Read Online The Pegasus Secret by Gregg Loomis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gregg Loomis
Ads: Link
the huge sword that required both hands to wield, yet the cross he cherished was the small one of equal arms, the one in the silver circle he wore about his neck, the one described by the four equal triangles.
But I confuse my sequence in hastily composing these, my last notes. I shall commence again, this time at the beginning.
I, Pietro of Sicily, write of these things in the Year of Our Lord 1310, 1 three years after my arrest and false accusation and the false accusation of my brethren of the Order of the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon and the issuance of the Papal Bull,
Pastoralis praeminentia
, which commanded any Christian monarch to seize our lands, our chattels and all other goods in the name of His Holiness Clement V.
In past years, to write of myself would have constituted pride, a sin in the eyes of God. Now I am unsure there is sin and, heaven help me for my blasphemy, if there is God at all.The events of which I write or those that have led me to apostasy are those I set out herein, not because I, God’s humble servant, deserve note but because I have observed that the powerful write the histories and those who have caused the downfall of my brothers are powerful indeed.
Although it is not important, just as I am not important, I was born to a serf of a minor lord in Sicily in the fourth year of the reign of James II of Aragon, King of Sicily. 2 I was the youngest of six children, the one whom my mother died birthing. Unable to support his family, my father took me to a nearby house of Benedictine friars that they might succor me, raise me in the faith and benefit from such labours as they, and God, might choose for me.
Would that I had cleaved to our founder’s admonition that, to attain purity, one must “seek solitude, submit to fasting, vigils, toils, nakedness, reading and other virtues.” 3
The monastery was given largely to farming, close enough to the town to see the three towers of a new castle built on heathen ruins. Like all such institutions, it was dedicated to intercession for its patrons and the souls of its benefactors and caring for the poor.
I was taught skills beyond those known to villeins of my birth: the making and reading of letters, the understanding and speaking of Latin and Frankish and the knowledge of mathematics. It was at this last skill that I, with God’s help, became most proficient. By my twelfth summer, I kept the accounts for the cellarer: 4 the volume of grapes and olives harvested, the number of loaves made, the poor donations from those who sought our prayers, even the quantity of plates fired in the kiln.
It was also that summer I was to end my novitiate, 5 becoming a full member that fall. If only I had not succumbed to the sin of ambition, I would be there yet and would not be facing the cruel fate that awaits me.
It was in August when I saw him, Guillaume de Poitiers, a knight on a magnificent white horse and the most beautiful man I had ever seen. I had been outside the monastery walls, measuring the quantity of sheep dung to be put on the vegetable garden, when I looked up and there he was.
Despite the heat of the day, he wore full armour, including a hauberk, 6 underneath his flowing white surcoat which was emblazoned front and back with the blood-red cross-pattee, announcing to all that he had been to and returned from the Holy Land. His garments thereby proclaimed him to be a knight of the Order of the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon, the most fearsome and holy soldiers of the Church.
On his left hip was strapped a long dagger of a design foreign to me, with a curved blade wider than the hilt, which I later learned was a weapon of the heathen Saracens. On his right was a very short knife.
His esquire, mounted on an ass, led two other horses, mighty creatures far larger than the beasts I had seen. Across their backs were strapped a lance, a long, two-edged sword, and a Turkish mace, as well as a triangular body-shield which was adorned
But I confuse my sequence in hastily composing these, my last notes. I shall commence again, this time at the beginning.
I, Pietro of Sicily, write of these things in the Year of Our Lord 1310, 1 three years after my arrest and false accusation and the false accusation of my brethren of the Order of the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon and the issuance of the Papal Bull,
Pastoralis praeminentia
, which commanded any Christian monarch to seize our lands, our chattels and all other goods in the name of His Holiness Clement V.
In past years, to write of myself would have constituted pride, a sin in the eyes of God. Now I am unsure there is sin and, heaven help me for my blasphemy, if there is God at all.The events of which I write or those that have led me to apostasy are those I set out herein, not because I, God’s humble servant, deserve note but because I have observed that the powerful write the histories and those who have caused the downfall of my brothers are powerful indeed.
Although it is not important, just as I am not important, I was born to a serf of a minor lord in Sicily in the fourth year of the reign of James II of Aragon, King of Sicily. 2 I was the youngest of six children, the one whom my mother died birthing. Unable to support his family, my father took me to a nearby house of Benedictine friars that they might succor me, raise me in the faith and benefit from such labours as they, and God, might choose for me.
Would that I had cleaved to our founder’s admonition that, to attain purity, one must “seek solitude, submit to fasting, vigils, toils, nakedness, reading and other virtues.” 3
The monastery was given largely to farming, close enough to the town to see the three towers of a new castle built on heathen ruins. Like all such institutions, it was dedicated to intercession for its patrons and the souls of its benefactors and caring for the poor.
I was taught skills beyond those known to villeins of my birth: the making and reading of letters, the understanding and speaking of Latin and Frankish and the knowledge of mathematics. It was at this last skill that I, with God’s help, became most proficient. By my twelfth summer, I kept the accounts for the cellarer: 4 the volume of grapes and olives harvested, the number of loaves made, the poor donations from those who sought our prayers, even the quantity of plates fired in the kiln.
It was also that summer I was to end my novitiate, 5 becoming a full member that fall. If only I had not succumbed to the sin of ambition, I would be there yet and would not be facing the cruel fate that awaits me.
It was in August when I saw him, Guillaume de Poitiers, a knight on a magnificent white horse and the most beautiful man I had ever seen. I had been outside the monastery walls, measuring the quantity of sheep dung to be put on the vegetable garden, when I looked up and there he was.
Despite the heat of the day, he wore full armour, including a hauberk, 6 underneath his flowing white surcoat which was emblazoned front and back with the blood-red cross-pattee, announcing to all that he had been to and returned from the Holy Land. His garments thereby proclaimed him to be a knight of the Order of the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon, the most fearsome and holy soldiers of the Church.
On his left hip was strapped a long dagger of a design foreign to me, with a curved blade wider than the hilt, which I later learned was a weapon of the heathen Saracens. On his right was a very short knife.
His esquire, mounted on an ass, led two other horses, mighty creatures far larger than the beasts I had seen. Across their backs were strapped a lance, a long, two-edged sword, and a Turkish mace, as well as a triangular body-shield which was adorned
Similar Books
![Knight, Kayla - Her Long Hot Surrender [Raw Texas Heat 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)](https://fs.dianahicksbooks.com/598849/thumbs/152x264/knight-kayla-her-long-hot-surrender-raw-texas-heat-3-siren-publishing-menage-everlasting.jpg)
