by D. N. Carter
“A tall white haired man saved them. Allah be praised he was nearby. From what everyone has said, the man moved at incredible speed and managed to push them out of the way just in time. Though he was hurt himself in so doing,” Firgany explained.
Paul’s father looked at Firgany quizzically for a moment; both nodded.
“A tall white haired man; was he perchance unusually tall, and old looking?” he asked. Taqi and Paul looked at each other briefly before both nodding in agreement. Firgany and Paul’s father looked at each other again as if knowing something more than was obvious. “Pray tell where this man is now? We must thank him properly.”
“He walked away, Father. Just walked away,” Paul replied and looked again at Alisha. Taqi looked at his father as he studied the look Paul and Alisha were giving each other. Firgany nodded at Paul’s father again and motioned with his eyes to look at them too. All stood in silence for a moment before Paul suddenly became aware all were looking at him and Alisha staring at each other.
“My dear friend, my apology, I forget my manners. It is so very good to see you again,” Paul’s father said, breaking the moment. “Come, let us go and eat and celebrate and get you all settled in. Your journey must have been long.”
“Yes, yes indeed long. ’Tis a sight for sore eyes to see you again, my friend…and we can sort out a cart later. The ship is not going anywhere soon,” Firgany replied and hugged Paul’s father then both laughed. “And Raja very much looks forward to seeing you again.”
“Father, we must find that man. He undoubtedly saved our lives this day and he is injured. Please may we go and help look for him?” Paul asked.
“NO!” both Firgany and Paul’s father shot back instantly in reply, which took Taqi and Paul by surprise. Firgany and Paul’s father immediately realising the abruptness of their joint response feigned smiles.
“No, my son. We have much to organise here and others better suited will be looking for the man. We shall find him and thank him appropriately in good time. I promise,” Paul’s father explained, his tone lowered, then ushered all of them toward the large former manor house just up the path.
Raja arrived a while later with several large chests of merchandise strapped to several pack-donkeys. Paul’s father was very clearly pleased to see her. Paul noticed the intimacy between them as they greeted each other with open arms and a long lingering hug, something he had obviously missed during previous visits. Paul’s father gave a reading and prayer of thanks to the tall white man, whoever he was, and ushered everyone into the large open dining hall once all of Firgany’s family had been settled into their separate rooms. Alisha usually slept in a small bedroom opposite Paul’s, but this time his father had put her at the far end of the upper landing, between Raja’s and Firgany’s rooms. Taqi had a bed set up next to Paul’s in his room and as they prepared it, they both went over and over the events of the tall white man and their very close shave with death. Then as dinner was being prepared Paul mentioned to his father the question the old man had asked him about whether Paul remembered him.
“Did Taqi hear him ask this of you?” he asked Paul, a look of alarm on his face, which surprised him.
“No. He was knocked out at that point. But I have never seen him before,” Paul replied, and then paused.
“What…what is it, what have you remembered?” Paul’s father asked, seeing the puzzled look on his face.
“Oh probably nothing, Father. It is, er…well it is, how can I say this…it is as if I do recognise him, but, but only from my dreams. Like the tall white haired man in my dreams I keep having,” Paul explained awkwardly.
His father paused, rooted to the spot, and stared at him.
“Paul, such dreams can be interpreted in many ways, and many people will not understand such things. You could bring a whole world of pain upon yourself and this family if you speak of such things openly. I beg you henceforth keep such to yourself only. And my last word on this tall man, whoever he is, is to accept what he has done, be grateful but now leave things as they are. Do you understand me, my son?” he exclaimed and asked, looking at Paul intently.
Paul nodded he did understand but in reality was confused, his mind racing with a thousand questions. His father nodded at him as he walked backwards towards one of his squire cooks, Simon, who had just entered the cooking area carrying a large Roe Deer pie.
