“Well done, Brother Wesley,” Sir Thomas called out.
He noticed my approach then. “There you are. I see Little John has delivered my gift.”
“Sire, I had no idea. I’m not sure if I can accept such a…”
Sir Thomas raised his hand. “No fuss, lad. You are my squire. It is my duty to see that you are properly equipped. The sword pleases you, I take it?”
“Yes, sire, it is a beautiful weapon,” I said.
Sir Thomas beamed a smile. “Good. Excellent. Well then, now would seem the perfect time to begin your training. Follow me.”
In a corner of the field stood a weapons rack. Sir Thomas pulled a large battle sword from it and handed it to me. It was longer and heavier than my own sword, and I found it difficult to lift, let alone hold.
“You will need to practice and work to gain strength in your arms and upper body,” he said. “The battlefield is no place to learn that you can’t lift or move something at a crucial moment.”
Sir Thomas returned the battle sword to the rack, picking up two wooden practice swords instead, and handed one to me.
“Grip it like this,” he said. He held the hilt of the sword out so that I could see how both of his hands curled around it, the forefinger of his left hand slightly overlapping the little finger of the right hand. I took the same grip on the sword and held it in front of me at the ready.
Thus began my first practice with the sword. Sir Thomas was a magnificent swordsman, and after a while, I was covered with welts and bruises from being pummeled by his wooden sword. It flashed and darted at me like a serpent’s tongue. If I managed to stop or parry one of his thrusts, he whacked back at me even faster twice or three times.
From that first moment on the field, practice and work became the essential elements of my life. Over the next few weeks, I immersed myself in the world of the Templars, quickly learning what was expected of me. As in my previous life, there was work and plenty of it. After the first few days I learned that whereas the monks concerned themselves with growing their crops and praying to God, the Templars were all about preparing to fight. In fact, Sir Basil said the life of a Templar knight was divided into three stages: getting ready to fight, fighting and getting ready to fight again.
On a typical day, we squires took our weapons practice in the afternoon. It was during such a session that Sir Hugh made another effort to bully me.
We were drilling with the wooden training swords under the watchful eye of Master Sergeanto LeMaire. A squat yet powerfully built man, he was a stern taskmaster on the practice field, but an excellent instructor. On this day he led us through our paces, having us practice swings and jabs, then paired us off to work on sparring. I was teamed with Quincy.
Sir Hugh came strolling by the line of squires as if he were a general inspecting his troops. At first I thought he would ignore me as he stopped to instruct a pair of the squires on their technique. Watching him from the corner of my eye, I had to admit that Sir Hugh was an excellent swordsman, perhaps as good as Sir Thomas. He was graceful and moved well, and I realized he would be a formidable foe in a fight. As he moved closer to us, Quincy and I kept practicing and I tried to ignore his presence, hoping he would move on. Soon, however, he stood next to us, watching as we sparred.
Quincy jabbed at me with the wooden sword. Stepping forward, I swung my weapon to the left with the blade upright, solidly blocking the thrust. He stepped back, preparing to move forward again, but Sir Hugh stopped us.
“That was the most pitiful parry I’ve ever seen,” he said.
His words stung, but I tried not to pay him any mind. “Forgive me, sire. I am new at this,” I said.
“No excuse. We are here to fight. If you can’t do that, you are of little use. A weak link in the chain like you can get us all killed.”
Sir Hugh’s eyes bore into me, but I refused to be baited. “Then I will keep practicing until I am the strongest link, sire,” I said.
Sir Hugh snorted. “Give me your sword,” he said to Quincy. Quincy was uncertain what to do for a moment, but timidly handed the weapon to Sir Hugh.
“Attack me,” he commanded.
I was reluctant to move.
“In God’s name, boy, I have given you an order! Attack!” he yelled.
I made a halfhearted lunge with my weapon. With blinding speed, he easily parried the thrust, then swung back, striking me solidly across my upper right arm. My arm went numb and I cried out in pain.
“Horrible defense,” he said. “If this were a real sword, your arm would be lying in the dust right now. Attack again.”
I couldn’t feel anything in my right arm below the elbow and couldn’t grip the sword correctly. My cry of pain had brought the training of the other squires to a halt, and they and Sergeanto LeMaire turned to watch, stunned, waiting to see what would happen next.
“Sire, my arm…,” I said.
