Knights Temporal

The Knights Templar, officially known as the Order of the Poor Knights of Christ and Temple of Solomon, were an order of Knights that came into existence in 1118. A French crusader named Hugues De Payens was joined by eight others in adopting a religious rule based on St. Augustine. They presented themselves to King Baldwin II of Jerusalem, who heartily welcomed them. He provided them with accommodations at the site of King Solomon's Temple. They were charged with keeping the Holy Land, then in European control, safe for pilgrims. In 1139, De Payens successor as Grand Master, Robert De Craon, won a special dispensation for the order from Pope Innocent II and the Order was placed under direct papal jurisdiction.

The Templars were independent of any other secular or ecclesiastical control. Their charge was now expanded to defend the Church against all enemies of the Cross. Despite the power of the Templars, Jerusalem fell to the forces of the Saracen leader, Saladin, in 1187. After this victory, Saladin had all of the surviving Knights beheaded along with one other Christian noble. The Templars continued to hold territory in the Holy Land until Acre fell in 1291. With the entire Holy Land now in Muslim hands, the Templars were without a purpose. They continued their extensive banking activities as they tried to organized a new Crusade.

King Philip IV of France was indebted to the Templars financially and feared their power, which no secular leader could control. He needed money and the Templars had it. After the death of Pope Benedict IX (which he probably had a hand in), Philip had his own man, Bertrand De Got - Archbishop of Bordeaux, elected as Clement V and had the papacy moved to Avignon. With the apparent blessing of the papacy, Philip proceeded against the Templars in 1307. The Templars were arrested and tried for heresy. They were subjected to excruciating torture to extract confessions. After years of papal inquiry, the Council of Vienne was convened, in part, to deal with the Templars. Acting alone, Clement dissolved the Order and reserved the judgement of four of the Templar leaders and a mysterious Oliver De Penne to himself. Jacques DeMolay, the last Grand Master of the Order, was burned at the stake on March 14, 1314. The others were burned as well.

Soon after the mass arrests in 1307, Philip had his officials go through Templar facilities in search of the Templar treasure, but very little of the Templar wealth was found. The Templar fleet had sailed from the port of La Rochelle before the arrests, supposedly with the lion's share of the Templar wealth, and was never heard from again. Rumours have abounded over the centuries about what happened to the Templar fleet and its treasure ...

One man one goal one mission,
One heart one soul just one solution,
One flash of light yeah one god one vision.
One flesh one bone,
One true religion,
One voice one hope,
One real decision

From "One Vision" by Queen

As Alfred Cahill entered the former headquarters of the Paris Temple, a man in a black raincoat watched Alfred's every move through his binoculars. The man was about to put down the binoculars when another figure stalked up to the entrance to the Temple. In the dark, autumn Parisian night, the man's quick glimpse of the figure did not allow him to recognize who it was was. However, the gleam of steel in his hand made it clear to the man what the figure was - a second Immortal.

"They will profane our ancient home with their battle," the man lamented. "But what can be done? Nothing, until we are restored."

The man waited outside for a few minutes. He waited for what he knew was inevitable. He waited until he saw the sparks of blue lightning, the howling winds, the scream of vistory, or was it pain. He waited until he saw the Quickening.

"Tis done," the man noted. "But which one was the victor? Cahill or the other?"

The man brought his binoculars to his eyes once again. He trained them on the entrance to the Temple. Whoever won was sure to come through that doorway. How could they know of any other way?

The man focused his attention on the doorway. He saw a man in a black raincoat exit the Temple, but before he could get an adequate look at the victor, a car passed in his line of sight. He saw enough to discern that it was not Cahill, but he could not make out the face of the victor. Not that it would have made much difference if he had, the man figured. How likely was it that he would have seen this Immortal before.

After a few minutes of waiting, the man cautiously made his way into the Temple. His guard was up, and his eyes scanned his surroundings, looking for anything that might pose a threat. His senses were well-trained from his years of experience. He would not be taken by surprise.

The man of mystery read the inscription as he entered. "Here lies Jacques De Molay, last Grand Master of the Knights Templar." He laughed. "If only they knew the truth."

The man slowly, almost respectfully, walked through the dark Temple. No sounds or signs of life could be detected. As he passed the giant Templar cross, he paused momentarily and bowed his head. He snaked his way through the arches until he came upon the cistern.

Outside of the cistern, the man found the expressionless head of Alfred Cahill. It had rolled up against the wall and stared at the man with its dead eyes. The man made the sign of the cross and bowed his head once again.

"Poor, poor Alfred. You truly were not ready to join us. Your faith was strong, but your mind was not ready to accept all that we taught you in what little time we had." the man lamented once again.

He peered down the cistern. At the bottom in a tangled heap was Cahill's body. The man noted that Cahill had donned the armor and tunic of the Order.

"At least you died like a Templar." the man whispered. He reached down to pull Cahill's body out of the cistern. He then dragged it over by Cahill's head. A bead of sweat ran down the man's forehead. He wiped his brow and took out a cellular phone. He punched in the number and waited for an answer at the other end.

"Yes?" was the greeting he received.

"This is De Penne. There was an Immortal here, but he is no more." he continued "We may bring the treasure here and re-establish the Order in its true home."

"His will be done." was the reply.

"Non nobis, Domine, non nobis sed nomini tuo da gloriam. (Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us but to Thy Name goes the glory)" De Penne intoned and then punched a button to hang up. He placed the phone back into his jacket and thought back to the second last time he had been here at to the Temple...

The Temple was bustling with activity. Servant brothers and even Knights were carrying all sorts of things from one corner to the other. Despite all of the activity, there was an underlying order to all of the scrambling. At a table in the middle of the facility were gathered a number of Knights. They were all paying close attention to the old man at the head of the table. His face showed the lines of age and the scars of battle. He was Jacques De Molay, the Grand Master of the Knights Templar

"Destroy our records. Let them find nothing of any importance, if they should come." De Molay ordered the Templars who were hurrying. He held a copy of the Rule of the Order, in his hand, or so his servant had told him. De Molay could not read the document to verify that. De Molay was not literate at all, and that is the way he liked it. Literacy was one of the many worldly things that was unnecessary for a dedicated Knight. The purpose of the Templars was to fight; there should be no need on the part of the Knights for reading pleasures. The affairs of the Order that required literacy could be more effectively dealt with the serving brothers. The Knights should have their minds set on combat and their souls set on God, or so De Molay reminded his charges on every opportunity.

"But what shall we do with everything else? You are having the brothers pack our things, but to where will it be taken?" Gerard De Villiers asked.

De Molay turned to the Master of the Paris Temple, "My dear De Villiers, even though you are a true and trusted brother, I cannot divulge everything to you. The Fair King will soon fall upon us, I fear. We must ensure that the Order survives. We shall load most of the Order's worldly possessions upon the decks of our mighty fleet."

De Molay put his hand on De Villiers shoulder "And you, good Master, shall take fifty horses and 150,000 gold florins and depart from Paris to Germany. Our brethren there have been informed of your impending arrival." De Molay removed his hand and clasped his hands together prayerfully, "Now, make the necessary preparations and assign the required men." As De Villiers turned to do as he was told, De Molay exhorted "Go, God make ye worthy men!"

As De Villiers departed, De Molay gathered together some other high-ranking Templar officials. They took their places at the table and listened intently to the Grand Master's words.

"Gather up the remainder of the treasury here in Paris," De Molay began. "I have already issued orders for the fleet to put in at La Rochelle. You shall take the treasury and load it upon the galleys."

A Templar spoke up, "To where shall the fleet set sail? If the worst comes to pass, there will be no place in all of Christendom that will provide us safe haven." At this, the other Templars seated at the table began to express their own opinions on the matter.

De Molay haltingly stood up, "Peace, brother Knights. Peace, I say." At this, the commotion stopped. The officials knew that they had been disrespectful in their outburst. Ordinarily, De Molay insisted on order and discipline. The officials were thankful that he was in a forgiving mood despite all of the troubles which loomed on the horizon.

De Molay seated himself again. "I have developed a plan. We shall find safe harbor in Europe, although not on the Continent. We will have the fleet sail to Scotland."

A wave of surprise overtook all of the officials seated at the table. One spoke up, after having been acknowledged by De Molay. "Scotland, Grand Master? Why should we find refuge in that land?"

De Molay signaled and a serving brother brought over a stack of papers. De Molay nodded to the brother as he received the papers. He spread the papers over the table.

"These reports are from my agents within Avignon. As you are probably aware, the land of the Scots is still under the Interdict. The king, Robert the Bruce, has been excommunicated. He has been contacted and he has assented that he shall give us refuge, as he has no love for Clement. We may continue to serve the Lord's will there, in whatever way we can. Furthermore, because of the Interdict, any papal bull disbanding our Order will not be proclaimed there."

An official asked to be acknowledged and De Molay granted him leave to speak. "I stand confused in this matter, Grand Master. There seems to be inconsistency in your plan."

De Molay replied with controlled rage, "And what, pray tell, is that, brother?"

The official continued "Either we are pledged to the Church or we are not. Either we are held by the words of the Pope or we are not. You have repeatedly told us since you assumed the Grand Mastership, that the world is a world of absolutes. Absolute discipline, absolute authority, absolute good, and absolute evil. Your words bespeak uncertainty. We should either stand up to the Pope or we should bow down before him."

Another official rose to speak. "I favor the former. The Pontiff is the Philip's servant, not God's. Why should we be held to his orders? He does not represent the Church."

De Molay paused and the officials waited for his reply. With a fire in his eye, he began, "In the eyes of the people, he is the Church. Perhaps it is a test from God for Clement to sit in the chair of St. Peter. We will not disobey the Church in its temporal sphere, no matter how corrupt it may become. Send the fleet to Scotland, where the Church holds no sway. I will remain and strive to convince the Pontiff of the error of his ways."

The officials nodded and went off to obey the order to sail. One turned back and asked, "Grand Master, if I may. You have spoken of the treasure of this world, but what of that of the next. What shall be done with the reliquaries - the sliver of the True Cross, the saintly bones, and the others."

De Molay rose from the table slowly again. "Fret not over them, brother knight. There are plans already in place to safeguard them."

De Molay turned to a knight who had observed all of the activity at the table from his vantage point of directly behind De Molay. The residents of the Temple had become accustomed to the sight of the knight who was invariably at the right hand of the Grand Master.

De Molay sighed momentarily out of exhaustion. The knight stood resolute as always, awaiting to fulfill any order that De Molay uttered.

De Molay sighed once again, "I would have you at my side if dark days are to come. God has given you a special favor, De Penne."

De Penne stepped forward and faced the Grand Master. "Yes, he brought me back from the dead ..."

Oliver De Penne stood at his post inside of the Templar Fortress, the Temple, in the city of Acre. The Templars were more than ready to spill their blood to keep their hold on the last remaining Christian part of the city. Every Templar secretly hoped that he would be the one to run his sword through the treacherous leader of the Saracens, Sultan al-Ashraf Khalil. He had offered generous terms of surrender a few days earlier, and, although the Templars would have preferred to fight, they knew that the safety of the women and children came before such warrior desires. It was their charter, after all, to protect the inhabitants of the Holy Land. When the sultan sent some of his troops inside of the city to monitor the surrender, they succumbed to their baser instincts and began to rape and plunder the city. The enraged Templars took up their arms and slew the Muslim troops.

The sultan had apologized for the travesty and invited a delegation of Templars out for him to receive and to whom he could express his personal apology. When the Templars entered the Muslim camp, they were apprehended and beheaded in full sight of those who still remained within the Temple. After that, no terms of surrender were offered and none would have been taken.

As De Penne surveyed the landscape, he saw no signs of Muslim activity. For someone who seemed determined to take the last Christian bastion of the city, Sultan al-Ashraf Khalil did not seem too eager to challenge the fighting-mad Templars. De Penne smiled, "The Saracens fear us Templars most of all." He did not dwell on the thought, as pride was inimical to his oath as a Templar.

Suddenly, the walls began to shake. De Penne, along with his brethren, looked around. Had the Muslims begun a barrage of catapult fire? They quickly ascertained that the Muslims had not. The source of the trembling came from underneath.

"Mother of God!" De Penne exclaimed. The Muslims had undoubtedly set their engineers to tunnel under the Temple's walls. Their usual method of operation was to dig under the walls and support them temporarily with timbers. Once the walls were completely supported by the engineered woodwork, the timber would be doused with naphtha and set aflame. The inevitable result would be that the walls would come tumbling down.

The Templars quickly formed into fighting parties. Once the walls fell, the Muslims would surely commence with an attack. No sooner had the Templars organized then the walls crumbled severely and two thousand Muslims came storming over the walls.

The Templars and Muslims met in pitched battle for only a few minutes. The foundation could not handle the weight of the engaged warriors and gave way. The entire Temple collapsed, burying Templar and Saracen alike. De Penne had managed to parry a thrust at him as he saw stone come crashing down on him.

De Penne awoke but everything was dark. He strained his eyes until he could see a few shafts of light breaking through the darkness. He was trying to get his bearings when he realized the awesome weight that was pinning him down. He tried to move his arms to relieve the pressure, but they were pinned to his sides. De Penne began gasping for air and then everything went black again.

The cycle of "awakening" and "blacking out" seemed to continue interminably. De Penne could not tell how long it had actually been - hours, days, weeks. In his moments of consciousness, he raised a silent prayer to heaven, pleading with God to either rescue him or let him die. De Penne felt he had fought well for the Order; he deserved a quick death. De Penne regained his composure. Perhaps, this was Purgatory; perhaps he was dead and had not gained remission of all his sins, even though he had taken up the cross. De Penne steeled himself. If this was life or if this was after-life, he would bear his suffering as a Templar, as a true Knight of Christ. His pride demanded no less. Then all was black again.

The next time that De Penne awoke, he did not feel the pressure crushing him from all sides. His eyes were blinded by the light of the daytime sun; he had been confined to the darkness for so long. The light was so bright to him. He felt something inside of him, something that was completely unlike anything he had ever felt before. He could barely make out a white-cloaked figure, seemingly hovering above him.

"Am I in Heaven?" he asked fearfully. He was not sure which answer he would prefer.

The figure laughed. "Greeting, brother. I trust that you have recovered from your death well." The stranger offered his hand to the dirty and bloodied Knight.

De Penne clasped the hand. "Are you a fellow member of the Order?"

The figure was coming more into focus as De Penne's eyes adjusted to the light. He laughed again "No, I am no brother Templar, Franj, but I am a brother of sorts to you." The man pulled De Penne free of the rubble and helped him to his feet.

The mention of the word "Franj", the Arab word used to describe all of the European Christians helped De Penne focus his senses. He could now make out the figure in front of him for who it was. "What mean you, Saracen?" De Penne lifted up a quick, silent prayer of thanks as he spied his sword now. He sheathed it, as the Saracen carried no weapon that he could see.

The man replied sincerely, "We are brothers, connected in a kind of magical way. You can feel my presence, can you not?"

De Penne dusted himself off and scowled. "You are a demon, in league with Satan, your master. I can sense the _evil_ emanating from you."

The man extended his hands peacefully, "I am not evil nor a demon; I am simply Hamza. I was once the chief sergeant of Saladin."

De Penne was incredulous. "Saladin? He has been dead for years, and so must you be if you knew him. Unless you are a demon or have sold your soul to Satan."

Hamza continued to converse in a pleasant tone, despite the aggression of De Penne. "I have done no such thing, Christian. I am what Allah has made me. I am Immortal, unless you cut off my head. You are an Immortal as well."

De Penne brushed off the talk as nonsense. He was more concerned about other weightier matters and demanded, "How stands Acre?" although in his heart he knew the answer.

"Acre stands no more. It has fallen to the forces of Islam. The Holy Land is once again ours." Hamza said with a touch of pride.

Hamza continued, "However, such battles between the Christians and the Muslims are not as important as the battle in our new life. You are Immortal now, by what force some of us are gifted with it, I know not."

De Penne was adamant. "I am alive by the Lord's grace. It must be that."

Hamza dropped his pleasant tone. "You are an Immortal, Christian. You have much to learn about the Rules, the Game, Holy Ground."

De Penne pushed Hamza away. "Fie! The only rules I follow are those of the Church and those of my Order. I shall not follow something a Muslim says, lest I lose my soul."

Hamza pointed at De Penne. "If you do not listen to me, you will soon lose you head and die forever more."

"I'll not suffer your lies any longer heathen." With blazing speed, De Penne drew his sword and slashed a savage cut across Hamza's chest. Hamza clutched at the wound and sank slowly to his knees. He tried to say something but only a wheeze escaped from his lips.

De Penne stood with a sneer on his face. With the Saracen's death, he once again felt a peace in his soul. He waited for a few moments and convinced himself that the demon in human guise was truly dead.

"Foolish infidel! I have killed you, and I have not taken your head. Know that in whatever fiendish hell to which I have dispatched you!" De Penne collected himself and began the long trek to the coast. He would find some way back to the Templar headquarters, wherever it was now.

At De Molay's request, De Penne escorted the Grand Master to his room at the other end of the Temple. As they marched through the halls, all of the Templars who crossed their path, stopped and gave a quick nod of respect. It was not an elaborate display, just a simple sign of recognition of the authority invested in the Grand Master. Though extremely tired, De Molay returned the nods. De Penne could see the strain that recent events had taken on De Molay. Suddenly De Molay made a turn from the route that would have take him to his quarters. As they walked along this corridor, De Penne was sure of where the Grand Master was heading. It was the place that they all went when the spirit and body were exhausted - the chapel.

The two Templars entered the deserted chapel. Usually there would be a few knights and serving brothers in here at any one time. However, with all of the activity that De Molay had ordered, everyone was occupied. They walked to the first row of pews, genuflected, and knelt facing the altar. After a few minutes of silent prayer, De Molay seated himself and turned to De Penne.

"Just like the Saviour, you came back to life. Perhaps you will serve as the Temple's saviour. I remember when you came back to us, De Penne."

De Penned nodded, "Although it took me a few months to reach Cyprus ..."

The garrison was bustling with Templar activity. Since the fall of Acre and the wholescale Christian evacuation of the Holy Land, the Order had been forced to establish a headquarters on this island.

De Molay wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow as he oversaw his Knights engage in all sorts of activity. In his mind, the fall of Acre was only a temporary setback. He was confident that he would be able to appeal to the Order's superior, the Pope himself. The appeal would be for a new Crusade - a Crusade to be led by the Knights Templar. No longer would the Europeans be fractured along nationalistic lines. United under God and under the Templar cross, De Molay was sure that the Holy Land could be retaken and permanently end any designs that the forces of Islam had upon it. There was no time like the present to undertake such a campaign. It was De Molay's opinion to organize and strike as soon as possible. The Muslims were not to be allowed to strengthen their hold upon the Holy Land. He knew that the years were creeping up on him. He had seen many a campaign as a Knight of the Order, many more than most of the brothers with whom he had served in the field.

Content now that things were proceeding appropriately, De Molay returned to his office to begin dictating his appeal to the Holy See. He looked at the horizon and beheld the rising sun. "A glorious day," he thought to himself. "May the Lord grant us good fortune."

As day broke upon the Cyprian coast, a haggard and worn figure broke the surface of the water of the blue Mediterranean. He gasped as fresh air filled his water-clogged lungs. How he was still alive, he knew not. He had been floating in the sea for days. Exactly how many days it had been since he had been thrown overboard, he also knew not.

"Those damn Venetians!" De Penne cursed. He had booked passage on a Venetian trading ship heading from Outremer to Cyprus. The Venetian had no qualms with trading with the enemies of the Church. If Venice had made a genuine effort to support the Crusades, De Penne, the Holy Land would be in complete European control. However, they valued trade and commerce and coin more than Jerusalem.

De Penne had been loathe to book passage with the Venetians, but it was the only way for him to get back. He had been told that the Order had now set itself up on Cyprus. The voyage itself had been uneventful until that fateful day. He had overheard some of the crew discussing the next voyage - a voyage that would include selling Christians into slavery to the Saracens. This he could not stand. He himself had been a slave for most of the years since the fall of Acre. He could not countenance the fact of any other Christian being subjected to that fate. He confronted the captain and demanded to know if it was the truth. When he replied that it was, and that De Penne could do nothing to dissuade him, De Penne flew into a fit of rage. He tore through the crew until they managed to overpower and throw him overboard.

It had been days since De Penne had last had anything to eat. The hunger wracked his insides with pain. His head swam in a sea of light-headedness even as his body swam in the warm waters of the Mediterranean. His strength failed him, and he sunk under the waves.

Outside the stone walls that surrounded the Templar garrison, two knights walked along the beach. One was a seasoned veteran the other a relatively new initiate to the Order. They were fully armed and armored as they patrolled the waterfront for anyone who might dare to breach the stronghold of the Templars. The docks of the fleet were silhouetted by the rising son.

"Tis a glorious day, is it not brother De Nomie?" the elder knight stated

"Yes, Brother De Garney, although I would rather see the sun rise in the land where the Son rose." his younger comrade replied. His ruddy face shone with youthful exuberance.

"Well said, brother. Would that we were once again based in the Holy Land, and not on this rock in the middle of the sea. Have faith, though. I have heard from others that the Grand Master is drawing up a plan to present to the Pope - a plan for a new Crusade." De Garney's face spoke of years of bitter disappointment but still filled with hope for the future.

"May the Lord grant that the plan be well made and then be well executed that we might once again protect the Holy Land as we have been charged to do, " De Nomie said resolutely.

