Читать книгу The Templar Knight - Jan Guillou - Страница 9

Armand de Gascogne, sergeant of the Order of the Knights Templar, was a man who knew neither fear nor dread. Not only was it against the Rule - a Templar knight was forbidden to feel fear - it was also against his image of himself and against his most fervent wish in life, to be taken into the Order as a full-fledged brother in arms.

But when he spied the walls of Jerusalem in the setting sun, the centre of the world, looming up before them, it seemed that he did feel dread, and as if a chill went through him and the hairs on his forearms stood on end. But instantly the heat was back in his face.

Their ride had been very hard; his master Arn had allowed them only a brief rest at midday, and they had ridden in silence without any stops except to dismount now and then for a moment and rearrange the cumbersome loads on the horses. The six corpses had grown rigid in awkward positions, and as the sun climbed in the sky and the heat increased, they had gathered greater and greater clouds of flies around them. But the corpses were not the most difficult things to handle; they could be bent to fit better among the packs. On the other hand, the robbers’ loot in the little grotto had been sizable and hard to load. There was everything from Turkish weapons to Christian communion goblets of silver, silks and brocades, jewellery and Frankish arms ornaments, spurs of silver and gold, blue stones of the Egyptian sort, and gemstones that Armand had never seen before coloured violet and blue-green, small golden crucifixes affixed to leather cords or chains of hammered gold. These items alone told them that more than a score of the faithful souls, peace be upon them, must now be in Paradise after meeting a martyr’s death on their way to or from the place where John the Baptist had immersed the Lord Jesus Christ in the waters of the Jordan.

Armand’s tongue had swollen up so that it felt like a piece of thick leather in his mouth, and it was as dry as desert sand. This wasn’t because their water had run out, for with each step the horse took, Armand could hear water sloshing in the leather sack by his right thigh. But it was the Rule. A Templar knight controlled himself. A Templar knight must be able to withstand situations that other people could not endure. And above all, a sergeant could not drink without the permission of his lord, just as he could not speak without being spoken to or halt without orders.

Armand sensed that his lord Arn was tormenting him, but not without purpose, since he was also tormenting himself. It had something to do with that morning. That morning he had responded truthfully, as the Rule demanded. The question he was asked was whether he wished to be admitted as a knight and bear the white mantle. His lord Arn had merely nodded pensively at his reply without showing any emotion, and since then they had not spoken a word. They had ridden for eleven hours with only one brief stop to rest; they had halted occasionally whenever they found water to give the horses, but not themselves, and all this during one of the hottest days of the year. For the past hour Armand had seen how the horses’ quarter muscles had quivered with each step as they moved forward; for the horses too it had been a very hard day. But the Rule also seemed to apply to the horses of the Knights Templar. One never gave up. One obeyed orders. One endured what others could not.

When they finally neared the port in the city wall that was called the Lion’s Gate, a fog clouded Armand’s eyes briefly and he had to grab the pommel of the saddle so as not to fall off his horse. But then he rallied, if for no other reason than out of curiosity to see the tumult that arose at the city gate as he and his lord and their unusual cargo approached. Or perhaps it was because he thought that he would soon get something to drink, in which case he was mistaken.

By the city gate stood guards who were the king’s soldiers, but also a Templar knight and his sergeant. One of the royal soldiers came over to Arn de Gothia’s horse to take it by the bridle as he questioned the rider about his intentions and right to enter the city. The white-clad Templar knight behind him instantly drew his sword and held it in his path, ordering his sergeant to keep the curious away. And then Armand and his lord rode into the centre of the city without needing to utter a word, because they belonged to God’s holy army, and they obeyed no person on earth except the Holy Father in Rome.

The sergeant from the city gate escorted them down narrow cobblestone streets towards the temple square, shooing off street urchins and other bystanders who, if they were Christian, wanted to flock around their cargo and spit on the corpses; or if they were unbelievers, wanted to see whether they recognized any of the dead. A myriad of foreign languages buzzed around Armand’s head; he heard Aramaic, Annenian, and Greek, but many others he failed to recognize.

When they neared the temple square they rode down towards the stables located beneath the Temple of Solomon. Down there was a high vault furnished with huge wooden gates, and more guards stood there who were all sergeants in the Order of the Knights Templar.

Now Armand’s lord slowly dismounted, handed the reins to one of the sergeants waiting politely, and whispered something before he turned to Armand and in a rough voice issued the order to dismount and keep a tight rein on the horses. A white-clad Templar knight came hurrying up and bowed to Arn de Gothia, who bowed in return, and then they were allowed to enter the long colonnade of huge stables. They halted inside at a table where green-clad sub-chaplains did the bookkeeping. Sir Arn and his brother knights in white had a brief conversation which Armand couldn’t hear, and then the sergeants began to unload the horses and prepare to show object after object to the scribes, while Arn beckoned to Armand to follow him.

They passed through the endless stables. The stables were very beautiful and clean; not a horse-dropping in the corridors, not even a wisp of straw, nothing but clean cobblestones. Row after row of horses stood either lost in their own dreams or being curried, shoed, watered, and fed by an army of brownclad grooms. Here and there a black-clad sergeant was working with his horse, or a white-clad brother knight with his. Each time they passed by a sergeant, Armand bowed. Each time they passed a Templar knight, Arn did the same. What Armand saw was a power and a force he never could have imagined. He had been to Jerusalem only once before, to visit the Church of the Holy Sepulchre with a group of recruits; every recruit was required to have visited the church at least once. But he had never been inside the Templars’ own quarters in Jerusalem. Despite all the rumours he had heard, it was larger and mightier than he could have ever imagined. The value in gold of these beautiful and well-cared-for horses of Arabian or Frankish or Andalusian blood would be enough to defray the cost of a small army.

