Deus Militis - Soldiers of God

by Jonathan A Longmore

  They had sat together one night as the boat drifted lazily westwards through the Ligurian Sea to the north of Corsica. It had been three weeks since they boarded and both men had sweated and toiled with the crew, if Rufus would not accept payment they would work their passage.

  De Capo had looked at Erasmus, he was exhausted because he was not used to the manual labour, long hours and relentless toil required to maintain a boat at sea, but he seemed happier than when he first boarded. He sat beside the priest and cleaned his mail and weapons, it seemed the sea air did not like iron and steel and keeping it free from rust was a daily task, ‘What’s your secret?’

  Erasmus was looking at the moon and seemed mesmerised by its clear and luminous appearance, ‘Secret?’ he murmured, ‘What secret?’

  ‘These men,’ de Capo said as he scraped his whetstone along the blade of his arming sword, ‘they hated you when we first boarded, and now they treat you like one of their own.’

  ‘God is benevolent,’ Erasmus said softly, still looking at the moon, ‘and if he can turn night into day, he can turn sinners into God fearing, priest loving men.’

  De Capo looked at the moon which was full and bright and the light it showered down upon them meant they could see for miles in all directions. Night had almost become day, and he nodded at the words Erasmus had spoken. As he scraped the blade he thought about Leopold and how fast he turned against the values of his order for the opportunity to lead his men. Another strange event de Capo could not fully explain, although being saved by the men he had tried to murder must have made him think about what he was doing and why.

  His thoughts turned to his own Order and he felt the guilt wash over him as he realised he had abandoned his friends and brothers in arms, ‘And for what?’ he thought, ‘an ancient scroll and a story about men fighting in secret for God!’

  ‘Tell me about this Deus Militis again,’ he said as he realised the enormity of what he had done.

  Erasmus continued to stare at the moon as he spoke, ‘The descendants of the Deus Militis and those of the Imperial order of Jerusalem were all Praetorians.’

  De Capo paused in the scraping and looked at Erasmus with a enquiringly, ‘You didn’t tell me that before.’

  ‘I told you enough,’ Erasmus shrugged, ‘enough to keep you interested, and enough to make you believe.’

  ‘But not everything,’ de Capo said sternly, ‘and I need to know everything!’

  ‘Even I do not know everything,’ admitted Erasmus, ‘I will fill in the gaps as best I can, but there is not much more to tell.’

  ‘Tell me anyway,’ de Capo said as he gave his blade a final sweep of his whetstone.

  ‘Very well,’ Erasmus said taking a deep breath, ‘after the crucifixion of our Lord, he was taken from the cross and carried to his tomb. The Roman soldiers went with him, they would not let his body out of their sight for they were afraid his followers would try and steal the body, and the Romans wanted him buried in such a way that no-one could reach him…..there are some who say the Centurion in command was chosen by God.’

  De Capo smirked at the comment, ‘Chosen? By God?’

  Erasmus smiled at de Capo and his scepticism, ‘We have all been chosen in our own way Sir Ralf….when the Tomb of Christ was found empty the Centurion and his men were arrested as they were suspected of being in league with the Jews, but no-one could or would explain what had happened. There were Romans who believed in Jesus, and the Centurion was amongst those. After days of torture and questioning the Centurion and his men were eventually released. They wanted no witnesses to what had happened, and to execute them would have created more questions than they needed, so they were sent to different parts of the Empire with orders to stay silent or suffer a painful death. The Centurion went to Egypt and it was there he hid a clay urn, the Urn of Tullios.

  ‘Urn of Tullios…why have I never heard of this?’

  ‘Because it was only ever a rumour, Sir Ralf, but we chase rumours because rumours start with facts, then they become fables, and fables become myths until the stories become just stories, folklore and whispers in the wind…but the question is always, where did the rumour come from?’

  ‘And the scroll?’

  ‘Ah…well,’ Erasmus said with a shrug, ‘no-one knew about this scroll, even I had no idea until it was given to me.’

  ‘What has it to do with this urn?’

