The Templar Knight

Arn seemed able to find his way without hesitation through these endless corridors, stairways, small courtyards with fountains and shuttered houses that seemed like private residences. He led his sergeant over to the Temple of Solomon. They descended through some sort of back entrance and suddenly stood in the huge long hall covered with Saracen rugs. There a multitude of writing-desks and tables stood in long rows. The hall was filled with men in green, the guardians of the faith, and men in brown who were apparently workers, but also knights in white who were reading or writing or had meetings with all sorts of foreigners in worldly garb. Arn led his sergeant past all this activity to the far end, where white gates separated the hall from a large rotunda with a high cupola. This was the sanctuary itself, the holy of holies of the Order of the Knights Templar.

As they entered and approached the large high altar with the cross beneath the cupola, water was still dripping from their beards onto the cold marble set in black-and-white star patterns. At the high altar they fell to their knees; Armand copied everything his lord did and was given a quick whispered instruction to say ten Pater Nosters and a personal thanks to the Mother of God for their fortunate homecoming from their mission.

When Armand knelt like that, reciting the prescribed number of prayers, he was struck anew by a burning thirst. It seemed so powerful that he briefly thought he might go crazy, and almost lost count of the number of prayers he had said.

No one took any particular notice of them; there were people praying everywhere inside the round sanctuary. Armand was a bit concerned about why they were kneeling before the large altar when nobody else had dared approach it, but he soon pushed away such thoughts. He acknowledged that he did not yet comprehend all these new rituals, and he continued to keep a precise count of his prayers.

‘Come, my good sergeant,’ said Arn when they were finished. They got up and crossed themselves one last time before God’s cross. And then they resumed their labyrinthine wanderings down long corridors, across new courtyards with fountains and flowers in sumptuous profusion, and again into dark corridors that were illuminated only by occasional torches. Suddenly they were in a huge whitewashed hall decorated solely with banners of the Order and knightly shields lining the walls. Here there were no Saracen decorations or other colours to break the whiteness and the strict lines of the setting. High vaults soared overhead and an arcade supported by pillars ran down one side of the hall as in a cloister. That was all Armand managed to notice before he caught sight of the Master of Jerusalem.

Jerusalem’s Master, Arnoldo de Torroja stood erect and stern in the middle of the hall with the white mantle bearing the two small black lines indicating his rank fastened at his neck and his sword at his side.

‘Now do as I do,’ Arn whispered to his sergeant.

They approached the Master of Jerusalem, stopped at a respectful six paces away as the rules prescribed, and instantly dropped to their knees and bowed their heads.

‘Arn de Gothia and his sergeant Armand de Gascogne have returned from their mission, Jerusalem’s Master,’ said Arn in a loud voice but with his gaze fixed on the floor.

‘Then I ask you, master of the Gaza fortress, Arn de Gothia, was the task successful?’ said the mighty one in a loud voice.

‘Yes, brother knight and Jerusalem’s Master,’ replied Arn in the same formal manner. ‘We sought out six ungodly robbers and the spoils they had taken from believers and infidels. We found what we sought. The six are already hanging from our walls. All their goods can be set out before the rock tomorrow.’

Jerusalem’s Master at first did not reply, as though he wanted to draw out the silence. Armand did as his lord did, staring at the floor before him without moving, hardly daring even to breathe loudly.

‘Have you both washed as our Jerusalem rules prescribe? Have you thanked the Lord and the Lord God’s Mother, the special protectress of our Order, in the Temple of Solomon?’ asked the Master of Jerusalem after his long pause.

‘Yes, Jerusalem’s Master. I therefore beg respectfully for a bowl of water after a long day’s work, the only wages we deserve,’ replied Arn quickly, keeping his tone neutral.

‘Castle master Arn de Gothia and sergeant Armand de…de Gascogne, right? Yes! That’s what it was, de Gascogne. Rise, both of you, and embrace me!’

Armand did as his lord did, standing up quickly, and when Jerusalem’s Master embraced Arn he also embraced the sergeant Armand, though without kissing him.

‘I knew you could do it, Arn, I knew it!’ Jerusalem’s Master then exclaimed in a completely different tone of voice. Gone were the dull, thundering words; now he sounded like a man inviting two good friends to dinner. At the same moment two Templar knights hurried up, each carrying a silver bowl with ice-cold water, which they handed to Arn with a bow. He in turn handed one to Armand.

