The Templar Knight

by Jan Guillou

  “Is this the express will of the Holy Father?” asked Arnoldo de Torroja.

  “Yes it is, and for that reason I now deliver to you this papal bull,” replied Father Louis. He opened his mantle and took out a parchment roll bearing two great papal seals, placing it on the empty table between them.

  The two Templar knights bowed their heads as a sign of submission. Arnoldo de Torroja took the bull and stuffed it inside his mantle. Then they sat in silence for a while.

  “As you no doubt understand, Father, we shall obey to the letter these orders from the Holy See,” said Arnoldo de Torroja. “But might we be permitted to ask further questions regarding this matter?”

  “Yes, in the name of God, you may,” replied Father Louis, crossing himself. “But since I have already surmised what you intend to ask, I shall give my answer at once. You are both wondering why the Holy Father doesn’t clap the iron gloves on this man. Isn’t that what you wanted to know?”

  “That’s exactly what we would like to know, if it is permitted,” Arnoldo de Torroja confirmed. “Many of us have realized that Heraclius is a deceiver. Everyone knows that he lives a life that does not befit a man of the Church. Our Lord knows that he is a shameful presence in Jerusalem. But his position is such that the only one who might bring about his downfall is the Holy Father himself. So? Why not excommunicate this deceiver and poisoner?”

  “Because the Holy Father and his highest advisors have concluded that excommunication of Heraclius would damage the Holy Roman Church far beyond the injury that it has already suffered. The deceiver’s path to Hell is short, judged in human terms. He is sixty-seven years old. If he is excommunicated now, then the entire Christian world would know that the Holy Land had a poisoner, deceiver, and whoremonger as its patriarch. The damage caused by such knowledge spreading throughout Christendom would be irreparable. So for the sake of the Church and the Holy Land…well, you understand.”

  The two Templars both crossed themselves as they reflected on what Father Louis had said. They nodded in gloomy silence as a sign that they agreed and that they had no further questions or objections.

  “Well, that was the matter of the poisoner…” said Father Louis in a lighter tone, as if he were almost jesting about this serious topic. “Now we come to the next question. No, don’t look so alarmed. This is a completely different matter, and there is no papal bull to present but instead certain quandaries to discuss. It’s my task to try to reach clarity. If I may, I’ll get right to the point.”

  “By all means, Father,” replied Arnoldo de Torroja, sweeping his hand over the table as if he expected some little demon to appear. “By now both Brother Arn and I are prepared for anything. Well?”

  “This involves certain peculiar customs here in Jerusalem,” Father Louis began somewhat uncertainly because he didn’t know how to present his problem in both a polite and resolute way. “I understand that you permit unbelievers to pray within your jurisdiction in Jerusalem. In fact, they are allowed to announce quite loudly to the entire neighborhood when they intend to commence their ungodly prayers. Isn’t that so?”

  “Yes, that’s true. So it is,” replied Arn when Arnoldo de Torroja gestured that he should handle this problem. “You see, there are thousands of times more Saracens than Christians here in Outremer. Even if we could kill them all, it wouldn’t be wise, because then we would starve to death. We have not owned the Holy Land for more than a hundred years, but our intention is to remain here forever, is it not?”

  “Yes, one could put it that way,” Father Louis agreed, waiting for more details.

  “Some Christians fight on the side of the Saracens,” Arn explained. “And many unbelievers fight on our side. The war is not Allah against God, because God is the same for everyone. The war is between good and evil. Many of our trading partners, caravan merchants, and those we hire to conduct espionage are unbelievers, just as are many of our physicians. To demand their conversion while they are working for us would be like going out in the fields and telling the Palestinian peasants to let themselves be baptized. Impossible and futile.