After an extended dinner, more of an opulent banquet, which consisted of several courses that included civet of hare, a quarter of stag which had been a night in salt, a stuffed chicken, a loin of veal covered with sauce with gilt sugar-plums, and pomegranate seeds; a whole Roe-deer pie, stuffing, two pounds of fat, and twenty-six hard-boiled eggs, covered with saffron and flavoured with cloves, followed by a sturgeon cooked in parsley and vinegar, garnished with powdered ginger; a jelly, part white and part red, representing the Red Crescent of the honoured guests, Firgany and family, and cream covered with fennel seeds and preserved in sugar, as well as some white cream, cheese in slices, strawberries and, lastly, plums stewed in rose-water, and despite the fact that throughout the meal Paul was unable to keep his gaze off Alisha, Firgany finally had a large chest brought into the dining area and started to show Paul’s father some of the new outfits and bolts of tight weave muslin cloth.
Alisha sat quietly and Paul watched bemused as his father and Raja talked and talked together, mainly to the exclusion of Firgany, who did not seem to mind in the slightest. Taqi huffed frequently as more discussions about materials and female dresses continued. Eventually Paul’s father, sensing their boredom, allowed them to leave as the table was cleared. This fact struck Paul, as usually he would be tasked with helping to clear away and wash up with Simon. Paul immediately dragged Taqi away before his father could change his mind eager to show him all his new maps. Alisha raised her eyes in protest when she was not allowed to follow them. As soon as they were upstairs, Paul closed the door behind Taqi when they were in his room and immediately rolled out several large parchment maps. Taqi gently rubbed his head.
“Is it still sore?” Paul asked.
“A little. But not half as sore as it could have been, I guess,” Taqi replied and sat himself down at the end of the bed giving Paul’s maps just a cursory glance.
“Hmm! We were indeed lucky today. But that man, he was I am sure, unusual,” Paul remarked as he looked at the maps and moved them about. “Did you not notice his skin? And his eyes? Never have I seen such eyes, especially on a man.”
“Hah, I thought you only had eyes for my baby sister,” Taqi joked. Paul leaned across and pushed him hard. “Arr, see I got you. You like her, huh? She has grown, yes? My father would slice you apart if he caught you looking at her the way I saw you looking at her,” Taqi said grinning.
1 – 1
Paul looked up and directly at Taqi.
“Your sister is no longer a baby, that much I can see. Her eyes…well!” Paul replied and looked away for another map.
“As your friend, I would advise you put away any such desires or ambitions for her. A Christian like you and a Muslim like her; you would be stirring up so much trouble. I would not want that for either of you. Besides, she is truly a stubborn nightmare and that I really would not wish upon you,” Taqi explained and laughed. But Paul detected the underlying genuine concern and sentiment in Taqi’s statement. A pang of emotion tugged at his heart he had never experienced before. He shook his head and sighed. Taqi was quick to see the pained expression in his friend’s face. “Come, show me your maps, my good friend,” Taqi announced as he stood up and patted Paul on the shoulder and looked down at the array of maps. “And cheer up; we have to plan how we are to spy upon your brother’s initiation ceremony. I already know which chapel and night,” he grinned again with cheeky mischief in his eyes.
Downstairs in the small chapel of the house, Paul’s father ushered Firgany into the room and closed the door behind them. The room was a purpose built chapel commissioned by him when he had purchased the for
mer run down manor house. It had a portable alter. Paul’s father started to light a lanthorn, a candle stuck into a metal frame with sides made of thin transparent horn, the room rapidly darkening as the sun set.
“Sorry, my good friend, to drag you inside here, I know it is improper, you being Muslim, but I wanted to converse alone with you in private. Only place to do so is in here,” he explained to Firgany.
“Would not be the first time,” Firgany smiled, and then turned serious. “But yes, I too am eager to speak of such. My concern is this…do you suspect as I do, this tall old white haired man is the same as we have previously been involved with?” Firgany asked. Silently Paul’s father looked at him nodding his head yes slowly. Firgany turned around, placed his hands behind his back, leaned against the wall and looked up shaking his head, a sadness registering across his face. “By the almighty, I thought we were done with that matter,” he said lowly and sighed heavily. Paul’s father placed his right hand upon Firgany’s shoulder reassuringly.
“Perhaps it is just a coincidence? He was very old when we were young. It cannot possibly be the same person,” Paul’s father commented quietly.
