Deus Militis - Soldiers of God

by Jonathan A Longmore

  As de Capo climbed the steps he could feel the eyes of every man in the courtyard boring into his back, and despite the searing heat he shivered.

  ‘Who does that bastard think he is?’ hissed de Paganel.

  ~

  De Capo entered his quarters and sat behind his desk with Efrayim sitting to one side, his writing instruments and parchment ready to scribe. Hashim stood by the door and as the two men entered he softly closed it and stood to one side. Daylight still flooded the room, but the blistering heat had been deflected by the thick walls and the tiled roof of the balcony.

  Leopold and de Paganel removed their helmets and stood awkwardly in front of de Capo, their mail coifs framing their expressions which were a mixture of contempt and loathing. Their red surcoats hung motionless halfway down their shins and covered the mail hauberks which hung to their knees. Leather leggings and boots with metal scales attached protected the legs and feet and both men continued to wear their mail gauntlets, a sign of their hostility towards him.

  De Capo looked at both men and understood why people feared the men of this Order. Their appearance was intimidating and overwhelming and he was acutely aware he had nearly a hundred men like this who all wanted to see him dead. He gave a small nod and Hashim disappeared behind the screen separating the sleeping quarters, reappearing with wine and three beakers. Both men stared suspiciously as the wine was poured and offered to them.

  De Capo smiled as he watched their indecision about accepting the wine or not, ‘Hashim!’ He took one of the beakers that had been offered to the two men and took a large gulp before placing the beaker on the desk in front of him, ‘You think I would poison you?’

  Leopold and de Paganel gave each other a glance before taking a sip.

  ‘De Chauvigny is gone,’ de Capo glared at both men who watched him distrustfully. ‘He is banished and will never return, if he does he will be arrested and executed!’

  De Paganel leant forward and slammed his beaker on the desk spilling wine over several parchments before staring at de Capo with hatred burning in his eyes, ‘This is not legal; you have no right to command us, we are an ancient order blessed by Pope Sylvester himself and our rules state only the Pope himself may raise a man to the rank of Master or Grand Master.’

  ‘I know all about your history and the origins of your order,’ de Capo said, referring to the remnants of the Praetorian Guard who petitioned the Pope after being disbanded by Constantine the Great following the battle of Milvian Bridge. The battle where he defeated the false Emperor Maxentius who had been elevated to that position by the Praetorians. They were too powerful and although they had been losing their power for a number of years, they had still retained enough to choose their own emperor. As a result of their being on the defeated side their cohorts were broken up and the soldiers posted across the empire, but there was a core who remained in Rome. When Sylvester became Pope he sanctioned the forming of the Order in secret. By the time Constantine converted to Christianity the Order had grown in size and its existence was finally revealed to him. His initial reaction had been to disband the Order and execute the leaders, but because it had been sanctioned by the Pope who demanded their continued existence he agreed to its continuation on condition the numbers remained less than two hundred. Even after the Praetorians had been effectively destroyed he still feared their power.

  Nearly a thousand years after its formation, the Imperial Order of Jerusalem remained the oldest and the smallest Order of all the knightly institutions. They were still unofficially the Pope’s favourite, and it was on this basis de Paganel believed the appointment of de Capo would be overturned.

  ‘The Bailli is the law in this land,’ continued de Capo, ‘the Constable and the Bailli together make the decisions that ensure the protection of our people.’ He paused and took a mouthful of the wine and waited for Hashim to refill it, ‘Your previous commander put the safety of this city in dire jeopardy, you know that and I know that, and this antagonism toward me is ill placed!’

  ‘You brought this antagonism upon yourself,’ Leopold said as he placed his beaker on the table in a more civilised manner, ‘we will obey your orders until this illegality is proven and overturned.’

  De Capo sighed, ‘And the oath?’

  ‘We will make the oath,’ Leopold said grimly, ‘and unless your appointment is proven to be illegal we will keep to that oath.’

  ‘And if the Pope overturns the Baillie’s decision?’

  ‘Then your command here is illegal, as is the oath, and our previous oath will stand.’

  ‘Very well,’ de Capo said as he stood, ‘but until that happens I expect the cooperation of both of you, and your word you will respect this office and the man in it.’

  Both men stayed silent as they gave a curt bow of the head, turned and walked out onto the balcony. Hashim closed the door behind them before looking at de Capo through shaded eyes.

  De Capo stood, glanced at Hashim and walked to the window, gazing out on the people leaving and entering the city.

  ‘You have no friends here Sayyid!’

  ‘I have friends elsewhere Hashim…..and I trust in God to protect me.’

  ‘Allah, blessed be his name, protects the merciful,’ Hashim said looking at Efrayim who smoothed his long white beard as he listened to both men, ‘his mercy is benevolent and he watches those who have a good heart.’

  De Capo turned and looked at Hashim, ‘You speak like a warrior!’

