Brethren: An Epic Adventure of the Knights Templar (37 page)

“H
ave you heard,” began Everard, “of Gérard de Ridefort?”

Will sighed roughly and turned back, but didn’t close the solar door. “He was a Templar Grand Master, almost a century ago. What of him?”

“Sit,” ordered Everard, snapping his fingers at the stool. He scowled when Will remained in the doorway. “Do you want to hear this, or not?”

Will closed the door and sat.

“If you speak of this to anyone,” said Everard, draining his wine and fixing Will with a bloodshot glare, “I swear by God, by Jesus and by all that is holy in this world, I will kill you.” He shivered and snatched up his blanket. “Gérard de Ridefort was admitted as a Templar after spending some years in the Holy Land as a knight to Raymond III, the Count of Tripoli. I first heard of him when I joined the Order, over fifty years ago. According to those who had known him, de Ridefort had come to the Temple harboring a grudge against Count Raymond, who had reneged on a promise to award him land. De Ridefort was, I heard, an aggressive, petulant man with an elevated sense of his own importance both in the Temple and the wider world. It was this arrogance perhaps and the appearance of authority that often masks such a temperament that aided his rise through the Order. Either way, the chapter general convened in Jerusalem, still in Christian hands at the time, chose to appoint him Grand Master on the death of his predecessor.

“A year later, the King of Jerusalem died. The successor, his nephew, was a mere child and to protect the interests of the young king a regent was appointed in the form of Raymond III, Count of Tripoli and de Ridefort’s former lord. A short time later, the count’s control of the throne was thwarted when the new king died, leaving no heir, with the dubious exception of his mother, Sibylla, a princess married to a French knight. She at once rallied support for her claim and quickly crowned herself and her husband, Guy de Lusignan, in Jerusalem, the highest seat of power in all four Christian states of Outremer. Her primary supporter was Gérard de Ridefort, who was delighted to help prize Raymond’s fingers from the crown.

“At this time, our forces had a truce with the Muslim ruler, Saladin. But when the truce was violated in an attack by one of the new queen’s supporters on an Arab trade caravan, the peace wavered.” Everard coughed mightily and spat into his hand. He held out his empty goblet.

Will obliged with another drink.

After he had moistened his throat, Everard continued. “Count Raymond, who, unlike de Ridefort, was a learned man, wise in the customs of the Arabs, looked to make a truce with Saladin. Saladin, still furious over the attack on his trade line, entered into negotiations with the agreement that the count allow his son and a battalion of Egyptian soldiers to pass through territory Raymond owned in Galilee. Raymond agreed and sent word to his people not to attack the Muslim company. But a party traveling through the region, led by de Ridefort and the Grand Master of the Hospitallers, learned of this agreement and, at de Ridefort’s behest, set out to surprise the Egyptians, in defiance of Raymond’s order.

“The Egyptian force was said to have numbered almost seven thousand. De Ridefort and the Hospitaller Grand Master had one hundred and fifty knights between them. According to one of the survivors, the Hospitallers wanted to withdraw, but de Ridefort mocked their Master for a coward and instigated the assault by charging his men into the Muslim troops. De Ridefort was one of only three to make it out alive. The Grand Master of the Knights of St. John fell. The nail in the day’s coffin for both our Orders.”

“Both?” questioned Will, when Everard paused to drink. “Not to sound mercenary, but the Hospitallers aren’t exactly our closest allies.”

“Then you know neither your history, nor your Rule. Whose banner would you rally to in battle if ours was to fall?” Everard didn’t wait for an answer. “The banner of St. John. No, sergeant, we were allies for many years despite our differences, or, more accurately, our similarities. And we would be still if not for…” He stopped, frowning. “Do you want to hear this? Then don’t interrupt me again!”

Will kept silent.

“After de Ridefort’s attack, the fragile peace between our forces and Saladin was severed. Count Raymond had no choice but to forgo any agreement with the Muslim leader and Saladin set out to war. Guy, the King of Jerusalem, declared a call to arms throughout Outremer and the combined force of the empire set out to meet Saladin’s army that had assembled at the town of Tiberias. Count Raymond, whose wife and children were being held captive in the town by Saladin, advised the King of Jerusalem to wait and let the summer heat disperse the Muslim force, even though he knew the lives of his family would be at risk. De Ridefort scorned the count, accused him of treachery and told the king to press on and attack. King Guy, a weak-willed man, had been supported in his and his wife’s claim to the throne by the Grand Master and was easily manipulated to agree with his patron’s instruction.

