Outremer I

by D. N. Carter

  “Bit abrupt!” Paul said bemused.

  “No, just busy I suspect. Right, let’s be getting you this horse sorted,” Rick said as he removed a simple riding saddle from the fence post.

  “Why the saddle?…I am not riding that,” Paul said alarmed.

  “Hah! Afraid of horses…just like your father, eh?” Rick laughed and held the saddle up on his chest. “This comes with the purchase…but up to you if you wish to walk all the way home,” he continued and motioned with his head for Paul to unhinge the pen straps to enter the horse stall area. Quickly Paul lifted the straps and pulled the pen gating open. “I bet you have never even put a saddle on before?” Rick asked as he approached the horse.

  “Of course I have. I know how to ride…I just choose not to,” Paul answered defensively.

  “Really?” Rick replied as he slung the saddle over the horse’s back. He started to pull the straps down to link them when several knights approached them.

  “No, no, no, not that horse! That filly is mine,” Gerard shouted, waving his hand in a dismissive fashion. He pushed past Paul at the entrance and immediately removed the saddle and threw it upon the floor.

  “I beg your pardon, sire, for you are mistaken; that horse is mine…paid for in full and agreed by the commander…,” Paul said, protesting.

  Gerard swung around quickly, his main chain mail overcoat hitting against Rick on his thigh.

  “Not you again, boy. This filly is MINE! Mine, do you understand? ’Tis why I am here in this backwater town. That horse is yours,” Gerard stated and pointed animatedly at the other horse. The horse seemed to stop snorting as if it knew what was being said. This made Rick chuckle. Paul looked at the other horse.

  “No, I do not think so,” Paul replied and pointed out the black signature mark on the hind legs of the horse as Gerard was already fixing the noseband of a bridle set on its head.

  Gerard stopped, looked to his right at the mark. He paused for a moment then let the bridle brow band straps hang loose as he stepped nearer the black lettering. He licked his fingers then started rubbing the marks. As the two signature letters had been put on using charcoal markers, they quickly and easily rubbed away to leave just a smudge.

  “I see no markings now…therefore you must be mistaken,” he said sarcastically and immediately returned to fixing the bridle straps.

  “I have heard about you. The rumours are obviously true. You are nothing but a glorified thief,” Paul shot back angrily. Gerard froze as Rick raised a hand to his forehead and shook his head no. Gerard stood still for what seemed an age clearly concentrating on controlling his anger. Paul could see he was angered but he too was angered at his arrogance. He clenched his fists in anticipation. Rick stood nearer to Paul, shaking his head in silence. Gerard let out a cough, pulled the bridle cheek straps tighter, nodded to the knight nearest the pen gate to open it. As the knight opened them, Gerard, his back still towards Paul, led the horse out of the pound. As the horse exited, the other knight quickly shut the gate again as Paul rushed over to it. “I will not forget this. You have no honour!” Paul shouted as Gerard walked away with the horse as others just stood and watched. Paul felt Rick’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Paul, neither will he forget this…I fear you have just made an enemy there,” Rick said quietly. Angry, Paul flounced around to look at the remaining horse. “So come on. Take this horse and be on your way as quickly as you can…after all, it’s not a bad horse. Gerard has taken the filly and you have gotten the colt by the looks of it. He may look rougher and older than Gerard’s horse, in fact he may even be a stallion by the looks of him already, but I assure you, this horse will prove the stronger of the two. And besides, your father was purchasing a Turcoman horse from Gerard with no mention of sex, so don’t forget he ultimately and rightfully has the final choice which one you take,” Rick explained trying to calm and reassure him.

  “I despise and hate bullies and people filled with such arrogance,” Paul replied, his face still red and flushed with anger.

  “Hate is a strong word, young Paul. You will be as wise to put this behind you. Come, I will help you saddle up…and God willing you will return soon for a second visit,” Rick said, his tone lowered. Paul immediately noticed this fact.

