He gasped in the open air near the bodies of brave Vikings washing ashore. Sisnero Varsala was lying on his back nearby, paralyzed by the son of Osiris who loomed over him with a look of indelible victory. He held his hand above the mortal who had escaped from Hel without first negotiating with the god of the Underworld. The Spaniard convulsed violently as his life-force was drained, leaving him like an empty shell before he sank into the Earth.
Arca straightened his back and leered at the Templar, who choked with lungs still soaked in water. “That was the business of my father, now I shall eat your golden spirit,” he said with a ghastly look. His ashen smile stretched between cheeks as exposed as a mummified corpse.
Xenakis knew that he was looking upon the visage of death itself, but when the demigod drew closer, he felt the river pull his legs and he was swept back into the Danube. As Erelim was taken by the god of the sea towards safety, he watched Anjety trying to summon his spells without success.
“By the coming of the Niflheim winter and your people’s paranoia of Bastet, I will bring a curse upon the northern tribes as foul as the scourge of God!” yelled the son of Osiris, sounding all too mortal with his uncontrollable emotions. “Poseidon may have saved you, but he will not save your people from the plagues that I will bring!”
* * * * *
Xenakis woke on a rocky beach with frigid waves lapping at his feet. He looked at a sky filled with clouds, and despite his desire to see his wife’s face again he was glad to be alive. He was aware of someone watching him and rolled over to see a young woman dressed in modest robes. He didn’t know when he had been transported to, or if it was even a world of humans, until she smiled compassionately and held out her soft hand.
“I’m Roslyn Saint Clair,” she told him, obviously a devoted nun by the crucifix hanging around her neck. Erelim refused to take her delicate offering with an explanation that he didn’t want to get her dirty. She retracted her hand as politely as she lent it.
“What’s your real name?” he asked, to bypass the one given to her by the mistress of her Order.
“Kara Vala,” she replied with her quiet voice.
He grunted against his aching muscles as he stood up. “Like the shamans connected to Freya, priestess of the gods.”
“That’s an old Viking belief, but I guess Euhemerus would prefer that we take myth as humanity witnessing something natural and prescribing a supernatural context to it. After all, there is more truth than fantasy in pre-dogmatic religion.”
“So you’re educated,” observed the knight.
“And you’re a Templar,” she replied with fond respect. “You’re lucky that you didn’t wash up on a beach further south, they’ve been killing your kind in England for years.”
He straightened his back and heard a few pops from his stiff bones, then he searched her light blue eyes with concern. “How did you know that I would be here?”
“You might not believe it, but I had a vision,” she relayed, averting her glance with the shame she faced when speaking to the priests of her patriarchal church.
“Why wouldn’t I believe you?” he said sincerely, and she looked to him with hope renewed. Her eyes contained such clarity that they appeared like the limitless sky.
“You’re here to help us fight for independence from the son of Satan.”
Xenakis thought about the last thing he had seen before the god of the sea saved his life. “Arca Anjety?”
“Who? I’m talking about King Edward II, son of Edward the Longshanks,” she told him. “That tall demon who abused the Scots every chance he got. The great freedom fighters like Andrew Moray and William Wallace are dead, torn apart to teach us all a lesson, but Robert the Bruce and a cadre of Templars hiding as regular knights here in Scotland are building an army as the next King Edward does the same. He’ll have greater numbers when he succeeds, even if he’s having more trouble rallying troops to his cause. The nobles in London bicker more ferociously than lions.”
“What year is it?” asked the somber knight, who stood a foot taller than his kind-hearted savior.
“It’s 1314. How long have you been lost in Avalon?”
“Perhaps it was a dream,” he said, looking around for evidence of a shipwreck. “Maybe I was poisoned by ergot and got lost in the illusion.” His words trailed off with assumptions as his rational mind tried to overwrite all that didn’t make sense, despite his solid experience. “Our leaders were being held captive by an inquisition. Our fleet of ships was confiscated and our wealth was reacquired.”