  Erasmus took another deep breath, ‘I have been told it was written by the Centurion and tells where the Urn of Tullios is.’

  De Capo glared at Erasmus angrily, ‘You told me it was a text written by St Peter, my patron, the first Pope, words written in his own hand!’

  ‘And I was wrong,’ Erasmus said apologetically, ‘but I needed your help and you were the only man I could trust, if I told you the truth you would have laughed in my face.’

  ‘It matters not,’ de Capo said, resigned to the fact he had still made a promise, ‘we are where we are, but do not lie to me again! Now tell me about this urn.’ He stared at Erasmus who had fallen silent, ‘Well? Are you going to tell me, or should I die without ever knowing?’

  ‘You are a sceptical man.’

  ‘I’m also a man who is risking his life for you, forget my scepticism Erasmus and tell me what is so special about this urn.’

  ‘Very well,’ Erasmus made the sign of the cross before he continued, ‘it is reputed to contain blood.’

  ‘Whose blood?’

  ‘There is only one man whose blood I would risk my life for,’ Erasmus said solemnly.

  De Capo stared at Erasmus, ‘Are you saying what I think you are saying?’

  ‘I am Sir Ralf, the blood of Christ, taken when he was in the tomb, blood that is believed to help our Lord return!’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I do not know,’ admitted Erasmus sadly, ‘but whatever the reason, it is the blood of Christ!’

  De Capo was a man of faith but even this was testing his faith to the limit, ‘You are telling me there is an urn out there with the blood of Christ inside, an urn that was hidden by a Roman twelve centuries ago?’

  ‘It is only a rumour Sir Ralf, but this rumour could be true, and who is to say it is not true.’

  ‘You obviously believe it to be true.’

  ‘Yes, I believe it to be true,’ Erasmus said solemnly, ‘I also believe that God will not betray those who serve him as they should.’

  ‘It is good to have such faith,’ de Capo said, ‘but I do not have that kind of faith, now, what else is there I do not know?’

  ‘Pope Sylvester wanted everything that was touched, blessed or even looked at by Christ….he was God’s Bishop on Earth and he wanted what he believed belonged to the Church. He gave the Imperial Order of Rome the power to hunt and seize anything they thought was of value and return it to him….he also gave them the power to use what means were necessary. The church wanted power and wealth, of course there were those who were not interested in such trappings but Popes have been controlled for centuries, and there are men who want to hide anything that is found. They do not want to risk what they have by admitting what they possess.’

  ‘And you wonder at my scepticism!’

  ‘While the church was infected with greed,’ Erasmus continued, ignoring de Capo’s comment, ‘the Imperial Order of Rome flourished as they sought the holiest things they could find, they became cruel and vicious and Pope after Pope, or the men controlling the Pope sanctioned their methods. The Church became more and more powerful, and a small number of the men in the Imperial Order of Jerusalem felt it had too much power. They also knew whatever was being hidden from the rest of the world was not for the good of our faith, but hidden to retain wealth and power….they wanted things to change…..there was an internal power struggle and the men who became the Deus Militis lost and had to flee.’

  ‘To England,’ de Capo murmured.

  ‘Eventually,’ Erasmus replied as he finally looked away from the Moon and turned to de Capo, ‘th
e furthest reaches of the empire, but by the time they settled there the Romans had left and the Saxons were arriving.’

  De Capo raised an eyebrow as he smeared congealed pig fat on his blade to try and protect it from the salty air and water, ‘And six hundred years later the Bastard invaded, and all that time this Deus Militis were in England?’

  Erasmus smiled, ‘Yes, they became good at integrating and hiding….and searching for artefacts. The church used fear and violence, we have tried to be more subtle.’

  ‘Do you really think you have something so important?

  Erasmus looked at de Capo with eyes that shone in the moonlight, ‘Think about it Sir Ralf, a scroll written by a man present at the resurrection! Who could ignore something like that, but only the Prior can decide if it is true.’

  ‘The Prior?’

