2nd Chance - James Patterson [102]
“The arid lands of our Lord’s great sacrifice have been defiled by the infidel Turk. Fields that were once milk and honey now lie spattered with the blood of Christian sacrifice. Holy churches have been burned and looted, sainted sites destroyed. The holiest treasures of our faith, the bones of saints, have been fed to dogs; cherished vials, filled with drops of the Savior’s own blood, poured into heaps of dung like spoiled wine.”
“Join us,” many from the ranks called out loudly. “Kill the pagans, and sit with the Lord in Heaven.”
“For those who come,” the monk named Peter went on, “for those who put aside their earthly possessions and join our Crusade, His Holiness Urban promises unimaginable rewards. Riches, spoils, and honor in battle. His protection for your families who dutifully remain behind. An eternity in heaven at the feet of our grateful Lord. And, most of all, freedom. Freedom from all servitude upon your return. Who will come, brave souls?” the monk reached out his arms, his invitation almost irresistible.
Shouts of acclamation rose throughout the square. People I had known for years shouted, “I… I will come!”
I saw Matt, the miller’s oldest son, just sixteen, throw up his hands and hug his mother. And John the Smith, who could crush iron in his hands, kneel and take the cross. Several people, many of them just boys, ran to get their possessions, then merged in with the ranks. Everyone was shouting, “Dei leveult!” God wills it!
Inside, my own blood surged. What a glorious adventure awaited. Riches and spoils picked up along the way. A chance to change destiny in a single stroke. I felt my soul spring alive. I thought of gaining our freedom, and the riches I might find on the Crusades. For a second I almost raised my hand and called out, “I will come! I will take the cross.”
But then I felt Sophie’s hand pressing on mine. I lost my tongue.
It minutes, the procession started up again. The ranks of farmers, masons, bakers, maids, whores, jongleurs and outlaws, hoisting their sacks and makeshift weapons, swelling in song. The monk Peter mounted his donkey, blessing the town with a wave, then pointed west.
I watched them with a yearning I thought had long been put behind me. I had traveled in my youth. I’d been brought up by Goliards, monks who entertained from town to town. And there was something that I missed from those days. Something my life in Veille du Pere had stilled but not completely put aside.
1 missed being free, and even more than that, I wanted freedom for Sophie and the children we would have one day.
Contents
Front Cover Image
Welcome
Acknowledgments
A Preview of The Jester
Prologue: THE CHOIR KIDS
Part One: THE WOMEN’S MURDER CLUB—AGAIN
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Part Two: JUSTICE WILL BE SERVED
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Part Three: THE BLUE WALL OF SILENCE
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter