DEUS VULT
THE ANGEL OF GREAT COUNSEL
Nativity, 1273rd Year of the Lord, Trier
The castle floor was hard and cold on the winter night; the snow raged and the Rhine froze, and only the chanting of monks could be heard. The moon was on the other side of the great fortification -- only the flickering and dimming lamps provided light to the man kneeling in supplication and prayer.
Just as the infant Messiah was born on this day, so too would the Church be reborn. The saints were clear in their instructions -- the Papacy had to be saved. The fate of the mortal souls of all man-kind was too important to be left to warring kings and scheming cardinals.
It was up to the Milites Christi, the sworn swords of the Lord, to restore that which had been sundered. Sin had taken deep roots in the Rhineland, and in the highest offices of the Church -- and that sin had to be purged.
As the monks chanted the Puer natus et nobis elsewhere in the castle, the Lord Commander of the Fraternal Order of the Sworn Swords of St. Peter knelt and reflected upon his duty to God and Christendom.
Saracens still, after nearly five centuries, held court in Rome, worshipping their crescent-God in the holiest churches in Western Christendom. The atrocities against Christians -- crucified martyrs, despoiled maidens, robbed pilgrims -- were well documented.
And yet, even with the existence of the Petrine Order, nothing had been done. For 139 years, they had accumulated castles and men, flocking to the holy banner -- and the only wars they had fought had been against fellow Christians.
In Berchtold’s own lifetime, there had been four anti-Popes, two wars of excommunication, any number of minor Rhineland urban “wars” and the innumerable scandals of Innocent III, that thrice-damned catamite.
He remembered the acrid smell of burning flesh, and the cries of the conquered, when Köln had been taken in the war to defend Innocent III’s throne. It had been a wretched scene, as the Franconians drove out the Frankish troops and set upon the innocents of the city, in rapine and plunder. It was positively un-Christian.
When he had walked in on the Pope’s shame with a man-servant, it had felt as if he had sinned in the name of protecting a servant of Satan rather than, well, the Pope.
Cuius imperium super humerium eius….
And so, Berchtold would take it upon his own shoulders, to govern the Church in Christ’s stead. He had agonized for years, now, over whether or not what he did was in itself sinful. Was it the foolishness of pride? A thirst for power, born of greed?
It was indeed sin -- for him to doubt. He had not had enough faith in the Lord, and in the real miracle of the Resurrection, to doubt his own purpose. Berchtold knew now that this was to be the hour of judgement, a night of long knives.
Et vocabitur nomen eius magni consilii Angelus...
Berchtold heard a sound from above and below, from behind and in front of him, as if was a part of all the air of the world. It rang and thrummed like a bell, and before him a great azure light appeared.
From the light emerged the Lord, bearing a sword. Berchtold could see the stigmata, bleeding as they did at Calvary, and the hole left by the spear of St. Longinus. The thorns pierced his scalp, and the Cross appeared behind him. And around his head, the light was brighter and golden, shining fiercer than even the sun at mid-day.
Berchtold heard once more the counsel of God, for Christ spoke and did not speak, and his words appeared to Berchtold unbidden, as if they were his own thoughts.
As Berchtold stood from the cold stone floor, his comrades moved forward from the shadows. These 12 comrades -- nay, apostles -- would be his men at arms, his most trusted companions.
As they swept out of the room, and down to the great chamber where the conclave was located, they steeled themselves in iron and in faith. A great deed was to be done this day. Others joined them as they marched down to the chamber, for they too had heard of Berchtold’s visions and his vision, and had dedicated themselves once more to righteousness.
There would be a reckoning in the house of the Lord, and the corrupt would be thrown from His Church. And the words of Christ Jesus and the angels would rally all of Christendom to arms, until the Babylonian captivity of Rome was ended at last.
Cantate Domino canticum novum quia mirabilia fecit…
###
THE ANGEL OF DEATH
29th September, 1258th Year of the Lord, Wewelsburg
In a local castle belonging to the Petrine Order, a small group of knights huddled around a table, atop which was one of their comrades -- the young Berchtold. The table was at the center of a floor -- by legend, designed by a captured Saracen and built atop a pagan’s corpse -- that showed a black sun.
A crossbow bolt was next to him on the table, having been removed from his body by the Jewish medic the Petrine Order had brought with them.
No one really cared about the irony -- Mordechai may have been a Jew from Saracen-held Italy, but he was effective. And, of course, he had knowledge of real medicine rather than the latest trend in Western European quackery.
Berchtold’s body did not stir, and he lay as still as he did when his brethren found him near the hills of Kalkriese. They had been ambushed in the forest by forces of the Duke of Saxony, who opposed the rightful papacy of Poppo II and therefore the writ of the German emperor.
But as he lay, he was not entirely unconscious. A voice, from where he could not know, spoke to him. As the voice spoke, Berchtold saw not the world as it was, but the past.
“Shema, Baruch…..”
