Outremer I

by D. N. Carter

  “If he is looking down upon us, God rest his soul, I pray that is so now, for he was not whilst he was alive,” the Templar replied, sorrow clearly visible in his deep brown eyes.

  “Fathers can appear harsh at times, but it is usually as they fail to express their love properly, that is all. I am sure he loved you both dearly,” the old man said and sat back.

  “No,” the Hospitaller interjected quickly. “He was an utter bastard. Our mother died giving birth to us…you see, we are twins…in case you hadn’t noticed…and our father always hated us for that…we were nothing but a burden upon him from the start,” he explained further as his brother simply nodded in agreement.

  “I suspect he still loved you really, but even if he did not, the failing is his, not yours, and if I were your father, I would be immensely proud of the fine men you have become,” the old man said looking at both in turn. Both knights looked at each other, clearly emotions running deep as they gave out a nervous laugh and looked at the old man, then the rest of the group. Sensing they were embarrassed Stephan stood up.

  “I think more drink is called for. I can make something hot to drink if you wish,” he asked.

  “No, you sit down, I shall make some drinks. Then I want to hear what this Paul fellow did next,” Sarah said and pointed for Stephan to sit back down. He sat down immediately.

  “For hearts are so often torn and lives broken…and all too easily,” the old man sighed heavily.

  Chapter 5

  Hope, Patience & to Learn All Things Anew!

  Sarah returned to the table carrying several wooden peg ale tankards filled with heated Syrup of Jule.

  “There you all go, that will fortify your stomachs and it will lighten the body and mind, and in this it is most extraordinary in doing so, God willing, so hopefully it will stop some of you from moaning,” she stated, pushing the first tankard towards the fishmonger. “I shall return with more for the others, and then we can continue without any further interruptions I hope,” she finished and immediately went back for the other tankards.

  The old man smiled broadly. He cupped the large wooden peg tankard in his hands relishing the warmth it gave off. He flipped open the wooden lid and sipped it several times as Sarah came back in with the other tankards full of the warm syrupy drink for the remainder around the table. The stocky stonemason gave her a wink and she playfully slapped his head before seating herself down again.

  “Thank you most kindly. The drink is most welcome and delicious,” the old man said then sat back in the chair. “I shall continue,” he exclaimed and clasped his hands together. He sat quietly for a moment, closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep. After a few minutes, the Hospitaller leant forwards and gently touched his forearm. “Fear not, I am still awake. These old bones are not yet ready to depart this world,” he said softly. “I was just trying to remember all that occurred that day…for I can tell you that despite Paul’s desperate race to meet Alisha and deliver his poem, he had in fact missed them by mere moments.”

  “Really, how so?” asked Sarah intently.

  “You recall I mentioned that on his way back to La Rochelle with the horse, he stopped by a stream to eat his lunch and let the horse drink. Well, as he sat there, several carts passed over the small bridge. Alisha, Firgany, Taqi and Raja were all in the cart that crossed it as Paul was actually leading the horse down to the stream.”

  “Oh no, that is just terrible bad luck and timing,” Sarah remarked and sat back disappointed.

  “Did they not see him?” the Spanish sailor chipped in quizzically.

  “No…Raja was too upset at having to leave so soon and by land…Taqi was walking on the far side of the cart, Firgany was too busy steering the cart itself…and Alisha, she was in the covered rear section curled up feeling pretty sorry for herself.”

  “Perhaps it was providential Paul did not see them, for perhaps he would have gone with them, yes?” the Templar said, then sipped his warm drink.

  “Perhaps. But as is the way in life, chance and fate always play a part somehow. But what Paul did not know was that Alisha had gone into his study, taken out the poem and copied it word for word in her own language,” the old man explained.

  “Ahh that’s wonderful…how lovely, so she did sort of get the poem,” Sarah said happily and sat up straight with a large smile across her face.

  “Well, she also left a message in Paul’s desk, but in his eagerness to rush after her, he missed it completely,” the old man pointed out and raised an eyebrow.

  “Pardon my ignorance, but why again did they have to leave so soon and by land and not sea?” the stocky stonemason asked.

  “They could not leave by sea as the trade routes would take them south around Portugal and Spain’s southern shores, where a lot of attacks had started up by marauding pirates capitalising on the rumours of more conflict between Muslim Moors but also the rumours of a jihad coming out of Arabia towards Constantinople. By going overland, it was a long route but just as quick and far safer if they could get to Marseilles,” the old man detailed whilst gesturing with his finger a route on the table.

