by D. N. Carter
The Templar looked up at her as she tried to sit back, half hiding behind the large wooden support beam. He laughed at her reaction as she blushed.
“It was frightening for her. Her father was not pleased when he returned and learnt of the event. What Alisha had not known, however, was that Nicholas, despite his youthful appearance, was one of the more seasoned and experienced Templars. He had been a decisive member at the previous year’s battle alongside the King himself…and Reynald,” the old man explained.
“Yes, yes we have heard of this Nicholas. In fact we fought on the same field with Balian de Eblin when he,” the Templar was explaining when the old man raised his finger and waved he stop speaking as he put his finger to his lips.
“Ssssh I beg…for if you know and you speak now, you may spoil the tale I recount this eve,” the old man asked politely.
“Aye, if that is what you request, I shall cease further mention. Take note, mason, the mention of this man Nicholas does now indeed add weight and credence to this man’s tale…so listen in carefully,” the Templar said and looked at the stonemason.
“My name is Peter if you must know,” the mason replied.
“To continue then, let me inform you that Firgany did not return that eve. His business took longer than expected. Nothing untoward other than the man he sought took longer to reach him than expected. But he did manage to secure their safe passage through Syria back to Mawsil. It would mean travelling to Firgany’s former home at Castle le Blanc some twenty-five miles from Tortosa to wait for their escort. But with tensions running high, it was agreed that Raja and Alisha would then stay at Castle Blanc whilst Taqi and Firgany made the journey onwards to Mawsil. Raja’s physical condition had deteriorated so travel was out of the question. Alisha, fearful of being alone at the castle with people she did not know, protested quite vociferously but Firgany’s mind was made up. Taqi and Firgany would have to travel through Assassin controlled lands. It was the most direct route and Firgany assured them he had negotiated safe passage. They could have taken the much longer route north and then east, but time was not on their side Firgany explained. His concern for Raja was real and worryingly a little too obvious for Taqi and Alisha,” the old man explained and then stopped talking for several minutes. The Templar saw that he had a tear well in his eye as the light from the fire caught it just as the old man wiped it away quickly.
“And Reynald…we know of him only too well…and I think all in here know of him already, yes?” the Hospitaller stated.
Most nodded they had heard of him.
“Truly a charismatic but brutal man. Big in size, character, ego and pride. You have spoken of Gerard de Ridefort, he too we know of only too well also, but despite his arrogance, Reynald makes Gerard look positively tame by comparison,” the Templar explained as he picked through some sweet bread on his plate without looking up once but then turning his gaze sensing the other female waitress staring at him again, still part hidden behind the wooden support beam. He smiled at her as she pulled back, embarrassed. “I could change my hair colour to blonde like Nicholas if that would help, fair maiden,” he teased. This made several around the table laugh, including the old man.
“Yes, Nicholas. One of those rare individuals you just know will leave an impression on history. He indeed embodied all that was sought in a knight. In the morning, Alisha’s concerns about travelling to Castle Blanc were eased when she saw that the Templar Marshal had charged him with the duty of escorting them along with other travellers. Only Taqi raised the question with his father as to how he had managed to obtain such a high number of Templars for escort and reassurances of safe passage through the Assassin’s lands, though they were more commonly known as Ashashin. And ‘All in good time’ is the only answer Firgany would give. Alisha managed to write a small letter for Paul and using her own limited funds was able to pay for it to be transported back to France with one of the returning Templar transport ships.”
“I am puzzled. I do not understand how this Firgany wields so much influence. Is it due to his wealth, is that it? But also, why his sudden urgency to return just because of rumours, as there has always been rumours and real conflict in the region? And I do not understand the importance or relevance of such battles as you mention. Perhaps it is too far back in my memory, but I do not recall hearing much about or of these people and events back then,” the fishmonger, Simon, said.
“You have not heard of the battle of Montgisard…or the Crusades? ’Tis impossible not to have heard of them,” the Templar shot back, irritated again.
“Of course I have heard of the Crusades…who hasn’t? But these people, these battles… they are all so remote and removed from me,” he answered.
The Templar scowled at the fishmonger. The old man was quick to see this.
“That is why with ignorant ill informed people such as you that we will one day lose the Holy Land,” the Templar chastised, anger rising in his voice as his brother placed his hand across his chest gesturing he should stay seated as he was about to move to stand.