  Hashim held his hands to his chest and bowed his head slowly, ‘I am merely the Sayyid’s servant,’ he looked up again and the hooded eyes seemed to glimmer in the shadows, ‘and a servant looks after his master.’

  ‘Does the servant know more than he should?’

  Hashim gave a small shrug, ‘The servant knows the Sayyid should have men he can trust!’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed de Capo, ‘but I cannot bring men from St Peter’s here.’

  Hashim smiled as he gave a small bow before removing the beakers abandoned by Leopold and de Paganel.

  ~

  ‘This oath changes nothing!’ De Paganel threw his helmet at the servant and snatched the jug of wine on the table in Leopold’s quarters. He splashed wine into the beaker and swallowed down hard, wiping the excess off his beard with his hand. ‘Nothing,’ he repeated, ‘if that bastard thinks I’m going to accept an illegal oath because he says so he’ll be pissing in my mouth first.’

  ‘That’s exactly what you will do,’ Leopold said harshly, ‘you will accept the oath and stick to it until I tell you otherwise!’

  De Paganel glared at Leopold, ‘Or what?’

  ‘Or I’ll piss in your mouth,’ snapped Leopold, ‘and I’ll make sure every man here pisses in your mouth!’

  De Paganel did not enjoy being threatened, not by Leopold, not by anyone, he dropped the beaker onto the table and his right hand moved a fraction as the rebuff he had just received from Leopold pushed his temper almost to its limit, ‘I would like to see you try, no one and especially not a German who’s ready to kneel to a traitor talks to me like that!’

  ‘You’re an idiot,’ said Leopold as he purposely ignored the implied threat de Paganel made. He motioned with his head for the servant to leave and once they were alone he sat,

  ‘We are not friends, you and I, but we are not enemies either.’

  De Paganel remained standing and relaxed slightly as he realised fighting Leopold would be a mistake, he took a deep breath and as he stared at Leopold through eyes narrowed to slits, he nodded in agreement and sat opposite Leopold, ‘You know he has to die?’

  ‘When the time is right.’

  ‘And when will that be….when you say so?’

  ‘When de Fribois tells us the time is right…..if you wish to kill de Capo without his permission, be my guest. I’m sure he will be only too pleased to talk to you about it!’

  ‘You’re bluffing,’ de Paganel said unconvincingly. Martel de Fribois, Grand Master of the Imperial Order of Jeru
salem was not known for his subtlety or his compassion.

  ‘Reynaud will talk to the Grand Master, he will talk to the Pope and you will have your chance, until then you do as you’re told!’

  ‘How long will that take?’ De Paganel demanded.

  ‘Not long,’ replied Leopold, ‘and when we have our orders, the job is yours.’

  De Paganel smiled cruelly and thought of the pain he would inflict.

  Chapter Twelve

  In the market place the old man sat under the canopy and served hot tea in small cups. He arrived before dawn every morning and stayed until late in the night. The small boy sitting beside him watched like a hawk as his master prepared the tea and took little sips until he was satisfied the temperature and taste were exactly as they should be. When he needed water the boy would run to the well and fill the same leather bag the old man had used for years. Before the sun had risen over the walls surrounding the city, men sat in small groups, sipped tea and discussed whatever it was that interested them. The markets of Acre were bustling hives by the time the shadows started to shorten and the sun continued to bleach the earth.

  Every morning as long as he had been employed at the castle, Hashim would leave before the sun rose and make his way to the markets to buy fresh fruit. He had done it for de Chauvigny because it is what was expected of him, and now he would do it for de Capo because he wanted to.

  The atmosphere was thick and oppressive in the castle since the parade, and the mood of the men would be dangerous today, the day they had to renounce their oath to de Chauvigny. Hashim would ensure he remained close to the new Sayyid. He was not there just to serve, but also to protect him. De Chauvigny had never warranted nor deserved any protection and on more than one occasion Hashim had been tempted to slip poison into his wine. Efrayim had been his conscience against murder and he thanked Allah daily for allowing him to befriend the Jewish scribe. To kill de Chauvigny in such a manner would have bought the wrath of the Order upon both of them, they would have been seen as assassins, tortured until they admitted either their involvement or died, and the Sultan would have lost a valuable source of information simply for one man’s life. It had been a wise decision and Hashim and Efrayim, Muslim and Jew had given thanks together on the day de Chauvigny had left the castle for the last time.

  Pomegranates, dates, olives, oranges and figs filled Hashim’s leather sack and he paid the price he bartered with the merchant’s complaints filling his ears, ‘My wife will scold me for letting you steal my fruit, my children will suffer for your greed, by next week we will be starving because I am forced to give away my fruits!’

