Outremer I

by D. N. Carter

  Paul suddenly felt a powerful hand grab his shoulder and pull him around hard. Before he could say a word, he was being shaken and then pushed backwards. He fell into some mud and horse manure. Quickly he went to stand but as he looked up, Gerard was towering over him.

  “How dare you show such impudence and disrespect, boy?” Gerard shouted.

  Paul looked around conscious of everyone now looking at him on the floor in the muck. Some laughed. Paul went to stand up but Gerard pushed him down harder again.

  “Sire, I cannot win this fight with you. Look at the size of you. But…but know this, I did not pick this argument with you, for I did show respect, as have I not stood patiently this past hour waiting, yet you chose to show me no respect simply because of my youth,” Paul replied, anger fired by embarrassment rising in him.

  “You insolent young rat. You will show me the proper respect my position affords me,” Gerard snapped back angrily, becoming increasingly aware of others watching intently.

  “Your position! I only respect a person for what they are and by their actions…not their position…and I have to question how you came to be in your position if this is how you behave. What of your vows to protect the weak?” Paul retorted as he tried to move backwards on the muddy stones. He hesitated as he looked at Gerard, whose face was now red with rage.

  “Weak, do not dare to judge me and my actions and certainly not my vows. And you…weak! That I strongly doubt of you, boy, for I see a large scar upon your face. Clearly trouble finds you,” Gerard snapped back.

  “You call me a rat…a rat…honestly! Yet there you stand arguing with me, a mere boy! So you tell me, who is the bully here and who abuses their ‘position’?” Paul shot back despite his heart racing with fear and a sickness rising in his stomach.

  Before Paul could say another word Gerard stepped forwards to stand over him, grabbed his hair with his left hand and pulled him to his feet, and then thrashed down hard with his horse whip across Paul’s leg. Paul spun around pulling his own hair down to free it from Gerard’s grip. As Paul pulled away he fell awkwardly upon the stone cobbles banging his left elbow, the pain shooting up through his arm. He let out a yell as Gerard raised the whipping stick to hit him again. As the stick came down, Paul raised his other arm in defence.

  “NO!” Stewart was heard yelling, blocking the stick’s force with his own forearm, breaking the stick instantly.

  In shock, Gerard stood back and shook his head in total surprise.

  “What is the meaning of this action? You dare to also challenge me?” Gerard yelled at Stewart as he knelt down to help Paul to his feet.

  “Master, no. But this is my brother,” Stewart said as he stood in front of Paul protectively.

  “You will pay dearly for this young Templar. You know the punishment for disobeying a Master’s order,” Gerard said, clutching the broken half of the stick.

  “Correct me, but I did not see or hear of him disobeying any orders, unless of course you fear your position and authority is being undermined here in your mind only of course,” Paul said, wincing in pain, rubbing his elbow.

  “Shut up, Paul, you have said enough already and only make matters worse,” Stewart snapped.

  “Such insolence will not be tolerated,” Gerard said loudly.

  “That’s it, you stamp your authority for the whole world to hear, but it does not change the fact you are a brute and a bully,” Paul continued to argue. Stewart raised his eyes to the heavens and shrugged heavily, shaking his head.

  A master of arms stood behind Gerard and whispered in his ear. Gerard listened to what he was being told, nodded he understood and then moved nearer to Paul.

  “’Tis lucky for you, boy, you come from an admirable family for I would have you flogged and in chains for a month. As for you, young Templar, likewise, but I shall deal with you later for you will receive punishment for this…” He paused. “Boy, you have courage, that is clear, but a dangerous type of courage with a belligerence of intellect that, if you are not careful, will one day get you killed,” Gerard said, his voice deep and low. “Now get the horse you came for and leave here before my temper does indeed get the better of me,” Gerard ordered pointedly and stood in front of Stewart looking him up and down. Stewart was his equal in size, a fact Gerard was quick to see. He raised a finger and pointed it at his face several times, then backed off, turned and walked away. Stewart immediately spun round to face Paul as several sergeants, turcopoles and other knights started to talk amongst themselves and return to the horse corral.

