Outremer I

by D. N. Carter

  “No, no. Father, you must surely not be in agreement with that, for are you not soon to marry Raja…eh?” Paul remarked questioningly, folded his arms defiantly and stared at both of them.

  1 – 29

  “Do not presume to understand my sister nor your father’s actions. As for Alisha, I have trod carefully these past weeks so as not to offend you, nor your father’s hospitality, but mark my words, young man, for young you still are, do not test my patience in regard to Alisha,” Firgany said, his voice now sounding deeper and threatening almost. Paul looked at his father for support.

  “Sorry, Paul. I am with Firgany on this one. Besides, Raja and I will be settling in Alexandria where we shall be amongst many of similar position to ours. Things are different there,” Philip explained.

  “Then why, if we are all to move there, can Alisha and I not do likewise?” Paul pleaded.

  “Because we have said so and that is final!” Firgany shot back, his patience clearly failing.

  “Why, am I not good enough for her? Is that it…or because of those silly charts Niccolas drew up?” Paul demanded to know.

  “Do not cross the line, son. This is one argument you will not win. This is not negotiable. That is why Alisha will travel back with Firgany. Persist with this and,” Philip paused, “and Firgany is in agreement with this, then we shall allow the arranged marriage of Alisha to take place. Raja has everything in place and arranged if needs be,” Philip explained as he moved to place his hand upon Paul’s shoulder.

  Paul flounced backwards pushing his father’s arm away hard.

  “Paul, see what anger and fury this affair already generates…and that is before it has gone anywhere,” Firgany said, lowering his tone, and frowned at Paul.

  “My son…you must extinguish this flame that burns within you for Alisha…now before it becomes an all consuming fire that rages uncontrollably. Firgany has shown more tolerance towards you than should be expected,” Philip tried to say.

  “As for your comments about not being good enough…that is your own perception for it is not what I think or feel at all. It would be my honour… however, as I have said, this union you crave will not happen. My last word upon the matter is that I shall never give my blessing to it for I know it will bring you both much pain if you do pursue it,” Firgany said bluntly.

  Paul let his shoulders drop as he felt utterly crushed at hearing that. Philip feigned a look of sympathy for his obvious pain. The images of the nightmarish dream came flooding back, the little boy’s face looking up at him through the snow. Paul shook his head in despair.

  “My son, let him finish for there is more,” Philip said softly just as Alisha appeared at the top of the stairs. She hesitated for a moment as all looked up at her. Nervously she descended, tying the waist cord around her nightgown tighter, until she stood next to Paul. She could see the upset in his face and turned to look at her father. She raised an eyebrow.

  “Alisha, you should not be here,” Firgany stated.

  “Why not for is it not me you discuss this moment?” she immediately shot back.

  “It is…but as we were just trying to explain to Paul, you were betrothed to marry into a good family. A wealthy and respected family in Mawsil,” Firgany continued.

  “It shall be over my dead body then,” Alisha replied angrily and grabbed Paul’s arm and stood partly behind him. Paul moved his arm protectively shielding her almost. “No way!”

  Firgany and Philip looked at each other and to both Paul’s and Alisha’s surprise, smiled.

  “Father, this is not a laughing matter,” Paul said loudly.

  Firgany and Philip both burst out laughing as Alisha and Paul looked on confused. Paul held Alisha’s hand tightly as she moved up closer to his side.

  “You two,” Philip laughed. “Bless you both. If you had let us finish. Alisha, when Raja was widowed, it meant she was able to return to Mawsil and stay with your father. She then took on the business and charge of raising you, which I think we can agree she has done well.”

  “But why then do you still talk of the marriage agreement?” Paul demanded to know.