“I pray you are correct, my good friend, I really do pray you are correct. For if he is the same person, then he watches us still; and that can only mean troubles ahead,” Firgany replied, lowering his head. Both stood in silence as Firgany placed his hands upon Paul’s father’s hands. “Let us both pray.”
Chapter 2
Forced Beginnings
Port of La Rochelle, France, Melissae Inn, spring 1191
“So did they find the old white haired man?” the fishmonger bellowed from the end of the table.
“No, not that time. He was looked for far and wide for several days, yet no trace of him could be found. It was as if he had simply vanished,” the old man answered. “It was interesting as the boat he came in on had also vanished. It was named the ‘Stella Cougnes’, which by coincidence happened to be the name of the original village, now part of La Rochelle itself,” he continued.
“Hey, that is where he comes from,” the fishmonger whispered and pointed to the wealthy drunk tailor still asleep.
“A blessed place, for Cougnes was once a beautiful village situated upon a mound surrounded by saltwater marshes. Many claim its name is of Celtic origin. It loosely means ‘a corner’ or at least Compnes does as it has often been spelled. Nowadays Cougnes is the oldest parish of eastern La Rochelle,” the old man recounted. He paused for a moment as he pondered whether to explain the next part or not. The fishmonger coughed loudly, which brought his thoughts back to the present. “Around 1077, on this mound, monks from the island of Aix, associated with the famous monastery of Cluny, founded a priory and a chapel named after a saint…Sainte-Marie-de-Cougnes. It was just a simple chaplaincy for the care of the sick and underprivileged. The inhabitants of Cougnes began to settle nearer the sea, forming what is now the heart of La Rochelle. The small chapel of Sainte-Marie is where I was married. When the monks first decided to build the small chapel at Cougnes, amid the salt marshes of the then northern Saintonge, La Rochelle was still populated with just a small handful of fishermen and farmers. A few decades later, after the ruin of Châtelaillon and under the directions of the dukes of Aquitaine and counts of Poitiers, La Rochelle, as we have it now with the port, was steadily built. A great number of both native and foreign men from different parts of the world soon flocked by land and sea and St Mary Cougnes, the chapel’s other name, soon became the centre of the first parish of La Rochelle. However, within a short time it no longer sufficed for the spiritual needs of a growing population, and from 1152, two more churches, the church of St Bartholomew and the Church of Saint-Sauveur, were begun,” the old man explained slowly but carefully.
“I do not wish to appear rude, my friend, but what has all of this to do with the sword?” asked the Genoese sailor in a deep gravelly voice.
“A good question, however, it has everything to do with the sword if you let me continue. For all I say is connected and of its own value and importance,” the old man replied softly then continued. “In 1175, when Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine gave La Rochelle its first municipal charter, it was by then one of the busiest ports, whose prosperity was further increased by the opening of the English market to all of Aquitaine’s merchants. Our wine especially enjoys a certain reputation in the court of London, and the salt, the true ‘white gold’, has long been the main wealth of the country and is why we now have both English and French spoken in equal measure in this port. It is why, when Paul’s brother came to have his initiation into the Templars, it was presided over by an English Grand Master in the original chapel that had echoes of the fabled Avalon,” the old man smiled.
“You mean, as in a sacred place surrounded by water just like their English Glastonbury?” the Templar stated quizzically.
The old man nodded in acknowledgement, took a small sip of rose water from the goblet in front of him, and continued.
2 – 9
“It had been nearly a month since Firgany and his family had arrived, and both Firgany and Paul’s father, Philip, had gone to great lengths to keep Paul and Alisha apart having witnessed the very obvious attraction between them. Then, soon enough, the initiation ceremony was upon them for Stewart’s entry into the Templars. Despite its secret nature and several threats of severe punishment by both their fathers, Paul and Taqi were determined to see what went on.”
La Rochelle, Chapel of Sainte-Marie, late spring of 1178
Paul and Taqi, both hunched low and wearing overly large and ill fitting black full length robes, ran towards the small chapel’s outer curtain wall as quietly as they could across the stone gravel pathway, and then onto the grass that paralleled it. It was late, well past the midnight hour and the full moon cast sharp shadows everywhere. Taqi giggled as he leaned up against the chapel wall.
