Yenovk was a tall strong youth and had been purchased by a local politician. Shortly thereafter, he had been sent to the school, where he had joined the five other boys who had already begun their religious training. The next five years had been spent in rigorous teaching from the Quran. Although he’d studied diligently, academic work did not come naturally to Yenovk. But he performed well enough to keep up with his classmates.
And he had become a committed Muslim. That was a genuine enough belief. He could remember a little of his upbringing in southern Armenia. His family had been a religious one. They held Christian beliefs, and he could vaguely remember some of the stories from the New Testament. The teachings about Jesus from his new instructor fitted well enough with his memories.
The teacher had begun his Muslim education by going over the basic five pillars of Islam. Yenovk had no problem with, shahada, the first, there is no God but the true God and that Muhammad is the Messenger of God. He’d always been taught that there was only one God, and if Jesus was a messenger from Him then why shouldn’t there be others.
The second pillar, salut, the daily prayers also seemed a sensible idea. It seemed very similar to the prayer schedule of the monks of which his family had told him. The third pillar, zakat, or the giving of alms to the poor, was to Yenovk a very laudable goal. His family had been reasonably wealthy and they had given to people poorer than themselves, wherever possible. This direction also fitted well with the teachings of Jesus that he’d received from his parents and teachers in his previous life in Armenia.
The fourth pillar sawm, was fasting during the Holy month of Ramadan. Yenovk knew that many Christians also went through a period of fasting to reflect Christ’s times in the wilderness. So this also seemed very similar to his childhood belief background.
The last pillar was hajj, pilgrimage to Mecca, where the Prophet had lived. Yenovk had heard many tales of Christian pilgrimages and this principle was again no surprise to the young man.
To Yenovk’s naive mind the basic belief system of his new religion, seemed very similar to that of his Christian background. His new teacher had even described Christians along with those of the Jewish faith as fellow People of the Book. But he railed against the Christians for allowing that Jesus was the actual Son of God, and for worshipping the Holy Trinity. Even those thoughts were not that strange to Yenovk. He could vaguely remember from his childhood in Ani, his father conversing with his friends on a Christian sect that he was studying. The Paulicians were founded in seventh century Armenia. They believed that Jesus was a messenger of the true God, rather than being his literal son. If Yenovk’s father’s studies were to be believed, some of his forefathers had the same view of Jesus as his Islamic instructor.
However, although Yenovk could see many similarities between his religious background and his new master’s beliefs, it was apparent that the rituals and traditions that underpinned the two codes were completely different. And Yenovk had spent five long years learning in detail about the Islamic way of life.
He learnt the Quran by heart, and went at great length through the great body of the Hadith, the sayings of the Prophet. As he became older, Yenovk became aware of the great battles that had been raging for a century over the control of the city of Jerusalem. Along with his classmates he could not understand why armies had come from across the sea, to fight in the land where Jesus had his ministry. Instead, why not send scholars to study?
His religious instructor taught that Islam was a religion of peace, and there was no obligation on the faithful to convert others by force. But their teacher reminded them that there were times when arms were justified.
“Remember the words we have learnt in the Holy Book, ‘To those against whom war is made, permission is given to defend themselves, because they are wronged’.”
He went on to describe the appalling carnage, when a century ago, the Franks, as the Western invaders were called, eventually gained control over the Holy City. Ten thousand residents of Jerusalem, many of them women and children had fled for safety to the Temple of Solomon when the walls were breached.
But no mercy was shown. Every living believer was slain. Blood ran in the courtyard to such a depth that it covered the ankles of the attackers. The class was left in no doubt that were they to be asked to fight the Franks, they would be defending Islam from the horrific atrocities of the Infidels. They were invaders from foreign countries that had no right to live in this land.
Yenovk thought back to the Christian teaching he’d received as a young boy. And the fact that the Franks claimed Christ was on their side. The Jesus he’d been taught about could never have supported the barbaric acts of the Infidel invaders.
Shortly after his seventeenth birthday, everything changed. It was time for the class to progress from religious to military training. This was more to Yenovk’s taste. He remembered the words of his teacher as he was leaving for the Mamluk academy.
“You have completed your work here. As you move on, take heed to work hard at the next stage of your instruction. You will not be able to assume your proper position in society until you have acquired the complete and necessary knowledge.”
Yenovk didn’t need the reminder. The military training was not work to him. He had seen at first hand, how important fighting skills were in the world he inhabited. Had he not been taken from his family by strength of force?
Even though they were now young men, Yenovk and his comrades were still operating under a strict code of conduct, which included modesty, order and strictness. And even though they were amongst fighting men, they still dressed in simple clothes of cotton and flax. The students were under constant scrutiny of instructors to make sure their behaviour was impeccable. On completion of their training, the young men would become Mamluks. They would be full members of the great Islamic slave army.
Yenovk passed out with great style and was introduced to his new master, Badr al-Din Lu’lu’. He was an important member of the community in Mosul. Complete loyalty was expected and given.
