“No,” he said at last. “At least, not the God that was taught to me since infancy. I don't believe all that.”
“Yet had you adhered to those teachings, you would not sit where you sit today.”
“Ignorance is bliss, is that it? I could be happy and deceived or discerning and suffer the consequences?” Richard challenged. “There is no God... unless... unless you're God.” There was no response. “But I believe you are part of me,” Richard continued. “So either you are part of me and there is no God as I have suggested, or you are God and a part of me. Maybe that is what God is; maybe God is simply the good inside all of us, and we as humans call that collective good ‘God’.”
“You lean too much to your own reason, Richard. There is nothing so flawed or prone to fallacy as the reasoning of man.”
“But if there is a God, surely the reasoning I have applied, the reasoning you say is so fallible, is his creation. What else, if not the ability to reason, separates man from the beasts?”
“Every man is given his agency and, necessarily, his reason. If a man could not reason, what good would his agency be? How could he reason through problems and make correct decisions? But just as that reason can point him toward the light, it can be manipulated to justify whatever he wants to believe. Your philosophy can be bent, twisted, and manipulated to justify any idea that may appeal to you, just as you have done here. Where is it written that God’s commands must match what people want to believe in their hearts? Is not that completely backward?”
“But if I don't feel it in my heart, how can I trust anything save my reason?” Richard protested.
“Because you can feel it in your heart, but that does not mean that you cannot feel incorrect things as well. Consider this: How do you know there is no God?” Richard did not immediately respond. “With all you have been taught concerning the danger of rejecting God as he has been shown to you, you must be certain. You must feel it somewhere deeper than reason that you are correct?”
“I do.”
“Then what is it?”
Richard was silent for a long time before he finally responded. “When I was little and my father was routinely pummeling John, I came to know fear. I remember seeing the insane look in my father's eyes. All reason and love was absent; he was totally out of control. These fisticuffs were a near nightly occurrence at their worst, and the family lived in fear. We were overjoyed when Father would leave on a crusade or diplomatic mission because for a time we would have peace.” Richard trailed off in reflection. “I was so scared for my brother. I could see the toll it was taking on him, and I was afraid Father would kill him. But I was mostly afraid for myself. I was afraid that I would be next. Countless nights I fled the scene of the brutal beatings for the safety of my chamber, and with all the earnestness of a child’s soul, I would pray that the violence would end. I asked God to take away the beatings, the violence, and the fear; and God did not answer my prayers. The prayers of an innocent little boy pleading for help went unheard. That's when I knew I was on my own. That's when I knew my only defense was to be stronger, faster, braver than my father. I would never be a victim, and all who came after me would regret it dearly, be it family or foe.”
“Fear and faith cannot mutually exist, Richard. One will always drive out the other. You see how that fear grew in your heart until it replaced your faith?”
“It was not the fear that replaced my faith. It is the fact that my faithful prayers were not answered even in my time of greatest need.”
“But wasn't your prayer answered?”
“No, it wasn't.”
“What became of your father?”
“A few years later he took ill from the fever and was bed-ridden for a time before finally accommodating us all by dying. It was the first good thing he ever did for his family,” Richard said flatly in a voice devoid of emotion.
“Didn't that solve your problem?”
“His death? Are you saying that is how a little boy's prayers are answered? By killing a family member years later? I wish I had known that before; I could have saved myself a lot of trouble with the campaigns,” he finished sarcastically.
“God would not take away your father’s agency, so he could not make him stop what he was doing; but he would not allow him to continue hurting an innocent, faithful child. What options were left?”
“So he killed him?” Richard asked incredulously.
“No, the fever killed your father. But perhaps he was not granted the protection that might have been granted to a more faithful man.”
“Perhaps I was not, either,” Richard said softly to himself. He laid his head back against the wall. He suddenly did not feel like talking anymore.
“While horrible, Richard, those experiences by your own admission shaped the man who sits here today. They are inseparable. The one thing you seem to value about yourself is your prowess as a warrior. You would not be that if not for your father. It was his physical characteristics that grant you the strength you have. It was his passion that made him a devastating force of war, which you inherited in your discipline and relentless pursuit of grandeur; and it was that passion that drove him to the abuses you have detailed and that motivated you to surpass all others in strength. You cannot have one without the other.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
“Are you sure you understand?” Henry asked David and Spencer again. They repeated the instructions yet again. “Then go with God, gentleman.” They both saluted him and wheeled their horses to the north. “There is not much time,” Henry repeated. “We will buy you all the time we can, but you must ride swiftly.”
David and Spencer led thirty-four of the knights to the east, leaving only Henry, William, the knights of the chest, and their small personal detachments. As they prepared to make camp several hours earlier than usual, it was a lonely feeling. Henry had not realized the security that came in being in the company of so many trained warriors dedicated to the cause. They were only fourteen strong now, and there were not many ways to divide up the duties. They were all kept busy setting up tents, tending to the mounts, cooking, or taking watch.
