They stood off to the side of the gate in the falling shadows and leaned close to one another, making sure they could not be overheard.
I did not want Sir Hugh to see me. Before he could glance in my direction, I dodged behind a wagon that stood parked in the street, peering around the side while the conversation went on.
After watching for a moment more and still unable to hear, I saw Sir Hugh reach into his belt and remove a scrap of parchment, which he handed to one of the guards. He also handed them a small pouch that I assumed contained coins. Some agreement reached, the guards nodded, mounted their horses and rode off in the opposite direction. Not toward the castle where the other guards had escorted the King, but west as if they were leaving town.
Sir Hugh watched them until they rode out of sight. He said something to the other Templar, who nodded, and together they disappeared through the gate of the Commandery. I waited a few minutes more, making sure he did not suddenly reappear, then moved from behind the wagon.
Quickly, I entered the compound, wondering what to do with this knowledge. Instinct told me that Sir Hugh was up to something. Then again, he was the Marshal of the Regimento. Surely he could have legitimate business with the King’s Guards. Perhaps they were discussing military strategy, or the need for provisions or supplies of some sort.
If I told Sir Thomas what I had seen, would he think me foolish? That I had been spying on his brothers, assuming an interest in something that was none of my business?
Entering the main hall I was greeted by the sounds of the evening meal in progress. The Templars were a much louder crowd than the monks, and the tables were full of noise and conversation. Sir Thomas was seated at the far wall with Sir Basil and some others, so I made my way there.
“Tristan! There you are,” Sir Thomas said when he saw my approach. “I was wondering what took you so long.”
“He had to give that old plow horse a kiss good-bye!” Sir Basil said, and the table of knights erupted in laughter as I turned red.
“Go easy on the boy, Basil,” Sir Thomas said. “Give him a day or two to get his bearings before you unleash that wit of yours.”
“Sir Thomas, I wanted to tell you…” I started to report what I had seen in the street outside, but before I could get the words out, he interrupted me.
“You’ll need to fill a plate and eat quickly-we have important business ahead of us tonight, and not much time,” he said. From the seat next to him Sir Thomas picked up a brown garment and handed it to me.
“Once you’ve finished eating, change into this. It is a servante’s tunic. You will wear it from now on as a member of the Order.”
“Certainly, sire, and there will be chores, I assume?” I asked.
“No chores tonight, boy; there’ll be time for that tomorrow. But eat and change quickly. You’ll want to be presentable for an audience with the King.”
I looked up from my study of the garment at his face. He had that twinkle in his eye, but I could tell he was serious.
“Excuse me, Sir Thomas. But did you just say ‘an audience with the King’?”
“Indeed I did, lad. You aren’t hard of hearing, are you? I could have the physician examine your ears if you’d like,” he said with mock concern.
“No, sire, not necessary-my ears are fine,” I said. But I stood there holding my tunic with what I’m sure was a dazed expression on my face.
“Tristan?” Sir Thomas said.
“Yes, sire?”
“Your meal? Change? There’s not much time. The King expects us shortly,” he said.
Sir Thomas smiled at me. Sir Basil appeared next to me with a plate heaped with food. He placed it at an open seat at the table and beckoned me to sit.
In all the excitement I forgot about Sir Hugh and his mysterious actions in the street. I ate quickly for the food was delicious, but not even my ferocious appetite could keep my mind from racing. I, Tristan of St. Alban’s, born an orphan, would this evening meet the King!
8
After finishing the meal, another squire named Quincy, who served Sir Basil, showed me to our quarters. Quincy was two years younger than I, but in many ways a miniature version of his knight. Tall and strong for his age, his face was round and his cheeks were a healthy red. He had a ready laugh, cheerfully leading me to my bunk at Sir Basil’s request.
“We sleep in an outbuilding on the grounds,” he said as we left through a back door of the main hall. It was only a few short yards across the common, past several other small structures.
