by D. N. Carter
Alisha looked into Paul’s eyes, their pupils wide. She lowered her head and closed hers. Paul’s heart sank as his stomach churned, the sudden panic registering that he may have been completely wrong and she did not feel the same. As Alisha stood still, a single tear fell from her right closed eye. Paul felt sick. Then she opened her eyes again and looked directly at him and clenched his hands tighter up to her chest and pulled him closer.
“Are you so blind that you cannot see that I too feel exactly as your words express here?” she finally responded. Paul let out a nervous laugh but before he could say a word, Alisha leaned into him and gently placed her lips upon his. Paul felt the soft warm touch of her lips upon his and it surprised him how natural and right it felt. A sensation overwhelmed his entire body the like of which he had never felt before just as she likewise felt it. She pulled away slowly, opened her eyes to look deeply into his. Then they both laughed.
“I love you, so very much and I just had to tell you somehow,” Paul explained.
“I have always loved you, Paul. I always have and I always shall,” she replied softly, emotion filling her eyes with tears again as she raised her hand to cover the gauze bandage still affixed to his face.
“Ali, this feeling I have for you, it makes me feel sick at times to my very core,” Paul started to explain. Alisha pretended to hit him. “No not that kind of sick. Wrong words. Er, that is why I wrote the poem for I am useless at expressing things openly. I cannot sleep at night for I cannot stop thinking of you. During the day I pray that I will see you. When I do, I fear my heart will surely fail. The sound of your voice touches me so deeply I cannot express it…and oh how I so long to touch you, to hold you,” Paul continued.
Alisha moved closer and wrapped her arms around him tightly, her face resting against his chest. Her hair was still scented and Paul kissed her head gently and smelt her as he hugged her tightly.
“My heart breaks as I do not know where we go from here,” she said softly.
“Father’s coming down,” Taqi suddenly said swinging the door open to pop his head in and gave a quick wave before leaving.
Alarmed, Alisha pulled away quickly. Her father would not approve or understand her presence in the room dressed in her nightgown and shawl. She quickly leaned into Paul, cupped her hand on his face and kissed him quickly, smiled broadly and hurried out of the room closing the door quietly. Paul stood perfectly still, a broad smile across his face. He listened carefully as within moments he heard Alisha outside.
“Morning, Father. I thought I heard the geese in distress,” she said as she walked past Firgany, who was pulling on a large robe. Quizzically he looked at her, then the door to Paul’s study and back at her as she scurried away and rapidly walked up the wide stairs. He rubbed his head and frowned, paused for a moment then continued toward the kitchen listening out to see if he could hear the geese!
Paul always had his breakfast with Taqi, who gave him a punch on the arm hard to welcome him into the kitchen as Firgany looked on suspicious about the atmosphere.
“Did you hear any commotion with the geese this morning?” he asked Paul directly.
“Geese, er, no. I don’t think so,” Paul nervously replied looking away from Firgany knowing his face was turning red. Taqi winked and smiled. But Firgany’s suspicions had been aroused.
Port of La Rochelle, France, Melissae Inn, spring 1191
“So what happened? Did he go mad with Paul?” Sarah asked.
“No, not at all,” the old man replied moving on his chair to make himself more comfortable. “Quite the opposite I suppose. Paul was suddenly given a lot of tasks to fulfil running back and forth to the harbour all that day with Taqi, whilst Firgany and Philip made rapid preparations to keep Alisha and Paul apart until they could secure their passage back home. Raja attended several evening events taking Alisha with her. Paul tried to focus his mind upon completing his poem for her. Both Philip and Firgany, concerned by what they thought they could perceive within Paul’s chart, only added to their fears of a union between Alisha and Paul. Philip and Firgany knew the pair were still so very young and tried to convince themselves that what they were doing was undoubtedly the best thing for the pair of them,” he explained and sighed as he twiddled his fingers momentarily.
“I am intrigued on the matter of this Philip man having a second name, John,” said the Knight Templar and nodded.