When they came to the end of the stables they saw narrow spiral staircases leading upward. Armand’s lord seemed to know his way like the back of his hand. He had no need to ask directions of anyone, and he chose the third or fourth staircase without hesitation. They walked up the stairs in the dark in silence. When they suddenly emerged in a large courtyard, Armand’s eyes were blinded by the light as the setting sun flashed off a great cupola of gold and a smaller one of silver. His lord stopped and pointed, without saying a word. Armand crossed himself before the holy sight and then was amazed, now that he stood so close, to discover that the golden dome he had previously seen from a distance was covered with rectangular plates of something that could only be solid gold. He had always imagined that it was made of tiles with a goldcoloured glaze. That the entire roof of a church could be made of pure gold was beyond comprehension.

His lord still said nothing, signalling after a while that they should move on. Armand now followed him into a separate world of gardens and fountains nestled inside a network of buildings constructed in every colour and style. Some of them looked like Saracen dwellings, others like Frankish ones; some had plain whitewashed facades, others were covered in blue, green, and white-glazed Saracen tiles in patterns that were obviously not Christian. Several houses of the type with small, round but simply whitewashed domes were attached in a row, and this was where they now entered, Armand two paces behind his lord.

They stopped outside wooden doors that all looked the same - three or four white doors with the red cross of the Knights Templar on the surface, but no larger than the palm of a hand. Arn turned and gave his sergeant a searching and slightly amused glance for a moment before he said anything. Armand’s head felt utterly empty and he hadn’t the slightest idea what was going to happen; he knew only that he would be given an order which he had to obey. And he was almost dying of thirst.

‘Now, my good sergeant, you shall do as I say, and nothing more,’ said Arn at last. ‘You will go in through this door. There you will find a room that is empty except for a wooden bench. There you shall…’

Arn paused and cleared his throat. His mouth was too dry to be able to speak without difficulty.

‘There you shall remove all your clothes. All your clothes: your surcoat, chain mail, hose, shoes, and…and even the outer lambskin girdle covering the impure parts of a man’s body, and even more, also the inner part of the lambskin girdle which you never take off. And then you will remove the shirt that you wear under the chain mail and the belt around it so that you stand there completely naked. Have you understood what I’m telling you?’

‘Yes, lord, I understand,’ whispered Armand, blushing as he bowed his head. Then he had to make an effort to get his dry mouth to squeeze out more words. ‘But you tell me, lord, that I must take off all my clothes. The Rule says that -’

Arn cut him off. ‘You are in Jerusalem; you are in the holiest of cities in the holiest of our quarters in the entire world, and here other rules apply! So, when you have done as I command, you will walk through the next door into the next room. There you will find water in which you can immerse your whole body, and oils which you shall use, and you will find things for washing yourself. You will wash, you will immerse your body completely in water, also your hair, and you will clean yourself thoroughly. Have you understood all I say?’

‘Yes, lord, I understand. But the Rule…?’

‘In the inner room you must wash yourself,’ Arn went on without concern, as if he no longer was having difficulty forcing the words out through his dry mouth, ‘and you shall do so until you see darkness fall; yes, there are windows in there. And when darkness falls and you hear the muezzin, the one who calls the unbelievers to prayer, claiming that “Allah is the greatest,” and whatever else they may shout, then you must return to the outer room. There you’ll find new clothes, although of the same type as those you now wear. You will dress in those clothes. I shall be waiting outside in the corridor here. Have you understood all this?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘Good. Then I have only one more thing to say to you. You will wash yourself in water, you will immerse your whole body in water, you will have water all around you and over you and a great deal more. But you may not drink a drop. Obey!’

Armand was unable to reply, he was so shocked. His lord had already turned on his heel and with one long stride he reached the next door and was on his way in. But just as he was about to disappear from Armand’s sight, he seemed to remember something, stopped, turned around and smiled.

‘Don’t worry, Armand. Those who bring your new clothes will never see you naked, and they have no idea who you are. They simply obey commands.’

And so the Templar knight vanished from Armand’s sight behind a door which he firmly closed.

At first Armand stood utterly still. He could feel his heart pounding in his breast at the peculiar instructions he’d been given. But then he collected himself and went into the first room without hesitation. Just as his lord had said, there was nothing but a wooden bench and another door. The floor was a gleaming white, the walls were covered with sky-blue tiles with no pattern, the ceiling was of white plaster and formed a small dome with star-shaped skylights.

He first took off his stinking battle mantle which he had carried over his left arm as his lord did. He unbuckled his sword and then removed his soiled and bloody surcoat without hesitation. Nor was it so strange to remove his chain mail and the mail-clad hose, and with them the steel-covered shoes that went with the hose.