De Garney was proud of the convictions of the younger knight. "I say again, well said, brother. You have the makings of an excellent knight. But be warned, the fight against the infidel is not always as glorious as the minstrels sing. There were sights that made even those of us with nerves of iron cringe."

After this exchange, the knights resumed a respectful silence as they continued their patrol. Though no intruders had ever been discovered by the beachfront patrols, still they made their rounds with determined precision. As the knights walked in step along the beach, they both noticed a shape being carried in by the tide. The shape was gradually getting closer with each wave, although they could not discern exactly what it was.

"See you the shape amidst the waves, brother. Does it not have the semblance of a man?" De Garney asked.

De Nomie peered at the shape, his eyes squinting in the bright dawn. "I would most certainly agree with you, brother, although I cannot say as to whether the man yet lives."

"Let us avail him of what aid we can!" With this, the older knight broke step and took off as fast as his legs could carry him. The younger knight quickly made up the initial lead. He stopped at the water's edge just as De Penne washed ashore. De Nomie took De Penne in his arms to keep him from being taken back into the sea by the outgoing tide. De Garney joined him moments later. While De Garney was in excellent shape for a man of his age, the prolonged sprint in the heavy armor left him a little winded. He huffed and puffed for a while as he joined in examining what the human shape before them was.

De Penne's body was in a tangled mess. The few scraps of clothes that remained were held together by only the barest of threads. His body reeked so of salt that he must have been in the water for days upon end. The younger knight put his hand on De Penne's shoulder, looking for any signs of life. He was pleasantly surprised as De Penne arched his head back and caught sight of man hovering over him.

De Penne's heart leapt for joy as he saw the unmistakable red cross on the knight's armor. "Non nobis, Domine, non nobis sed nomini tuo da gloriam." he exclaimed as loudly as he could, though his ardent cry was no more than a whisper from his dry throat and parched lips.

The two Templars were surprised to hear these words. They exchanged a quick glance. De Garney said what they were both thinking, "He is one of us; he is a Templar."

By this time, some of the guards along the fortress walls had seen the commotion outside and rushed down to provide whatever assistance they could.

"Where did you come from? We have had none of our ships depart or arrive for a few days now."

De Penne drank greedily from the flask. The water dribbled down his body into the sand. His lips were still parched from the salty sea and his throat was still in pain. He summoned his will power and grunted, "Ak ... rah."

"Acre? We have had no presence there since the Fall in 1291." a Templar exclaimed.

De Garney quieted down his fellows, "Surely he is delirious. However, it is plain to see that he has come a long way. Let us determine the extent of his injuries and then transport him appropriately to the fortress."

The other knights quieted themselves and stood in muted respect of their battered comrade.

"Have faith, brother, soon you shall be healed, in body, in mind, and spirit," De Garney comforted

De Penne could feel the sensation still within him, a sensation that overwhelmed the pain of starvation. It was almost as if something were leading him to something else. Then an idea took hold in his mind - the Grand Master. He had to see the Grand Master, and for some reason he felt that the Grand Master was here on Cyprus.

"Grand ... Mas ... ter", he said as loudly as his voice would allow.

"Rest now, brother. The Grand Master is here on Cyprus and I am certain that he will see you once you have regained your strength.

De Penne resisted De Garney's attempts to calm him.

"Must ... see ... Grand ..." and then his voice trailed off and his body slumped in De Nomie's arms. De Nomie gently laid De Penne's head upon the sandy beach and then rose to his feet. De Garney could see in De Nomie's eyes that he was troubled by the man dying in his arms, but De Nomie tried to put forth a brave appearance.

"Poor soul, to have made it so far, only to die on the gates of our headquarters," someone remarked.

The juxtaposition of the rising sun and the death of De Penne was not lost on all of the Templars. It served to make the death even more poignant. They stood around De Penne's lifeless body in reverent silence. With a simple motion from De Garney, two of them departed, intent on getting a litter with which to carry their fallen comrade.

De Garney broke the silence with a simple question. "Did anyone know this brother knight?" The silence of the others continued.

"Very well. We will find out who he is so that he may be buried appropriately." The others nodded in agreement. It would be a terrible thing if their fallen comrade would be buried in an unmarked grave. A Templar deserved better than that, especially one who had suffered as much as De Penne obviously had.

Suddenly De Penne's body jerked violently. All of the men surrounding him took a step back. Most of them had been seasoned in combat. They had seen the nervous twitching that fallen comrades had made post mortem. However, none of them had ever seen a body lie still for so long and then move again.

"What is it?" one asked.

Another responded as he saw De Penne's eyes open and his chest heave with the breath of new life, "God be praised! He is alive!"

A wave of excitement overtook the assembled knights. There had been naught but bad tidings for the Templars in the last few years. This event, a miracle some of them said, was quite welcome and produced a rush of joy within them all. In a few moments, they were shouting and praising God and embracing each other.

The two knights who returned with the litter were perplexed to see the joy of their comrades as they arrived. With the jumping and jostling, they could not see that De Penne was once again counted amongst the living. De Garney noticed the return of the duo and excused himself from the revelry.

"It seems that we were premature in consigning his soul to the Lord. He yet lives!" Smiles took hold of the duo, happy that they had been spared the awful duty.

In the midst of all the jubilation, the knights almost forgot about the cause of their joy. De Penne had managed to sit up now and was trying to get the attention of one of the revelers.

"I must see the Grand Master. He is here!" he groaned repeatedly until someone heard him. He was helped to his feet and led inside of the garrison. Once inside, he felt all of his strength returning as well as an increase in the burning sensation in his mind. He knew it led to the Grand Master.

De Garney put his hand on De Penne's shoulder. "Come, brother. Let us get you appropriate clothing, a warm meal for your belly, and cool wine for your throat. Then I shall take you to the Grand Master. I am certain that he will wish to hear the tales of your arrival here, especially that of your revival."

De Penne brushed the hand from his shoulder and faced De Garney, "Thank you, but I must see the Grand Master at once." De Garney was surprised by the resolute look on De Penne's face. For someone who had just returned from the dead, he was a determined fellow. De Garney was going to offer to show him the way, but De Penne took off running through the compound. De Garney noticed that De Penne headed in the general direction of, if not unerringly, towards the quarters of the Grand Master.

De Penne burst through the doors of the Grand Master's quarters. De Molay and some officers were assembled there as they studied some maps of the Holy Land by candlelight. They were startled by the sudden entrance of the ragged knight. Typical Templar discipline would have precluded any interruptions. De Penne regained his breath and his composure as he quietly closed the door behind him.

"The Spirit moved me. I knew you were here, Grand Master."

De Molay and the others were dumfounded as to what to make of the uninvited guest.

De Penne, sensing their uneasiness, lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head. "Grand Master! It is I, Oliver De Penne, knight of the Order."

Just outside of the bookstore, Duncan sat on a bench reading a local newspaper. In the cool wind of the early fall morning, he munched on his bagel as he flipped through the pages. He took a quick look at his watch. It was only 6:15 am. He had another forty-five minutes before he was supposed to meet Joe. Today was to be the day of the great "Duncan MacLeod Tour of Paris", as Joe called it. Duncan had lost the bet on the last Paris St. Germain-Marseilles soccer game. They were both quite drunk at the time, drunk enough to come up with some outlandish stakes, though not so drunk that they didn't remember what the stakes were. Joe's prize was a personal tour conducted by Duncan through the streets of Paris. What would be unique about this tour was that Joe would get to ask about anyplace that they visited and discover its importance in Duncan's life. Duncan was beginning to regret making the bet. He hoped that the tour did not end up in some of the places where Duncan had some embarrassing 'encounters' with the fairer half of humanity.

"Not to worry," Duncan thought. "I'll regale him with stories about the more important places. The day will be long gone before we get to any of those sites."

As he paged through the newspaper, a small article on page seven caught his eye. It seems that there had been a rash of break-ins in some of the smaller churches around the area. The police were baffled by this little crime wave since, in most cases, nothing of value and sometimes nothing at all seemed to be stolen. In the cases were the police did discover objects were missing, they were of relatively small importance - a candle here, a small statue there, and a chalice there.

Duncan could not remember hearing about a crime wave like this before. Still, the thought of these holy places being violated unnerved him slightly. He took another quick look at his watch. He still had plenty of time before Joe was due to show up. Duncan decided to take a brisk walk over to St. Joseph's, the church over which Darius used to preside. Stuffing the rest of the bagel in his mouth, Duncan headed for the church.

As he turned the corner and St. Joseph's came into sight, he saw a group of three men casually carrying a tall ladder into the church's main entrance. At first Duncan thought that they must simply be a cleaning crew. After all, there was nothing that alarming about them coming in. It had been a while since the stained glass mirrors received a good cleaning. After Darius' death, the archdiocese had assigned some of the priests from the neighboring parishes to say mass at St. Joseph's. However, by Duncan's recollection, today was not one of those days.

When Duncan was a half of a block away, he stopped for a moment. He thought he felt the slightest twinge of another Immortal's presence, but it was gone almost as soon as he felt it. Still, the notion that an Immortal was in the area only served to heighten his unnerved state.

As Duncan got closer to the church, he realized that they were not the typical cleaning crew, since they all wore long leather jackets. Duncan picked up his pace in alarm. He stopped in his tracks as he reached the boundary of the church's grounds. This was Holy Ground. He cursed himself silently for not realizing it before. He searched his mind for what options he had for dealing with these mysterious men.

He noticed the almost-military efficiency with which these men gathered their things together and marched into the church. They proceeded into the church with a quick pace. Duncan approached the gate as the last of them closed the wooden door behind them. If worse came to worse, he would find some way to lure them outside and confront them directly.

By the time Duncan had silently made his way into the church, the men had already set up a ladder against the wall behind the altar. One of the men was perched atop the ladder with a small hammer and chisel in hand. He was working on the thorny crown of the crucifix that looked out upon the rest of the church. One of the other men stood at the base of the ladder, one hand on either side as he supported it. The third was weaving his way through the chairs as he endeavored to make sure that their work went undisturbed.

Duncan was somewhat surprised by the scene. He had expected the men to be some kind of looters. The sight of them working on the crucifix was perplexing to him. Not that Darius' church ever contained much in terms of expensive ornamentation, but there were other items in the church that would fetch more money than a large crucifix. Duncan's mind briefly slipped back to the time when a greedy city official came looking for gold at St. Joseph's. The official found only death for one of his men and would have found death himself had not Darius recovered and intervened. The man had killed Darius, and Darius implored Duncan to save his life. Fighting off the sadness, Duncan pushed these memories to the back of his mind. He wondered if he would ever stop missing Darius.

Duncan thought about drawing his sword. He knew that he would be incapable of using it to harm these men. He thought momentarily that his blade might provide a measure of discouragement against whatever these men were truly up to. Then again, it might lead to a confrontation - a confrontation that might otherwise have been avoided. So he kept the katana within his coat.

When the third man saw Duncan enter, he quickly rushed over to the Highlander.

"Sorry, fellas, but I don't think there are any services today," Duncan said with a noticeable measure of bravado. "And somehow I don't think you're the cleaning crew."

The man responded, "This is no concern of yours. Leave now."

Duncan looked the man straight in the eye. "I don't see any Roman collars on you. I don't believe you're in charge here."

The man on the ladder scurried down and joined his compatriots on the floor. He said, "We have what we need. We shall be leaving now."

The others looked at him, "As you command, brother Henri."

Duncan shook his head. "Not until I know exactly what's going on here?"

Henri carried something else in his hands beside the hammer and chisel, but Duncan could not see what the small item was. "This is of no concern of yours. All that you need to know is that what we have taken, was ours to begin with. We deal in matters beyond your lifetime and beyond your comprehension."

Duncan smiled, "Oh, just try me. I've had a rather long life and I have a rather large comprehension."

Henri countered, "Do not force us to take action against you."

Duncan smiled again. "All right, then. I'll leave as long as you do, as well. I'll get the door."

Duncan sauntered over to the door. He opened it and stepped outside. With a overly dramatic wave of his hand, he ushered the men out of the church. Once they were all out, he rushed ahead of the trio and performed the same service on the iron gate that led to the street.

As the last of them stepped out, Henri turned to Duncan, "You were wise not to oppose us."

Duncan stepped through the gate opening and slammed the gate behind him. "I think I'd like to see what you repossessed." He made a grab for Henri, but Henri was unexpectedly quick and evaded Duncan's grasp. Henri stepped back while the other two came to his aid.

"Franz, Giuseppe! Make sure that he does not follow us," Henri said as he took off running, hiding inside of his coat whatever it was that he appropriated from the church. He stopped suddenly and shouted "Franz, catch!" as he tossed the hammer.

Franz caught the hammer with his left hand. He swung it menacingly. "We won't hurt you much."

Duncan took up a defensive pose as Giuseppe circled behind him. Giuseppe feinted an attack a few times, as Franz did likewise.

From the looks of them, it appeared that these two men had fought before. They would not give Duncan the luxury of taking them on one at a time, as most flunkies tended to do.

After a few moments, Duncan decided to try the unexpected and attack the two foes simultaneously. He reached out at Giuseppe with his right hand as his left leg kicked out at Franz. However, Duncan had misjudged the distance. He managed to get a hold of Giuseppe's collar, but Franz came smashing down on Duncan's knee with a powerful blow. The distinct cracking of bone could be heard as the hammer struck.

Duncan gritted his teeth in pain. As he stumbled to the ground, he continued to hold onto Giuseppe's collar. The collar eventually gave way, and Duncan came away with a bit of cloth along with a golden chain.

Seeing that their opponent was in no condition to follow, the mysterious men scampered off through the streets of Paris as Duncan lay helpless on the ground. He brought the chain in front of his face and noticed the golden Templar cross that hung on the end of it.

"I know I've seen this Templar cross before, but where? There was the incident with Cahill, but there was something else ..." Duncan was quite upset that he could not recall. Richie had once commented that elephants had nothing on MacLeod. Richie would probably enjoy this lapse in Duncan's memory. Duncan could picture him saying, "You're getting old, Mac."

Slowly, Duncan could feel mobility returning to his knee. With a quick look at his watch, he figured that he could make it back to meet Joe in time. It would be a painful walk, though. The hammer had done a lot of damage.

Joe was smiling as he sat at the bench that Duncan had previously occupied. He was twirling his cane until he saw Duncan approach. Once he sighted Duncan, he sat up and began walking towards him.

"You're a little late, MacLeod," Joe said without a hint of anger. He figured Duncan would have a good reason for his tardiness.

"Joe, we're going to have to postpone our tour of the city."

Joe's smile was quickly replaced by a frown. "You're not trying to weasel out of the bet, Mac. My team won fair and square."

Duncan's head bobbed around as he talked. "I'm not trying to renege on the bet. It's just ... well, something's has come up. I'm not exactly sure what, but it's something I have to look into."

Joe had been watching Duncan for a long enough time to know that Duncan would not fabricate something like this. "Does it have something to do with another Immortal?" Joe inquired.

Duncan's response was non-committal. "I'm not sure. Maybe, but I don't know how."

Joe shook his head, "Well, is there anything I can do for you, within limits, of course?"

Duncan was reluctant to adjust his stance . He did not want Joe to notice that his knee was still throbbing in pain. "Actually, Joe, what do the Watchers have on the Knights Templar?"

"Does this have something to do with Alfred Cahill?" Joe asked in return.

"It could. Any mention of Immortals with reference to them, besides Cahill?"

Joe scratched his bearded face as he thought. His eyes squinted as he tried to recall something from his early days of learning about Immortals. "I remember reading an old Chronicle from the Middle Ages. There was an evil Immortal, Kadrak. He got his jollies by whacking Templars. If I remember correctly, and mind you, this was a long time ago that I read this Chronicle, we lost track of him in Cyprus around the beginning of the fourteenth century." Joe paused for a moment. "Other than that, I don't know offhand. I'll have to do some checking. I'll get back to you, OK?"

Duncan frowned. "Sure. Thanks, Joe."

Joe marched off with his characteristic limp. "No problem, MacLeod. But now you owe me _two_ days of guided tours through the city."

Oliver De Penne sauntered leisurely through the streets of Paris. It was, by far, his favorite city. He had found no other in his Immortal life that brought him such joy. However, he knew that his time in the City Of Lights would be short. If the plans of the Order were to reach fruition, they would soon have a new home. The Order would once again perform the duties that it was charged to do so many centuries ago. De Penne offered a silent prayer for the success of the Order. Once his prayer was completed, his thoughts were interrupted by the ringing sound emanating from his pocket.

De Penne fished through his pocket and dug out his cellular phone. He flipped it opened and answered it, "This is De Penne."

The voice at the other end stated in a raspy voice, "We need you to go to Marseilles and oversee the transfer of some materials from there."

"Ah, Marseilles. It has been a long time since I visited her fair streets ..."

De Penne entered the Templar garrison. It was a small facility, nowhere near the size of the Templar headquarters on Cyprus. Still it was one of the mightiest Templar strongholds within France. Sometimes he thought that it was improper for the Templars to be here in France; he felt that he should be in Cyprus, where he would at least be within striking distance of the Holy Land. Still, they were here at the Pope's command. It had taken a few months to respond to his summons, but the Templars were ready to meet with him to discuss the initiation of a new Crusade. De Penne felt a twinge of disgust at their fellow Orders - the Teutones and Hospitallers. They had refused to answer the Pope's call. However, rather than cursing them, De Penne hoped that God would grant them the vision to see that they were all pledged to strive to retake the Holy Land under the direction of the Pope.

De Penne's thoughts about the other Orders faded away as he entered the room of the Grand Master. He expected to see the Grand Master making final preparations to go to the Pope's temporary residence in Poitiers. Everyone referred to it as temporary, since no one knew where the Pope would officially and permanently reside. It had been some time since the Bishop of Rome actually set foot within the Ancient City. However, De Penne was surprised as he overhead the conversations of the other Templars already present in the room with De Molay. The words astounded De Penne - De Molay was going to meet with Philip the Fair, King of France, to discuss the idea of the merger of the Military Orders!"

De Penne reached De Molay's side, "Grand Master, why are you going to meet with the King? His idea of consolidation is ludicrous."

De Molay took a deep breath.. His seventy-year old body was weak, but his spirit was strong and youthful. He responded in a raspy yet forceful voice, "I have been ordered so by the Pope. He wishes that I see the King. I will tell him of the miracle of your recovery and your holy war against the demons."

This was a new development. De Penne had not heard of any other communication with the Pope since his original summons the preceding December. "Then I must come as well, Grand Master."

De Molay thought about it for a moment. "I suppose it is appropriate. We should show him the living proof of your continued existence." De Molay decided.

De Penne agreed wholeheartedly, "Yes, just as Thomas needed to be shown that Our Lord had risen."

King Philip the Fair sat slouched on his throne. Despite his lack of posture, he was a very handsome man - hence the appellation of 'fair', it was not in reference to impartiality or decency. He scowled and rubbed his chin. "Templars." He shook his head. "I had to borrow money from them to pay the dowry for my daughter's wedding!"

"My Lord, the Templars approach," the man standing behind him whispered.

Guillaume De Nogaret, Keeper of the Seals, was one of the king's many advisors. De Nogaret had distinguished himself in his service to the Crown, and so Philip had decided to have him in attendance at this meeting. Philip had heard something about De Nogaret's parents having been burned for heresy. Whether it was true or not, it did not really matter to Philip. De Nogaret had served faithfully and effectively in his dealings with the Papacy. Only one of De Nogaret's guile could have made a charge of magic against the late Pope, Boniface VIII, sound plausible to the faithful. He had even charged Boniface with harboring a pet demon within his papal ring. His actions had caused a rift between the papacy and Philip as well as his own excommunication. Still, Philip retained his services, for De Nogaret was a very clever man to have at his side.

Philip straightened his royal garments, laced with purple and gold, and rose from the throne. A wide smile beamed from his face and he extended his hands. With a trumpeting voice, he addressed the entering knights, "We bid you welcome, brave Knights of the Temple. We are pleased that you have graced our humble court with your presence."

"The honor is ours, Your Majesty," De Molay replied as he bowed. The other Templars with him, De Penne and De Nomie, bowed in similar fashion."

"What news have you with which to inform us, Grand Master of the Templars?" Philip inquired.

De Molay lifted his head and looked at the king. "We come bearing good tidings, Your Majesty."

Philip's eyebrows arched, "And what might this be?"

Taking a step to the side, and extending his hand toward De Penne, the Grand Master explained, "I present before you the knight Oliver De Penne, the sole survivor of the Fall at Acre. He has been on death's door many times, but the Lord has seen fit to raise him each time to continue to fight for the Church."

"Quite extraordinary, my dear Grand Master, quite extraordinary, indeed. Have you proof of these resurrections?"

"We have his word, as a Templar, that he revived after the debacle at Acre. I also have the sworn statements of many brother knights who saw him expire and revive when he washed up on the coast of our headquarters on Cyprus."

Philip motioned De Nogaret to his side. He put up his hand and whispered into De Nogaret's ear, "Nogaret, make a note of this. These Templars speak blasphemy when they claim that one of theirs has returned from the dead."

Nogaret rubbed his hands together devilishly. "A Templar returns from the dead?" , he thought. "That would provide a good weapon against the Templars, if we so desired." He whispered back to his lord, "Perhaps you can persuade them to detail what 'glorious' feats this resurrected knight has accomplished, my King."

Philip nodded and motioned for De Nogaret to resume his place at his side.