“As a Templar, you of all in here may be privy to why! I did not specifically say he had a dual name of John but you clearly picked up on that aspect,” the old man answered, looking directly at the Templar, and raised an eyebrow. “But yes, he did once have the honorary second name of John, something that Paul had noticed that day but could not understand why. Though in time, he would come to understand fully just why,” he continued almost sorrowfully.
“So go on old man, tell us what the John name meant, now we are all aware of it,” the Spanish sailor said.
“No, no I shall not. Not at this time anyway,” he replied and sat back folding his arms.
“This is utter rubbish. I have heard enough this night and I think I may prefer my hard bed than to listen to this old fool any longer,” one of the Genoese sailors said bombastically and stood up fast. Stephan stood up ready to deal with him if necessary.
“No, it is fine. He is entitled to his views and to express them. Let him leave if he so wishes,” the old man said softly.
“’Tis the Devil’s work you preach, old man. Shame upon you,” the sailor said as he made his way to the main doors. Stephan unbolted the doors and swung one half open enough for the sailor to leave. A cold night wind blew in immediately as the sailor quickly left without any further word. Stephan pulled the heavy door shut and bolted it again before seating himself back at the table.
“Oh well, that’s a good sign now as there are only twelve of us left instead of unlucky thirteen,” the fishmonger noted and commented on.
“Do not fear the number thirteen. It too holds a key to a mystery if you have ears to listen and eyes to see it with,” the old man said as he leaned forwards and pulled tighter the wrappings around his neck and hood as the air chilled in the room. Stephan saw the old man was shivering so quickly got a large heavy blanket with a dark full bearskin attached and placed it around his shoulders. The old man nodded a thank you as Stephan placed more logs onto the open fire and poked it several times to get the flames going. “The sacred hidden meanings behind thirteen Paul would in time learn, at a cost,” he recounted and paused as he shook his head slightly.
“Forget that, I want to know what the poem said,” Sarah interrupted.
“The poem! That poem indeed…I have a copy if you wish to read it.”
“What…really?” Sarah replied surprised. The old man simply nodded.
“May I read it first?” the Knight Templar asked, looking at Sarah. She shrugged her shoulders and looked at the old man.
“Stephan, if you would be so good as to fetch my riding saddle bag?” he asked. Stephan immediately fetched out a black polished leather saddle bag from behind his main serving unit. He took out a small sealed wooden tube and went to pass it to the old man. “No, my fingers fail me when it comes to opening the tube. Please, would you?” he requested. Without hesitation, Stephan unscrewed the end cap and gently pulled out the enclosed leather wrappings that held a sheet of fine linen paper. Gently he unfurled it upon the table nearest the Templar, who immediately started to study it. It was a piece of pale white linen paper with ornate symbols and calligraphic writing in Latin.
“Oh great. I can’t read that Latin stuff,” Sarah exclaimed disappointedly and huffed, folding her arms.
“I can, if you wish?” the Templar said looking up. “Shall I?” he asked her then looked at the old man, who nodded in agreement silently. The Templar pulled one of the candles nearer and stood up so he could bend down to read the top section first. “You say this is just a copy?” he asked again looking at the old man. He again nodded in silence. �
�Okay, let me see. Here goes.” He coughed and began to read it aloud running his finger along the line of beautifully written letters. “‘Sword to my heart, sword through my soul’. That is the title,” the Templar said, looking up as Sarah sighed and held her hand to her chest and looked at Stephan. The Templar checked the words and began again.
“Sword to my heart, sword through my soul – for all things were created symbolically so sayeth the Lord, for a picture, an image, doth paint a thousand words.
“Images, they touch the soul, reach deep into the mind, the conscience and more, much more than mere words; yet words are mighty too, so what greater the power of imagery that they bestow, when given freely from those who dwell in the heavens above to those of us below?
