Keeper of the Grail (9 page)

At any rate, the next few days were a flurry of activity and, as though he wished to keep me from wondering about Sir Hugh’s actions, Sir Thomas piled on the work. Each morning the Master Sergeanto had an even lengthier list of duties for me, and between the chores and the training, I fell exhausted into my bed each night with little energy to think of anything but rest.

Three weeks later, six large Templar ships arrived in the port with returning Crusaders aboard. These were the vessels that would carry us to the Holy Land. The ships had been delayed in their voyage back from Outremer, and their arrival generated considerable excitement in the city. Crowds gathered at the waterfront to cheer. News from the Holy Land was eagerly debated and discussed. Apparently the Saladin was pressing outward from Jerusalem toward the coastal cities. I learned that our force would land near a city called Acre. From there we would try to push the Saladin back to the desert. King Richard was determined to drive the Saladin south and retake Jerusalem.

The King had departed Dover shortly after we had met with him that evening in the castle. According to Sir Thomas, he had left for London and his fleet would depart from Portsmouth on the southern coast. I had never been on board a ship or boat of any kind, and now I would be sailing across the sea as part of the King’s fleet!

On the morning we left, Sir Thomas, Sir Basil and the entire regimento marched onto the docks. Not all of them would be leaving on the voyage. Some would remain behind to staff the Commandery, so good-byes were said all around.

Sir Hugh brushed past where I stood with Quincy and the other squires but did not glance in our direction. Walking briskly he stepped into a longboat, and its crew used the oars to slowly row it toward one of the ships lying anchored in the harbor.

Sir Thomas strode up to me. “Are you ready, lad?”

“Yes, sire,” I said.

With that we climbed into another longboat. The crews rowed us out to our vessel, and I was relieved to see that Sir Hugh would be on a different ship. The boats pulled up to the sides of the ship where a large rope net had been dropped over the side. Everyone climbed up the netting and scampered aboard.

I found my spot belowdecks and laid my bedroll upon the small hammock where I would sleep. There wasn’t much room. Bunks were built up and down the wall, little more than strands of rope, really, three beds high. I was happy to have the bottom. Our compartment was in the bow and the only light came from a few small slots that had been cut into the sides of the ship high above the waterline. It was dark and damp, and I would not recommend the smell. But I vowed to survive it for the next few weeks.

Wanting to see the sun again, I returned to the deck to find Sir Thomas standing at the rear section of the ship with Sir Basil. I climbed the small stairs that led to the quarterdeck and stood next to him.

“Sire, how long before we meet up with the King’s fleet?” I asked.

“We rendezvous tomorrow morning in Portsmouth,” he said.

“And once we’re under way, how long until we reach Outremer?” I asked.

“It will depend on the wind. The fastest time I know of is two weeks. But I would say three weeks at least. Provided we encounter no problems,” he said mischievously.

“Problems? What kind of problems?” I asked.

“Oh, the usual: storms, pirates, attacks by enemy fleets. Sea monsters have been known to slow us down occasionally,” he said.

Pirates? Storms? Sea monsters? No one had spoken of these things before we left. Why had no one told me this?

Sir Thomas chuckled when he saw the look that crossed my face. “Rest easy, lad. We’ll be fine,” he said.

But I wasn’t listening, as I was still considering pirates and sea monsters.

“Here it is, Tristan. Watch.”

By then our ship had hoisted sail and cleared the harbor. Looking where Sir Thomas pointed, I could see the white cliffs of Dover behind us. I’d never before viewed anything so beautiful in my life. The chalk-white cliffs were bathed in the soft light of the sun. Rising up out of the ocean with no warning, it was as if God had reached down from heaven to pull the cleanest and purest part of the earth out of the ground for all to see. They towered over the city like a heavenly fortress, and I soon forgot all about pirates while I drank in the sight.

I watched the cliffs retreat from us as we turned south in the channel. Here the water was rougher, but the wind was stronger, and we picked up speed.

