Deus Militis - Soldiers of God

by Jonathan A Longmore

  ‘You should have told me,’ de Chauvigny said angrily.

  De Fribois’s eyes narrowed to slits as he looked at de Chauvigny and hissed malevolently, ‘But I am the Grand Master, Reynaud, if I told you of all my spies then how would I control people like you….you were told to visit the monastery and find the urn, you were not told to slice up the priests,’ as he spoke his voice became louder until he spat the last words out, ‘we are here to serve God, not punish his servants by cutting their balls off!’

  De Chauvigny took a step back at the ferocity of the admonishment. As vicious as he was, even he shrunk under the forceful and evil personality of the Grand Master.

  De Fribois turned away from de Chauvigny and closed his eyes as he spoke in a normal tone, ‘You mutilated one of our own and you didn’t even know.’

  ‘He should have spoken out!’

  ‘He did Reynaud, but the man who cut him thought he was the same as the rest of the priests, pleading for his manhood and saying anything to prevent the blade slicing the flesh!’

  De Chauvigny looked stunned as he stared at Demetrius, ‘Where is this scroll now?

  ‘Let me ask you this,’ de Fribois sighed, ‘who went with you?’

  De Chauvigny stared at the priest as he thought of all the men who had gone with him on the pilgrimage. The Constable had argued against it, but de Chauvigny had insisted as a Master of the Order he was sworn to make the long and arduous journey to Mount Sinai where the Monastery of St Katherine was situated. A holy place for both Christian and Muslim, it was one of the few journeys pilgrims of both faiths could make safely. De Chauvigny reeled off the names of the knights who made the false pilgrimage, ‘None of those would have taken it!’

  ‘No,’ said de Fribois, ‘but didn’t you also have to take Erasmus?’

  De Chauvigny looked from de Fribois to Demetrius, ‘He has it?’

  De Fribois nodded, ‘Demetrius saw him take it from one of the monks, but if your men were not so quick to disbelieve the truth when they hear it,’ he spat venomously, ‘Demetrius might still be a man, and we would have the one thing that has eluded us!’

  Chapter Seventeen

  De Capo had spent the day in the courtyard, sweating and burning with the men he now commanded. He knew their fighting capability had reached its pinnacle and Leopold had constantly questioned the necessity of the training and the validity of the order. De Capo finally relented when he saw the faces of the men staring at him with expressions of hate and loathing, he realised to make them continue indefinitely would be counterproductive, he needed them fit and ready to go out on patrol and protect the pilgrims and caravans using the vital trade routes to and from the city. There would be no more sparring in the crippling heat after that day. A number of the men were still in the infirmary, including the Frenchman.

  Leopold had approached de Capo in his quarters the following day, ‘What happens to le Boursier?

  ‘He should be tried,’ said de Capo, ‘you were there when I informed all the men any act based on the oath to de Chauvigny would be considered seditious, but, he claims he did not know the blade was sharp and I cannot prove otherwise,’ he paused, leant back and smiled up at Leopold, ‘you handed him the sword, did you not?’

  ‘Are you accusing me?’

  ‘No,’ de Capo remembered the conversation with the armourer, ‘There are some blades not blunted properly, it is an easy mistake to make.’

  ‘No,’ repeated de Capo, ‘I make no accusations.’

  The incident was consigned to history as an accident but it concerned de Capo these men would not risk their lives for him, either in the city or outside in a fight with the enemy. Hashim’s insistence on having men guard him was also a concern now he knew that, by men, Hashim was referring to Saracens who were fighting for the Sultan. A Christian knight being guarded by Saracens was unthinkable, and yet it was strangely comforting to know the men he was here to guard the Kingdom against, were prepared to protect him, simply because of one act of mercy.

  ‘I tell you again Sayyid, you need protection and I know these men will try again,’ Hashim looked towards Efrayim who sat poring over accounts and writing figures at his own small table. Efrayim was an invaluable asset for any commander and without him it seemed the whole administration of the castle would collapse. ‘Efrayim?’