Then, as he stood in his wet inner shirt reeking with sweat, he hesitated. But orders were orders, so he pulled off his inner shirt and its belt, hesitating once more at his double lambskin girdles; he shut his eyes and stripped them both off. Then he paused for a moment before he dared open his eyes, utterly naked. He felt like he was in a dream, and he didn’t know whether it was a good or bad one, only that he had to proceed, and he had to obey. With manly resolve he pulled open the door to the next room, stepped inside, hastily shutting it behind him as he closed his eyes again.

When he forced himself to open his eyes he felt as if assaulted by beauty. The room had three rounded arched windows with wooden blinds, so that the light came in but did not escape. He could see some of Jerusalem’s towers and spires and also hear all the sounds coming from the city. Doves flapped past out in the summer evening, but no one could see into the darkness behind these wooden slats set high on the wall.

The walls of the room were decorated in blue, green, black, and white Saracen patterns that reminded him of the wall of the church with the golden dome. Thin columns of white marble supported the vault of the ceiling, and they were shaped as though they had been twisted up from floor to ceiling. The floor was made of black-glazed tile and solid gold, laid in a chessboard pattern, each plate a double hand’s-breadth square. To the left in the room was a large alcove filled with water and steps leading down into something that looked like a pond big enough for two horses, and to the right the same thing. Two tables stood between the two ponds, with inlays of mother-of-pearl forming Arabic script, and on the tables were arranged silver bowls containing oils of various bright colours, and two small oil-lamps, also of silver, were burning. On a bench of almond wood inlaid with African ebony and red rosewood there were big white lengths of cloth.

Armand hesitated. He repeated to himself in a murmur the instructions he’d been given and must obey. He went uncertainly over to one of the ponds and proceeded down the steps until the water reached up to his knees, but he regretted it at once. The water was much too hot; now he noticed the vapour rising off the surface. Then he went over to the other pond, leaving wet footprints behind him on the warm gold of the floor and tried again. The water was cool like a stream, and he stepped in up to his thighs and then stood for a moment, unsure what he should do next. He cautiously looked at his body. His hands were brown to an inch or two above his wrists, but everything else he could see was as white as the feathers of seagulls back home by the river in Gascony. Along his arms he saw stripes of salt and dirt that were crusted in layers inside small wrinkles and recesses. It occurred to him that the Rule prohibited any form of pleasure, but at the same time he knew that he must obey. So he proceeded down all the steps and immersed his whole body in the cool water as he glided out into the pond and floated as he now remembered one could do. He imagined that he was swimming in the river below the fortress at home in Gascony, back when he was a child and there were no clouds in the sky, and life was perfect. He submerged his head, got water up his nose, and stood up snorting in the middle of the pond. He took a tentative swimming stroke but came immediately to the edge decorated in blue tile. He dove under and kicked his legs across the water, but foolishly closed his eyes and hit his head hard on the tile on the other side. He yelled, swearing since it was not against the Rule, stood up, and rubbed the sore spot on his scalp. All of a sudden he felt happy in a way he couldn’t explain. He dipped his cupped hand down to the water and splashed a handful into his mouth. But he stopped himself at once and spat out the forbidden liquid in terror, trying to wipe off the last of it from his tongue with his finger; he had been prohibited from drinking, after all.

He inspected the various oils on the table between the two pools, rubbing himself carefully with them over the parts of his body that he could touch without sin, trying out the various colours in the bowls until he found the one he thought he should use for his hair. At last his entire body was smeared with oil. Then he stepped back into the cool water of the pool and washed himself, immersing himself completely. He even washed his hair and beard. He lay still for a moment, floating in the water and staring up at the Saracen patterns decorating the vault of the ceiling. It was like an atrium of Paradise, he thought.

After a while he began to feel cold, so he went over to the hot pool, which had now cooled to such a comfortable temperature that at first it felt like climbing into nothingness. He shuddered and shook his body like a dog or a cat. Then he lay still in the warm nothingness and managed to wash even the impure parts of his body that one must not touch. Without being able to stop himself he sinned. He knew that the first thing he had to do when he returned to the castle in Gaza was to confess this sin, which for so long he had been able to refrain from committing.

He lay dreaming for a long time, totally motionless in the water, as if floating in his dreams. He was here in the anteroom of Paradise but at the same time far away, back home as a child by the river in Gascony, back when the world was good.

The shrill, ungodly sound from the unbelievers screeching out their prayer over the crepuscular city woke him up as if by alarm. Horror-stricken and filled with guilt he climbed hastily out of the water and reached for the two soft white cloths to dry himself.

When he returned to the little outer room, all his old clothes were gone, even the felt layers he wore against his skin beneath his chain mail. There lay a new black mantle of precisely the same type he had worn into Jerusalem, and other new clothing that all fitted perfectly.

Soon he was ready to leave the two strange rooms and go out to the corridor with his mantle over his arm. His lord Arn was waiting, also attired in new clothes. His mantle with the black border showing his rank was fastened around his neck and his beard was combed. Both of them had hair cropped so short that they only needed to run their hands through it.

‘Well, my good sergeant,’ said Arn without expression. ‘How did you like that?’

‘I obeyed orders; I did everything as you said, lord,’ replied Armand uncertainly with his head bowed. He was suddenly apprehensive because of the blank look Arn gave him, as if he had been tested and failed.

‘Fasten your mantle and follow me, my good sergeant,’ said Arn with an amused little laugh, slapping Armand lightly on the back, then hurrying down the hall. Armand hastened after him as he struggled to don his mantle, not understanding whether he had broken some rule or whether he had missed a joke.