Shortly after daybreak we reached Portsmouth. There we were greeted by the King’s fleet. The Lionheart’s flagship sailed out of the harbor, leading a line of twenty vessels. His banner with the three golden lions on a crimson background was attached to the main mast, flapping proudly in the breeze.

At least that is what I was told. I saw none of it, for I lay in my hammock belowdecks, thrashing, vomiting and clutching my stomach, wishing that I were dead.

I’ve always been healthy and seldom caught the sicknesses or fevers that would strike the monks at the abbey. On that day, however, I believed that I was making up for it all. I had never felt so ill. Each movement of the ship sent my stomach reeling and rolled my eyes back in my head. I lay in the swinging hammock promising to do anything God asked if he would just make the ship stop moving up and down and side to side.

It was Quincy who told me of the rendezvous and the impressive array of ships that now sailed toward Outremer. The motion of the ship didn’t seem to bother him at all. He visited me often in the hold, where I could scarcely lift my head, keeping me apprised of events as they happened on the ship.

Finally, on the third day, my stomach settled somewhat and I made my way to the deck, squinting in the sun like a mole. As the deck heaved to and fro, I thought I would be sick again. I held fast to the deck railing until the wave of nausea passed. It felt good to breathe in the fresh air. The life of a sailor was definitely not for me.

Sir Thomas found me on the deck, desperately clutching the railing.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“I’ll be happy to never sail again,” I said.

“Ha. Be glad we’re not taking the land route. It takes months. Riding along, choking in the dust, burning in the sun, freezing in the rain. Saddle sores. Believe me, this is much better,” he said.

“If you say so, sire,” I answered, still feeling miserable. Sir Thomas chuckled again at my discomfort and moved off.

Most of the time on the ship I was bored beyond belief. We were often out of sight of land, with nothing to look at but water. And more water. There was little to do except sleep and pace about the deck. Some days I even took a turn at the oars just to have something to do.

Once in the Mediterranean the wind was stronger and the ship moved over the water at a quicker pace. Passing through the Strait of Gibraltar I saw the mighty rock that had guarded the passage since time began. A few days past the rock, we sailed around the Isle of Cyprus, not stopping, for the King wished to reach Acre as soon as possible.

Three weeks to the day after leaving Dover, the ships made landfall a day’s ride to the west of Acre, at a spot where the coast leveled out to form a natural harbor. We had to swim the horses to shore, and it took two full days to move all of the cargo and supplies off the ships. My legs felt as if they were made of stone columns when I first stepped on land after nearly three weeks at sea. I wanted to kiss the ground, but merely rejoiced that it didn’t move as I walked upon it.

I wasn’t sure what I had expected of Outremer, but the land surprised me. Having heard the knights speak of the arid desert, I was surprised to find the coastal area, although rocky, to be full of green trees and shrubs. The climate was warmer than England to be sure, but in many ways it reminded me of Dover, except here the cliffs were made of rock, not chalk.

We made camp right on the sand. Within a day, the beach became a city of campaign tents, each one flying a regimento or battle flag. Large cook fires were built, and as we sat around them at night, I loved watching the embers rise high into the sky. It was as if each one carried a message to heaven. The Templars conducted mass by firelight and passed the hours in song and storytelling while we waited for orders to march.

The King’s headquarters tent was not more than a few yards away from where I slept. Now and then I would see him outside his tent, at a table holding maps and other documents. He spent hours in consultation with his military advisers. Plans were being made and battle orders drawn. Word passed through the camp that Saracens were near.

We spent the next week organizing, resting and preparing to move toward Acre. When the horses had rested and regained their land legs, the call came to move out. Quincy and I went with the other squires to retrieve our knights’ horses from where they were hobbled on the shore. Quincy seemed calm, whistling quietly to himself as we gathered up the saddles and halters.

“Aren’t you nervous?” I asked.

“What? Nervous? Why? Oh yes. This is your first time in enemy territory. You get used to it,” he said.

“Really?” I couldn’t imagine that.

“Oh sure. You’ll see. The knights are well trained. They know what they’re doing all right. It’ll be fine,” he said, smiling. But his confidence was not contagious. I still felt on edge.