"Very good. We would not impugn the word of any Templar. But pray tell, what wondrous deeds has Brother De Penne since his return to life? But first, we would not be a gracious host if we did not provide seats for our honoured guests." He clapped his hands and a pair of attendants hurried into the throne room. Philip addressed them. "Bring comfortable chairs for our honoured Templar guests and be quick about it." The rise in his voice caused the attendants to quickly go about their task. In a matter of seconds, they had brought three ornate wooden chairs and placed them behind the Templars. With a quick bow to the king, the attendants exited the room and closed the heavy wooden door behind them.

De Penne nudged De Molay, indicating that he would like to speak.

De Molay turned back to Philip, "If it please your Majesty, Brother De Penne would like to describe his actions in his own words."

Philip waved his hand. "Be seated, and let him speak of his deeds."

De Molay and De Penne sat down. De Penne took a step forward and a deep breath into his lungs. "Your Majesty, since the Lord has seen fit to save me, I have had the duty of ridding the land of demons that infest it."

"Demons, you say?" Philip interjected.

"Yes, Your Majesty, demons. Demons in the guise of men who walk the world, seeking only to visit death and destruction. These demons are mighty creatures; they are difficult to vanquish. Even when defeated, they seek to possess me, but the Lord is my strength and my soul has remained inviolate."

De Nogaret thought about the Templar's words, "And they burned my parents during the Albigensian Crusade as heretics. People rising from the dead, fighting with demons. The blasphemy and pride of these Templars is astounding. If I should take it upon myself to bring these haughty knights down, I could curry the favor of Philip even further, perhaps to the office of Chancellor."

De Penne took his seat now. The Grand Master addressed the king, "The Lord has blessed the Order with the return of De Penne. We view it as a sign of his pleasure with our work. We go now to talk to the Pope of a new Crusade. We hope that you will gather the power of France to be one of the leaders of this Crusade. We will convey your best wishes to his holiness. Now, with your permission, we will take our leave."

De Nogaret leaned over to whisper in Philip's ear, "My lord, allow me to investigate these words of the Templars. They seem to border on heresy, and it would not be fitting for Your Majesty's lands to be tainted by such. I'm sure that such an investigation would be looked on kindly by the ecclesiasticals. Consorting with demons! Corruption, I have heard, runs rampant within the Order. As you have stated on many occasions, the Templars have more money than any one organization should have. How much better if that money were to be in the hands of France?"

Philip nodded at De Nogaret's suggestion. An idea began to form in Philip's mind, but it would require that he talk to the Pope first. "Good knights, with such wondrous signs as these, we would be honoured if you would stay for a day or two at our court."

De Molay knew better than to decline a request from royalty. "We would be twice honoured to be your guests. We would like to note however, that we are due to see the Pope, and we would not wish to keep him waiting."

"Of course, of course," Philip said enthusiastically. "But for now, enjoy our court. We shall take our leave now but shall rejoin you anon."

As Philip walked proudly out of the room, accompanied by his personal guard, visions of power and wealth floated in his head. The Templar treasury in his hands would be a very nice acquisition. Once he and his entourage had exited the throne room, Philip said to no one in particular, "I shall make them rue the day that they refused to induct me as an honorary member of the Order." He turned to De Nogaret, "Make the necessary preparations. We ride for Poitiers upon the dawn."

De Molay, De Penne, and De Molay sat in the throne room again. Every day since their arrival, they had been ushered here by the king's attendants. Every day they spent waiting for the king to appear again, but he never did. When they returned to their quarters at night, the Grand Master had to listen to the grumbling of the other Templars in the entourage.

"We are forced to stay at Philip's court. He said for a day or two, and it has been nigh on two weeks." De Nomie said with unmasked frustration.

"Surely, Grand Master, we must not tarry any longer. We must ride for Poitiers." De Penne stated with a more diplomatic tone.

"We can afford to antagonize Philip, but we must have an audience with him so that we may depart." De Molay said in a placating tone.

"The court attendants continuously tell us that he is otherwise engaged. I find this hard to believe." De Nomie's frustration had been simmering for a few days now. "Does he not realise the extent of his debt to us - financial and otherwise? Our Temple provided him refuge when the populace rose up against his imposition of new taxes."

"Perhaps we may acquire better information from one of his sycophants if a modicum of pressure is applied," De Penne suggested.

"Well said, Brother De Penne. And here is an adequate subject for that pressure." De Nomie pointed to the gangly steward who brought in the afternoon meal. Despite the powerful appearance of the steward's clothing, his demeanor spoke of no backbone whatsoever.

"Steward, a moment, if you please?" De Nomie asked with forced civility.

The steward walked gracefully but fearfully towards the knights.

"My good steward," De Nomie began innocently, until he lifted the frightened young man by his fluffy collar, "Where is His Majesty? The Knights Templar would request an audience with the king."

"I know not, sir knight."

"His Majesty has left for a time, but we were informed to see you Templar guests wait until his return." the steward babbled.

"He deliberately left us waiting here!" De Nomie fumed. "Has the man no honour?"

"Peace, brother." De Penne laid his hand on De Nomie's shoulder and indicated that he should release the steward from his grasp. "Your anger serves no one." He tuned to De Molay, "Grand Master, grant me leave to ride to Poitiers to inform the Pope of our delay."

The steward stumbled but managed to keep his footing after De Nomie released him. He scurried out the door fearfully.

De Molay thought hard about De Penne's request. He did not want to insult the king by not enjoying the hospitality he offered. However, the Order's first responsibility was to the Pope. It would not be fitting for the Order to keep its lord waiting.

"Go then, De Penne. Ride toward Poitiers and inform His Holiness that we shall arrive as soon as possible. I shall deal with any ill will that may arise with the king because of your departure."

Bowing as he spoke, De Penne replied "As you command, Grand Master."

As De Penne opened the heavy wooden doors, De Nomie called out, "Go with God, De Penne. Ride hard and true to Poitiers."

A white stallion galloped quickly through the darkened forest. The horseman upon it, Oliver De Penne, urged the stallion on, pleading for more speed. He knew that he asked a great deal of his mount, but he feared that haste was necessary. A sense of dread had taken hold of him while he was still at Philip's court. The ride through the French countryside had only served to exacerbate his anxiety. He wished that he knew why Philip had kept the Templars waiting at the court. Suddenly, his feelings of anxiety were replaced by that of another sensation. It was a feeling that he had come to know well since his revival at Acre.

"Hold, brave steed. The scent of evil emanates through the air." The horse dutifully obeyed, and both man and mount came to a stop. De Penne could sense the presence of a demon. He wondered if he would have to spend his entire life fighting these damnable creatures. Their number seemed endless.

A voice rang out, "Templar! Stand fast."

De Penne replied in turn, "Who seeks to command a Knight of the Temple?"

"I, Albert De Kreone!" A figure emerged from the behind an evergreen. De Kreone was a large man, outfitted in black armor. His long hair matched the color of his metal suit. In the cool night air, De Penne could see the fires of evil burning in De Kreone's eyes.

De Kreone pointed his sword menacingly at De Penne, "Are you the Immortal who vanquished my mentor Kadrak?"

De Penne dismounted and drew his sword. "I am he who slew the demon called Kadrak, but I am no immortal. I am, as you say, a simple Templar."

"Play not word games with me, Templar. I know what you are. You are as I," De Kreone growled.

"I am nothing like you, though Kadrak himself also claimed a kinship. I have naught in common with demons such as you," De Penne countered.

"Demons such as I?" De Kreone laughed wickedly. "Can it truly be that you do not know what you are? No matter. I shall send you to the afterlife without that knowledge. Perhaps your blessed Saint Peter can explain it to you when you arrive at the heavenly gates." He advanced towards De Penne, the evil in his eyes growing ever brighter.

De Penne looked up and performed the sign of the cross. "The only gates that anyone shall be seeing will be the gates of hell. It will be you who will have to march through them, back to the hellish pit that spawned you once I defeat you."

When the two combatants were about ten feet apart, De Kreone halted suddenly and raised his left hand. "Before we begin, I would have known the name of the head I shall take."

"I am Oliver De Penne, Knight Templar," De Penne replied grimly.

"Well, Oliver," De Kreone laughed wickedly again. "Let your last thoughts be of me, Albert De Kreone." With that he rushed at De Penne with his sword raised.

The suddenness of the attack took De Penne momentarily by surprise. He managed to get his sword up at the last second to prevent De Kreone's mighty swing from crashing down on his head.

De Kreone stepped back and readied for another swing. "Pray to your god, Templar. Pray that he makes your end a merciful one," De Kreone taunted.

"Rather should you pray to whatever demonic power spawned you, that you may be spared the pits of hell," De Penne retorted.

"Pray?" De Kreone laughed. "I worship neither demon nor god. I worship no higher power; I worship only power itself. And the power of your Quickening shall be mine!"

De Kreone lashed out at De Penne with a furious pace. De Kreone's sword seemed to be everywhere at once. De Penne was busy for a few seconds warding off De Kreone's blows, too busy to make a reply. Once he had regained the advantage, he pressed the attack and spoke derisively, "I know not what this 'Quickening' is, but if it is mine to give, then you shall not have it. All of mine that you shall take is my cold steel through your infernal heart."

De Kreone replied only with his wicked laugh. While the evil in its sound chilled De Penne to the bone, it was not enough to make De Penne lose his resolve. The tide of the battle now was certainly on De Penne's side. De Kreone blocked the Templar's blows, but De Penne was getting successively closer to breaking through the defense. A well-time feint drew De Kreone's sword up to parry a swing to the head. De Penne, however, struck lower and drove the point of his sword deep into De Kreone's belly. A look of shock replaced the evil grin on De Kreone's face. With a twist, De Penne withdrew his sword. The pain was too much for De Kreone to bear and he slumped to the ground.

De Kreone had his hands pressed to his abdomen, but still his strength flowed out of him. The figure of the Templar standing over him was hazy and unclear. Still he knew that De Penne was the image of his death. Choking back the blood, he shouted, "Someone will defeat you, soon enough, Templar. Your naive faith shall be your undoing. Your ignorance will make you weak."

"Au contraire, my faith is my strength. It is what separates me from you, and is what separates you from your head."

De Penne swung through with a wide arc. De Kreone's head bounced into the underbrush. An eerie silence overcame the sounds of the forest night. An owl which had sat watching the spectacle flew off in terror. De Penne's stallion started to rear. As the force of De Kreone's Quickening floated over to the De Penne, sparks of white hot lightning began to explode all around the victor. At this, the stallion went galloping into the forest.

De Penne tensed himself as the demonic energy (or so he thought) washed over him. There were times that he thought it was too much for him, that the evil which he slew would overwhelm him. However, he steeled himself with his faith. The suffering was a small price to pay in order to rid the world of these infernal creatures. Then the explosions and the pain suddenly ceased. De Penne dropped to his knees and strove to regain his strength.

De Penne brought his white stallion to a halt outside of the ornate papal residence. It had taken him a few hours to find his steed. He could not blame the beast for running off. The pyrotechnics that accompanied the death of a demon was frightening to himself, he thought.

He was immediately recognized as a Templar knight by the guards, so no opposition was brought against his arrival. He dismounted and raised his hand. "Greetings, protector of the Father of the Church."

"Good tidings to you as well, sir knight," the guard replied.

"I have ridden to inform you that the Grand Master of the Knights Templar and his entourage shall be arriving anon. What news have you here?" De Penne inquired.

"You face royal opposition, good Knight." was the guard's dry reply.

"What mean you? We Templars are under no secular power; we report only to the Pope." De Penne stated. His shifted with unease inside of his armor.

"True enough, but you realize that the Pope is connected by marionette strings to the King of France," the guard countered.

De Penne nodded at the statement. Philip probably had a hand in the appointment of Clement as well as in the death of his predecessor, Benedict XI, but this was neither the time nor the place to discuss those issues.

The guard continued, "We have heard mutterings of what the King told the Pope. Philip is said to have charged you Templars with a wide range of blasphemies and heresies. He has claimed that he should ascend to a mastership over a combined Order of Templars and Hospitallers. He has claimed that only in this way can the evil that infects your Order be rooted out and that a new Crusade can successfully be completed."

"The charges are preposterous!" De Penne objected.

"So thought we. However, we have also heard rumours that the Pope has given the Fair King leave to investigate these charges in whatever manner he sees fit," the guard warned.

The gravity of these developments was not lost upon De Penne. Philip was moving against the Templars, and he was trying to garner papal legitimization for it. Every moment gave Philip more time to put together whatever nefarious plans he could devise. De Penne's course of action was clear. He had to inform the Grand Master and have him converse with the Pope as soon as possible.

"You have my thanks for conveying this information to me," De Penne said graciously.

The guard nodded, "As God as my witness, I could not believe the charges laid against you Templars. I thought it prudent that you be made aware of them."

"Again I say, you have my grateful thanks," De Penne replied. "Now, please inform His Holiness that our arrival was delayed by our stay at the King's court. The Grand Master shall be arriving shortly. I shall ride back along the way to Paris to inform the Grand Master about the King's words."

The guard nodded in assent and entered the compound. De Penne took tight hold of his reins and spurred his horse back into the forest.

The Templar caravan wound its way through the forest. While they had made good time from Paris, the size of the caravan, with its carriages and carts carrying various Templar possessions, had made their progress slower than if the knights had simply ridden on horseback. The carts and carriages had occasionally become stuck on the ill-tended road. De Nomie, at the vanguard of the caravan, thought that perhaps they would have been better served to have all ridden for Poitiers with De Penne.

De Nomie's ears perked up at the sound of an approaching horse. With the raising of his right hand, the caravan halted. The knights immediately behind him drew their swords, in case it was trouble riding to meet them. De Nomie peered into the shadows of the forest. When he recognized the distinctive mantle of white and cross of red upon the rider, he was certain of who it was. He turned to the knights behind him and instructed them to sheathe their swords.

"Ho, Brother De Penne approaches!" De Nomie exclaimed.

De Penne pulled at the reins and brought the horse to a halt alongside that of De Nomie. "Ho, Brother De Nomie."

"What news have you, De Penne?"

De Penne caught his breath. "I have already gone to Poitiers. Philip had already been there speaking to the Pope, filling the ears of His Holiness with baseless untruths about the Order."

De Nomie cursed lightly under his breath. Then he spoke up, "Philip was maligning us before the Pope?"

"Yes," De Penne replied. "Now, I would have words with the Grand Master. Would he be in this first carriage?"

As De Penne asked the question, De Molay stepped out of the selfsame carriage. At the sight of De Penne, he asked, "What news have you from Poitiers?"

De Penne answered with head bowed, "Grand Master, the King speaks ill of us before the Pontiff."

"How so?"

De Penne responded grimly, "He charges the Order with a plethora of blasphemies and heresies."

"The cowardly cur!" De Nomie exploded. "The Order should have let the populace tear him to pieces instead of providing him refuge a few years ago. Perhaps we can do it now."

"Peace, Brother De Nomie," De Molay replied calmly. "We are under the auspices of the Papacy. We are the Sword of the Church. The Pope will not cast us out into the greedy maw of Philip."

"I agree wholeheartedly, Grand Master. However, the King's lying mouth does have the ear, among other things, of the Pope." De Penne added.

De Molay remembered the intrigue surrounding Clement's election. Philip was said to have an instrumental role in it. De Molay needed to be reassured that Clement's priorities were those of the Church and not of Philip. The path of what to do was clear.

"Spur your horses, then. We must make for Poitiers with all due haste." De Molay ordered. A trumpet sounded, and the caravan increased its pace towards Poitiers.

Clement looked disdainfully out of the window of his library. His eyes were fixed upon the ornate trappings of the Templar caravan that approached the gates of the residence. He threw down the book that he was reading in anger. "I told De Molay to travel surreptitiously. Yet he comes with this gaudy display, announcing his arrival to all of France for all I know. Perhaps Philip speaks truth when he charges them with the various offenses."

After a few minutes, De Molay had been escorted to a chamber at the heart of the residence. Clement was there and seated on a chair draped with purple and gold. His robes were of red and white, and a white miter with gold trim rested atop his head. In his right hand, he held a staff with a crucifix attached to the end. In all, he was very papal in appearance - a fact that did not go unnoticed by De Molay as he entered the chamber.

Clement banged the staff on the floor. "De Molay! Did I not order you to proceed here with haste and modesty?" Clement's tone was quite demanding.

De Molay bowed gracefully. While he preferred to win his battles with his sword arm, there were some battles that could only be won with the subtle skill of diplomacy. "If I may answer, Your Eminence. You commanded that I not bring a sizable retinue from Cyprus. If you would examine the retinue, you would discover that most of them reside here in the Kingdom of France. I have only brought two of the more distinguished knights from Cyprus along, Brothers De Penne and De Nomie. As to the appropriate manner in which to travel, Your Eminence will surely agree that the Order has had vast experience in the movement of troops. With some of the discontent being stirred up against the Order, an issue that we shall undoubtedly be addressing soon, we sought to impress upon the populace the power of the Order - making it clear that all our work and our wealth goes to the glory of God. We sought not to disobey your suggestion of secrecy."

Clement nodded with a hint of a grumble. When De Molay was certain that Clement was not about to speak, he continued, "As to the issue of haste, you must certainly be aware that we first conversed with the King of France, prior to his own discussion with you here. He was most insistent and interested in discussing certain matters with us. However, those issues seem not to be the words with which he has provided you."

"As Your Eminence is sure to have in his possession our letters , we have offered therein our response to the notion of the amalgamation of the Military Orders. Previous holders of the chair of St. Peter had made similar proposals and the arguments, enclosed in those letters, against those proposals still ring true. Jealousy between the members of the various orders would ensue. It might even result in open battle between the Orders, and would it not be better for such fighting spirit to be put to use against the Saracens?"

Clement could offer little argument against this, "However, there is the question of the rivalry between the Orders."

"True," De Molay acknowledged. "However, such rivalry is not in and of itself disadvantageous. In fact, it served the purposes of Christendom. You see, when the Hospitallers win a great victory over the infidel, we Templars redouble our efforts until we can achieve an even greater victory."

This was entirely to Clement's satisfaction. The Orders were the only European forces which were engaging the Saracens currently. The nations seemed more concerned to fight across and within their own borders. He acquiesced, "It seems clear to our eyes that the proposal of amalgamation, however worthy it might be, would suffer from serious drawbacks and compromise the Church's goal to reclaim the Holy Land."

The encouragement that De Molay felt was short-lived as Clement continued, "However, there are other issues of grave import that must be dealt with."

De Molay took a deep breath now. "Yes, Your Eminence, it has been reported to me that the illustrious King of France offers baseless charges against our Order. Surely you can see from the history of the Order, from its founding to the present day, that we have done naught but our sworn duty to the Church."

"I shall consider your words, Grand Master. I will do what needs to be done in order to safeguard the Church. Now, leave us to our thoughts and to the guidance of the Holy Spirit in this matter. We shall call you soon to discuss these matters further."

With that De Molay knew that his audience was completed. He bowed gracefully to Clement and exited the room.

Clement sat upon his throne and mulled over his options. His miter weighed heavily upon his head it seemed. The Templars were pledged to the Pontiff and had served the Church, for the most part, faithfully for decades; however, Clement owed his papal crown to Philip. On the other hand, he wished to re-establish the supremacy of the papacy over the secular powers. It was a difficult decision. Whether he chose one side or the other, his decision would have far-reaching and lasting effects. It seemed to him that the most prudent course would be to allow Philip his way. If the Templars were truly blameless, such a decision would serve to placate Philip. If they were not, Philip would be satisfied and a growing heresy would be uprooted. Satisfied with this course of action, he reached out for a silver bell resting on a nearby table. With a ring, he would summon an attendant that would convey his message to Philip - he would allow Philip to proceed against the Knights Templar.

"Here's some information about the Knights Templar. They were branded as heretics. They were rounded up all over Europe, starting in 1307. It was the worst for those in France. It seems that the King wanted to get his hands on the Templar treasury. From what I read, it looks like the Templars acted like a banking system for Europe. Not bad for an order pledged to poverty. I guess it must have been individual poverty. Anyways, I digress. Here's an interesting bit - some of them confessed to paying homage to a head. Their last Grand Master, Jacques De Molay, was burned at the stake in 1314."

"Jacques De Molay? I've heard that name before." Duncan's eyes instantly glazed over.

"Mac?" Joe tried to get Duncan's attention, but Duncan's thoughts were elsewhere.

A throng of common people waited in eager anticipation. They rumbled and cheered at the upcoming spectacle. All eyes were upon the wooden platform that was situated in front of them. Most of the eyes focused on the razor-sharp guillotine that stood at the center of the platform. The man who had been king, Louis XVI, was led out to the platform. An entourage of armed guards surrounded him as they marched to the platform.

Pierre La Frangione stood next to Duncan amidst the French peasantry. Duncan noticed that his neighbor seemed to be enjoying the event as much as the rest of the populace. However, he also seemed anxious about something. Duncan did not get the opportunity to talk to the man because of the escalating noise level of the crowd. Pierre La Frangione's thoughts were clear in his head, despite the din all around him. He had been given the honor of carrying out the final stage of the centuries-old curse. He hoped that the day of triumph would soon be upon him and his brothers.

