Free The Pegasus Secret by Gregg Loomis

by a crimson cross also, this one squarish with perfect triangles for arms.
    I followed as he rode through the open gate into the cloister, dismounted and knelt before our poor abbot as though he were paying obeisance to the pope himself. He asked for a night’s shelter and food for his man and animals. He requested these for himself last, after his horses and esquire, as was proper for men of God as were we and was he.
    As he knelt in supplication, I noted his hair was long and unkempt, his armour beginning to rust and his robe and cape covered with the dust of travel. Travel he had, as I was to learn later. He had survived the fall of Acre, the last Christian city in the Holy Land, the year after my birth. With the former residents of Jaffa, Tyre, Sidon and Ascalon, he and hisremaining brethren had fled in Venetian ships along with Grand Master Theobald Gaudin who brought with them such treasure and relics as the Order had.
    Guillaume had waited in Cyprus for the papal pleasure of Boniface VIII, thinking that once again it would please God to send the Knights to cleanse the infidel from Jerusalem. 7
    When it became apparent this would not take place soon, he was ordered to return to his original monastery in Burgundy. He was on his way there when I saw him.
    Risking the sin of jealousy, I managed to kneel next to him at Vespers that evening, the better to admire the accoutrements I have described. I could not but notice the sun’s dark mark on his face and a star-shaped scar at his neck, a wound his esquire told me he received from a heathen arrow and survived only by God’s grace.
    It was then I observed the circlet of silver encompassing what I had first perceived as four triangles. It was only later he explained to me the triangles described the equal arms of the Templar cross, symbolizing the Holy Rood with the equality of all the Poor Brothers of the Temple of Solomon. It was the only adornment the Order allowed its members.
    He also noticed my interest in his scar, for after the last prayer, he touched the discolored skin and said, “Only the low-born kill at a distance, young brother. Knights look into the souls of their enemies.”
    “Souls?” I said, curious. “The heathen, the accursed of the true God, have souls?”
    At this he laughed, drawing the attention of Brother Larenzo, a devout man and prior of the abbey. “He is human, young brother. And do not forget, those figures you use in your calculations instead of Roman letters come from the infidel as do your calculations of the seasons. He is a worthy foe. And, at least for now, he holds all the Outremer, 8 having ousted the best Christendom could muster.”
    Brother Larenzo was making no effort to conceal that hewas listening to the conversation. I was already the subject of his ire since silence and meditation after Vespers is the rule. I had had more than one beating at his hands for sacrilege, so I replied, “But surely Christ’s Church will ultimately prevail.”
    Guillaume laughed again, to the prior’s great annoyance. Laughter was as rare inside these walls as the wealth we had all foresworn. “The trouble is not with Christ’s Church, it is with Christ’s kings and princes. They fight among themselves instead of uniting against the nonbelievers. They are wont to worry more about the power of rival sovereigns than domination of the very home of Jesus by heathens.” Here he moved his hand in a rough estimation of crossing himself. “Many such kings even fear us, the Poor Knights of the Temple.”
    Would that I had listened with a sharper ear to this last! Had I heeded it and all it implied, I would not now be facing the fate that awaits me, a stake surrounded by brush to be lit.
    I confess again to the sin of pride when this brave knight who had so valiantly served the cause of Christ chose to accompany me, rather than the abbot, to the refectory for the evening meal. I could feel all eyes upon me as I genuflected before the crucifix