And as the ethereal voice spoke, Berchtold saw a house, maybe a temple, burning. There were women, and children, and some desperate armed men, huddled against a great cabinet. There was a candelabra, sitting upon a fine red cloth, on a table next to the cabinet.
Berchtold did not understand the voice, nor did he understand why his vision focused on one little boy, probably no more than three years old. The screaming of the women and the crackling of flames grew louder, until the voice spoke again.
“Shema, Baruch…..”
Two hands reached for the boy, and then his vision went white, and then black. And out of the darkness, there came a low light, like a flame, and a figure appeared. The flame revealed itself to be a circle of torches, and then Berchtold saw what they were in truth. They were burning crosses.
Berchtold knew the spectre to be the Archangel Michael, for he came dressed in golden armor, bearing the scales of souls and the scythe of death. Berchtold could not perceive his face, except for his eyes -- there was something wrong with his eyes.
When Michael spoke, the voice was different. Clearer, as if he was being spoken to in the present rather than in the ether of time. Berchtold dared to ask a question -- for Michael was, after all, the angel of death.
“Blessed Archangel, am I to die?” Berchtold’s voice did not waver or betray any fear, despite his youth.
Michael glanced down at his scales for a moment, a moment that felt both as short as a blink and as long as a lifetime. But he looked back up, and his eyes -- there was something off about his eyes -- bored into the floating, prone Berchtold.
“No. The Lord has a purpose for you, young knight. The holy seat of the Pope has been twice-profaned: its occupants are sinners, and its city is held by the heathen.
Rome must be retaken, and the Church must conquer itself, away from fallen priests and worldly warlords. You have been chosen to lead, young Berchtold.”
Berchtold was confused, amazed, and honestly terrified. He was a young man, wounded in battle -- why did the Lord choose him? Michael spoke again, having read Berchtold’s soul. His voice was deeper now, ringing across the entire world of Berchtold’s dream-vision.
“Do not question the will of God Almighty! Bear the Cross and save the Church!”
Berchtold suddenly opened his eyes in reality. Mordechai had left the room already, and his companions had sent for a priest. They suddenly moved towards the table, amazed at Berchtold’s recovery.
And Berchtold’s mouth opened, and the words of the right-hand of God, the Archangel Michael, came forth.
“Deus Vult!”
###
IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
21 May, 1269th Year of the Lord, York
This was not the first time Berchtold had left Germany’s borders, but it was the first time he left not as a soldier but as a diplomat. He had brought his most devout companions, as emissaries not just of the Petrine Order but of Berchtold himself, in his quest to make Rome Christian again.
He had greatly enjoyed King Kenulf II’s feast in Skardaburg; Kenulf had continued to hold the power of his famous father Wiglaf, who had installed the Saxon house of Mercia as Bretwalda after over a century of political instability. Berchtold’s message had played well here, as well as it had amongst the people and lords of the Rhineland. They would back his holy quest.
He had found a little grove in which to pray. His companions stood behind and around him, and around the burning cross they had erected. They were clad in white, the color of purity and the color of Christ.
The air was full of smoke as the cross burned, the fumes rising up into the grey sky. It was time for prayer -- Berchtold wondered if he would see the Archangel, the one who had advised him over these eleven years, the one who had finally convinced him to overcome his doubt. He knelt upon the mossy ground, and clasped his hands in silent contemplation.
Suddenly, Berchtold’s eyes fled back into his skull; he was having another vision. He still saw the grove and the burning cross, but he also saw a figure emerging from the flames, clad in armor. Was it St. Michael?
It was not. The man wore an imperial crown, and bore a shield with a Chi-Rho on it, along with a sword. This, Berchtold realized, was St. Constantine.
Constantine did not speak, but rather showed Berchtold an image of Rome. He could see the famous buildings, known in the engravings -- the Pantheon, the Colosseum, the Column of Trajan -- and a number of churches, clearly defiled. The moon was high in the virtual sky, shining with an unworldly glow.
Berchtold moved, unbidden by the silent Caesar, and stood. He moved without thinking of moving, as if some greater force compelled him to action. His hammer and sword were gone, replaced by a bow; he drew back the arrow, and shot the moon.
Again, six times more, Berchtold loosed arrows into the thinning crescent, before it suddenly crashed to the Earth. The ground shook, and the sky was consumed by a bright green light, and Berchtold could only see the burning cross. Constantine emerged from the darkness, his head backed by a golden disk, and spoke.
“The cross of flame, like the burning bush, shall guide you. As I conquered in Christ’s name, so too shall you conquer under its care. In its sign, in this quest, you too shall conquer. In hoc signo vinces.”
Berchtold smiled serenely, knowing immediately the response.
“Deus Vult.”
###
ET QUI NON ACCIPIT CRUCEM SUAM
Nativity, 1273rd Year of the Lord, Trier
The hour of reckoning was at last at hand. Berchtold and his brothers, and their followers who had gathered in Trier, had stormed into the chamber, and had dragged out the cardinals to the chilly courtyard.
