Son of the Morning

"Nothing," Grace said, taking another chair and watching as he swiftly unhooked the other desktop’s electrical umbilical cords from power port and modem, and plugged in hers. He turned it on and it whirred to life, the screen flickering to a pale blue. "I tried to get into the university’s library this morning, and nothing happened. I don’t know if it’s the unit or the modem."

"We’ll find out right now." He knew his way around her menu as well as she did; he clicked onto the one he wanted, then double-clicked on the telephone icon. He dialed the number for the university’s electronic library, and ten seconds later was in. "Modem," he announced. His fingers were practically quivering as they hovered over the keys. "What did you want?"

She leaned closer. "Medieval history. The Crusades, specifically. "

He scrolled down the list of offerings. "That one," Grace said, and he clicked the mouse. The table of contents filled the screen.

He scooted away. "Here, you take over while I try to find out what’s wrong with the modem."

She took his place in front of the computer, and he switched on a lamp on the desk, automatically pushing his glasses up on his nose before he began dismantling the modem.

There were several references to the military religious orders of the time, the KnightsHospitaller and the Knights Templar. It was the Templars she wanted. She clicked onto the appropriate Chapter, and lines of information filled the screen.

She read intently, looking for one certain name. It didn’t appear. The text was a chronicle and analysis of the Templars’ contribution to the Crusades, but except for a few grand masters none was mentioned by name.

They were interrupted briefly when Audra brought a filled plate up toKristian . He positioned it next to the disassembled modem and happily munched as he worked. Grace went back to the main list and chose another text.

Sometime later she became aware thatKristian had evidently either repaired her modem or given up on it, for he was reading over her shoulder. It was difficult to pull herself out of medieval intrigue and danger, and back into the modem world of computers. She blinked to orient herself, aware of the strangely potent lure of that long-ago time. "Could you fix it?"

"Sure," he replied absently, still reading. "It was just a loose connection. Who were these Templar guys?"

"They were a military religious order in the Middle Ages; don’t you know your history?"

He pushed his glasses up on his nose and flashed her an unrepentant grin. "Time began innineteen forty-six ."

"Therewas life before computers."

"Analog life, you mean. Prehistoric." "What kind of gauges are in that muscle-bound thing you call a car?"

He looked chagrined, caught in the shameful knowledge that his beloved chariot was hopelessly old-fashioned, with analog gauges instead of digital readouts. "I’m working on it," he mumbled, hunching his thin shoulders. "Anyway, about these Templar guys. If they were so religious, why were they burned at the stake like witches or something?"

"Heresy," she murmured, turning her attention back to the screen. "Fire was the punishment for a lot of crimes, not just for witchcraft."

"Guess people back then took their religion seriously."Kristian wrinkled his nose at the electronic display of a crude drawing of three men bound to a center pole while flames licked around their knees. All three men were dressed in white tunics with crosses emblazoned on their chests. Their mouths were little black holes, opened in screams of agony.

"People are still executed because of religion today," Grace said, shuddering a little as she stared at the small drawing, imagining the sheer horror of being burned alive. "In the Middle Ages, religion was the center of people’s lives, and anyone who went against it was a threat to them. Religion gave them the rules of civilization, but it was more than that. There was so much that wasn’t known, or understood; they were terrified by eclipses, by comets, by sicknesses that struck without warning, by things we know now are normal but which they had no way of understanding. Imagine how frightening, and deadly, appendicitis must have been to them, or a stroke or heart attack. They didn’t know what was happening, what caused it, or how to prevent it. Magic was very real to them, and religion gave them a sort of protection against these unknown, frightening forces. Even if they died, God was still taking care of them, and the evil spirits didn’t win."

His brow furrowed as he tried to imagine living in such ignorance. It was almost beyond him, this child of the computer age. "I guess television would’ve given them a real spasm, huh?"

"Especially if they saw a talk show," she muttered. "Nowthere are some evil spirits."

Kristiangiggled, sending his glasses slipping down his nose. He pushed them up again and squinted at the screen. "Did you find what you want?"

"No. I’m looking for mention of one particular Templar-at least, I think he was a Templar."

"Any cross-references you can check?" She shook her head. "I don’t know his last name."Niall of Scotland. She had already found his name several times in the portion of the documents written in Old French. Why wasn’t his surname recorded, in a time when family and heritage were so important? From what she had gleaned from her translations so far, he’d been a man of immense importance to the Templars, a Knight himself, which meant he was well born and not a serf. Part of the documents were also in Gaelic, strengthening the unknown tie withScotland . She’d read up on Scotland’s history in her encyclopedia, but there hadn’t been any mention of a mysterious Niall at all, much less one in the time frame of the Templars’ existence.