Though he kept his reservations to himself, Henry could not ignore the many potential flaws in this daring plan of William’s. It was not a good plan. There was too much that could go wrong, too many things unaccounted for; and he knew he was completely at the mercy of David and Spencer. If they made a mistake, got lost, or even were waylaid, he would not know until it was too late. And at that point it would be too late for them all.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
“There is no easy way to say this, John, so I am just going to come right out and say it.” Martha was sitting with her recently returned son in the library. He would not meet her eyes as she spoke. “I have grave concerns about the peasant girl, Lindsay. Here you are on the very eve of your assumption to the baron's seat, and you are neglecting all of your duties at Dawning Court in order to fraternize with this girl.”
“Why should it matter who I choose to associate with?” John grumbled. “You were a peasant girl when father found you.”
“Sit down, John.” Martha motioned him into a seat opposite her own. “I know my words now must seem the height of hypocrisy, but you must understand that we live in a very different England now than your father and I did. The responsibilities that weigh on your shoulders as baron are very great. Your father made his greatness. Therefore, there was no expectation on him in the beginning. He took a small, relatively unknown–albeit strong–barony and turned it into one of the strongest in England. But had he chosen to remain in obscurity, no one would have really thought much of it. But now he has raised a standard that you regrettably must carry.”
“Regrettably? Why regrettably? Because I am not as good as my father?” John was suddenly heated. “Mother, do you think I do not know that? Do you think I do not feel my unworthiness—the disappointment I bring on my family? Is there anyone that feels that more acutely than I do?”
Mar
tha raised her hand to calm him. “You misunderstand me. Regrettable because it is not fair to you. Regrettable because the obligations of the position do not allow you freedom. There are things that you are required to do for the office that would not matter so much if you were in the place of one of your younger brothers.” John looked at her but said nothing. “John,” she said firmly. “The baron of Dawning Court may not marry a villein. Our barony is in trouble. The wolves are at the gate. A wise political marriage may be the only thing that saves us at this point.”
“Mother I—” John started and stopped, again looking at the floor.
“What is it, John?” Martha asked, a slight edge in her voice. But John did not answer. “Is this more about that peasant girl? Because I will not hear any more of that. Once you have been in the Baron's seat for a short while, you will understand the shadows that are looming over us.”
“Lindsay! Her name is Lindsay,” John barked. An awkward silence followed.
“John, do you know the reason I did not call you home from the Crusades when your father passed but rather chose to act as regent while you served out your time in the Holy Land? Do you suppose that I enjoy this duty?”
“No, I suppose not,” John answered reluctantly.
“Then why not call you home immediately to assume your position?”
John shrugged. “I suppose you thought I was too young.”
“That's partially correct. I wanted you to learn to be a warrior—a leader while over there—and return to me a man ready to assume power. Of course many rulers have assumed power younger than you, but these are turbulent times, and a power void, or even the perception of a void due to a weak leader, in the middle of this nationwide struggle of barons would be too much temptation. It would virtually guarantee we went to war. But now you have been returned for over a year and have never once made any mention of becoming baron.”
“I uh, well,” John stumbled over his words as he had not expected his Mother to be so direct.
“This role is not for me,” Martha told him. ”I was never meant to sit in this place and do not relish remaining here one moment longer than I must. You have returned, and you are ready to take your rightful place as baron.”
“I—but—” John stammered.
“I will help you, of course,” she reassured him. “I will not leave you without support.”
“But I am not ready.”
“Not ready?”
“I just don't yet feel ready to take over the affairs of Dawning Court.”
“Do you still doubt yourself? Didn't you command men in the Holy Land?”
John hesitated. “I lead some men, but I never achieved any position of real power… I am not my father.”
“Not your father?” Martha asked, confused.
“He was a general of his own army, leading his own crusades by the time he was my age.”
“John, no one expects you to be your father—”
“I—” he interrupted her but stopped. “I am just not ready to take over,” he said softly, shaking his head.
Martha gave him a long, searching look, which he did not raise his eyes to meet. “Perhaps you are not ready,” she said at last. “Take what time you need to be comfortable with this great responsibility. But remember, John, no one ever knows for sure how they will bear up under the mantle of leadership until they wear it.”
“I am sorry, Mother. I know I continue to disappoint you and fathe—you.”
“That I am ready to be done with this, it is true. But you would disappoint me far more if you took your inheritance before you were ready and squandered it. Nevertheless, I would urge you in the strongest possible terms to begin preparing to become Baron Dawning. That means you must behave accordingly. It does you no good to fraternize with peasant women. Please conduct yourself in a manner befitting the heir of one of the most powerful baronies in all of England.”
John only nodded, still unable to meet her gaze.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
“We best ask someone,” William said.