  In silence Paul helped Rick saddle the Turcoman horse and within minutes Paul was ready to leave. The horse jerked its head initially as Rick led it from the pen but it quickly calmed down as he handed the reins to Paul.

  “This horse has sense, Paul. It trusts you already,” Rick remarked as they led it towards the arched town entrance way across the corbelled square and towards the road that led back to La Rochelle. “Now travel carefully and I do pray that in time you will indeed come and revisit me,” Rick said solemnly. “Now you have the box and oil I gave you yes?” he asked.

  “Yes I do,” Paul answered and patted the small satchel bag on his hip. “And I shall most certainly return to visit again. Despite Gerard, it has been an honour to meet with you and share your hospitality.”

  2 – 31

  “Then hurry, for I sense you have urgent business to attend to regarding a certain female no less,” Rick smiled. “You are always welcome here and the honour was mine truly,” Rick said and raised his hand as Paul started to walk away leading the large Turcoman horse. Nervously he looked up at the horse, its eye seeming to look directly at him. It neighed briefly and, without any fuss, much to Paul’s relief, started to walk alongside him. Paul turned to wave once more at Rick but he was already gone from view. He must have walked off almost immediately.

  As the miles slowly passed, the sun rose higher much to Paul’s delight. He looked at the horse and contemplated riding him several times, but his lack of riding experience and nervousness around horses stopped him. Besides, he would rather take longer getting home with the horse than risk mounting it and it bolting away. The main road was unusually busy with carts and people heading in both directions, which helped make the time pass quicker it seemed. Half way back to La Rochelle he stopped to let the horse graze and drink from a stream. As he sat, all he could think about was Alisha. He only had about two hour’s worth of walking left at best but he would be glad to be home. He had only been away less than twenty-four hours but it felt like at age.

  La Rochelle, Manor House, Rue de Stella Maris, 1178

  Paul saw his home and sighed with relief. The last part of the journey had taken longer than he had expected, his feet were hurting and his arm was aching from where he had been holding the reins. He led the horse around to the rear entrance of the house and tied it up in the enclosed courtyard area. Once he was sure it was secure, he entered via the kitchen hall entrance. He popped his head in first and was surprised to see no one inside.

  “Hello…anyone here?” he called out as he made his way across the kitchen and headed for the main hallway. As he stepped up into the entrance hall, his father suddenly appeared as he stepped out from his study. “Father, I am home.”

  “Yes, yes I can see that…but where have you been? You are late,” Philip asked, his voice clipped.

  “Sorry, Father, but I assumed you had gathered I would be late for it is not a journey to be done in one day,” Paul said somewhat confused at his father’s tone.

  “Yes I knew you would be staying the night. That is why I made sure the sergeant had your overnight items, but I expected you back hours ago…did you not ride the horse?” Philip replied and walked towards him.

  “Er, er no…you know me and horses. And the sergeant left me and I did not have any overnight items from him for me at all,” Paul quickly replied.

  “He did not?” Philip asked, bemused, and thought for a moment. “Well my son…please, come and sit with me awhile for I have news I fear you will not like,” he continued and tried to usher Paul back towards the kitchen.

  “They have gone haven’t they?” Paul instantly snapped and pulled away from his father.

  “Paul, now you are tired…so listen to me now. Yes…t
hey have left. You must have passed them on the road.”

  “When did they leave? How long ago…tell me father now, how long ago?” Paul pleaded as panic and alarm registered across his tired face.

  “Son…they waited as long as they could. Now it was hard for me also, as I have had to say goodbye to Raja too…but we shall all meet again before you know it.”

  “NO! No, this cannot be happening,” Paul snapped, turned around and rushed towards his small study room. Quickly Philip followed after him into the room. Paul opened a closed drawer and pulled out his draft poem for Alisha. He quickly read it to make sure it was his almost finished version then rolled it up, placed it inside a leather waterproofed tube and slung it over his shoulder, pulled the strap tight and immediately walked for the door.

