The Templar Knight

by Jan Guillou

  The litter with the king was placed on the huge throne that had been carried into the hall before him, and next to him was placed the royal crown.

  The king began to speak in a faint voice, presumably mostly to show that he could still talk and had use of all his faculties. But soon one of the court scribes stepped forward to read aloud what the king wanted to say and what he had already composed in writing and affixed with the royal seal.

  “The successor to the throne will henceforth be the king’s sister Sibylla’s son Baldwin,” began the scribe.

  “As he is only seven years old at present, Count Raymond of Tripoli is hereby appointed as regent for the Holy Land, until the boy comes of age in his tenth year. As modest thanks for Count Raymond’s services as regent, the city of Beirut will be incorporated into his County of Tripoli.

  “The boy, Prince Regent Baldwin, will be raised and cared for until the day of his coming of age by the king’s uncle, Joscelyn de Courtenay. If the crown prince should die before he reaches the age of ten, a new successor will be appointed jointly by the Holy Father in Rome, the Emperor of the Holy German-Roman Empire, the King of France, and the King of England.

  “In such a case, until such date as a new successor should be appointed by these four, Raymond of Tripoli would continue to act as regent in the Holy Land.

  “In particular it is decreed that Guy de Lusignan under no circumstances should ever become either regent or successor to the throne.”

  The king now demanded of all that they step forward and before God swear an oath to comply with this last royal decree.

  Everyone in the hall took this oath with a light heart and without any sign of displeasure. Count Raymond himself swore this oath, as did his good friend Prince Bohemund of Antioch; Roger des Moulins swore on behalf of all the Hospitallers, while Arn de Gothia swore on behalf of all the Templars.

  Some of the others, such as the patriarch Heraclius, the king’s mother Agnes de Courtenay, her lover Amalrik de Lusignan, and the king’s uncle Joscelyn de Courtenay, made less of a show about taking the oath. But at last all had sworn before God to obey King Baldwin IV’s last wishes. For the last time the small litter with the king’s stunted body and the flickering flame of his life was carried out of their sight. As most people in the hall surmised with a good deal of dejection and tears, they would not encounter their brave little king again until his funeral in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.

  The guests now made their way out of the Templars’ great hall amidst a swelling murmur of voices. All of a sudden Raymond strode over to Arn and, to the amazement of everyone around, pressed his hand heartily and requested hospitality for the night for himself and also for others whom he intended to summon. Arn immediately agreed to his request and said that all Count Raymond’s friends would be received as his own.

  Thus it was that two quite different groups gathered that evening in Jerusalem to discuss far into the night the situation that had now arisen. The mood was gloomy in the king’s palace. Agnes de Courtenay at first had been so incensed that she could hardly speak, and the patriarch Heraclius paced the rooms, bellowing like an enraged bull though claiming divine despair.

  The mood was considerably more optimistic in the rooms belonging to Jerusalem’s Master. Count Raymond had summoned the Hospitallers’ Grand Master Roger des Moulins, Prince Bohemund of Antioch, and the d’Ibelin brothers. Without Count Raymond having to ask, Arn saw to it that a good quantity of wine was brought in for the new allies, now united by their oath to the king.

  They were all agreed that this was a turning point. Here was a golden opportunity to save the Holy Land and to limit the power of Agnes de Courtenay, as well as the perpetrator of unmentionable sins, Heraclius, and their notorious criminal friend, Reynald de Châtillon. They all now sat in the royal palace gnashing their teeth along with Agnes de Courtenay’s brother, the incompetent military commander Joscelyn.

  According to Count Raymond, much could be accomplished at once. First, he had to negotiate a new truce with Saladin, giving as justification the paltry winter rains, which would lead to poor harvests for both believers and unbelievers alike. And this time the plunderer Reynald de Châtillon could only acquiesce.

  Looking ahead a bit, the king would undoubtedly soon be dead. But his sickly nephew and successor to the throne might not live long either, since he was clearly suffering from the aftereffects of the sinful life at court. Children who were born into such illnesses seldom lived to the age of ten, if they even survived their own birth.

