Behold the Dawn

  And Gethin the Baptist fell from Jaffa’s ramparts.

  Annan closed his eyes and listened as the scream was chopped short. He did not step to the wall to see the dusty heap of brown homespun that had fallen amidst all that remained of Christendom’s greatest armies. He did not want to see. Turning away, he sank to his knees. Roderic’s sword clanked against the planks, and at last he prayed. Christ, have mercy... Save me.

  He slumped his head to his chest, utterly spent. He had been forcing punishment for St. Dunstan’s upon himself long enough. The time had come to put it aside forever. His pride torn down, he could now accept the forgiveness he had so long shunned, the forgiveness that had never been his to earn, but only to claim. His punishment was at an end—at last.

  He opened his eyes. For the first time in sixteen years, perhaps for the first time in his entire life, a glimmer of day flickered at the end of his dark path.

  Behind him, painful, halting footsteps whispered. Mairead. He didn’t turn around, even as she laid her hands on his aching shoulders. For a long moment, neither of them moved.

  “It’s over,” she said at last.

  “Aye.” His throat grew thick, and he raised his right arm to hers. Aye, it was over. And, in that one word, he—undeserving, miserable man that he was—had been given a gift so great it overwhelmed him. The chance to begin anew. The chance to remember what it was like to serve a God who loved. The chance to push Death out to arm’s length and keep it there. The chance to love this woman who was his wife.

  “Stay with me,” he whispered.

  She sank down behind him, her fingers closing over the reopened gash in his forearm. Her arms slipped around him, her cheek against his shoulder. “Yes,” she said.

  He cradled her arms against him and looked out at the battlefield. Darkness was growing on the faraway horizon. It was the darkness of gathering troops. Probably the rest of Richard’s army on their way from Caesarea to rescue the beleaguered city. Jaffa was saved.

  And so was he.

  Chapter XXVIII

  ON OCTOBER 9, 1192, Richard Coeur-de-Lion, King of England, together with most of his army, left the Holy Land in the hands of the infidels and embarked for home. Far down the beach, near where he had held his first meeting with Brother Warin under the cover of moonlight, Annan watched the ships catch sail and begin their creaking way out to open sea.

  Beside him, mounted on a little black Turkish mare he’d dubbed Lucretia, Marek lifted his chin from where he had propped it against his hand. “Well, this has been a right good waste of a Crusade, hasn’t it? Here we were, hovering round for practically the whole rotten thing, and we’ve not an absolution to show for it among the lot of us. Complete and utter waste. ‘Specially considering I had to spend a night in some cold, nasty cell.”

  “Will the Christians return?” Mairead asked over Annan’s shoulder. She put her hand against his side, balancing as she shifted on the pillion.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps.” He hoped not. Despite the Christians’ escape at Jaffa, the Turks had soundly beaten the might of Christendom. Had it been a mission blessed of God, he could not help but think the outcome would have been vastly different. His eyes followed the retreating galleys. Did they even realize their mistake? Or would they come again, believing—like Gethin and Father Roderic and Hugh de Guerrant—that they were wise enough and righteous enough to claim their swords as God’s judgment?

  Aye, they would come. It was the way of man.

  The wind picked up, cold for the time of year, and swept across the sea, ruffling undulant silver into whitecaps. Mairead’s cloak spread with it, and she leaned closer to Annan. “Will we ever return?”

  “St. Jude.” Marek sniffed. “Only a fool comes back to a place this bloody.”

  Annan half-turned, careful to balance his weight on his battered hips, and looked at Mairead. “Do you want to return?”

  She met his gaze, then looked away, out to the sea. A strand of hair escaped from the braids atop her head and blew past her cheek. “Nay. But I think I’m afraid to leave.” Her gaze flickered in his direction.

  He turned away, and a smile tucked itself deep within the corners of his mouth. What had begun for them would not end here. His promise to Lord William had yet to be fulfilled.

  He nudged his heel to Airn’s side, and they started forward. “But you’re ready to leave, are you?” He looked over at Marek.

