“Liar! You said three.”
Knowing the fate of a stubborn Jew in a Christian world, the girl shrugged. “Take it then for three.”
“Not before I leave a few more welts on your body.”
Gerard drew his sword. “The child offers you the ointment at your price. Take it. It was a misunderstanding.”
“Since when does a Templar take the part of a Jew?”
Gerard pulled the girl behind him for protection.
Unsure of what to do, the knight glared angrily at Gerard. Finally, picking up the ointment, he threw the three coins in the street and stormed off.
“Thank you, sir. Most Christians would not have stopped to help a Jew. You have done so twice.”
“Twice?”
“You do not recognize me? I am the child from Ventoux. Come into my grandfather's shop. Fie will wish to thank you.”
Together, they walked down a dusty side street and arrived in front of a small shop. Gerard bent under an arched door and entered a small, dimly lit room. The air smelled of cloves and cinnamon. An old man sat on the dirt floor grinding leaves in a brass pestle. His face was covered with a thin white film like a mask. Gerard sensed immediately that God lived in this place.
“Abba, we have a guest. It is the crusader from Ventoux. He protected me from a Christian knight in the street.”
The old man looked up from his grinding. “My eyes are weak. Please come closer.”
Gerard sat on the ground next to the old man.
“Shema Israel! You are the young knight from Ventoux.” Tears began to stream down the man's face. “The Scriptures say that one who protects a member of a family becomes himself a member of that family. You must accept a gift.”
Gerard shook his head. “I want nothing.”
The old man pleaded. “You would dishonor me if you did not accept something. Perhaps some incense.” The old man opened a jar and poured out a gray powder. “This incense is made from plants grown only in the Oasis of the Red Waters.”
Gerard's body tensed. “What do you mean — the Oasis of the Red Waters?”
The old man looked apologetic. “I am sorry. I should have said the Oasis of Khan Hathrur. In Biblical times, the priests and rabbis often referred to the place as the Oasis of the Red Waters.”
“Why did they call it that?” Gerard could hardly contain his excitement.
“Jews on their way to Jerusalem for the Sabbath would stop at the oasis to make an animal sacrifice to Yahweh. The ritual washing of the hands in the water of the oasis gave it its ancient name.”
His heart pounding, Gerard thanked the old Jew for the incense and ran back to his quarters. He found a map of Palestine; the Oasis of Khan Hathrur was clearly marked. He traced his finger north-eastward from the oasis. There was only one road. The cave had to be somewhere along the road to Jericho!
Jacques de Molay was stunned by what Gerard told him. “Go to the cave, Gerard, but keep your destination secret. Tomorrow I ride north to the port of Acre. Sultan Hassan has gathered an army in Damascus and moves west into Christian Palestine. I will add you to my entourage. You have gone to Acre twice before, so it will not arouse suspicion. After we have left Jerusalem, break off from my party and ride east to the oasis.”
The next morning before first light, Gerard joined the grand master's retinue and rode out from Jerusalem toward Acre. After half a league, Gerard turned to the northeast along the Jericho road. When he reached the Oasis of Khan Hathrur, dusk was settling over the desert. Gerard decided to spend the night there and search for the cave in the morning. Although the night would be cold, the trees of the oasis would provide shelter from the wind.
That night the desert sky was ablaze with stars. God had sprinkled them randomly across the sky like a farmer throws seeds across a field. As he gazed at the heavens, Gerard felt the immensity of the Judean wilderness that surrounded him. He understood why prophets and hermits had sought out the stillness of this harsh and barren land. The more inhospitable the landscape, thought Gerard, the more frequent a revelation of the Divine. The clicking of the grasshoppers lulled Gerard to sleep. As he slept, Gerard de Mon-telambert imagined all who had slept at the oasis before him.
“Excuse me, Jean.” Barbo interrupted Calvaux's story as he searched for a book on his desk. “Wasn't it near the Oasis of Khan Hathrur that the Good Samaritan saved the Jew who had been robbed and beaten by thieves?”
Calvaux nodded. “Yes, it's ironic isn't it?”
“What do you mean ‘ironic’?” asked Barbo.