  “Because you must understand that we cannot allow you two to further these feelings you have for each other. These first pangs and taste of love are but fleeting and do pass. The intensity feels overwhelming now, but it fades,” Firgany said, still smiling, which confused Paul. “As for the marriage betrothal…I was poor at the time Alisha went to stay with the other family. I was doing what I thought best at the time for her long term security and welfare. Believe you me, when you one day have children of your own, you will learn how it changes everything. But as my business grew I was able to make preparations to have Alisha returned. When Raja came back after she was widowed, then we did have you returned.” Firgany explained, nodding towards Alisha. “But the old agreement remained in force. Just in case anything should happen to either of us in the mean time.” Firgany continued looking at them both stood side by side, still just children in his eyes.

  “Father, then what becomes of this agreement now?” Alisha asked nervously.

  “I shall have to make good on the agreement…but only by way of payment in goods and gold,” Firgany replied. Alisha looked at Paul, clearly relieved, as Paul let out a slight laugh of relief. “But, it will cost me much…” Firgany nodded. Alisha looked back at him quizzically and shook her head. “Do not worry my dear, for every ounce of gold I give will be worth it,” he smiled.

  “But, that does not mean we agree to or condone what occurs here,” Philip interrupted and pulled them apart gently. Alisha blushed but smiled at Paul then Philip.

  “We must return to Mawsil so I can resolve this. And during our period away, you will both come to see and realise the folly of what you feel now,” Firgany explained and started to usher Alisha away from Paul as she looked at him, her eyes wide and shook her head slightly indicating to him, no.

  Philip and Paul watched in silence as they went up the stairs. Philip turned Paul to face him.

  “Son, I know you do not believe me, but in time you will agree with us,” he said softly.

  “No, Father, I shall not. Is there no way I can go with them, even if only to Tortosa? Please, Father,” Paul pleaded.

  “It is not possible, my son. Please just accept it for what it is.”

  “No, nothing is impossible remember. Is that not what you have always told us?” Paul snapped back instantly.

  “Do not test me on this one, Paul,” Philip replied in a slow deliberate tone. “Now no more. Today you have a long walk ahead of you.”

  Puzzled, Paul looked at his father.

  “What, why? I mean where?” he asked belligerently.

  “Today you will travel with your brother and a squadron of other Templars to collect some horses.”

  “What? I cannot, Father. First off I am supposed to be meeting Niccolas as arranged, and secondly, you know I do not care for horses,” Paul protested and started to follow Philip as he walked towards his main study.

  “’Tis arranged already. You will make your peace with your brother and YOU will join him to fetch the horses. One of them is to be ours for this coming year to help us pack and prepare to move…and you will learn to care for horses,” Philip retorted as he opened his study door. “It is about time you started pulling your weight instead of constantly burying your head in books and your maps,” he said coldly as he began to pull the door shut behind him.

  “What, has the world gone mad these past days? I thought books and maps are what you wanted me to study!”

  “It is a privilege and a luxury to study as you do. Now it is time you start to earn that right for you are clearly now of an age where you think you are grown up enough. The sergeant will call for you at noon. Do not let me down!” Philip said with a harshness in his voice Paul had never heard before. Paul recoiled sadly away from the door as it closed. He stood motionless, lost for words or thoughts. He huffed and spun around shaking his head.

&nbs
p; Paul sat for several hours alone in his little study and barely had time to change into his clothes when he heard the sergeant pull up outside. Rushing upstairs and into his bedroom he woke Taqi, who was having one of his lazy days still in bed. Looking out of the window he could see the sergeant alone seated upon the cart.

  “Close that curtain,” Taqi moaned from his bed and pulled a large pillow over his head.

  Paul flung the curtain back across on its pole then hurriedly rushed back downstairs, into the kitchen, grabbed some bread and a piece of cheese. As he slammed the main door behind himself hard, the sergeant was already geeing the horse to move onwards. Paul ran to the side and jumped up on the front seat next to him. As they began to pull away, Paul looked up at the room Alisha was staying in. The sun was reflecting from the glass but as they moved, the reflection vanished in time for him to glimpse her standing at the window looking down at him directly. She gave a slight wave with a raised hand and mouthed ‘I love you’. Paul immediately mouthed back the same. He kept looking up at her until the cart pulled around the corner of the track, the sergeant not saying a word. Paul smiled but inwardly he felt sad. Trying to look on the positive side, he had a few more days with Alisha at least and he was on a cart, not walking.