“That was years ago. In France, King Philip IV needed the Templar Order’s money to fuel his war with Edward the Longshanks, a devil in the flesh. Luckily the son of Satan is a pathetic creature and a terrible leader, as ineffectual as his father was cruel,” she revealed. “Your leaders were slowly cooked to death, but most of the knights escaped. In Switzerland they defeated an army of five thousand sent by Leopold I of Austria. In fact, they’re fomenting military victories everywhere in the name of Heaven, but here in Scotland is where it is most important. God will punish those responsible for the disgrace brought to divinity, I have seen it. Your virtues are expanding among Freemasons who extol the same principles in their mythology. They oppose ignorance, tyranny, and fanaticism, the same as your Order, and scholar monks are developing a concept of Deism to realize the highest God once and for all. It’s a Christian form of Monism and a worship of the Pleroma, the light of undivided existence from which all energy is born. I always pray on this beach, but I recently had a vision that I would find a warrior for light delivered by the ocean. You’re here to fight for the independence of the new age,” Roslyn said, with tears in her eyes flowing from the happiness that overfilled her. “We will create justice again on Earth and bring God back to the Garden of Eden after He was expelled by our selfish delusions.”
As the nun brought him from the western coastline and through the woods, Erelim could hear a clatter of preparations before they reached the camp. Hidden within the trees, a home was made for guerrilla warriors who had been fighting England for decades. Most were getting ready for battle in thick coats that hung low to cover the pikemen, their primary forces aided by a small cavalry of men-at-arms.
Roslyn introduced Xenakis to the other knights and he recognized that their war was far bigger than feudal concerns. With a faith that bled through their thoughts and actions, their sacrifice was for a kingdom beyond this Earth, which set them specifically apart from the noblemen rallying their soldiers.
“This Templar is a gift from God,” Roslyn said when she introduced him.
Because he was a stranger not yet worthy of trust, they straightened their backs and watched him carefully. The scars on his face and his weathered glance were as obvious as rust on metal, so they assumed that he was a man who fought an enemy much bigger than himself and survived. They spoke to him in a cryptic language, since they were all remnants of the dying Templar Order and they knew codes that no assassin or traitor would understand. When he responded to their Scoto-Norman heritage, he was quickly accepted into the group.
With war upon them, they were desperate for anyone coming from the oppressed Ireland or the northern Highlands. For every soldier there were camp followers as well, creating a supply chain for the thousands of men maintaining the siege upon the English-held Stirling Castle on the hill to the north. They said that Sir Mowbray had signed a deal with Robert the Bruce concerning a timeline when the British inhabitants would abandon the area, avoiding mass murder at the hands of the Scots.
Edward II was marching towards them on an old Roman road with the intent of beating that date of July 24th by bringing reinforcements to crush the uprising and relieve the besieged fortress. The Templars told Xenakis that Robert was not the absolute leader of their seven-thousand man army, and since they would be outnumbered at least three to one, the Scottish King considered abandoning the battle in favor of guerilla tactics.
William Wallace had made the mistake of gambling all at the Battle of Falkirk sixteen years earlier against Edward I, where his pikemen were put on the defensive before being cut down by volleys of arrows. This time Templars would be among them, strengthening their formation with suicidal bravery and controlling the cavalry with Sir Robert Keith. The Scots were emboldened by the presence of Crusaders, as well as by the weather itself, which was favorable to them because it was as rainy and miserable as winter.
Surrounded by natural boundaries, including the woods behind and a river to the south and east, they were planning on driving the English into a bottleneck. There was a bridge over the Bannock Burn stream just north of the Tor Woods, where the enemy would soon appear from the ancient Roman road, but for them to use it as a tactic would be a repeated folly of the British defeat at Stirling Bridge, where Wallace and Moray allowed half of the enemy troops to cross before attacking.