As the king's head rolled on the floor of the platform, an even louder and more enthusiastic roar arose from the crowd. The pandemonium ensued for a few moments before the exhilaration wore off. As the crowd quieted down, La Frangione looked around nervously for a moment. He took a hold of the Templar cross underneath his shirt and took a deep breath. He exhaled and began to push his way through the crowd. When he was near enough, he leapt out of the crowd and onto the platform. He dipped his hand into the decapitated king's bloody neck. When his hand was covered with blood, he flung the blood out onto the crowd with a snap of his wrist. He exclaimed, "Jacques De Molay! Thou art avenged!"

The apparent lunatic jumped from the platform and was lost among the crowd in seconds. Duncan had no idea what the man was talking about.

Joe waved his hands in front of Duncan's face. "Mac? You still with us?"

Duncan blinked a few times, "Just remembering somebody mentioning De Molay's name?"

Joe had figured that Duncan had been lost in a flashback. He knew the look. "Recently?"

"Not very recently," Duncan responded dryly.

"By whose standards, mine or yours?" Joe asked and then took a swig of bottled water.

"It was during the French Revolution."

Joe smiled. "Right, your definition, then."

"What about Immortals and the Templars?"

Joe lifted a pile of papers from behind the counter. He placed them on the counter and began to page through them. "We have some information about a Templar Immortal. Seems he died when the last holding of the Europeans fell. It was in 1291 in Acre. In fact, it was your old friend Hamza who found him."

"What was this Templar's name?" Duncan asked.

"Oliver De Penne."

"De Penne? ..."

Duncan was awakened by the sensation of an approaching Immortal. He threw off the blankets that had protected him from the cold as he took a mid-afternoon nap. He quickly fastened his scabbard to his belt and sprang to his feet. As he drew back the blanket the covered the entrance to his tent, Duncan saw a group of armored knights marching up to the encampment. The leader bore a white flag emblazoned with a red cross before him. Duncan rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he tried to identify who the other Immortal was. There were not any others among the Highlanders who had rallied behind Bonnie Prince Charlie, now that Warren Cochrane had departed, so he figured that the Immortal had to be among the newcomers. Duncan scurried out of his tent towards the armored group.

The leader nodded to Duncan, obviously noticing the Immortality in the one that approached him. "I am Oliver De Penne."

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. What business do ye have here?" Duncan demanded to know.

The other knights came to a halt behind De Penne. "We knights are pledged to your liege. We will aid you against the English."

Duncan scowled. "What manner of knights are you?"

De Penne dismissed the question. "Our Order does not matter. What is important is that we are here to assist Scotland."

The answer was not to Duncan's satisfaction. He noted that while De Penne spoke English seemingly fluently, his words contained a strong French accent. Likewise, he could hear some of the mumblings of the other knights behind De Penne. He could make out some French words in the din, but there were also some discussions going on in Spanish, German, and even Latin.

"Why do Frenchmen seek to aid us?" Duncan asked further

"Isn't it obvious, MacLeod? We seek to have the rightful ruler upon the English throne. The Stuarts are the rightful heirs to the throne."

Duncan scratched his chin "That makes sense, but what about the others - the Germans and the Spanish, from the sound of them?"

"Our Order knows no national boundaries," De Penne replied dryly.

"I'll let the prince know that you are here." Duncan said grudgingly.

De Penne nodded appreciatively. Duncan was still wary of these knights, but they appeared to be ready for combat. The Scottish cause could use all the good men who would rally to it.

Duncan made his way through the camp to the tent that housed the leader of the Scots. He drew back the blanket that covered the entrance and announced, "My lord, we have visitors. A group of ... knights ... seek an audience with you."

Prince Charles, or Bonnie Prince Charlie as he was affectionately known, looked up from the maps spread out on the tables of his tent. "Knights?" His advisors who surrounded the table also looked up but not with the surprised look that Charlie did.

Duncan tugged at his collar. "Yes, knights. Knights bearing a white flag with a red cross."

At the mention of this, Charlie's eyes lit up. "A red cross did you say, MacLeod?"

"Yes, my lord. Do ye ken them?" Duncan asked.

Charlie quickly put his maps in order. A newfound optimism seemed to radiate from him now. "Aye, I think that I do. Bring them in, MacLeod."

Duncan nodded and headed out of the tent. In a few moments he had returned with De Penne and a few other high ranking knights.

Charlie was visibly elated at the sight of De Penne and his men. He greeted them heartily and bade them to join him and his war council at the table. The council, at Charlie's command, soon filled in the knights about the current situation and deployment of troops. After about an hour of discussion, a plan of attack was drawn up. The Scots would make a concerted effort here in Culloden.

Duncan was troubled by this strategy. He took Charles aside, "Do you think it wise to engage the English here? We only number five thousand, while the Duke of Cumberland has nigh on ten thousand troops at his disposal."

"I am in command here and I think it fit to engage the English dogs here," Charlie responded authoritatively. Duncan wondered for a moment if he had raised the ire of his sire by the presumption to question the plan.

"But, sire ..." he persisted but was stopped by a wave of Charlie's hand. The Bonnie Prince would brook no dissension within his ranks.

Duncan knew that there was no point in continuing the argument with the leader of the Jacobite cause. He only hoped that Providence would smile upon the Scots today. He then changed the subject.

"My lord, I would also speak to you regarding the strange knights."

"What of them, Duncan?" Charlie's reply spoke of an urgency to resume a discussion with the armored strangers.

De Penne and the other knights talked amongst themselves, oblivious to the conversation going on between MacLeod and the Bonnie Prince.

"I dinna trust them, my prince."

"I trust them, Duncan. They hold an ancient pledge to my family."

"What pledge? Who are they?" It was obvious that Charles knew of the knights. Duncan wanted to know about them; he did not feel comfortable going into battle with unknown allies at his side."

"Though I trust you with my very life, Duncan MacLeod, I can tell you no more. As God as my witness, I cannot reveal any more to you. You must believe me."

"Aye, I believe ye. If you say these knights are to be trusted, then I will trust them."

"Thank you, Duncan. Now I must meet with them in private. We have much to discuss before the morrow."

Once Duncan and the war council had left the tent, one of the knights went to secure the entrance. Assured now of their privacy, the knights, following the lead of De Penne, unsheathed their swords and went down on one knee each.

De Penne stated solemnly, "As our ancestors pledged our Order to your ancestor, Robert the Bruce, so we pledge ourselves to you now, Charles."

A fire of hope burned in the eyes of the Scottish leader. "Then you truly are the Knights Templar of old? My father told me about the pledge given to Robert the Bruce. Its tradition has been passed down to each Scottish ruler since then. My father swore me to secrecy, even though no one had seen the Templars in years. I thought it might be only a myth. I was dubious until I saw you now, with the red cross that my father told me to look for."

De Penne rose and the other Templars did as well. "Yes, we are the Order of the Poor Knights of Christ and Temple of Solomon - the Knights Templar, if you will. But wee must have your solemn word that you continue to keep our true identity shrouded in secrecy."

Charles shook his head in a perplexed manner. "But why? The English will scamper back to England like dogs if they know that the legendary Knights Templar fight for Scotland."

"While we serve Scotland today and any tomorrow in which we are needed, we also fight another holy war that extends beyond the shores of the British Isles. If we are to win this struggle, our existence must be kept secret for the time being."

Charles resigned himself "I'm not sure I understand, but you have my word that I will not reveal the continued existence of the Knights Templar to any but my successor when he comes of age."

"Very well. Now we must confer with your commanders to draw up a strategy with which to repel the English. This battle will shape the future of Scotland for years to come."

Duncan gathered together his detachment of MacLeod clansman at the edge of the forest. Theirs was a simple mission. They were to perform reconnaissance in this part of the woods. They were to let the main body know if the English were attempting to outflank the Scottish position. Duncan made some rough drawings in the dirt, showing the men the relative positions of the Scottish forces.

"So it's clear what we're to do. We're supposed to scout ahead and see if there is an English encampment in that clearing."

"Aye, Duncan, and when we find 'em, we kill all the bloody bastards," a very bloodthirsty Robert MacLeod blurted out.

Duncan tossed the stick at Robert. "You'll nae fight with 'em if you see 'em. Do you want to be slaughtered like cattle? If we find them, we report it back to Charlie. He'll then dispatch more men to keep the English from outflanking us."

"And then we'll kill the bloody bastards!" Robert blurted out again.

"Aye," Duncan sighed, "Then we'll take care of them."

The detachment rose to their feet and began to spread out in search of English. They quietly stalked through the woods until they heard what sounded like thunder in the distance. When they noticed that there was not a cloud in the sky, they knew what was happening.

"Artillery fire!" Angus MacLeod screamed as the first volley came crashing through the trees. Shells exploded all around the Highlanders. They broke ranks and began to run, but there was no chance to find cover. The shells rained down fast and furious. With every impact, at least one MacLeod was sent flying.

Duncan barked out orders to gather the men together and head back for the main camp. However, the din of the explosions drowned out even his loudest efforts. Realizing that he could do nothing more for his men, he concentrated on his own survival. He dashed and leapt through the forest, hoping that there wasn't a shell with his name on it. Just when he thought the barrage had ended, a shell landed a few feet in front of him. The explosion tore through Duncan and flattened him against an elm tree. He was in sorry shape. With his limited faculties left him, he could tell that he would die soon. With that he was not too concerned; his concern was with the subtle feeling in his head - the sensation of a nearby Immortal. As his eyes clouded over, he saw what must be the Immortal approaching. It was not in the knightly armor of De Penne as he might have hoped, but rather that of a Redcoat officer. His fears increased as his consciousness slipped away.

The Redcoat officer had sensed Duncan as well. When he had, he sent his troops off to gather up the other downed Scots. He would take care of Duncan personally. By the time he reached Duncan's side, the Highlander was already dead. He closely studied Duncan's appearance. He looked disdainfully at Duncan's Highlander garb, complete with the colors of the Clan MacLeod. Slowly, he unsheathed his saber as he hovered over Duncan.

"Ha ha, a Scottish Immortal. Imagine that. Well, Scotland will be less one warrior and one Immortal in a matter of moments, " he laughed. He readied himself to deliver the fatal blow. As he stood poised over Duncan, a new sensation shot through his brain; there was another Immortal in the area. He looked around furtively as he tried to find the newcomer. His eyes came to rest on an armored figure walking determinedly through the forest.

The knight exclaimed, "I am Oliver De Penne and I challenge you, sir."

"I am Dwight of Kent," the Redcoat replied. Dwight whirled to face the new Immortal. When he had gotten a good look at De Penne, he continued vehemently, "You cannot. The Rules are clear in this matter."

"Yes, the Rules are clear. Once a battle has begun between two Immortals, no other may intervene." De Penne countered, "However, you have not begun yet with MacLeod. It was your impersonal artillery which brought him down."

"Semantics, French swine," Dwight growled.

De Penne drew his sword. "You know it to be the truth, Anglican heretic. Besides, if you defeat me, you will still get MacLeod. His wounds are too severe for him to recover any time soon."

Dwight sized up the words and appearance of his opponent. "I was here before your Norman brethren invaded these Isles in 1066. It will give me great pleasure to send you to meet them." Dwight pointed his saber at De Penne, encouraging him to approach. De Penne bowed slightly to his opponent and cautiously approached.

Soon the battle was joined. The swordplay was almost faster than the eye could follow. Every thrust was countered, every parry followed by a counterattack. Both combatants realized that this was the greatest duel that either of them had ever fought.

Dwight momentarily found his way through De Penne's guard, but his thrust was not strong enough to pierce the Templar's armor. The thrust had put the Englishman slightly off balance and De Penne saw his opportunity. De Penne's left fist connected with a mighty blow to Dwight's chin. The pain dazed Dwight for a moment and De Penne took advantage of the moment by striking with his sword at Dwight's heart. The blade drove through the English leather armor that covered the Immortal's breast. The sword drove through its target and continued through the Englishman's back. A look of astonishment cascaded over Dwight's face. It was pain of a nature he had never experienced before and had never imagined.

Dwight held his hand close to his wounded heart as he lay on his back. De Penne came over and knelt on one knee before the wounded Englishman. He stated, "Pray, heretic. Pray for your soul, even as I do, before you leave this life."

Dwight was about to curse the Frenchmen when he saw something shiny about the Templar's neck. It was a gold chain with a cross affixed to it. The cross was of an unmistakable shape to the ancient English Immortal. Dwight gasped as he recognized the cross dangling from De Penne's neck. "That cross! You were all destroyed hundreds of years ago. You're ..."

De Penne separated Dwight's head from his body with a swift stroke. "... the victor."

An eerie silence came over the section of the forest. It overwhelmed the sounds of the battle. In this area, there was silence, but it was short-lived. Sparks of energy leapt from the sprawled form of Dwight of Kent. They struck De Penne with painful intensity. De Penne dropped his sword as the pain of the Quickening overwhelmed him. The pain cascaded through him with ever increasing magnitude until it suddenly stopped. De Penne staggered over to Duncan. As he reached the Highlander's side, he could sense that Duncan had just revived.

Duncan woke with a start. He relaxed slightly when he noticed that the Immortal he sensed was not the Redcoat but rather the strange knight.

"De Penne?" Duncan asked.

"Yes, MacLeod. It is I. The Immortal who had designs upon you is no more," De Penne replied somberly.

"I thank ye, " Duncan paused, " ... friend Oliver."

"And I thank you for seeing fit to call me friend." De Penne offered his hand and Duncan graciously shook it.

De Penne helped Duncan to his feet. He could tell that Duncan had even more questions for him. Before Duncan could ask any of them, De Penne stated, "It was a dishonourable way to engage an Immortal. I was honor-bound to remedy the situation."

"But ... ," Duncan began, but he was interrupted by De Penne who had removed the chain that hung from his neck.

De Penne held the item in his hands, "Here, take this cross. You may need it in the days ahead. I fear that despite our success here, our cause is lost."

De Penne handed the cross and chain over into Duncan's bloody hands. Duncan accepted the gift gratefully and held it tight in his grasp. Before Duncan could say anything more, De Penne dashed off to rejoin the battle. In a matter of seconds, he was far enough away that Duncan could not longer sense the Templar.

Joe took a sip from his bottle of spring water. "Hmm, I don't remember reading about that incident in your Chronicle. It's hard following you Immortals in war time. Our Watchers get killed just like the other folks. So De Penne was still around as of 1746. I'll have to get his Chronicle updated."

"What's the last you have on De Penne?" Duncan inquired.

Joe paged through the tattered tome in his hands. "He was burned at the stake in 1314. After that, we never saw him again."

Duncan frowned. He was hoping that Joe would have more information. However, he knew that even the Watchers did not know everything about the Immortals.

Joe could see the look of disappointment on Duncan's face. He paged back through the book, looking for something that might be useful. "Do you want to see what we have on him? We have a report on when Hamza found him in 1291."

"Hamza," Duncan thought. "Hamza, Hamza. Something about Hamza."

"Yeah, I'd like to see that, Joe," Duncan replied. Then it hit him. "Waitasecond. I remember now. Hamza told me how he received his first Quickening. It was from a Templar ..."

THE HORNS OF HATTIN - OUTSIDE JERUSALEM

JULY 4, 1187

The victorious Saracens assembled the Christian survivors of the Battle of the Horns of Hattin. Saladin, commander of the Saracens, instructed his soldiers to divide the Christians into two groups - one for the rank and file and one for thhe religious orders - the Templars and the Hospitallers. He also instructed the soldiers to bring to his tent Guy, King of Jerusalem; Gerard De Ridfort, Grand Master of the Knights Templar; and Reginald, lord of Karak. Once he was certain that his order were being carried out officially, he signaled for his right hand man in battle and negotiation to join him in the tent. The relatively small man, wrapped in Saracen warrior accouterments, quickly made his away to his lord's side.

When the officer reached the caliph, Saladin put his hand on the officer's shoulder. "I had thought you lost in the last engagement, Hamza. You have made a miraculous recovery, praise Allah."

With eyes to the ground, Hamza responded, "Praise Allah. The medics had thought me dead at one point, but I have returned to the living to serve you, my lord. What is more important than my humble life is that the Holy City will be in our hands once again."

Saladin nodded in agreement. What he had fought for so long was virtually his. He instructed for the rank-and-file soldiers to be taken away. "We will gain a good ransom for these soldiers. However, we know that no ransom will be forthcoming for these fanatics, these Templars and Hospitallers."

Hamza knew well from previous experience that the two Christian Military Orders never paid ransom for their knights that were captured. "I sense something strange about them, my liege. Best to kill them now before their evil infects us."

Saladin's face shone with a hint of surprise. "You can sense the evil that resides with them? Then you are twice blessed by Allah."

Hamza bowed "I am but his humble servant, my lord."

Saladin motioned for Hamza to rise. "As are we all. Yes, we shall do what you suggest, Hamza. Call for the Shiite mystics. They shall dispose of these Christian dogs, once we are done inside." He signaled for Hamza to follow him into the tent, where Hamza would act as interpreter to the Christian leaders.

Saladin entered the tent with Hamza close behind. Saladin summoned a servant who quickly brought a large cup of water. Taking the cup, he dismissed the servant. Saladin looked at the four Christian leaders seated before him. A stern look ruled his face as he stared first at De Ridfort and then his countenance became grimmer as he stared at Reginald. When his eyes met those of King Guy, a smile took hold and he offered the cup to the Christian monarch.

Guy accepted the cup graciously. He offered his thanks to Saladin and his words were translated flawlessly by Hamza. Guy took a long drink from the cup and set it down. Saladin nodded and smiled. Guy then handed the cup to Reginald who drank greedily from it. Reginald had to wipe the water that dripped from his chin.

Saladin pointed at Guy and then at Reginald as he spoke. Hamza translated the words with a solemn tone, "His Highness, Lord Saladin, would have you note that it was you, King Guy, who gave the cup to Reginald."

Guy looked at Hamza with a questioning glance. Then slowly the realization hit him. Hamza was pointing out the Muslim custom of offering drink to prisoners. He to whom the drink was offered was safe. Since it was Guy who had then given the cup to Reginald, it meant that Saladin chose not to extend this custom to the lord of Karak.

Guy, with a forlorn face, turned to look at Reginald, to explain what Hamza meant. When his eyes met those of Reginald, it was clear that the meaning had been understood by both. However, Guy was somewhat surprised not to see any trace of despair in Reginald's expression. Instead, there was a fire of defiance. In addition, there was a strange look that he gave to Hamza. Guy could not explain the look, but it seemed like a look of familiarity, though Guy knew that Hamza and Reginald had never met.

Reginald drank heartily from the cup again and threw it to the ground. He stated scornfully, "Tell your 'illustrious' ruler that I neither expected nor would I have accepted his 'mercy'. " Once Hamza translated the statement, Reginald broke into a tirade of the worst, most guttural words of Arabic that he picked up in his years in the Holy Land. All of venomous utterings were clearly directed at Saladin. The Saracen guards were aghast and drew their swords to defend their liege's honor. However, Saladin stopped them by merely raising his hand. He turned to Hamza and had him translate his words.

"You, Reginald of Karak. You, I will dispose of myself. It was you who broke the truce between us Muslims and you Christians not on one occasion, but twice. I had hoped that the Assassins I had employed would have killed you long ago, but they have apparently failed. I, however, shall not."

Saladin rose and exited the tent. Hamza informed the Christian leaders that they were to go outside as well. A whisper from Hamza to the guards had them take Reginald forcefully.

The sight that greeted the Christian leaders as they emerged from the tent hit them with nauseating intensity. They had all seen many scenes of slaughter in this protracted war for the Holy Land. There had been horrible massacres perpetrated by both sides in the name of God. However, this was, by far, the worst any of them had ever seen.

The Shiite mystics were no soldiers. Most of them had never wielded a sword before. Thus, their attempts at executing the Templar and Hospitaller prisoners had been successful in only the goriest of terms. The single stroke beheadings that were typical of both sides in this war were, in this instance, replaced by multiple strikes as the unskilled Shiites tried to swing the heavy blades. The lucky ones were felled by a single cut; the unfortunate ones suffered as the mystics tried to hack off their heads.

Reginald viewed the scene with alarm. He needed to find a way to escape this fate. His eyes glared at Saladin and he shouted, "Make me suffer, you heathen dog. Do your worst. Have me disemboweled, have me drawn and quartered, torture me to death. I'll not give you the pleasure of hearing me beg."

Hamza repeated Reginald's words in Arabic. A grim smile formed on Saladin's face. He looked over to the guards and they forced Reginald to his knees and held his head down.

"I have no need to make you suffer. Seeing your head roll will suffice." Saladin unsheathed his scimitar and drew it back, waiting for Hamza to translate his last words.

Having heard Saladin's proclamation, Reginald gave the same look towards Hamza that he had expressed earlier. Guy noticed that Hamza was completely unresponsive to it. That look was frozen onto Reginald's face as the scimitar separated head from body with one clean stroke.

Suddenly, there was silence in the desert. Not even the wind could be heard whipping through the sand. Then the sound of the wind returned, but with an eerie tone to it. A conglomeration of energy of ever-shifting shape rose from the form of Reginald. All of the Muslim soldiers stepped back, all save Hamza. It was as if Hamza were rooted to the ground. He had never seen anything like this before, but it felt somehow familiar. The cloud of energy hovered for a moment in the desert sky and then headed directly for Hamza.

Hamza screamed as the sparks jumped over his body. He tried to resist it, but the waves of power washed over him with increasing intensity. His body was wracked with pain; he thought it would never end. Slowly, he could feel the sensations lessening. His knees buckled under him as the last of the experience faded away.

