Book 1-3. Baphomet Mysteries

By Olga Kryuchkova

Count Raymond IV of Toulouse, ruler of the kingdom of Languedoc, brings from the Crusade a certain statuette depicting Baphomet. The wealthy Kingdom of Languedoc causes the envy of France. Five years after returning from a campaign, Count Raymond is overtaken by a mysterious death in the highland castle of Montsegur. His son Alphonse leaves his native Languedoc forever, going to the Holy Land, where he meets Hugues de Paynes, the first Grand Master of the Knights Templar. After that, the Templars begin to worship Baphomet. A century later, the statuette falls into the hands of Chevalier Clermont de Montsegur, great-grandson of the Count of Toulouse. His life is full of unpredictable turns, and death becomes a mystery to posterity. The King of France pursues the Knights Templar and tries to destroy them in order to take possession of the treasures of the Templars. The next owner of Baphomet, Auguste de Cavallon (Templar) transports the gold of the Knights Templar to Scotland. He experiences turbulent adventures, and then becomes the preceptor (manager) of Inverness Castle, in which the spiritual and magical knowledge of Europe and the Near East is concentrated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Olga Kryuchkova
• Release date: Jun 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215845530

Olga Kryuchkova

Olga Kryuchkova began her creative career in 2006. During this time, the author had more than 100 publications and reprints (historical novels, historical adventures, esotericism, art therapy, fantasy). A number of novels were co-written with Elena Kryuchkova.

Book preview

‘The Knights Templar and the Bloody Baphomet’ Book Series

Book 1-3

Alternate History of the Templar Order

Cover: Images from Pixabay.

Nitimur in vetitum semper, cupimusque negata.

We always strive for the forbidden and desire the unlawful.

Latin saying

Book 1

The Bloody Baphomet. Diary of a Templar Crusader.

Prologue

59 year from the birth of Christ

The path meandered among the mountains in the most unpredictable way, then went down, then climbed up so steeply that a person had to climb on all fours. The military detachment, constantly at the risk of falling into a bottomless abyss, slowly moved towards its intended goal.

Rufus followed the guide. He mentally turned to Jupiter, Mars and other gods of the Roman Pantheon, promising to bring them generous gifts in case of a safe return from the expedition. In addition, his thoughts involuntarily turned directly to the culprit of this dangerous expedition — the Commander of the fourteenth legion, Cessius Lont. Rufus mentally unleashed all sorts of curses on the Commander's head.

Rufus looked back at his companions, wearily walking along the mountain path. They have already come to terms with the fact that any of them can fall into a bottomless abyss.

Great Jupiter, where is this accursed temple?! Rufus pleaded, losing strength from the long march that had been going on for three days now.

The mules bought from the village on the plain had to be abandoned almost immediately. It happened two days ago. A laden mule cannot go along such a path, except perhaps a mountain sheep, and even then with difficulty. After a day of hiking, Rufus felt almost like this animal, climbing along the path. He was afraid to stumble, to take even one wrong step. And then the wrong step was taken: one of Rufus's people fell into the abyss and no one even managed to lend a helping hand to him.

Rufus, realizing the mood of the squad, roared:

Forward! We will find the temple, or I am not Rufus Pliny! Or have you forgotten what reward awaits you in Rome?

All warriors perfectly remembered about the silver Roman sesterces (ancient Roman coins). The reward was promised to everyone who returned with a find, for the sake of which, in fact, the campaign was equipped. People stirred and began to slowly move forward. All of them were the guardsmen of the praetor's cohort, that is, they were the commander's guardsmen. They were brave, experienced veteran warriors, each of them participated in many battles and campaigns. Lorica hamatas (Roman chain mail) hid numerous battle scars on the bodies of warriors that could eloquently tell about the past.

So, three guardsmen survived from the detachment, not counting the guide. Rufus looked around and fixed his eyes on the seasoned veterans who knew no fear on the battlefield. But just not here…

The Legionnaire once again mentioned Cessius Lont with an unkind word: I suppose he is sitting in the shady gallery of his house on the banks of the Tiber and drinking grape wine! I wish him to choke on this wine!!! Rufus licked his lips, parched from excitement and exertion, uncorked the flask and took a sip of water. Who knows how much more to go, because the map of Cessius is not very accurate!

