Outremer I

by D. N. Carter

  “My son, what we are trying to say this hour, and to instil within both of you, is that we see in your charts much that can be celebrated and looked forward to, but only if you fully learn and understand things that are beyond most men’s minds at this time, for if you do not learn and, more importantly, understand them, we also see much pain and suffering instead. You must be armed with the knowledge that will give you the wisdom to make the correct choices and follow the right path, and we fear that those paths are rapidly approaching all of us,” Philip explained, sorrow etched upon his face. “You see, there are several arguments against comingling the Hermetic injunction ‘Know ye not that ye are gods’ with the reference ‘Ye are gods’ in Psalm 82. First, most Biblical scholars believe that the Psalms reference is really critiquing those mortal men who have come to see themselves as gods, but noting that they will die, just like men. Rather than man’s inherent divinity, but this reference only exposes man’s hubristic assumption of godly roles. You must understand that this specific passage of Psalms uses ‘Gods’ taken from the word elohi, look,” Philip said as he quickly took a charcoal scribing pen and wrote some letters onto Paul’s parchment in Hebrew. “While elohim is generally another name for God, the fact that it is a plural form and has been interpreted in many ways, including ‘kings’, ‘angels’ or, commonly, ‘judges’, but to the people of Israel this kind of appellation would not seem over bold, for it was applied to judges in well-known texts of the Law of Moses. While elohim refers to man as God’s representative on earth imbued with his ‘power and authority to dispense judgment and justice’. In other words, Psalm 82 refers to man’s responsibility on earth to act as a judge, not the Hermetic meaning that divinity simply lays within man, for it is so much more than that. So be cautious how you view this, but it is still a key to start upon a path of understanding,” Philip said and looked at Paul and Taqi again as both sat totally perplexed and simply shrugged their shoulders.[1]

  Firgany coughed and sat up straighter. “So this brings us back again to apotheosis. A man transforming himself into a god. Which is basically the Gnostic principle that God is interior to ourselves, not exterior, and that through various mystical means, journeys, and truth-seeking, men and women can realise their inner divinity. This view can be found in the Gnostic Gospels, such as the Gospel of Thomas, but it is not the traditionally expressed view of either the Old Testament or the New Testament. But a Gnostic reading of ‘ye are gods’ from a Gnostic perspective means we are all divine and human at the same time; we are all gods,” he said quite fast.

  “Is that why you spend so much time writing and studying, especially the Gnostic stuff, which you keep hidden from us, Father?” Paul asked, looking close to see his father’s reaction. “Father, I do not understand what you have just explained, but I wish to. The only burning question I have of you is this. Do you trust the old man, Niccolas?” he asked quietly and adjusted the bandage on his face as it slipped again.

  Philip looked at Firgany momentarily before answering.

  “Trust, my son, that in itself is another whole question and level of understanding, but if you ask do I trust him with what he has given you… then truly, totally and with my life,” he answered.

  “And you, Father?” Taqi asked Firgany, his tone clipped.

  “Yes…totally. That is why I listen to what he has said about you and trust in his work and what he knows. That is why we must pay attention and heed what is shown in your charts. These types of charts were instrumental in guiding the three wise men, the Magi, to locate and identify the man whom so many know as Jesus, so we know it is not just nonsense. Also, we once had a good friend who understood how the charts work. A brilliant man; a friend we let down and to our eternal shame, did not understand him nor pay heed to what he showed us. We shall not make that same mistake again,” Firgany replied earnestly.

  “We promised you that one day we would explain everything; how we met, what we did and why and how Firgany is part of what may appear to be an anti Muslim Order, but it would be wrong of us to impart such details in full to you now, for you would become a risk to yourselves and many others. We know that is not what you wish to hear and we would beg your patience until the time is right,” Philip explained.

  “But when will the time be right, if ever?” Taqi instantly asked.