The Scots wanted to force the English to take the carse to the east, near the intersection of waterways at the River Forth. Due to rainy weather, the farmland was so wet that the Brits would be bogged down in the mud and become immobile. To make it more difficult, Robert ordered holes to be dug above the steep slopes, creating slippery banks to further hinder their movement. Everyone respected his past eight years of consistent warfare, but the effort only mattered after Edward I had died on his way to forge a new campaign against the rebels. When Robert killed John Comyn for the Scottish throne, even the true successor’s family had joined the English against them.
Despite the feudal chaos and complex allegiances, the Scottish warriors looked to the Templars for inspiration. Roslyn pointed out Robert the Bruce from the crowd and Xenakis looked to the tall man of about forty years who was known for making deals when it spared his life or served himself monetarily. He had a full beard and countenance that reminded him of the faces of the Vikings in the longboat, which made sense because his family was named for their settlement in Brieux, Normandy.
A great clamor overwhelmed the men when night fell and the last attempts were made to build a vice for the enemy. To the south, the trampling of twenty-thousand foot soldiers and their cavalry could be heard coming to help Sir Mowbray before he surrendered Stirling Castle. Edward II had hurried his men to exhaustion, desiring a quick battle against the Scots before they could take refuge in the stone fortress.
The Brits were setting up camp as darkness loomed, and Erelim was shown back to the nun’s quarters where he collapsed on the meager bedding that Roslyn offered him. From a deep sleep he was awakened the next morning to the smell of fires being put out after breakfast. The nun gave him her rations and was standing at the door of the tent, rubbing a wooden rosary between her fingers.
“The war is starting, good knight. They will need your steel if they are to rout the son of Satan. I had another dream, and once again God has shown me victory.”
“The angels are kind to those who deserve it,” Xenakis responded with an ache in every muscle. “But rarely in this life can they offer reprieve.”
He saw that she had cleaned his clothes and chainmail, as well as his sword to keep away the damage from salty sea water. The last thing he felt like doing was going to chop up other humans, but he dragged his weary bones into the daylight and walked through the woods to meet the rear ranks of the cavalry. Roslyn told him that she would pray for him before she left with a sad look to accompany her pride. She believed that war would bring them glory, but first they had to bleed to achieve it.
The Templars among the pikemen issued orders and moved with great flexibility, a feat not even the Greeks could manage when they were conquered by the Romans at Cynoscephalae. In a similar formation as the Macedonian phalanx, they were spread out to cover the eastern flank along with the south, keeping the cavalry as a reserve unit. The English had greater numbers of knights as well, so Edward II ordered his horsemen forward, just as his father did at Falkirk to test the enemy lines and break them wherever possible.
Erelim was given a steed by a fellow Crusader and they rode to where Robert the Bruce oversaw the beginning of battle. Two enemy units on horseback began crossing the bridge north of the Roman road in tight ranks that afforded little mobility. “We will wait,” Robert told his men-at-arms, knowing that patience would win where arrogance was folly. “Edward was forced to give control of his cavalry to the competing Earls of Gloucester and Hereford. They bicker like children and sharing dominance may divide them.”
Once the enemy gathered on the northern side of the bridge, they gave a few false starts to test the agility of the tightly compacted spearmen in the distance. Wherever they moved, the Scottish foot-soldiers pointed their sharpened pikes. The riders charged by furious order of their commanders, and once engaged the cavalry came running into a sea of thorns. While the armored thousand-pound horses drove forward into the porcupine defense of the Scots, the rear unit tried to swing around the pikemen until they countered, covering their weak spots with reserves and avoiding the threat of being easily surrounded.
When the fruitless advance of the English failed, a knight on a massive warhorse came charging in a wide circle around his men. As he lifted his lance and spurred his animal directly towards Robert the Bruce, the other men-at-arms warned their King. He only carried his light battle axe against a fully armored foe, but the Scotsman waited patiently until the nephew of the Earl of Hereford, Sir Henry de Bohun, reached him at full speed.
Robert turned his horse at the last moment, deflecting the enemy’s lance before swinging his axe and cleaving the knight’s head in two. The thick iron helmet cracked in half with a burst of blood, and after Sir Bohun hit the ground, Robert looked regrettably at the broken handle of his favorite weapon. His men wanted to chide him for the risk he took, but they were too relieved to protest.
