by K. T. Tomb
Many days passed at the base of the mountain as they waited for a sign to proceed. Richard’s men grew restless and complaining with the final leg of the Holy Grail quest. Saladin’s men grew quietly angry, but never overtly questioned their leader. Richard had done what God, in the dream, had asked of him and now, he awaited the divine portent that the dream’s promises would come to fruition, and how. However, it did not come to pass when Richard thought that it would.
In his own mind, he was like a child asking God, “How much further? What must I do?”
Perhaps it was a test of his willingness to serve God. He tried not to let the distance and the mission bring him too much worry, but in truth, he was agonized at what to do next.
When Saladin replaced Richard’s beloved European horse with a flashy bay Arabian—the King’s very lame horse was finally destroyed and eaten—Richard consulted with Saladin about the progress of their Grail quest. The old warrior was becoming deathly ill, and Richard was not sure if he would be able to hold out for the remainder of the week. With warriors of each side standing to the rear of the honorary kings’ tent, which they shared, Richard asked his enemy his opinion on the matter.
The old man only smiled and said, “Allah, who, for the sake of argument, is also your God, has led us this far, and he will not abandon us now. When one reaches close to the end of the journey, it is always the hardest, and one must use all that he has learned to persevere through the hardship. That is the final test on any quest. The end.”
His patience waning at Saladin’s semantics, Richard tried to use what he had learned, but he did not allow his men to fight anyone. He made peace with the smallest of the village children, and even made peace with Kako after a short conversation with him:
“Where did you and your uncle learn to speak French?”
“From the Crusaders we captured and enslaved at Acre.”
“I want my men back,” Richard said angrily. “Those who are still alive. I will buy them in your marketplace if I have to.”
“I am just a boy. How can I get your men back from the slavers?”
“You can talk to your uncle.”
“Why should I?” Kako said petulantly. “You have abandoned our friendship.”
“I had a good reason. You lied to me, Kako. Have I ever lied to you?”
“No, Sire. Kings cannot lie.”
“Yes, they can. They just choose not to lie.” Richard said, “I would forgive you for your betrayal if you get my men back to me in good condition.”
With tears in his eyes, Kako said, “After we find the Holy Grail and my uncle is restored to good health and in a better mood, I will speak to him about the return of the European slaves.”
“How will you convince him? This interests me, what case you would even make for your petition,” Richard said.
“I will tell him that you offered me a dukedom in exchange for the return of the slaves.”
“I never offered you that,” Richard said. What incredulous nerve! he thought.
“Well?” Kako said.
“You are not eight years old, my little friend.”
“I am thirteen and very small for my age. I truly am an orphan and I have no hope of becoming another Saladin. His sons are in my way and they are many…on both sides of the blanket.”
“I see,” Richard said. “Get me my men back and you shall have your titled dukedom, but you will not be in line for my throne. You will be educated, fed, clothed and housed, but you will be a stranger in my country. I would appreciate it if you would be my translator for international documents and business liaisons. You will not, I repeat, be enslaved.”
“Done,” Kako said and they shook hands to seal the deal.
Richard felt like a terrible weight had been lifted. However, it was only one of many weights that he bore.
* * *
Finally, three weeks later, after many arguments between his men and Saladin’s men, the sign came straight from God himself. There was a mighty clap of thunder and the heavens opened up with a deluge unlike any that Richard had ever seen.
Suddenly, there was a unified shout of joy from the men as they celebrated their first bath in months and stood in the cold rain, shedding armor and clothing, pulling the water through their matted hair and sluicing it over their filthy, scabbed skin.
The sign from God came as a great rainfall —more rain than anyone could remember witnessing coming down at once. The small town was badly in need of water, having suffered through a summer and fall of complete drought. Now, every possible container was filled and celebrated.
After many hours in which once-dry streams now burst their banks, the rain ceased and a rainbow emerged. Was that the sign that Richard was seeking from God?
The sign actually came in the form of a dove, swooping down from the sky and circling them, three times. The rains, the rainbow and now the dove. He couldn’t help but think of them as a message from the Trinity.
“Prepare to move out!” he ordered his men when he was ready. His order was repeated back to their dwindling ranks. They wrung out their possessions and got ready to depart.
Likewise, Saladin’s men were ordered to follow. Saladin, at this point, was now carried on a litter. Richard had Saladin’s fine stallion tied to his, for the day when Saladin was again able to ride. In one brief instant, Richard looked on upon his bitter enemy, the man who all of Europe feared and deemed unbeatable, that is, until Richard had beat him at Acre—oh, how easy it would have been to abandon him and let him die right now. Be rid of the Muslim pestilence!
But then, a more spiritual head argued the cause in his mind.
Redemption, Richard thought, who cares about my personal redemption? This feeble old man at my feet has been the killer and enslaver of many good men of Europe, stealer of the Holy Land, worshipper of a God unlike ours, though similar, but different enough for us to know that he is wrong.
Pierre de Mandeville approached him, which was rare. He only spoke when necessary.
“Well, de Mandeville,” Richard said, “to what do I owe the honor of your eyes on mine, and with such fierce questions in them?”
