drove fearlessly through a ceaseless fire that took them faster and harder than the most vicious Arab warriors could. The weapons’ fire was that much more potent due to their possession of the Spear. The only advantage the knights possessed were their numbers. Though hundreds fell for but a handful of the enemy, it was enough to stalemate. There would be no Nazi hunters searching the coastlines for Templar treasure this night. And while the honor of the Teutonic Knights was being redeemed, I was beginning to realize my place in this twisted and tortured Nazi universe.
God alone knows how many innocent lives were saved by the Nazis being thwarted. I’m sure these Knights of the black tunics reclaimed more than a few Canadian souls from German pillagers willing to kill for even the chance of new relics or Templar gold. And I was here in this time and place to hunt them down. While, like de Flor, virtually everything I knew had come by way of the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon, it was not my place to stand and guard with sword and lance the great cache I had brought to this land so long ago. Rather, with my knowledge of the Saint Lawrence, I was to (as the American movie cowboys would say) head them off at the pass. And as I accepted my fate, I became very good at my spiritual calling—killing Nazis. Of course, I had more than a little help from the Norse, who seem to truly enjoy killing for God without fear of eternal damnation!
Askold had no qualms about hanging off the bow with his head in the water listening for even the slightest sound of a motor or propeller. Our ship would move slowly and Askold, who had the lungpower of a great blue whale, could keep his head below the waves for several minutes. Because this turned out to be an effective detection device, I had not the heart to tell him that there were things swimming around the Saint Lawrence that could swallow his whole head. My father had told me of giant muskellunge, a pike-like fish with teeth straight back from its lips to the far reaches of its gills, that were known to take fawn and small deer at river’s edge. Fishermen were allowed to carry .22 caliber weapons to shoot the fish before dragging it into the boat. I did, however, mention this fact to Egil, who immediately wagered me five gold pieces that Askold would take a bigger bite than the fish!
Our first “kill” was not the smoothest operation ever conducted. It was raining furiously this late night. Unless you’ve been caught in a serious Canadian downpour on either a lake or river, you cannot imagine the power or fury of a true storm. Under the best of captains and finest of ships, the fury was as great as hell in all its vehemence. This mad storm was a real concern to us, as the ship was already riding low in the water from the six great boulders we carried. The water falling from the nighttime sky was filling our open craft quickly, and the extra weight was making the tillering of the vessel even more difficult. The violent waves were picking the bow well out of the water and then crashing it down with a frightening “slap” that would have shattered the beams and timbers of most ships. And still Guthrumsson dangled himself over the bow. Despite his protests, I had tied a rope around Askold’s waist and held on as tightly as I could, fearing he would be washed away. For a moment I was certain he damned-near would be!
At one point, I thought Guthrumsson had indeed gone over the side, rope and all. He had been hanging from a cable tied to our dragon’s head and secured to a tie in the bow. With a leg wrapped around the rope and hanging by one hand, his leg of a sudden came off the cable and he swung by one arm. But the old pirate turned towards the deck and, with one hand passing over the other, he made his way back aboard.
“They be here. I’m sure. Der river not as deep, I can hear’em even with der rain!” the Viking chieftain mumbled as he shivered in the cold. “Now we see if your plan work!”
Before I could give the order, a boulder was being attached to both the front and rear hoist. Halamin’s ship had cracked the U-boat’s hull, and as it began to leak the ship was forced to rise to the surface. We would try to sit atop the U-boat and release the boulders, hoping at least one would make contact. Even if we didn’t crack the hull, hopefully the ship would rise to check for damage. Luck was with us. Despite our rolling and pitching, we made contact! Sure enough, the ship came up.
The plan was to board it and disable its crew. As the Nazi menace became accessible to us, I prepared to charge. But, as it had centuries ago, Askold’s great hand held me down. I watched Egil, war axe in hand, pressed against the tower and waiting for the hatch to open. It did, and a head took its last view of this world. With one swing, the skull separated and the corpse slid down the ladder it was climbing. Before it landed, several dozen Norse warriors had jumped into the open hatch and screams and shots echoed through the hull!
I struggled against Guthrumsson’s terrible grip as I tried to break free and climb into the hatch. I must have given the Viking a hard time, as he finally lifted me off the ground and shook me violently. Slamming me to the deck, he calmly spoke, “Your place be here, not below!” I stopped struggling, for I knew he was right. The din of battle lasted all of three minutes. Then... silence! Slowly, Viking face after Viking face rose through the hatch, and as they did I waited for Egil. I had almost given up heart and hope when, covered in blood, he climbed out into the breaking dawn.
“How many are left alive?” I called to him.
He looked at me and grinned. “Lef’alive? You wanted some lef’alive?”
“Not really.”
“Cap’in, how we sink dis ding? By Odin, she big!”
That was a good question Egil had asked. We had to get rid of the evidence, but this wasn’t a wooden hull. We gathered together in the downpour and counseled for an answer.
And then it appeared. Several miles out to sea at the junction of ocean and river, we had watched the British navy set a minefield, the Vikings puzzled by the strange spheres being set. Our ship, of lapstrake construction and shallow of draft, might just possibly float right over them. We would tow the sub into the field, and by God’s Grace the rolling sea would dash it down on the shallow mines. Of course, with a violent sea to contend with, there was more than a small chance we’d be blown to bits. Hearing of this, my crew unanimously decided that was the proper way to God—in keeping with the situation.
Easy for them! They were dead already!
It took all of Helgi’s skill to tow that steel beast. It was as if the sea itself was refusing this cursed piece of metal. It was a night not even the wind knew which way to go, so we rowed even under a full sail. Slowly we gained speed, enough to know we would be in open waters when the sun rose. So it came to pass that with a final push of the oars we flew, U-boat in tow, into the minefield. Axes fell on ropes, the unholy boat broke away from us, and like a beeching whale rose with the waves and smashed down upon the water as if it knew its death was at hand. As we had been as much released from its grip as it from ours, Helgi cut sharply to port in an attempt to clear the mines. He had listened to my description of a mine detonating and thought better of having anything to do with it.
The U-boat had other plans. We had parked our oars, as God’s wind was to our favor, and we watched. The nose of the sub seemed to jump off a wave as if to dive, dolphin-like, beneath the water and cheat us of our victory. But as it disappeared below the water, there was a sudden explosion and a spout of water rising up to Heaven, and our stern was half-ripped away by shrapnel and great chunks of metal. I lost two of my crew, Rhinold and Gimore the Elder, as flying pieces of metal cut through them. As with the passing of Halamin, a great light filled with the dust of stars scattered over the wound to the tail of our ship. Stunned, we sat at our oars and rolled over the rising seas.
My eyes fell on Helgi, who pointed a finger back in the direction we had just come from. I nodded. It was as if in killing the U-boat, we had slain a part of ourselves. In all of us, there was not a bit of energy left. But as if God had been watching, the wind found a where-to-blow-to and, mercifully, it filled our sail and sent us back into the mouth of the river.
Over the next months, there were many U-boats. And as a man of mine entered the void by Nazi hands, at first light he would rise from it and take his place gain. This gave me pause, as it was a Viking, not Christian, belief at work.