“So to symbolism, the ancients of old did rely, to impart the knowledge and wisdom handed down from on high, into our hearts thus making us a beast apart…our spirit eternal, it will never die, diminish or from God’s love, depart.
“So what make I, this image of you I see in my mind, with sword struck through me cutting like a scythe, straight to my heart, whilst still you look me in the eye?
“With every gaze I seize and chance upon your face, your smile, your eyes, your pose and beautiful grace, for thee this image of a girl whom I know from long ago. This girl, her image which stares me back, I fathom not, yet somehow I still know.
“With fear, your image enters my mind, to my heart now blind, my caution and my guard defenceless now, no shield nor armour to spare me; but why and how?
“I hear your words, they cut my soul deep, and yet I feel it, your hurt, I know not why; perhaps your soul, it still doth cry from a past we shared but both did die?
“The wanderings of my heart have taken me to many a strange shore, and at times left me almost broken and spiritually sore. But in this life so far, true love I still have not known, nor knew not why; but now I see, your image, it does not lie, for in my heart, ’tis for you that I yearn for and my soul doth cry.
“As Christ wielded the mythical two edged long sword of knowledge and wisdom ‘Caliburn’ to be known as Excalibur, and Arthur, that greatest of kings, did pull from the stone, so now doth your sword, just as symbolic but just as sharp, pierce my very heart and pull it apart.
“I fear its strength, for you wield it well, but please use it wisely when you tell, for through my soul ’tis going to dwell just as it did before I last fell, from across the pages of history and time, I have returned to claim what was given freely as mine; your heart, your love, your soul. But perhaps in this life, ’tis no more?
“I stand weary from the fights of love that I have fought, pray tell and all for nought, but ready again, once more to fight that last battle embrace, and truly I hope, with God’s good grace. Should I win, I stand to gain, should I lose, my soul will be truly slain with nothing to compare or ease the pain.
“You hold the sword, ’tis through my soul; you wield it still as ever well. Use it I pray, but no not for my heart’s death knell and an eternal farewell. But use it to fight with me, side by side, one day as my bride, a king and a queen out in the open with nothing to hide.
“You hold the power, as in front of you I stand, in fear, yet I will not cower; for but one exists upon this earth, then ’tis you that I do empower, to seize my heart, cradle my life, as before you were once my wife from another life, then this I pledge to you, whom so deeply that I have always known, to help you reach your life’s true aim and goal, mine and yours, just one soul.”
“Holy Jesus…powerful words indeed,” the Templar concluded and sat back.
Sarah sniffed and wiped away a tear, embarrassed at her show of emotion as Stephan smiled reassuringly at her. The Knight Hospitaller pulled the sheet towards him and silently looked over it and simply raised an eyebrow followed by a look of almost disbelief at his brother.
“Did this Paul get the poem to her, then?” asked the Spanish sailor.
“Well, that is another whole story in itself, but I shall tell it as it happened if you wish?” the old man said in a whisper, his head bowed low.
“Please, if you would,” Sarah answered as the others around the table acknowledged her request in agreement.
Chapter 4
Hearts Torn – Lives Broken
La Rochelle, Manor House, Rue de Stella Maris, late spring of 1178
Paul sweating heavily tossed and turned, kicking his sheets off. He turned his head frantically and clenched his fists tighter. After the night’s escapade at the chapel followed by the back breaking work of repairing the wall and fences, he had taken himself away to bed utterly exhausted, more tired than he had ever felt before. He knew he would have dreams again, but with his head filled with a thousand questions he wasn’t quite prepared for what he dreamt.
