But for Kevin, he was in search of something more, something to fill that big hole in his chest. The lost love haddrained him of everything he had ever been capable of feeling and in that state he became a mercenary for the Christian armies that were still trying to rid the Holy Land of the infidels. But he quickly found that there wasn’t enough money to satisfy him or supply what he was lacking. Therefore, his early days as a mercenary transformed into something else, something dark and dangerous.
Kevin became a man who would take money to kill other men; it didn’t matter to him who these other men were. As long as he was well-paid, he would do any task. Nothing was too great or too difficult. It was in this guise as a paid assassin that Kevin achieved something he never imagined he could. He became Death.
That hole in his chest where love used to linger was now filled by destruction and disappointment in what life had dealt him. The disillusionment of life had changed him, turning his soft heart and kind ways into a darker shadow of his former self. With dark hair shaved to the scalp and a massive tattoo of a scorpion that a Turkish artist has etched onto the left side of his back that had both terrible claws designed so that they were embracing his enormous left shoulder, Kevin Hage was no longer the pious, gentle knight those around him had known and loved. Kevin had died those six years ago and something else had taken his place.
The Scorpion was born.
“O thou noble maid! till I exalt myself to the heights of glory with the thrusts of my spear, and the blows of my sword, I will expose myself to every peril wherever the spears clash in the battle-dust—then shall I be either tossed upon the spear-heads, or be numbered among the noble in my quest for your beloved heart.”
~ 13thCentury Arabic Love poem
CHAPTER ONE
London
October 1289
“Iwould liketo know how the king even knows of me,” Kevin said. “How on earth could he send word to see me?”
The question hung in the moist sea air. The cog that Kevin, Adonis, and Thomas had taken from Calais had come ashore at the white cliffs of Dover on a surprisingly mild fall day. The gulls hung in the sea breezes overhead as the knights, and several other passengers, disembarked as close to the shore as possible. Kevin disembarked with his horse, a spectacular white stallion he had purchased in Tyre, bred from the ancient Arabian stock crossed with the heavy-boned Belgian warmbloods that the Crusaders had brought with them. The result was a smart, powerfully built, and astonishingly fast animal with a luxuriant black mane and tail.
The horse could swim, too, among his many talents, so Kevin literally had the horse jump off the boat and swim to shore, which he happily did. Since no man other than Kevin could ride the horse, much less approach it, Kevin simply followed his horse up onto the shore, grinning as the animal bolted up the rocky shoreline, kicking up his heels, before turning around andreturning to his master. Like a dog, he followed Kevin obediently as the man took his baggage off the small skiff that had been lowered from the side of the cog.
This area of the shoreline was where boats from Calais disembarked so there was the usual amount of boat traffic and officials demanding tariffs. It smelled heavily of musty rocks and salt, the scent of the sea backed up against the cliffs. Bags in hand, Kevin stood before a man bearing the colors of Edward, the king, with the blue and red shield embracing golden royal lions. He was a messenger who seemed out of place among the salty seamen and aggressive tax collectors. The man had just informed Kevin of the king’s wishes and Kevin was understandably confused.
“Rumor of your return to England precedes you, my lord,” the messenger said. “All of England has heard of the Scorpion and our king, the consummate warrior, respects the reputation you have built for yourself. He wishes to see you for himself.”
Kevin peered at the man dubiously. “How did you know me on sight?”
The messenger pointed to one of the several tariff collectors milling several feet away, arguing with some of the cog captains that had come ashore.
“You are distinctive, my lord,” he said, pointing to Kevin’s neck. “Your boat captain noticed, too. If I were a man given to wager, I would guess those claws on your neck are scorpion claws. Iamaddressing the Scorpion, am I not?”
Kevin grunted. The right claw of the massive scorpion on his back came up on the left side of his neck. Instinctively, he ran a finger along the leather collar of his tunic as if trying to hide the claw that could not be hidden. There was no use in denying the obvious.
“I am Hage,” he said, vaguely. “What does the king wish to speak with me about?”
The messenger was good at his job, seasoned and capable of standing up to men who were fearful, stubborn, or even intimidating. “He has not discussed that with me, my lord,” he said. “I would suggest you travel to London immediately to find out. He is in residence at the palace at Thorney Island.”
Thorney Island. Kevin turned to look at Adonis and Thomas, who were gazing back at him in various stages of confusion and perhaps even doubt at the messenger’s words. But Kevin didn’t doubt the man. He knew Edward’s tunics. He’d seen them many times. Unless this was a spy who had stolen a royal tunic and was trying to lure him to his death, at the palace at Thorney Island no less, he believed the man. He had no reason not to. Better to take the chance that the king really had summoned him. Therefore, he waved the man off.
“Very well,” he said. “If you reach the king before I do, tell him I am on my way.”
The messenger bowed sharply. “Excellent, my lord,” he said. “The king will be pleased.”
With that, the man spun on his heel and took off across the rocky shore, dodging seamen and passengers alike as they disembarked from the cogs off shore. As Kevin went to saddle his horse, Adonis followed him.
“Summoned by the king?” he repeated quietly, looking around at the rabble that was milling about on the shoreline to make sure no one had heard the messenger. “The last time you saw Edward was in battle in Wales and he believed you to be someone else.”
Kevin put the saddle on his horse and adjusted the cinch strap. “I am well aware.”
“He thought you were a Welsh insurgent.”
Kevin nodded. “That is true,” he said, thinking back to that dark night when he’d had a great adventure and a seriously closecall against the king of England. “He thought that I was Bhrodi de Shera, the last hereditary king of Anglesey.”
Adonis, too, thought back to that rather harrowing night of battle. “You donned the man’s armor when he was wounded in battle so that the Welsh would not lose heart against the English,” he muttered. “You did it because Penelope asked you to.”
Kevin didn’t want to think back to that part of the circumstances but he had no choice; even mentioning Penelope de Wolfe’s name, six years later, still brought pain.