  The old man looked up at Hashim and shrugged, ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘Tell the Sayyid what you have heard.’

  ‘I hear lots of things,’ he sighed, ‘things I have no right to hear or repeat.’

  As orders were shouted in the courtyard the sounds of the men sparring finally stopped for good and the silence was infused with the aroma of the evening meal being prepared in the kitchen. De Capo walked to the window and looked out at the gate that was still open and allowing people to enter Montmusart, ‘You don’t say much.’

  Efrayim sat up straight, placed his quill down and spread his hands at the inevitability of it all, ‘I hear a lot Sir Ralf, I write a lot and men trust my discretion, this is how I have stayed alive,’ he smiled, ‘if you ask me a question I will reply, if you ask my opinion I will reply, but I am not here to offer such things…..and this Sir Ralf, is why I am quiet!’

  ‘Very well, what is your opinion of Hashim’s choice of bodyguard?’

  Efrayim shrugged, ‘My opinion is of no consequence, these are strange times and if you can trust a man, that is all you need.’

  ‘Even my enemies?’

  ‘In truth,’ Efrayim said boldly, ‘I know many men of the Muslim faith, and I do not know any who would break their word.’

  De Capo looked at Hashim, he knew he was being pressured by others and it was a sign of the times his enemy wanted to protect him against his own men. He stared at the gate and noted the scornful looks of the guards as they saw him before he made a decision. ‘Perhaps we can compromise,’ he said over his shoulder. He turned and smiled at Hashim, ‘I have an idea that might benefit both of us.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Father Erasmus stared at the scroll and wondered at the contents. He wanted to open it and read the revelation that was there, but fear of knowing what he should not know prevented him from looking. He said a silent prayer as he realised the enormity of what he had in his possession. Ever since they had been formed, the Imperial Order of Jerusalem had been searching for religious artefacts. Everything they found had been handed to the Pope and locked away. What this scroll revealed would be the greatest treasure on Earth, if it was true. Erasmus stared at it once more and shuddered, not in fear but in the knowledge he would be tortured to death if they knew he had hidden it from them.

  Erasmus had been appointed by the Pope to serve with the order and be his eyes and ears, and he had done so for several years now, always listening and watching, and every six months he would write a report and hand it to a messenger who would deliver it to the Pope. Erasmus also sent a copy of his report to England, because he had an allegiance to something far greater than his allegiance to the Holy Father, greater than his man-made greatness and his secular power. His allegiance was to God himself, and the people he worked for were descendants of men who escaped the clutches of Rome centuries earlier, men who understood the true nature of this ancient knightly Order; men who searched for the truth of the artefacts. These men were the Deus Militis, Soldiers of God, but not even they knew what he had. He was scared to commit the knowledge of his possession to a message that could be lost or intercepted. The stakes had now changed and he was, in effect on his own, but he had an idea.

  By his own admission he was not a brave man, but neither was he a coward and the act he portrayed of a simpering fool was slightly misleading. He was scared of de Chauvigny and he was also scared of Leopold and de Paganel, not because of what they could do to him, but because what could happen if the Pope obtained the scroll. He said a silent prayer in thanks at the deliverance of de Capo to the Castle, but knew what de Capo thought when he saw him watching as he step
ped out into the courtyard to fight le Boursier. It was clear he despised him, not because he seemed weak and ineffectual but because he was a priest.

  Erasmus had made his own discreet enquiries about Ralf de Capo. A Christian to the core, but a hater of the priesthood and all it stood for. Erasmus had met men like him in the past, and strangely they were men he could trust, but could he trust de Capo? He could not send the scroll back to England with the messenger; too risky. He could not leave without permission from the Pope; that was too suspicious. He knew de Capo wanted to go home and if he could survive living and fighting with this Order he would return to England, and if he had judged him correctly he would take the scroll with him. Erasmus had heard the men talking and knew they would see him dead in an instant. He knew de Capo looked at him as a pathetic scared priest, what he didn’t see was the priest praying for his survival to help him complete his task.