The snow had stopped, and a cross had been prepared for the flame. Berchtold strode in front of the assembled captives, set the cross aflame, and spoke.
“Most beloved and honored brethren! Urged by necessity and faith, I, Berchtold, by the grace of God Lord Commander of the Fraternal Order of the Sworn Swords of St. Peter, have come to you as a herald of His displeasure.
I had hoped to find the assembled as faithful and as zealous as I had previously supposed you to be. Instead, I find you engaged not in prayer but in prattling schemes, choosing a Pope not for his piety but for his political connections! For too long this Church has been a slave to the fallen world, to the whims of temporal lords.
There is in you and in this Church deformities and crookedness, lies and sins; with the help of God and his angels, I shall do my best to remove wickedness from the Church.
Brother Kuno, cleanse the sinners.”
Kuno, who had been standing to the side with a smaller group of cardinals that were known to be heinous, took them in arms along with his helpers. Kuno brought them forth before the cross and the congregation, and took out his long knife.
The cardinals were knelt upon the ground, prone and shivering in the crushed snow, and their throats were torn by the knife. Kuno sawed through their necks, and placed their heads, still crowned in finery and frozen in death, upon their backs. Their blood stained the stones below their bodies, and splayed out as it gushed from their necks.
None of the rest dared to speak, their eyes transfigured with the fear of God. Berchtold nodded, smiled a faint smile, and spoke again.
“You must be true shepherds. Do not sleep in contentment, but guard on all sides the flock given unto you. For if through negligence or sin a wolf steals one of your sheep, you will surely lose the reward promised to you by God.
And after you have been scourged with the remorse for your failure, you will suffer the true pains of Hell, the abode of the Devil himself.
How can the sins of the people be corrected if the Church itself lies in sin! How can the Church be free of sin if it is the plaything of the lords of all the Rhine! How can a man sit on the throne of St. Peter if St. Peter’s cathedral lies in the hands of the Saracen!
Those who sell indulgences must be driven out, by the sword and the Cross! Those who commit simony must be driven out, and those who hold multiple seats in the hopes of mortal wealth, must be driven out!
Before you teach the people, and administer Christ’s teachings to them, correct yourselves. If you wish to be in the good graces of the Lord God, do those things that shall please him.
I come before you, having heard the voices of the angels and the saints, of Michael and Constantine and our Lord, Jesus Christ. I come before you bearing the cross of the flame, the sigil of conquest, the purifying spark that shall extirpate us all of sin.
Until Rome is free of the Babylonian yoke, there will be no Popes. Until the Church is free of sinners, there will be no rest. Until the petty kings of Christendom bow in humility and supplication before the burning cross, they will not know salvation.
Question not my words, for they are the words of God. He who does not bear the cross and follow me, shall be driven into the very depths of Hell, and shall burn as it does on this night.
The time of idleness, of sloth and greed and lust, ends tonight. Just as we remember the birth of the infant Messiah, we must also ensure the birth of a new Church, of a pure Church.
By the sword, by the cross, and by the intercession of God, Rome shall be retaken. A Pope will once again sit in the city of St. Peter, and the Saracen will be beaten back to the cursed lands from whence they came."
"DEUS VULT!”
Berchtold’s men cried with him, and the chant continued in the courtyard until the cardinals, chastened, horrified, and inspired, all joined in. It would be a cry that shook the very foundation of Christendom, and that would ring from the shores of the Atlantic to the Vistula, from snow-bound Scandinavia to Tuscany.
###
NON VENI PACEM MITTERE SED GLADIUM
4 September, 1276th Year of the Lord, Rome
At last, at last, Rome had fallen.
Berchtold stood upon the Milvian Bridge, ready to ride into the city, to make total the Christian conquest. A cross burned behind his troops, the symbol of their victory.
The forces of the latter-day Roman Republic had been easily defeated in the field, at last bereft of the protection of the Sultan in Tunis or even the Emir in Nablus. The real struggle had been in 1274 and 1275, when Berchtold had fought the lords of France, who opposed his purification of the Church.
But they too had fallen before his righteous arms, and had made supplication to the Cross, and had given over their men to his crusade. There were men from all of Christendom represented in this army, glad to be present upon this holy day, this day of victory.
500 years before, the Saracen had conquered the city from the Lombards, who had taken it back recently from the Greeks. 300 years before that, the Roman Empire had fallen to Odoacer.
And now, another German army had come, through the Brenner Pass, to bring war unto the city of Rome. This army, however, came not for plunder or power but for piety. The mosques of Rome would be given over to Christ, the palaces given over to His servants.
Berchtold turned his horse, and faced his army, and extended his left arm towards the city. And as he turned towards the throng, and prepared to finish the conquest of Rome, he had but one message for his men. They all cried in unison, with a call as clear as day, and charged forth to conquer.
“DEUS VULT!”