“Sssh you fool, they will hear us,” Paul whispered and lightly hit Taqi’s forearm.
“Sssh yourself, my brother. They talk too loudly inside to hear us,” Taqi shot back and hit Paul harder and smiled broadly.
They quickly moved along the wall to where they could see the chapel’s main entrance, the two large wooden doors being guarded by a white mantle clothed Templar on either side. Both guards stood perfectly still resting their hands upon the pommels of their swords that stood unsheathed pointing downwards, the tips resting just between their feet upon small wooden stops in front of them. Several large grey horses snorted in the cool midnight air, tied up nearby as a procession of more immaculately dressed Templars and three Templar noviciates, dressed only in single full length brown robes, followed them toward the entrance. They looked cold, the sides of their heads shaved.
“Look,” Taqi rasped quickly in surprise and pointed toward several other figures also dressed in full white mantels approaching the chapel from the west side. Both their fathers could clearly be seen in the moonlight as they walked nearer.
Paul looked at Taqi confused expecting an explanation for both had thought their fathers to be at home preparing a breakfast of thanks for Stewart’s initiation, as nothing had been said nor mentioned they would be here this night. They looked on bemused as their fathers entered the chapel unchallenged.
“I do not understand. I thought this was a secret ceremony. My father perhaps, I understand, for he is friends with the Marshal, but your father… he is Muslim, surely the last person to be allowed inside,” Paul whispered confused.
“Come, now we truly do have to see what this is all about,” Taqi replied pulling Paul up and along towards the end of the chapel.
Taqi found a wooden apple crate and placed it upon two others hard against the end wall just below the main stained glass window, and against the wall buttress. A panel in the glass was broken giving enough access to partially view inside nearest the altar. With an arm around each other for support, they pressed their faces up hard against the small panel, but all they could see was a black and whit
e Templar Beauseant flag, placed just to the side of the altar. They could make out several Templar knights wearing full-length white mantels with their hoods up over their heads, their hands held in prayer. All were remarkably clean, unlike their usual attire during the day. Several other likewise dressed people entered and made a form of human semicircular chain in front of the altar, conducted in total silence. Large flaming torches flickered on the vaulted arch columns that seemed to have the effect of casting shadows from the men, to all converge and point toward the main altar itself.
The interior of the chapel was simple with clean whitewashed walls. A dark, almost black statuette of the Virgin Mary stood near the north eastern end of the chapel whilst round carved images of lambs and crosses adorned the walls. Folded over the altar and hanging down, Paul and Taqi could just make out the large black and white cloth of the ‘Grand Standard of a Commandery of Knights Templar’. At the bottom was inscribed in Latin their motto, ‘Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini to da gloriam’, meaning ‘Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto Thee give the glory’. Paul and Taqi both knew this as they had been taught it from as far back as they could remember. A human skull was placed in the centre of the altar with two human thighbones set in front but crossed over each other. Both Taqi and Paul were familiar with the image as flags depicting the skull and crossbones flew from every Templar ship. To see it set out with real bones upon an altar was not what they expected. A tall Knight Templar with a balding head moved through the line of men followed by the three noviciates, who included Stewart at the rear, his head lowered. One of the noviciates had almost pure white hair that stood up in a line over his head as the sides had been shaved off. Paul hardly recognised his own brother with most of his hair shaved off around the sides. He sniggered at how ridiculous he looked. The balding Templar, whom Paul knew had come across from England just recently, wore a dark black tunic over his white mantle, and it had gold lace edging that ran around his neck and down the front that ended in little red crosses. He made the sign of the cross with his right hand at the altar then turned to face the three noviciates as they positioned themselves in front of him. They knelt down in front of a small raised step that was made of alternating black and white tiles. Paul saw his father and Firgany at the rear of the chapel as they moved forwards into the light cast by the flaming flickering torches. Paul’s legs began to ache as he held his stretched position to see better. He knew the ceremony would continue late into the early hours until the first rays of daylight entered the chapel’s eastern door. A tradition his father had told him about many times also.