“This is the armory,” he said, pointing to the first building we passed on our way. “Behind the armory are the stables. We sleep here.” By then we had reached a small timber building, square and unadorned. Quincy opened the door, leading me inside.
The interior was dark, lighted only by candles and a few oil lamps. In the center of the room sat a long wooden table with benches along either side. Ten straw mattresses were laid around the interior walls. The far end of the building held a fireplace that took up one wall. There were a few windows that would let in light during the daytime, but now it was damp, dingy and not particularly sweet smelling.
“Does it always smell this clean and fresh?” I said.
Quincy laughed, again reminding me of Sir Basil. “Always,” he said. “Come. I sleep here in the far corner. The space next to mine is empty. It’s yours if you like.”
“My thanks,” I said.
I dropped my small bag of possessions, shrugging out of my shirt and pulling on the tunic Sir Thomas had given me. It was a dull brown wool garment, hooded, with a rope belt that tied around the waist. A long slit up the front and back would make it easier to wear while riding a horse.
I looked at Quincy, who was dressed in the same simple uniform I now wore. I’ll admit that when Sir Thomas had asked me to join him as his squire, I’d envisioned myself wearing a fancy tunic with a red cross and maybe even my own chain mail. I saw now that I’d been wrong to think so.
“Templars wear brilliant white tunics with red crosses and we have to wear these?” I said.
Quincy just shrugged. “It’s what all servantes wear.”
Huh. Maybe the chain mail would come later.
“We should return to the main hall right away,” he said. “We’ll be leaving for the castle shortly.”
“Are you going to see the King as well?” I asked.
“Aye. I heard the brothers say that King Richard leaves in two days to ready his fleet. We have a week or so of preparations, then we sail to meet him. He wants to greet the regimento tonight. A simple affair, I heard. To praise us for our service and to speak with some of the brothers on what we might find when we arrive in Outremer and such,” he said.
“Why are we invited? Isn’t it strange for squires to be included in such a gathering?”
“You might think so,” Quincy said. “I heard Sir Thomas and Sir Hugh had quite an argument after Sir Thomas invited the entire regimento. But Sir Thomas would not back down, arguing that every member of the regimento puts his life on the line and should share in the thanks of the King. Sir Hugh was not amused, so I’m told.”
“What do you know of Sir Hugh?” I asked.
Quincy didn’t answer right away. He looked around the room, as if making doubly sure we were alone. He started to speak, then paused for a moment, as though he needed to choose his words carefully.
“I know we only just met, but if Sir Thomas has chosen you as his squire, then I can assume you are a decent fellow. So let me warn you: stay out of Sir Hugh’s way. He’s vicious and cruel. He made it to Marshal only because of his powerful friends, but he commands by fear. I’ve heard some of the other squires say that he is suspected of breaking Templar laws-executing defenseless prisoners, physically punishing squires and sergeantos for no reason. But he is careful and calculating and no one can ever prove anything, and his victims are too scared of him to speak out against him.”
I thought of the previous night in the stable and w
ondered if it was indeed Sir Hugh who had attacked me. From what Quincy was telling me now, it sounded likely.
“It’s said that Sir Thomas was placed in this regimento by the Master himself, to keep Sir Hugh in check. Sir Hugh hates Sir Thomas but fears him. At any rate, I’d suggest avoiding Sir Hugh and his toadies. He’s dangerous and crazy!”
“His ‘toadies’?” I said.
“That’s what Sir Basil calls them. ‘There goes Sir Hugh with his toadies hopping behind him,’ he’ll say. He has the support of a small group of knights in this regimento. But Sir Thomas is the one the men will follow. Stay close to him and you’ll be fine.”
“He does seem very brave,” I said.