  “Are you utterly insane…what were you thinking?” Stewart asked, seething.

  “Thank you, Stewart, for stopping him,” Paul answered, still rubbing his elbow and only now just feeling the burning sting sensation on his leg.

  “Are you determined to destroy my chances within the Order?” Stewart shot back.

  “In an Order with people like him in charge, perhaps I am doing you a favour,” Paul replied sarcastically just as two other Templar knights approached and stood in front of them.

  “Sorry, brother, you must come with us,” one of them said then looked at Paul in a manner that showed his disapproval of him.

  “I am sorry, Stewart, truly,” Paul said apologetically but Stewart just raised his hand, turned and walked away between the two other knights.

  Paul stood in silence for a few moments as all about him just carried on as before. The parchment in his hand was ripped and damp with mud. He smelt it and it stank of horse manure. Could his life get any worse? he thought, as he stood with pain in his leg, his elbow, the scar on his face, feeling colder by the minute and his heart breaking thinking of Alisha. ‘This is proving to be a long day indeed’, he sighed. Then it started to rain. Glumly he looked up as the rain began pattering upon his face. A firm hand then landed upon his shoulder. Paul turned slowly to see a man of his father’s age standing before him. He was clearly once a tall and handsome man in his youth, but now he looked tired, very aged but still had an air of importance and bearing about him. His clothes were expensive but also old and worn. He had obviously known better times, Paul thought. Balding, he looked like a monk, his smile friendly.

  “Young man, I see you have met the soon to be new Templar Seneschal, the second in command to the Templar Order and Marshal to the Kingdom in Outremer. He only answers to the Grand Master himself. Not the kind of man you should be making an enemy out of,” the man said in a cheerful manner and tone which puzzled Paul. “Do not worry, he will soon return to Tripoli where the likes of him belong,” the man said and pointed to the scroll purchase order in Paul’s hand. “May I?” he asked.

  “Erm…of course,” Paul answered and handed the scroll over as his mind thought on what punishment his brother would be given. How would he explain this to his father? he worried.

  The man turned and gestured with a single finger over his shoulder for Paul to follow him.

  “’Tis too late for you to travel home alone. You shall have to stay the night. We shall resolve the matter of the horse at first light,” the man explained as he walked.

  “I am sorry, I would rather fetch the horse and be on my way home for my father expects me this night and I have other business I must attend to,” Paul explained politely.

  “I would advise against that. Come, I know of your father well. You have nothing to fear of me and he will know how long it takes for one to travel from La Rochelle to here and back again,” the man explained as they walked through the beautiful town square and headed off up a corbelled street that gradually climbed a slight incline towards a small part ruined castellated house on the top. “There yonder is my abode. You are welcome to stay the night,” he said as he walked at quite a surprising pace.

  Paul’s mind raced. Should he trust this stranger? What about Stewart and what about Alisha? And had his father known full well he would not get back home the same day? How did the man know he had come from La Rochelle? Paul felt slightly uneasy and he hesitated and stopped in
the street. The man, realising, stopped and turned to face him.

  “Of course, of course. You do not know me. Forgive me. My name is Rick and I know you, your father Philip and of course his good friend Firgany,” he explained and part bowed his head.

  “Oh, so that explains how you know I am from La Rochelle.”

  “Indeed. Now come, it is almost dark and I am sure you could do with some warm food in you.”

  Without further words being spoken, Paul cautiously followed Rick through a large wooden door that led into a large entrance hall of an old keep style house. It was in a sad and sorry state of repair but still weather proof. It smelt musty and was very spartan, almost to the point of being empty save a table and two chairs placed in front of a large open fire place. He could hear birds flutter across the room near the high wooden beamed ceiling above.

  “My only friends,” Rick stated with a wry smile as Paul frowned.