If it weren’t for two thousand sesterces (it was this amount that was promised to Rufus as the leader of the detachment), I would never have gone to this land forgotten by Jupiter!He thought, slowly stepping forward along the mountain path, and trying to distract himself from oppressive thoughts: Did Cessius not know exactly what this magical little thing was? And does it really exist? And the map he gave me is just a drawing, a scribble. How can you trust this map?

Rufus recalled how he personally recruited a detachment of six people, causing discontent with the Centurion Flavius, but you won’t go against the order of Cessius! And here they are, seduced by the promised sesterces, now crawling over the mountains to no one knows where!

***

Four months ago, Legion Commander Cessius Lont summoned Rufus to him. The Legion Commander trusted Rufus, they fought together since the time when Cessius was a centurion. But by the will of fate, or maybe the will of the gods, Rufus saved the life of his Centurion, and he was imbued with trust and gratitude for the young warrior. From that moment on, luck began to accompany the young Legionnaire.

Therefore, Cessius had no other candidate than Rufus to carry out such a dangerous and secret mission. When the Legionnaire came to Cessius, he was having a lively conversation with a certain gray-haired old man. Rufus recognized him, it was Senator Mark Segnotius.

When the Legionnaire appeared, the interlocutors fell silent. Segnotius looked at Rufus inquisitively, as if trying to penetrate his innermost thoughts. Then the Senator nodded approvingly to Lont, who with a broad gesture invited Rufus to sit on the cushions at a small table covered with all kinds of dishes and join the friendly meal.

After a hearty meal and pleasant conversation, Cessius finally told Rufus why he had invited him. From the long hazy story, Rufus understood only one thing: the Senator has some kind of ancient map on which the path to the high-altitude temple dedicated to the deity Baphomet is indicated. The monks of the temple worshiped a statue of the deity, which at times was infused with the original spirit of Baphomet.

The task before Rufus was extremely clear and at first glance simple — to take possession of the statue and deliver it to Rome. What the statue was, why the Senator and the Legion Commander needed it, was not said, and Rufus, as an old soldier, was used to not asking unnecessary questions.

***

Finally, on the fourth day of wandering along the mountain paths, a flat platform opened before Rufus's gaze, on which stood a stone temple, erected by the hands of monks many centuries ago. In front of its entrance was a huge stone statue depicting a four-armed deity, probably Baphomet.

Rufus took out a map, the place where he was now seemed to coincide with the map: here is a picture of a four-armed little man.

Looks like we've reached the right place! The Legionnaire looked around, intending to clarify some details with the guide, but that was gone.

Rufus was perplexed: the conductor had just been standing here. Where could he go?

The Legionnaire ordered his men to hide behind rocks. Rufus himself took a vantage point to watch the temple. A difficult task had to be solved: how to capture the temple with a small number of soldiers? It was necessary to correctly calculate their forces.

The Legionnaire could clearly see the entrance to the temple, despite the fact that the sun shone from the side. He, like the guardsmen, was tired and dreamed of rest, by force of will suppressing the desire to settle down right there on the stones and fall asleep. The monks entered and left the temple. To Rufus, they all looked the same because of the monotonous orange robes and shaved heads. Finally, towards evening, the Legionnaire learned to distinguish the monks and determined their approximate number.

It was getting dark. The sun was going to rest, lazily caressing the snowy peaks with its last rays, when Rufus came to the conclusion: there are six or seven monks in the temple.

The guardsmen were exhausted from the long march along the mountain paths, and a short day's rest did not restore their strength. But they remembered that in Rome a reward awaits them, and a considerable one, each should receive thousands of sesterces.

... The detachment broke into the temple, when the monks, dressed in bright orange clothes, sitting on the floor and holding hands, indulged in meditation. They hadn't even recovered from their trance when the sharp Roman gladius swords decapitated them. The massacre ended instantly: in the middle of the temple lay six decapitated bodies. Rufus breathed a sigh of relief as he wiped his sword on one of the victims' clothes. At that moment, it seemed to him: the goal was achieved, and it was all over. But how wrong he was!

