The Templar's Code

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Isabelle d’Anjou threw herself at the foot of the black-robed priest. “Mercy! I beg you!”

“Haereticus!” the Jesuit screamed, his thin ascetic frame shaking with fury’s passion. “By this cross you will know him!”

An armed soldier, red surcoat emblazoned with a white cross, roughly grabbed Isabelle by the waist and hauled her away from the priest. Shrieking, a wild animal caught in a snare, the terrified girl grabbed at the beads dangling from the Jesuit’s hand. A desperate plea that went unanswered, the soldier plunging a falchion into Isabelle’s left breast. Blood arced through the air, splattering the priest’s cassock.

Raising his gaze heavenward, the Black Robe made a ritualized motion. Above to below. Left to right. “In nominee Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” With upturned hands, the Black Robe continued his Latin chant… as the mounted knights slashed and swung their broadswords… as the soldiers ravished the village women… as the orange flames consumed the thatched huts in a fiery blaze… as the pitiless and unrelenting devastation raged all around.

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