  “Or let’s look at another matter: our trade with Mosul, for example, which has not yet been incorporated into Saladin’s empire. It takes two weeks by caravan between Mosul and Saint-Jean d’Acre, which is the most important export harbor for textiles from Mosul—what we call muslin. There in Saint-Jean d’Acre the merchants from Mosul have a caravanserai, with their own places of prayer and their own mosque and minaret from which the hour of prayer is announced. They also have their own tavern for eating and drinking, in accordance with their dietary laws. If we want to break off all trade with Mosul and also cast the Turkish atabeq there into the arms of Saladin, then we should forcibly shave off the merchants’ beards and baptize them with much kicking and screaming. We don’t consider that doing so would be in the best interests of the Holy Land.”

  “But is it good for the Holy Land to have unbelieving ungodliness in the midst of the holiest of cities?” asked Father Louis dubiously.

  “Yes, it is!” Arn retorted. “You, Father, know as well as I do that God’s pure teaching is ours. You are prepared to die for His pure teaching, and I have sworn to do so whenever it is demanded of me. We know what is the truth. Unfortunately nine-tenths of the people here in Outremer do not understand this. But if we are cast out by Saladin or any of his successors, how would it look here in a hundred years? In three hundred years? In eight hundred years?”

  “So you think that the truth will prevail in the end?” Father Louis asked, showing an unexpected glint of mirth in the midst of this deeply serious conversation.

  “Yes, that is what I believe,” said Arn. “We can hold the Holy Land by the sword, but not indefinitely. We won’t have truly won until we no longer need the sword. People of all kinds seem to have an equally strong aversion to being converted by force. The wiser course of action is to attempt a gradual conversion through trade, conversation, prayers, good preachers, and other peaceful means.”

  “So to conquer the ungodliness we must permit it,” Father Louis pondered. “If such words had come from a runaway monk in Burgundy, I might have regarded his vision as childish, since he would know nothing of the power of the sword. But if you two, who know more about the sword than any other Christians, are of this opinion…And by the way, is this your opinion too, Grand Master?”

  “Yes,” said Arnoldo de Torroja. “I may have tried to explain the matter less succinctly than my friend Arn. But in summary I would have said the same thing.”

  In the year of grace 1184, three years before God’s angry judgment descended upon the Christians in the Holy Land, the Grand Master of the Hospitallers, Roger des Moulins, and the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, Arnoldo de Torroja, set off together with the patriarch of Jerusalem, Heraclius, on a long journey. Their purpose was to try to persuade the emperor of Germany as well as the kings of France and England to lead new crusades and send new armies so that they could defend the Holy Land against Saladin.

  It is unknown whether Arnoldo de Torroja warned his high brother in the Hospitallers of the scorpion who was their traveling companion, Heraclius.

  On the other hand it is known that their journey brought in a good deal of money, especially from the king of England, who viewed it as an opportunity to make amends for the murder of the bishop Thomas Becket by donating a vast sum as an indulgence. But money was not the greatest need, particularly for the Order of the Knights Templar, which was richer than the kings of England and France put together. What they needed instead was understanding in their homelands because the situation at this time was genuinely difficult. Saladin was unlike any of his predecessors. What they needed above all were reinforcements with plenty of soldiers.

  But it was as though people in the homelands had long ago gotten used to the idea that the Christian world owned the Holy Land. To take up the cross and ride off to liberate a country that had long been liberated did not seem the most urgent task in life
to the faithful.

  There were still those who, like the majority of crusaders in the past century, considered traveling to the Holy Land to get rich on plunder, but it was well known that few would realize such wealth. The Holy Land was now owned by local barons who had little sympathy for the wishes of newly arrived crusaders to get rich at the cost of their Christian brothers.

  The envoys from the Holy Land may have managed to procure some funding, but they were unable to convince the German emperor to lead a mighty new army that could have evened out the balance with Saladin. Nor did the English or French kings come forward, since they were both competing for the same lands and considered it unwise to go off on a holy mission. If one of them did so, the other would be quick to snatch the kingdom left behind without its sovereign. It seems only natural that Arnoldo de Torroja must have been highly suspicious of the deceiver, poisoner, and patriarch of Jerusalem during this long journey. Especially since they both knew where each other stood in the larger context. Arnoldo de Torroja was among those accused of cowardice by his opponents at the court in Jerusalem, since he had many times openly admitted that negotiations and a fair compromise with Saladin would be wiser than eternal war.

