The Last Templar

by Michael Jecks

  “Simon, old friend,” he said, holding out his hand as his eyes wrinkled in a smile of welcome. “Come in, come in. Would you like some refreshment? It’s good to see you again.”

  Smiling and squeezing John’s hand, Simon nodded. “Thank you. Yes, some beer and food and a place to rest for the night, if I may. I’m on my way back home and I can’t stay in the saddle any longer today. Do you mind?”

  “Mind?” John put his arm around Simon’s shoulders and laughed as he led him along the screened passage to the hall. “Come on, let’s get you fed!”

  The little castle echoed in its emptiness as John led the way to the hall. It always surprised Simon that a castle, one he had known to ring to the sounds of cooks, servants and guests, could seem so deserted when the lord was away. It was almost as if the whole building was in hibernation, waiting for the master to return. As they walked, the sound of their booted steps seemed to ring throughout the tower as they trudged along the flagstones of the passage, until they came to the hall where John had been sitting before a roaring fire. Soon servants arrived carrying cold meats and wine, which they placed on a table near Simon, and he sat and helped himself. Hugh arrived after a few minutes - he had been helping to see to the horses - and sat with his master to eat, losing his customary moroseness as he surveyed the array of food before setting to with gusto.

  Later, after John had watched them eat their fill, he had them draw their seats up beside the fire and, leaning over, refilled their cups with wine. “So what’s happening out in the world, then?”

  Simon grinned at his older friend, who sat in front of him on his settle, his face warmed where it was lit by the orange glow of the flames, but then he turned his gaze away to peer around the hall.

  It was like a tall cavern, almost square at the base, and lighted by the fire and the candles, sitting in their brackets on the walls, that guttered in the draught that fed their flames, the tapestries that covered the windows giving no protection from the gales outside. The floor was covered in old rushes and the smell of the place was a pervasive mixture of bitterness and sweetness - from the dogs’ urine and from the putrefying remains of ancient meals and bones that lay hidden among the stems on the floor, the normal smell of an old hall. Simon would have been happier if the rushes had been replaced more often, but he knew that John held to the old view that it was better not to change them too regularly - that was the way to bring in infection.

  When he looked back at John, there was a slight concern in his eyes; his friend had aged since they last met. He was only ten years older than Simon himself, but his body was skinny and seemed ancient, prematurely hunched under his tunic from lack of exercise and from too often sitting in the cold and reading by candlelight. The thin face looked strangely pale and waxy from spending too much time indoors, and the lines on his forehead and either side of his mouth made deep grooves on his features, casting their own dark shadows in the firelight. When they had last met John had borne a head of thick greying hair, but now it was almost a pure white, as if he had been given a sudden shock. Simon had not expected to see him so greatly changed in only seven months, and as he looked at his friend he suddenly realised how much pressure he would be under with his own new position at Lydford.

  “Apart from my new position, you mean? The only thing people were talking about in Taunton was the price of food.” They talked for a time about the effects of the rains on their crops, and the sudden increase in prices after the last failed harvest, until the door opened and both fell silent, watching a servant enter and stride quickly across the hall to speak to John. After a moment he rose with an apology.

  “Pardon me, Simon. A traveller has arrived and asked to speak to me,” said John as he stood and walked to the door.

  Simon raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked over at Hugh. “A traveller? At this time of night? It must be more than three hours after dark!” Hugh shrugged with indifference and poured himself more wine.

  After only a few minutes, John came back with a tall and strong-looking man, obviously a knight, wearing a heavy cloak over a mail hauberk that looked old and appeared to have seen several battles, from the scars and scratches that were visible. Behind him was a servant, a lean and wiry man of Simon’s own age, with eyes that seemed to flit over the whole room as he entered as if he was looking for any signs of danger. As he came in he moved to the side of the knight so that he could see directly into the room, then followed along behind.

  “Simon,” John said with a smile, “This is Sir Baldwin Furnshill, the new master of Furnshill Manor.”

