The Furness Secret

by Mark Williams

  And so by the time Gerard de Ridefort was elected Grand Master in 1184, he had tremendous influence throughout the entire Christian world. Gerard was focused primarily on the defence of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. If he ever thought of Hugh’s letter, he reassured himself, that they would have no problem in providing any assistance that might ever be needed. The Templars had more resources than the first Grand Master could ever have imagined. But events were about to take a turn for the worse.

  Gerard de Ridefort had entered the Order late in life. He had in earlier times formed a close friendship with Raymond, Count of Tripoli. But the two men had quarrelled furiously over who was to marry a rich heiress. Losing out in love, de Ridefort had decided to take the cross.

  The 1180’s had also seen the rise of Saladin to the head of the Islamic forces. The political situation was confused in the Outremer region. Raymond of Tripoli had made an alliance with Saladin. But allies of the King of Jerusalem, a sworn enemy of Raymond, insisted on continuing to carry out raids against Muslims, wherever they could find them. In 1185, the crops had failed around Jerusalem and Gerard had been forced to seek peace with Saladin. But by 1187, the Templars’ fortunes had improved.

  The Templar Grand Master, whilst an ally of the King and an enemy of Raymond, was eager to promote the Christian cause in battle. Gerard had received information that Mamluk slave cavalry, an expeditionary force loyal to Saladin, had obtained permission from Raymond, to travel in safety through Tripoli and Galilee. The Grand Master and the King of Jerusalem were determined that this should not be allowed and gathered a hundred Templar troops, to locate this force and destroy it.

  But when they set off on the search and climbed the hill behind Nazareth, the Templars were astonished to see over five thousand Mamluk horsemen, watering their mounts in the springs at Cresson. The Grand Master’s advisers begged him to abandon his plan but he would hear none of their arguments. Minutes later he led a charge down the hill into the massed ranks of the Mamluks. A disastrous battle ensued and all but Gerard and three of his closest comrades were slaughtered.

  The Grand Master was determined to exact his revenge. He turned to the King of Jerusalem, who was as concerned as the Templars with the build up of the Islamic army. The King, Guy of Luisignan, was of a mind to teach the barbarian heathen Saladin a lesson he would never forget. The great Muslim leader had laid siege to the city of Tiberius, north of Jerusalem. But many of the Christian nobles were of the opinion that a direct attack on Saladin’s forces there would be too dangerous. However, urged on by the reckless Gerard, the King was initially persuaded otherwise.

  The entire Christian army was therefore, assembled at the springs of Sephorie, ready for the relief of Tiberius. It included the majority of the Knights Templar and Hospitallers in the Holy Land. It was a vast force and concentrated in one place, it was an impressive sight. But the night before they were due to march, a meeting of all the commanders was convened in the King of Jerusalem’s tent. The consensus was again that they should remain in their strong defensive position around the springs, and await Saladin’s move.

  But after the others had departed, the Templar Master returned. Reminding Guy of the carnage that had been inflicted at Cresson he pressed for an immediate revenge attack. He accused the other commanders of cowardice. That this would be the time when they could crush Saladin’s opposition. And secure Jerusalem for Christianity, and for the generations to come.

  Although it was summer, there was a stiff night wind blowing across the plain. The sides of King Guy’s tent were billowing and snapping. He was standing at the entrance gazing out across the lighted embers that were the remains of his troops’ campfires. All of them unsure of whether to expect a fierce battle the following day. Guy was uneasy in his mind. Indecisive by nature he vacillated between relief that there was to be to be no battle, and self-loathing at his lack of courage and resolution.

  He turned and began to trudge back towards his bed when he felt someone enter behind him.

  “You Majesty. I crave a few minutes of your precious time before you retire.”

  Guy instantly recognised de Ridefort’s voice. He had been half expecting this visit.

  “Pray be brief Grand Master, I am weary of talk this evening.”

  “I will not keep you long. I must however restate my case for a swift and decisive march on the forces of the accursed Saladin and his heathen savages.”