  “No more Crusades for me. I’ve better ways to waste my time.”

  “Such as?”

  “Ha. Keeping you out of trouble doesn’t allow me much time for the wasting, does it?”

  “And what about Maid Dolly in Glasgow?”

  “By now she probably thinks I died saving dusty old Jerusalem. Hope they gave me a proper eulogy.”

  “Would you like to find out?”

  “Hmph. And how would that be?”

  Annan swiveled to look him in the eye. “Ask her for yourself.”

  Marek raised an eyebrow, then suddenly his mouth dropped. “You mean I’m—you’re letting me—?”

  “When we get back to Scotland, you go find this Dolly of yours and tell her you earned an honorable freedom.”

  “I—” Marek stared. Then he dropped his reins onto his mount’s neck, cupped both hands round his mouth, and yelled like he thought he had won the war single-handedly. Still yelling, he laid his heels into his mare’s ribs and tore down the beach.

  Mairead laughed. “He’ll be in Constantinople ere midnight if he keeps up like that.” Her hand rested on Annan’s side. “Why did you do it?”

  “He deserves it.” He smiled at the sand spraying in all directions from beneath the black mare’s pounding hooves. He was going to miss Master Peregrine Marek more than he wanted to admit. He chuckled, the sound so soft it was barely audible.

  Mairead’s fingers tightened in his jerkin. “I’ve never heard you laugh.”

  “I will laugh again,” he said. “When we see the Cheviot Hills, I will laugh. When we make our home in their shadow, I will laugh. And when our children are born to us, I will laugh.”

  “What?” The word was breathless.

  He reined Airn to a stop and turned to look at her despite the ache of his hips. Her teeth caught her lip. Another gust of wind flattened the loose strand of her hair against her face, and he lifted it from her cheek and feathered it against his forefinger.

  “We’re not going to Orleans.” He dropped the hair and cradled her jaw. “Lord William wanted me to give you the name of Matthias. That was the name he thought would best protect you. And it is time I did that.”

  He kissed her, once on the lips, once on the forehead, then leaned away. His back was beginning to cramp, but before he turned around, he would say everything that needed to be said.

  “I was afraid. Afraid to forgive myself, and even more afraid to ask Heaven to forgive me.”

  “But no longer?” Her eyes shone. He remembered that night in Brother Werinbert’s earthen chapel, when she had knelt in the dirt and prayed for him. Those prayers had gone farther than she knew.

  He nodded. “You were right. You learned from your suffering what I would not allow mine to teach me. Every dawn is a new beginning.”

  Two little tears glistened against the glow of her face. “Aye.” She smiled and became radiant.

  “Yaaaaaiiih!”

  Annan turned to see Marek beginning his return trip down the beach, the sand flying just as furiously as on his departure. “Take hold.” He laid his free hand over Mairead’s where it crossed his ribs and closed his legs around the courser’s girth. The horse jumped forward into a few trotting steps, then flattened its body, ears against its head and ran to meet Marek.

  They passed him and kept on going. From the corner of his vision, Annan could see on the faraway eastern horizon, where the bone white of the sky met the pewter glass of the sea, a rim of sunlight, like the crease of an eye just waking from sleep. For sixteen years his world had slept.

  But no m
ore.

  Afterword

  I FIND MYSELF at the close of a story that has borne the brunt of some huge personal growing pains. Ironically, the theme of Marcus Annan’s story—that each new day holds the opportunity to redeem yesterday’s mistakes and begin afresh—was a lesson I faced on an almost hourly basis during the writing of this book. Although my representation of such an immense topic as redemption and grace must necessarily be flawed, I hope you will be able to see past the dross and take away a few flakes of the gold at the story’s heart. And perhaps Marcus Annan and company will leave their impact on your life, as they most definitely have on mine.

  Although I have tried to remain as true to the historical setting as possible, I have taken a few liberties I would like to point out.

  No record exists of Saladin executing mass numbers of prisoners in retaliation for King Richard I’s breach of promise, in which Richard ordered the deaths of some 2,700 prisoners from the garrison of Acre. After this incident, however, Saladin did adopt a strict take-no-prisoners policy, in which all surrendered Christian troops were summarily beheaded.