  ‘He is the head of the Deus Militis,’ Erasmus explained, ‘he sent me to Rome as a young man in order to become part of the Order of Jerusalem.’ He saw the question on de Capo’s face, ‘I earned their trust and the trust of the Holy Father, but I also saw the corruption that plagues their minds and knew if I managed to find anything that would help our quest I had to do it,’ he stopped and shook his head, ‘I never believed I would find anything like this.’

  ‘But the story of the urn it is still just a rumour.’

  Erasmus nodded.

  De Capo sounded resentful as he carefully wrapped his sword in a cotton towel and rested it across his knees, ‘Which means I have risked my life and left my brother knights for a myth.’

  ‘You had to leave,’ said Erasmus, ‘you were sent by God!’

  De Capo laughed at the statement, ‘I was not sent by God, this all started when I found de Chauvigny about to spike prisoners.’

  ‘Yes,’ Erasmus said seriously, ‘you have told me the story about how you found a horse covered in blood and rode in the direction it had come from, but….what about all the other horses, where were they?’

  ‘Hobbled,’ de Capo said as his brow furrowed in thought, ‘all of them had been hobbled.’

  ‘All except one,’ Erasmus spread his hands wide, ‘one horse covered in blood found you in the desert and led you to save those men, that was God’s work Sir Ralf, God’s work.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Using the letter of credit they were given by the Templars in Acre they obtained enough money from the Templar Preceptory in Dover to purchase horses for both of them. Erasmus was not an experienced horseman and would have preferred a wagon, but summer had passed, and with winter upon them the weather was cold and wet and snow was in the air.

  The tracks that passed as roads were rutted and uneven when dry, and slippery and dangerously soft when wet, a wagon would have made their progress far too slow. Despite using horses their progress was still laboriously sluggish as they headed west towards Lewes castle, the ancestral home of Sir John de Warenne; the Earl of Surrey and Sussex. The Earl was a close friend of the Constable and he had given de Capo a letter of introduction to ensure his safety and that of Erasmus until they could travel north.

  The castle sat on the north edge of the town of Lewes. A Motte and Bailey castle with the strange distinction of having two Mottes, one to the north and one to the south, raised earthworks with stone Keeps on the top and fortified walls protecting the earthworks. In the middle sat the Bailey, a huge enclosed courtyard protected by high walls, some ten feet thick and a series of towers. The entire structure was surrounded by a deep ditch and only accessible through the main gate tower to the side of the south Motte. Inside the courtyard various buildings had been constructed, originally of timber, as were the Keeps, but now replaced by stone, evidencing the permanence of the structure and the men who built it.

  The Great Hall inside the fortified mansion house was a large airy room with high windows through which the sun was reflected down onto smooth oak floors. With walls covered by huge hanging tapestries reflecting hunting scenes, it boasted one of the largest fireplaces de Capo had ever seen. This was the residence of the Earl and his family, knights and squires, and also housed a chapel and chambers for the resident priest. Other buildings, some brick and some timber spread around the edge of the courtyard, housing the soldiers and guards of the garrison together with any families they had. The Smithy, armourer, kitchen, stables and quarters for the servants together with store rooms which were locked and guarded day and night were spread around the rest of the perimeter of the Bailey.

  On their arrival they were heavily escorted into the Great Hall with its tapestries and blazing log fire which seemed to be the only warmth in the building, but that still struggled to ward off the chill that permeated everywhere. They stood close to the fire and were told to wait for the Earl. Eight guards for one knight and a priest seemed excessive for de Capo and he raised an eyebrow at the two loaded crossbows half raised in their direction.

  The door to the Great Hall opened and Sir John de Warenne entered accompanied by two more guards. De Capo took a deep breath and kept a wary eye on the two crossbowmen. He reached inside his bag for the letter as Erasmus stepped forwards to greet the Earl, only to freeze with a look of horror, whimpering as the point of a spear hung steadily in the air only inches from his face.

  The Earl stared at the bedraggled priest before him, eyes red from exhaustion and his clothing splattered in mud. He ignored Erasmus and looked at de Capo, staring at the crest on his surcoat, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Ralf de Capo my Lord,’ he gave a small bow of the head and stood erect and allowed his eyes to meet those of the Earl without any fear.