  And if the Pope, the German emperor, and the constantly bickering kings of England and France could not agree on a new successor, power would remain with the regent, Count Raymond for a long time.

  So it looked as though the brave little king in his litter had managed to save the Holy Land after all; it was his last accomplishment in this life.

  On that night in Jerusalem there was no other apparent possibility, no cloud in the sky despite the fact that all the men among Arn’s guests were far more experienced in the struggle for power than he was. Not even Agnes de Courtenay or her treacherous brother Joscelyn could do much to counter the unanimous oath given before God by the High Council.

  For almost an hour they tried to imagine what possible or impossible intrigues the evil woman, her patriarch lover, and incompetent brother might dream up in their desperate situation. But Outremer’s most experienced knights could see no way out for her and her cronies.

  Therefore they turned to the wine, which always runs more lightly down merry throats than gloomy ones, and the guests spent the rest of the night telling wild tales.

  Prince Bohemund of Antioch knew everything about the man who more than anyone else threatened the peace: Reynald de Châtillon. Reynald was a man who carried destruction within him, like the genie in the bottle, Bohemund recounted. Reynald had come to Antioch from somewhere in France. He took service with Prince Bohemund’s father and proved himself so skilled on the battlefield that after only a few years he was rewarded with the hand of Bohemund’s sister Constance in marriage.

  A wise man of normal ambition would have stopped there: prince of Antioch, wealthy and protected. But not Reynald, whose appetite had grown to insatiable proportions.

  He wanted to go out on expeditions of conquest and plunder but did not have the money to do so, so he ordered the patriarch Aimery de Limoges to be bound naked to a stake under the blazing sun and smeared with honey. After a while the patriarch could no longer stand the bees and the sun, and he agreed to lend the rogue Reynald all the money he demanded.

  With the funds of a war chest, all he needed then was to locate good plunder. And Reynald chose Cyprus, which was a province in the realm of the Byzantine emperor Manual Komnenos. Cyprus was harried more cruelly than ever before by Reynald de Châtillon. He had the noses of all Christian priests cut off and ordered all the nuns to be raped; he plundered all the churches, destroyed all the harvests, and returned to Antioch with riches. But not with honor.

  Emperor Manual Komnenos flew into a rage and sent the entire Byzantine army against Antioch. It was of course unthinkable for Antioch to go to war with the emperor for the sake of a single fool, no matter that he was married to one of the princesses.

  Strangely enough Reynald gained the emperor’s forgiveness by returning all the plundered goods still in his possession.

  But he had not learned from his experience, and only two years later he set out on a new plundering expedition against the Armenian and Syrian Christians, who naturally did not expect to be attacked by fellow believers. There was ample rich booty to be had. And many Christians ended up dead.

  Heavily loaded with loot on his way home to Antioch, Reynald was captured by Majd al-Din of Aleppo. And finally he landed where he belonged, in one of Aleppo’s dungeons.

  Since everyone agreed that it was much safer to leave him there, and nobody would ransom the criminal, the story should rightfully have ended happily there.

  Prince Bohemund
now paused in his account, toasted his friend Count Raymond ironically, and explained that the rest was actually Raymond’s fault.

  Count Raymond laughed and shook his head, ordered more wine which Arn supplied at once, and said that assigning the blame was probably both right and wrong.

  It all happened during the war ten years before, he told them. Saladin was still far from uniting the Saracens, and in that respect it was important to throw as many poles into the spokes of his wheels as possible. At that time, in 1175, Saladin had an army outside the walls of Aleppo and another one outside Homs. The problem was to ensure that the two cities did not fall into his hands. Count Raymond had therefore sent his army from Tripoli to break the siege at Homs, forcing Saladin to release his grip on Aleppo and rush toward Homs. In this way Aleppo was spared Saladin’s power for several years.

  So far everything had gone as they had hoped, Count Raymond said with an exaggerated sigh. But Gumushlekin of Aleppo now wanted to show his goodwill toward the Christians and decided to release a number of prisoners. He couldn’t have done the Christians a greater disservice. Or a greater favor to Saladin, for that matter. Among the prisoners that were now released were Reynald de Châtillon and Agnes de Courtenay’s incompetent brother Joscelyn!