“One fierce question, Your Majesty,” he replied. “If I may?”
Richard nodded for him to ask it.
“Why should we continue on this foolish journey to the Holy Grail to save this old enemy of ours when we could kill him where he lies?”
Richard replied, “Because I gave my word. And if the word of a king is no good, then he does not deserve to rule.”
Chapter Six
The road was more arduous than Richard could have ever imagined.
Weeks of travel went by with little food and treacherous conditions, including an attack by a pack of wild dogs, an attack in which several men and horses were lost.
At this point, Richard had built himself up to quite a fury. Upon their tired mounts, he sat with his and Saladin’s men at the base of the great mountain. The great Saladin was lying upon a thick cloth tied between two poles, something the villagers had fashioned for him. It would be easy to leave this old man to die in this traveling hammock and to take his body back to the Holy Lands and even parade his head on a pike for all to see. Very easy. It wasn’t like it hadn’t occurred to him. Only the terrifying dream of God’s wrath—and his promise of redemption—kept him restrained.
However, Richard knew that at this point of the journey, nothing should be that easy. Perhaps the devil himself had put that idea in his head that things would be easy on the way to the Holy Grail. Saladin had said it himself that he could be killed just by no one giving him a drink of water for a day. Saladin was wise, and Richard knew that a prerequisite for wisdom didn’t always come in the form of religion. It came from a hard life lived and problems solved.
Figure on this, Richard told himself, at this point in the journey, if something seems easy, avoid it. You are still under the watchful eye of God, and He is directing the events. Do you really think that he led you all this way in
relative harmony with your enemy to have you abandon him at the foot of the great and mighty mountain called Ararat?
Richard recalled his dream, the vivid and unusual dream. Ah, yes, the dream about the Holy Grail. The dream that had mentioned saving his worst enemy. And the clear orders from God to redeem himself. Or else. Eternity in Hell. Richard wanted to avoid that possibility, no matter what it took. He’d had a peek of the place in the dream. That was something he had not disclosed to his absent priest. No, it would not be a place he ever wanted to see again. Not for one flaming second.
Richard looked upon the decrepit old man, and then up the massive mountainside. There were no trails or roads. There were only crags and cliffs and stones waiting to slide down and crush them. Then again, it was just a dream, and he’d had plenty of strange dreams over the course of his life, depending on how much wine he had drunk before bed. But none of the dreams had been as real as this one where he remembered every detail, including God’s terrifyingly booming, furious voice. Richard wondered if this dream was only reserved for kings or if ordinary men got them, too.
The dream has led me this far, and here I am now with Saladin and his greatest warriors, in peace, together, on a journey to find the Holy Grail. And at the Holy Grail, the dream promises that a great miracle will be performed. At the Holy Grail, the dream promises that I will redeem myself, though I still won’t gain Jerusalem.
He sighed and realized that he accepted it, that he would never gain Jerusalem. God had a purpose for that. He had to. Perhaps if he disobeyed God and went to Jerusalem, he would fall to the plague. Oh, that would be a terrible death for a king. One thing he knew was for certain: England would be thrown into turmoil if he died. It was important that he return after the Crusade and run his country before John tried to do underhanded things in his absence. So many things ran through his mind. It was as if he was taking stock of his life and all that he must do.
The dove appeared in the sky again. Dark clouds still covered the land and a cool wind whipped Richard’s shoulder-length hair about his face. The dove flew off to the north side of the great mountain.
Richard gave the order to ride, and they did, Saladin’s men included, heading toward the north side of the mountain.
“Follow that dove,” he commanded.
Not one man looked askance at him as they continued on horseback to chase…a bird.
Chapter Seven
Richard had not told his men the exact nature of the mission, as he was afraid to admit that he had forced his men to ride so far and so hard and to deal so closely with the enemy, all on the basis of a single dream. However, the men—his and Saladin’s—had come to realize that they were on a quest for the Holy Grail, for this was Holy Grail country, and upon arriving at Mount Ararat, their suspicions were confirmed. This mountain was famous in the land and the legends surrounding it ranged from the existence of the petrified relic of Noah’s Ark to the Holy Grail and more myths and legends. There were even tales of dragons, which Richard hoped were fairy tales. He had enough to contend with already.
As they ascended the huge conical mountain, keeping the white dove in view, and were amazed at how the creature did not desert them, Richard found himself wondering if the white dove was even the sign he sought. He did not and could not know, but it seemed right, it felt right, and it was better than waiting around in the village, watching as his men and Saladin’s men slowly came to blows over food, water, or the pretty villagers with their unusual green eyes and seductive laughter. Traveling up the great mountain was enough to occupy all of their weary minds without the distractions offered by villagers. Every step was treacherous now and they became focused and unified in their struggle against nature’s challenges.
Carried by two of his men, Saladin was still on the litter, following alongside King Richard. Soon, the group came upon shards of black, shiny volcanic rock.
“It is obsidian,” Kako said, and hopped off his camel to pick up a shard and look at the sun through it. He got back on his camel and rode to Richard and handed it to him. “Look, Sire.”