  “My son, you would not thank us for telling you all now. Believe me, and mark my words this day, you would not…and remember that I have told you this. We will speak no more of this until you have proved and shown we can trust you both to accept and carry the burden such information and knowledge will place upon your shoulders,” Firgany replied seriously.

  “Enjoy your youth now whilst you can, for it passes quickly. Do not be in an eager rush to grow up too soon. You are both fortunate that you have good clothes, food in your bellies every day, comforts most people will never have the luxury to enjoy and most importantly, you have the added luxury of being able to learn, to be educated,” Philip started to explain.

  “And health. You have good health. Do not squander that,” Firgany said as he stood up. “Now I do believe we have a meal that awaits us. Now promise me, both of you, that you will respect our wishes,” he asked looking at them both in turn with a raised eyebrow.

  Taqi and Paul looked at each other.

  “I, I guess so,” Paul answered first.

  “I promise, Father. But in time, you must promise to tell us all. For we know only that you two met during the Crusades and became friends… nothing else. It makes me ask questions I am uncomfortable to even think of let alone ask of you,” Taqi replied.

  “Truly! Such as?” Firgany asked.

  1 – 2

  “Erm, for a start, our faith. We do not exactly abide or adhere strictly to our rules and I have to wonder, especially after seeing Stewart’s ceremony, if we are even true Muslims at all. I need to know, Father, if what we practise is genuine or are we just going through the motions to serve some as yet unknown purpose?” Taqi asked awkwardly.

  Firgany stood up even straighter and took a deep breath.

  “By Allah, my son, you have perhaps grown more than I realised. You perceive much; but perceptions can likewise be deceiving. I will finish this conversation with you another day; suffice it to say, I am Muslim. Will never be anything else. Always have been and always will be, that I can honestly swear,” Firgany replied, his voice softer as he spoke. Taqi feigned a half smile but still with many unanswered questions running through his mind. He knew his father well enough to know he would get no more information from him that day.

  “Come, let us go and eat,” Philip said as he stood and motioned that they all stand then started to roll up all the parchments together.

  Paul followed Taqi to the kitchen hall and was immediately disappointed to see that Raja and Alisha were no longer there but was more surprised to see the local Templar Grand Marshal’s personal Pannier Squire clearing away two plates. He looked up as they entered.

  “Forgive me, sires, I was asked to come directly. As you were engaged in other matters, I saw to the service of your women folk. I have made good preparations for you now if you are ready to dine,” the Pannier explained courteously.

  “We are indeed honoured to have you attend our needs. But please, only if you will join us,” Philip replied as he entered and proffered that he sit too as Taqi already began to seat himself. “And I trust you have brought with you the items as requested from the Marshal?” he asked as he began to pour some fresh water into a small washing bowl.

  “I did indeed, sire. I have given them to the lady to secure away as requested,” explained the Pannier.

  Taqi and Paul listened, puzzled. Firgany saw their expressions.

  “A feast we shall have now. Let us be grateful for all we have. Let us give praise,” Firgany said aloud and clapped his hands together and before Paul could say another word, the Pannier was already serving them the first course of their meal very efficiently. Taqi smiled at the servic
e.

  After a quick prayer for grace, they all sat to eat. The conversation was slow and Paul and Taqi simply listened in to their fathers going over matters of travel with the Pannier, trying to make sense of what they were discussing. Paul hoped to see Alisha before sunset, but she did not appear again. After bidding their fathers good night, Paul and Taqi took themselves away to bed, both feeling very full, tired but their minds alight with questions. As they lay upon their beds, Paul reached out and pulled the heavy curtains slightly aside so he could see the full moon that shone brightly. Neither he nor Taqi could sleep and both simply lay awake in silence, each running through the events of the last few days. So much had happened and so much had changed despite outward appearances seeming to remain the same. Paul and Taqi could often spend hours together without saying much. It was a bond they both appreciated. They could hear their fathers downstairs still talking into the early hours of the morning with the Pannier and much laughter. It was good to hear his father laugh as he very rarely did so. Paul wondered if he dare sneak out and knock on Alisha’s door…but he knew there were some boundaries he could not cross; and that was one of them. Every time Paul closed his eyes, he could see Alisha’s smile and her eyes. His heart skipped a beat and he felt a sickening tug in his stomach when he thought of her leaving soon. He had to do something; he must somehow let her know how he felt, he thought. ‘Surely she must know already,’ he told himself. He felt utterly distraught and helpless at the thought of not seeing her for many months. His mind came up with a hundred different scenarios and ideas of how he could stop her from leaving, or going with her himself, but all, he ultimately knew, were fruitless mental exercises. As he tried to find the words he would tell her in the morning, he knew he would never remember them, nor be able to look at her and express what he was feeling, and it was during those long hours watching the moon cross the night sky until it vanished from view that he began to coalesce the first sentences of a poem he would write down for her, as images of her face kept mixing with images of the parchment scroll Niccolas had produced for him, the sword through the heart seeming most appropriate.