“Yes, good idea,” Henry agreed sarcastically. “Pardon me, can you tell me where the Moors who have kidnapped our brother are requiring we meet them in order to pay the ransom to get him back?”
William stared at him. “Perhaps I had better do the talking.” They were riding through a small Moor Village within a couple of days’ journey from their meeting spot.
“I must concur with your brother, Sir Henry,” Anthony put in. “It is a local map. Why don’t we ask the locals?”
“I don’t even know what dialect they speak in such a place. It may be completely incomprehensible to me.”
“Why would you not be able to speak it? You speak Arabic,” Roland pointed out.
“I speak classical Arabic, the language spoken in the Qur’an, and I have studied a few other dialects. But dialectal Arabic is the result of the language merging with other languages over time. This practice will sometimes make one dialect virtually incomprehensible to someone just a few leagues down the road.”
“Perhaps you should just try,” Anthony suggested “We do not want to make a mistake with something of this import.”
“Fine.” Henry drew his horse up beside an elderly Saracen woman who, unlike everyone else, did not flee at the sight of the armed knights. In fact, she did not seem to notice them at all. “Pardon me. Would you tell us where these crossroads are that are indicated on this map?” Henry addressed her in perfect erudite Arabic. She chattered at him but did not divert from her destination. Henry said a few more lines to her and she responded, but not in a conversational manner.
“You see?” he said to his companions. “I told you I could not understand this crazy dialect. I cannot even get her to look at that map.”
“Give me that,” William said in disgust and hopped off his horse. He walked alongside the elderly lady and began to speak to her. Henry translated for those who did not understand.
“He is speaking about the weather. She commented that it is still hot. He offered to help her with her bundle, which of course she refused. He is saying something about his brother, meeting or finding his brother.” William was holding the map in front of her. Henry furrowed his brow as the woman began gesturing and pointing.
“Well?” Roland prodded. “What are they saying?”
“I don’t know,” Henry admitted, his brow still furrowed.
A few minutes later William returned to his mount and handed the map back to Henry. “Well, what did she say?” they asked.
“She said we are on the wrong road. There is a parallel road over those hills that will take us to this place. She also invoked Allah’s blessing on us if we are here only to find our brother. I won’t tell you what she said if we are crusaders,” William grinned.
“How did you learn that?” Henry asked in a tone that was almost a challenge. “This dialect, I mean? I have made a study of this language. I have read every book I could find in Arabic, and I cannot understand it all. How could it be that you know this dialect and I don’t?”
“We must have ridden through these parts at some point in the past, and I picked it up,” William shrugged.
“You don’t just pick up Arabic,” Henry insisted.
“It seems I did,” William grinned and rode ahead to converse with Neil.
“That is unbelievable!” Henry fumed.
“What is the problem?” Roland asked.
“Yes,” Anthony added. “It seems quite fortuitous that he was able to get the information we needed.”
“You do not understand!” Henry was still angry. “William is a bungler. He has never applied himself to anything. He has run rampant through his life and destroyed everything he touches. Yet somehow everything comes easily to him. I have to work for everything I have, my knowledge, my family, my skills, and it is all just dropped into his lap!”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit severe?” Roland suggested hesitantly.
“No, I do not! I have li
ved with this my whole life. He appreciates nothing he has. I have worked for everything. I took responsibility for my campaign through the Holy Land. When my leaders fell, I shouldered the burden and led my troops to accomplish what had to be done. Now my name is forever associated with a humiliating, disgraceful defeat. William floats through in the infantry of all places and is considered a hero! I do everything I can to protect my family; he abandons us for years, and still it is him that my family loves best. I have to struggle to find and keep a worthwhile woman; he has women throwing their lives away in the hope that they might catch a glimpse of him again one day.” Henry was gritting his teeth.
Roland and Anthony exchanged uncomfortable glances. “What is it that you want, Henry? Would you prefer your brother did not have good fortune?”
“No, it would be wrong for me to wish ill upon my brother. I only want him to feel the weight of the responsibility that is on his shoulders. I carry it with me every day of my life, and he seems oblivious to the pressures that are on him.”
Neither Anthony nor Roland spoke, unsure of what to say to this.
“Brother, may I have a word with you?” William called suddenly, dropping back to join them.
“Of course,” Henry said neutrally and followed William's horse a little way off the road, out of earshot of the others.
“I did not want to say anything that might alarm the others, but the old woman back there said something else,” William told him, squinting at the horizon. “She said this place is right near the foot of Mount Alamut, that mountain in the distance,” he said pointing.
“Alamut? Alamut?” Henry repeated, while William waited for him to remember something he was sure his brother would know. “The Nizari!” Henry snapped. “Mount Alamut is the fortress location of the mythical group of the Nizari.”
“She said something about these Nizari,” William replied. “I offered her a handkerchief, but it turns out she was not sneezing.”
The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series) Page 37