  Heraclius reckoned himself on the side of courage and principles; he counted as his friends Agnes de Courtenay, her brother Joscelyn de Courtenay, and to some extent also the man banished from succeeding to the throne, Guy de Lusignan, and his ambitious wife Sibylla.

  No matter how wary Arnoldo de Torroja should have been to travel in the company of a poisoner, he ended up dying of poison during the journey anyway. He was buried in Rome.

  At that time only three men in the whole world could suspect, or more than suspect, what had happened. The first was the new Pope Lucius III, who surely must have obtained enough information about the matter from the papal archives thanks to obliging sources. The second was Jerusalem’s Master Arn de Gothia, who in the absence of a new Grand Master was for a time the highest authority in the Order of the Knights Templar. The third was Father Louis.

  Heraclius had now not only poisoned an archbishop, but also a Grand Master in God’s Holy Army.

  But no matter whether the news was good or bad, it traveled slowly during those years, especially in the autumn when shipping trade was often held to a minimum. Arn heard about the murder of his Grand Master directly from Father Louis when one of his constantly traveling Cistercians arrived from Rome after a very difficult passage.

  They were both crushed by the news. In his despair, Arn at first claimed loudly that now more than ever the poisoner deserved to be excommunicated. But Father Louis sadly pointed out that the matter would probably prove even more troublesome than that. If Lucius III were to excommunicate Heraclius for the earlier poisoning, about which there was great certainty, then he would at the same time reveal his predecessor Alexander III as far too fallible. It was not credible that the new Holy Father would choose such a path.

  Then how many murders by poison would it take to provoke such action! asked Arn, disconsolately. He received no answer.

  Should a murderer, a whoremonger, a deceiver—a pure misfortune for the entire Holy Land—be granted even greater protection the more despicable the crimes he committed?

  He got no answer to that question either. But they did pray together a great deal during those days, since they shared a heavy secret.

  They both had plenty of work in which to drown their sorrows. With Arn’s help Father Louis had managed to insinuate himself into the court in Jerusalem. There he could walk around looking quite unobtrusive, although he kept his ear to the ground.

  Arn, as the highest authority among the Knights Templar, had taken on the double task of minding the business transactions of Jerusalem as well as the affairs of the entire order. Although the latter task consisted mostly of signing documents and attaching his seal, all this work still demanded a great deal of both time and energy.

  When winter arrived the following year, King Baldwin IV summoned the entire High Council in Outremer to announce his last wishes. This meant that every baron of importance in the Holy Land as well as the county of Tripoli and the principality of Antioch had to put in an appearance. The only Christian ruler in Oultrejourdain, Reynald de Châtillon, also had to travel to Jerusalem. It took some time for all of them to gather, and while waiting Arn felt more or less relegated to the role of an innkeeper. The Order of the Knights Templar owned the most guest rooms and the largest halls in Jerusalem, so every coronation was always concluded with a grand banquet on the premises owned by the Templars. The royal palace would never have been big enough.

  The day before the king was to announce his last wishes, Arn arranged for the customary large feast to be held in the knights’ hall of the Templar quarters, which was located on the same high floor as his own rooms. But there were special entrances to the knights’ hall via a broad stone staircase leading from the western wall, so that worldly guests would not disturb the peace on their way in and out. This was wisely arranged, Arn realized, when he saw the number of loud and in many instances already drunken guests proceeding up the stairs.

  The knights’ hall was decorated with the flags and colors of the Knights Templar, and in the middle above the long table, where the king’s place was situated, hung the flags captured from Saladin at Mont Gisard. Otherwise the decor of the hall was austere, with white walls and black wooden tables.