“Ha, you should hear the stories! Ask Sir Basil sometime about Sir Thomas on the battlefield. My favorite is the one where Sir Thomas and his men were pinned by a force of Saracens in a blind canyon not far from the plains of Jerusalem. According to Templar law, only when we are outnumbered more than three to one may Templars retreat from the battlefield. In this engagement, the Saracens received reinforcements and were nearly five times our numbers. They pushed the Templars back across the field and Sir Thomas gave the order for the knights to regroup a few miles away, but in the dust and confusion the column took a wrong turn, and were pinned in a canyon with no way out.”
“What happened?” I asked eagerly.
“The Saracens realized the Templars were trapped and halted their pursuit momentarily, expecting surrender. Instead, Sir Thomas ordered the knights to charge with lances. Sir Basil said they rode full on at the Saracen lines and the Saracens were so caught off guard by this crazy attack they broke ranks and ran. Sir Thomas and the knights chased them clear across the plains of Jerusalem until the Saracens reached their main force. The Templars held the field once again.”
“Amazing!” I said. And from what I had seen of Sir Thomas in the last two days, I had no trouble believing it.
We walked across the grounds, finding the regimento gathering at the front gate. It was dark now, and many of the sergeantos carried torches. Outside the Commandery, the city had grown quiet. The marketplace was nearly empty, the shops were closed and the vendors’ carts had disappeared from the streets.
Forming a loose column, we walked through the streets of the city. Sir Thomas was near the front with Sir Hugh at the lead. Within a few minutes’ time we had arrived at the castle above the town.
The castle gate was open and the courtyard inside was a busy place. Torches and bonfires gave light to the workmen still scurrying about. Several large carts and wagons were being loaded and unloaded with supplies. Men still worked on the parapets high off the ground.
Trailing through the courtyard, we filed into the grand hall of the castle. I had never seen so large a room in my life. The walls were lined with oil lamps. Elegant tapestries were hung every few feet. At the far end of the room sat a large, long banquet table where servants were busy carrying away the remains of what looked to have been a magnificent feast.
The King stood across the room, at the center of a group of men huddled together discussing something in great detail. He was dressed as he had been when I saw him in town, holding a rolled parchment in his hand. A few of the King’s Guards stood at attention along the wall behind him.
Filing along the wall opposite the King, we formed loose ranks. Sir Thomas, Sir Hugh and the other knights stood at the forefront of our group with the sergeantos and the squires at the rear against the wall. I found a spot next to Quincy where I could see Sir Thomas and the others. We all waited there for the King to finish his conversation and address us.
His affairs concluded, he dismissed the men he had been speaking with. As they left the room, he strode across the floor toward Sir Hugh and Sir Thomas. The room went quiet, waiting to hear what the King would say.
“Thomas Leux!” the Lionheart exclaimed in heavily accented English. He beamed, pumping the hand of Sir Thomas. “You look in fighting shape. How long has it been?”
Sir Thomas bowed slightly. Next to him Sir Hugh’s expression went cold and his eyes hooded. He stared at Sir Thomas with an expression of the purest jealousy.
“Not since you were still the Prince of Normandy, your highness. We gave the French King more than he could handle at Bourneau. And then some.”
“I remember. I remember it well,” the King said. “Mostly, I have memories of a young knight who rallied the lines, leading the charge that turned the day.”
Sir Thomas bowed his head again, looking uncomfortable. “You are far too generous in your praise, your highness,” he said.
“He was talking about me!” Sir Basil said loudly.
At that, everyone, the King included, roared with laughter.
“And I can see this scoundrel has not changed a bit,” the King said as he shook Sir Basil’s hand. “Sir Basil, good to see you, my friend. How are you?”
“Growing smaller by the day, your highness,” Sir Basil said.
This brought another laugh, as Sir Basil was nearly a head taller and several stone heavier than the King. When the laughter died down, I noticed that the King had not yet acknowledged Sir Hugh at all. He couldn’t have been happy about that.
Then, as easily as it had come, the friendly expression disappeared from the King’s face.