The soldiers stood there motionless. They looked to Saladin. The Saracen leader was himself dumbfounded by the spectacle. He regained his composure and ordered authoritatively, "The evil infects Hamza now! Kill him, now."

Still, the soldiers were gripped by fear. After a few moments, one soldier was brave enough to obey Saladin's order. He took his scimitar and plunged it through Hamza's heart. He held it there for a few seconds. Hamza clutched at the sword, but slowly his hands fell away. The soldier removed the sword and sheathed it once again.

Hamza slowly crumpled to the ground. No soldier dared to utter a word. Saladin broke with silence with a despondent voice, "I am truly sorry, old friend. I shall pray that your soul has escaped from the demon that possessed you." Saladin turned away and ordered the men to move out. Soon Jerusalem would be his.

The encampment was quickly broken down and the Muslim troops marched out of the rocky site. Within minutes, the Saracen army was on its way to recover the Holy City. As the dust cleared behind the column of troops, a figure could be seen standing amongst the rocks, his hands running over his blood-soaked shirt. Hamza looked up to the heavens and cried out, "I yet live, but how?!?"

Duncan ended his tale. "OK, I made a mistake. Reginald wasn't a Templar, but he was with them when Saladin had them all beheaded."

Joe scribbled down some notes. "Thanks, MacLeod. That's another incident we didn't have recorded. Our Watcher of Reginald died in that battle so we never got his report. We didn't even know that Hamza was an Immortal at that time."

"Just don't put me as the source. I don't think your associates would appreciate it." Duncan requested.

"Hey, no problem, Mac." Dawson smiled. "It's funny, for once it's you who is supplying me with information."

Dawson closed his notebook. "I gotta ask you something. Does everything remind you of something from your past?"

Oliver De Penne walked with a determined stride through the streets of Paris. The business in Marseilles had taken only a day to complete. There was still much to do in Paris. The piece that Henri, Franz, and Giuseppi had appropriated from St. Joseph's was just the beginning. There were still a great number of relics hidden around the City of Lights. De Penne was disappointed that Henri and his men had encountered resistance and had to deal with the interloper. The cause was of paramount importance; however, they should have not been seen and thus been forced to take physical measures. While he could fault this current generation of Templars for occasional ineptitude, he could not fault them for their devotion. He was encouraged by the loyalty of this and previous generations of Templars - knights, many of whom had never seen the Holy Land but worked nonetheless diligently so that the Order might one day achieve its goal.

De Penne's path happened to take him past a small bank. A chart stood in the window there, expressing the international monetary exchange rates as they stood that day. De Penne's eyes focused on the date that was listed on the top - 13/10/95.

"It is Friday, the 13th of October. What a dark day ..."

Jacques De Molay paced through the halls of the Temple. He stopped when he caught sight of his most trusted knight, Oliver De Penne. "De Penne," he asked once De Penne had entered through the main entrance. "Any news from Germany?"

De Penne's face was despondent as he replied, "Sadly, no, Grand Master. Our brethren in Germany have not received De Villiers and his caravan yet. I fear they might have been set upon by brigands. They were carrying a good portion of the Temple treasury."

"Yes, but money is not our most prized possession." De Molay wrung his hands as he resumed his pacing. He stopped suddenly, "What of the fleet?"

"The fleet sailed from La Rochelle with no opposition. We hear that it is safely ensconced in Scotland now. Robert the Bruce has given the Order refuge, as he had so promised."

"Good, good," De Molay nodded eagerly.

"Grand Master, should we not also away to Scotland? Philip is brewing hate and distrust of us in the hearts of the people," De Nomie inquired. He had been waiting with the Grand Master while De Penne had been away for the few days, uncovering the information he now related.

"We shall stay. The Order suffer no harm beyond that which the Lord sees fit for us to endure." There was confidence in De Molay's voice despite the apparent anxiety in his behavior.

"You have knowledge that we are safe then?" De Nomie asked hopefully.

Just then a loud banging could be heard from the main entrance. The knights gathered quickly as a battering ram smashed the doorway into splinters. Waves of French seneschals and their deputies came flowing into the Temple with drawn swords. They shouted with one voice, "Surrender in the name of the King!"

The Templars quickly joined in formation and stood ready to deal with the intruders. They looked to De Molay to issue the order to repulse the invaders, but he stood silently staring at the entryway. His eyes were focused on the garishly dressed figure sauntering through the door. The knights saw the object of De Molay's stare. It was Guillaume De Nogaret, the King's aide. He carried a scroll in his right hand.

De Nomie cried, "Give us the order, and we shall rid the Temple of these vermin." He held his sword menacingly.

"Peace, brother De Nomie," De Molay replied calmly, "Let us see what this bureaucrat has to say."

De Nogaret smiled wickedly at De Molay's words. He opened the scroll with an impudent flourish and read its contents: "This day, Friday the 13th of October in the year of our Lord, thirteen hundred and seven, upon the orders of his majesty, King Philip the Fourth, we are empowered to arrest all those associated with the Order of the Poor Knights of Christ and Temple of Solomon, or as they are commonly known - the Knights Templar."

De Nogaret rolled the scroll up again. He looked at De Molay. "Will you resist us or will you submit to the duly appointed forces of His Majesty, King Philip the Fair?"

De Nomie grimaced as he looked at De Molay. The brash knight would spring upon De Nogaret as soon as the Grand Master gave the word. His hand tensed upon his sword as he awaited De Molay's command. He was crestfallen to hear De Molay's reply.

"The Knights Templar will offer no resistance. We will submit to the King's authority for now," De Molay sighed.

Deep within a cold and dark dungeon, the Inquisitor Guillaume De Paris continued to press the Grand Master of the Templars. The Grand Master was bloody and bruised. His weakened frame was strapped to a wooden rack. The only movement by his body that could be seen was his heavy chest, as he tried to draw air. De Penne could only watch and try to deal with his own debilitating pain as his master was tortured mercilessly. His voice had become hoarse from his screaming, not of pain but of innocence. He could not voice any encouragement to his beloved master. The last few days had been a blur since the Templars were arrested. It still seemed incomprehensible that they had been arrested and jailed. Where they were imprisoned, he did not know. He did recognize the garb of an Inquisitor, for it was an Inquisitor that stood before the battered body of the old Grand Master.

"De Molay, we know the charges leveled against you and the Order are true." De Paris looked De Molay right in the eye. The Inquisitors stern visage gave way to a smile. "Confess to your sins and we will begin your penance and purification."

The Inquisitor demanded, "Confess to your sins, Templar!"

"I ..." De Molay gasped, "I ... confess." He slumped unconscious.

Nogaret smiled with glee. "You have done well, Inquisitor." He ordered the torturers, "Release him from the rack. Clean him up so that he is presentable. The King wishes De Molay to appear tomorrow at the Temple before the members of the University to confess publicly."

De Penne was led back to the Paris Temple. Along with the Grand Master, De Nogaret had assembled some of the other Templar leaders - Gerard De Gauche, Gui Dauphin, Geoffroi De Charney - Preceptor of Normandy, and Gautier De Liancourt. They were brought before an assemblage of members of the University of Paris community. The canons, the religious and secular masters, the bachelors, and the scholars were all there at Nogaret's invitation, in which he delivered the King's wishes. The crowd stood silently as the Templars were paraded in. The others knights stood still as De Molay was led forward by a pair of guards.

Nogaret approached him and whispered in his ear. "Make sure that you say everything that you have been told. I would have written it down for you, but you stupid Templars cannot read."

Both Nogaret and the guards stepped back. De Molay looked at the crowd, then up to the sky, then at the crowd again. He paused for another moment and then began:

"I make this confession on behalf of myself and the other leaders of the Knights Templar present here. Although the original foundation of the Order of the Poor Knights of Christ and Temple of Solomon - the Knights Templar was noble and had been approved by the Holy See to fight the enemies of the faith and to aid the Holy Land, nevertheless the cunning of the enemy of the human race, who was always seeking that which he could devour, had led them to a fall of such perdition that for a long time now, those who were received in the Order denied the Lord Jesus Christ, our Redeemer, at their reception, not without the sad loss of their souls, and they spat upon a cross with an effigy of Jesus Christ, which was shown to each of them at the reception, in contempt of him, and in the aforesaid reception, they committed other enormities in the same way. I had not wished to reveal these things for fear of the temporal penalty, and in case the aforesaid Order should be destroyed in which case they would lose the honours of the world, the status, and the riches they had. These things had been brought out through the efforts of the most Christian King Philip IV of France, the bringer of light from whom nothing is hidden. I and the other Knights Templar are truly penitent and we implore you gathered here to intervene on our behalf with the pope and king that we may be absolved and receive penance in accordance with ecclesiastical judgment." {1}

Nogaret rushed up to De Molay and ushered him back with the other Templars. "You see, esteemed members of the University, that the Templars admit their sin." De Molay stood silently, but said nothing. De Penne thought he could see a tear trickle down the Grand Master's face.

A trio of men crept with trained stealth to the gates of the small church along the banks of the Seine. Dawn was still hours away and the streets were deserted of any traffic - automobile or pedestrian. Still, the trio progressed with care, quickly shuffling from darkened corner to darkened corner. Soon they were through the iron-wrought gates and at the giant oaken door that guarded the entrance to the interior of the church.

After a few seconds of deft handiwork upon the lock, the door was now opened and the three men stole into the church. They closed the door behind as carefully as they could, but still the ancient wood creaked and groaned with the pains of age. These sounds reverberated through the silent night and could be heard by a early-rising Duncan MacLeod, out for a pre-dawn workout.

Duncan scowled with curiosity at the sound. A quick glance around at the other buildings in the area assured him that the origin of the sound had to have been the aged door of St. Dominic's. Duncan quietly cursed under his breath for not having his sword; however, it would be somewhat difficult to hide a sword in his grey sweatshirt. Still, his other skills should see him through any potential conflict, although he hoped that his fears would be unfounded. However, after the strange encounter at St. Joseph's a few days before, he felt that trouble was looming on the horizon, coming more quickly than the dawn.

Duncan slid through the outer gate of the church. He tried to see any signs of activity within the church, but he could not make out anything except for a single light source behind the ornate stained glass windows. He reached the door and could see that had it had been forced open, by a master lockpick by the looks of it. He softly tested the door and found that it was still unlocked. Drawing a deep breath, he pushed at the door with all his strength and it flew open. He dove into the darkness and was met with a firm blow to the back of his head.

"Giuseppi! You imbecile! You were supposed to lock the door behind us!" a man cried from atop a ladder perched next to the altar's large crucifix. "There, I have it," he declared as he plucked a thorn from the crown atop the statue's head.

"My apologies, brother Henri, but as you can see, the interloper has been rendered senseless. Let us make haste and return to the Temple," Giuseppi responded.

The third man, holding the ladder, berated Giuseppi, "The Visitor and the Grand Master will be greatly displeased if the man that you have dealt with was one of the cloth."

"I think not, Franz," Giuseppi replied as he shone his flashlight upon Duncan's prone form. "See? This man is the same who interfered with our previous operation."

The light revealed Duncan's face to all three men. They all breathed a sigh of relief at the revelation of the intruder's identity. However, the same thought took hold of each of them - did this man know of their mission? That would bring even greater trouble than his mere intrusion.

Before any of them could voice this concern, Duncan's eyes opened wide and he spied who his assailants were. He sprang to his feet and smiled.

"Boys. What a surprise to run into you in another church."

The men grouped themselves in front of Duncan. They tensed themselves for battle. Duncan thought about what to do - he had to move this battleground from the grounds of the church. He surreptitiously took hold of the door handle behind him. He watched their eyes as they slowly crept towards him. Just as they sprang at him, Duncan dove to the floor and pulled the door open behind him. The three men fell into a jumble on the other side of the door.

Duncan was back on his feet almost instantaneously. He leapt over the three entangled opponents and stood firmly in front of the outer iron gate. The fifteen foot high stone walls that extended from the gate made the gateway the only means of exit.

"Maybe I ought to call the gendarmes and have them deal with you church robbers," Duncan said.

By this time, the men had regained their senses and their feet. They approached Duncan with determination. Giuseppi and Franz drew short swords from scabbards hanging from their respective belts.

Duncan was taken aback momentarily by this sight. It was rare that he saw a sword actually being used by someone other than a fellow Immortal. He could tell by the way that they held the swords that they were not amateurs with the blade. However, Duncan was confident that he could handle them despite this.

He took a step backwards, out through the gateway, and off of the grounds of the church. Franz lunged at him first. Duncan sidestepped and slapped him across the cheek.

"Come on. You're going to have to do better than that." Duncan taunted.

Franz drew his blade back again. By this time, Giuseppi had also emerged outside of the gate, although Henri still waited inside. Franz sliced at Duncan's midsection. Duncan anticipated the attack and caught Franz's wrist. With a quick, sharp turn, the sword popped out of Franz's hand. While it was still airborne, Duncan grabbed the blade. With another twist, he dislocated Franz's wrist. The man dropped to the ground, holding his injured wrist.

Giuseppi flew at Duncan with abandon. He swung repeatedly at Duncan from various angles but every blow was blocked with a minimum of effort on Duncan's part. Giuseppi soon grew tired and Duncan was quickly picking apart the Italian's defense. It was all that Giuseppi could do to block Duncan's strikes. With a well-placed swing, Duncan sent Giuseppi's sword rattling down the street. Giuseppi felt fear for a second as Duncan drew back his sword; he soon felt extreme pain as Duncan punched him in the solar plexus instead.

Henri stood in the gateway as Duncan looked up from surveying his two downed opponents.

"Come on and join your friends," Duncan invited.

"I think not," Henri replied. "You are obviously a dangerous man, and your presence here now constitutes a threat to the Order. Though I wish it were otherwise ..." Henri quickly drew a pistol and fired three times rapidly at Duncan's chest. The world soon grew dark for Duncan and he slumped to the ground.

Henri walked over and checked Duncan's condition. Assured that his aim was true, he went to collect his injured comrades. When they regained their senses again, they were disturbed by the fact that Henri had killed the interloper.

"Brother De Penne said we were not to be witnessed." Henri stated dryly. "Now there are no witnesses."

"He berated us for harming this man in our previous encounter." Giuseppi objected.

"I have saved us from his further interference. Our cause is greater than any one of us," Henri then pointed to Duncan's still form, "or one of them."

"Henri is right, and he is in command here," Franz added. "Let us return to the Temple with our prize.

As the three men dashed off into the night, they could hear the groans of the reviving Duncan behind them. They turned to see him struggle to get to his feet. They stopped in their tracks at the sight of this.

"Are you sure you killed him, Henri?" Giuseppi asked.

"Quite certain," was Henri's emotionless reply.

"Then ..., " Franz gasped, "He is one of the Immortal ones. We must inform the Visitor."

The men hurried off as they left a pained and bewildered Duncan MacLeod in front of the entrance to St. Dominic's. Something was definitely going on, and Duncan would not stop until he uncovered the whole story.

The trio rushed to the doorway of the Visitor, director of most of the Templar operations and second only to the Grand Master himself. They knocked upon his door and waited as patiently as they could for entreaty to enter. When the door was opened to them, they entered and bowed to the figure standing at a table covered with reports - Oliver De Penne.

"Greetings, brother knights." De Penne began. "I presume that this morning's operation went well."

"We were successful in obtaining the piece, Visitor. However, we were met with resistance." Henri answered. "We had no other choice - we had to kill him."

De Penne stared at them fiercely "Was it truly necessary."

Giuseppi and Franz looked at each other, then at Franz, and then finally at De Penne, before replying in unison "Yes, Visitor."

"However," Giuseppi added, "we made a great discovery - he was an Immortal, such as you."

"Are you sure?" De Penne inquired.

"When he discovered us, we engaged him. He wielded the sword mightily. My eyes have only seen finer swordsmanship in your hands, my lord." Franz stated.

"There are many expert swordsmen, many of our own Order, but not all of them are Immortal." De Penne countered

"True, Visitor. We were forced to deal with him in a deadly manner. He was dead, and he revived." Henri recounted.

"Are you sure that he was dead," De Penne inquired.

"Visitor, you know of my marksmanship." Henri replied with a hint of disdain.

"Yes, I do brother Henri. Your skill has served the Order well. However, we must be very careful when dealing with possible Immortals."

Henri nodded.

De Penne continued, "What sort of man was this who opposed you?"

"By his accent, I would say that he came from Scotland," Giuseppi replied.

"Ah, Scotland," De Penne's said with a tone of fond nostalgia.

"The Order was once based in Scotland, was it not?" Giuseppi asked.

De Penne replied, "Yes, the Order came to Scotland ..."

Robert the Bruce stood outside of his tent and surveyed his encampment of Scots scattered over the countryside. While he was confident in the abilities of those who had rallied to his side for a free Scotland, he was unsure whether their numbers were great enough to stand against the hated English foe. Still, this was the best opportunity that Scotland had seen in some years.

"If only," Robert mused, "if only, I had more men at my disposal."

Suddenly, one of Robert's lieutenants came rushing towards the leader of the Scots. The officer was out of breath as he reached his liege's side.

"My lord, we have visitors who would ask for an audience with ye," the officer gasped.

"What sort of visitors, my good man?" Robert questioned.

At the edge of the encampment, a large contigent of Templars, under the command of the veteran Francois De Charney, waited patiently. A party of Scottish guards stood ready with their pikes leveled at the knights, although the Templars had many white flags flying amongst their number.

One of the pikeman spoke up as he shook his weapon, "I know who ye are. You are Templars. You fought against us a few years past, for the English, no less. I say we run them through right here." Some of the older Scots grumbled in agreement.

"Those were our misguided English brethren," De Garney replied apologetically. "They had acted not in accordance with our precepts and had allowed themselves to be led by ungodly English leaders. We are here, in part, to pay for that debt to Scotland. Aye, for that debt, and others incurred in the recent past."

Before the pikeman could retort, a hush fell over the Scottish patriots as Robert the Bruce strode into their midst. They parted before him and gave him an unimpeded avenue to the Templar contingent.

The agitated pikeman spoke up again, "My lord, you have given these Templars refuge in our land?"

"If I may be so bold, my lord," De Charney said diplomatically, "We have resided here by the grace of Robert for the past seven years. Ever since we landed on these shores after our fleet was forced to flee from France."

Robert nodded, "It is well-known that I am no friend of the Pontiff. The Interdict still hangs over our land, as does excommunication over me personally," Robert said emotionlessly. "When the Templars appealed to me for aid, I granted their request. Scotland welcomes the enemies of its enemies."

"We thank you for your years of generosity, King Robert. Now, if we could speak to you privately?" De Charney requested.

Robert dismissed the pikemen promptly. He was very eager to hear what the Templars had to say to him and to him alone. He led De Charney and some of the Templar officers back to his tent after instructing some of his officers to prepare accommodations for the Templar knights.

Once they had all entered the tent, the Templars fell to one knee with their swords in front of them. De Garney spoke solemnly, "In gratitude to you and Scotland, we, the Knights Templar, pledge ourselves to this land. We shall strive to keep it free. We pledge this to you and to your descendants."

Robert was somewhat taken aback by this display of gratitude. Robert was even more surprised by De Garney's following words.

"As a symbol of our pledge, we shall invest you and your rightful descendants with the position of Grand Prior of Scotland. As such, you will be second only to the Grand Master in any issues that face the Order in Scotland." De Charney handed Robert a scroll bearing the Templar seal that spelled out De Charney's words in writing.

When Robert had collected himself, he replied "The Templars do me great honour by granting me this position."

De Charney rose and the rest of the Templars did after him, "We only ask that you keep the knowledge of our continued existence a secret."

"While I would prefer that the English know that Scotland has the Knights Templar on its side, I will adhere to your request. It is a small price to pay," Robert replied gracefully. "After the death of the bravehearted Sir William Wallace, I was afraid that Scotland would never be free."

"We meet the English on the morrow in pitched battle. With God's grace, we will ensure that Scotland stays free!" De Charney proclaimed and the other Templars echoed loudly in agreement.

"Did you get the name of this Immortal?" De Penne asked.

"No, we did not," the trio replied somberly.

Giuseppi looked up and inquired, "If we may be so bold, what prompted the Order to finally depart from Scotland?"

"You will have to ask the Grand Master that. It was his decision." was De Penne's reply.

The Templars nodded. They knew better than to press De Penne for answers. If he was unwilling to respond, no amount of pleading would change his mind. However, they would not have an opportunity to inquire of the Grand Master because De Penne had other plans for them.

"Secure the piece that you have acquired down in the vault. Then collect yourselves and your equipment," De Penne commanded, "We go tonight to the Cathedral. Another piece is hidden there."

Oliver De Penne and a familiar trio of Templars arrived at the Cathedral in the middle of the moonlit night. They all stood in awe of the magnificent beauty of the edifice.

"How well I remember this place. It seems almost fitting that we hid a part of the treasure here ..." De Penne mused.

Four figures in Templar robes and chains stood upon a platform that had been erected in front of the Cathedral. They were Jacques De Molay; Geoffroi De Charney, Preceptor of Normandy; Geoffrey De Gonneville, Preceptor of Poitou; and Oliver De Penne.

From a lavishly decorated window of a nearby building, Philip IV and Nogaret watched in eager anticipation. The public confessions of the upper echelons of the Templar organization would drive the nail into the Order's coffin.