And Armand again followed Arn de Gothia’s example, swallowing the entire contents of the bowl in one gulp so that the water ran down his surcoat. Panting, he removed the empty bowl from his lips, surprised to find one of the whiteclad knight-brothers ready to take it from him with a bow. He hesitated; he had never imagined being waited on by a knight. But the man in white facing him saw his embarrassment and understood it. He gave a nod of encouragement to Armand, who handed over his bowl with a deep bow.

Jerusalem’s Master had thrown one arm around Arn’s shoulders, and they were carrying on a lively conversation, almost like worldly men, as they walked toward the far end of the hall where cook’s servants in green were setting the table for dinner. Armand followed after receiving another encouraging nod from the knight-brother assigned to serve him.

They took the seats that Jerusalem’s Master proffered, with Arn and the Master at one end of the table, then the two knight-brothers, and at the far end sergeant Armand. On the table were placed fresh bacon, smoked lamb, white bread, and olive oil, wine and vegetables and great steaming silver bowls of water. Arn said grace over the food in the language of the church as they all bowed their heads, but then they pitched in with good appetite and drank wine without hesitation. At first only Jerusalem’s Master and Arn spoke; they seemed immersed in memories of the old days and old friends, matters that the others at the table could not share. Armand stole a glance now and then at the two high brothers who seemed to know each other very well, behaving like close friends, which was not always the same thing within the Order of the Knights Templar. Armand was careful not to eat more or faster than his lord; he kept checking that he wasn’t ahead of him in either wine or bread or meat. He had to show moderation even though it was a banquet, and not gobble his food like worldly men.

And as Armand had suspected, the meal itself was brief. Suddenly Jerusalem’s Master wiped off his dagger and stuck it back in his belt, and so all the others did the same and stopped eating. The cook’s servants in green came over to the table at once and began clearing it off, but they left the bowls of water, the Syrian glass goblets, and the ceramic wine carafes.

Arn thanked the Lord for the gifts of the table while all bowed their heads.

‘So! That was surely a well-deserved wage for your efforts, brothers,’ said Jerusalem’s Master, wiping his mouth carefully with the back of his hand. ‘But now I want to hear how you acquitted yourself, young sergeant. My brother and friend Arn has given you a favourable accounting, but now I want to hear it from you.’

He regarded Armand with a look that seemed quite friendly, but Armand noticed something sly in his gaze, as if he were now going to be subjected to another of the endless tests. He thought that the most important thing was not to boast.

‘There isn’t much to say, Master of Jerusalem,’ he began uncertainly. ‘I followed my lord Arn, I obeyed his orders, and the Mother of God showed mercy on us, so we were victorious,’ he muttered with his head bowed.

‘And you feel no pride for the part you played? You simply proceed humbly along the path that your lord Arn assigns you and accept gratefully the grace that the Mother of God shows you and so on and so forth?’ the Master of Jerusalem went on, his tone barely disguising the irony of his words. But Armand did not dare understand the meaning of this irony.

‘Yes, Jerusalem’s Master, that is so,’ he replied modestly with his eyes focused on the table. At first he didn’t dare look up, but then he thought he heard some merriment from the other end of the table. He glanced up at Arn and saw him laughing broadly and almost shamelessly. For the life of him Armand couldn’t understand what was wrong with his answer, or what could be so funny when they were speaking of serious matters.

‘Oh, I see!’ said Jerusalem’s Master. ‘I see that you have an ingrained concept of the way a sergeant should speak to high brothers in the Order. Then let me put it this way. Is it true, as my dear brother Arn here has told me, that you want to be accepted as a knight in our circle?’

‘Yes, Jerusalem’s Master!’ answered Armand with sudden enthusiasm that he could not hide. ‘I would give my life to…’

‘No, no, not like that,’ Jerusalem’s Master laughed, raising his hand. ‘As a dead man we have not much use for you. But one thing you must now learn. If you want to become one of us, one of the brothers, then you have to learn never to lie to a brother. Think about that, now. Don’t you think that my beloved brother Arn and I were once young like you? Don’t you realize that we were sergeants like you? Don’t you think that we can see through your dreams, because they were our dreams too? Don’t you imagine that we understand what pride you feel for what you have accomplished, which as far as I can see was fully worthy of a knight-brother? But a brother must never lie to another brother, and you must never forget that. And if you’re ashamed of unworthy thoughts, if you’re ashamed because you’re proud of what you did, then it’s all right that you feel such shame. But it’s always worse to lie to a brother than to feel pride, or what you may think is pride. You can always confess your pride. But faithfulness to the truth before brothers is what you must never forsake. It’s that simple.’