“Boy, you listen to me! Attack!” Sir Hugh did not wait for me to move. Taking a giant lunge forward he brought the wooden sword swinging down at full speed. I had only a second to raise my weapon, which I held in my left hand only, moving it into a blocking position.
Sir Hugh’s sword whistled down, hitting mine with a loud crack. Because I fought one-handed, I couldn’t completely stop it. His blow landed on my right shoulder with a horrible crunching sound.
This time I screamed out loud. I thought my shoulder was surely broken. Dropping the sword from my hand I looked in shock at my right arm, now useless at my side. Tears stung my eyes, but I did everything I could to force them back, not wanting to give Sir Hugh the satisfaction.
“That was terrible. Simply awful! You have no talent at this whatsoever,” Sir Hugh said. “These are only practice weapons and you can’t even get that right. What are you going to do if you are attacked by someone with a real weapon?”
To my horror, Sir Hugh dropped the wooden practice weapon in the dirt. I watched in disbelief as he drew his battle sword from the sheath at his belt and began swinging it back and forth in the air before me.
“This isn’t a game, boy. This is war. We are going to fight. What will you do when it is no longer practice? What will you do when it’s real?”
Circling around me he swung the sword back and forth, each time bringing it closer to my face. I glanced quickly about. The squires watched on in silence. Sergeanto LeMaire looked stricken, but being far outranked by Sir Hugh, he couldn’t do much.
“Sir Hugh…,” he pleaded.
“Quiet, sergeanto!” Sir Hugh snapped.
Raising the sword high, he came at me. I saw it begin its downward arc, and there was nothing I could do but jump quickly to the side. The weapon cut through the air right where I had been standing moments before.
He moved back around me in a half circle, raising the sword again. When his hands started downward, I moved to the side, stumbling over the sword that I’d dropped. This time I fell to the ground on my knees. Sir Hugh’s sword swung down again where I had just been crouched before him.
As Sir Hugh completed the swing, he stepped forward to follow through. As he brought the sword up and around again, I saw my only chance.
With my left hand, I grabbed the fallen practice sword. As he stepped past me, I quickly thrust it between his legs at the ankles. It worked perfectly. He tripped on the wooden blade and fell headfirst into the dirt. He let out a shout of surprise and his tunic flew up, covering his head and shoulders.
I quickly scampered to my feet while Sir Hugh shouted and cursed. He jumped to his feet, his face turning crimson and his eyes throwing fire in my direction. I couldn’t help but smile, which made his face go from crimson to purple.
The brothers at St. Alban’s had always taught me to turn the other cheek. I should have remembered my station. He was the Marshal and should have been treated with the respect of his office. But I couldn’t help myself. I had done nothing to this man to deserve this treatment.
“Perhaps I am not the weakest link after all
, Sir Hugh,” I said. This brought a nervous laugh from the other squires. Even Sergeanto LeMaire snickered behind his hand.
“You think you are funny? You think this is a game? I have had enough of you and your insolent…” He stopped talking and raised the sword again. I crouched and prepared to dodge.
As Sir Hugh lifted the weapon above his head, a very large hand came from behind him and quickly tore the sword from his grip. It was Sir Basil. Then Sir Hugh went stumbling forward, tripping over the wooden sword and again flopping into the dirt.
The next thing I knew, Sir Thomas was there, kneeling beside him. Sir Hugh rolled over and started to get to his feet, but Sir Thomas placed a hand on his chest and held him in place. Sir Basil stood a few feet away, twirling the sword in his giant hands. It looked like a toy in his grip.
“What is the meaning of this? Remove your hand!” Sir Hugh said.
Sir Thomas spoke in a low voice. So low that Sir Hugh, Sir Basil, Quincy and I were the only ones to hear him.
“Know this,” he said, the rage in his tone barely contained. “I will never see anything like this again. Am I clear? You will not come near my squire under any circumstances. If you do, if anything happens to him, if he is injured in any way and I find out you are the cause of it, I will strike you down myself. You will not harm this boy. Nod to show that you understand me.”
Sir Hugh’s face was as cold as stone and his eyes were full of poison. He looked at me and then at Sir Thomas and hissed, “You’re a fool. I know, Sir Thomas. Don’t think I don’t. We both know who he is. You think you can protect him? Ha. I hardly think so.”