“It’s beautiful. I can see through it,” he said in wonder. “It is everywhere on the ground. How is this glass made and why would anyone bring the glass up here and throw it on the ground?”
Kako laughed at Richard until his sides hurt. “Have you never heard of a volcano?”
“Yes, I have read about them. I have never seen one. Where is the volcano?” Richard asked, startled.
“The entire mountain is the volcano, but do not worry, for it is sleeping like a babe. For now,” Kako teased and urged his camel past the kings, so he could go first.
When they broke the fast for the midday meal, it was mutually decided that the mountain was becoming too steep for the animals. And so, the animals were hobbled in the last grassy area where tiny wild goats with long hair leaped from rock to rock. The quest continued, on foot. Of course, Richard hated walking anywhere. Kings rode.
Walking became quite hazardous, with even these elite, surefooted fighting men losing their balance and slipping. To stabilize the stretcher, two more of Saladin’s men walked beside the old warrior and helped share the load.
As they climbed, the temperature dropped on the mountain and a fierce rain came. There was no shelter here upon the bald areas of the mountain, and they had, hours ago, passed above the tree line. Their only company was rocks and the occasional shrub. Lightning blasted near them in columns of wide blue light that struck the ground with jagged bolts and left scorch marks.
“Yes, Lord, I am obedient, and I am coming with Saladin,” Richard said softly.
They all worried that they would be struck by lightning, but none were.
The men pushed forward, heads bowed under the fury of the mountain storm. Another hour later, sodden leather boots splashing forward, the storm cleared, leaving the men to walk through a thick mist that shrouded them in quiet reflection. As the rocks dripped, Richard felt as if he had been transported into another world, perhaps a fairy world, for this strange mountain of rocks and rain and mist, this strange mountain that hid the Holy Grail, was so unlike anything that he had ever encountered. It was here on the mountain, with the withering body of the great Saladin next to him, that he wondered if he were still dreaming, or even if any of this were real. Perhaps I lay feverish and dying somewhere, he thought, with an arrow bolt in me, and these are my terrible hallucinations.
But the cold upon the mountain stung him to the bones and he knew this to be real and not a hallucination. Already, his elbows and knees were chafed and bloodied, due to multiple falls that no one could avoid, for there was nothing one could do when the ground beneath one gave way under the obsidian and shale. No wonder those villagers called Ararat “the mountain of pain.” And I have a feeling, the worst is yet to come, Richard thought.
Richard feared that they had lost the dove during the storm, but the moment the clouds and fog cleared, there it was again, a shiny, pure white bird soaring against the gray backdrop of sky.
As they climbed higher, with the dove circling them, the group stopped to eat some of their meager provisions. Near them was a small running brook seemingly bubbling up from the earth, and one of Saladin’s men, who had lived at the base of the mountains as a boy, advised them that they were now at Jacob’s Well. Through Kako’s translation, this soldier then told them the story of Jacob and his search for the Holy Grail, and of God granting him, instead, a view of the Holy Grail, and a tiny piece of lumber from it.
“The Grail is wood?” asked Kako.
“It would seem so,” the man replied.
“I thought it would be gold,” Richard said, puzzled.
“A king would think that,” the man said.
Richard shook his head and listened to the story.
“The well,” said the man, “was God’s answer to Jacob’s prayer to quench his great thirst.”
Richard asked the man, as they drank from the cool spring and as the sun shone on them once again thro
ugh a part in the clouds, “How many men have seen the Holy Grail?”
“My father claimed to have seen the Holy Grail, as did my grandfather before him. Those of us who lived at the base of Ararat have heard stories of the Holy Grail all our lives; indeed, our culture is centered around the Holy Grail. To us, even though we are of Islam, seeing the Holy Grail was a holy trek of coming of age, a rite of passage from boyhood into manhood.”
“What happened to your grandfather?” Richard asked through the little boy, Kako, their intrepid interpreter who seemed to know every dialect they had crossed.
“My grandfather was suddenly stricken and died before I could be taken up to see the Holy Grail. It was one of my greatest regrets…not seeing the Holy Grail, but instead, feeling, somehow, that I had not fully grown into a man. It is a legacy to be passed down from father to son, the sighting of the Holy Grail. And now, I will finish what I once thought was lost, with all of you with me. Enemies and comrades. The Grail is for all.”
“Then every man in your village has seen the Holy Grail?” asked Richard.
“We are a small village, and no, not every man has seen the Holy Grail. It is a private thing going to the Holy Grail, and not every man knows the way, and there is death awaiting us on Ararat at every turn and every slip of shale. The legend of the Grail, and what it means to each man, must be passed down from generation to generation. In my family, the way to it has been lost, as has happened in other families.”
“How did you lose the way?” Richard asked.
“Allah fights your God on this mountain, and landslides and avalanches are the result. The trail comes and goes. The way there is never the same, and the signs are never the same. For my grandfather, it was an eagle leading him, not a white dove.”
“Interesting,” Richard said, “that different men seek different paths to the Grail.”
“I see you begin to understand, my friend,” Saladin whispered from his litter.