“Gentlemen, please. It is not Simon’s fault he knows not of the disaster that is occurring in Outremer and across the whole of the Levant. It is a fact of human nature, out of sight and out of mind. Unless the forces of Islam march up to our very doors, or we have family members directly involved, most people turn a blind eye. And most at the time…those who actually went to the Holy Land did one of three things. They stayed and lived there alongside their Muslim counterparts, returned disillusioned, in which case people did not want to hear what they had to say, only choosing to only listen to the official line pedalled out as fact. Or they died, either through illness or by the sword,” the old man explained.
“I do not wish to insult, but in my work, I have no time to sit and listen or hear about such matters other than the once weekly pleasure of seeking some solace from my routine workload in a tankard of fine beer…is that so wrong of me?” Simon the fishmonger asked, looking at all around the table.
“Then perhaps it is about time you learnt your history,” the Spanish sailor suddenly interjected.
“I am all ears and would love to hear the truth, for I fear much of what little I have heard these past years is but far from the reality of what is actually happening in Outremer. For those reasons too, I have deliberately shied away from listening to too much about what occurs…not because I am ignorant or foolish,” Simon replied defensively.
“Then shut up and listen in. Perhaps the old man may educate you all this eve with what did and still does indeed happen,” the Templar said bombastically, then looked at the old man with a raised eyebrow. “That is if you would care to give a brief and accurate account if you know such details, which I highly suspect you do,” he asked.
“I am well versed in the states of affair and accounts of what occurred and still continues to occur if that is what you would like me to also explain,” the old man said quietly and sat up straight again and looked over his shoulder briefly at the dying embers of the fire
“Aye, I think it would serve us all well to get a better understanding of the history behind your tale…if you would so please share with us,” the stonemason, Peter, said looking at all in the room, who agreed.
“If you wish, but lest I bore you, I shall try and recount the background historical facts as best as I can recall first then,” the old man said as Stephan placed more logs upon the fire. “I should start with the king himself, and why tensions were so high in Outremer when they had arrived at Tortosa.” He coughed, clearing his throat, and began to explain. “At just thirteen years of age it was very evident that Baldwin was brave and wise beyond his years but was already beginning to show signs of an illness, and, believe it or not, it was the Assassins who themselves offered to help with medical expertise. But it was in 1176 that Baldwin actually came of age and took charge of the kingdom at the tender age of fifteen. During the two years since his coronation, his health condition worsened, and was clearly discernibl
e by then as leprosy. Nevertheless, he possessed the strength and character necessary to rule. Baldwin assumed full power, and soon showed that he made up for any disability with sheer nerve. One of Baldwin’s first actions as king was to reject the peace made with Saladin and raid the lands surrounding Damascus. In the first months of his reign, Baldwin proved his capacity to rule by countering Saladin with an attack on Damascus rather than a frontal assault, and at Aleppo, Baldwin demonstrated maturity and wisdom beyond his years. This forced Saladin to quit his attack in Aleppo that he was the prosecuting and adopt a defensive posture. Later that year, the young king led another raid in the Beka’a valley in Lebanon and Syria, and defeated an attack led by Saladin’s nephew. The Battle of Montgisard was fought between the Ayyubids and the Kingdom of Jerusalem on November twenty-fifth 1177. This is where Nicholas and, more importantly, Reynald made their mark. The sixteen-year-old King Baldwin IV, seriously afflicted by leprosy, led an out-numbered Christian force against the army of Saladin. The Arab force was routed and their casualties were massive, and only a fraction managed to flee to safety,” the old man recounted as they all listened intently.
“I know this too well,” the Templar said lowly, looking at the broken pieces of bread on his plate.
“Why, were you there?” Simon the fishmonger asked instantly.
“Yes!” the Templar shot back. The young waitress sighed and looked at the Templar deeply. When the table quietened down, the old man continued.