  “But we have already …”

  The King of Jerusalem was rudely interrupted.

  “Indeed we have. And Raymond has urged caution upon you. But I would exhort you your Majesty, to recollect who amongst your forces has the fiercest reputation. Who has a history of defending Jerusalem across the decades? Which troops, I ask of you, have sworn an oath of loyalty to Christendom? Would you willingly discard the recommendation of our Holy Order? If Saladin subsequently mounts a siege on the city, would you be remembered as the King who spurned the opportunity of a preemptive strike? Against the powerful and unequivocal advice of the Templars themselves.”

  Gerard rested his case, locking his eyes firmly on those of King Guy. The Grand Master had judged his timing and his argument well. Guy was a vain man and cared deeply about his legacy. He dropped his gaze.

  “Very well de Ridefort. I will give the order. We ride at first light.”

  The instruction was given to prepare to march as soon as dawn broke. The tents of the massed forces radiated out from the King’s quarters way beyond the horizon. He was emboldened by the view and certain that his decision would be vindicated the following day.

  But another impressive sight was waiting for them on the shores of Lake Galilee. Saladin had spent many years fighting to unite the Muslim forces under his leadership and at last had succeeded. He had himself, put together a formidable battle unit. Armed men had poured into the valley, from all over the world of Islam. They had ridden from Syria, from Egypt, and from the banks of the Tigris.

  And they were all focused on one goal. That was to reclaim Jerusalem from the Christians. To avenge the terrible defeat of nearly a hundred years before. They had marched the five miles from Tiberius to Hattin to wait for battle. And they had one key advantage over Guy’s army on their chosen battlefield. Water.

  The Christians had set off from Sephorie in good spirit. None more so than the Templars, who rode as the rear-guard of the column. Their white cloaks and red crosses could be seen from many miles away. A blood specked white sheet, heralding impending doom for their enemies. In the middle of the Christian troops, was the bishop carrying a holy relic. A gold cross, at the centre of which, was, many in the army believed, a piece of the True Cross on which Christ had been crucified.

  The temperature was extreme and the entire column was exposed to the merciless heat of the sun. As the troops marched on across the arid desert floor, they became more and more dehydrated. The Muslim forces gathered together masses of dry grass from the hills above the valley floor. They made piles upwind from Guy’s army and set them alight. The dry acrid smoke drifted over the troops, forcing his men to cough and burning their airways.

  Saladin had brought his archers up close to the flanks of the marching forces. They fired a constant stream of arrows into the Christian army. Permanently guarding against these attacks was nerve racking and exhausting and it slowed the progress of the column to a crawl. As night fell they were still not yet at the lake. They would be required to spend the night camping on the desert plain.

  The entire time was a torment for the desperately thirsty troops. They could see and hear the fresh water down below them. But there was no way for anyone to scramble down the sheer cliff wall to get fresh supplies. Anyone who tried to make the perilous journey during the cover of darkness was brutally treated by the opposition.

  The following morning the Christians set up their forces on two small hills on the plain, the Horns of Hattin. But despite brave and ferocious defence they could not keep out Saladin’s troops.
They were virtually dying of thirst and their strength was tremendously depleted. The red tent of Guy of Luisignan was displayed prominently on the hillside and as long as they could see the symbol, some hope seemed to remain. When, surrounded by the Mamluks the tent eventually fell, all hope was lost.

  The Sultan’s forces, despite desperate hand-to-hand fighting, defeated the remnants of the disheartened army. Even worse, the jubilant Muslims captured the relic of the True Cross.

  Although he allowed the majority of the captured forces to live, Saladin had set his crack troops, the Muslim Sufis on the captured Templars. He knew how formidable a foe they could be. On impulse Saladin decided that the majority were to be callously beheaded. The few knights who had fled the battle alive carried news of this capricious atrocity to Jerusalem.