  Within minutes he had a large fire raging and he beckoned Paul to sit in one of the chairs nearby for warmth. Paul sat alone for a while whilst Rick went to fetch some food and drink. His thoughts drifted between Alisha and Stewart. He so hoped he would not be punished too harshly. But he felt good that his brother had come to his defence even, and despite the fact it was against his own Master from the Templars. That one show of loyalty meant a lot and it was a realisation that he did indeed have a stronger bond with his brother than he had previously thought. As Paul sat alone with his thoughts, he became aware of Rick watching him. He felt uncomfortable. He could do with Alisha’s dagger, he thought, just in case. Rick disappeared into what was obviously a cook house room. Shortly he reappeared and placed two small bowls of food on the table, steam rising from the piping hot meal. Rick went back into the cook room and returned with two wooden cups filled with water and two small bottles of corked red wine. Paul turned to face the table and pulled the chair nearer and smelt the food. It smelt good even if it looked a mess. The room was dark except for the light of the fire and a single tall candle Rick was just lighting.

  “I am sorry I stare at you. It has been a long time since I have had company in this dwelling,” Rick said and proffered him to start eating. “It is pheasant stew with vegetables. It is all I have, I am afraid, plus some wine. My little vineyard still grows good grapes.”

  “Thank you,” he replied politely, ‘I think’ he quietly thought. As Rick sat nearer, Paul noticed the faint outline of a cross upon his dirty beige mantel tunic where a badge had obviously once been sewn on. “Were you a Templar yourself?” Paul asked and indicated with his eyes towards the outline image.

  Rick looked down and pulled his tunic out far enough to see.

  “Oh that. Oh no, not I. I picked this garment up in the market. Hard wearing and warm,” he answered and smiled. Paul instinctively sensed there was far more going on than met the eye with this man. His friendly face and smile were disarming. He was obviously once a man of means who had clearly fallen upon harder times. But he would keep on his guard just in case. A sudden loud clap of thunder made both of them jump as lightning flashed brightly temporarily lighting up the entire hall through a massive arched opening still retaining a beautiful stained glass window more suited to be in a church. He would check that out in daylight Paul thought to himself as Rick chuckled at their obvious fright. Paul laughed. “Young Paul, you were indeed lucky today,” Rick exclaimed as he took a mouthful of food, using a very small wooden spoon.

  “Really, I do not feel particularly lucky these past few days. And you know my name?”

  “Of course. Paul, son of Philip…plus your Templar friend who helped you, said your name quite clearly.”

  “My brother.”

  “Ah…I see. Well, as for being lucky…that depends on how you look at things. Ridefort could have done you serious damage today. He is not a man to toy with, trust me.”

  “He does not scare me. He is a typical bully and he brings shame upon his position. Clearly boastful and arrogant and full of self pride,” Paul replied quickly.

  “Such bravado, young Paul,” Rick said, smiling, and carried on eating. Paul was not sure if he was speaking in a derogatory manner against him or not. “If you had walked in his shoes, you too perhaps may behave as he does,” Rick said after he had finished his food. “But, in your defence, I am afraid he typifies everything that is wrong with the Crusades. If he could be held in check, his skills and abilities directed purposefully, he would be brilliant, but give him too much power, it will ruin him. He is already infamous in the Levant as a controversial figure.”

  “You seem to know much about this Gerard de Ridefort. How so?” Paul asked.

  “I make it my business to know about such matters.”

  “So please explain and need I be concerned for my brother?”

  “Trust me when I say your brother will be fine. May have to eat alone for some period of time but I am sure he can handle that admirably. As for Gerard…I can tell you that before he arrived in the Levant…Outremer, to seek his fortune and personal gain, he was just another French knight on the loose. But as fate would have it, whilst he was in Tripoli, he befriended both King Amaury and Raymond of Tripoli with his charismatic charm and sharp wit. Gerard is of Flemish origin, though there are rumours, unsubstantiated mind you, that he is of Anglo-Norman background, but that is purely down to misreading his designation as ‘of Bideford’. It is uncertain exactly when he arrived in the Kingdom of Jerusalem but he certainly made an impact and he already appears in many charter records in the service of Baldwin IV of Jerusalem most favourably. So I would urge caution, young Paul, if only for your brother’s sake, as he is clearly marked for greater things and I fear he will one day hold the rank of Marshal of the entire Templar Order as Grand Master,” Rick explained solemnly.