“The Jews hid their wealth from the gentiles close by the place where a gentile opened his purse for a Jew.”
Barbo reflected on what Calvaux said. “Today there is an even greater irony. Jews and Muslims kill one another on the very ground where Jesus preached peace.”
At dawn Gerard ate some dried figs that he had brought from the Templar refectory. After rereading the copper scroll, he continued riding toward Jericho. The chill of the early morning soon gave way to the daytime heat. Except for the occasional pilgrim returning from Jericho, the road was deathly still. After several hours of riding, the road curved sharply to the north and descended into a dry wadi. Squinting into the sun, Gerard saw several sheep grazing on clumps of grass in the dry riverbed. A young shepherd sat on a flat stone idly watching them.
Gerard called out to the boy. “Shepherd, the sun is hot. You must know where there is shade.”
The boy nodded. “There is a cave nearby but I am afraid to go there. People have heard children crying.”
Gerard persisted. “How far away is the cave?”
“Not far. It is in the three hills.”
“Three hills?” Gerard's heart skipped a beat. He reached into his pocket and took out two copper coins. “These coins are yours if you take me to this cave.”
The boy shook his head from side to side. “No. The place is dangerous even for a Templar.”
Gerard took another coin from his pocket. “Now there are three coins in my hand. Take them — they will pay for a new cloak.”
The boy grabbed the coins from Gerard's hand.
Gerard smiled. “Now take me to the cave.”
The shepherd climbed onto the back of Gerard's horse. “The three hills are just beyond this riverbed. The cave is in the center hill.”
After a short walk, Gerard followed the shepherd up a steep path that wound its way to the top of the bluff. The boy stopped at a large stone outcropping about three-quarters of the way up the path. “The cave is behind here, “said the shepherd. He led Gerard down a narrow defile that snaked its way behind the outcropping.
“There it is.” The boy pointed to a dark opening in the hillside.
Gerard could not mask his excitement. Shouting aloud, he tousled the shepherd's hair and pushed some extra coins into his pocket. The boy scrambled back up the defile, frightened that Gerard's shouts would awaken the spirits in the cave.
Gerard peered into the opening. Although sunlight slanted into the entrance, he could only see a few paces in front of him. To keep himself from tripping, Gerard put his hand against one of the walls of the cave. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he took a few cautious steps forward. As he walked farther into the cave, he saw what looked like a rock pile a few cubits in front of him. A lump grew in Gerard's throat. He furiously threw stones off the pile. Under the stones lay a large wooden plank. When he lifted up the plank, there was a dark pit— too dark to see what was in it. Gerard was tempted to put his hand into the hole but quickly thought better of it. What if a snake or desert scorpion had made its home there! He needed to find a torch.
Gerard ran down the hill to where he had tethered his horse. He tore a piece of cloth from an old blanket and wrapped the cloth around a dried branch he found nearby. Taking a flint and some tinder from his saddlebag, he ran back up the hill. Striking the flint, Gerard lit his makeshift torch and reentered the cave. With a deep breath, he thrust the torch into the hole. Gerard gasped in disbe
lief. Priceless menorahs and golden candlesticks from the Temple of Herod flashed in the torchlight. Behind them stacked neatly in rows were parchment scrolls — each tied with a leather band. Gerard lifted several of them out of the pit. He carefully untied them afraid that they might crumble in his hand. Gerard could see that the scrolls were written in Hebrew and contained lists of births, deaths, and marriages. They must be census records, Gerard surmised.
By now, it had grown hot in the cave. Gerard decided not to risk taking any of the gold artifacts back to Jerusalem without an escort. But he would take one of the scrolls. The most recent one was dated in the Hebrew year 3791. Gerard did a quick calculation— the year 3791 in the Jewish calendar would be roughly 30 A.D. in the Julian calendar. He would take this one to show the grand master. As he started to re-tie the leather thong around the scroll, a scorpion ran out from the pit. Gerard jumped back to avoid being stung and in the process dropped the scroll. He was relieved to see that the fall had not damaged the parchment. Picking it up again, he glanced inadvertently at some lines of text near the bottom of the scroll. The muscles in Gerard's face grew taut. The dim light in the cave must be playing tricks with his eyes, he thought. He took the parchment out into the sunlight. No, his eyes had not deceived him. He knew now that he must bring this scroll to the grand master at once. After replacing the planks and stones over the artifacts and remaining scrolls, Gerard quickly left the cave. With the parchment in his saddlebag, he rode into the desert.