Rufus looked around. Here it is the coveted statue of Baphomet! She stood on a stone pedestal, surrounded by lit candles, forming a magical pentagram. The ruby eyes of Baphomet gleamed mysteriously. Rufus walked inside the magic circle and grabbed the statue with both hands. It turned out to be quite light and rather resembled a figurine the size of three spans. (A span is a medieval measure of length. The distance from the thumb to the index finger of the hand at stretch).

The Legionnaire took off his leather hiking bag and crammed the god figurine into it. Rufus ordered to search the entire temple: none of the monks should remain alive! The guards, exhausted from fatigue, carried out the order of their commander. They were exhausted to the limit and dreamed of only one thing: to fall and fall asleep.

Everyone rest until dawn! Rufus ordered and then added: Tomorrow we will go back! It is not safe on the mountain paths, we will have to be extremely careful, because we have no one to rely on, the guide has escaped.

But the news of the flight of the guide did not make an impression on the guards. They closed the wooden gate with a powerful latch and settled down for the night next to the headless corpses.

Rufus fell asleep, he dreamed of Baphomet. He moved his many arms like a spider, each of them held a sword, his face shone blue, blood-red ruby eyes gleamed ominously, his mouth made chilling sounds.

Rufus suddenly woke up. He sat down and looked around. What appeared before his eyes was stunning: the Roman soldiers from the cohort of Cessius Lont himself lay decapitated next to the monks. Rufus froze in horror. He, a fearless warrior who had been fighting for ten years, was seized by animal fear.

Suddenly, the gates of the temple creaked and opened on their own, because there was simply no one to do this. Rufus, seized with fear, grabbed his hiking bag and, throwing it behind his back, hurriedly left the ominous place.

A pale pink dawn broke over the mountains. Rufus, mad with fear, no longer afraid to stumble and fall into the abyss, ran with all his might, crawled, climbing the mountain paths. He ate right on the go, extracting the remaining pieces of dried meat from his hiking bag, and drinking water from a leather flask, the reserves of which he hastily replenished a couple of times in mountain springs.

The warrior did not leave the feeling that he was being pursued by someone, and this someone is the spirit of Baphomet himself. Rufus realized that he was powerless against the spirit and, if the spirit wanted, for fun, he would throw him into the abyss. But Baphomet prepared another fate for the Legionnaire...

***

At last Rufus reached the foothills, where the mules were left under the supervision of two legionnaires. Strange, but there were no guides or legionnaires at the appointed place. Rufus decided that he had no time to think about such trifles, quickly descended into the valley. The nearest settlement was about five leagues (the Roman League is about 4 km). He, like a trained soldier who had spent the last ten years on endless campaigns, had overcome this distance by noon. Having passed the small village of Erbil and, having replenished his flask with water, Rufus continued on his way.

Rufus, exhausted and hungry, reached Mosul, which is on the Tigris River, in the evening. Seeing the river, he rushed to it with the last of his strength, and without taking off his lorica hamata, sandals and a baldric with a sword. He immersed himself in the life-giving moisture with pleasure. The body, washed with cool water, for the Tigris originates in the local mountains, experienced bliss. It was a feeling forgotten by the Legionnaire for three months since he left blessed Rome and made his way through strange, uncharted lands in search of a temple.

Unexpectedly, Rufus was grabbed by the legs and abruptly dragged towards the bottom. The Legionnaire, choking, kicked, trying to throw away the enemy, who had crept up in such an insidious way. Finally, his vision clouded over, his lungs filled with water...

***

Rufus came to his senses. Baphomet stood before him, his lower pair of spidery arms folded across his chest. He smiled wickedly, his eyes shimmering with various shades of red.

You are in my power, mortal! And I can do whatever I want with you! Baphomet said haughtily.

Rufus did not have to speak with the gods with his own eyes, but he was not at a loss:

Who are you to threaten me?! I am under the rule of Jupiter! You mean nothing in my life!

Really! And who drowned you? You are dead!

How can I be dead if I'm talking to you!

"Very