  Port of La Rochelle, France, Melissae Inn, spring 1191

  “Oh please, let me guess. He got kicked off the wagon around the corner so had to walk and Alisha was gone when he returned,” the fishmonger said, heavily laced with sarcasm. All looked at him. “Well, honestly. Is this just a ruse to keep us here and spend our money?” he protested.

  “Why do you mock? And am I not correct in saying that so far, neither of us here has yet paid anything for what we have shared?” the short stocky stonemason piped up, having sat most of the time in silence. “Besides, I wish to hear all as I for one believe the old man.”

  “You do, without proof?” the fishmonger asked instantly.

  “I have seen the copy of the poem, that sword…and I recall some years back when I worked upon the new docks, the very accident with the falling stones and scaffolding the old man recounts,” the stonemason responded and sat up straight giving the fishmonger a glare.

  “Please, gentlemen, do not start to quarrel on my part. And please know this; all that I tell you is truth. As for the food and drink…I am honoured to share it with you and Stephan knows I am more than good to cover any costs,” the old man interrupted gently. Stephan looked at him, nodding in agreement.

  “We are all most grateful, old friend. Are we not?” the Templar said and looked hard at the fishmonger, who nodded his head yes silently. “So please continue and tell us, did he make peace with his brother and get the poem to Alisha finished?” he asked, tiredness heavy upon his face.

  “Let me say he finished the poem. The simple version as I have here this night. But as our cynical friend there stated,” the old man explained, pointing to the fishmonger, “Paul’s day out would prove long indeed. Deliberately long. The Templar squadron had gone ahead earlier in the day and Paul spent several hours sat in silence with the lone Templar sergeant despite his many attempts to coax conversation from him. The journey gave Paul time to ponder both his father’s and Firgany’s comments. He grew ever more concerned and agitated the further they seemed to travel as well as feel colder as the sun began to lower on the horizon. Paul recalled the many conversations they had shared over dinner about Firgany’s original home, his family’s old castle just north of Tortosa surrounded by lemon trees, and the many stories of their sailing trips back and forth from La Rochelle to Tortosa and on to Mawsil. Alisha had already travelled so much in her short life, yet the furthest he had ever been was to Paris when he was younger. Even that he could not remember apart from it being his first recollection of seeing maps and plans,” the old man explained and smiled knowingly and shrugged a slight laugh. “But then fate stepped in, as it usually does in life, and his path crossed that of another who would have, in due course, a profound impact upon him during the rest of his life.”