“The army marched out the next day across barren hills with no watering holes. They were easy targets for the Muslim archers who attacked their lines persistently. When the vanguard came near to Tiberias in the late afternoon, worn down by the archers and parched by the heat, they began to assemble on a high plain between the Horns of Hattin, above the Sea of Galilee. On the shores of that lake, Saladin was waiting with forty thousand men.” Everard drained the goblet. “After a night without water, our forces woke to find the grasses on the plain burning. In the confusion and smoke, Saladin’s men attacked and continued to do so in waves through the first day and into the next.

“Finally, we fell, many from thirst rather than from the swords. Count Raymond and his men escaped, but the rest were killed, or taken prisoner. Countless soldiers from both sides met death needlessly that day.”

“Needlessly? We were defending our lands, our people. The Saracens kill our men, rape our women and make slaves of our children.”

“And we do not?” snapped Everard. “Who started this war, boy?” he demanded. “The Muslims? No. We started it. We went to their shores and plundered their cities, driving families from homes and livelihoods, slaughtering men, women and children until streets ran red with the blood of the innocent. We set our churches up in place of their mosques because we thought ourselves worthier than they to worship there, thought our God the one true God.”

“So do the Muslims,” countered Will, “so do the Jews. We all think our God the true God. Which of us is right?”

“Maybe all of us,” said Everard shortly. He sighed. “I do not know. But what I do know is that in war we are all the same. We rape, we plunder, we murder, we defile. It doesn’t matter in whose name we do these things, we are all destroyers. At Hattin we weren’t defending our lands or our people. We were defending Gérard de Ridefort’s personal crusade against Count Raymond. That is what led our forces to that plain. They never should have been there! And wouldn’t have if not for the warmongering of our Grand Master. He survived, incidentally, as Saladin’s captive, while over two hundred of our men were beheaded. Because so many of our soldiers died that day, Saladin and the Muslims were able to retake Jerusalem. I’m only glad,” said Everard vehemently, “that de Ridefort lived long enough to see the Holy City ripped from his avaricious grasp.”

Will was shocked to hear the priest talk this way about a former Grand Master. He had never met a head of the Temple, but Thomas Bérard, the current Grand Master, who was stationed in the city of Acre, had always been a distant, Godlike figure spoken of, without exception, with the deepest of respect. It seemed, to Will, blasphemy to criticize a man, even a dead one, who had held that position.

“De Ridefort’s rule over the Temple,” continued Everard, “brought us nothing but slaughter, but his death, when it came, heralded the birth of something extraordinary.

“A man named Robert de Sablé was chosen to succeed de Ridefort, four years after the Battle of Hattin, around the time that I was born. De Sablé was a comrade of the English king, Richard Lionheart, and he shared many of Richard’s qualities, particularly a genuine respect for Saladin, who, after Hattin, claimed possession of Jerusalem with far less bloodshed than our own forces had managed when entering its gates almost a century before. War profits only the victor, but peace can profit all. Robert de Sablé understood this. He also understood the weight of his position.

“The Temple was then, as it is today, the most powerful brotherhood on Earth. In the one and a half centuries since our founder, Hugues de Payns, first put on the mantle, we have made and deposed kings, waged and won wars, helped establish kingdoms and built ourselves an empire. The Temple answers to the pope alone and as warriors of Christ, ordained by Holy Mother Church, we have, effectively, harnessed the power of God on earth. We are Heaven’s sword and the Grand Master is the hand that wields that sword. That is a grave responsibility.

“De Ridefort used this power for himself, for his own vendetta against another man, a vendetta that led to the deaths of thousands and the destabilization of Outremer. De Sablé wanted to make certain that Hattin would never happen again: that a master could not use the power of the Temple for personal or political gain. He wanted to put us back into the hand of God. And so, to protect the Order’s integrity, de Sablé established, in secret, a company of brothers. He called them the Anima Templi: the Soul of the Temple. De Sablé handpicked the Brethren from the upper ranks of the Order; officials and men of learning who would be able to use their positions to carry out the Anima Templi’s wishes without the knowledge of their Templar brothers. They were formed of nine knights, two priests and one sergeant: twelve for the Disciples of Christ, and like those whose responsibility it was to preserve and continue the faith, it was these men’s duty to safeguard and guide the Order. There was a thirteenth position: that of Guardian. The Guardian, a trusted man chosen from outside the Temple, could be used to mediate in disputes between the Brethren and offer advice, or aid, either financial, or military. De Sablé chose his good friend, Richard Lionheart, to fill this office. De Sablé’s initial intent was to protect the Temple from those who would use its power to fulfill their own desires. Later, he began to use it to promote peace.

