by D. N. Carter
A large lightning funnel of energy lit up on the horizon like a twisting ugly tornado that stretched up into the sky and out into space. The bang was so intense his ears burst and started to ring as an intense rush of wind sucked all of the air away and toward the massive funnel of lightning. It seemed to flash for an eternity as he held onto a piece of stripped tree trunk, when it all suddenly stopped when the funnel of lightning discharge disappeared in an instant. His lungs burned as he gasped for air, his body racked with pain as if he were being flayed alive all over at once. The girl looked toward him, looked through him with a knowing feeling that he felt was actually a tangible sensation. Paul wanted more time with her. All he could concentrate on now was to simply hold her close and not let go. He fell to the ground as it moved from under him, throwing him away from the pair. The elder man was still standing upright holding onto the young woman, their clothes and hair blowing wildly in the storm. How could they still stand upright, he wondered, in such conditions? It became dark as night as loud deep rumblings sounded out and the static in the air increased. He looked up desperately stretching out his hand toward the woman as she reached out towards him. The elder man looked down at him; his crystal blue eyes acknowledging his every thought and feeling in an instant.
“It is done. Remember this,” he said in a gentle yet authoritative voice that somehow reached him above the surrounding noise and penetrated his burst eardrums. Paul saw him mouth the words “Remember me” followed by more words that he could not understand.
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His words hit him like soft waves of warm water washing over him that filled his emotions at the same time. His vision polarised and focused upon his face with every line etched upon his skin being visible, burning into his mind as he spoke more words that he could not hear. The elder man smiled gently before turning his gaze heavenward. Paul’s ears began to buzz loudly and he could sense an inevitable feeling of total finality approaching on a massive scale. Something unbelievably ancient and sacred was about to end. Suddenly he was looking down upon himself as a feeling of total helplessness consumed him that made him want to scream out in a rage. He looked at the young woman, who made his desire to scream seem futile as she calmly looked down on him. She stretched out her hand as he tried to reach it. All he could focus upon was reaching her hand, to hold her, to be alongside her. The inevitable was coming yet all he could feel was being drawn away from the pair rapidly. He suddenly felt incredibly alone as a piercing staccato bang rang out so loud that it dulled all senses, causing his vision to cloud and his heart to vibrate so rapidly he thought it would surely fail. He could taste iron in his mouth as a huge blast of heat hit him followed by a massive increase in air pressure pushing him down violently. He managed to look up and out toward the horizon just in time to see what looked like a large grey wall rapidly approach, smashing its way over the mountain tops and valleys beneath. His ears were filled with a loud resonating hum of constant overwhelming noise. The wall was water and it was coming straight for him. It was coming at such a speed there was simply nothing he could do. This was not a simple tidal wave; this was total death and destruction on the move. Then, as if from a bird’s eye view, he could see down upon the approaching wave. Its speed was overwhelming everything in its path. It was not just flooding across ancient beautiful looking buildings; it was hitting them with such speed and ferocity that it was exploding them totally into a million pieces within an instant, adding the debris to the rolling wave of death. In final desperation, he threw his arms outward towards the young woman and screamed out her strange name as all sensations suddenly shut down and blackness and silence rapidly engulfed him.
After a short period he felt as though he was coming around and as if he were floating gently under water, which was warm. He felt safe and secure despite holding his breath for fear of drowning but soon gave in to the desire to draw breath. He found that he could breathe easily. This was all new to him, as he had never dreamt this part before. Was he dead, he thought, as all at once he could see images that appeared all around him as if he were at different places but at the same time. He observed huge monolithic stones sliding into finely cut channels within strange buildings. People were sealing huge doors in a hurry. He sensed that there were four distinct types of vaults being sealed and saw many different types of glyphs and tried to see what they were. He could see the structures being covered by earth and water yet remain intact due to their immense solid construction. Over-imposed upon the images he kept seeing the white haired elderly man’s smiling face as he repeated over and again “Remember me as Mebakker”. Suddenly he heard the girl’s voice call out but he could not see her. Frantically he looked all around and called out to her several times only to hear her crying out back to him. He tried to remember her name but it was unpronounceable. More frantically, he called out to her as her voice grew weaker and weaker and the images around him clouded and disappeared completely.
“NO!” Paul screamed loudly as he suddenly awoke.
Covered in sweat and confused he sat up and looked around realising he was back in his room. He was panting heavily. Feeling utterly exhausted and emotional he shook his head, visibly upset. He wanted to cry but the tears would not come. He rubbed his eyes as sunbeams burst through the gaps around the edges of the curtains. Quickly he looked around the room, stood up fast, nearly knocking over his full chamber pot, and threw the curtains open. He looked out toward the open ocean as a large Genoese twin masted galley gracefully sailed past a short distance off the nearby shoreline heading out of harbour.