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.

Jerusalem’s Master sat in silence for a moment, rubbing his fist on his chin. Then he pointed suddenly at Armand, who was now sitting with his gaze fixed on his lord Arn with wide, frightened eyes, as if only now did he understand what had happened, and with whom he too had broken bread.

‘My good sergeant, now you must leave us,’ commanded Jerusalem’s Master. ‘Brother Richard Longsword here will show you around our quarters and our part of the city. Then he will escort you to the sergeants’ night quarters. May God be with you. May I soon have the pleasure of giving you a welcome kiss.’

One of the Templar knights then stood up and indicated to Armand the direction they would be going. Armand stood up, bowed hesitantly to the now grim-visaged knights at the table, and left.

When the iron-clad wooden door closed after Armand and his high escort, a heavy silence settled over the room.

‘Now I’ll begin,’ said Jerusalem’s Master after a moment. ‘You know Brother Guy, who has just been made weapons master here in Jerusalem. You two hold the same rank, and the three of us have serious problems that concern us all. Shall we start with the matter of breaking bread with our enemy?’

‘By all means,’ said Arn lightly. ‘What would you have done? We have a truce, which is hanging by a thin thread, as we all know, and Saladin knew it as well. The robbers were the ones who had to be punished, not peaceful travellers of one faith or another. I gave him the word of a Templar knight. And he gave me his word. A moment later I understood to whom I had granted safe passage. So, what would you have done?’

‘If I had given my word I could have done no differently than you,’ agreed Jerusalem’s Master. ‘You worked here under Odo de Saint Armand, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, that’s true, and it was when Philip de Milly was the Grand Master.’

‘Hmm. You and Odo became good friends, I heard?’

‘True. And we still are.’

‘But now he is Grand Master, and that’s good. That solves the problem of supping with the greatest enemy of Christendom. Some brothers may be upset by it, as you know.’

‘I do. And what do you think about this matter?’

‘I’m on your side. You kept your word as a Templar knight. And if I understood correctly you gained some information?’

‘Yes. War will be upon us in two weeks at the earliest, and no later than two months from now. That is what I believe I learned.’

‘Tell us. What more do we know? And what can we believe?’

‘Saladin knew a great deal: that Philip of Flanders and a vast host of the worldly armies and the Hospitallers are on their way up into Syria, presumably heading for Hama or Homs, not for Damascus and Saladin himself. But having learned of this, Saladin is travelling with great haste and without an escort south toward El Arish, I believe, though he told me he was on his way to Cairo. He is not making this journey because he wants to flee the Christian army in the north. So his intention is to attack us from the south now that he knows that more than half our forces are located far to the north. That is my conclusion.’

Jerusalem’s Master exchanged a glance with his brother and weapons master Guy, who gave him a curt nod of agreement to his unspoken question.

War was on its way. Saladin trusted that his forces in the north were sufficiently prepared to be able to hold the enemy in place. If at the same time he could drive an Egyptian army up through Outremer, then he could penetrate deep without meeting stiff resistance, perhaps all the way to Jerusalem. It was a terrifying thought, but they could not close their eyes to the possibility.

In that case the first battle would take place near Gaza, where Arn was in command as master of the fortress. The castle in Gaza was by no means one of the stronger ones, and it was defended by only 40 knights and 280 sergeants. It was inconceivable that Saladin would stop there and beat himself bloody against the walls. With a large enough army and good siege engines he could take Gaza. Few castles were as impregnable as Krak des Chevaliers or Beaufort. But the effort would cost him much more than it would benefit him. No one took a castle of the Knights Templar without great losses. And if they won, there would be no captives of any value to make up for all the costs; such a long and bloody siege would also mean a great loss of time.

So Saladin’s army would probably bypass Gaza, possibly leaving a small siege force outside the walls. But what would be their next objective? Ashkelon. Taking back Ashkelon after twenty-five years would not be a stupid idea. It could be a victory of significance and provide a Saracen stronghold along the coast north of Gaza. It would cut off the Knights Templar in Gaza from Jerusalem. Ashkelon was a plausible objective.

But if Saladin did not meet particularly great resistance, and it didn’t look as though he would, what would prevent him from heading straight for Jerusalem itself?

Not a thing.

The unpleasant conclusion was impossible to avoid. Saladin had first united Syria and Egypt under one commander and one sultan, just as he had said he would do. But he had also sworn to retake the holy city, which the infidels called Al Quds.

Decisions had to be made. The Grand Master, Odo de Saint Armand, who was now in Acre, had to be warned. Brothers of the Order had to be called in to reinforce both Jerusalem and Gaza. The king, that unfortunate leprous boy, and his court riddled with intrigue had to be warned. Messengers would have to ride off that very night at full speed in many directions.

Because momentous decisions are often easier to make than small, unimportant ones, the whole matter was soon settled. Weapons master Guy left the other two alone to take care of all the tasks that had to be accomplished before dawn.