  “Paul, where do you think you are going?” Philip demanded and put his hand across the doorway. Paul pushed his father’s hand aside briskly and flounced past him as Philip reached out to grab him, but Paul moved too quickly. Philip tried to hurry after him as he ran out through the kitchen. As Philip walked out of the kitchen into the courtyard, Paul was already untying the horse. “Paul, I demand you stand down,” Philip said loudly.

  Paul immediately placed his foot in the stirrup and began to pull himself up, the first time falling back down as he had not anticipated the height of the horse being so tall. As Philip approached him, he half jumped up onto the horse and placed both feet in the stirrups. Philip grabbed his leg and looked up at him.

  “Father, let go of my leg,” Paul ordered.

  “It is not going to happen, Paul. You do not know where they are by now, nor do you know how to ride this horse properly when in such a state,” Philip explained, his grip squeezing tighter on Paul’s leg.

  “Father, I must do this…with your approval or not. I have never disobeyed you before but this time I must,” Paul replied looking at his father, tears welling in his own eyes.

  “Son, you have disobeyed me twice this past month. You are tired and clearly your emotions run high, as is the way when young, so please, before you do yourself a serious injury, I beg you to show common sense and get down…please,” Philip asked and released his tight grip.

  Paul looked down at him. He knew his father loved him but his heart felt as though it was bursting and hurting at the same time. He just had to see Alisha. The thought of not seeing her again for many months was unbearable. He had to see her and at least give her the poem. The horse neighed and shook its head, which shook Paul out of his momentary trance. He refocused his gaze upon his father.

  “Father, I am sorry,” he said, paused for a moment as Philip stood back, then wrenched the reins back and cracked them hard. The horse instantly bolted towards the exit of the courtyard, Paul just managing to hang on as it ran out through the small opening, its hooves sparking and sliding on the cobbled stones.

  “Paul! Paul!” Philip shouted but to no avail as Paul and the horse vanished from view. Philip shrugged and sighed heavily. He shook his head, his hands placed upon his hips as the house kitchen squire Thomas rushed into the courtyard.

  “Sire, sire, shall I go after him?” asked squire Thomas.

  Philip stood still shaking his head no. It was pointless chasing after him, especially as he was on a Turcoman horse.

  “No. Just pray he stays on the horse and comes to no harm…oh the foolishness and pain of first love, he doesn’t even know what port they are sailing from,” Philip said aloud. He turned slowly and walked back towards the kitchen entrance followed by the house squire. “And please, Thomas, whilst we are at it, I have said you do not need to keep calling me sire.”

  “Yes sire, of course sire…I mean…Philip!”

  Paul managed to stay on the horse, all sense of caution thrown to the wind in his panic driven state to get to Alisha. He arrived at the port dockside within minutes. He could immediately see that none of the ships in the harbour were being made ready and his heart sank. Their ship must have already left.

  “Excuse me, can you tell me what time the last ship left here?” Paul asked an elderly woman sat on a stool nearby darning some sacks.

  “No ships left today. Next one doesn’t leave until the morrow’s morn high tide,” she replied just as several large seagulls started to flap around nearby and squawk loudly. The horse reared up slightly but Paul quickly patted the side of its neck and it calmed down. He pulled the horse around as he tried to think and work out where they must be leaving from. His mind racing, he vaguely recalled hearing his father discussing travel arrangements from Marseilles. “Only shipping leaving today goes from Marseilles or Rochefort,” the old lady said pointing towards the main road leading out of La Rochelle.

  Paul turned the horse to face the road as several people started to gather around puzzled at seeing him on such a large horse. ‘It must be Marseilles. Damn how could I have missed them on the way home?’ he thought to himself.

  “Okay, boy…please help me this day find her and I promise I will take very good care of you, this I swear,” Paul said quietly. “Gee up!” The horse started to trot and within moments Paul found himself on the main road. He paused and held the reins back, stopping the horse for a moment. The road was dry and dusty and few people were now on it. His heart beat faster and he was scared of riding the horse at full speed, but he had to see Alisha. He took the reins in his hands tighter, cracked them and motioned with his legs to move off forwards. He nearly fell backwards at the sudden speed the horse took off with.

