11.

Our arrogance was not something Juan shared in, and while he seemed more capable than either of us, doubt cast itself across his face as we followed him back to our quarters.  Juan’s age and experience both served and hindered him at that moment.

Juan’s self-doubt had little effect on us.  We were excited to the point of barely being able to contain ourselves.  Our steps were light in the stone tiled hallways of St. Peter’s Cathedral, and the occasional glance or gibe between Antonio and I brought childish snickering.  Several times Juan had to admonish us before he ducked into the small room that served as his sleeping quarters.

“Sleep Children,” He told us firmly.  “We will leave on the morrow riding hard to the North -- so rest this day.”

Antonio smiled at him amiably, but Juan was already closing the bound oak door.

I pondered Juan and his doubts as we entered our chambers and closed the door behind us.  Were his doubts a weakness of faith?  As I have said before, I had my misgivings about that good man, and I will not sully his memory be pretending otherwise.  It was my youthful distrust of age speaking in my mind -- telling me that Juan’s faith was weak.  But his doubts made him human, more so than we who knew no such doubt.

 

12.

No sooner had Antonio and I disrobed from our formal clothes than a knock came at our chamber door.  Antonio looked to me and laughed, a more jovial sound I’ve never heard.  I wish I could remember him like that forever, laughing in the dusty sunlight that beamed through the windows.  It suited him somehow -- like an elf from old myth he appeared, and it suited him.

“Probably Juan with directions on what we are to wear this evening.” He said as he loped to the bound door and swung it open wide.

But it was not Juan there at our door as expected -- it was Samuel, the Bishop’s aid.  Like bashful little girls we scrambled for our clothes, as Samuel stepped into the chamber smiling.

“Ho there, and what are you two up to?” Samuel asked as he let himself into our Chamber, closing the door behind him.  "Prancing about in the nude like little heathens -- you’re not pulling at each others puds are you lads?”

Antonio stopped scrambling for his robes as Samuel’s sharp words bit into him.  He straightened his frame, lean and tall, his face flaming red with anger.  I had never seen Antonio so vexed as I did that day.

“What is your purpose here Monk?” Antonio asked defiantly.

If Samuel heard the question, he gave no indication.  His narrow eyes were focused on Antonio’s flat stomach and groin area.  They were hungry eyes.  I had seen that look before in my years in seminary and in Venatore training.  Not all the Monks were lecherous, but it was widely accepted that many were.  And while the Church did not condone this behavior, they did not seek out its destruction either.  Any Venatore student that hadn’t already been, "given a lesson", as they liked to put it, was bound to receive his lesson at the initiation.  Many of the weaker boys, and boys who were willing enough, received their lessons often, in order to gain favor with these Monks.  Now here Samuel stood gaping at Antonio like the lecherous Monks of the Venatore compound.

But we were no longer training, and we had no need of a lesson this day.

Antonio did not falter as he stood there with his hands braced on his slender hips.

“Answer me Monk!” Antonio commanded, his voice forceful enough to tear Samuel’s eyes away from his naked physique.

“Keeping it amongst yourselves are you?” Samuel muttered, less sure of himself than he had been.  “I’m come to bid you dine with his eminence this evening in our commissary.  I was unable to rouse your leader.”

“A lie,” I told him quietly.  "Never did you knock at Juan’s door -- leave us now, your purpose is done."

Samuel looked shocked that an impertinent boy would treat him so, though this letch deserved far worse – it was Antonio that gave him a taste of his own medicine.

“Leave, before we tell your master of your lechery here,” Antonio told him as he stepped up close to Samuel -- taunting him -- torturing him.

Still, Samuel did not scurry from our room, his piggish eyes narrowed, and his tongue flicked across his dry lips.  He knew Antonio was bluffing; he knew of our initiation, it was written there on our naked bodies.  But there was a hint of doubt -- just a hint.  It was that doubt that finally made him turn on his heel and step to our door.

“Shall I rouse you before supper young masters?” Samuel asked as he pulled open the door.

Antonio, his visage controlled and stern, said nothing as Samuel looked back through the cracked door.

His eyes crawled over us, taking in our forms -- storing the memory away for later use.  Never had I felt as naked as I did that day.

“Good rest then Venatore -- sleep well,” Samuel said as a parting shot before closing the door shut with a snap.

 

13.

Supper with the Bishop was a boring affair.  No one spoke much, and the conversation that occurred was done in hushed whispers behind the hands of the participants.  Even here, in our own Church we were outcast -- separate from the rank and file.  Our Bishop was not communicative in any way.  Judging from his red cheeks and bloodshot eyes, my guess was that he had imbibed in the sacramental wine to calm his jangled nerves.