Summer 30 A.D. – Tiberius – At the Bath House
After his father’s death, Judas’ farm had been duly sold. This had prevented him from pursuing farming as a career. But ironically, the new city of Tiberius being built by the Romans had given him his future livelihood. His mother had remarried within a year, and her new husband was a skilled stonemason. After the brutal slaying he had witnessed, he had no time left for the God as preached by the Rabbi. The young boy had given up his studies within weeks of the killing. Judas had quickly become a full time apprentice to his mother’s husband. Although he had never forgotten his father, his stepfather always showed him much kindness and support.
The last twenty years had been busy and productive ones. The new city of Tiberius had grown rapidly, largely thanks to the availability of a considerable amount of slave labour. Judas and his stepfather had specialised in the building of bathhouses. This had proved lucrative, as the hot springs of the new city had made such amenities very popular.
Early one morning, Judas was supervising the unloading of a new supply of stone. A small crowd had gathered by the entrance to the partially built wall that was to house their latest establishment. They were standing in a semi circle, and Judas could see that there was a man in front of the group to whom the people were directing their gaze. He started to speak and the crowd gathered closely around him.
Judas was used to seeing peripatetic teachers in the city. The population was cosmopolitan and speakers were always guaranteed an interested crowd. But something intrigued him about this man, so he stopped work and strolled casually towards the huddled group.
The craftsman listened intently as the man spoke. The words weaved a reverential story of a beautiful, eternal spirit that could exist within any soul. The preacher described himself as a messenger from that world, who was here to reveal its secrets. And to show any who would listen, how to reach salvation. The next two hours flew by. As the talking
came to an end, the tall teacher withdrew from the crowd and made his way out of the city towards the shore of the lake. He was followed by a small band of close followers.
Judas decided then and there, that he wanted to be in that intimate circle and he hurried after them.
That night he returned home to his house in the city to tell his mother of his new mission in life. As he walked carefully through the regular streets, past the carpenters’ shops and the houses of the fishermen, he debated how to inform her. Judas’ mother’s second husband had been very good to him. And he would find it difficult to quickly replace Judas’ skills. But he had made his decision and was determined to stick to it.
He was glad that he had never taken a wife for himself. So he had no need to worry about supporting a family. Any money he would receive as an itinerant student and preacher would be considerably less than the fees earned by a skilled craftsman. And he would need to spend much time away from home. It would be difficult enough to speak to his mother and stepfather, let alone a wife and family.
January 1208 A.D. – Guildford
King Richard had well earned the nickname of Lionheart. Apart from the year he had spent as a hostage of Leopold of Austria, his decade long reign had been filled with combat.
He had spent the last five years of his life fighting in Normandy. Regaining the territory lost when his brother John had been acting as his regent. He had many war time successes, but in March 1199, his luck finally ran out. In the act of besieging a small castle in the Limousin, he was hit in the shoulder by a crossbow bolt. He lasted for eleven days but died on April 6th. He was only forty-one.
William Marshal had some concerns after Richard’s untimely death that his stay with the royal court would finally be coming to a close. But it seemed lady luck was in no mood to desert him. It appeared that King John, Richard’s successor had no desire to make an enemy of such a renowned fighter and politician. Indeed, soon after his coronation, William received the great honour of becoming the Earl of Pembroke.
For the next few years, nothing could go wrong for the new Earl. Royal grants and privileges flowed his way in a never-ending stream. King John had been ignominiously removed from his ancestral lands in Normandy, but William had kept his estates there, by agreeing to pay homage to the King of France for them. Still, John viewed him as a loyal and faithful advisor. But then events took a turn for the worse.
It all started in 1205. The King had the idea that he would assemble a fighting force in England. His plan was to attack Poitiers as a first step to recovering his lands in France. William was to be a key figure in the expedition. But for once his political instincts failed him and he refused.
Worse was to follow. William had, due to his marriage, become a great landowner in Ireland. In 1207, he determined that the time had come to visit these lands to ensure his affairs were being well managed. But John, perhaps remembering William’s refusal to join his Normandy campaign, would not give him permission. In a second reckless moment, William made a hasty decision. He was going anyway. The King was furious and sent word to the Marshal for him to get back to the court.
William could by now see that he had gone too far with John. He would have to follow the King’s instructions to return to England. But not without delivering a stirring farewell address to his men who were to guard his interests in Ireland during his absence. He had gathered his men at Kilkenny. He stood in front of them, with his Irish wife, Isabel, on his arm.
“Lords! See the Countess Isabel I present to you tonight. She will remain amongst you, pregnant with my child. Until God permits my safe return, protect her most faithfully, for she is your Lady.”
The most important of the Marshal’s men, listened intently to his heartfelt words. John of Early glanced round meaningfully at the others. He received solemn nods in reply. Then they all pledged to the great man and each other that they would be true to their task.
They needed tremendous bravery to keep their promise. For no sooner had their master returned to face John, than they themselves received a communication from their King. He instructed them to also return to England. But mindful of their promise they determined to stay.