Arnoldo de Torroja, Jerusalem’s Master, had remained seated at the table the whole time he was leading the discussion and issuing orders. But after the iron-clad door had closed behind the swiftly departing weapons master, he stood up with an effort and gestured to Arn to follow him. The two men then crossed the big, empty space of the Order Hall, heading for a side entrance that led out to an arcade with a view. They stood there a while with their hands propped on the stone railing, looking out over the darkened city and taking in the smells carried on the mild summer breeze: meat frying and spices, garbage and decay, perfumes, incense, and camel and horse droppings, all combined in the same sort of mixture that God had created of life itself: high and low, ugly and beautiful, delightful and loathsome.

‘What would you have done, Arn? I mean if you were Saladin, if you’ll pardon the impudent comparison,’ asked Arnoldo de Torroja at last.

‘There’s nothing to apologize for; Saladin is a magnificent foe and we all know it, even you, Arnoldo,’ replied Arn. ‘But I know what you’re thinking; both you and I would have done something altogether different in his place. We would have tried to draw the enemy into our area, extending the test of strength, harassing the enemy with constant small attacks by Turkish knights, disturbing his sleep, poisoning the fountains in his path - all the things that Saracens usually do. If we had the chance to defeat a large Christian army, then we would have seen a huge advantage before spring, when we would have moved on Jerusalem.’

‘But Saladin, who knows how much we know of him and the way he usually thinks, will instead do something completely unexpected,’ said Arnoldo. ‘He will purposely risk Homs or Hama because he has set his sights on a larger prize.’

‘You have to admit that it’s both a bold and a logical plan,’ Arn continued the thought.

‘Yes, I have to admit that it is. But thanks to your…unusual measures, or whatever we should call them, may God have mercy on you, at least now we are prepared. It could mean the difference between keeping Jerusalem in our hands and losing it.’

‘In that case I believe God does have mercy on me,’ Arn muttered in annoyance. ‘Any chaplain could set about praising the Lord and say that the Lord had sent the enemy into my arms in order to save Jerusalem for us!’

Arnoldo de Torroja, who was not used to being reprimanded by subordinates, turned in surprise and gave his young friend a searching look. But the dim light in the arcade made it hard to interpret the other’s gaze.

‘You’re my friend, Arn, but don’t abuse that friendship, for it could cost you someday,’ he said peevishly. ‘Odo is the Grand Master now, but you may not have that protection forever.’

‘If Odo falls you will probably be the next Grand Master, and you too are my friend,’ said Arn as if commenting on the weather.

This made Arnoldo completely lose all intention of showing stern leadership and instead he burst out laughing. If anyone had seen them, such behaviour would have seemed extremely out of place at this difficult hour, both for the Knights Templar and for Jerusalem.

‘You have been with us a long time, Arn, since you were very young, and you are like one of us in everything but your speech. Sometimes, my friend, one might think you were speaking with audacious candour. Is everyone of your Nordic race like this, or is it merely that we haven’t whipped the rascal out of your body yet?’

‘My body has been well whipped, don’t worry about that, Arnoldo,’ said Arn in the same unconcerned tone of voice. ‘It’s true that up there in the North, in what was once my home, we might speak with less fuss and fawning than do some Franks. But a Templar knight’s words must always be compared with his actions.’

‘Still the same impudence, the same lack of respect for your superiors. And yet you’re my friend, Arn. But watch your tongue.’

‘Right now it’s more my head that is at stake. Down there in Gaza we’ll be taking the first blow when Saladin arrives. How many knights can you spare me?’

‘Forty. I’ll put forty new knights under your command.’

‘Then we’ll be eighty knights and fewer than three hundred sergeants against an army that I suspect will be no less than 5,000 Egyptian cavalry. I hope you’ll leave it to my judgment as to how to confront such an army. I wouldn’t care to receive an order to meet them out on the open field lance to lance.’

‘Are you afraid to die for a holy cause?’ Arnoldo de Torroja wondered, with clear irritation in his voice.

‘Don’t be childish, Arnoldo,’ Arn replied. ‘I find it almost blasphemous to fall in battle for nothing. We’ve seen far too much of that here in Outremer; new recruits who want to go straight to Paradise, causing the rest of us unnecessary losses and benefiting the enemy. In my opinion such stupidity should not be rewarded with the forgiveness of any sins, because such behaviour is itself a sin.’

‘So you think that the Templar knight who knocks on the gates of Paradise, out of breath after having rushed into death, might have an unpleasant surprise awaiting him?’

‘Yes, but I wouldn’t say that to any brothers except my closest friends.’

‘I would agree with that wholeheartedly. Nevertheless, attend to your command in accordance with whatever situations arise and your own best judgment. That is my only order to you.’

‘Thank you, Arnoldo, my friend. I swear I will do my best.’

‘I don’t doubt that, Arn, I certainly don’t. And I’m glad that you were the one to be given the new command in Gaza now that the first battle of the war will take place there. We actually had not intended to put you there in such a high position; many men can handle a high position, but you are much too valuable in the field to sit and manage a fortress all day long.’

‘But?’

‘But that is how things have turned out. Odo de Saint Armand is holding a protective hand over you; I think he wants you to move up in the ranks. I’m holding my hand over you too, for what it’s worth. But God was apparently standing by us. Against all rhyme and reason it was you, our Turcopole, who won the position, even though it meant a poor allocation of fighting forces.’

‘And now it turns out that the enemy is coming to Gaza, of all places.’

‘Precisely. God has a plan for everything. May He now stand by you and all your men when the storm comes. When are you leaving?’

‘At dawn. We have much to build in Gaza, and very little time.’