“Oh my Lord…I’m late, I’m late,” he said aloud, panicking, and quickly looked around for his boots. Within minutes, he rushed out of the building knocking over the tools of two stonemasons who were cutting details into the stone doorway arch itself as his father, Philip, raised a finger as if to ask him a question. “Sorry, Father, sorry, I will make it on time!” he shouted as he ran off down the shingle covered track toward the harbour area dodging past several groups of people and pilgrims with their large brimmed hats and staffs.
Within minutes, Paul found himself standing impatiently at the back of a large crowd that had gathered in the small square immediately in front of the main harbour dock area. It was early morning and the thin epitoga, a belted but wide un-gathered robe with baggy sleeves favoured by academics in the town, he was wearing to impress, offered little protection of warmth. However, he had not been counting on spending most of yet another day on the dockside again like the previous two. Several Genoese, both three and two masted galleys and twelve Templar chartered ships were tied up securely with only room for one more ship to berth in the very centre of the dock, where a large Genoese trireme type galley flying the colours of the Knights Hospitaller was just departing. With a deck of oarsmen she looked remarkably like the old Phoenician and Roman triremes her design had evolved from. Two large triangular kite shaped flags hung loose with no wind to lift them, her main sails still furled up, and the red and white flags that adorned her sides added to her beauty. Their design had changed very little over the centuries and Paul loved these vessels and he would often claim that one day he would have his very own, with improvements he would design.
Eagerly people jostled to get nearer the front. Lookouts shouted at each other from the tops of their crow’s nests and forecastles on several of the ships. Two smaller Cog vessels were clashing their oars as they tried to manoeuvre past each other further out in the harbour and Paul laughed as he saw one sailor from one vessel tear off a stern shield adornment and throw it at the other vessel. Seagulls squawked loudly overhead. The sky was a perfect blue and the sea breeze getting up was, surprisingly, a welcoming warm one, but this did not matter to Paul for he wanted to return home as soon as possible to continue with his reading. His father had tasked him to come down to the harbour to greet his business partner, who was due in on the soon to arrive merchant sailing galley coming up from Spain, already two days behind schedule. His father had to stay at
their home as additions were being constructed to the extended structure of their home and more stonemasons were due.
“Ship ahoy!” one of the lookouts shouted and pointed toward a large three masted merchant vessel, gracefully sailing into view coming up from the south. Her sails were already being furled away as she turned into the sheltered bay of the harbour. Excited chatter went up from all the women. This ship was bringing in fine muslin and silk. Paul’s father’s business partner, Firgany Al Komati, was a Muslim trader but he was always eagerly awaited, especially by the females in the port, for what he brought. Every year Firgany would make the trip, bringing along his widowed sister, Raja, and his own two children, Taqi and Alisha. Taqi was the same age as Paul and they had spent many summers together already. Their fathers had met many years previously during the last Crusade, which had thrown them together. They had both promised that one day, they would explain just how, but only when the children were old enough to appreciate and understand better. Paul was keen to see Taqi but was still irritated that he had again had to spend a third day at the portside waiting for them. He had been working his way through an old manuscript and was eager to learn all he could from it before his father had to return it to the Templar Marshal the following day. Paul was in no hurry to see Taqi’s younger and highly annoying little sister, Alisha. She would always try to follow them around. Alisha’s mother had died giving birth to her just as Paul’s mother had died giving birth to him. To Paul, that was all they had or ever would have in common.
Paul quickly took out the Phrygian cap with bulging coxcomb front peak from his waist purse and awkwardly placed it upon his head. It was a gift Firgany had given him so he could always locate him in a crowd. The harbour area was busier than usual as it had been swelled by the rapid influx of labourers and stonemasons all brought into the port to start work upon the new main harbour foundations and two new castellated entrance towers to replace the existing fortifications, plus a bigger reinforced private dock for the growing Templar fleet. As the merchant galley was gently positioned against the main dockside, no sooner had the main ramp been lifted into position than frenetic activity swarmed all over the vessel and quay area as ropes were tied off securing it and stores started to be hurriedly off loaded, and the noise of the crowd raised considerably. Paul stretched up trying to see the people walking off the vessel but could not get a clear view. As he pushed forwards he was jostled all over the place. A commotion started off to his right and shouts went up. He was just able to make out a small line of suited Templars forcing their way through the crowd toward the main gangway.
“Outta the way, get outta the way!” Paul could hear someone shouting clearly above the noise.
As the line drew nearer, people scuffled to clear a path. Paul moved back just in time as a line of eight Templars pushed past him followed by four squires directing two large carts being pulled by two large Turcoman horses. Paul admired these thoroughbred power horses, but was always a little intimidated by their size.
“Careful, little brother, not to fall under the wheels or off the quayside,” a familiar voice said as Paul’s elder brother slapped him on the shoulder hard. Stewart stood before him with a broad smile on his face. Dressed in the surcoat of a squire of the Order of the Templars, he was a good half a foot taller than Paul.