  Rising, Simon took the stranger’s hand. He seemed calm, but Simon noticed a subtle wariness in his eyes, a slight hesitation as he shook hands, and as soon as Simon released his grip, the knight took a step back and shot an enquiring glance at John, who swiftly introduced them while Simon’s eyes flitted inquisitively over the two strangers.

  The knight was tall, probably a little taller than Simon himself, and carried himself like a lord. Broad and thickset under his mail, he stood proud and haughty, like a man who had fought successfully in several battles. Simon had to peer to see his face in the dark room; it was scarred on one side - not too deeply, merely as if he had been scratched by a knife, a normal mark for a warrior. But that was not what Simon first noticed. No, it was the deep weals, the lines of pain that stood out, the furrows of anguish that travelled from underneath his eyes, past his mouth, to finish in the hair at his jawline. They pointed to great suffering, as if he had known a level of pain so deep as to be almost unbearable, although he did not seem very old.

  Simon placed him at around thirty-five; his dark hair and the neat, almost black, beard an uncommon feature with modern knights that just followed the line of his jaw seemed to hint at no more than that. When the knight turned back and smiled, his dark brown eyes creasing in welcome after John’s eulogistic description of his younger friend, Simon could see the hurt there as well. It was a shock to see it, as if it was a blemish that should have been polished away long ago. But it was there, a melancholy that seemed as though it would never be able to leave, a depression that appeared to have taken such deep root that to exorcise it would remove the knight’s very soul, and Simon could feel the sympathy stirring in his breast at the sight.

  “Please, come and sit. You were travelling very late, sir. Please sit and rest,” he said, shoving Hugh to make more space on the bench.

  The knight bowed slightly and his mouth twitched in a half smile as Hugh sulkily moved farther up the bench away from the flames.

  “Thank you. But there is space for me here,” he said, indicating John’s trestle and slowly easing himself down onto it, sighing as his muscles relaxed. He gratefully accepted a cup of wine from John and took a long, contented draught. “Ah, that’s good.” His servant stood behind him, as if waiting to be given an order - or was it that he was standing ready to defend his master? “Edgar, you can sit as well.”

  Simon glanced up at the servant as he moved round to sit, and was vaguely disturbed by the expression of wary distrust he could see in the dark features, as if he was being weighed up, measured and assessed in comparison with other potential dangers. Then, to Simon’s vague annoyance, this arrogant servant seemed to decide that the bailiff was no risk, as if he was not of enough significance to merit being classified as a threat. Edgar glanced down and seated himself, staring around the room, his eyes occasionally lighting briefly on the other people present. He seemed a distrustful man, Simon felt - even when seated he seemed to be glowering, as if doubting his, and his master’s, safety.

  The bailiff shrugged and looked over at the knight, who was happily accepting more wine from John. “Why are you travelling so late at night, sir?” he asked, watching as the knight stretched his legs slowly and started to rub at them, pulling his mail aside - Baldwin raised his eyebrows as he stared back, a hint of sardonic humour showing in his dark eyes. He seemed to be close to laughing at himself ironically.

  “It’
s been a long time since I travelled these roads. I am the new master of Furnshill Manor, as John said, and I’m on my way there, but I was held up today, in my pride and foolishness. I had a wish to see some of the old views, but it has been many years since I came along these roads and I forgot my way too often and… well, I got lost. It took me a lot longer than I expected to find the right roads.” His head rose and he gazed straight into Simon’s eyes as he gave a sudden smile. “Have I broken the law in being out so late, bailiff?”

  Laughing, Simon happily took another cup of wine from John. “No. No, I’m just naturally inquisitive. So are you on your way to Furnshill now?”

  “Yes. I understand my brother died some time ago, so the manor becomes mine. I came as soon as I heard he was dead. I was going to continue tonight, but if I can get lost so easily during daylight, what hope is there that I can find my way in the dark? No, if John could allow me… ?” He finished with an interrogatively raised eyebrow as he peered over at the older man beside him.