The city of Gaza and its fortress represented the southernmost outpost of the Knights Templar in Outremer. Since the fortress was built, the city had never been besieged, and the armies that had passed by had always been their own, coming from the north on their way to war in Egypt. But now the roles would be reversed; the enemy was not going to be attacked, but would instead attack them. It could be regarded as a sign of the times, a warning that from now on the Christians would have to pay more attention to defence than to offence. They now had an enemy whom they had greater reason to fear than all the men who had come before - men like Zenki and Nur al-Din. But none of these Saracen leaders could measure up to the man who had now assumed leadership: Saladin.

For the new young master of Gaza it was an unusual assignment to be preparing himself for defence. For ten years Arn de Gothia had taken part in hundreds of battles out in the field, but almost always as part of the forces that attacked the enemy first. As a Turcopole he had commanded the mercenary Turkish cavalry who with light arms and light, fast horses rode against the enemy to spread turmoil and confusion. In the best case, the cavalry’s aim was to force the foe to close ranks so that the Frankish forces could attack. At the very least the cavalry would cause the enemy to suffer losses.

Arn had also ridden with the heavily armoured knights, and then the aim was to attack at the right moment and wreak havoc on the order in the enemy’s cavalry by smashing straight through it. Sometimes he’d had to wait with reserve forces out of the fray of battle and not join the action until it was time to decide the situation and win. Or, even worse, a situation arose when a desperate counter-attack from the best troops would gain time for the Frankish army to retreat in an orderly fashion instead turning it into a rout.

Arn had also been involved in a number of sieges at the two previous fortresses where he had been stationed, first as a sergeant in the Templar fortress in Tortosa in the duchy of Tripoli and later as a full brother-knight at Acre. These sieges would sometimes last for months, but they had always ended with the besiegers giving up and pulling back their troops.

But here in Gaza something entirely different awaited them. The important thing now was to make plans and prepare in a new way, as if no previous experience could tell them very much. The city of Gaza included about fifteen villages with Palestinian peasants and two Bedouin tribes. The master of Gaza was thus the lord of all these peasants and Bedouins; he ruled over both their lives and their property.

Consequently the primary concern was to set the right level of taxation for the villages and the Bedouins; he had to raise the tax in years of good harvests and lower it in the meagre years. This year there had been an unusually good harvest, particularly in the lands surrounding Gaza, but much worse in other places in Outremer. This led to a thorny problem, since the master of the castle in Gaza had decreed that the villages be emptied of all their harvest and almost all livestock. The intent, of course, was to save everything from being plundered by the approaching Egyptian army. But it was hard to explain to the peasants when stern-looking Templar knights arrived with columns of empty carts. It looked as if the plundering had already begun, and from the point of view of the Palestinian peasants, it didn’t matter whether they were plundered by Christians or by the faithful.

So Arn spent a lot of time on his horse, riding from village to village to try to explain what was happening. He gave his word that it was not a matter of taxes or confiscation, and that everything would be returned when the plundering army had gone. He tried to explain that the less there was to nourish their enemies in the region, the sooner they would go away. But he found to his surprise that in many villages the people doubted his word.

Then he had a new regulation introduced, proclaiming that every load of grain, every cow and every camel, as well as their calves, should be entered into the books with a receipt. That delayed the whole process, and if Saladin had attacked earlier than planned, all this book-keeping would have cost both the Knights Templar and the peasants dearly. Slowly but surely the villages around Gaza were emptied of livestock and grain. Inside the city walls a great confusion reigned as grain storehouses were filled to overflowing and congestion grew from the constant transports of foodstuffs and livestock.

But this was the most crucial part of the preparations for war. War was more about economics and supplies for an advancing army than it was about bravery on the field. That was the view of the new master of the fortress, even though he avoided communicating such profane ideas to his subordinate knights. Reinforcements began arriving from other fortresses in the country until the forty new knights promised by Jerusalem’s Master were in place inside the walls of Gaza.

The next most important preparation was to widen the moats around Gaza and reinforce the city walls. The first line of defence would be out there, but if it collapsed the people and their animals would take refuge inside the fortress itself. The 280 sergeants and all the hired civilians, even the scribes and customs men, laboured around the clock, using torchlight at night, on this construction work, and the master of the fortress himself made constant inspections of their progress.

Saladin was delaying his attack, but no one understood why. According to the Bedouin spies that Arn sent down to the Sinai, Saladin’s army had assembled in Al Arish, a good day’s march from Gaza. Possibly the delay had to do with the way the war was going up in Syria. The Saracens did have an uncanny way of sending messages from one part of the country to the other, and no one really knew how they did it. The Bedouins in Gaza thought that the Saracen troops were using birds as messengers, but that was hard to believe. The Christians used smoke signals from one fortress to the next, but Gaza lay too far south and was thus prevented from using this system.

The Bedouins who reported back to Arn estimated Saladin’s army at 10,000 men, and the vanguard consisted of Mameluke knights. This was terrible news; such an army would be impossible to defeat on the field. On the other hand, Arn suspected that his spies might be exaggerating, since they were given new assignments and more pay if they brought bad news rather than good.

When almost a month had passed without an attack by Saladin, a certain calm fell over Gaza. They had largely managed to complete their task. They had even begun to distribute grain and livestock to the peasants, who now stood in long, loud queues outside the grain storehouses in the city, the ones that were to be emptied before the storehouses within the fortress walls.