  Rochefort-sur-Terre, 15 miles south of La Rochelle, late spring 1178

  As the cart neared the town of Rochefort-sur-Terre, Paul was amazed to see the number of other carts all queuing up to enter through the northern ‘stone vaulted arch’ entrance. Situated on the northern banks of a large estuary, the small town was growing just like La Rochelle as a military naval base. Paul had heard his father talking with the Templar Marshal how certain individuals were trying to make Rochefort more important than La Rochelle as a naval port amid rumours of wishing to make it exclusively for the French as they considered too much influence was being exercised within La Rochelle by the English. Paul knew that his family heritage had originally come from England. At least he had enjoyed the countryside as they made their way slowly along the coast road but the evening was now drawing in fast. He wished he had brought along his thick overcoat. As they waited patiently in the long queue of carts, Paul looked behind as he heard a cavalcade of horses approach. Immediately he saw a small squadron of Templars approaching in pairs side by side at a fast trot, their standard bearer flying the black and white Beauseant. Dust kicked up around them as they drew nearer and moans from other travellers went up as they passed, covering them in it. Paul’s gaze immediately fell upon the lead rider next to the Gonfanier standard bearer. He was clearly a powerfully built individual. He sat bolt upright in his saddle, his long flowing dark hair blowing freely in the wind. Paul wondered if Stewart was in this small group and looked up as the lead rider passed his cart. The man looked at Paul staring at him and acknowledged his look with a slight nod and smile, and carried on riding. Paul saw his shield strapped across his back and, unlike the other riders’, it was not black on the top half and white below, but was a brightly coloured shield sectioned into four and was also smaller than the other larger kite shields the others had. It was one of the newer designed ‘heater shields’ he had heard about. It was easier to carry and wear on horseback. The top right and bottom left sections were a bright gold, each with a single stylised black lion set within. The top left and bottom right sections were a pale grey colour set with a red pattée cross in each. The man exuded strength and confidence, Paul thought, as he rapidly scanned the other twelve riders as they rushed past, but he could not see Stewart. Their tall and powerful horses made the other horses on the track look feeble in comparison. Paul coughed away the dust as it wrapped around him and the sergeant. Several people groaned more loudly as the Templar formation disappeared through the main entrance to the town unchallenged. Quickly the Templar sergeant cracked his reins and pulled the cart out into the main track way and followed after the riders, passing the other carts in the queue. That action solicited some angry looks from other cart riders. As they passed beneath the large stone entrance archway, they were simply waved through. Within moments the sergeant directed the cart towards a body of mixed knights and Templars near a large corralled pen full of horses. Paul was immediately struck by the idyllic beauty of the town. It had part corbelled path and track ways. Flowers seemed to be everywhere adorning the many timbered houses and buildings, some with granite facades. Many heavy carts were passing by delivering uncut stone and wood. Paul knew his father had been working upon drafts for building plans of a new college that was being constructed nearby but it still impressed him, the organised efficiency he was witnessing taking place all around him as people, carts and horses were all directed in various directions at the crossroads in the middle of the town.

  “There, that is the man you must speak with. He has the papers to release the horse into your care,” the sergeant suddenly said rather glumly and pointed towards the man who had ridden past them in so proud a manner. “Be careful, boy, he is loose with his tongue and his temper. His name is…Gerard de Ridefort…now go, boy, and I bid you a safe journey home upon the horse,” he continued and waved his hand to gesture he leave.

  Paul jumped down from the cart and began to walk towards the tall Gerard. He brushed himsel
f down and pulled his robe straight as he approached the group of knights. He could hear them laughing and discussing the various horses within the corralled area. Paul stood silently and waited as the men continued talking. The light was fading fast and Paul wished to collect the horse his father had purchased and be on his way. Several times Gerard turned and looked at him but simply carried on talking with the other knights. Paul began to feel irritated and coughed a few times. Still no response. Eventually he let out a loud cough.

  “What?” Gerard demanded bombastically and flounced round to look at Paul.

  “Sorry, sire, but the sergeant said it was you to whom I must report,” Paul nervously blurted out.

  “What, what are you on about, boy? Why would you report to me?” he demanded with irritation clear on his face.

  1 – 5

  “Here, look,” Paul replied and rapidly handed Gerard the scroll deed of purchase.

  Gerard snatched the scroll, opened it and rapidly read it. Bemused he looked hard at Paul.

  “You bother me with this trivial matter?” he snapped and thrust it back into Paul’s hand and turned his back on him.

  “Sire, excuse me again, sire, but it is addressed to you,” Paul said. “Personally addressed.”

  “By the Lords,” Gerard fumed, spun around and grabbed the scroll again and opened it. After checking it again, he looked up and towards a blacksmith. “Boy, you need to see him. Not me. This confirms your purchase from me of a Turcoman horse, but it is he you seek,” he said and thrust the scroll against Paul’s chest. “Now go, do not bother me again,” he said and turned his back.

  “I would say thank you but your distinct lack of manners precludes me from acknowledging the same respect back,” Paul half muttered as he turned away.