  When Taqi awoke as the first rays of sunlight beamed into the room through the curtains Paul had left open, he was surprised to see that he was already up and out of the room. Taqi turned over and pulled the sheets over his head. Downstairs Paul was already working upon the verses of his poem, sat at his drafting table in the small study room that overlooked the open ocean just a short distance away. He felt driven and eager to get the words down as quickly as he could before he lost them. As he cut another feather quill, he realised with horror he was almost out of ink…not enough left to finish writing the poem anyway. In a mild panic, fuelled by tiredness, he left the parchment he was working upon on the drafting board and rushed off to find more ink in his father’s bigger study. It was strictly out of bounds at all times, but in Paul’s mind, this was important, and reason enough to disobey his father’s instruction. Hesitantly he opened the main study room door. It seemed to squeak unbelievably loudly at first. Quickly he entered the room and started to look around. It had large arched windows on three sides that flooded the room with light. Paul admired all the large and ornately covered books and scrolls stacked and shoved in just about every place imaginable in the room.

  Many boxes lay unopened stored against the wall on either side of the door. Paul’s eye caught a large slope and lectern with a large ornate circular ink well placed next to it made from carved granite with Philip’s initials and the name John inscribed in Latin and a smaller ceramic pot with a lid on containing the actual ink placed within it. Paul left that but went for a smaller animal horn inkwell, sealed with pitch as the room had many of these on several shelves. As Paul moved nearer to the shelves, he could just see through a protective white cloth lying over some work upon the sloped drafting board. He could see gold letters and red and black calligraphic images. Gently he pulled the thin protective cloth up and was amazed to see the beautifully drawn and written document before him. He now wished he had actually paid more attention to his Arabic lessons. He could roughly work out that the beautiful parchment included some verses from the 17th chapter of the Qur’an entitled Bani Isra’il ‘the Children of Israel’ or al-Isra’, ‘the Night Journey’. The calligraphy and style was incredible, he thought. He knew his father spent hours and hours working on his writings but it surprised him to realise he had been working on Arabic scripture.

  Paul had learnt enough to know it was written in a form of Kufic script. Gently he replaced the protective cloth sheet and looked at all the other part finished works in the room. The black, gold and red inks were beautiful to behold and the blue ink on some of the parchments caught his eye and fired his imagination. His intention of writing just a plain poem upon parchment was rapidly developing in his mind. Would his father notice if his red, gold and blue inks were used? Could he write it in Alisha’s native language? His mind raced. Suddenly he heard the floorboards of the stairs creek. Someone was up and coming down the stairs. But another even more ornate and beautifully executed parchment caught his eye showing the last verse, ‘110’ of the 18th chapter of the Qur’an entitled surah al-Kahf, ‘the Cave’, in a script called plaited Kufic, one his father had made him practise many times over the years. It started to dawn upon him just why his father had been so insistent upon his studies. His father’s room made the old man Niccolas’s underground crypt library pale in comparison. Many documents seemed to have the name John upon them. This puzzled him as he flicked through a huge pile of parchments. Ornate inkwells in various styles and materials were laid out according to size on one long shelf. Writing stick container boxes just as different and ornate filled another shelf. He then noticed two books set side by side, one in French, the other in Arabic. He read the comments his father had annotated in a single strip positioned between the two. But this Qur’anic fragment includes verses 35-36 of the 40th chapter of the Qur’an entitled al-Ghafir ‘the Forgiver’, also known as al-Mu’min ‘the Believer’. This calligraphic fragment includes verses 85-88 of the 6th chapter of the Qur’an entitled surah al-An’am ‘the Cattle’. This late Meccan surah describes the nature of God and how He reveals Himself, Kufic script. This referencing totally confused Paul. What was his father working upon here? he puzzled. He spun his head as he heard a door creak but not that of the study room.