  The guests now doubled over with laughter when they heard what a misguided favor the atabeq of Aleppo had done his Christian friends.

  Well, they all knew the rest of the story, Count Raymond went on. The now impoverished Reynald de Châtillon, deeply despised by all honorable men, accompanied Joscelyn de Courtenay to Jerusalem, and everything soon fell into their undeserving hands. First King Amalrik died, so that Baldwin IV became king, although still a child. Then his mother returned to the court, after years of being forbidden to show her face there, for reasons known to everyone. Her brother Joscelyn soon came into favor, and Reynald was able with the evil Agnes’s help to find a rich widow, namely Stéphanie de Milly of Kerak and Montreal in Oultrejourdain. And so the villain was a fortress master and wealthy once again!

  The only question was: Who had benefited more from this play of caprices in life, the Devil or Saladin?

  Both had reaped equal benefits, they all were quick to agree.

  Furthermore the conspirators gathered in the Templar quarter believed on that night that they now had Reynald under control. Fortunately the sickly King Baldwin had mustered the strength to intervene against Reynald’s constant breaches of every peace agreement, and Guy de Lusignan, during his brief time as regent, had shown himself to be utterly incompetent. Count Raymond, much enlivened, assured them that with him as regent things would be very different in Jerusalem.

  Now that they were speaking of incompetents, the question remained where Gérard de Ridefort had gone. Arn replied that the blessed Grand Master, Arnoldo de Torroja, had made Brother Gérard the fortress master of Chastel-Blanc.

  Count Raymond then frowned and opined that that was a rather elevated position for someone with so little time in service. Arn agreed, but explained that as he understood the matter, it was the price Arnoldo de Torroja had been willing to pay to keep Gérard de Ridefort as far from Jerusalem as possible. Gérard was thought to have acquired some unsuitable friends at court, and it might be wise to keep him away from such people.

  The lively conversation continued until it began to grow light outside, and that night it looked as though the Holy Land could be saved from the misfortune that bunglers, arch-sinners, and intriguers had done their best to bring about. King Baldwin IV died soon afterward, as everyone had expected. Count Raymond then took up his office as regent of Jerusalem. Soon peace prevailed in the Holy Land, pilgrims began to stream in anew, and with them came the longed-for income.

  It truly did look as though everything had taken a turn for the better.

  Then the new Grand Master of the Order of the Knights Templar, Gérard de Ridefort, came ashore at Saint-Jean d’Acre. He came by ship from Rome, where the Knights Templar had convoked a concilium with a sufficient number of high brothers present, including the Master of Rome and the Master of Paris.

  From Rome Gérard de Ridefort had brought with him the group of new high brothers who would now take over the leadership of the Knights Templar in the Holy Land. They rode to Jerusalem at once.

  Jerusalem’s Master Arn de Gothia was informed about his high-ranking guests only a few hours in advance. He had a few words with Father Louis about the misfortune that had befallen them, then he prayed for a long time in his inner sanctum, which was like a cell in a Cistercian cloister. But otherwise he had no time to do much except make the necessary preparations for the arrival of the Grand Master in Jerusalem.

  When the Grand Master and his lofty retinue, with almost all the knights bearing a black band around their horse’s side armor and their mantles, arrived at Jerusalem they were received by two files of white-clad knights who stood lined up all the way from the Damascus Gate to the Templar quarter. There large torches burned at the entrance and the banquet tables were waiting in the great knights’ hall.

  Arn de Gothia, who greeted them outside the grand staircase, fell to his knees and bowed his head before he took the Grand Master’s horse by the reins to show that he was no more than a stable boy for Gérard de Ridefort. It was thus prescribed by the Rule.

  Gérard de Ridefort was in a radiant mood, pleased with his reception. He settled into his seat in the king’s place at the table in the knights’ hall and at once allowed himself and his high brothers to be served. He spoke loudly and at great length about how delightful it was to be back in Jerusalem.

