Hohenstaufen: Mark of the Beast by Daniel R. Hopkins

Author:Daniel R. Hopkins [Hopkins, Daniel R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Daniel R. Hopkins
Published: 2020-02-02T16:00:00+00:00

“Yuck!” Anarkyra gags.

“Indeed,” William shudders.

“Did you have an opinion you wished to express, Your Worshipful?” asks Pope John.

“N-n-no, Your Holiness,” William stutters, gazing at the pope sadly. “Father — er — Bishop Damien will make an exalted bailiff.”

“I’m glad you approve,” says Pope John with papal sarcasm. “My retinue shall prepare the documents releasing the throne to our young king. Thank you, all of you, for your assessment in this matter. This council is dismissed.”

As everyone gets up from the table, I’m wondering when Mary got ahold of Damien’s résumé. Hugues pats my shoulder roughly as he waddles on by, his way of congratulating me. Pope John sends William to locate Damien before he leaves the island.

“I don’t believe we’ve been formerly introduced, Your Majesty,” says Bishop Paul as he approaches me. “I honor you for your courage to be here this day.”

“I’ve heard of you, Your Eminence,” I say, giving a futile bow. “And thank you. For your endorsement.”

“Don’t thank me, my child. It is you we shall venerate when the divisions are no more and the infidel purged from our lands,” says Paul. “Perhaps we shall meet again once you’re settled in Acre. And don’t be a stranger. You’ll find me in Beirut, not far from your capital.”

I’m guessing someone’s tipped him off that I’m grossly ignorant to thirteen-century geography. And now, I’m worried he knows something. But if William had told him my dark secret, then Paul wouldn’t have endorsed me. It’s that simple.

My inheritance is stamped with a huge seal featuring two large crisscrossed keys, rolled up into a piece of parchment, laced in a red ribbon, and inserted into a foot-long silver pipe with a cap on one end. The pope then presents me the Kingdom of Jerusalem in a scroll tube.

The purpose of the council fulfilled, the Vatican officials and their guards shuffle in a group from the patio. For a moment, I almost wave to them as they exit. I’m so relieved, I could fall over. But if ever there was a time I needed to be on my toes, it’s now.

“Well? How does it feel?” asks Mary as I join her by the parapet, the palace servants cleaning up the table behind us.

I hesitate. Then smile pleasantly at her. “It feels different,” I say. “Like none of it’s real. Like it’s too good to be true.” Like something’s wrong big time, I think.

“Well, my dear Arjen, it is true. You’re a king now. And the people of Jerusalem will need to know it,” she says.

“But how will I get anyone to listen to me?” I ask.

“You tell them you’re a Hohenstaufen,” says Mary. “You tell them it’s either you, or Baibars and the khan.”

“What she means is give them a drum to beat, a flag to wave, and a fair dose of scaremongering,” says Anarkyra on my other side, leaning back with her hands on the parapet. “Master that formula, and you’ll be president someday.”

“So, what happens next?” I ask, not sure if I mean it for Mary or Anarkyra.

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