  Saladin was not finished. His eyes were set on the prize of reclaiming Jerusalem. By September the walls of the city were surrounded. Inside the city a sense of panic prevailed. The brutality inflicted at Hattin had convinced most people that unprecedented bloodshed and horror lay ahead.

  Panic was no less at the vast Templar headquarters on Temple Mount. The knights had spent decades developing and expanding the site. In the years immediately preceding Saladin’s siege, it was serving three hundred knights and over nine hundred sergeants of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. The Stables of Solomon had been renovated, and could accommodate over a thousand horses with their grooms and squires. This was where many of the pilgrims that had reached Jerusalem were housed. More importantly, it was where many of the Templars’ riches were stored.

  Saladin was initially of the opinion that the city should be conquered. He wanted the streets to run with the blood of the infidels. He was of a mind to inflict carnage on the scale of the Crusader’s conquest of a hundred years ago. But despite his ferocity in combat he did not have a particularly egregious nature. So he was persuaded that a negotiated settlement would be preferable. And King Guy was in no position to refuse his offer.

  Jerusalem was abandoned to Saladin’s army. It seemed unbelievable. And his troops added insult to injury by dragging the golden Christian relic through the streets of the captured city. The inhabitants were encouraged to kick, spit on and generally abuse the symbol of the defeated oppressors.

  On top of a nearby rocky outcrop, three mounted horsemen watched the procession meandering out of the city gates in a sad, desultory line. De Ridefort was in the centre of the watchers, flanked by his two closest confidants. He knew instinctively there would be no return to the Jerusalem Templar headquarters in his lifetime. Although the Grand Master, he had given little thought to the Grand Prophecy in his brief stewardship of the Order. Why worry about needing material resources when they were blessed with such riches. Despite the seizing of their wealth in Jerusalem, he was relieved that there were other Templar assets to which they still had access. Beyond that, he gave the matter no thought.

  For the remaining two years of the Grand Master’s life, he threw himself into battle to try and retrieve some of the honour he felt the Templars had lost. Finally, he died in battle during the siege of Acre. The Templars had lost vast amounts of wealth when they had been forced to leave their Jerusalem headquarters. But they still retained abundant resources in the West and had strong towers and citadels in the East. The Order had however, been taught an important lesson. How easily its fortunes could be depleted.

  July 1189 A.D. – Fontevrault

  William Marshal’s fortunes continued to improve on his return from the Holy Land. He had become one of the King’s most reliable captains and advisers. Rewards had started to flow in his direction as he continued his royal service. The largest of his grants, received at Christmas 1185, was the royal estate at Cartmel. It was a large grant of land, stretching from Lake Windermere to the shores of Morecambe Bay.

  As the 1180’s drew to a close, the Marshal was well aware that King Henry was having problems with his sons Richard and John, on the thorny issue of who was to succeed him. King Henry was unwilling to choose between the two. He would rather divide his kingdom. It proved an unpopular choice with both siblings. William had no doubt his political and fighting skills would be required at some point regarding the matter. So the letter, when it had arrived, had been no surprise and could have been no clearer.

  ‘Henry, by the grace of God, King of England greets William Marshal. I request that you come to me as soon as you are able, fully equipped, with as many knights as you can muster. You are required to support me in my war. Know for sure if you serve me faithfully, I shall give you Chateauroux with all its lordship and whatever else belongs to it.’

  And so William had gathered his forces and accompanied the King to France in the summer of 1188. There had followed a series of skirmishes during the next year. But the King was sick and unable to focus fully on battle, despite the support of his loyal followers. It seemed as though his son, Richard, aided by the French King Philip would prevail, and become the undisputed successor to his father.

  In June, the following year, King Henry was forced to flee Le Mans with most of his forces under fierce attack from the French. William was left behind with a few of his best knights to harry the pursuers. Count Richard himself, who was unarmed to allow him to travel at top speed, led the chasing group.