For Gerard, it would be a long and troubled ride back to Jerusalem.
CHAPTER XIII
SULTAN HASSAN
WHEN GERARD REACHED Jerusalem, he was shocked at what he found. The city he had left only a week before had been calm; the city to which he now returned was in chaos. Sultan Hassan had done the unexpected. Instead of attacking Acre, he had turned his army south and moved to within a day's march of Jerusalem. The Templars and the other crusader garrisons were strengthening Jerusalem's walls in anticipation of a long siege. Gerard learned, to his dismay, that de Molay had not returned to the city. When Hassan's cavalry had cut the road between Jerusalem and Acre, de Molay had set sail for Cyprus in the hope of gathering a force of crusaders to help lift the impending siege.
Gerard knew what he must do. The parchment had to be taken out of Jerusalem immediately and brought safely to Cyprus. Ships would still be available in Jaffa, but not for much longer. Riding to the seacoast, however, would be dangerous. Although the Sultan's army was still a day's march away, Saracen horsemen would most likely be patrolling the road between Jerusalem and Jaffa.
Gerard made up his mind to leave Jerusalem the night after he had arrived back in the city. Earlier in the day, he had volunteered to take Templar horses to graze outside the city. When it was time to return, Gerard left his own horse tethered in a secluded spot near the Jaffa gate. No one would notice that one horse was missing— at least not until the muster for morning patrols.
Just after midnight, Gerard slipped out of the Templar barracks. A curfew had been imposed in the city, leaving the streets deserted. Keeping in the shadows, Gerard carefully made his way to the western wall near the Jaffa gate. Two sentries stood talking on the battlements. Since the day Hassan's army began moving toward Jerusalem, lookouts had been posted at frequent intervals along the city's fortifications. Gerard waited impatiently for the lookouts to move on. When they did, he scaled the inside wall and fastened a rope around a stone parapet in the battlements. Tying the other end of the rope around his waist, he let himself down the outside of the wall. Once on the ground, he found his way back to the place where he had tethered his horse. He put the parchment in one of his saddlebags and rode off toward Jaffa.
Gerard avoided the main road to the seacoast, choosing instead a dry riverbed that lay about a half a league to the north. Gerard hoped that Saracen patrols would not be familiar with it. After riding for about an hour in the riverbed, Gerard's horse suddenly stumbled, throwing him over the front of the saddle. When he regained consciousness, he saw his horse grazing a few yards away. Thankfully uninjured by the fall, Gerard stood up slowly. He was bruised in several places but nothing seemed to be broken. When he walked over to his horse, Gerard saw that he was not alone. Saracen horsemen stood watching him from the edge of the riverbed. His first instinct was to draw his sword and fight, but quickly thought better of it — particularly when he saw a Saracen arrow aimed directly at his heart.
The commander of the Saracen patrol rode forward. He studied the red cross on Gerard's mantle. “Are you a Knight of the Temple?” the commander asked in broken French.
Gerard nodded.
The Saracen signaled one of his men to take Gerard's sword and dagger. “Mount your horse, Templar, and come with us.”
Gerard did not disobey. When he had mounted, a Saracen tied Gerard's hands behind his back and took the reins of his horse. At a signal from their commander, the patrol rode off to the north with their prisoner.
The commander of the patrol knelt before the Sultan. “We captured a Templar riding toward Jaffa, Great One. He had this parchment scroll in his saddlebag.”
Sultan Hassan — the Light of the World and King of Egypt and Syria — looked at the parchment and saw that it was written in Hebrew. “Captain, bring this Templar back in the morning. Feed him and do him no harm.”
After Gerard was led away, Hassan stood for a few moments looking at the Hebrew lettering on the scroll. Why would a Christian Knight be in possession of such a document, he wondered.