  The timeline of the Crusade has been shortened to accommodate the necessities of Annan’s story. In fact, the time that passed from King Richard’s arrival in Acre on June 7, 1191, to his departure from the Holy Land on October 9, 1192, encompassed almost a year and a half.

  Finally, the languages found throughout the story are not representative of those spoken during the Middle Ages. English, French, and Italian did not exist as we now know them, and even in the forms in which they were found, they were largely fragmented into hundreds of local dialects. For obvious reasons of clarity, I have chosen to use primarily modern English.

  The Crusades—especially the Crusade of Kings—are perhaps the most familiar symbols of the Middle Ages known to us in the 21st century. Gritty, gory, and often brutal though they may have been, their sense of the shortness of life and the realness of living is arguably unmatched. In lives so fleeting (Psalm 90:12), how can we afford to let even one dawn slip away without taking hold of the redemption found only through the blood and mercy of Christ?

  K.M. Weiland

  September 1, 2009

  Glossary

  Absolution: Forgiveness for sins, given formally by the Church.

  Anathema: Curse from a religious authority that denounces or excommunicates.

  Baldric: Sash or belt worn from one shoulder to the opposite hip, used to support a sword.

  Beatified: Statement by the Church, after someone’s death, that he lived a holy life; first step toward sainthood.

  Bellwether: Sheep that leads the rest of the flock; usually wears a bell around its neck.

  Bodkin: A slender arrowhead, capable of piercing armor.

  Bondman: Man who is enslaved or a serf.

  Boon: A gift or favor from someone.

  Buckler: Small round shield either worn on the forearm or held by a short handle at arm’s length.

  Bugbear: Monster invented to frighten children, traditionally in the form of a bear that eats those who misbehave.

  Caparison: Ornamental cover for a warhorse.

  Capon: Rooster castrated to improve its growth and the quality of its flesh for eating.

  Cassock: Full-length, usually black robe worn by priests and their assistants.

  Charger: Large, strong cavalry horse.

  Charnel house: Building or vault in which bones or dead bodies are placed.

  Charwoman: Servant woman employed to clean.

  Coffer: Strong chest or box used for keeping money or valuables safe; also used as both a seat and a bed.

  Couch: To lower (a lance) into attack position.

  Courser: Swift horse, used for hunting; also refers to a warhorse, when destrier is used specifically for competitive mounts.

  Courtier: Aristocrat who frequents a royal court or attends a king or queen.

  Cowl: Hood of a cloak, particularly one worn by a monk.

  Crenellation: Small open notches in a battlement.

  Cudgel: Short heavy club.

  Destrier: Warhorse, the most expensive mount; usually a stallion; similar to a modern heavy hunter.

  Dirk: Dagger with a long blade.

  Equipage: Equipment, particularly for equestrian use.

  Ere: Before.

  Eucharist: Symbolic or consecrated bread and wine consumed during the ceremony of Communion.

  Fain: (to do something) With gladness or eagerness.

  Forecastle: Raised deck at the bow of a ship.

  Forte: Strongest section of a sword’s blade, between the middle and the hilt.

  Fortnight: Two weeks.

  Frankish Syrian: European native of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, primarily of French descent.

  Gauntlet: Glove with a long wide cuff that covers and protects the forearm.

  Goodwife: Title of respect for a married woman who is the mistress of a household.

  Great Hall: Main room in a castle, used for most of daily living, including eating, entertaining guests, working, and occasionally sleeping.

  Great helm: Large, heavy helmet with faceplate which covers the entire face and neck.

  Griffin: Monster with the head and wings of an eagle and the body and tail of a lion; a symbol used in heraldry.

  Haft: Handle of a knife, ax, or other weapon or tool.

  Hand: Unit of measurement, equal to the width of a man’s hand, approximately four inches.

  Hawser: Cable for mooring or towing a ship.

  Hermit: Someone who chose to reject material things and live apart from the rest of society, in order to completely devote his life to God.

