Demon from the Future
So I have these Terminator books where a T-800 gets sent to the middle ages. Here's the first couple of pages translated from Hungarian.
The port city, which had only been recaptured a few days earlier, was overrun by warriors of all nationalities, brawling and throwing their loot at the door. Although the bulk of King Richard the Lionheart's army was made up of Normans and Provençals - the foot soldiers and Turkopolis raiders were supplemented by almost a thousand heavily armored knights - some German and French troops also traveled with them to the eventual reconquest of holy Jerusalem. Most of them did not intend to miss out on the promised rich loot, so they did not care about the squabbles between the crowned heads. Philip II, the King of France, felt neglected and returned home to Europe resentfully, complaining loudly that Richard was taking all the glory for the campaign he led to support the beleaguered Christians of the Holy Land. The crusaders did not regret the departure of the stingy Frenchman; He besieged the city of Acre for ninety-eight weeks in vain, which King Richard managed to take in thirty-four days, as he paid four gold ducats for each stone his warriors brought from the walls of Acre, so that only a crowned head led the crusaders preparing to clash with the formidable armies of Saladin under Jaffa.
In the crowd that swirled through the streets, one or two armored, hunched figures appeared from time to time, looking at the marauding soldiers with stony faces and contempt. These knights were usually members of one of the fighting orders, and therefore could not partake of the pleasures of the world. They cut grimly through the ignoble warriors who respectfully made way for them. Of course, the common people also had their own opinions about the knights. The Hospitallers were generally considered to be obsessed, while the Templars were considered arrogant and hypocritical. The latter order was founded by the saintly Bernard of Clairvaux himself.
– its former poverty and puritanism were now just a legend: the organization had vast estates and incredible sums of money at its disposal, and according to rumor, some of its members did indulge in those certain "earthly pleasures." Whether or not, the group of six riding out the southern gate was clearly not out for fun. Their icy, dismissive expressions, as they pointed at the common people, were frozen almost statuesque in the dancing, reddish light of the guard's torches. The attentive observer might have noticed something strange beneath the rigid mask of arrogance: the Templars seemed to be on some terrible mission. Their faces, tanned by decades spent in Outrémer, looked strangely pale, their strong fingers clutched the reins tightly. They were not going to fight or raid, although Saladin's horsemen were riding barely two hours' walk from the walls of Jaffa; they wore only light corduroy shirts and white kilts embroidered with a red cross. As soon as they emerged from the gate, they spurred their horses to a gallop, and a few minutes later they disappeared into the night.
After twenty minutes of steady trotting, they arrived at their destination. At the ruins that rose grimly from the desert sand, two sneered sergeants awaited them, and after dismounting, they silently led their horses away.
The ruins had once been the site of a monastery of the Essene sect, until the storm of history swept them away five hundred years before the events. Since then, only passing merchants and travelers had stopped here for a night. The ghostly glow of the pale moonlight filled the courtyard with vague shadows. The six men entered the central building, which had once been a house of prayer, without a word.
Everything had been carefully prepared for them. Over the collapsed dome, the careful hands of the sergeants had drawn a canvas tarpaulin; the rough stone walls were covered with white sheets; in the center of the room rose a makeshift altar, with a carved altarpiece and twelve burning wax candles, symbolizing Christ and the apostles. However, something sharply contrasted with this church-like setting. Directly in front of the stone block covered with damask sheets, a huge circle had been drawn, in which a five-pointed star—a pentagram—shined ominously,with a bluish light. The edges of the figure were surrounded by the symbols of the zodiac. Beside the platform stood a wiry man with graying temples, in the regalia of the Templar commander, holding in his hand a strange scepter, adorned with silver rings, the wood of which was engraved with ancient Aramaic characters. As he turned to his brothers as they entered, and greeted them with a wordless bow, his gaze was as cold as a razor. His name was Enguerrand de Chastelet; he was a Knight Templar born in Outrémer, the commander of the order in Haifa.
The six newcomers knelt before him and began to prepare silently. They apparently found nothing objectionable in the strange surroundings. They unbuckled their belts, with the sword and dagger hanging from them, and piled them in a pile near the entrance, in a secluded, shady corner. It was evident that they had all freshly washed and shaved, which was certainly a rare luxury in the harsh conditions of Outrémer, the constant battle readiness. They came before their commander purified not only in body but also in soul; they had observed a seven-day fast on bread and water and had not spoken to a woman for a whole month. According to the ancient rules, they should not have shed any blood during that time, but Commander Enguerrand, considering their status as military chaplains, exempted them from this obligation.
The gray-haired Templar raised his ornate scepter high. At his signal, his companions took their places around the pentagram. Each of them held a burning candle in his hand.
“Brothers in Christ!” Commander Enguerrand’s deep voice boomed. “The time has come to fulfill our mission! Jerusalem is lost! Only we, the knowers of ancient secrets, can help Richard reclaim it!”
One of the knights—a veritable giant—gave him a determined nod. The commander glared at him disapprovingly; his brother's zeal was commendable, but as the senior, he alone had the right to express his opinion, whether by word or gesture.
“Our Grand Master, the valiant Gerard, languishes in the captivity of the infidels. He has been released once; who knows whether he will do it a second time? For according to our rule, he can only offer his own as a ransom. But Sablé, whom Richard has placed on our necks as our leader, is not one of us, he has not been initiated into the mysteries. We, the few who were there at Hattin and saw the holy banner of the King of Jerusalem unfurled, must act. There is no one left but us who can fulfill the Lord’s command. At midnight we will begin the ceremony!”
He looked around at the figures waiting motionlessly. They stared at him unwaveringly, although their faces were deathly pale. The commander nodded in satisfaction.
– I see that none of you will waver. And that is good. Our sacred duty is to guard the safety of the holy temple of Jerusalem and to destroy the treacherous infidels with fire and iron! We are not commanded by the bishops, but by the Pope himself – but His Holiness is an old man, he cannot personally make a pilgrimage to Outrémer. We hold the divine truth in our hands!
He paused for a moment, looking out through one of the ragged window sills at the night sky.
“Step closer,” he ordered the others. “The time has come.”
With this, the solemn ceremony began.
Unbelievably good story!!!
wanna turn it into audio book. what's the best way to go about it?