  The Earl looked mystified as he glanced from one man to the other, he gave a small shake of his head as he looked de Capo up and down, ‘I have heard stories about you….what are you doing here?’

  ‘We have just returned from Acre,’ explained de Capo, ‘Sir William Botron suggested your hospitality might be forthcoming.’

  He handed the letter of introduction to the Earl who read it, all the while glancing up at both men, ‘How is Sir William?’

  ‘His duties weight heavily on his shoulders,’ de Capo said as he wondered at the number of guards in the hall.

  The Earl started to nod and gave a half smile as he continued to read, ‘He speaks highly of you.’

  De Capo inclined his head slightly, ‘We have had our moments my Lord.’

  ‘How long do you wish to stay?’

  ‘As long as your hospitality allows my Lord, we have a long way to travel, but the weather is treacherous.’

  The Earl smirked, ‘It’s not just the weather that is treacherous these days,’ he raised his hands and the guards all relaxed slightly as the spears and crossbows were lowered, ‘just returned from Acre you say?’

  ‘Aye, we have,’ de Capo said, relieved the guards had backed off, ‘it has been a long journey my Lord, and I am willing to offer my services to you for payment of food and shelter.’

  ‘Sir William and I have a long history, any man he vouches for is a man I can trust. You do not have to offer payment, my hospitality is yours for as long as you need it.’ He turned to the guards and nodded, they backed away but, de Capo noted silently, they were still tensed enough to attack if any sudden moves were made.

  ‘You’re both welcome here…. but,’ the Earl continued to appraise de Capo, ‘these are trying times and I may well need your sword before long!’

  ‘We heard stories,’ de Capo said, ‘and the Templars in Dover believe war between the King and his brother in law is coming.’

  ‘It’s not coming,’ the Earl replied swiftly, sadness in his voice, ‘it is already here. Men are declaring themselves for the King or the Barons,’ he looked at de Capo, the unasked question on his face.’

  ‘I am not an oath breaker,’ de Capo stated firmly, ‘I made an oath to the King and if this is against your beliefs we will leave in peace, but whatever the rights and wrongs, I am still for the King!’

  ~

  Sir John had accepted both men into his ho
usehold without further question. The letter of introduction told him all he need to know. As for his allegiance to the Crown, by his own admission he had swapped sides too often, but was now committed to the Kings Cause, although he did admit a dislike for the Queen, French born and bred.

  The day after they arrived at Lewes, the temperature plummeted and the snow came. The wood stocks at the castle had been collected throughout the year, but by the spring they would be all but depleted and the cycle would start again. It was always a struggle to keep warm despite the fires that were lit, and the huge wood piles would be whittled down day by day.

  ‘A gift from God,’ Erasmus claimed, ‘now we are safe he is giving us snow as extra protection.’ He stood in de Capo’s chambers and tried to see out through the murky but expensive glass window, a feature most castles had but only in certain rooms; even the richest of men baulked at the cost of glass, those that couldn’t afford such luxuries had to make do with the time worn shutters to keep out the wind and the rain, but also kept out the light.

  ‘It snows,’ de Capo said wearily, ‘every year it snows, and I don’t think God held it off just for us.’ He walked across to the small fireplace and threw on some more logs and stepped back as it crackled throwing sparks out like shooting stars.

  ‘The snow is late this year, ‘Erasmus said, still trying to make out details through the window, ‘If the snow had come sooner we would not have made it here,’ he turned towards de Capo who stared into the flames as the logs caught, ‘and the day after we arrive, it snows.’

  Both men had fur lined cloaks over their shoulders as added protection against the chill still seeping through the mansion house despite all the fires Sir John had ordered lit.

  ‘Coincidence,’ de Capo said as he moved a bit closer to the fire and knelt. He placed his hands over the flames and savoured the heat on his flesh, ‘This is what I missed.’

  Erasmus pulled the cloak tight, ‘Fires?’

  ‘No.’ De Capo picked up another log and carefully placed it on the fire and watched as it started to smoulder before the flames caught it properly, ‘The cold. The good, clean, honest English cold.’