Read Online The Religion by Tim Willocks - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tim Willocks
Tags: Fiction, Action & Adventure
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raise."
Tannhauser clapped his own hand on top of Sabato's and grinned. "You damnable Jew," he said. "You'll have me sweating on the Greek's ship within a week. And you know it."
Tannhauser looked up as the open double doorway fell dark and a hulking silhouette extinguished the light. It was Bors of Carlisle, de facto manager of the tavern and the last of the unlikely trinity that kept the Oracle afloat. Earlier that morning, during their daily training session, Tannhauser had caught him on the cheekbone with the pommel of hissword. Bors had made no complaint, but his blunder hadn't left him in the gentlest of moods and the indigo lump beneath his eye was plain to see. On the weighing scale at the customs house, Bors had tipped the balance at twenty stones, much of it packed into his thighs, arms, and chest. Since his face appeared to have seen use as a smith's anvil, the bruise didn't seem out of place, yet as he barged into the tavern he heard some slighting reference to the fresh blemish. Worse still, it was followed by a reckless round of drunken laughter. Without breaking his stride, Bors swung by the offender and punched him in the neck with a colossal fist. His victim tumbled, choking, among his fellows and Bors continued across the room to take his habitual place at Tannhauser's left hand. As he did so, Dana set down a jug and his personal drinking cup.
The cup had been artfully fashioned from a human skull. Bors filled the skull with wine and drained it and filled it again, then in a belated fit of manners filled Tannhauser's beaker with what little remained. He tossed the jug back to Dana and she went to recharge it. Bors had iron-gray hair and the advance of baldness was offset by enormous eyebrows, a fine beard, and the wiry tufts that curled down from his nostrils. He nodded to Sabato Svi and turned to Tannhauser.
"A red ship has docked," said Bors, "at the Wharf of the Hospitallers."
"You see?" said Tannhauser to Sabato. "The Religion's iron is yet hot. The gold rolls in."
Bors continued: "I've had Gasparo load the wagons and saddle our mounts." He looked at Sabato Svi. "Would you have him saddle yours?"
Sabato shook his head. "The Religion's money is welcome but they regard me as one of the murderers of their Christ."
"They are holy men of the Baptist," countered Bors and crossed himself.
"The slave pens of the Religion groan with Levantine Jews whose prayers are for the Turks-as are my prayers, too," said Sabato Svi. "The rumor's already afoot that the Jews of Istanbul have financed the invasion, and while it's false-as such libels always are-I wish it were so. When Malta falls every Jew alive will praise God."
"Since they're all bound for Hell, let them praise whoever they wish."
Sabato looked at Tannhauser. "I've ransomed two Alexandrian captives myself-hence Moshe Mosseri's good favor."
"You've been content to trade weapons for the knights' gold," observed Bors.
"I'm more than happy to profit before they're wiped out," Sabato replied. "What kind of fanatics would die for a scorched rock?"
"They've gathered there to determine the Will of God, by a noble contest of arms," corrected Bors. "And if we don't fight the Moslems in Malta we'll one day have to fight them in Paris, for the conquest of the world is their grand plan."
"We?" said Sabato Svi.
"Your time will come too, believe me," said Bors. "Furthermore, the Knights have assembled the most doughty bevy of manslayers anyone's ever seen in one place." He looked at Tannhauser. "They will harrow Hell on that island-and you and I are not among them to test our mettle." He clenched a barrel-shaped fist in anguish. "It's a violation of the natural order."
"Mattias has made an end with killing and war. I thought you had too."
Bors ignored Sabato and scowled like a gigantic infant. "This broil will make Saint Quentin seem like May Day capers."
"No," said Tannhauser. "Like two old ladies lighting votive candles in church."
"Then you agree!" said
Tannhauser clapped his own hand on top of Sabato's and grinned. "You damnable Jew," he said. "You'll have me sweating on the Greek's ship within a week. And you know it."
Tannhauser looked up as the open double doorway fell dark and a hulking silhouette extinguished the light. It was Bors of Carlisle, de facto manager of the tavern and the last of the unlikely trinity that kept the Oracle afloat. Earlier that morning, during their daily training session, Tannhauser had caught him on the cheekbone with the pommel of hissword. Bors had made no complaint, but his blunder hadn't left him in the gentlest of moods and the indigo lump beneath his eye was plain to see. On the weighing scale at the customs house, Bors had tipped the balance at twenty stones, much of it packed into his thighs, arms, and chest. Since his face appeared to have seen use as a smith's anvil, the bruise didn't seem out of place, yet as he barged into the tavern he heard some slighting reference to the fresh blemish. Worse still, it was followed by a reckless round of drunken laughter. Without breaking his stride, Bors swung by the offender and punched him in the neck with a colossal fist. His victim tumbled, choking, among his fellows and Bors continued across the room to take his habitual place at Tannhauser's left hand. As he did so, Dana set down a jug and his personal drinking cup.
The cup had been artfully fashioned from a human skull. Bors filled the skull with wine and drained it and filled it again, then in a belated fit of manners filled Tannhauser's beaker with what little remained. He tossed the jug back to Dana and she went to recharge it. Bors had iron-gray hair and the advance of baldness was offset by enormous eyebrows, a fine beard, and the wiry tufts that curled down from his nostrils. He nodded to Sabato Svi and turned to Tannhauser.
"A red ship has docked," said Bors, "at the Wharf of the Hospitallers."
"You see?" said Tannhauser to Sabato. "The Religion's iron is yet hot. The gold rolls in."
Bors continued: "I've had Gasparo load the wagons and saddle our mounts." He looked at Sabato Svi. "Would you have him saddle yours?"
Sabato shook his head. "The Religion's money is welcome but they regard me as one of the murderers of their Christ."
"They are holy men of the Baptist," countered Bors and crossed himself.
"The slave pens of the Religion groan with Levantine Jews whose prayers are for the Turks-as are my prayers, too," said Sabato Svi. "The rumor's already afoot that the Jews of Istanbul have financed the invasion, and while it's false-as such libels always are-I wish it were so. When Malta falls every Jew alive will praise God."
"Since they're all bound for Hell, let them praise whoever they wish."
Sabato looked at Tannhauser. "I've ransomed two Alexandrian captives myself-hence Moshe Mosseri's good favor."
"You've been content to trade weapons for the knights' gold," observed Bors.
"I'm more than happy to profit before they're wiped out," Sabato replied. "What kind of fanatics would die for a scorched rock?"
"They've gathered there to determine the Will of God, by a noble contest of arms," corrected Bors. "And if we don't fight the Moslems in Malta we'll one day have to fight them in Paris, for the conquest of the world is their grand plan."
"We?" said Sabato Svi.
"Your time will come too, believe me," said Bors. "Furthermore, the Knights have assembled the most doughty bevy of manslayers anyone's ever seen in one place." He looked at Tannhauser. "They will harrow Hell on that island-and you and I are not among them to test our mettle." He clenched a barrel-shaped fist in anguish. "It's a violation of the natural order."
"Mattias has made an end with killing and war. I thought you had too."
Bors ignored Sabato and scowled like a gigantic infant. "This broil will make Saint Quentin seem like May Day capers."
"No," said Tannhauser. "Like two old ladies lighting votive candles in church."
"Then you agree!" said
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