  “Hey, you use the term pirates as if we are all privateers,” the Genoese sailor said.

  “Oh I am sorry; perhaps I should use another term. I forget you are also known as pierates…my apology,” the old man said softly.

  “Perhaps you would do well to explain who we sailors are for I fear we already solicit a bad name…yet we are essential are we not to our Templar and Hospitaller friends there, no?” the sailor pushed, clearly upset by any inference of their honour being questioned.

  All looked at the Templar and Hospitaller, who both shrugged their shoulders, then the old man.

  “I have no issue or problem in explaining that if you so feel aggrieved. As our esteemed brothers here would testify I am sure, both their brotherhoods require an extreme amount of organisation and logistics behind them; just one single knight has three horses and many diverse suits of armour, he has some eight assistants, his dozen or so guards too have horses and assistants, and all must eat. Even after they have been transported to the Holy Land they require supplies. During the last Crusade, no less than two thousand four hundred ships plying back and forth from European ports were used. The Templar fleet is as you know distinguishable by a big red cross on whitened sails, however, although there is generally a Templar onboard, the majority of their ships are ‘chartered’. Almost all charter ships available are owned by Privateers, Pirate and Peiran. The charter agreements with the Templars are a valuable business. You will find that ninety per cent of the Templar fleet alone is on charter. That means that the captain, who is often the ship owner, and his crew simply allow the ship to be used for Templar operations. So what we have is a joint venture between two diverse brotherhoods, Templars and Peiran Pirates. This joint venture is ongoing though some have now become a sub brotherhood of ‘Templar Pirates’ or ‘Pirate Templars’. This sub-brotherhood has projected the Templars into trade, the immediate effect being the introduction into Europe of such things as the compass, cotton, chess, ginger and spices, algebra and our present system of numeration amongst an array of other important world changing imports. Some have said that trade has replaced ‘religion’ and become the prime mover of the Templar fleet…so now, my sailor friend…does this explanation set right any misconception I may have portrayed?” the old man explained, then asked politely.

  “I would have to say yes…it does,” the Genoese sailor replied, feeling a little foolish, and sipped his drink.

  “You do realise of course that should the day ever come when we fall foul of the Pope’s blessings, for the Papacy already fears our power and reach, you too shall likewise be put outside the law. You will not wish to fly our ships’ standards of the skull and crossbones then,” the Templar remarked philosophically.

  “You perhaps know things about the Papacy most here are not privy too…but your words may just prove prophetic without you realising just how so,”
the old man said, looking at the Templar quizzically.

  “Not prophetic…just things I have seen, and heard…and how the world works. That is all,” the Templar replied.

  “Er hum! I think I am going to offend again I am sure, but please pray tell how would you know these details, not the sailor stuff, but about Paul and Alisha, if they both missed each other…not saying I don’t believe you now of course,” the fishmonger said and looked at Sarah, quickly raising his hands almost in defence.

  All around the table looked at him exasperated almost shaking their heads.

  “He raises a good point again…but in answer I shall say, also once again, I will reveal just how I know these details later, suffice it to say there is a simple explanation,” the old man explained patiently as Sarah glared at the fishmonger. “Please, before we continue, may I ask of your name, dear sire?” the old man asked the fishmonger.

  The fishmonger started to blush and clasped his large hands awkwardly as everyone looked at him.

  1 – 20

  “It is Simon,” he answered sheepishly almost.

  “Typical and how original. Like in Simon the Fisherman no less!” the Templar said sarcastically and drank a large mouthful of his drink before setting the tankard down hard.

  “In that case, Simon…how about keeping quiet…just for a while…and let us hear the rest of this story, please…eh?” Sarah said, looking at him hard. Stephan feigned a pained frown and grimaced mockingly, which made the old man smile. Simon nodded immediately. “Okay…now please continue,” Sarah finished and looked at the old man.