  “Of course, of course, Sir Baldwin. You must rest here the night.”

  Simon studied the knight carefully. Now he could see the man’s features more clearly as the firelight and candles caught his face, and he could see the family resemblance. Sir Reynald had been known to be a kindly master, and Simon found himself hoping that his brother Baldwin would be too. A cruel man in an important manor could be disruptive to an area. “Your brother was a good man, always ready to help another in need and was known to be good to his people,” he said speculatively.

  Thank you. Yes, he was a kind man, although I’ve not seen him for many years. It’s sad I didn’t have a chance to give him my farewell. Oh, yes, thank you, John.“ He held out his cup again for John to refill, and his eyes caught Simon’s for an instant and held his gaze. There was an arrogance there, Simon noticed, the arrogance that came from experience, from battle and testing his prowess, but there was also a humility, a kindness, and an almost tangible yearning for peace and rest, as if he had travelled far and seen almost too much and only wanted to find somewhere where he could at last settle.

  The young bailiff was intrigued. “So how long is it since you were here last, if you got lost on your return?”

  “I was last here in my seventeenth year, that was in twelve hundred and ninety,” he said blandly, and then smiled at Simon’s obvious calculation. “Yes, I am forty-three, bailiff.”

  Simon stared at him. It seemed almost incredible that he could be so old, especially now, as he smiled in amusement with the firelight twinkling in his eyes. He seemed too vigorous somehow, too quick and sharp to be that age, and it was only with a mental effort that Simon managed to stop his jaw dropping.

  “You honour me with your surprise, anyway,” said the knight with a small smile. “Yes, I left in twelve ninety, over six-and-twenty years ago. My brother was the elder, so he was the heir. I decided to go and seek my fortune elsewhere.” He stretched. “But it’s time for me to come back. I need to be able to ride the hills again and see the moors.” Suddenly his smile broadened and he quickly looked over at the bailiff with his eyebrows raised in an expression of humorous lechery. “And its time I started breeding. I intend to take a wife and begin a family.”

  “Well, I wish you well in your search for peace and marriage,” said Simon, smiling back at him.

  There was a glint in the knight’s eyes, not of anger, but more of quizzical interest as he gazed over at him. “Why do you say ”peace“?”

  Simon was aware of, and annoyed by, a slight stiffening in the servant beside the knight. “You say you have been away for many years and want to settle down at your home.” He drained his cup and set it on the bench top beside him. “I hope that means you want to find peace and not battle.”

  “Hmm. Yes, I have seen enough of war. I feel the need for rest and, as you say, peace.” For an instant Simon saw the pain again, reflected by the flames as the knight stared into the fire, seemingly lost in his past, but then the moment was gone and Baldwin smiled again as if he was silently reminding himself of the others around and putting the pain away for the present.

  “Well, if you wish, you may travel with us tomorrow. We will be passing close by Furnshill Manor on our way home.”

  With evident gratitude, Baldwin inclined his head. “Thank you, I would be happy for your company.”

  The next morning was bright and clear, the sun shining down from a perfect blue sky, and after a breakfast of cold meats and bread Simon and the new owner of Furnshill left the little castle with their servants and made their way back up to the lane towards Cadbury where the knight’s manor lay.

  Simon found himself covertly watching the man and his servant. They seemed to move in accord with one another, a complete unit in themselves. There was never any sign between them that the bailiff could see, but whenever Baldwin wanted to move slightly, whether to look at a view or at a flower by the side of the road, it seemed that his servant was already moving, as if he had anticipated the knight’s wish. Wherever they went, the knight was always in front, but the servant was never far from him, leading the small packhorse on its long halter just behind and to the knight’s right. Simon found himself thinking how the two were perfect complements, and for an instant wondered whether he would ever be able to train Hugh to ride properly so that his own servant could behave in the same faultless manner. He threw a glance over his shoulder to where Hugh was sulkily jolting along behind, and with a sardonic grimace gave up on the thought.