  He sat in his vestry, a small room only he had access to and one he could lock and hide away from the rest of the castle. He heard men walking into the chapel, talk, and leave again and he guessed they were looking for him, the men of this order regularly confessed their sins for they had many sins to confess. He quickly placed the scroll in the hiding place he had created and replaced the stone. It wasn’t perfect but a man would have to look very close to see there was anything strange. When he was sure there was no-one outside waiting for him, he unlocked the vestry door and let himself out locking the door behind him. He walked around to the front of the altar and knelt before the cross, clasped his hands together and muttered a small prayer for what he was about to do. He stood, rearranged his habit and left the coolness of the chapel as he stepped onto the balcony and walked slowly towards de Capo’s quarters.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Baktamar ibn Abd Allaah al-Din Aqtay, once commander of cavalry to the Sultan al-Malik al-Muzaffar Saif ad-Din Qutuz, and now to the Sultan Baibers sat with his legs crossed, and in the glare of the sun squinted as he looked towards Acre. The walls and towers of the Christian capital sat low on the horizon and Baktamar was secretly worried about Tamar al Hasan.

  Tamar had entered Acre on several occasions before and obtained invaluable information for the Sultan, but now was he was doing it for a completely different reason. If he wasn’t back by the next crescent moon Baktamar would enter the city himself. His sword lay across his thighs and he subconsciously caressed the scabbard and handle. He and his men had been waiting for ten days now and although they would not admit it, they were getting restless. They were also becoming nervous this far inside the land the Christians claimed as their own; after the last time they passed through it was understandable.

  He thought about the new Sultan and the look on his face when he had been told of the attack. At first Baktamar thought his execution would be ordered for allowing such a thing to happen. However, when the Sultan heard the rest of the story his mood softened and he gave permission for Baktamar and his men to return. Baktamar’s request had been unusual and the response even more so, but the Sultan had just taken power and had other matters to resolve now the threat of the Mongols had been destroyed. The movement in the distance caught his keen eyes and he watched in anticipation as a horseman started to move in his direction. He turned and called, ‘Juubaan!’

  ~

  Ibrahim smiled when Hashim gave him the best news he could have expected, ‘The Sayyid insists he is safe in the castle, but outside he is vulnerable.’ Hashim shrugged, ‘He will not have men inside but he has agreed men outside can watch him.’

  Ibrahim finished his tea and after giving Hashim further instructions made his way out of the city. By the time he reached Baktamar the sun would be high in the sky, the relentless heat beating down to dry out a land that was already arid. He rode into the small ravine carved out of the hills by water, millions of years before the soil had become the baked dust it now was and was approached by two of Baktamar’s men who appeared unexpectedly at his side as he passed some rocks guarding the entrance. His horse became skittish at the sudden emergence of the sentries and he fought to control her as she tried to spin round in the narrow trail. With soothing words and gentle strokes of her neck the horse soon calmed and Ibrahim removed the cloth covering his face, ‘As-Salaamu `Alaykum,’ he said in greeting to the two desert warriors, ‘your sudden appearance was most gratifying!’

  The two horsemen, lances pointing towards his body, with round shields strapped to their arms, looked at Ibrahim with unsmiling faces; faces beneath conical steel helmets, topped with a spike and adorned with prominent nose and cheek guards and a mail aventail protecting their neck and ears. The black cloaks they wore, allowing them to blend in with the shadows of the rocks, protected the heat of the sun from the scale armour covering their torsos. For the wrong person to meet these men, death would be swift and uncompromising.

  One of the men smiled and raised his lance as he replied, ‘Wa-Alaikum-Salaam Tamar al Hasan,’ he said using Ibrahim’s real name, ‘we thought you had been eaten by the Christians!’

  His comrade laughed as he too raised his lance and both men grinned at each other.

  Tamar remained blank and expressionless as he stared at the two grinning men, ‘I have to warn you both not to go there,’ he said gravely, ‘you are both in very real danger….they fornicate with dogs before they eat them!’ He kicked his horse and she jumped into a slow canter, and as the insults filled his ears he rode past the two warriors into the ravine with a smile on his face.