I had Dauntless saddled and prepared to go when Sir Thomas found me. His chain mail had been polished to a high sheen, and there in the sun I helped dress him. When he was properly outfitted, he mounted the horse. He took the battle sword from me and buckled it securely around his waist. I handed him his iron-tipped lance, hoping he wouldn’t notice my shaking hands. He settled himself into the saddle, stood up and down in the stirrups a few times to find a comfortable spot, then sat still.

“Are you ready?” he asked me.

No! I wasn’t ready for anything other than perhaps getting on board the ship and sailing back to England.

“Yes, sire,” I said.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

In truth I was terrified. My hands quivered as I attended to my duties, and my breath came in small gasps. It felt as if I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. My vision began to close in. I was in no way prepared for this. Everything that had come before—the training, the practice, the days in the Commandery—was as faint as a dream. However, I could not, must not, let Sir Thomas feel that he had made a choice unworthy of him.

“A little,” I answered.

“That’s good, Tristan. If you had told me you were not afraid, I wouldn’t have believed you. The important thing is to stay alert at all times. Here in Outremer, battles tend to happen quickly and with little warning. Keep your eyes open. If a fight starts, stay focused on your duties. We’ve practiced and discussed it many times. The most common thing is that I’ll lose my lance or it will break. Stay near the quartermaster, and if you see me riding back, ride forward with a replacement. You’ll do fine. We may not even engage the enemy. Our scouts have seen Saracen patrols, but have not yet encountered a large force. We might march to Acre unopposed,” he said.

For some reason, I very much doubted that. Something told me I would see my first action very soon. Death was coming. The air had changed. We were in an alien land, marching forward as intruders, and everything felt upside down and out of place.

An order was shouted to march. The knights and men-at-arms moved out four abreast. They left the beach encampment, moving inland toward the higher ground rising east along the shore. The sergeantos and squires came behind the knights. I rode a sorrel mare and Quincy rode along beside me. A leather holster was attached to my saddle, and in it I placed an extra lance for Sir Thomas.

“Are you still nervous?” Quincy asked.

“Not at all. At St. Alban’s we had to fight off invading monasteries quite frequently. Compared with hordes of marauding Benedictines, this is nothing.”

Quincy stared at me, his brows knitted.

“It’s a joke. Knowing I may be marching toward my death tends to make me nervous,” I said.

Quincy chuckled at my discomfort. “I can tell you that most of the time nothing happens. We spend more time riding than fighting. And we don’t see much from back here.”

To calm myself, I tried passing the time by counting the size of our force. Though it was hard to get an accurate count with everyone stretched out in the column, I counted twelve Templar flags. With each regimento about seventy knights strong, plus men-at-arms, sergeantos and squires, I made our numbers to be nearly two thousand men. This of course included the non-Templar forces of the King’s Guards. If we ran into opposition, I hoped it was enough. I knew that Templars never left the field of battle unless outnumbered by more than three to one. The thought of facing a force of six thousand Saracens terrified me.

We rode along for hours, stopping now and then to rest and water the horses. In the afternoon as we crested a small ridge, the order came to halt. There was confusion at the front of the column, orders were shouted and trumpets called. In the noise and disarray I made out one word that sent my heart leaping to my throat.

Saracens!

O
UTREMER, THE
H
OLY
L
AND

13

I
quickly learned that war is mostly organized chaos and that as Sir Thomas said, it often happens without warning.

In the valley below us there stood a large advance force of Saracens. Seeing them for the first time did nothing to quell the fear within me. They looked formidable and ready to fight. At first glance, their lines appeared to stretch out for miles. I struggled to take it all in. They began waving their brightly colored battle flags back and forth. Unlike our traditional flags, they held banners that hung vertically from tall poles raised high by a mounted carrier. I quickly counted them and estimated their numbers were nearly equal to our own. It was as if they appeared by magic. Surely our scouts and mounted patrols must have noticed them ahead of us. But from where I rode, I got the feeling that we had stumbled across them unexpectedly.