Meanwhile, back in England, the Marshal was thoroughly and completely fed up. He was sick and tired of moping around in the King’s footsteps. John was constantly on the move and William had to stay with him as part of the itinerant court.
His political antennae were twitching strongly. He was expecting trouble at any minute. He’d had a few close calls in his time. Fallen out of favour occasionally. But this time it seemed he had taken a step too far. It didn’t help that King John was not the most pleasant of monarchs. His capacity for mendacity was legendary.
The King had almost resolved to act against the Marshal. All depended on whether his men in Ireland could get the better of John of Early. Through the first three months of 1208, the atmosphere at court was tense and strained. Despite being in close proximity, the Marshal and King John barely spoke. Then in March, whilst the court was at Bristol, word came from across the Irish Sea.
The King’s man in Ireland was his justiciar, Meilyr fitz Henry. And the news of him was not good for the King. Having been defeated by Early’s forces, who were assisted by a highly trained Templar unit, Meilyr himself had been forced to submit to the Earl’s wife, Count Isabel. And his son had to be given in ransom.
King John did not seem unduly upset. Both men knew that the Earl’s position would have been disastrous if the situation in Ireland had been resolved differently. But John was used to such reverses and merely marked it down to experience. William however, was far from used to being placed in such a perilous position.
The whole business had left a nasty, sour taste in William Marshal’s mouth. He’d served the royal family loyally for many decades. But he judged this King to be unworthy of his magnificent ancestral line. John had made an enemy of the Marshal. The King had made many enemies in his time. But this was to prove one too many.
December 2007 – The Party
Chloe had stayed friends with the young boy she had encountered on her first day. Not that it was always easy. For starters he wasn’t always at school. Chloe was not exactly a model student, but at least she always showed up. Tom was often missing. He’d told her recently, that the social had been round to see his mother earlier in the term. Told her that if Tom didn’t improve his attendance, the next step for her was court. With a possible prison sentence awaiting her. Tom couldn’t have cared less if she’d been put away. But it had been made clear to him he wouldn’t be allowed to stay by himself. He’d be at the tender mercy of the care system. So for that reason he’d been at school more often the last few months. And Chloe had seen a bit more of him.
Earlier that night she had texted him to meet her at the swings in the local park. She never knew where exactly he’d be. Just that he wouldn’t be at home. He made a point of avoiding the place like the proverbial plague. He texted back to say that he was already there. He was in their usual spot, in the new bandstand down by the boating lake.
When she got there, the place was deserted apart from the hunched, hooded figure sitting on the low wooden bench, studying his phone. She walked up quietly and could see he was looking at the photo roll. The pictures would be the ones he’d taken last week. In the same park, but high up at the tallest point. At the Cenotaph during the Remembrance Sunday parade. He’d hardly shut up about it all week. She walked softly up behind him.
“Have you got the cash?”
Chloe’s voice was only soft. Not much above a whisper. But it startled the boy and disturbed him from his reverie over his photos. Smiling, he recovered quickly and grinned, holding up a crumpled tenner.
“Great. I’ll give it to Dazza. D’ya know his mate Sam? The little one with the long hair.”
The boy shrugged noncommittally. He wasn’t sure.
“Well anyway, his brothers eighteen. And he’s going to get us a box of Stella fro
m Tesco Metro. It’s only £8.99. So you’ll even get a quid change!”
The boy smirked and stood up.
“Come on then. We’re sorted.”
He led the way out of the bandstand and Chloe dropped into step beside him.
They arrived at the party as a group, Chloe, the boy Tom, Dazza and Sam with the long black hair. Tom was carrying the box of beer, holding it in front of him in both hands, walking between Sam and the girl. Dazza was riding his bike, stood high on the pedals, weaving a crazy pattern amongst them on the pavement. They turned a corner into a grimy street that was lined by cars on both sides. The music was washing out into the road from the front door of a small terrace that had the door wide open.
So there was no doubting exactly which was the party house. The four of them strolled through the door, and headed for the kitchen at the rear to deposit their bottles. Tom plonked the box down on the counter and ripped the cardboard open. Dazza had rounded up a bottle opener, and expertly popped the top off four. Chloe took a long swag and watched as Tom leaned back with the beer pressed to his lips.
She caught herself looking at him a little more closely. She’d always thought of their relationship as ‘good mates’. But lately, he was revealing a little more about himself. Chloe remembered their discussion about the Sunday parade. And an idea occurred to her that just maybe there was a way that they could get a little closer. Her train of thought was derailed by a hissed whisper in her left ear.
“Hey Chloe.”
Her head turned to the voice. Sam was nodding his head in the direction of the door out to the backyard of the terraced house.
“Yeh?”
There was a wary, questioning tone in her reply. Chloe wasn’t sure where this was going to lead. But one place that it wasn’t leading was a passionate rendezvous with Sam against the far wall of the back yard.
The Furness Secret Page 7