The Prophecy of Death: (Knights Templar 25) Read Online Free
Author: Michael Jecks
Tags: Fiction, General, blt, _MARKED
brother friar, he could not even pray. There was no prayer
he could utter that might express his feelings adequately.
‘Ach! God
damn
that fat fool!’
It was embarrassing, Richard reflected as the friar stormed out. The man hadn’t really done anything wrong, after all. He
was just unfortunate. But, as Richard sighed sadly to himself, all too often weaker men were let down. The strong never were.
He patted a book nearby. It was a fascinating book, this. A history of England written by that great man Geoffrey ofMonmouth. He had an appreciation of the importance of history, and of keeping an accurate chronicle of events. Monmouth had
set down all the great events since the arrival of Brutus after the sack of Troy, through the great period of King Arthur,
and beyond. It was clear from this that those who were bold and firm in their resolve, as well as dedicated to God, of course,
were the men who would achieve great things. Other books in his stacks told the same story. Alexander did not conquer through
laziness! No! He was a proud, chivalrous adventurer.
But that poor friar was not built from the same clay. He had failed, and because of his failure, the King was sent greater
distress, because he had hoped for this late release.
It was all because of the prophecy, of course. The prophecy of St Thomas’s Holy Oil. He had it here.
Richard moved his books about until he had a space before him, and then he blew dust from the aged parchment, smiling as he
did so. Merely handling these ancient pages was enough to give his heart a sense of warmth and excitement.
He had not heard of the prophecy until some four years ago, when rumours of this came to him. The friar himself had told him.
There had been a dream given to St Thomas Becket while he was exiled in France. The Holy Virgin sent it to him, and in the
dream she told him that there were to be six kings after his own. She showed him a marvellous Holy Oil, which he must keep
safe, for the King who was anointed with it would be a lion among men: he would conquer large tracts of France once more,
and throw the heathens from the Holy Land.
The oil had been secreted in a phial safe from danger, in St Cyprian’s Monastery in France. It was to be kept there, secure,
concealed, until the coronation of the fifth King after Becket’sown king: Henry II. That meant it must be brought out now, for Edward II.
Even so, the King had not been anointed with the special oil. And King Edward II blamed all the misfortunes of his reign on
that failure. The friar who had brought this matter to his attention was suddenly the King’s best companion. Anything the
friar wanted must be provided. And all he had to do was help the King. He had sent Nicholas to the Pope, to tell the story
and explain the importance of the oil. And to ask that a cardinal might be sent to anoint King Edward with the Holy Oil –
the use of such a high-ranking cleric must give the oil additional potency.
But the pontiff had demurred, saying that any of the King’s bishops could perform the service. It was plain enough what his
reasoning had been: the King was enormously unpopular already, and wasn’t aiding the Pope in his attempts to bring peace between
the English and French kings, so why should he help Edward? The King was thwarted in this one act which could, so he believed,
save his reign and bring him the fortune he deserved.
And the messenger who had brought this news? That friar was no longer the King’s favourite, of course. Failure was never rewarded
in England.
But this matter of the oil. It was interesting, nonetheless. Richard gave a fleeting frown, patted his book again, and set
it aside, but as he did so, his eyes narrowed and he wondered whether, just whether it was possible that the oil was genuine.
That would be a powerfully effective oil if it truly had been given to St Thomas by the Blessed Virgin.
Tuesday before Easter
, 3
eighteenth year of the
he could utter that might express his feelings adequately.
‘Ach! God
damn
that fat fool!’
It was embarrassing, Richard reflected as the friar stormed out. The man hadn’t really done anything wrong, after all. He
was just unfortunate. But, as Richard sighed sadly to himself, all too often weaker men were let down. The strong never were.
He patted a book nearby. It was a fascinating book, this. A history of England written by that great man Geoffrey ofMonmouth. He had an appreciation of the importance of history, and of keeping an accurate chronicle of events. Monmouth had
set down all the great events since the arrival of Brutus after the sack of Troy, through the great period of King Arthur,
and beyond. It was clear from this that those who were bold and firm in their resolve, as well as dedicated to God, of course,
were the men who would achieve great things. Other books in his stacks told the same story. Alexander did not conquer through
laziness! No! He was a proud, chivalrous adventurer.
But that poor friar was not built from the same clay. He had failed, and because of his failure, the King was sent greater
distress, because he had hoped for this late release.
It was all because of the prophecy, of course. The prophecy of St Thomas’s Holy Oil. He had it here.
Richard moved his books about until he had a space before him, and then he blew dust from the aged parchment, smiling as he
did so. Merely handling these ancient pages was enough to give his heart a sense of warmth and excitement.
He had not heard of the prophecy until some four years ago, when rumours of this came to him. The friar himself had told him.
There had been a dream given to St Thomas Becket while he was exiled in France. The Holy Virgin sent it to him, and in the
dream she told him that there were to be six kings after his own. She showed him a marvellous Holy Oil, which he must keep
safe, for the King who was anointed with it would be a lion among men: he would conquer large tracts of France once more,
and throw the heathens from the Holy Land.
The oil had been secreted in a phial safe from danger, in St Cyprian’s Monastery in France. It was to be kept there, secure,
concealed, until the coronation of the fifth King after Becket’sown king: Henry II. That meant it must be brought out now, for Edward II.
Even so, the King had not been anointed with the special oil. And King Edward II blamed all the misfortunes of his reign on
that failure. The friar who had brought this matter to his attention was suddenly the King’s best companion. Anything the
friar wanted must be provided. And all he had to do was help the King. He had sent Nicholas to the Pope, to tell the story
and explain the importance of the oil. And to ask that a cardinal might be sent to anoint King Edward with the Holy Oil –
the use of such a high-ranking cleric must give the oil additional potency.
But the pontiff had demurred, saying that any of the King’s bishops could perform the service. It was plain enough what his
reasoning had been: the King was enormously unpopular already, and wasn’t aiding the Pope in his attempts to bring peace between
the English and French kings, so why should he help Edward? The King was thwarted in this one act which could, so he believed,
save his reign and bring him the fortune he deserved.
And the messenger who had brought this news? That friar was no longer the King’s favourite, of course. Failure was never rewarded
in England.
But this matter of the oil. It was interesting, nonetheless. Richard gave a fleeting frown, patted his book again, and set
it aside, but as he did so, his eyes narrowed and he wondered whether, just whether it was possible that the oil was genuine.
That would be a powerfully effective oil if it truly had been given to St Thomas by the Blessed Virgin.
Tuesday before Easter
, 3
eighteenth year of the
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