“In 1177, King Baldwin IV, and Philip of Alsace, who had recently arrived on a pilgrimage, planned an alliance with the Byzantine Empire for a naval attack on Egypt; but none of these plans came to fruition. Now this was just a year prior to Firgany’s trip and subsequent early return so all of this was fresh in the minds of many in the Levant regions. Meanwhile, Saladin planned his own invasion of the Kingdom of Jerusalem from Egypt. However, due to various spies and learning of Saladin’s plans, Baldwin IV left Jerusalem with only three hundred and seventy-five knights to attempt a defence at Ascalon, but Baldwin was stalled there by a detachment of troops sent by Saladin, who, unbelievably, had mustered a force of some twenty-six thousand men. Accompanying Baldwin was Raynald of Châtillon, lord of Oultrejordain himself, whom, having just been released from captivity in Aleppo in 1176, was more than willing and eager to seek his own personal vengeance. Reynald was a fierce enemy of Saladin and, it has to be argued, was the most effective commander of the army up to that point. And with King Baldwin being too ill with leprosy to command it personally, it fell to Reynald. Also with the army were Odo de St Amand, master of the Knights Templar, Baldwin of Ibelin, his brother Balian, Reginald of Sidon and Joscelin the Third of Edessa. Another Templar force attempted to meet Baldwin at Ascalon, but they were also besieged at Gaza. Saladin continued his march towards Jerusalem, thinking that Baldwin would not dare to follow him with so few men. He attacked Ramla, Lydda and Arsuf, but because Baldwin was supposedly not a danger, he allowed his army to be spread out over a large area, pillaging and foraging. However, unknown to Saladin, the forces he had left to subdue the King had been insufficient and now both Baldwin and the Templars were marching to intercept him before he reached Jerusalem. The Christians, led by the King, pursued the Muslims along the coast, finally catching their enemies at Mons Gisardi, near Ramla. Saladin was taken totally by surprise. His army was in disarray, out of formation and tired from a long march. Saladin’s army, in a state of panic, scrambled to make battle lines against the enemy. However, in the distance, the Christian army was completely quiet. King Baldwin ordered the relic of the True Cross to be raised in front of the troops. The King, whose teenage body was already ravaged by aggressive leprosy, was helped from his horse and dropped to his knees before the cross. He prayed to God for victory and rose to his feet to cheers from his army. As Saladin’s army rushed to prepare, Baldwin began the charge across the sand,” the old man detailed slowly but thoroughly.
“What, even being so ill?” Sarah asked, shocked.
“Yes…perhaps he would have rather died in battle, with honour, than waste away slowly and painfully. We shall never know, but he led the charge alongside Reynald and their small forces smashed into the hurriedly arranged Muslims, inflicting huge casualties. The King, fighting with bandaged hands to cover his terrible wounds and sores, was in the thick of the fighting and Saladin’s men were quickly overwhelmed. They tried to flee but hardly any escaped. Saladin himself only avoided capture by escaping on a racing camel. King Baldwin’s victory was total. He had utterly destroyed the invasion force, captured Saladin’s baggage train and killed his nephew, Taqi al-Din’s son, Ahmad. Baldwin pursued Saladin until nightfall, and then retired to Ascalon. Deluged by ten days of heavy rains and suffering the loss of roughly ninety per cent of his army, including his personal bodyguard of Mamluks, Saladin fled back to Egypt, harassed by Bedouins along the way. Only one tenth of his army made it back to Egypt with him,” the old man concluded and relaxed back in his large chair.
“So why, if this happened, did Taqi believe that Muslims had won the day?” asked Simon the fishmonger.
2 – 16
“Propaganda for Saladin to save face and to stall for time to recover in Egypt and reconsolidate his position and forces,” the Hospitaller answered, the old man nodding in agreement.