  Baktamar had reached the bottom of the ravine and stood talking to his men as Tamar came into view. He dismounted, embraced Baktamar and greeted the rest of the men. Once the formalities were out of the way Baktamar led Tamar to an open sided tent where they sat in the shade and shared sweetmeats and flatbread washed down with tea, all prepared by Kurjii.

  As Tamar bit into the spiced food he closed his eyes and an expression of pure joy covered his face, ‘Kurjii is truly blessed, do not let the Sultan learn about him.’

  ‘He is our secret,’ said Baktamar, ‘so, you have news for us?’

  ‘I do,’ Tamar picked up a piece of flatbread and dipped it in a soft spicy sauce, one of Kurjii’s own creations, he took a mouthful and chewed slowly, savouring every morsel before he continued, ‘the Butcher is gone, banished by the Constable, never to return, if he does they will hang him.’

  Baktamar’s hand stopped halfway to his mouth at the revelation and he nodded, ‘That is indeed good news, why was he banished?’

  ‘For attacking us, Lord,’ said Tamar, ‘not only did de Capo save our lives but he is also responsible for removing the Butcher from our land, his head on a spike would have been better, but it seems we owe this man another debt!’

  ‘De Capo is well?’

  Tamar nodded, ‘He is, and he also now commands those men who attacked us.’

  Baktamar had seen and heard many strange things in his life and he prided himself on not being easily shocked, but his hand fell to his lap as he stared at Tamar incredulously, ‘And they have allowed this?’

  ‘They have no choice, the Constable commanded it, but de Capo’s life is in danger,’ said Tamar soberly, ‘these men hate him but cannot kill him inside their castle. When he is outside they will try and kill him, he knows this and he will accept our help.’

  Baktamar closed his eyes and said a small prayer, if the debt could be repaid, his conscience and that of his men would be clear and they could once again ride into battle without fear of dying with a debt they could not repay. He finally placed the food in his mouth and chewed as he thought. The two men ate in silence until it was broken by Baktamar, ‘You will take four men back with you.’

  ~

  They were called Kamil, Talib, Bundar and Ali, and separately they entered the city through the gate of St Anthony pretending to be normal Arabic citizens of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Tamar who had reverted to his disguise of Ibrahim was walking ahead of them and once through the double walls he watched as they ent
ered before approaching them and leading them to the house where they would stay.

  Apart from Ibrahim this was the first time any of them had been inside Acre and the sights and smells astounded them. This small corner of their own land crammed with more than twenty thousand souls, Muslim, Christian and Jew, all living side by side, hemmed in by the double walls that one day they knew they would have to attack. The place was awash with humanity and Ibrahim could see the four men were astonished at the amount of people and cultures inhabiting Acre. The prostitutes and the traders, the knights who demanded people move as they walked along in their arrogance and self-belief they were superior to everyone else, the beggars and thieves, people shouting and arguing, and in all this the commerce that kept the Kingdom alive in a sea of hate which continued to flourish.

  By the time they reached the house, their senses had been bombarded to the extent they wanted no more that day. Their task would begin in the morning but now they would eat and rest. They were all young, tough and experienced and they all knew they might never see their families again. Here to protect one of their enemies, but an enemy who had become a friend and they would die before they failed.

  Chapter Twenty

  De Capo wanted to visit Thomas to ensure his wounds were healing, so he sent a message to Osmond le Vicomt. The messenger returned, accompanied by a score of men from the Holy Order of St Peter who waited outside the castle to escort de Capo back to their compound. They would return him to the castle before nightfall.

  ‘I can’t do this every time I want to leave,’ he said to le Vicomt, ‘but I know if I leave alone there will be an attempt on my life.’

  It’s not too late,’ le Vicomt said, ‘I can speak to the Constable and you can be back with us where you are safe.’

  De Capo looked at his former commander and slowly shook his head, ‘This is something I must do, if I leave now I will be seen as a coward. Honour dictates I stay and finish this task, besides there is now another issue that has come to the fore, and I have to deal with that as well.’