An arrogant royal official rose from his seat upon the platform and read from a lavishly inscribed scroll: "The Knights Templar are hereby charged with the following offenses of heresy:

One - The denial of saints, the Virgin Mary, and Jesus Christ as Saviour

Two - Idolatry, especially the adoration of a head they call Caput LVIII

Three - The renouncement of holy sacraments and omission of words of consecration in mass

Four - The belief that their Grand Master and other high officials can hear confession and offer absolution

Five - The practices of obscene kisses

Six - The use of unlawful methods in the obtaining of funds and the subsequent misuse of such donated funds by hoarding them instead of putting them to good use

And,

Seven - The practice of keeping secret, heavily guarded meetings." {2}

The official rolled the scroll back up. "These are only a summation of the charges leveled against the Order. A detailed description of all offenses has been produced and is available for all to see."

With an air of self-importance, the official walked across the platform and continued, "Many of the Knights Templar have confessed their sins and have been absolved of them. The four who stand before us represent the hierarchy of the Order. They have all confessed their sins to the Inquisition and to the University. Now they wish to express their confession to the people. Speak, heretics. Confess your sins for all to hear."

The crowd took up the cheer, "Confess! Confess! Confess!"

De Molay raised his head slowly. He looked at the crowd gathered about the cathedral square. The crowd quieted itself in anticipation of hearing the Grand Master's confession. He took a deep breath, though it pained him to do so. Then he proclaimed,

"I think it only right that at so solemn a moment, when my life has so little time to run, I should reveal the deception which has been practiced and speak up for the truth. Before heaven and earth and all of you as my witnesses, I admit I am guilty of the grossest iniquity. But the iniquity is that I lied in admitting the disgusting charges against the Order. I declare that the Order is innocent. Its purity and saintliness are beyond question. I have indeed confessed that the Order is guilty, but I have done so only to save myself from terrible tortures by saying what my enemies wished me to say. Other knights who have retracted their confessions have been led to the stake, yet the thought of dying is not so awful that I shall confess foul crimes which have never been committed. Life is offered to me, but at the price of infamy. At such a price, life is not worth having. I do not grieve that I must die if life can be bought only by piling one lie upon another." {3}

Almost immediately, De Charney began his own retraction. However, the roar of anger from the crowd drowned out his words. The King's officers looked up to the King for advice. With a motion, he instructed them to remove the Templars. The officers took the four from the platform and, in short order, dispersed the crowd.

Later that afternoon, De Molay and De Charney were taken to the Ile de la Cite', a small island in the Seine and not far from the Cathedral. Two stakes were prepared there for a burning.

The men were stripped of their Templar robes and chained naked to the stakes. The attendants surrounded the stakes with seasoned wood and charcoal. It was a devilish combination designed to produce a slow, hot fire intended to roast the victims rather than burn them.

Many Parisians observed the scene from little boats on the Seine. They watched with an almost ghoulish curiosity, wondering what these 'heretics' would say as they met the end of their days. They were somewhat surprised to hear the continued protestations of innocence from the two Templars. After about thirty minutes of the ordeal, De Charney expired quietly. De Molay continued to voice his innocence even as his body contorted in an excruciatingly painful manner. He raised his head and exclaimed in a voice louder than anything he had said previously, "I call upon the King and Pope to join me at God's seat within the year. There the Lord will judge who is the true servant of the Church."

With this, a smile seemed to pass over De Molay's face. The flames continued to crackled about him and the now lifeless body of De Charney. De Molay slumped as much as the chains that bound him would allow. With his dying breath, De Molay uttered in a guttural voice, "I curse the King's bloodline to the thirteenth generation." With that, life departed from De Molay's body.

De Penne and De Gonneville were burned soon after, back upon the banks on the river. Their remains were left there while those of De Charney and De Molay were left on that little island in the midst of the Seine.

A pair of mysterious figures approached the bookstore in the dead of night. Both were in trenchcoats and one wore a backpack. They glanced around to see if anyone was in the vicinity. Having assured themselves that they were unobserved, they quickly went to work on the door. In a matter of moments, the locked door was locked no more. Once inside, they halted to get an overview of the layout of the store.

"Our agents within the Watchers reported that this was the place in which the database was stored," one said to the other in German.

"Yes, Klaus. We must discover if there was a backup to the disk that Kalas appropriated," the other replied in the same tongue.

"Kalas," Klaus said, "It was fortunate that he was dealt with. He would have been a formidable foe for even the Order to take down."

"We would have handled him, just as we have all other Immortals. It is our duty to secure final victory for the Emperor."

"Enough talk, Juergen. We have a mission to perform," Klaus said impatiently.

With that, the two Germans began to rifle through the bookcases. They shook and flipped through books without any concern for their monetary value. After an hour of searching, Klaus spied the object of their desire.

"Juergen," he cried, "this might be it."

Juergen removed a portable computer from his backpack. He started up the machine and inserted the disc that Klaus had handed to him. Upon accessing the disc, the Watcher logo appeared on the screen. The men smiled at each other and packed their things up. They headed out the door and disappeared into the night.

Just as the men left the store, Joe Dawson came walking down the street. It had been a long and fun night in the nightclubs. He wanted to get some Watcher reports that he had at the bookstore so he could review them tomorrow (or whenever the hangover disappeared), Joe saw two figures in trenchcoats leaving the store in a rather rapid fashion, much too hurriedly for them to have been other Watchers.

When Joe got to the door, he could tell that it had been picked. Upon entering the store, he saw the mess that the intruders had left. He went to the cash register, but it was untouched. Joe had a bad feeling about this. He decided to make a call.

Joe dialed the number quickly. "MacLeod, it's Dawson."

Inside the barge, A sleepy Duncan MacLeod fumbled with the phone for a few seconds before he managed to get the receiver to his ear. "Dawson? You'd better have a good reason for waking me up in the middle of the night."

"We had a break-in, Mac, at the bookstore."

"What was stolen?"

"Nothing, as far as I can tell. But I'm afraid that it might have something to do with the Watcher database."

"I thought you said that was the only copy."

"I just figured that was the only copy. Maybe Donald had another copy. If he did, and somebody found it ..."

Duncan started to get out of bed. "Look, I'll be over there as quick as I can."

De Penne and the Templars under his command stood, seemingly innocently, near the world famous Cathedral. They scoped out the area, looking for anybody in the vicinity. De Penne, with a simple nod, told the Templars that they were clear to proceed.

"I will be of no use inside of the church if trouble arises. I shall await you and the piece outside," De Penne stated calmly.

"As you command, Visitor," Henri replied as he led Giuseppi and Franz into the Cathedral.

Meanwhile Duncan MacLeod dashed through the streets of Paris on his way to the bookstore. He muttered under his breath something to the effect that he might have been better off never knowing about the Watchers. His thoughts on that subject were interrupted by the sensation of another Immortal in the near vicinity. He stopped and looked around while clutching at his katana. He saw no one, no one save a solitary figure standing near the Cathedral.

De Penne was similarly interrupted from his surveillance. He whirled and his eyes fixed upon the figure turning from a distant street corner. His hand went to the sword hidden within the folds of his coat.

"De Penne? Oliver De Penne? Is that you?" Duncan asked once he had gotten close enough to see the other Immortal in question.

"Yes, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. It is I, Oliver De Penne." De Penne offered both his hands out in the open now.

"What are you doing here? It has something to do with the Knights Templar, right?"

"It is you who say it." De Penne answered evasively.

Duncan now noticed the sounds of activity within the Cathedral. "I'm betting that it's the boys I rumbled with before in there. One of them had a Templar cross - one exactly like the one you gave to me in Culloden!"

De Penne nodded somberly, "Yes, we are the Knights Templar, and what we take was ours in the first place. We had hidden it here when Philip brought his seneschals down upon us. He searched for our treasure, hoping to amass its reputed wealth. However, our treasure was not in livres or florins or marks. Our treasure was of a much more valuable nature."

Duncan shook his head, "I can't let you take anything from the cathedral."

"And I cannot allow you to hinder our mission. While there is breath in my body, I will seek its completion, no matter what ... or who ... stands in the way."

"You leave me no choice, De Penne." With that both Immortals, brought their swords to bear. Duncan bowed politely to his opponent while De Penne dropped to one knee and crossed himself. They stepped away from each other and assumed their preferred fighting positions. Blades were poised ready as they circled each other.

"What is this about, De Penne?" Duncan inquired, "Are you Templars collecting holy items to fight off the demons your order was purported to deal with?"

"Demons? No." De Penne replied, "Although I once thought that all the other Immortals were demons. I know now that Hamza was speaking the truth ..."

A Spanish priest and his guard hurried through the darkened streets of Chinon. Not a word passed between them as they went along their way. The priest's thoughts were centered upon his duties of the next day, while those of the guard were concerned with the safety of his charge. As they passed by a certain building - a building that happened to hold Oliver De Penne as a prisoner - the guard stopped suddenly as if he had detected some threat. The priest stopped as well, once he noticed the action of his protector. The guard looked around some and then nodded to the priest, apparently indicating that it was safe to proceed.

Once the pair had reached the abode at which they were staying, the guard remained outside as the priest opened the door.

"Guard, do not dawdle," the priest scolded, "The night holds many evils, especially in this city."

"Begging your pardon, Father, but I wish to see one of these Templars," the guard asked with a tone of feigned respect. The guard was clearly older than the priest, although the priest could have scarcely believed how much older.

"For what reason, guard?" the priest demanded.

"I wish to hear for myself the lies that they spout," the guard replied.

The priest took up an authoritarian air. "Very well. I shall retire to my quarters. But tarry not long, Ramirez. Their evil can infect even the most pious."

"I shall take care and shall rejoin you shortly, Father Javier," Ramirez said with even more forced respect.

The priest turned back and scowled, "See that you do!" and then slammed the door.

Ramirez considered uttering a few choice words, but he thought better of it. He made his way quickly back to the dungeon that they had passed minutes before. The sensation in his head assured him that he had found the right place.

As he reached the door to the dungeon, the seneschals on guard barred his way with their sharp halberds. He dug into the folds of his cloak and presented an ornately inscribed document.

"What is this?" the seneschal asked.

"It is a certificate authorizing me entry to any place in which Templars are being held prisoner," Ramirez stated authoritatively, "Now, allow me inside or I might have to mention the heretical statements that I overheard to my superiors."

"Heretical? Why you ..." one of the guards interjected and stepped towards Ramirez.

His comrade held him back. "Do you not recognize his red garb? You do not want to antagonize one of them."

The offended guard stepped back, "My apologies, good sir. It was just that my strong faith took exception to your implications."

Ramirez brushed him off as he passed by them into the building.

Meanwhile, inside the dungeon, De Penne writhed helplessly in the iron bonds that held him flat against and the cold stone wall. It was not the pain of the bonds, or the pain of the tortures inflicted that troubled him. It was the old, distinct feeling of a demonic entity nearby that racked his senses. He looked up to see the red garb of the source of the feeling coming down the stairs.

"I was not expecting the Spanish Inquisition," De Penne grimaced.

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, as some of my comrades would say," Ramirez replied.

De Penne was defiant, though helpless, "I detect your evil, demon. How can you masquerade in the outfit of the Inquisition?"

"I am but a guard of an Inquisitor, though I am an Immortal just like you," Ramirez replied softly

"Immortal? I have heard others of your foul ilk claim the same," De Penne retorted loudly.

"Quiet, man. Do you not know the Rules?"

"I have the Rule of the Order. I need no others."

"I have heard others say that they are like me, that they are Immortal. The first was a Saracen, but I killed him. I did not behead him like the other demons. They tend not to remain dead unless I do that. Then they attempt to possess me, but none have succeeded."

Ramirez shook his head, "That is not a demon trying to possess you. It's the magic of the Quickening."

"I will not hear your lies, Spanish dog. Though, as I see you in the moonlight now, you do not look Spanish. A Moor, perhaps."

"You have a keen eye, brother. No, I am not Spanish. I was born in Egypt nearly two millennia ago."

De Penne turned his head. "I believe you not, demon."

Ramirez grabbed De Penne's chin and turned the Templar's head so that their eyes met. "Then believe what your own eyes tell you," Ramirez countered. "Do you see that the tortures that are inflicted upon you heal at a most rapid rate?"

"Yes, I have noticed that. But it is because I am blessed by God. He brought me back from the dead, he has charged me with the most holy mission of destroying demons."

Ramirez sighed, "This will take some effort."

After a few hours of conversation, Ramirez was finally able to convince De Penne of the veracity of his words. Acceptance came grudgingly on De Penne's part, but in the end, he accepted the seemingly preposterous story.

"I must go now, but before that I must tell you that there is rumour that you Templars might be burned at the stake," Ramirez said with sadness in his voice.

"That cannot be. We are to give our confessions in public and then are to be freed. If the Grand Master bids me to confess to these baseless charges, I will, for the good of the Order."

"I only inform you of what I know," Ramirez replied, "However, keep in mind, that if you are burned at the stake, you must take care not to make your resurrection a public spectacle. With the state of Europe now, seeing witches and warlocks, demons and devils everywhere. There are even claims that a Pope kept a demonic familiar. If our existence were to become common knowledge, the mortal folk would hunt us down without mercy."

Returning from his momentary musing, De Penne asked MacLeod, "Know you of the Arab Immortal named Hamza?"

Duncan nodded somberly, "He was my friend. He was killed, but he was avenged." Xavier St. Cloud had paid for that death, and all of the other cowardly acts he had perpetrated.

"I am sorry to hear of his death. I would have liked to apologize to him. He spoke naught but the truth and I put my sword through his heart." The two Immortals continued circling each other warily, as if neither truly wanted to fight this battle.

"I cannot allow you to hinder us, Highlander," De Penne reiterated.

"And I cannot allow you to do whatever it is you and these other Templars are attempting."

Henri and the others burst out of the Cathedral carrying some item wrapped in embroidered cloth.

"Visitor, we have the ...." Giuseppi began until he saw Duncan there too.

Both Duncan and De Penne stopped their circling. Each was unsure of what to do next. The momentarily silence was broken the sound of rapidly approaching sirens.

"Joe," Duncan thought, "He called the police."

"Visitor!" Franz cried, "The authorities approach! What should we do?"

Before De Penne could issue any orders, Henri leveled his revolver at Duncan and pumped three shots into the Highlander's chest.

"Not again," Duncan gasped as he crumpled to the ground, clutching his chest.

"No!" De Penne shouted. "We were engaged in honorable combat. Why did you interfere?"

"The matters of the Order take precedence over matters of honour. The Grand Master has so decreed. The continuation of your battle was jeopardizing the success of this operation. The gendarmes might capture us if we would be delayed by him, and we cannot afford to have them investigating and discovering our presence. The Scotsman will soon rise again, but we shall be away. Unless you desire his power, Visitor ..."

"No," De Penne said plainly, "I do not want his power, but he is now aware of us. We shall take him with us, and the Grand Master shall decide as to his fate."

Franz spoke up as the Templars escaped into the night, "This Immortal truly comes from the land of exile? Should he not be brought into the fold to share our cause?"

"He is wary of us, and he has been so since we first met," De Penne answered, "Still, he is a noble warrior. As noble as any I have ever met, Immortal or otherwise ..."

Shortly before midnight, the signs of movement could be noticed at the stake at which Oliver De Penne had been burnt. The activity was not that of the scavengers of night but that of the man who had been executed. It had been an extremely painful return from the dead. His every fiber still felt the pain of the flame. He looked over to see the remains of his comrade, De Gonneville. De Penne crossed himself and commended the soul of his brother knight to the aftterlife. Besides De Penne himself, there were no signs of life along the banks of the Seine. De Penne collected himself and was about to set off when a familiar feeling struck him to the core. There was a demon nearby. No, not a demon, as Ramirez had convinced him , but rather another Immortal was in the vicinity. He looked around furtively for something that he could use to brandish as a weapon. His alarm was unwarranted as he recognized the figure that stepped out of the shadows and into the dim moonlight.

"Peace, brother. It is only I, Ramirez," the red-garbed Spaniard called out.

"Ramirez, it is good to see you again," De Penne sighed.

"It is good to see you as well, although I had not figured on seeing so much of you," Ramirez laughed.

De Penne made a confused face as he tried to understand Ramirez's meaning. Then he looked down and noticed that while he had returned from the flame, his clothing had not. He grinned sheepishly as Ramirez handed him his red cloak.

"Take it, brother. I can easily get another."

De Penne accepted the gift graciously, "Once again, you have my thanks."

Ramirez frowned, "Along with gifts, I bear bad tidings. Your Grand Master, Jacques De Molay was also burnt at the stake."

"Mother of God," De Penne exclaimed.

Ramirez continued, "I am told that they have left his remains on Ile de la Cite'. They will leave him there for a few days until the Hospitallers can finish deconsecrating your Temple. Then, whatever is left of him is to be interred there."

"Have they no decency?" De Penne cried out. "Burying the Grand Master on unhallowed ground. I cannot allow that to happen."

"You must leave this land, brother. Too many have seen you perish in the flames." Ramirez said solemnly.

"Yes, yes," De Penne nodded, "but first, I must recover the reliquary in the Temple."

"If you must, De Penne, but then you must depart."

"Ramirez, I felt something in the Grand Master. Something akin to what I have felt in demons, I mean, other Immortals."

"Ah, it could be that your Grand Master is one of us. Perchance he was an Immortal-to-be."

"Then the Grand Master might yet live?" De Penne asked hopefully.

"If he is one of us, the death by flames would only be a temporary death. He would revive." Ramirez said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Hope. For the first time in years, De Penne had hope.

De Penne wrapped the cloak tightly around himself. "I must join my brethren in Scotland. I must bring them the Grand Master, if he yet lives.. "

"Scotland." Ramirez scratched his chin. "I have never visited that fair land. I shall make a point of doing so, someday."

"If you do, you shall be an honoured guest of the Temple for the aid you have given. God be with you," De Penne exclaimed as he ran up the riverbank towards the Temple.

De Penne came upon the Temple The late winter cold bit into his still tender flesh. Burning was a much more painful way to die than under the Saracen scimitar. He noticed the single guard, a soldier of the King, near the entrance he desired.

Cautiously, he approached the entrance. When the guard turned his back to De Penne, the Templar made his move. With lightning speed, he was upon the guard. After repeated blows to the head, the guard lay insensate upon the ground. De Penne made his way unerringly toward the wall. He dragged the guard behind him and relieved him of his clothes. He fashioned some bonds out of some strips of the tunic and bound and gagged his prisoner.

He held the guard's mace in his hand as he waited. He would have to break through the wall to get to the secret compartment behind the wall. However, to do it now would attract the attention of the other guards that he knew must be on duty. So he waited until the bells of Notre Dame began to sound. De Penne timed the blows of the mace with the pealing of the bell. Upon the final toll of midnight, De Penne had broken through. He carefully moved the remnants of the bricks out of the way. He was now able to get at the container and he slowly pulled it out. He opened the reliquary briefly to assure himself that the blessed object was indeed within. Once he was satisfied that the reliquary's contents were genuine, he lifted it and hurried out of the Temple.

De Penne thought about retrieving the rest of the treasures that the Order had hidden throughout the city, but he decided against it. There was a much more vital rescue to make. Taking a firm grasp of the reliquary, De Penne headed out for Ile de la Cite'.

De Penne landed a small rowboat that he had appropriated upon the riverbank. Securing the craft, he walked slowly to the stakes at which De Molay and De Charney had been burnt. De Charney was all but a pile of ashes, but De Penne's skeletal form could be made out of the now-cold pyre. De Penne stared at the remains of the Grand Master. As he stared, he could see the way in which De Molay's body was returning to its former state. The progress was virtually imperceptible since it was at such a slow rate. De Penne smiled as he assured himself that what he saw was reality and not just his hopeful imagination. He would have preferred to wait until De Molay was whole once again, but he felt that it would be safer to be away from this cursed island.

De Penne carefully put the rebuilding remains of De Molay in a large sack that he had brought along. While it might be somewhat irreverent to carry the Grand Master that way, De Penne figured that it would bring little suspicion upon him in this way.

De Penne boarded the boat and confided in the still dead ears of the Grand Master, "I have heard whispers of your final curse as I stole through the streets. Be assured that measures will be taken to ensure that they come to pass. Rest now, Grand Master. You shall not remain here. We shall away to our new home in Scotland."

Franz and Giuseppi dragged the unconscious form of Duncan MacLeod into the deep, dark recesses of the Temple. At De Penne's command, they propped him up in a chair and bound his hands and feet. De Penne checked the bonds carefully. Assured that they were firm, he dismissed the duo and pulled up another chair.

Seating himself, he sighed, "Ah, my old friend. What are we to do with you? It is a decision that goes beyond my jurisdiction. The Grand Master himself must decide." With that, De Penne stood up again and left the room.

Duncan's head registered pain as he revived. It soon registered another feeling - that of another Immortal. He squinted and shook his head as he looked around the darkened room. He could not see anyone but he was certain the other Immortal had to be nearby.

Suddenly a torch was lighted. Duncan could see that a cloaked figure was seated in a chair on a raised portion of the floor across from where he was. He struggled vainly against the bonds that held him fast. They were tied well. Even his skillful techniques at escape might never get him free.

"Who are you?" Duncan demanded. "Are you just going to cut off my head while I'm bound here?" He redoubled his efforts but there was not even the slightest hints of the bonds loosening. He saw his sword against the wall to his left, but the heavy wooden chair would not budge.

"Who are you?" Duncan demanded again.

The cloaked figure rose from the ornate chair. He pulled back his cowl to reveal an old and wrinkled man. He showed the scars of torture that must have been committed upon him before he came into his Immortality.