“Stewart. If you are already here, why could you not have greeted Firgany?” Paul asked quizzically.
“Because I am here on official business,” Stewart said with an even broader smile and flicked Paul’s chin with his forefinger before grabbing the side of the second wagon when it passed them. The crowd rapidly filled in the gap left as the cart moved away.
“Arrogant fool,” an irate fisherman said aloud shaking his head disapprovingly.
Paul waited and looked on, as the galley was efficiently and quickly unloaded, the bulk appearing to go on the two Templar carts. When the carts began to pull away, the females nearest the gangway started to chatter excitedly, clearly the more affluent in the town as the other lesser well off females looked on, some in envy, some clearly poor and some ill. The ill ones were there in the hope of medicines being brought up from Spain. Others hoping to see an Arabic physician whose medical skills were greatly sought. Stewart gave Paul a wave as he left. He had been with the Templars as a squire under instruction for nearly a year already. Tall, handsome and a bit too boastful, he and Paul had never been what you could call close. Their father had very reluctantly agreed to let Stewart spend a year with the Templars to gain some skills and hopefully mature and grow up. Stewart had no other desire or dream other than to become a Templar Knight. Their father had argued many times, sometimes uncharacteristically demonstratively, with Stewart not to do so, but ultimately, if it was what would make him happy, he reluctantly struck a compromise with him. Spend a year with the Templars as a squire and then, and only then, if he still wished to join their order, and if they would have him, would he give his blessing to do so. Paul’s father had a very good professional working and private relationship with the local Templar Marshal. As Paul watched the carts move off through the crowd slowly, he felt a tug on his left arm sleeve from behind. He turned to see Taqi standing before him, tanned, looking extremely healthy and with his usual wide smile. His dark eyes flashed with a look of excitement. His black wavy hair had grown longer since they last saw each other.
“Assalamu Allakham,” Taqi said with open arms to greet him.
“Wa Allakham Assalam,” Paul replied and grabbed Taqi’s forearms.
“Ha, you remember at last how to pronounce it. You must have been practising your Arabic much,” Taqi continued just as a young woman, dressed in what could best be described as nothing better than a sackcloth, gently touched Taqi’s cope, a very well made water resistant hooded cloak with sleeves, then looked up at him embarrassed and quickly let go. Taqi smiled at her. She bowed her head and started to back away.
“No, no, it is okay. Here,” Taqi quickly said and immediately let go of Paul and pulled the cope off and offered it to her. Hesitantly she shook her head no. “Please, I have several and this is my oldest and getting too tight as I grow,” he explained now wearing just his thin under vest.
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Very hesitantly, she took the garment, looked at it for a moment, smelt it and then looked at Taqi. A tear welled in her young tired eyes as she hugged the garment. She nodded her head and mouthed ‘thank you’ silently, then turned and ran away, pushing her way through the busy crowd as Taqi’s eyes followed her.
“You have a great and good heart,” Paul said, which drew Taqi’s gaze back to him.
“Ha, you don’t know what I wanted in return,” Taqi laughed.
“She could have been as ugly as that dog over there and you would have still given her that cope,” Paul replied, pointing to an old dishevelled dog tied up against a stone post.
Taqi pulled Paul near and hugged him briefly before placing his arm around his shoulders and started to usher him toward the galley gangway.
“Perhaps, perhaps, but tell me, has that annoying toad of a brother of yours become a Templar yet?” he asked.
“No. However, he is due to swear his oath and become one any day now. ’Tis why my father is busy finishing the house, for he has plans to honour his ceremony afterwards at ours. I think Stewart has other ideas. It is all a bit secret and guarded.”
“Ha, well that we must see. I feel an escapade presenting itself,” Taqi responded with a large grin and patted Paul.
“Could be fun…but first, where is your father, Raja and your annoying little sister, as my father is eager to see them? More your aunt, I suspect,” Paul laughed. “All the main carts and wagons in the town have been commandeered by Guillaume de Montmirail, a not so pleasant merchant and trader shall we say politely. He is charging exorbitant prices for the charter of wagons because all are being used to move stone and material for those,” Paul explained and pointed toward the foundations being built for the two large towers on either s
ide of the mouth of the harbour entrance.
“I am sure father will source a cart or ten as he has much on this trip. It has been an exceptional trading year since last we were here. They are presently sleeping. Our journey up the coast was not easy and father insisted on staying up and watching over some valuables for your father,” Taqi explained as they boarded the galley, making their way past several women trying to board also and two rat catchers placing traps.
Taqi ushered Paul along a thin internal side passageway lined on one side with small covered porthole squares that were all closed, except every third one to let light in. It was just wide enough for one person to walk along, and then Taqi directed him into a small room. Paul sat down on a bench against the wall next to a tiny wooden table as Taqi slid open a small slot in the door to let light in from outside, but the room remained dimly lit.