The young master of the fortress was constantly attending to these queues, listening to complaints and trying to resolve misunderstandings and dissension. It was obvious to all that he truly believed that this was not a matter of confiscation of goods but merely an attempt to save the grain from plunder and fire. His intention had been to see to it that each family in every village had enough to live on for a week at a time before they would have to go to Gaza and get more supplies. This way they could also bring along everything edible if they had to flee, leaving only empty villages to the enemy.

Arn’s quartermaster Brother Bertrand thought that the process of writing everything down and explaining things to the peasants took up an unreasonable amount of time. But his superior refused to yield an inch; a promise from a Templar knight could not be broken.

In the calmer work atmosphere that came about after the first month of nervous, rushed preparations, Arn finally took time for his sergeant. Armand de Gascogne may have thought he’d been transformed into a masonry worker rather than a sergeant in preparation, which he had become the moment that Jerusalem’s Master had expressed his blessing. But now he was summoned from working on the walls by the weapons master himself and ordered to report, washed and in new clothes, to the master of the castle after the midday meal. Armand’s hope flared up anew. He had not been forgotten, and his chances of being accepted as a full brother had not died with the approaching war.

The master’s parlatorium was in the western part of the castle, high up with two large, vaulted windows looking out on the sea. When Armand arrived at the appointed time he found his lord tired and red-eyed, but still in a calm frame of mind. The beautiful room, with the afternoon sun streaming in, was simply furnished; no decorations on the walls, a large table in the centre covered with maps and documents, and a row of chairs along one wall. Between the two windows facing the sea there was a doorway leading to a balcony. The master’s white mantle lay flung over one of the chairs, but when Armand entered the room and stood at attention, Arn went to fetch his mantle and tied it under his neck with practiced hands. Then he greeted Armand with a slight bow.

‘You have dug and dug, and I should think you probably feel more like a mole than a sergeant in preparation,’ said Arn in a jocular tone, which instantly put Armand on his guard. The high brothers had a habit of laying traps in their words, even those that sounded most friendly.

‘Yes, we did a lot of digging. But it had to be done,’ replied Armand cautiously.

Arn gave him a long, searching look without revealing what he thought of that answer. Then he became serious and pointed to one of the chairs as if issuing an order. Armand sat down in the appointed place as his lord went over to the cluttered table and swept aside some documents. Arn sat down on the table with one leg dangling, leaning on his right hand.

‘Let us first do what has to be done,’ he said curtly. ‘I have summoned you so that we can go over some matters that you must answer truthfully. If this goes well for you, there are no more hindrances to your acceptance into our Order. If it goes badly, you will probably never become one of us. Have you prepared yourself for this moment with the prayers as prescribed by the Rule?’

‘Yes, lord,’ replied Armand with a nervous swallow.

‘Are you married or are you engaged to any woman, and is there any woman who can make a claim on you?’

‘No, lord, I was the third son and -’

‘I understand. Please answer only yes or no. Now, the next question. Were you born legitimately of parents who were united before God?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘Is your father or his brother or your father’s father a knight?’

‘My father is the baron of Gascogne.’

‘Excellent. Are you in financial debt to anyone of worldly position or to any brother or any sergeant in our Order?’

‘No, lord. How could one be in debt to a brother?’

‘Thank you!’ Arn interrupted him, holding up a warning hand. ‘Just answer my questions, do not argue and do not question!’

‘Forgive me, lord.’

‘Are you healthy in your body, hale and hearty? Yes, I know the answer, but I must ask the question in accordance with the Rule.’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘Have you paid any gold or silver to enter into our Order, and is there anyone who has promised against compensation to make you one of us? This is a serious question; it deals with the crime of simony, and if anything is later discovered, your white mantle will be taken from you. The Rule says that it is better that we know now than later. Well?’

‘No, lord.’

‘Are you prepared to live in chastity, poverty, and obedience?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘Are you prepared to swear before God and Our Holy Virgin Mary that you will do your utmost in every situation to live up to the traditions and customs of the Knights Templar?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘Are you prepared before God and Our Holy Virgin Mary to swear that you will never leave our Order, in its moments of weakness or its moments of strength, that you will never betray us and never leave us other than with special permission from our Grand Master?’

‘Yes, lord.’

Arn did not seem to have any more questions; he sat silent and meditative for a while, as if he had already moved far away to other concerns. Then his face brightened suddenly. He jumped down from his half-sitting position on the table, and went over to Armand to embrace him and kiss him on both cheeks.

‘This is what our Rule prescribes from paragraph 669 on. Now you know this section that has been revealed to you, and you have my permission to go and read it again with the chaplain. Come now, we’ll go out on the balcony.’

In a daze, Armand of course did as he was told, following his lord out to the balcony and, after some hesitation, standing just as he did with both hands resting on the stone railing, gazing down at the harbour.

‘That was the preparation,’ Arn explained, a bit wearily. ‘You will be asked the same questions once again at the initiation itself, but then it’s more of a formality, since we already know your answers. It was this moment that counted, and I can now tell you for certain that you will be accepted as a knight as soon as we have time for it. Until then you will wear a white band around your upper right arm.’

For a moment Armand felt a dizzy happiness inside, and he was incapable of replying to this good news.