  At the long table the royal family sat in the seats of honor in the middle, surrounded by the landowners and barons who were closest to them. On either end of the table, two smaller tables jutted out, and at one of them sat, as usual, men from Antioch and Tripoli with Prince Bohemund and Count Raymond in the middle.

  At the second table facing them sat Templars and Hospitallers. At that table a departure from tradition was visible, since Arn had arranged for exactly the same number of Hospitallers as Templars in alternating seats, with him and the Grand Master of the Hospitallers, Roger des Moulins, in the middle. It was a change that drew everyone’s attention, since the Templars had previously always indicated that in their house the Hospitallers were not the most highly regarded guests.

  Arn explained this break with custom to Roger des Moulins by saying that he’d never understood the feeling of unfriendly competition that existed toward the Hospitaller brothers. Besides, the one time he had been their guest at the fortress of Beaufort, he’d been treated extremely well by his hosts and received generous support when he needed to move his injured men from there. He may have presented these innocent reasons for his demonstratively friendly gesture toward the Hospitallers because he wanted their Grand Master to choose whether to take the next, larger step toward moving the two orders closer to each other. Solidarity between the Christians’ best knights had now become more important than ever.

  Just as Arn had hoped, Roger des Moulins seized the opportunity to have a serious discussion with Arn as they ate the lamb and vegetables and drank the wine. At the same time, they looked as though they were having the most innocent conversation, as befitted a banquet table.

  Roger des Moulins pointed to the royal seats beneath Saladin’s captured flags at the long table and said bluntly that there sat the men, and especially the women, who bore the blame for the downfall of the Holy Land. As a sign that he was right, just then the patriarch Heraclius staggered up from his seat. With his wine glass sloshing, he babbled cheerfully as he moved to the king’s empty seat and plopped down there unabashed, right next to his former lover Agnes de Courtenay.

  The two high brothers exchanged a knowing glance of distaste. After that Arn immediately took up Roger des Moulins’ ideas about a rapprochement between them. For his part, he thought that the two spiritual orders of knights would be forced to assume increasing responsibility for the Holy Land, since things were in such disarray at the royal court. This meant they would have to see to putting aside everything that was less important, including any minor disputes between the orders.

  Roger des Mouli
ns agreed to this at once. He went even further by proposing that they should call a meeting of the highest brothers of the Hospitallers and Templars. When they agreed on this decisive step, Arn put to him a furtive question about Arnoldo de Torroja’s untimely death in Verona.

  Roger des Moulins seemed surprised by the sudden shift in topic; at first he hesitated to speak and gave Arn a long, searching look. Then he said straight out that he and Arnoldo had been in agreement about most things concerning the future of the Holy Land, which they had discussed during that journey, including putting aside old disputes. But Heraclius had continually interrupted them with the most childish comments, claiming that anyone who hesitated to annihilate all the Saracens was a coward. And even worse, the ungodly whoremonger had actually had the nerve to say that Roger des Moulins and Arnoldo de Torroja were both standing in the way of God’s will. And he hoped that they as traitors and blasphemers might soon depart this world.

  Since Arnoldo de Torroja did indeed leave this world shortly thereafter, and in a manner that hardly indicated God’s will, Roger des Moulins from then on had been very circumspect about what he ate and drank in the presence of the arch-sinner Heraclius. He had his own suspicions. So he now asked Arn whether he knew anything that might cast some light on these suspicions.

  A vow of silence had been imposed on Arn directly from the Holy Father, but he found a way to reply without actually answering.

  “My lips are sealed,” he said.

  Roger des Moulins nodded and had no more questions.

  The next day all the guests were gathered again in the same knights’ hall, some quite red-eyed and foul-smelling after the long night of drinking. They were there to hear King Baldwin IV’s last wishes.

  They all rose in the hall when the king was carried in inside a small covered litter that seemed big enough only for a child. The king had by now lost both arms and legs and was completely blind.