  “He should still learn some humility and restraint,” Paul answered. Rick just looked at him and smiled. Paul felt like he was missing something, some point. “Have I misunderstood you?” he asked.

  “No, you have not,” Rick replied and sipped some wine, savouring the taste for a moment before swallowing it. “Paul, the Crusades were and still are a tragic and destructive episode…there is so much courage and yet so little honour, so much devotion and so little understanding. Original high ideals have been replaced by cruelty and greed, enterprise and endurance by the blind and narrow self-righteousness of those who propagate and partake of it; and the Holy War itself is nothing more than a long act of intolerance in the name of God,” Rick explained, the words hitting Paul with a surprise he did not expect.

  “You speak as if from direct personal experience,” Paul stated, looking at Rick, searching his face for any expression that would reveal his thoughts and emotions.

  “I say too much already. One thing you would learn about me, if you ever spent enough time with me, is that I talk far too freely and far too much. My tongue is oft loose, much as yours,” Rick replied matter of factly but smiled as he looked up at Paul.

  “I do try to be guarded with what I say but these past weeks have been strange days indeed and I find my mood and attitude are conflicted accordingly. My sense and reason seem to have become confused.”

  “Let me guess…there is a woman involved.”

  “Huh, how did you know?” Paul asked instantly.

  “Lucky guess! That is all, lucky guess.”

  “Right…somehow I do not believe that.” Paul smiled back feeling more comfortable now in Rick’s presence. “So tell me, how come you are here alone with just the birds for company?” Paul asked and waited for a reply as Rick did not answer but simply sat quietly and sipped several mouthfuls of wine. “Forgive my forwardness, I am wrong to ask such a personal question so soon upon making your acquaintance.”

  “’Tis fine…fine…but that is a story perhaps for another day should our paths cross again,” Rick answered, his voice low as he cupped his small wine bottle and rested his chin upon the rim, thinking. The flames from the fire cast shadows on his face making the lines seem
deeper.

  “May I ask how old you are, for running a vineyard cannot be easy?” Paul asked politely.

  “Sixty-five give or take a year.” Paul sat back surprised. He certainly did not look his age. He had him down for being in his late forties at most. Rick laughed at the look on Paul’s face. “Ha, I once cut a dashing figure in my youth, but not good enough to catch a wife, alas, and hence why I find myself alone,” he explained and placed his wine bottle down and sat back into his chair. “Don’t get me wrong, and fear not, I am not plying you this night with wine in order to have my wicked way with you. Ha ha, I am not of that persuasion, for I have had more than my fair share of the fairer sex, dear boy.” Rick laughed out loud.

  “I…I am glad to hear that,” Paul replied sheepishly, which made Rick laugh more. “So do you not believe in the Crusades for you seem well versed in it?” he then asked trying to change the subject.

  “No I do not.”

  “Are you perchance an atheist?…My father has told me about such people,” Paul rather clumsily asked.

  Rick looked at him, more like a stare, but then broke into a kind smile.

  “No, but I am a deist.”

  “What…what is a deist? It sounds like some kind of clothing work to do with the colours of dyes,” Paul remarked.

  “You are funny, young Paul…Deists are men, and women, who believe in god but in a universal and open minded way. The only religious ideal being one of total religious freedom. But as for the Crusades, what can I tell you?”

  “How about everything you know? I am eager to hear other people’s opinions and perspectives for it would seem the Crusades have impacted heavily upon my family and still do. I struggle to understand it for I have friends, good friends soon to become family, who are Muslims, and yet all I hear is that they are Imperialist and savage and wish to subjugate the entire world under Islam, yet this is not what my friends are like,” Paul explained, almost pained in his expression as he spoke.

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