He smiled wryly and said, "Greetings Highlander, I am Jacques De Molay, Grand Master of the Knights Templar."

Duncan was astonished that another Immortal would claim to be Jacques De Molay. Still, it made sense in a warped way as Duncan's eyes adjusted to the light and he could make out where he was - the Paris Temple.

"Jacques De Molay was burned at the stake in 1314." Duncan stated defiantly.

"True," the Immortal responded, "I was burned at the stake. It was then that I discovered that I was Immortal."

Duncan shook his head. "I know of others who claimed to be Jacques De Molay."

"Ah, you must be referring to Alfred Cahill," the Immortal said sadly. "We had hoped to receive him into the Order, but he was too unstable. From our recruitment efforts, he did learn something about us. That is why he took up residence above, in the Temple."

Duncan began to be convinced - maybe this truly was Jacques De Molay. His demeanor and bearing seemed fitting for the leader of a religious military order.

"All right then, De Molay," Duncan frowned, "What are you going to do with me - take my head?"

"No, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, I will not decapitate you here. Even if I could, I would not desecrate our Temple with the death of a helpless victim, especially not one who could be of use to our holy cause."

"Even if he could," Duncan thought. What did De Molay mean by that? Was it some religious scruple or was it something else. Then the realization struck Duncan.

"It's now Holy Ground! It wasn't when we fought. I don't understand."

"This Temple was Holy Ground when we occupied it, but after we were arrested, it was defiled ..."

De Nogaret led his servants, dragging De Molay behind them, into the Temple. At his command, De Molay was unceremoniously dropped to the ground.

"It is an auspicious occasion today, De Molay. It is only fitting that you should be in attendance."

They took De Molay towards the main meeting room. Inside were already present two different entourages. One was composed of ornately dressed nobility. They surrounded the most lavishly dressed person in the Temple - his Highness, Philip the Fourth, King of France. The other entourage was dressed in more simple accouterments. They also were armored and armed since they were the Knights Hospitaller. They surrounded a man whose outfit was similar but who radiated an aura of power and respect. He was Fulk De Villaret, Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller.

The two entourages gave way, as their respective leaders met in the center of the room. De Villaret bowed respectively to Philip and addressed the potentate.

"The papal bull has been issued this day. All Templar holdings are to come into the possession of the Knights Hospitaller. You have the thanks of the Order, your majesty. As agreed upon previously, the Order grants you 30,000 livres for your work on our behalf and that of the universal Church."

Philip's face brightened with a conniving smile. "My thanks to you, noble knights. It was my duty as liege and defender of the faith to root out these heretical Templars." Philip's thoughts were on what sort of army he could raise with this money. Enough to start a new Crusade, perhaps? To follow in the footsteps of his sainted grandfather, Louis XI? "This Temple, along with all other Templar holdings, are yours now. Will you establish a Preceptory here?"

The Hospitaller shook his head, "We do not desire this Temple. It is too closely linked to the heresy of the Templars."

"It matters not to me what you do with it." Philip said as he barely paid attention to the Hospitaller's words. His thoughts were on other matters.

"We shall deconsecrate it. Its ground will no longer be holy. It will stand as a symbol of shame to the Templars around the world. Perhaps," De Villaret turned to De Molay, "we shall bury you there once you are dead, De Molay."

"Once again, noble knights, it is your prerogative to do what you wish with the Temple," Philip said with an almost condescending tone. "We have others matters to attend to and will take our leave."

At this, the royal entourage, except for De Nogaret, assembled behind Philip. The Hospitallers acknowledged their respect of the king as the regal parade marched out of the Temple.

De Villaret turned to De Nogaret. "If it please you, Chancellor, I would have words with De Molay alone, Grand Master to Grand Master."

De Nogaret knew he had nothing to fear from the Hospitallers. The French government's actions against the Templars would assure that the Military Orders would do nothing to antagonize Philip. Furthermore, the granting of the Templar land to the Hospitallers would also work to insure their loyalty. De Nogaret saw no reason to deny this request so he motioned to his servants to exit the Temple.

"You may say what you will to this heretic, Grand Master," De Nogaret calmly stated. "Perhaps you can convince him once and for all the error of his ways." De Nogaret made a markedly insincere bow to Fulk and stepped outside.

With but a look from De Villaret, the Hospitaller knights assembled and marched out of the Temple. Now they were alone, the two Grand Masters, the leaders of the fight for the Holy Land.

De Villaret put his hands behind his back and strolled through the vestibule. De Molay's chains precluded him from moving much, not that his tortured limbs would have allowed him much mobility had he been free.

"You realize," De Villaret intoned, "that you should have consented to Philip's proposal to combine the Orders under his command. I know that I was also against it, but then we Hospitallers had never done anything to antagonize His Majesty, such as reject him for membership. He might have had your gold under his plan, but you and your Order would still have your freedom. Now, look at you. You are broken, your Order is broken. "

De Molay stared at De Villaret and said in an angry voice, at least as angry as he could muster, "Have you come to gloat, then, Grand Master De Villaret? I know that the Hospitallers have always been envious of the Templar Order. Our victories against the infidel have been greater and more numerous in occurrence than yours."

De Villaret snapped back, "We were never meant to be a Military Order. It was because of your Order's initial ignorance of its own charter that we became one. We were meant to minister to the sick while the Templars were supposed to guard the pilgrims. However, your Order spent so much time in search of relics and other objects of power that we were forced to adopt a military posture."

De Molay could offer no argument for he knew that these charges, unlike those of Philip and Nogaret, were true. Exactly how successful the Templars had been in the quest for holy objects he would not relate to De Villaret.

De Villaret grabbed De Molay by the collar and stared into his eyes. "We know about De Penne - the type of demon that he is. We know about others like him. Rest assured, that if by some devilish intervention, Philip does not destroy the Order and De Penne along with it, we Knights Hospitaller will. We will remove De Penne and all of his brethren from the face of God's creation. And we will bring down the Temple for harboring such a monster."

"Yes, it is now Holy Ground once again," De Molay said solemnly. "We had our own priests sanctify the Temple once again. We could not occupy it otherwise."

The explanation made sense to Duncan. He had never been in any place that had been de- and then re-sanctified, but apparently that could be done.

"If I remember my history right, the pope disbanded your order, but legend says that some of the Templars of France escaped," Duncan said.

De Molay continued to rant. "In the end, I became convinced that there was no dishonour in disobeying the proclamations of the

papacy. We are the true servants of the true Church."

It seemed that the centuries had not dulled this Templar's zeal, although Duncan was dubious about what De Molay's agenda was. A look of worry passed over Duncan's face.

De Molay seemed to notice the expression of his captive. "Be at peace. We will not kill you, MacLeod. We have seen all the good you have done over the centuries. You are not our enemy, nor are we yours. But seek not to oppose us in our holy mission."

"The other Templars spoke of the Highlands as the land of exile. But you don't seem to be in exile there any more? I remember meeting De Penne and a contingent of knights back at Culloden. They were all Templars, weren't they? Why have you returned?" Duncan asked as he continued to struggle against his bonds.

"It was soon after our knights aided your Bonnie Prince Charlie's lost cause ..."

A trio of Templars approached the Grand Master's planning table. De Molay was there with his top aides. A large map of the British Isles was laid out upon the table. Various markers noted the locations of Templar strongholds, British encampments, and Scottish forces. De Molay looked up from the table to greet the newcomers.

"What news have you?"

One of the delegation sighed heavily and began, "The forces of Prince Charles are beaten and scattered. The English will hold sway now."

De Molay smashed his right hand against the table. Many of the markers were scattered and some tumbled onto to the floor. De Molay grimaced as he rubbed his right hand with his left.

"Has there been any word from Germany?" De Molay further inquired.

The second member of the delegation replied, "Our brethren there have reported that De Villiers and the monies never arrived in Germany. Their searches have continued to yield no fruit. It has been many years, over four hundred, Grand Master. We must consider them lost."

De Molay nodded grimly, "I had thought that the path would be safe for him and his cargo. Alas."

De Molay hoped for some good news on this day. "What news from our secret envoys to the Vatican?"

The third man delivered the unwelcome words. "They were received but our request was rejected. We are not to re-established as an official Order."

"What are we to do now?" one of De Molay's aides asked, somewhat rhetorically.

A silence fell over the room. De Molay began to pace angrily throughout the room. None of the others were willing to say anything. De Molay stopped as he returned to the table and brought his fist crashing down upon it.

"I will tell you what we will do! We have fought the good fight for the true Church. However, the institution masquerading as the Church has betrayed us. We are no longer bound by its edicts, bulls, or other proclamations. We will act as we see fit - here in Scotland and elsewhere!"

"But you speak heresy, Grand Master," an aide protested.

"We have been branded as heretics for the last four hundred years. If it is heresy to oppose a heretical church, then so be it. My conscience is clear. We will resume our former position of power as defenders of the true Church and protectors of the Holy Land. It may take another four hundred years, but, by the grace of God, we will succeed!"

De Molay continued to explain. "We had to change the Rules of our Order. While we continued to garner new recruits, the secrecy of our existence demanded that we must abandon our celibate ways of life. Templars were allowed to take wives and produce children. We anointed our own priests to guard our souls along this long path that we travel."

"This road you travel? You have your knights steal and kill and God only knows what else? How can you defend that. How can you defend the Order, De Molay?" Duncan demanded.

De Molay's memory drifted to the beginning of the trial ...

The commission of bishops sat assembled before De Molay and the other Templars in the lavish confines of the Episcopal Hall.

"I repeat," one of the bishops on the commission stated loudly, "Do you wish to defend the Order, De Molay?"

De Molay rose. "I am a knight, unlettered and poor. I have heard read to me a certain apostolic letter that said that the Lord Pope had reserved me and certain other leaders of the Order to himself. For this reason, I do not wish to do anything concerning the aforesaid."

The council was becoming tired of De Molay non-responsive statements. "Do you wish to make a defense or not?"

"No, my lords, I do not. I would humbly ask the commissioners to intercede with the pope so that I may be brought before him as quickly as possible. I will then say to the pope those things which were to the honour of Christ and the Church. I can see no reason why the commissioners should not proceed thusly. Beyond this, to relieve my conscience, I wish to say three things. Firstly, only in cathedral churches do I know of better or more beautiful ornaments and relics or of a better celebration of the divine services by the priests or clergy. Secondly, I do not know of any other Order that has distributed more charitable gifts. Every house of the Order gave charity three times a week, by general ordinance. Thirdly, I know of no other order which has shed its blood so readily in the defense of the Christian faith and which was more highly considered by the enemies of the faith. It was because of this that the Count of Artois wanted the Templars to be the advance guard of his battle-line. And if the count had followed the advice of the Grand Master, neither he nor the Grand Master would have been killed in the ensuing battle."{4}

"That is all well and good, De Molay." The Bishop of Paris was clearly unimpressed. "All of this is of no value for the safety of souls."

Slinking around in the lower balcony of the Episcopal Hall, De Nogaret stepped out of the shadows and requested permission to address the commission. The protestations of the Templars that a representative of the secular had no place in this purely ecclesiastical hearing were met with deaf ears. The commission invited De Nogaret down to the main level in order to supply his statement.

Upon reaching the main level, De Nogaret bowed with a flourish to the episcopal commission. He turned briefly to the table at which De Molay and the other Templars sat and flashed them a devilish smile. Turning once again to face the commission, De Nogaret spun his tale.

"I have read from the chronicles of the Abbey of Saint-Denis that during the time of Saladin, the Grand Master and other leading Templars had paid homage to the Sultan. I also read that Saladin, upon hearing of a great defeat that the Templars had suffered, said that this calamity had befallen them because they were afflicted with vices and because they had violated their faith and law."{5}

De Molay was astonished. This tale was completely unknown to him. However, he would not denounce the king's representative in front of all assembled. Rather, he would supply a tale of his own.

"During the Mastership of Guillaume De Beaujeau, I and many other brothers - young men, eager for war, as is usual for young knights who wish to see the feats of arms - murmured against the Master. De Beaujeau was careful to maintain the Sultan's favor because of a truce that the King of England had made. However, the others and I realized that the Master had no alternative, because the Order had held many towns and fortresses in Saracen territory, and thence would have been lost."{6}

De Molay's compatriots looked at him with unease. The story had certainly not countered that of De Nogaret. None of them could determine what De Molay was trying to demonstrate.

"If it please the commission, I would like to hear mass celebrated by my chaplains." De Molay requested.

The other Templars shook their heads. If De Molay had a master plan, it was beyond their comprehension.

De Molay ranted, "We helped bring down the French monarchy. Our agents ignited the populace to revolt against Louis XVI. We fulfilled the curse that I laid upon the line of Philip the Fair. Louis XVI was of the thirteenth generation - the Capetians, then the Valois, and finally the Bourbon line."

"So that's what that lunatic meant at the Place De La Revolution. He must have been a Templar," Duncan thought, understanding now the significance of the events of 1793.

"What are you going to do with me? As you said, this is Holy Ground. You cannot kill me here," Duncan said.

"No, I cannot, and I will not have my knights do it either, though they would be capable. No, you shall remain here until De Penne completes his mission. Then you will be powerless to stop the wave of events that will sweep the region of Palestine clean of non-believers and re-establish the Templars there."

"De Penne, by himself, will regain the Holy Land for you? How?" Duncan could not believe De Molay's words.

De Molay's face lit up with a devious gleam. "He will destroy the Dome on the Rock."

Duncan was taken momentarily aback. "The Dome on The Rock?" he thought. "What will they gain by doing that?"

Duncan needed to find out what the goal of this seemingly mad scheme was. "Wasn't the Dome formerly the headquarters of your Order?"

"Yes, the mosque of Al Aqba was used as the headquarters of the Knights Templar while the Holy Land was in European control." De Molay replied succinctly.

"And now it's one of the holiest places in Islam." Duncan pointed out.

De Molay nodded, "Yes, and for its destruction, the Saracens will blame the Jews. The presence of the Dome keeps the Jews from rebuilding the temple."

Duncan began to understand the insidious plot. "But that will ..."

De Molay continued the thought. "Yes, it will ignite a war between the Jews and the Muslims. In the ensuing chaos, we will move in. We will capture the holy sites and hold them forever more. The loss of our ancient home is a small sacrifice to pay."

"The nations of the world won't allow it," Duncan protested. He could feel that the bonds were loosening. Another few moments and he would be free.

De Molay laughed with derision. "Look and see what the 'United Nations' have done regarding these local wars up to this date."

Duncan could not argue with him on this point. The land had seen nearly constant fighting since the establishment of the Jewish state.

"No one will dare to harm the holy sites. We will be safe. We will create the true Christian state that the Crusades had intended to establish. There will be no petty bickering among posturing European nobles. The Knights Templar will rule by divine right."

"Even if you do manage to take the holy sites, what then?"

"With our unconquerable hold upon the Holy Land, we will dictate access to the sites held sacred by the three major religions. They will be forced to sit down with us. They will be forced to work with each other. We will bring peace to this war-torn world, and then we will bring the true gospel to all. We will establish our own bishop of Jerusalem. He shall become the spiritual leader to the world."

De Molay continued to rant as Duncan freed himself of the last of his bonds. "And is it not appropriate the new spiritual leader be housed in Jerusalem, in the land where Our Lord Himself once walked? Is it not a much more appropriate place than Rome - the land that crucified Him, the land thhat fed the faithful to the lions?"

"You're mad, De Molay." Duncan burst out of the chair. He bounded across the room and collected his sword. "You think to bring world peace and conversion by igniting a religious war. Don't you remember what all the wars of Europe accomplished in the name of religion? Nothing - nothing but death."

De Molay seethed, "They were wars to stamp out heresy! Heresy ran rampant and it runs rampant today. Only we hold the keys to the true faith! And they accused the Order of becoming corrupted by our dealings with the infidel, when it was those back in Europe that were corrupted by heresy."

De Molay stopped his ranting and looked at Duncan squarely. "You can escape. I cannot stop you. Even if I were allowed, you would clearly outshine me in battle. The Lord saw fit to let me continue His work on this world, albeit in this aged body." He stepped into the dim light and Duncan could see how old and withered he truly was.

"I will not call the guards. I will not let them fall in the futile endeavor to prevent your escape." De Molay started to walk away and then turned back, "The die is cast. A new world is dawning. What will you do, Duncan MacLeod?"

"I'll stop you. I'll stop De Penne, hopefully by reason but by force if necessary," he exclaimed as he dashed out of the room.

The passenger ship settled in at the dock along the coast of the island of Cyprus. The passengers began to disembark in a haphazard fashion, dragging their luggage along with them. One man stood along the rails of the ship and cast his glance upon the scenery of the divided island. The man thought that he might like to stay for a while and see how the land had changed in the centuries since he was last there.

He interrupted his own train of thought, "Put an end to your useless desires, Oliver De Penne. You have a most solemn mission to undertake," he whispered to himself.

Still Oliver could not help but to remember his days upon the isle. "Ah, Cyprus. The memories of this land are strong ..."

De Penne came to the doorway of the meeting room of the Grand Master. He could see that De Molay awaited his arrival inside. At the sight of the knight, De Molay called out, "De Penne, enter. I would have words with you."

"Yes, Grand Master. I am ever at your command," De Penne replied dutifully.

De Molay began with a smile upon his face. "You know that the Order values you tremendously, De Penne."

"It is by God's grace that I able to fight so valiantly in His name. He has also given me the gift of sensing the demons that plague our land." De Penne said without a hint of self-importance.

De Molay nodded, "Yes, and you have done well in ridding Cyprus of them. It has been fifty-some demons you have dispatched."

Though De Penne did not have the knowledge to realize until years later, it seemed that Immortals were being drawn to Cyprus like a magnet. Perhaps they figured that De Penne was an easy mark as a new Immortal. However, they soon found that he was a formidable fighter; they also found themselves separated from their heads.

De Penne bowed. "Thank you, Grand Master. It has been fifty-seven since my return from Acre."

"Fifty-seven, then. As of late, I have heard word from our Preceptories on the continent that they are plagued by a powerful demon. We cannot afford to lose our brethren while we hope for a new Crusade to win back the Holy Land."

De Penne looked up. He had not heard much word of the Order's affairs upon the mainland.

De Molay continued, "This being is known as Kadrak, and he has been killing our Templar brethren all across Europe. I believe that he is one of these demons you have been destroying. After his last attack at the Paris Temple, he proclaimed that he would take his anti-Crusade to us, to Cyprus."

A serving brother came to the doorway. He apologized, "Begging your pardon, Grand Master, but I have a letter for you from the Holy Father himself."

De Penne stood back as the brother entered the room after being beckoned by De Molay. The brother handed the letter to De Molay. De Molay studied the wax seal upon the envelope. It truly did bear the mark of the pope. He split the seal and handed the letter back to the brother.

"Brother, please read the letter from the Holy Father," De Molay commanded.

The squire unfolded the document and began:

From His Holiness Pope Clement V to Jacques De Molay, Grand Master of the Knights Templar,

We wish to consult with you and your counterparts of the Hospitallers and Teutonics regarding the launching of a new Crusade to win back the land of birth of Our Lord and Saviour.

We order you to come hither without delay, with as much secrecy as possible, and with very little retinue, since you will find on this side of the sea a sufficient number of your knights to attend upon you. {7}

The brother read the end of the letter, " 'Yours in Christ, Clement V'." A nod from De Molay told the brother that his duty was now completed. He folded the letter once again and left the room.

"So you see, De Penne, I will have to depart soon. I pray that you can find this demon and destroy him before I must take to sea for France. I would have you by my side in France."

De Penne bowed as he left the room. "I am honoured by the respect which you bestow upon me, Grand Master. I shall endeavor to discover and dispatch this demon with all due haste."

"God make ye great, De Penne," De Molay called out to him.

De Penne had been searching the streets and alleys of Cyprus for days, but he had not once detected the presence of this arch-demon, Kadrak, or any of his ilk. He would continue for a few more hours and then return for the Christmas Eve midnight service. He was beginning to think that the boasts of this demon were only words. What creature from earth or hell would be audacious enough to confront the Knights Templar on their island home. Just as De Penne was going to bring this night's rounds to an end, he felt the unpleasant sensation of a demon. He whirled around and saw a tall, dark figure at the end of the alley.

"Name thyself, foul demon and be vanquished!" De Penne called out.

The figure stepped forward and his face was illuminated by the dim moonlight. He stood at least seven feet tall, by De Penne's estimation. His face was covered with a rough, dark beard. His eyes burned with an evil that De Penne has never seen before. His black armor sparkled and clanked as he approached the knight. From a scabbard on his left side, he withdrew a massive ebony blade. At this, De Penne unsheathed his own steel.

"Again I say, name thyself, foul demon."

The antagonist brushed some black hair from his face and laughed heartily, "Ha ha, foolish knight. Are you mad? I am no demon. I am one like you."

De Penne brought his sword to bear and tensed his muscles. "You are not a Templar. You do not fight for the cause of the Holy Land."

The dark figure clasped his sword with both hands and assumed a fighting position. "No, but I am an Immortal and I will kill you like your Templar brethren and then I will take your head."

The two opponents circled each other for a few moments. De Penne took the initiative and swung for his enemy's left arm

"Have at thee, then, demon!"

The black armor stopped De Penne's blade from cutting straight through the man's arm. He screamed in pain, nonetheless.