  “Well, I can tell you that the following morning, Paul sat for some while with his father, both saddened that the women in their lives had left. Paul explained where he had stayed the night with Rick, though Philip was insistent that he knew no such person. He accepted he knew of the old keep house but as far as he was aware, the owner had died and the keep absent of people for many years. Paul showed him the small box with the rosehip oil and markings but Philip looked upon it bemused saying he did not know what it stood for. He agreed that Paul could speak with Niccolas about it and to confirm if he knew Rick or not. Paul did not miss the fact that his father looked troubled when he was looking over the little box. He sensed his father knew more than he was letting on. And as for Alisha…she was devastated…she held onto that poem so tightly, like her life depended upon it…so young and still so innocent…”

  La Rochelle, Chapel of Sainte-Marie, late spring of 1178

  Wearily Paul knocked on the main door. He stood stooped low, sadness etched across his young face as if carrying the weight of the world upon his shoulders. As he waited for Niccolas to open the door, he handled the little wooden box that Rick had given him.

  “You look joyless,” Niccolas said from behind as he approached from the side of the chapel carrying a basket full of apples and wearing an overly large sun hat. Startled, Paul dropped the little box but quickly picked it up again fast and checked over it. “Ah, the little box your father sent word of,” he continued, shaking his head and looking at the small box quizzically. “Come inside, I shall need a closer look,” he smiled, clutched the basket of apples with both hands tightly and turned to face the chapel’s main door, then kicked it hard forcing it open. Paul let out a slight laugh at the sight of the old man booting the door in. “A smile…that is better…come on… inside with you now.”

  As Paul followed Niccolas into the church he wondered why his father had already sent word about the little box, especially if it had no real meaning. Perhaps his father was as curious as he was, but then why not simply wait until Paul returned later with that information? Paul was suspicious and felt uncomfortable to find himself questioning his father’s actions. He quickly shrugged it off as he watched Niccolas place the basket of apples down near the altar, enter his side room, slowly open the cover to his underground vault of books and treasures, as Paul now referred to it. Niccolas lit the little candles as they descended the spiral stairway in an almost deliberately slow manner as if every step and motion meant something. He briefly wondered how Taqi and Alisha were but before he could think more on that, Niccolas clicked his fingers for him to pass over the little box. As Paul handed it to him, Niccolas sat down and almost reverentially placed it upon the stone table. Without a word, Niccolas lit a large lanthorn’s candle and moved it closer to the box. He stared at it for what seemed an age before finally sitting back up straight. “Your father was correct. We have seen this box before…but many many years ago. He tells me you said a man named Rick gave you this and that you stayed at the old manor keep in Rochefort,” Niccolas stated rather than asked.

  “Yes, I did…but father said he knew nothing of this box nor any person named Rick,” Paul replied confused and sat on the bench next to Niccolas.

  “You know your father…never one to cause alarm. But I have to tell you he does indeed know of this very box. But he wished me to confirm before saying anything.”

  “But it is just a simple gift from an old man with some healing rose oil. Is it not?” Paul asked.

  “No, dear boy. It is not just a mere box or just mere rosehip oil,” Niccolas said with a knowing look in his eyes that immediately fired Paul’s imagination.

  “Then please tell,” Paul said excitedly.

  “Firstly I must say, I have never heard of any such person ever being named Rick before, especially in Rochefort. But secondly, I must also point out that there was once a time when your father, Firgany and I knew a man who owned this very box. I know this as the man I speak of, made many copies of this very box himself. But it cannot surely be the same we once knew, for he is long since passed over,” Niccolas sighed as he studied the box closer.

  “I assure you, the man was very much alive. Full of life for his age too! He still tends the vines there,” Paul remarked.

  “That I must see, for the vineyard of that keep has long since ceased to bear fruit for nigh on fifteen years plus,” Niccolas explained and picked up the box. “Did this man explain anything of the symbolism upon this?” he asked.

  “Yes, but only the part on Israel…nothing else. He said that I would have to find out the rest myself if I wanted to,” Paul answered, shaking his head.

  “That makes sense. Just enough to get you started,” Niccolas said quietly and just stared at the box for ages. Paul eventually coughed to get his attention back. “I am sorry…I was lost in many thoughts from a time very distant now. Come closer, I shall explain some more; well, more of what little I do know,” Niccolas said as he leant across his stone table and picked up a round instrument of glass. Paul looked on fascinated as Niccolas placed the glass instrument nearer to the box, the image on the glass appearing far bigger. Niccolas noticed his reaction. “Here, look for yourself. It is but a magnifying glass. A tool like any other,” he explained and handed him the magnifier. “As you can guess, it is of Islamic origin,” Niccolas said as Paul looked through it at the box, captivated.