Hassan rang a bell, summoning one of his servants. “Tell Samuel ben Eleazar that I wish to see him.”
A few moments later ben Eleazar entered the Sultan's tent. Although a Jew, ben Eleazar had gradually risen to become the Sultan's most valued counselor and confidante. Some even said that the two had developed a strong bond of friendship.
Hassan handed the scroll to ben Eleazar. “This parchment was taken from a young Templar knight. It is written in Hebrew. Translate it for me, Samuel.”
Ben Eleazar bowed to the Sultan. “Of course, Great One.”
Ben Eleazar studied the scroll carefully with the exacting eyes of a scholar.
“It is an ancient Jewish census record — nothing more There are many like this in Palestine, Sultan.”
“Why would a Templar be carrying such a thing, Samuel? There must be a reason.”
Ben Eleazar shrugged. “I do not know. Perhaps it is written in code. Let me look at it again.”
After a few minutes, ben Eleazar put the document down and smiled. “Now I understand. There is no code here, Master. It is a census record from the Jewish year 3791. The writing is actually quite straightforward—too straightforward for some I imagine.”
“What do you mean, Samuel?”
Ben Eleazar pointed to several lines of text near the bottom of the piece of parchment. “The document says that a man called Yeshua of Nazareth and a woman named Mary of Magdala were married during the Jewish year 3791 and gave birth to a boy and a girl. The boy, named David, was born in 3792. Tamar, the girl, was born the next year.”
Hassan stared impatiently at ben Eleazar. “But you still have not answered my question. Why would this Templar be carrying this piece of parchment?”
“Great One, Christians believe that their Messiah, this Jesus, or Yeshua, as he is called in the manuscript, remained celibate all his life. If this census record is accurate, it could fracture Christendom, setting brother against brother.”
“Fracture Christendom! What do you mean?”
“If Jesus had children, some would question the authority of the pope and look for descendants of Jesus' children to lead Christianity.”
Hassan was silent for a moment. “Samuel, where do you think this Templar was taking the parchment? He was riding toward Jaffa.”
“Most likely to Cyprus. The grand master of the Templars is reportedly there gathering an army to help defend Jerusalem.”
“Given what is written here, Samuel, I thin
k I should send this Templar on his way. If the manuscript causes a rift in Christendom, Muslim lives may be saved.”
Ben Eleazar looked at the Sultan. “And Christian lives lost.”
“Who lives or dies is for Allah to decide, not me. He is the one who balances the scales of life. If it is Allah's will that this Templar reach Europe with the parchment, it will happen regardless of what I do. If it is Allah's will that the parchment be destroyed, it will be destroyed. Samuel, have the Templar brought here.”
Samuel bowed and left the tent. Several minutes later, Gerard de Montelambert was led before Hassan. As he entered the tent, Gerard was pushed to his knees before the Sultan. Defiantly, Gerard struggled to stand up. “I kneel only before God and his vicar on Earth, the Bishop of Rome.”
The Sultan smiled at Gerard. “I could have your head cut off in an instant for such insolence. But I applaud your courage, my young Templar—it is uncommon among Christians. Our religion teaches that even the courage of an unbeliever must be rewarded. I give you your freedom. Let it be a testament to the goodness of Allah and the generosity of Sultan Hassan.”
Hassan spoke to one of his soldiers. “Give the Templar a fast horse and put him back on the road to Jaffa.”
As Gerard was led out of the tent, Hassan turned to Samuel. “Stay for a moment, my friend.”
“Yes, Excellency.”
Hassan sat at a table and poured a glass of water. “I do not understand these Christians. Their Jesus must be an evil and a vengeful God.”
Samuel ben Eleazar shook his head. “No. The Christian Scriptures say Jesus is a God of love, not of vengeance.”
“If that is what their Scriptures say, then their Scriptures must lie.” Hassan pounded his hand on the table spilling the glass of water. “Look at what the Christians do in the name of their God. When they captured Jerusalem, they rampaged through the city, killing everyone — Muslim, Jew, even their fellow Christians. No one was spared.”
The Parchment Page 16