“It was not all one sided in victory for King Baldwin, forever known afterwards as the ‘Leper King’. Though he memorialised his victory by erecting a Benedictine monastery on the battlefield, dedicated to St Catherine of Alexandria, whose feast day fell on the day of the battle, it was still a difficult victory; Roger des Moulins, master of the Knights Hospitaller, reported that eleven hundred men had been killed and seven hundred and fifty returned home wounded. Saladin, fearing the tenuousness of both his hold on Egypt and the alliance with his Syrian vassals, spread the propaganda, the same that Taqi had been told of, that the Christians had in fact lost the battle. Also, and consequently, Raymond the Third of Tripoli and Bohemund the Third of Antioch joined with Philip of Alsace in a separate expedition against Harim in Syria; the siege of Harim lasted into 1178, and Saladin’s defeat at Montgisard prevented him from relieving his Syrian vassals, so tensions were indeed high at the time as this siege was still ongoing as Firgany’s family had set foot in Tortosa. It would take until 1179 before Saladin was able to renew his attacks on the kingdom, including his victory at the Battle of Marj Ayyun that year. After his withdrawal, Saladin reorganised his armies in Egypt with the assistance of his brother Turan-Shah and received the ambassador of the powerful Kilij Arslan. These events would in turn have profound effects upon Paul and Alisha as their futures would inevitably be entwined in the machinations of power that were beginning to unfold…but I am running ahead of myself,” the old man explained, looking uncomfortable.[4]
“And you were actually there at those times?” asked the young waitress, her face flushed red as she blushed looking at the Templar. He simply nodded as his brother placed a hand upon his shoulder reassuringly.
“You must be some kind of historian or record keeper to know all of this,” the stonemason said.
“No, neither…I just made it my business to be informed and aware. I thought if I knew and could understand I could make a difference…and perhaps change things for the better,” the old man explained in reply.
“Huh, is that not just the truth,” the Templar said and shrugged.
“You understand me on this,” the old man acknowledged looking at him.
“Aye, I do indeed…”
“Plus I have journals and diaries from some of the people I speak of, still in my possession,” the old man explained solemnly.
“My goodness…so you can prove what you are telling us is indeed true?” Sarah remarked excitedly then looked at the fishmonger.
“Yes, I could. I would not expect you to believe me and accept what I say unquestioningly. And as you have shown faith in me so far this night, I will indeed show you all the diaries and journals upon co
mpletion of my tale about this sword,” the old man said and placed his right hand upon the sword next to him.
“Please, if you are not too tired, for I see that weighs heavy upon you…tell us what happened next,” Sarah asked almost pleadingly, her hands clasped together.
“Of course. You do me the great honour of listening, so I shall gladly continue,” the old man replied and again leant forwards, the logs on the fire once again blazing away. “It had been a rapid time of changes for all to find hope, patience and to learn all things anew,” he sighed.
Chapter 6
When Death comes Calling!
Castle Blanc, County of Tripoli in the Levant, 1178
As the small caravan of pilgrims and several merchant carts drew nearer to Castle Blanc, the main castle keep stood out clearly visible from miles away. Several Templars on horseback rode at the front as a vanguard and also at the rear of the column. Further behind, a group of other travellers was following. Alisha sat in the rear of a sheltered cart with Raja as Taqi and Firgany sat up front with a Templar sergeant, who was steering. The air was warm and humid but as they gained height, a cool breeze blew up from the coast. Alisha closed her eyes and faced into the wind as it blew her hair. Raja smiled at her. Nicholas looked back from his horse up front in time to see her and he too smiled.
“It has been a while since last I was here,” Firgany said aloud to himself as the cart rocked slightly upon the stony path.
“Father, you said that our family once owned this…is that so?” Taqi asked.
“Yes…but a long time ago. We had a large residence where our family had lived for generations, but then it was built over with the keep you see yonder. I was last here to help with repairs along with Philip after it was damaged by an earthquake. Our family still holds deeds to the land, but alas the Counts of Tripoli now exercise their rights to claim it as theirs. It is why we moved to Mawsil. Chastel Blanc, but called Burj Safita or Safita Tower, by us, was built by the Knights Templar and deliberately constructed on that middle hill of Safita’s three hills,” Firgany explained and pointed, which drew Alisha’s gaze as she turned to see what he was talking about. “It offers commanding views of the surrounding countryside. It is now a major part of the network of Crusader fortifications in this area. From the roof, you can see from the Mediterranean Sea to the snow-covered mountains of Lebanon, and Tripoli, and on a clear day it is possible to see the Templar strongholds at Tortosa and Arwad Island, Chastel Rouge on the coastline to the southwest, Akkar to the south, and Crac de l’Ospital (Krak des Chevaliers), where the headquarters of the Syrian Knights Hospitaller are to the southeast. The keep alone is ninety-two feet high and has a width of fifty-nine feet, and a length of a hundred and two feet. I tell you this as one day you may have cause to seek protection within it. Having helped with its construction, I have total confidence it would fare better than most castles in the region,” he explained.