“As I said, he understood that war only profits the victor, but that peace can profit all. He was keen to advance trade between East and West and to share knowledge, and the Arabs, particularly, were far more advanced than ourselves in fields such as medicine, geometry and mathematics. So the Brethren fostered friendships with influential men from many cultures and gathered knowledge with which to educate our own. The Temple became the guise behind which they hid and its coffers, resources and authority their tools. They whispered in the right ears when truces wavered, gave money from the Temple’s coffers to recompense one side for the misdemeanors of the other, made bargains and offered compromises. Yes, battles were still fought, but many more were averted by the combined efforts of the Brethren. After Gérard de Ridefort, they brought a measure of stability to a kingdom torn apart by the vainglory of our Grand Master. Three years later, de Sablé died, but his legacy continued. After him, no other Grand Master knew of our existence, until Armand de Périgord took control, thirty-four years ago.”

“Why did the Anima Templi work in secret?” asked Will, wanting the priest to continue, but unable to contain the question. “It sounds like a good thing, so why keep it from everyone else?”

“Without that secrecy we would be open to corruption from others within the Temple, power-hungry men like de Ridefort, and so to retain our sovereignty and to safeguard our work from enemies both within and without, we needed to remain hidden. When our aims began to evolve and change, this secrecy was necessary to preserve us. We knew that many within our Order and in the wider world would not understand what we were trying to achieve. To them, our aims would be anathema. If our ultimate plan were revealed we would be destroyed, and most likely, because of our connection to it, the Temple also. And the Brethren cannot exist without the Temple, without the power it gives us.”

“Anathema?” said Will. “I don’t understand. What do you mean? What plans?”

“Patience,” said Everard, finishing his wine. “When Armand was elected to power, he was already one of the Brethren and he remained so as Grand Master. At the time, the Brethren were pleased with his elevation. With the Grand Master on their side, working with them, they believed they could accomplish even more. Armand was…” Everard frowned. “…an
energetic
leader. I found his enthusiasm quite intoxicating.” He smiled wryly. “Though I was twice the age you are now and should have known better. It was my first time in Outremer and I was ensnared. By God, but it was Paradise. Acre, where I was stationed, was a city of marvels, with feasts for the eye at every twist and turn of its streets. The blue of those seas…” He shook his head with feeling. “When God made this earth, He started with Palestine and all the colors on His brush were warm and radiant, not watery and dull as they were by the time He came to paint the West.

“I had gone to Acre in search of a rare treatise on astrology written by a notable Arab scholar. During my schooling at the University of Paris, I developed an interest in the compilation of knowledge in a variety of areas and this interest I was fortunate enough to pursue when I was ordained and admitted into the Temple. I had conceived to compose a book that would give details of every subject known to man from every kingdom on Earth. Far more comprehensive than Celsus’s attempt, of course.”

“Who?” said Will.

“Exactly,” said Everard pointedly. His lip curled. “Alas for the ambitions of youth. I soon discovered the hopeless enormity of the task and instead set about collecting, preserving and translating manuscripts for the sole benefit of the Order. It was during that time that I first heard of the Anima Templi. Despite their best efforts to maintain their secrecy, both in the Temple and the wider world, the Brethren hadn’t been able to fully conceal their activities and, over time, rumors had begun to spread. People spoke of a group of knights, connected to the Temple, who were controlling the battlefield of the Crusades. Men who, with a word, could stop a war, or start one. This cabal, it was said, was loyal to no one but its own members, and was working to an ultimate, unknown mandate. Templar officials rigorously dismissed these claims, maintaining that no such group existed and that its knights were loyal to God and to the Order alone. There was even an investigation launched. But there was no proof and, mostly thanks to Armand, the inquiry was dismissed as lunacy.