As he kicked out upon his bed, his mind was fighting to make sense of what he was seeing as he dreamt. It was cold, freezing cold, yet he felt so hot at the same time. He was struggling to walk through deep snow, wind and freezing sleet mixed with snow pushed against him. He was dressed in heavy bulky clothing with a fur lined hood. He fought to keep his eyes open against the biting wind and sleet. It was dark and he realised he was actually trying to walk up a steep partly forested hill. The trees began to thin out more as he neared the summit. He could make out a mound of stones and a lone figure kneeling. He was desperate to reach the summit. Behind him a tall blonde woman dressed in many layers of furs was following him in his path carrying a large sword. Behind her he could see several other people. The wind howled and he felt sick but could not understand why. Images of a small boy kept flashing across his vision with just a fleeting glimpse of the three pointed dagger Alisha carried. “Father,” the little boy whispered faintly yet he was able to hear it. Panic was now overwhelming Paul as he pushed on harder through the snow but he could not fathom why he felt such an overpowering sense of panic. The harder he tried to struggle through the deepening snow, the slower he went, which only added to his frustration. He suddenly saw his own face up close. He was snarling, breathless, eyes wide, anger and fear screaming from his features, half sobbing and half yelling. As the image of his own face stared back at him, it seemed to run into him as Alisha’s voice shouted out his name after him.
“Away, away!” Paul shouted, waving his arms as he awoke startled, covered in sweat.
He sat up wearily and rubbed his head with his hands, confused, then shivered uncontrollably for a few moments. It took him a while to shake the uncomfortable feeling he had as Taqi still lay asleep oblivious upon his bed. Paul’s throat was dry and he felt a little sick. Still feeling exhausted, he pulled on his morning robe and quietly left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen hall. As he walked down the main stairs, he was surprised to hear his father and Firgany were already up and eating breakfast. Slowly and quietly he approached the kitchen doorway and leant up against the partially open door. What he heard them discussing shook him to his very core. Shaking and feeling nauseous he cupped his mouth and turned to walk away quietly but his robe caught the door handle and pulled it hard closing it with a thud. Quickly he rushed for the stairs but it was too late as his father opened the door just as Paul moved upon the first step.
“Paul!” Philip said loudly. Paul froze. “What are you doing up so early and why do you rush from our presence?” he asked as he approached followed by Firgany.
Slowly Paul turned to face them, clearly upset.
“Father, I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I heard everything you both said,” he replied.
“Everything?” Philip quizzed and raised his eyebrows.
“Everything…and how can you…how can you force Alisha to marry someone she does not even know?” Paul shot back emotionally with anger in his eyes and sadness in his voice.
“My dear boy…you most clearly did not hear all of our conversation,” Philip replied and placed his hands upon his hips and smiled, looking at Paul then turning to Firgany.
“Paul, ’tis true,” Firgany started to explain as
Paul felt a stabbing pain shoot through his chest upon hearing that. “But understand this…when Alisha was born, I had a son to look after and no means of support or way of looking after a new born daughter. So I entered into an agreement with a wealthy trader who had several young sons. In return for his wife looking after Alisha in those early years, I agreed that I would consent to her marriage to one of her sons in due course,” Firgany explained.
“You must not. You cannot do that,” Paul said pleadingly.
“Paul, do not forget your place,” Philip said in a clipped tone.
“My place…huh, what is my place? I thought it was here, yet now I know it is not and we are to leave within the year to a place I have never been nor wish to go,” Paul argued back, his voice raised. “Huh! I mean honestly, Father…you just drop that upon me with no prior warning… and…and I cannot hide how I feel for Alisha…I did not ask to feel like this, believe me, and I wish I did not as it does nothing but cause me hurt and sickness!” Paul detailed emotionally.
Philip looked at Firgany.
“Paul, we are more than aware of your feelings towards Alisha…but you are both so very young…and trust me when I say, those feelings will change. One day you will look back upon this time with embarrassment,” Firgany explained.
“NO! No, that will not be the case!” Paul interrupted.
“Paul, listen to me. What you want and wish for, I assure you, do not always come in the manner or way you hoped or expect. You show the emotion and feelings of youth still. You and Alisha come from totally different backgrounds, cultures and faiths; do you not see that it is unworkable? You both simply set yourselves up for a lot of pain and heartache,” Firgany tried to explain but Paul just shook his head more.