Read Online Isle of Swords by Wayne Thomas Batson - Free Book Online

deftly offered her time at the helm when her watch was over. That defused his mercurial daughter for the moment.
    â€œIsle of Swords, eh?” Ross replied. “That doesn’t sound very inviting.”
    â€œIt is not,” said the monk. “The island is a most inhospitable place—a volcanic land mass, wreathed in an ashen cloud. The mainlanders believe it to be legend only. A fleeting vision at sea, akin to your Flying Dutchman. Few but the Brethren have set foot on its perilous shores.”
    â€œThe Brethren?” Jules echoed.
    â€œThose of my order,” said the monk.
    â€œSaint Celestine?” Ross suggested.
    Padre Dominguez shook his head. “Father Valentia was kind enough to grant me refuge there for a time. And though he knows of it, he is not of my order.” The monk weighed a decision in his mind. These men seemed decent as pirates went and would most likely be content with the precious metals and jewels. But could they be trusted? He felt it must be God’s will that he work with these men for the greater good.
    â€œThe Brethren,” he began, “are a small but powerful sect of the church, as secret as we are ancient. Nearly fourteen hundred years old . . . formed during the reign of Emperor Constantine while Sylvester I was pope. Constantine, being a Christian himself, began to collect holy artifacts, priceless items that he added to his already vast treasure. The faithful would travel from throughout the world to view these precious relics of our faith. As you might imagine, others with very different motives came as well.
    â€œWhen items began to disappear from Constantine’s vaults, and rumor spread that they were being sold off, the Brethren was formed.
    Utilizing methods not usually condoned by the church, we kept safe Constantine’s Treasure.”
    Ross’s mind whirled. He’d never been much for history lessons.
    â€œBut I thought you said that the Spartans took it.”
    â€œAlas, yes, but that is a story I will not openly share. Suffice it to say that we retrieved the treasure. Then we moved this treasure to a location that is . . . more protected.”
    â€œWait,” Ross said, holding up a hand and tilting his head. “Are you telling me this Brethren group stole Constantine’s Treasure?”
    â€œBy the time Pope Boniface I began his reign, the Brethren had transplanted many of the church’s most sacred relics and artifacts to places of safekeeping.”
    Ross couldn’t believe his ears. This just confirmed everything he’d ever thought about religion. “But isn’t there something in that Bible of yours about ‘thou shall not steal’?”
    â€œDo you read the Holy Scriptures, Declan Ross?” asked Padre Dominguez. His stare fell cold on Captain Ross. The captain of the Wallace lost his smug smile just as quickly as it had come. He stared out of his quarters’ balcony window at the whitecaps.
    â€œUh, no.”
    â€œThen do not presume to judge me by them.” The monk continued. “The Brethren is a sacred order called by God to maintain the safekeeping of the holy relics of God. The Brethren acts with a pure heart and a clear conscience.”
    â€œWhatever you say, Padre,” Ross said, relieved to back out of that conversation. He grabbed a handful of nuts from a bowl on the desk. “We’re in. So where is this Isle of Swords?”
    â€œIn the North Atlantic, some one hundred miles due west of the Azores.” Ross nearly spit out a mouthful of nuts.
    Stede, who knew the names and locations of every port in the known world, was aghast. “There b’ no islands due west of the Azores!”
    â€œNot on your sea charts, perhaps,” said the monk, turning to reveal the map on his back once more. “Nevertheless, it exists on mine. And I have been there.”
    Stede studied the monk’s back. “This is one outrageous trip, he b’