“The scent of mold and dampness, pervaded by an even darker, more sinister smell, perhaps the scent of dead corpses, surrounded him and crept into his lungs, threatening to suffocate him. He stared up, seeing nothing except the rough undersurface of a stone lid, probably one of the empty sarcophagi in the crypt at St. Paul’s.He struggled to push the stone away, but it barely moved an inch. He tried to recollect what had happened between him and the demons, but the only memory he had was of John ...pushing the women out of St. Paul’s, while he’d been engulfed by Julian’s giant jaws.Although the situation appeared desperate, he’d been in far worse conditions when going into battle in the name of Charlemagne, and he’d always managed to escape. He recalled being human and battling the Saracens, imagining the blare of trumpets, the screaming agony of men and horses dying, and the metal clashing of sword upon sword, armor upon armor, with the taste of dirt and grit upon his lips.His mind hurtled back to a further time on a wintry day when Charlemagne came to the monastery to personally deliver an endowment to the Benedictine monks.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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