So like everything else we did in life -- we ate alone.

That night I dreamt that our mission had taken us to a dark cavern -- the cavern of Maxmillius Crowe.  There he stood, tall and straight in the dark confines, blacker than the gloom about him.  He turned to us as we approached him.  He was handsome as I remembered him, his ice blue eyes and flowing black hair were perfect -- like an angel.  My heart began to race in my chest, as he opened his arms to us in welcome.   I found myself running towards his embrace.  Running to this dark angel of my dreams – my mentor, my surrogate father.  Antonio called a warning to me, but it fell upon deaf ears and was left there unheeded.

As his embrace closed around me I felt the sheer wrongness in it.  It was the disease within him I felt, but his ice blue gaze assured me all was well and right.  I closed my tired eyes at last, confident now that I was in good hands.  In the background I heard the clash of metal, I heard Antonio scream in agony, and Juan yell in defiance.

It was a dream within a dream.  A rare thing, a premonition I’ve learned to trust.

Then all went calm and still.  I opened my eyes; there instead of Maxmillius was Samuel, covered with the lifeblood of my comrades.  A cry of hatred rose in my chest, but it was too late -- no one was left to save me in any case.  Samuel brought his mouth down to the nape of my neck.  I thrashed in his grip, but his arms held me fast as a vice.  There was a feeling of hot pain as his teeth tore through my smooth skin.  Then he was shaking me, pulling out the last of my lifeblood as I struggled to escape.

 

14.

I awakened to Antonio’s sweet face, standing over my bed, gently shaking me awake.  I cannot express how glad I was to see him.

“Up and at them William -- come on now, Juan seems anxious to get an early start,” Antonio told me with a smile.

I’ve always been a slow riser, so it took me a moment to rouse myself and find my wits.  Strange -- that moment where dream blends into reality.  Strange indeed -- that moment of intuition or de ja vue.

We rode out as dawn crested the Eastern horizon.  The glittering walls of St. Peter’s Cathedral and her fluttering standards framing us as we left York traveling North at a quick paced trot.  The terrain changed quickly once we entered Scotland, growing rough and rocky at the foot of the Highlands still distant on the horizon.

Scotland, while still tributary to the Kingdom, was a bit more to my liking than England itself.  The Scots were an independent people of Celtic origins like those in my home of Ireland.  There was also the shared hatred of the English.  These were a people who did not look down their noses at my Irish accent.  To them I was a kindred spirit with a shared enemy.  Though we were riding directly into the worst danger I had ever known, and will ever know in my life, my spirits lifted, and I felt at ease.

But if my ease gave solace to poor Juan, it did not show in his demeanor.  With each passing mile his scowl deepened, and his tongue grew sharper.  Finally, after four hard days of riding, we made camp at a small peasant village just a few leagues South and West of Edinburgh.

 

15.

                “Ask about the village,” Juan ordered me as we made camp.  “For the location of this Cave.”

I did just that -- to the horror of the villagers I might add.  They were frightened, for not a soul in this village had gone untouched by the evil that lurked so close about, and it made them reticent to speak of it.  Even more so since we wore raiment similar to that of the one that stood accused of these terrible crimes.

At last I found an old doffer willing to speak of Crowe for the price of a pint of ale.

“His cave is West o’ here,” he told me, his eyes wide and speculative as they examined the crest on my breastplate.  “I never seen da place ma'self, but de say it at the foot o' Orlden Hill, next to the crek.  I seen da Dark Knight though -- once, a couple o’ years back.  Pale as death he was, ridin’ a black horse, with black raiment like yours, and all dark haired and such.  T’was rumored he were Mordred, come a ways back from Avalon -- but I didn' believe dat.  Not to say there wasn’ somethin’ about him now – somethin’ dark and troublin’.  I havn’ seen him since.  All we sees now is the death he spreads like his spoor.  You kill him lad, an don’ look back.  He’s evil, sure as the sun sets in the West he is, and you be wary o’ his bite.  A lass ore in Glen Felen, South o’ here, were bitten by him.  She fevered so that her very eyes bled.  They were sure she would die, but she come out of it, an’ when she did, they were forced to quarter her, and bury them pieces in separate graves.  They says, even quartered, she were screamin’ vitriol at God himself.  Aye, strange doin’s about here lately lad.  I hope you kill him – t’woud put my ol’ mind at rest.”