  “It is like magic,” Paul smiled, impressed as he focused the image of the Dara knot until it looked huge.

  “You are aware that is what is known as the Dara knot? The tree was a central part of early Celtic spirituality. To the Celts, the tree was a source of basic sustenance…a bearer of food, a provider of shelter and fuel for cooking and warmth. Without trees, life would have been extraordinarily difficult. You already know that the name Is-Ra-El is the combination of the names of ancient pagan deities Isis, Ra and El. And the magnifying glass you hold, it can magnify the sun’s rays and make fire. It concentrates and focuses to a point the energy from the sunlight. That is the power of concentration, and that is what this little box is all about for our minds work the same way. When we focus our attention on an idea, the process of creation begins. You might think that the magnifying glass in this example is a metaphor, when it is actually a symbol. What’s the difference? you may ask,” Niccolas explained then waited for Paul’s response. But Paul was too engrossed in looking through the ma
gnifying glass. Niccolas coughed loudly.

  “Oh I am sorry. Symbols…you were saying something about symbols,” Paul replied but kept looking through the magnifier at the two carved images.

  “Hmm! Symbols have power. Here, maybe this will interest you,” Niccolas said as he opened an ornate marble box on the table. Gently he lifted out a small pendant necklace of a stylised female goddess but it looked more like a stylised bee. “This pendant once belonged to that very box. Whoever gave it to you knew of your father and I…that is for certain.”

  “Yes, he said he knew of you, Firgany, my father…but also of Sister Lucy, though he only called her Lucy. I do not think he knew she had become a nun,” Paul replied, looking at the small pendant. Niccolas placed the pendant in Paul’s hand and closed it shut.

  “You must now have this. I have done my charge of keeping it safe. It belongs in the box and with you now,” Niccolas said, the firmness of his hands clasping his shut surprising him.

  “I cannot take this,” Paul remarked.

  “You can and you must. I will not hear any more on the matter,” Niccolas nodded. “Now before you utter another word, let me explain that the symbolism of this cedar wood box is in reference to wood from sacred trees that had magical properties, which was reflected in the Celtic Ogham alphabet, wherein each letter represents a particular sacred tree. You may learn in time that Ogham divination is based on the use and importance of these sacred trees to the Celtic peoples, for Celtic traditions are but some of the few that still hold pure to their original roots, pardon the pun there. Some trees provide food, some wood for making hunting weapons; others were sacred to the fairy-folk or to the gods. In Celtic creation stories, trees were the ancestors of mankind, elder beings of wisdom who provided the alphabet, the calendar, and entrance to the realms of the gods. Trees were also associated in the Shamanic beliefs of the Druids and other Celtic peoples with the supernatural world.” Niccolas paused as he saw Paul react to the mention of Druids. Paul had immediately thought back to how he had thought that perhaps Rick was a Druid. “Trees were a connection to the world of the spirits and the ancestors, living entities, and doorways into other worlds. The most sacred tree of all was the oak tree, which represented the axis mundi, the centre of the world. The Celtic name for oak, daur, is the origin of the word door! The root of the oak was literally the doorway to the Otherworld, the realm of Fairy. The word Druid, the name of the Celtic Priestly class, is compiled from the words for oak and wise. A Druid was one who was ‘Oak Wise’, meaning learned in tree magic and guardian or the doorway. Long after the Druids of old had vanished into the mists of time, the lore of trees continues as a vital part of Celtic myth and folklore. Countless Irish legends revolve around trees. One could fall asleep next to a particular tree and awake in the Fairy realm. In Celtic legends of the gods, trees guard sacred wells and provide healing, shelter and wisdom. Trees carried messages to the other realm, and conferred blessings. To this day, trees can be seen in the Irish countryside festooned with ribbons and pleas for favours, love, healing and prosperity. The interlaced figures known popularly as Celtic knots represent sacred trees and plants, and the sacred animals of the forest. You may already know of the use of sacred knots within Templar rites? The Green Man or foliate god is the animus of nature; the spirit of the forest and of the hunt, and is pictured as a spirit face in the form of gathered leaves and sprouting tendrils. You should pay particular attention to the Green Man myths and legends if you ever wish to really understand the mysteries of our true past,” Niccolas emphasised and Paul nodded, but he did not really know or appreciate the emphasis he was trying to make.