  Hospitaler: Member of the Knights of the Hospital of St. John, a religious military order founded in the late 11th century by European crusaders to care for sick pilgrims in Jerusalem.

  Inglenook: Recess for a seat or bench beside a large fireplace.

  Jerkin: Close-fitting sleeveless outer tunic.

  Jongleur: Wandering minstrel who sang the compositions of troubadours or recited epic poems in noble households or royal courts.

  Ken: Knowledge (n.); know (v.).

  Kirtle: Woman’s long loose gown, often worn visibly beneath another garment.

  Knave: Man who is considered dishonest and deceitful.

  Lance: Long spear carried by cavalry in battle.

  Larboard: Port (left) side of a vessel.

  Lists: Area of combat in a medieval tournament, enclosed by a fence of high stakes; often used as an arena to settle private quarrels and matters of honor.

  Livery: Identifying uniform worn by members of a group or trade, especially men and boys who are feudal retainers or servants of a household.

  Lute: Instrument resembling a guitar but with a flat, pear-shaped body.

  Mace: Heavy club with a round spiked metal head.

  Maid: Unmarried woman.

  Man-at-arms: Mounted, heavily armed soldier.

  Matins: Dawn prayer service.

  Mayhap: Perhaps.

  Melee: Early form of tournament, in which teams of knights engaged each other; although varying rules of play were often instituted and holding prisoners for ransom was encouraged over killing, the contests differed little from real battles.

  Mendicant: Member of a religious order such as the Franciscans, Dominicans, Carmelites, or Augustinians that forbids the ownership of property and encourages working or begging for a living.

  Misericorde: Small dagger, often used to deliver the coup de grâce.

  Mohammedan: Muslim.

  Moslem: Muslim.

  Nakers: Double drum.

  Nigh: Near.

  Norman: Native of Normandy, then under the rule of Richard I.

  Paladin: Any one of the twelve legendary companions of Charlemagne.

  Palfrey: Well-bred, easy-paced riding horse, often used by squires and women.

  Penance: Sacrament in which a person confesses sins to a priest and is forgiven after performing an assigned religious devotion or duty.
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  Penitent: Someone performing penance.

  Pike: Spear-like weapon used by foot soldiers.

  Pilgrimage: Journey to a holy place, undertaken for religious reasons, often in search of absolution or miraculous healing.

  Pillion: Cushion mounted behind a saddle, on which a second person, usually a woman, rides.

  Poleax: Battle ax with a long or short handle, especially one with a hammer or spike opposite the ax blade.

  Poniard: Small dagger with a slim blade, the cross section of which is triangular or square.

  Postulant: Someone who applies to join a religious order.

  Quarrel: Short, square-headed bolt or arrow used in a crossbow.

  Quarterdeck: Rear part of a ship’s upper deck.

  Quarterstaff: Stout, iron-tipped pole, six to eight feet long, used as a weapon.

  Quean: Woman of loose morals.

  Retainer: Soldier or other person who fought under or was dependent on someone of high rank.

  Saddlebow: Arch at the front of a saddle.

  Saracen: Muslim who fought in the Crusades.

  Scimitar: Turkish sword with a curved blade that broadens out as it nears the point.

  Score: Twenty.

  Scriptorium: Room in a monastery for storing, copying, illustrating, or reading manuscripts.

  Shawm: Woodwind instrument with a double reed; predecessor of the modern oboe.

  Siege tower: Rectangular, wheeled tower constructed to protect assailants while approaching the walls of a fortification.

  Span: Unit of measurement, equal to the distance from the tip of the thumb to the little finger of a man’s outspread hand, approximately nine inches.

  Squire: Young apprentice who acted as an attendant to a knight.

  Surcoat: Tunic worn over armor, often emblazoned with the wearer’s coat of arms.

  Tabard: Surcoat.

  Templar: Member of a Christian military order founded in Jerusalem in 1119 to protect pilgrims after the First Crusade.

  Tonsure: Shaved patch on the crown of a priest or monk’s head.