  As the horse ran fast, Paul held on for dear life. After a short while he settled into the rhythmic motions of the fast running and actually began to enjoy the speed and thrill as trees flashed past him, the horse instinctively following the wide dirt road ahead of them. Three men cheered, or jeered, he wasn’t sure, as he raced past them. After a while the horse began to tire and slow down, but still kept running. Only as the horse started to slow more, did Paul start to think. Marseille was hundreds of miles away. Would he be able to catch up with them in time…which route had they taken?…Suddenly his great plan was falling apart as the realisation began to hit him that he was being foolish and impetuous. There were many routes they could take and he had no provisions or proper clothing. He pulled the horse up and stopped near a lone oak tree. He looked at the tree. ‘Oh the irony, an oak tree’ he thought to himself. He slouched in the saddle. The realisation he would not see Alisha hit him hard and he could feel the tears well in the corners of his eyes. Even the horse seemed to lower its head in sadness, but was just grazing on the green grass at the base of the oak tree. This ridiculous thought made Paul laugh for a moment. Then he cried. He felt embarrassed at crying but simply could not hold in the emotions he had. As far as he could see in either direction, the dirt road was empty. He was totally alone. Never had he felt so alone in all of his life as at that moment. He sat in the saddle just sobbing when it started to rain. Rain spattered upon his face as he looked up. He began to laugh out loud at the absurdity of his position, how he felt and now the rain.

  “My Lord, honestly…rain too?” he asked aloud. Slowly he turned the horse around and started to head back for La Rochelle. As he did he noted a milestone. ‘La Rochelle – 20 miles’ it read. He was surprised at how far he had come in such a short time. He leaned forwards and patted the horse on its neck. “Well, my friend, it would appear I can ride after all thanks to you. Despite failing in reaching Alisha, I shall keep my promise to look after you well. That I do promise. And one day soon, the sooner the better, you shall meet her too.”

  It was dark and raining hard as if to add to Paul’s pain when he pulled the horse up in the rear courtyard of his home. As he was tying the horse up, squire Thomas rushed out with a large blanket. Paul wearily stepped away from the horse. He went to take the blanket.

  “No, sorry master Paul, the blanket is for the horse, not you,” Thomas explained and threw it over the horse. The horse turned and looked at Paul and he let out a small laugh thinking the horse somehow knew.


  “I guess I am in big trouble now, then, when the horse gets priority over me,” Paul said wearily and began to walk towards the kitchen doorway.

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

  “Oh bless his poor little soul. He didn’t get the poem to her after all,” Sarah said.

  “I bet his father must have beat him black and blue?” the stonemason said as he sat up clasping his hands together as all looked at the old man, waiting for him to explain what happened next.

  “No, his father did not lay a finger upon him. He knew Paul was already suffering enough. He was tired, soaked through to the skin and his heart felt like it was breaking. I am sure we can all relate to that feeling at some point in our lives,” the old man explained.

  “So what did he do?” Sarah asked intently.

  “What any good father would do. Made sure the horse was stabled and warm, and then personally prepared his son a hot tub to relax in. His father simply greeted him with open arms, in part relieved he had not killed himself on the horse but also himself sad that his best friend and future wife had also had to leave. This fact finally registered in Paul as he sat quietly in the hot tub of water. His father had yet again impressed upon him his wisdom, tolerance and kindness. He counted himself lucky for he knew not many fathers would have been so forgiving of their own son’s total disobedience,” the old man explained.

  “Oh yes we can certainly testify to that fact,” the Hospitaller chipped in with a large smile as his Templar brother acknowledged with a smile too. “Our father was a tyrant…many a clout we received for the smallest of mistakes or bad behaviour,” he explained.

  “Aye, that he did…but we loved him dearly none the less,” the Templar said and shrugged as a thousand memories of his father flooded his mind.

  “He must be proud of you both, very much,” the old man said as he placed his hand reassuringly upon the Templar’s forearm.