Armand sat with his head bowed, staring at the tabletop, and could feel his cheeks aflame. He had been reprimanded, even though the words of Jerusalem’s Master were friendly and his tone brotherly.

‘Now we’ll start again,’ said the older man with a weary little sigh that didn’t sound quite genuine. ‘What happened and what did you accomplish in the battle, my good young sergeant?’

‘Jerusalem’s Master,’ Armand began, feeling his head turn to air and all his thoughts flee like birds, ‘we had been tracking the robbers for a week, we had studied their tactics, and we realized that it would be hard to catch them in the act. We had to find a position where we could meet them face to face.’

‘Yes? And then…did a good situation present itself?’

‘Yes, Jerusalem’s Master, at last it did,’ Armand went on with renewed courage, having convinced himself that he only had to present a normal account of battle. ‘We discovered them as they were pursuing three Saracens unknown to us up into a wadi which formed a trap like a sack. It was just what we were hoping for when we saw them begin pursuit from a distance, because they had used that tactic before. We took up position and attacked when the time was ripe; my lord Arn first, of course, and I on his flank behind him as the rules prescribe. The rest was easy. My lord Arn signalled to me with his lance how he would first launch a feint against the robber on the left in front, and that opened a good gap for me to aim and strike with my lance.’

‘Did you feel fear at that moment?’ asked Jerusalem’s Master in a suspiciously gentle voice.

‘Jerusalem’s Master!’ replied Armand loudly yet hesitantly. ‘I must admit that I did feel fear.’

He looked up to see how the others around the table reacted to this. But neither Jerusalem’s Master nor Arn, or the other two high knight-brothers, betrayed by their expressions what they thought about a sergeant who showed fear in battle.

‘I felt fear, but also resolve. This was the opportunity we had waited for so long, and now we could not fail! That was what I felt,’ he added so rapidly that his words stumbled over each other.

Now Arn carefully pounded his Syrian wine glass on the table and then Jerusalem’s Master did the same, followed by the two knight-brothers, and then they all burst out in laughter that was hearty but not malicious.

‘So you see, my good young sergeant,’ said Jerusalem’s Master, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, ‘what one must endure as a brother in our Order. You confess to fear, eh? But let me tell you this. Any one of us who does not feel some fear at the crucial moment is a fool. And we have no need for fools among our brothers. So, when can he be initiated as a brother in our Order?’

‘Soon,’ said Arn. ‘Very soon indeed. I shall go through the first conversations prescribed by the Rule as soon as we return to Gaza.’

‘Excellent! Then I will make a visitation in person for the initiation, and I will be the one to give you the second welcome kiss after Arn.’

The Master raised his wine glass to Armand, and the other Templar knights followed suit. With heart pounding Armand tried to keep his hand from shaking as he raised his glass and bowed in turn to his four superiors before he drank. He felt suffused by a great joy.

‘But right now the situation is critical, and it may be difficult to find the three days required for the initiation ceremony, at least in the near future,’ said Arn, just as the talk should have taken a less sombre turn. There was no comment, but they all shifted their attention to Arn to hear what he had to say.

‘Among the three Saracens whom we rescued from a tight situation was no less than Yussuf ibn Ayyub Salah al-Din,’ Arn began abruptly. ‘In the evening we broke bread and conversed, and from that talk I understood that we shall soon have war upon us.’

‘You broke bread and sat with Saladin?’ Jerusalem’s Master said harshly. ‘You ate with the greatest enemy of all Christendom and you let him escape alive?’

‘Yes, it is true,’ replied Arn. ‘And about this there is much to say, but the easiest is that he was allowed to get away alive. First of all, we have a truce, and second, I gave him my word.’

‘You gave Saladin your word?’ asked the Master in astonishment, his eyes narrowing.

‘Yes, I gave him my word before I realized who he was. But now we have more important things to discuss,’ Arn went on in the tone he used on the battlefield.