  The Marshal headed an ambush, and with lance at the ready found himself bearing down on the Count. Richard had recognised William as his attacker and shouted to him that he was unarmed. With typical chivalry, the Marshal lowered his lance and killed the Count’s horse, leaving Richard untouched. Having succeeded in stopping the pursuit, William hurried off after the King.

  But a mere month later, sick and disheartened with the news his other son John had joined forces with Richard and Philip, Henry II died. William, with the barons of Anjou and Toulouse accompanied the King’s body on its final voyage down the river Loire. They laid it in state in the Abbey of Fontevrault. And they waited for the arrival of Count Richard who would soon be the new King. The Marshal was waiting with an impending sense of foreboding, as he remembered the incident at Le Mans only too well.

  He needn’t have worried. Richard had heard of his exploits in the Holy Land. As soon as he could be crowned King of England, the future Lionheart had plans to lead a Third Crusade. He needed men he could rely on to help rule his kingdom in his absence. He required noblemen who would understand his commitment to regain the city of Jerusalem for Christianity. Men like William Marshal.

  So it was that in a brief conversation at the Abbey, Count Richard gave the heiress of Striguil to William to be his wife. William returned to London and married Isabel in a lavish ceremony at St. Paul’s Cathedral. His wife brought significant land holdings in Wales, England and Ireland. William’s star was clearly in the ascendency.

  November 2007 – Watching the Parade

  Dressed in the uniform of his peers, the boy was just fifteen. Grey hoody, pulled up loosely round his head. His trackie bottoms were tucked tightly into black socks. White trainers with the laces turned in beneath his feet. He was leaning casually on a stone pillar, on which the gates of the park were mounted. The public park was his regular stomping ground. It was an escape from the misery at home.

  Something sounded in the distance and the boy pricked up his ears. There was music playing in the background. It was getting closer. Then he saw the first of the marchers, climbing up the hill from the station. The column crested the brow of the hill, making for where he stood.

  The colours of the uniforms and the decorated regimental banners stood out in stark relief against the unrelenting grey of the early November sky. It was a bit of a spectacle for the boy, a change from the tedium of another Sunday morning, aimlessly mooching around.

  The troops, veterans and cadets turned smartly through the gates, and began the steep climb up the winding hill path, to the Cenotaph memorial. A small crowd stood opposite the park entrance. They were an odd bunch. Old stubbly men were standing cheek to jowl, with sl
ips of girls out pushing their babies. Little kids standing next to men in replica football shirts who were kitted out for an afternoon in the pub.

  There were actually quite a number of onlookers. The boy thought it must be because of the war. He didn’t take much of an interest in current affairs, but the conflict in Afghanistan had even pierced through his shield of affected boredom. He’d been surprised to find that even some of his mates had taken to wearing a red poppy.

  Then quite suddenly, the boy picked up a sound breaking through the military march music. It was coming from those watching, the unmistakeable sound of clapping. He saw the bystanders look at each other quizzically. Their faces were displaying a mixture of embarrassment and surprise. The boy continued to stand with his head down. Then as the parade passed, he lazily detached himself from his pillar and slouched behind them up the hill.

  August 1189 A.D. – The Holy Land

  From the second century after the time of the Prophet, the slave warriors, the Mamluks had begun to emerge as a key feature of the Muslim military. Their prodigious fighting skills meant that they were feared throughout the known world. Purchased when young, they were trained to become ferocious warriors. As they were trafficked from outside the Muslim lands, they owed no loyalty to any local nobleman or tribe, only to their master. It was into this harsh, unforgiving world that Yenovk was thrust.

  He was seventeen and could by now hardly remember his mother, or his father, or any of the other members of his family. His childhood seemed like another world to him. His family now, were the six other boys that had made up the class in his madrasa, the local religious school.

  They were all Armenian and they had all joined the madrasa at the age of twelve or thirteen. Joined perhaps gave the wrong impression. They had been enrolled in the school. After being sold as slaves by traders who had driven them down through Turkey, to the banks of the Tigris.