A cheer suddenly went out as news traveled through the Scots that the Earl of Gloucester had been knocked from his horse. As a result, the English cavalry was withdrawing. When a second attempt was sent forward over the road from Falkirk, Xenakis was asked to take Robert’s orders to Sir Thomas Randolph on the left wing, whose pikemen were needed to drift north to counter the riders ordered by Edward to test the opposite side of combat.
Robert Clifford and Henry de Beaumont were leading the second charge of the Brits, but as the afternoon began to wane, the Scots were still strong in faith. Erelim gave the news to Randolph through other Templars among the phalanx and they moved to compensate for the tenacity of the English. By the end of the first day of battle, the enemy was no closer to breaking the Scottish line. Edward’s men had taken moderate losses after causing no real damage to the solidarity of the Scots, and the Highlanders returned to camp to be greeted by their families with ample praise for bravery.
Xenakis would have felt lonely if not for Roslyn, who gave him the warmth of true devotion, a wife to God but a congenial host to the lost Templar. “All has occurred as I have foreseen,” she told him as he sat in her tent, eating a hearty meal of soup and bread in the torchlight.
“Be weary,” he replied. “Their commander may be inept, but we still face a frontal assault.”
“It has already happened in Heaven and you’ve won the day,” she insisted. “What’s most important is that we turn the victory of a minor battle into a long lasting statement of democracy.”
“What do you mean?” he asked. “Athena may be on our side, but we are not Greek.”
“We all share Viking blood. Have you heard of the Icelandic Althing where Norse settlers created a pact to hold meetings between tribal chieftains to discuss matters of law and controversy? They vote and bring order despite dissension, and they choose their leaders just as our Scandinavian ancestors did. Crusaders forge a document as we speak, around campfires they develop a declaration that will be given to the Pope by Bernard, the abbot of Arbroath Abby. It will pass like a matter of Celtic unity and a result of our victory ove
r English oppression,” said the hopeful nun. “We will name virtue as our sovereignty and our enemy as ignorance, tyranny, and fanaticism.”
“Those vices won’t be conquered in a single day,” said Erelim.
“Of course not, it will take a thousand years,” Roslyn continued. “But it can become the test of individuals who connect with the Source and not an institution that is easily perverted by the corruption of men. It will require Crusaders of every country and in every generation to face threats that seem insurmountable in danger that can suffocate their very lives. We do not fight fire with fire, but use water against the burning hell.”
“All human transitions are drenched in blood.”
“I agree,” she nodded regrettably. “So you must fight until we overcome.”
“God will overcome,” Xenakis corrected.
* * * * *
On the second day of battle, Edward II made a foolish mistake. First he spent all morning sending his troops through the muddy carse east of the Scottish position, and it took them hours to get into formation after trekking through the bog-like obstacle of swampy soil. When the battle was finally set to begin, the Templars among the Scots called for them to kneel in prayer before God, showing humility and supplication to the one from which all existence was created.
As soon as Edward saw the enemy drop to one knee, he arrogantly believed it to be a sign of surrender. Confusing himself with God, with haughty impatience and against the arguments of his commanders, he sent his infantry to destroy the Scots. Instead of wearing them down and finishing them with archers, Edward II walked into defeat. Erelim was among the knights who followed Sir Robert Keith with their cavalry to pummel the English archers. When both sides met in combat as foot-soldiers, the Scottish riders made their move, knowing that the pikemen could hold their own.
They drove north around the Brits and attacked the side of the bowmen, cutting through them easily and trampling them to death. Xenakis felt their arrows bounce off his shield as his steed crushed the skulls of their wounded. Once the archers were neutralized, the Scottish knights turned back, free to face the English cavalry and men-at-arms. Erelim saw the Earl of Gloucester cowering behind his men, full of fear after his near-death experience the previous day. Clad in steel, they clashed with the ground shaking beneath them, and he drove the Earl back where he was punctured by spearmen.