"Die, Templar. Die at the hands of one who has killed countless of your brethren! Die at the hands of Kadrak!" the giant exclaimed. Kadrak connected with a quick kick to De Penne's midsection. The Templar fell to the ground hard and gasped for breath. Kadrak took his sword and swung down at De Penne's head. At the last moment, De Penne rolled to the side. Kadrak came slicing down again, but De Penne was quick enough to roll away. De Penne sprang to his feet and regained his composure, as well as his breath.

"For the glory of God, and for the honour of my brethren whom you maliciously slew, you will fall Kadrak. You will fall and never rise again!" De Penne said with earnest.

Kadrak answered with no words but rather with his sword. He unleashed a torrent at strikes at De Penne. The Templar was hard-pressed to ward off Kadrak's blade. He was clearly the most adept swordsman that De Penne had ever faced. De Penne continued to look for a flaw in the giant's style, but he could find none.

Kadrak's attack had moved them progressively farther into the alley. It was not long before De Penne's back was literally to the wall of this dead-end alley. De Penne braced his left foot against the bottom of the wall so that he would not stumble against it.

Kadrak continued to press his advantage. The prodigious strength that he put behind each blow was beginning to tire De Penne. The knight knew that it would only be a matter of time before his sword arm would no longer be capable of turning the giant's blade.

Kadrak howled with an evil laugh - a laugh that was even more insidious than that of his 'pupil', Albert De Kreone. It sent chills through De Penne's spine.

"Your days are over, Templar! Prepare to meet the God you have served."

"Not today, demon," De Penne replied as he tried a desperate gambit. He ducked under Kadrak's blade and fell to the ground. Before Kadrak could respond, De Penne drove his sword through Kadrak's left knee from behind. He quickly yanked it out as Kadrak's hand went down to his knee.

Summoning up the last of his strength, De Penne rose to his feet and brought his sword crashing down upon Kadrak's back. Kadrak stiffened as the sword collided with the armor. De Penne swung again and Kadrak staggered. De Penne thrust with all his remaining might and drove his sword through the armor and through Kadrak's heart. De Penne held onto his sword as both Immortals crashed to the ground.

Gasping for breath, De Penne struggled to his feet. Kadrak tried to pull the sword out, but the hilt was trapped against the back of his armor. De Penne lumbered over and picked up Kadrak's black blade. He raised the massive weapon above his head.

"With this foul blade that spilled the blood of so many Templars, I send you back to the fiery gates of Hell." With gravity doing most of the work, De Penne brought the sword down and severed Kadrak's head from his wounded body.

De Penne dropped the sword and fell to his knees. He looked up and offered a prayer of thanks. Before he could finish expressing his thanksgiving, the flow of the Quickening rushed from Kadrak's form and struck De Penne square in the chest. De Penne soon passed out from the pain and the images that flooded his brain.

De Penne rushed to the door of the Grand Master. He hoped that De Molay had not finished his preparations and set sail for France. He was relieved to see that De Molay was there in the room. He was staring at a map of the Holy Land.

"Yes, we can retake the Holy Land. I am sure of it." He looked up to see De Penne in the doorway. "Is the deed done, De Penne?"

De Penne stumbled in. "By the grace of God, it is, Grand Master. The demon Kadrak shall no longer slake his devilish thirst upon the blood of Templars."

"Saints be praised. I had hoped that you would find success before I departed." De Molay was visibly elated.

"This was by far the mightiest demon I have faced, Grand Master," De Penne said with no reservations.

"Then we shall keep its head as a trophy. We shall mount it on a plate of silver when I return with it to the Temple in Paris. We shall not know it by its demonic name. We will not dignify its foul existence with its name. Since it was the fifty-eighth demon you have destroyed, we shall know it only as 'Caput LVIII' -- Head fifty-eight."

Klaus and Juergen hurried into the ramshackle hotel in which they lodged. They raced up the stairs to the fourth floor. Checking for anyone in the hallway, they dashed to the door, unlocked it, and ducked inside. They locked the door behind them and both sighed in relief. Klaus pulled the CD-ROM disc from his coat and held it forth, almost religiously.

"This disk will be of great use to the Kaiser." Klaus proclaimed.

Juergen nodded his assent, "Most assuredly, it will be of great use to us, his servants, as we rid the world of those who stand in the way of the Kaiser receiving what is his by right."

"By divine right." Klaus repeated softly.

"Yes, by divine right." Juergen stood up. "We must go with faith in God and the intercession of St. Mary, as she looks upon the Teutonic Order, consecrated in her name. The Kaiser will resurrect the Holy Roman Empire to eternal glory."

Klaus stood to join his comrade, "Just as the Kaiser himself rose again, to shine his eternal light of wisdom upon us."

"Stupor mundi eternum! (Wonder of the world forever)" they exclaimed together.

Thomas Walker, MD, walked through the halls of St. John's Hospital. He had many patients to take care of this night, and he went out to make his rounds gladly. He wished that he had drawn a better appointment. There were not too many sightings of _them_ in this part of the world. Still, he had his duty to care for those that needed medical care. That was his opportunity to serve the world. However, he wished that he could perform a far more important service to the world by ridding of it of _them_.

Walking into the break room, Thomas poured himself a cup of coffee. A quick check of his watch told him that he had enough time to drink it slowly before he had to commence with his rounds. He strolled over to the window to look down upon the streets of Jerusalem. The sidewalks were still packed with merchants selling all sorts of wares. Waves of people pushed in every direction. One person caught Thomas' eye, though. There was a man standing amidst the crowd. He was a strong-looking man with long hair clasped behind his head. Despite the heated weather of the day, he was wearing a brown trenchcoat. This raised Thomas' suspicion. The man was looking around for something; apparently something in the crowd had caught his attention. When the man turned so that the streetlight illumination gave Thomas a good look at his face, Thomas gasped with recognition. It was one of _them_. It was one of the _them_ in his file.

Thomas dropped his coffee and rushed back to his office. He tore a folder out of his file cabinet. He paged through it quickly. Then he found the report that he was seeking. It read "Duncan MacLeod, reported deceased in General Memorial Hospital, Pacific Northwest, U.S.A."

Thomas opened up his cellular phone and placed a long distance call to Malta. After it two rings, a voice on the other end responded, "Yes? Do you have a sighting?"

"It is MacLeod. Here in Jerusalem." He paused as the voice on the other inquired.

"Connor MacLeod?"

Thomas replied excitedly, "No, not Connor, the younger one ... Duncan MacLeod. Assemble a team."

The voice replied, "No teams are within reasonable distance. Ascertain destination and report."

"Understood. Ad majorem dei gloriam. (To the greater glory of God)"

"Ad majorem dei gloriam" were the last words on the other end before the line was disconnected.

Thomas rubbed his hands together. It was his first sighting. It was the first step to reaching the upper hierarchy of the Order. Perhaps one day he might even be assigned to lead a strike team.

"We will rid the world of this plague," he thought as he returned the file to the drawer and locked it once again. He dialed up his nurse to inform her that he would be out of the office for a few days.

Oliver De Penne sat down on a bench near the magnificent mosque. He allowed himself to relax for a moment. It had taken him some time to make the journey. He did not like planes, and it was much easier to transport his materials by boat.

He checked his jacket and assured himself that his sword was secure there. The sword had seen him through many centuries. He then checked the bag at his side. The size of the plastic explosives hidden inside belied their destructive capacity. Then he gingerly removed an ornate wooden box. Placing the box upon his lap, he took a deep breath as he opened the box reverently. The Grand Master had charged him to place the contents of the box upon a cross that he was to construct on the remains of Al Aqba. It would signify to all to whom the Temple Mount now belonged. De Penne first took out a small metal Templar cross - one that had been blessed by St. Francis of Assisi. But the true treasure remained within the box. De Penne could not force himself to remove it. He could only stare at the simple piece of parchment with the Roman inscription "INRI."

De Penne looked down at the little crucifix he held in his hand. The detail was exquisite, down to the inscription upon the cross. "INRI," he read. "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews," he translated from the Roman letters. "If only the King of France had aspired to the type of kingship of Our Heavenly Lord."

De Penne was hidden among the trees of this lush land. His sources had discovered that the king and his entourage would be hunting on this day. This provided him the perfect opportunity to enact the Grand Master's revenge.

"Would that the Grand Master were here to see it. However, he is safely away in Scotland, and Scotland is free of English encroachment now."

De Penne continued to peer through the leaves until he sighted the approaching entourage. The garb of the men in front gave him all the assurance he needed to know that these were the king's men. After a few moments, he could see the handsome French monarch strutting through the forest with an ornate bow in his hands. Philip had attendants beside him carrying their liege's arrows. That would have been too much of a burden for him to carry, De Penne assumed.

De Penne was happy to be the instrument of De Molay's curse. He would have found it troublesome if measures had needed to be taken against Pope Clement V. However, Clement had passed away from dysentery about a month after De Molay's 'demise' . De Penne had wondered if De Molay had had the Pope poisoned, but he could not ask such an impertinent question of the Grand Master. His only concern was the death of Philip.

De Penne quietly went through his sack and removed a thin, hollow piece of wood. After further careful rummaging, he carefully pulled out a small sharp dart. He put the wooden instrument in his mouth and then brought out a small jar filled with an odd colored liquid.

"This concoction of the Hashshashin , those master Saracen assassins of Outremer, will rid this world of Philip the Fair," he thought as he swirled the point of the dart in the jar. He then slipped the dart into the instrument and waited for his chance.

After a few minutes of watching, De Penne had an unobstructed view of the Philip. With a strong puff from his lungs, the dart sped through the air and pricked Philip in the side.

Philip swatted at his side, as if some insect had just bitten him and knocked the dart from his side. However, the poison had already been delivered. He rattled off some curses, much to the amusement of his entourage. He walked for another ten yards and then he jerked suddenly. His entire body was wracked by seizures. His attendants came over to hold him, but it was all they could do to keep him from flailing about. After a minute of thrashing, he collapsed.

"The King is dead," his attendants wailed. "What are we to do?"

De Nogaret stepped forward from amidst the hunting party. "His wish was that his heart be kept with the sliver of the True Cross that he confiscated from the Templars."

De Nogaret's appearance caught the eye of De Penne, just as he was about to leave.

"De Nogaret," he hissed under his breath. "The cur." However, De Penne knew that it would be too risky to attempt another attack. Still, he waited to listen to hear what was to be done with the Philip, now that Templar property had been mentioned.

De Nogaret ordered the men. "We shall take both items to the Monastery of St. Francis. It is not far from here."

Contented now, De Penne made his way stealthily back through the forest. A boat would be waiting at the docks to take him to Scotland, the new Templar home.

He turned back to take a final look at the dead monarch. "I pray that the Fair King will get his fair reward in the afterlife." As he resumed his hurried pace through the forest, he vowed to himself, "But I shall get it one day, Philip. I shall recover the relic and curse your lifeless heart."

De Penne had been residing within the Holy Ground of the monastery for many months now. He had been happy that the Grand Master had granted him the dispensation to come back to the Continent, even though the Order was effectively barred from the lands there.

"Our day of return is not yet upon us," De Molay had told his trusted knight. However, De Penne knew that the Grand Master was eager to return, to re-establish the Order, and to re-take the Holy Land. De Penne had managed to convince De Molay that they should recover the relic that Philip the Fair had so dastardly stolen.

To this end, De Penne had come to the Monastery, where he was somewhat surprised to find that it had become a place of refuge for Immortals - a sanctuary set up by the abbot of the monastery, Brother Paul. De Penne had explained, that he was growing weary of the world outside, and Paul had graciously allowed him to stay for as long as he liked. He did like it here. It was a brotherhood, not in same way that the Templars were, but a brotherhood nonetheless. He found himself feeling very comfortable with the other residents of the monastery, both those of the permanent and the temporary variety. He had been especially well-received by Peter Hale, who had left just a few weeks before. However, there was one amongst them whose presence he did not enjoy. While Brother Kalas had the voice of an angel, he had the mien of a devil. Still there was nothing that De Penne could do about him, not while they resided here on Holy Ground. Had he met this man while he was still under the belief that other Immortals were demons, Kalas would have only served to reinforce this belief, De Penne estimated.

However, De Penne had more important matters to attend; specifically, he had to find the relic of the True Cross, entombed with the cruel heart of Philip the Fair. He had been searching the grounds since his first day in his quest to find it. His discussions with the others convinced him that they had no knowledge of its existence or history. Perhaps, Paul or Kalas, seeming to be the most aged of the Immortals here, would know. He would not discuss the matter with the vile Kalas. Nor would he broach the subject with Paul. The monk had been most kind to De Penne during his stay. He did not want to make it known to the dear man that he was here under false pretenses. So De Penne continued to search.

De Penne looked out the window and saw the dark clouds approaching on the horizon. They look quite threatening. The wind began to pick up and rain began to fall softly, at least initially. The clouds rolled in quite quickly and soon the sky was filled with lightning and thunder. As De Penne searched a room he had scoured countless times before, the momentary flash of lightning seemed to illuminate a hidden door hewn into the stone wall. De Penne placed his lantern down in eager anticipation. Upon closer inspection, De Penne could definitely make out the doorway. Applying all his strength, he managed to move the massive door and reveal the compartment within.

De Penne took up his lantern once again and proceeded inside. The light of his lantern revealed a glass case standing upon a marble pedestal. Even before he could see the contents, he knew that he had found the treasure. A small piece of wood lay amongst the dust that had once been Philip the Fair's heart.

De Penne carefully opened the top of the case and removed the sliver of wood. He tucked it within the folds of his cloak. Then, he brought his hand down hard upon the case, smashing it into bits. He kicked the marble stand and scattered glass and dust all over the compartment. He stepped outside and closed the door once again.

De Penne rushed back to his room and collected his belongings. He asked for Brother Paul's whereabouts and quickly found the monk within the library.

"Brother Paul," De Penne began. "I thank you for all your hospitality. However, it is time that I returned to the world outside."

"If you feel you must, Brother Oliver," Paul replied. "However, if you ever feel the need to return, you are most welcome. But must you leave tonight? The weather outside - it is not fit for man or beast."

"Yes, I fear that I must leave at once. You have my most sincere thanks. God make ye great, Brother Paul."

Paul nodded appreciatively, "Go with God, Brother Oliver."

In a matter of minutes, De Penne was on his way from the monastery and headed into town. Back at the monastery, Paul informed Kalas that De Penne had departed.

"Brother Oliver has left?" Kalas said gracefully as he controlled his bitterness. "I must find him and offer my farewell."

"Would that I could let you, Brother Kalas. However, you are scheduled to sing tonight, and the other brothers have been so looking forward to hearing your voice again."

"But ..." Kalas protested.

"Brother Oliver knows your best wishes are with him." Paul interrupted.

A loud knock at the door kept Kalas saying anything further.

"Now attend to the choir, Brother Kalas, while I attend to the door."

De Penne was roused from his reminiscing by the presence of another Immortal nearby.

"The Grand Master perhaps" De Penne thought at first but then quickly discounted. De Molay had entrusted the mission to De Penne alone. He would not have come to Jerusalem. Nor would he have sent anyone else. The mission was to be undertaken with the greatest secrecy. De Penne had had no communication with any other Templars since he left Paris, not even with the brethren headquartered here in the Holy City.

"No, it must be another Immortal," he concluded. "And I have no time to engage in a battle with him now. I must complete my mission." With this he arose.

Duncan MacLeod stood amidst the throng of Jerusalem's people. He was overwhelmed by the mass of people collected. He tried to push his way through the crowd when he felt the sensation. As he rushed over to the Dome from the avenue, Duncan thought about how lucky he had been to be able to charter a flight direct from Paris to Jerusalem. It seems that he had arrived just in time. At least he hoped that it was in time.

He spotted Oliver De Penne in an alley heading towards the Dome. He quickened his pace and shouted out to him "De Penne!"

After a few cries, De Penne stopped and turned around. "MacLeod?"

Duncan came to a stop a few yards from De Penne. "Look, I know what you're planning to do."

De Penne's face was expressionless. "It matters not."

"I can't let you do it."

"I have my mission. It would be best if you were gone from here. Save yourself from the times to come."

"You saved me back at Culloden because of honor." Duncan exclaimed. "Where is the honor in destroying a mosque and starting a war of which you have no part."

De Penne sighed, "Chivalry is dead, MacLeod."

"But not in you. You and the Knights Templar of old stood for something. You aided my homeland for centuries. I cannot believe that chivalry is dead in you. I challenge you to a duel right here, right now."

"To what end, Duncan?" De Penne put down his bag.

"To the death, Oliver," Duncan gritted his teeth.

"I have spent my whole life fighting for my cause, the cause of the Templars. My faith will see me through, even if I have to destroy you in the process."

Duncan held his katana out in front of him and bowed slightly. Meanwhile, De Penne dropped to one knee and put his sword point down into the ground. Holding the sword with his left hand, he crossed himself and whispered something softly. He took his sword with both hands and rose to his feet.

The two combatants began to circle each other. They went around counter-clockwise getting ever closer. De Penne made the first strike, slicing down at Duncan's left shoulder. Angling his katana slightly, Duncan was able to block the blow. De Penne came at him again, attempting to drive into Duncan's left side. Duncan deftly stepped aside and withdrew a step.

"It doesn't have to be like this," Duncan pleaded.

De Penne collected himself after the unsuccessful lunge, "Would that it could be otherwise, my friend." He assumed an attacking stance once again. "However, I have pledged my life, long though it has been, to the Knights Templar. My oath takes precedence over all other loyalties."

De Penne came at Duncan with a flurry of blows. Sparks flew as Duncan parried each attack. Finally, De Penne broke through Duncan's defense and scored a hit upon Duncan's left arm.

Duncan tried to shake off the pain, but it became too difficult to hold his katana with both hands. Folding his stinging left arm behind his back, Duncan commenced to fight with just one hand. De Penne seemed somewhat taken aback by the new style that Duncan employed. Duncan noticed the momentary confusion and pressed an offensive of his own.

De Penne sidestepped and parried as best as he could. Still, the Highlander's swordsmanship had driven him methodically back. De Penne did manage to make a slight cut across Duncan's forehead. Duncan's prowess with the blade was unparalleled in his experience. Not since he faced the demonic Kadrak had De Penne felt unsure of his eventual victory. Like in that pitched battle, De Penne had his back literally against the wall. Perhaps his desperate gambit of nearly seven centuries past would be successful once again.

De Penne braced his left foot against the wall and readied himself for the opportunity to employ his gambit. Duncan swung again and again with deadly skill but De Penne managed to catch every strike with his steel. Then he saw Duncan begin to wind up for a powerful slice, De Penne dove for the ground, his sword swinging up at Duncan's knee.

However, Duncan had not committed himself to the swing. He was able to bring his sword down upon De Penne's back as the Templar made his play. There was a sickening 'crack' as the katana severed De Penne's spine. De Penne's sword found its mark, but there was nothing behind the blow. The Templar's body tensed spasmodically and then crashed into the ground face first.

Duncan grimaced in pain as he brought his still pained left arm down to his bloody right knee. He continued to hold the katana tightly in his right hand. He looked down at the damage that he had inflicted. De Penne was motionless.

Duncan reached down and turned his fallen opponent over. His eyes met those of De Penne. The Templar's eyes showed the pain that he was in, but his body gave no sign of any sensation at all.

Duncan stood poised over De Penne, ready to take his head. "Give me your word, and I'll let you live."

"My word is my bond, but I cannot give it. My soul is pledged to the Knights Templar. Even in the face of death - true death - I cannot renounce my pledge. Do what youu feel is right, friend MacLeod. I bear you no malice and shall pray for you in the hereafter."

De Penne whispered "Non nobis, Domine, non nobis sed nomini tuo da gloriam."

Duncan steadied his hands and then swung through. "There can be only one."

A nimbus of electrical energy floated over to Duncan and surrounded him. Duncan appeared quite disoriented as the first bolt struck him. Again and again the bolts struck him and he stepped back from the impact of each. The force of the Quickening pinned him against the wall. His arms were outstretched. He tried to wipe away the blood that was flowing into his eyes, but his whole body felt stiff. Then, mercifully, it was over. Duncan collapsed to the ground and fell unconscious.

After what seemed like hours, Duncan was awakened by the sound of De Penne's phone ringing as it lay on the floor. He clumsily picked it up and answered it.

The raspy voice of De Molay was on the other end. "Is the deed done, De Penne?"

Duncan had no words for the Grand Master. He threw the phone at the far wall. Upon impact, it shattered into a multitude of electronic parts. He crouched down and rested his chin on the hilt of his sword. He sat there, thinking and reminiscing for a few moments. Then he rose to his feet and put his sword back inside his coat. He reached down into a pocket and took out the gold chain with the Templar cross. He leaned over and placed the cross in De Penne's dead hands.

"Rest in peace. May God have mercy on your soul."

From "One Vision" by Queen

Cast of Characters

Timeline

Events in italics are fictional; all others are historical

Sources

1. Addison, C.G. The Knights Templar History
2. Barber, Malcolm The Trial of the Templars
3. Campbell, G.A., The Knights Templars: Their Rise and Fall
4. Hietal, Heikki, The Knight Templar Preceptory Porticullis
5. Kurtz, Katharine editor Tales of the Knights Templar
6. Robinson, James, Dungeon, Fire, and Sword
7. Seidel, James, The Church Knights

Endnotes

1. Barber
2. Kurtz
3. Kurtz
4. Barber
5. Barber
6. Barber
7. Addison