  Arn, on the other hand, was not in such a good mood and was having a hard time concealing his feelings. What seemed worst to him was not that he had to obey the slightest gesture of a man whom everyone described as illiterate, vengeful, and unworthy, and who had not served half the time that Arn had served as a Templar knight. The worst thing was that the Knights Templar now had a Grand Master who was a sworn enemy of the regent, Count Raymond. With that the clouds of unrest began gathering again over the Holy Land.

  After the meal when most of the guests had been shown to their quarters, the Grand Master ordered Arn and another two men whom Arn did not know to accompany him to his private rooms. Gérard de Ridefort was still in a very good mood, almost as if he were looking forward with special joy to the rapid changes he now intended to implement.

  He sat down with pleasure in Arn’s normal seat, pressed his splayed fingertips against each other, and regarded the three men for a moment in silence. They all remained standing.

  “Tell me, Arn de Gothia…that is what you are called, is it not? Tell me, you and Arnoldo de Torroja were very close, I understand?” he said at last, in a voice that was so deliberately smooth that the hatred was quite audible.

  “Yes, Grand Master, that is true,” replied Arn.

  “And one might assume that was why he elevated you to Jerusalem’s Master?” asked the Grand Master, cheerfully raising his eyebrows as if he had just had a bright idea.

  “Yes, Grand Master, that may have played a role. A Grand Master in our order appoints whomever he likes,” said Arn.

  “Good! A very good answer,” said the Grand Master with satisfaction. “What pleased my predecessor in that respect will also please me. Here next to you stands James de Mailly. He has served as fortress master at Cressing in England. As you can see, he wears a fortress master’s mantle.”

  “Yes, Grand Master,” said Arn without expression.

  “Then I propose that the two of you exchange mantles; you look to be about the same size!” commanded the Grand Master, his tone still cheerful.

  As was the custom of the Knights Templar, they had eaten with their mantles fastened around their necks, so that it took only a moment’s work to bow to the Grand Master as a sign of submission and exchange mantles and thus rank and position in the Order of the Knights Templar.

  “So, now you’re a fortress master again!” said Gérard de Ridefort with satisfaction. “
It pleased your friend Arnoldo to send me off up to the fortress of Chastel-Blanc. What would you say if you were to take over my old post?”

  “As you command, so shall I obey, Grand Master. But I would rather take over my old post as fortress master in Gaza,” replied Arn in a low but steady voice.

  “Gaza!” the Grand Master burst out, amused. “That’s merely an out-of-the-way speck compared with Chastel-Blanc. But if that is your wish, I shall grant it. When can you leave Jerusalem?”

  “Whenever is convenient for you, Grand Master.”

  “Good! Shall we say tomorrow after lauds?”

  “As you command, Grand Master.”

  “Excellent, then you can go. Jerusalem’s Master and I have a number of important affairs to discuss. I bless you and wish you good night.”

  The Grand Master turned away from Arn as if he expected the man to vanish into thin air. But Arn remained where he was. Then the Grand Master feigned surprise at finding him still there, and waved his hand as if to inquire the reason.

  “It is my duty to report one thing to you, Grand Master, a fact that I may not convey to anyone but you and whoever is Jerusalem’s Master, and that is now Brother James.”

  “If Arnoldo gave you such instructions, I waive them immediately. A living Grand Master takes precedence over a dead one. So what does this concern?” asked Gérard de Ridefort with clear scorn in his voice.

  “The instructions come not from Arnoldo but from the Holy Father in Rome,” replied Arn in a low voice, careful not to respond to the derisive tone.

  For the first time the new Grand Master’s excessive self-assurance faltered. He gave Arn a doubtful look before he realized that Arn was serious, and then nodded to the third brother to leave the room.

  Arn went to the archive located several rooms away and fetched the papal bull describing the fact that the patriarch Heraclius was an assassin, and also how this secret must be preserved. When he returned he unrolled the text and placed it on the table before the Grand Master, bowed, and took a step back.