  Pen boxes were an essential part of a ‘good’ calligrapher’s equipment he knew and his pitiful quill would not do for his poem he decided. Would his father miss just one pen box if he used it quickly he thought as he studied several. He opened one of five identical pen boxes. It contained an empty ink pot, a pen box with several carefully made reed plumes, a pair of scissors, a knife for shaping the plumes, and an assortment of other necessary items. Along the sides of the box an Arabic inscription in animated script was set against a scrolling background of animal heads and stylised lions ran its length. He grabbed it. But it was ink he had come for. On a shelf by itself, he found what he was looking for. Ink was expensive, but his father had several sealed glass jars full and many horn inkwells all sealed. He knew his father would spend hours, sometimes days, alone in this room writing, but until this moment, he had not fully appreciated just how much his father clearly loved writing and studying too. He smiled and quickly took another horn container of black ink and hurriedly made his way out, again the door squeaking loudly.

  As Paul rushed into his own little study room, he closed the door behind himself fast, looked at the ink and pen box like it was worth more than gold itself and was about to walk to his drafting desk when he suddenly noticed Alisha standing in her gown, a night shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her hair hanging down covering her face as she held the part finished parchment in her hands reading it. Paul froze in part panic and embarrassment. Slowly Alisha turned her face to look at him through her loose hair hanging in front of her eyes. She looked upset, her hand shaking as she held the parchment. Silently she stared at him for what
he felt was an age. He opened his mouth several times to say something but no words came out.

  “I have not slept this night, for I could not stop thinking about you… and…and I just had to come down and speak with you when I heard you were in here…but instead I find this…she is a lucky girl whom you write this for,” Alisha said softly, her voice shaking.

  “Oh no, it is not for any girl,” Paul immediately shot back as he quickly moved nearer. He put out his hand to grab the parchment, but Alisha pulled it away quickly and stood back. She looked hurt. “Alisha, please, it is not finished…and it is not just for any girl,” Paul said almost pleadingly.

  Alisha studied the parchment closer, tears were just welling in her eyes as she wiped one away as quickly as she could, fighting to hide her obvious emotions.

  “Then who is this girl?” she asked quietly.

  Paul stood next to her and gently pulled her arm so that she turned to look at him. Her face was etched with emotion. Her eyes were wide and wet. She tilted her head slightly to the left and shrugged her shoulders, still fighting to hold in her emotions. Paul’s heart was pounding so loudly he feared she would surely hear it. She half bit her bottom lip anxiously.

  “It…now please do not laugh for…it is for you, you are the girl, but I have not finished it yet,” Paul explained hurriedly and grabbed her hands and placed them together, part screwing up the parchment in her hand as he did.

  “Me?” she choked emotionally.

  “Yes…for you, for do you not know already how I feel?” he answered. All hope of bluffing his way out of his position gone and realising the pain that was in her eyes, obviously because she too felt for him as he suspected, so there was no point denying it now, he thought. He had wanted so many times to tell her how he was feeling but they never got the chance. It was all now or never. “And I am neither ashamed nor embarrassed to say that I mean every word of what I wrote there…I was going to give it to you when you left. You know, to save any awkwardness should you not feel the same,” Paul explained nervously.