“And now, as knights who served my father with such distinction, you have taken vows as brothers of the Temple? Turning your back on many years of service to the crown to pledge allegiance only to the Pope?” The King looked squarely at Sir Thomas. The room instantly went quiet again.
The expression on Sir Thomas’ face never altered. But Sir Hugh’s did. It changed from jealousy to intense curiosity. He leaned away from Sir Thomas, as if he wished to avoid any association with the knight who now found himself cornered by the monarch.
Sir Thomas stared squarely at the King. Then in a strong voice he spoke. “I would like to think that we serve God first,” he said. “That is the vow that all brothers take when they join the Order. We fight for all Christians. Regardless of whom their King may be.”
The room was so quiet that if a mouse had sneezed in the kitchen, I was certain I would have heard it.
The cloud left the King’s face. He studied Sir Thomas for a moment, and then he smiled.
“Well said, old friend. Forgive my impertinence. I have fought beside you. I know you have the heart of a warrior. These are dangerous times. There is much to do. The King’s court, as always, is full of rumor and intrigue, and I must be certain of those who say they will join me in this Holy Crusade.”
“Then let our service in this Crusade be the least of your worries, your highness. We are brothers of the Temple, sworn to protect and defend Outremer, and that is what we will do,” Sir Thomas said. At his words the other knights gave a rousing cheer, with the exception of Sir Hugh, who clapped unenthusiastically.
“We will drive the Saladin from the Holy Land, sire, you need not worry about that,” Sir Basil said.
The tension left the room. The King visibly relaxed, and taking Sir Thomas by the shoulders he said something to him that I could not hear over the buzzing of the voices. But I did watch Sir Hugh. His expression returned to its normal sour tone. He seemed like a spider sitting quietly in his web, watching and waiting before deciding to strike.
“Have you ever seen the King before?” I asked Quincy.
“Not King Richard, but I saw his father, Henry, at a jousting match in Ulster once when I was just a lad. The people there loved him.”
“Tristan!”
From across the room, I saw Sir Thomas looking in my direction. He gestured for me to join him.
I was instantly nervous. Sir Thomas kept waving his arm, motioning me toward him. What was he thinking? Why did he need to speak to me now when he stood so near the King of England? Couldn’t it wait? Yesterday I was pulling weeds in a vegetable garden. Now I stood not a stone’s throw from his majesty the King. It was all too much. Still, I could not disobey. I walked h
altingly to where he stood.
“Sire?” I said.
Taking me by the arm we turned to face the King. “Your majesty,” he said.
The King stopped mid-conversation with another knight and turned to look at Sir Thomas. He paid me no attention.
“Yes, Sir Thomas?”
“My squire, your highness. I would like to introduce you to my squire, Tristan. He has recently joined me from St. Alban’s Abbey. He’s a fine young man. Capable and brave. I’m sure he’ll be Master of the Order one day,” Sir Thomas said.
Sir Hugh cut in. “Sir Thomas, really, I’m sure the King has much more pressing duties than meeting your squire.” He spat out the word as if he had swallowed a ball of chicken feathers.
The King looked confused, glancing from Sir Hugh to Sir Thomas, but then his gaze fell on me. He studied me as any royal might view one of his subjects. In the same way that one might scrutinize a horse or cow before purchasing it. But then his eyes narrowed.
“Tristan, you say?” he asked.
“Yes, your majesty,” I answered. I was dumbstruck, not knowing exactly what I should do or say, but had at least remembered that. I felt Sir Thomas’ hand gently push my back, and I bowed.
“You look familiar. Have we met before?” the King asked.
“Met, your highness? Oh no. No, sire, this is my first trip to a city…I-”
“I could swear I have seen you somewhere before,” he interrupted.
“Well, your majesty, I was in the street this afternoon when you rode through. Perhaps-”
“No, but there’s something familiar…” He let the words hang in the air.
I stood there speechless, not knowing what to say or do. The King held my gaze and I returned it in kind, but the room felt warmer now, and sweat began to form on my forehead.
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