‘Naturally, we have a war to win first,’ Arn added thoughtfully. ‘And it doesn’t look easy, as you know. But if we die then the matter is no longer of this world. If we survive then you will soon be one of us. Arnoldo de Torroja and I myself will conduct the initiation ceremony. So be it. Do you feel happy about this?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘I wasn’t very happy when I was in your position. It had to do with the first question.’

Arn had revealed this remarkable admission as if in passing, and Armand didn’t know how to reply, or whether he should say anything at all. They stood for a while looking down at the harbour, where hard work was in progress unloading two lighters that had moored that same day.

‘I have decided to make you our confanonier for the time being,’ Arn said as if he’d returned from his reverie about the first question. ‘I don’t need to explain what a special honour it is to bear the banner of the Temple and the fortress in war; you know that already.’

‘But mustn’t a knight…can a sergeant be given that assignment?’ Armand stammered, overwhelmed by the news.

‘Under normal circumstances it would be a knight, but you would have been a knight by now if the war hadn’t intervened. And I’m the one who decides, no one else. Our confanonier has not recovered from serious wounds; I visited him in the infirmary and have already spoken with him of this. Now let me hear what you think about the war we’re about to re-enter.’

They went in and sat down next to one of the big windows, and Armand tried to tell him what he thought. He presumed it would be a long siege that would be hard to endure but quite possible to win. He did not think they should ride out, 80 knights and 280 sergeants, to meet an army of Mameluke knights on the field. Scarcely 400 men against perhaps 7000 to 8000 knights - that would be very brave but also very stupid.

Arn pensively nodded his agreement, but added, almost as if thinking out loud, that if that army bypassed Gaza and headed for Jerusalem itself there would no longer be any question of what was wise, stupid, or brave. Then there would be only one choice. So they would have to hope for a long and bloody siege. Because no matter how such a long battle would end, they would have saved Jerusalem. And there was no greater task for the Knights Templar.

But if Saladin headed straight for Jerusalem, there would be only two choices for them all. Death, or salvation through a miracle of the Lord.

So in spite of all its terrors, they would have to pray for a long siege.

Two days later Armand de Gascogne rode for the first time as the confanonier in a squadron of knights led by the master himself. They rode south along the seacoast in the direction of Al Arish, fifteen knights and a sergeant in tight formation. According to the Bedouin spies, Saladin’s army was on the move but had split in two, with one regiment heading north along the coast and the other inland in a circular movement across the Sinai. It was not easy to grasp what the intention of such a manoeuvre might be, but the information would have to be verified.

At first they rode close to the seacoast on the west, giving them full view of the beach to the southwest. But since there was a risk that they might end up behind enemy lines without realizing it, Arn soon ordered a change of course. Then they headed east, up toward the more mountainous part of the coast where the caravans passed during the seasons when storms made the coast itself impassable.

Up by the caravan road they altered course again, so that they stayed in the heights above it and had a clear view of the road for a great distance. When they passed a curve where the view along the road was obscured by a protruding cliff, they suddenly made contact with the enemy.

Both parties discovered each other at the same time, and both were equally surprised. Along the road below came an army of knights riding four abreast, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Arn raised his right hand and signalled to regroup in attack position, so that all sixteen knights spread out in a row facing the enemy. He was obeyed at once, but his men also gave him some questioning, nervous looks. Below were at least two thousand Egyptian knights carrying yellow banners, and their yellow uniforms shone like gold in the sun. So they were Mamelukes, an entire army of Mamelukes, the absolutely best knights and soldiers the Saracens had.

When the Templar knights high above them regrouped to attack, the valley soon echoed with commands and the clatter of horses’ hooves as the Egyptians hastily prepared to meet the assault. Their mounted archers were sent to the front rank.

Arn sat silently in his saddle watching the mighty foe. He had no intention of ordering an attack, since it would result in the loss of fifteen knights and a sergeant without much gain from such a sacrifice. But neither did he want to flee.

And the Mamelukes seemed reluctant as well. All they could see from their low vantage point was an enemy force of sixteen, which they could easily defeat. But since the enemy sat there calmly watching their opponents, there had to be more than sixteen of them, and it could be seen from far off that they were the infidels’ most terrifying knights of the red cross. The Mamelukes, who also must have seen Armand holding the commander’s banner, undoubtedly surmised that this was a trap. The sixteen may have been the only ones in sight, but the commander’s banner signified a much larger formation, perhaps 500 to 600 similar knights who were now readying themselves in case the bait of the sixteen knights was taken.

Finding themselves on low ground before an attacking Frankish army of knights was the worst imaginable situation for the Saracens, whether they were Turks or Mamelukes. Soon new orders echoed off the cliffs from the commanders down below, and the Egyptian army began to retreat. At the same time a party of lightly armed scouts fanned out onto the surrounding slopes to locate the enemy’s main force.

Then Arn gave the order for an about face, a new tight formation, and retreat at a walk. Slowly the sixteen knights disappeared out of the field of vision of their apprehensive foes.

As soon as the squadron was safely out of sight, Arn ordered a brisk trot in the direction of Gaza, taking the fastest route.

When they approached the city they saw that all roads were filled with refugees seeking protection and fleeing the plundering marauders. In the distance to the east could be seen several black columns of smoke. Gaza would soon be full of refugees.

War was finally upon them.