Sir Thomas cocked his head, his eyes boring into Sir Hugh for the briefest of moments. I felt my stomach clench, momentarily forgetting the pain in my arm and shoulder, and suddenly found it difficult to breathe. What did Sir Hugh mean? He knew something about my past?
“You know nothing, Sir Hugh. Nothing at all. And let me be clear: this boy is now under my protection. I’m watching, Sir Hugh. My men are watching. If anything happens to him, you’ll be the first one I find.” Sir Thomas’ hand grasped hold of Sir Hugh’s tunic and he pulled him just inches from his face. “Do you understand me?”
Sir Hugh’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t look frightened, but he knew that Sir Thomas, at least temporarily, had the upper hand. He barely nodded.
“Excellent,” said Sir Thomas. “Now I am going to help you to your feet and Sir Basil is going to give you back your sword. You will take it and leave the field. If you ever raise it at Tristan again, you’d best next use it on yourself, for it will be the last act you perform on this earth. Do we have an understanding?”
Sir Hugh said nothing, only nodded briefly again. Sir Thomas stood and as he did so, pulled Sir Hugh to his feet. He brushed past Sir Thomas, grabbed his sword from Sir Basil and stormed off the field.
“Sergeanto, recommence with the training,” said Sir Thomas. The squires immediately turned and began practicing as if nothing had happened.
“Tristan, are you hurt?” Sir Thomas asked.
“Not seriously, sire,” I said. “I don’t think anything is broken. It hurts quite a bit though.”
Sir Thomas ran his hand along my shoulder and I winced. “It doesn’t feel broken,” he said.
“Tristan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do,” Quincy said. He looked at me with downcast eyes as if he might break into tears at any moment.
“Not your fault, Quincy. You did nothing wrong. Don’t give it another moment’s thought,” I said. He smiled at me in gratitude.
“That’s right, Quincy. You are not to blame here. That lies squarely on the shoulders of Sir Hugh,” Sir Basil said. He beamed at me. “Tristan, I saw what you did. Quick thinking.”
“Sire, I am sorry to have caused any trouble…,” I said.
“Nonsense!” Sir Thomas interrupted. “I am glad that you are not seriously hurt, but I will want the physician to examine you. Sir Basil? Would you and Quincy excuse us for a moment?” he said.
Sir Basil nodded, and he and Quincy headed off the field.
“Tristan, tell me exactly what happened. I saw only the end,” he said.
As we left the field, I recounted for him how Sir Hugh had found fault with my technique and tried to goad me into doing something that would give him a reason to attack me. When we passed by them, Sergeanto LeMaire and the other squires paused in their training and began clapping. A few whistles and “Hail Tristans!” could be heard.
“Good thing Sir Hugh wasn’t here to see that,” Sir Thomas said, laughing.
Good thing indeed. Sir Thomas turned as if to make his way back to the Commandery.
“Sire?”
“Yes?”
“What did Sir Hugh mean? When he said he knew who I was? And you said that I was now under your protection?”
Sir Thomas turned to look at me, with the usual smile on his face. But his eyes said something else. I wasn’t sure what. They darted about, and for the first time since we had met, Sir Thomas didn’t hold my gaze when he spoke.
“Tristan, Sir Hugh is a buffoon. I simply meant that as a knight I will defend and protect my squire from harm. Who knows what he thinks?”
I nodded, still unsure, standing in the dusty field thinking over what I had just witnessed. Sir Thomas turned to depart again, then stopped once more.
“Lad, though he is an arrogant fool, he’s a dangerous man and never to be trusted. Never. I order you to stay out of his way. Do not approach Sir Hugh, ever, under any circumstances but especially alone. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sire,” I said.
Sir Thomas left me then, and while I struggled to understand all that I had just witnessed, it was Sir Thomas’ eyes that I kept seeing in my mind.
Eyes that told me much had been left unsaid.
ON THE SEA TO OUTREMER MAY 1191
12
After the events on the practice field, Sir Thomas was suddenly less available, asking the sergeantos and even a few of the other knights to assist in my training. I suspected he was avoiding me, perhaps afraid that I would ask him more questions. And his manner when I did see and talk to him told me that the subject was closed. For the first few days, I thought of little else besides Sir Hugh’s revelation (if that’s what it was) but I finally realized that he was as Sir Thomas said: a fool. He probably knew nothing about me or my past and only wished to cruelly tempt me with knowledge he did not truly possess.
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 Quin
cy 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.
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