  Sir Baldwin rode into the lead shortly after they began the climb up the steep hill from Bickleigh and seemed surprised at the slow pace of Hugh.

  “Hugh has only been riding for a short time,” said Simon with an ironic grin, in answer to the enquiring gaze. “He’s always nervous that the horse will canter off and leave him behind. I don’t like to worry him too much by going too fast for him.”

  The knight peered ahead contemplatively while his servant stared back at Hugh with a sneer of disgust on his face. “I can remember this lane,” Baldwin said, “I can remember riding here when I was very young. It seems so long ago, in a way…‘ His voice trailed off.

  Simon looked at him. He seemed to be reflecting, his forehead puckered in thought as he studied the road ahead, “ until they came over the crest of a hill and could see the view. Pausing, they waited for Hugh. From here, up on top of the rise, they could see far over to the south and west, all over the moors and forests of Devon, even as far as Dartmoor.

  In the mid-morning haze it seemed, at first, as if they were alone in the world as they sat in their saddles at the top of the hill and waited for Hugh to catch up with them. Then the signs of life became evident. Some four miles away they could see smoke from a chimney rising between trees. Just beyond was a hamlet, nestling on the side of a hill above a series of fields that sprawled down into a valley. Farther on, the scene coloured blue with the distance, were more houses and fields with, here and there, the inevitable columns of smoke to show where fires were alight for cooking. Simon smiled as he looked over the area with a feeling of proprietorial pride at the sight of this, his county. When he looked over at the knight beside him, he was surprised to see him leaning forward and resting on his horse’s neck, a small smile on his face as he contemplated the view. “It’s good country, isn’t it?” said Simon softly.

  “The finest,” Baldwin murmured, still staring at the view. Then, shaking himself out of his reverie, he swiftly turned and flashed a smile at the bailiff. “I cannot wait for your man any longer. This road needs a quick horse to let the memories flow. My friend, I will look forward to seeing you at the manor. As a friend and companion of the road I will be pleased to offer you some refreshment before you continue on your way home.”

  Before the words had sunk in, he had dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and was away and rushing down the hill, his cloak streaming out behind him and billowing in the wind, his servant still maintaining his position slightly behind and to the knight’s right
. Eyebrows raised, Simon watched them race down the hill until Hugh arrived at his side.

  “He’s in a hurry to get to the manor,” he said sombrely. His master nodded.

  “Yes. It’s been many years since he last looked forward to anything so much, I think. He looks as though he feels young again.” Slowly they started off down the hill towards the manor, some two miles away.

  “Strange man, though,” said Hugh pensively after a few minutes of jolting along.

  “In what way?”

  “He looks all lost sometimes, like a lamb that’s lost his ewe, then it’s like he’s remembered who he is again and his smile comes back.”

  Simon thought about his comment for the rest of the way. It certainly agreed with his own observations from the previous night. It was almost as if the knight was coming back to forget something in his past, as if in returning to his old home he would be able to forget the years spent away. But when Simon had asked him what he had been doing since he left so many years before, he had simply said, “Fighting,” with a terse curtness that seemed strangely out of character, and would not explain further.

  It was odd, he knew. Most knights were pleased to discuss their exploits, they were always happy to boast and tell of their valour and courage in the field. It was only natural for warriors to be proud and arrogant, describing their battles in detail and telling of their bravery. To meet a man who did not want to talk about his past at all seemed curious, but then again, as Simon knew well, if a knight lost his lord he could well lose all his wealth and property. He would have to survive as best he could - by whatever means - trying to gain a new lord to keep him in armour and food. Perhaps this knight had fallen on bad times and had been forced to struggle to maintain himself and now wanted to forget. He shrugged. Whatever the reason, if Baldwin wanted to keep his past to himself, he would respect his wish.