  Hashim smiled and walked way as the merchant laughed and started to barter with another customer. Tomorrow, he would get insulted again, and the day after that, and the day after that. The insults had been the same for as long as he could remember. He knew how much the fruit was worth and he knew he paid more than he needed to. But it wasn’t his money, and if Efrayim wanted to complain about the price when he reimbursed him it would be the first time. Hashim knew Efrayim was a wily old devil. Crafty but not sly. Honest, truthful and, Hashim believed, fully aware of his true allegiance. But Efrayim was astute enough to keep that knowledge to himself.

  Hashim wandered through the market until he came to the old man selling his special tea, flavoured with a spice only he knew. It was a daily routine and one he looked forward to, not only for the potent kick it seemed to give him but also for the conversation with men who shared his allegiance. He greeted the men who were already sitting on the mats and took his place within the circle that was starting to form.

  As he sipped his tea he listened to the conversations ranging from the increase in the price of olives to the rumours of a coup in the Mameluk hierarchy. The story was the Sultan Qutuz was dead, having been murdered by his General, Al-Ṣāliḥī Baibars whilst on a hunting trip. If this was true thought Hashim, the days of the Franks occupying this land were truly numbered.

  He was so preoccupied with listening to the stories he did not take much notice of the man who sat next to him until he started to talk to him in a hushed voice, ‘Hashim al Basir, my master sends his greetings and thanks you in advance for the favour you will do for him.’

  Hashim finished his tea and gave no indication he had heard anything as he handed the cup back and nodded for a second. The old man glanced at the man next to Hashim and filled two cups and handed them over and inclined his head in thanks at the payment made by the stranger. Hashim lifted the cup and took in the aroma of the second drink with as much pleasure as the first. It was unusual for him to have two cups and he knew the old man could be trusted to hear everything and remember nothing. Men met here to talk, knowing what was said here, remained here. Hashim waited until the stranger had sipped the tea and sighed in appreciation before asking, ‘Does your master’s messenger have a name?’

  ‘You may call me Ibrahim,’ said the stranger as he held the cup close to his face to savour the aroma that was so unique, ‘this is truly remarkable tea.’

  ‘Ibrahim,’ thought Hashim, a name he suspected was not his own, ‘A taste that enhances the joy of life,’ Hashim replied, ‘and a flavour to allow a man to accept even such a small joy in life is the will of Allah, blessed be his name.’

  ‘Life is beautiful,’ said Ibrahim, ‘none more so than life which has been given back to the man who is already dead!’

  Hashim looked at the man beside him and saw a face with tired eyes. Flecks of grey dotted the dark beard which was in contrast to the white turban and his slightly hooked nose made him look like a wise bird of prey, ‘You speak strange words my friend, what favour does your master ask?’

  ‘Do you know the Christian knight called de Capo?’

  Hashim quickly glanced around but the other men in the circle gave no indication they were listening, and if they were, anything said would not be repeated, ‘The Sayyid?’

  For an instant Ibrahim looked confused, ‘I am told your Sayyid is the Butcher!’

  ‘The Butcher has been banished,’ said Hashim with a hint of a smile, ‘if he returns the Constable will hang him.’

  In all the time Hashim had visited the old man and sat in the circle drinking tea he had never known the circle to be silent, but it fell silent that day and all the men looked at him including the old man who simply said, ‘Allahu Akbar!’ God is great!

  The men in the circle all muttered the same phrase and continued talking as if nothing had happened. Hashim looked at the men, surprised at the reaction. He knew before midday this news, against tradition to the circle, would be through the city and beyond. He placed his cup down and allowed the old man to refill it and when he handed payment across, the old man pushed it back.

  ‘The new Sayyid is de Capo?’ Ibrahim asked.

  ‘He is,’ said Hashim who was still amazed at the reaction his news had created, ‘he arrived yesterday morning to command the men who he made his enemy.’

  Ibrahim sipped his tea before asking, ‘You know what he did?’

  Hashim nodded, ‘Yes.’

  ‘And now,’ asked Ibrahim, ‘he commands the men he insulted?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hashim repeated.

  ‘It is the will of Allah, blessed be his name,’ Ibrahim had said as he continued to sip his tea, ‘some things are always meant to be.’

  ‘Allahu Akbar,’ said Hashim as he quickly glanced at the men in the circle who sipped their tea and spoke quietly, but none of them looked in his direction again. Two more men joined the circle and listened as the men beside them spoke softly and they both repeated what had already been said, ‘Allahu Akbar!’

  Hashim looked at Ibrahim, ‘What is your master’s request?’

  ‘My master fears for the safety of de Capo,’ said Ibrahim, ‘we are in his debt, and if he dies without the debt being repaid it would not be good for our souls.’ Ibrahim looked at

  Hashim with a frown, ‘Is he in danger?’

  ‘His men do not like him,’ said Ha
shim, ‘and he does not like them.’

  Ibrahim smiled, ‘A commander of men does not need to be liked; he needs to be feared and respected, and he does not need to like his men, but he has to love them as they are his sword, and without them he is nothing.’

  ‘I understand,’ Hashim said, ‘but I have heard men talking and that talk is not good.’

  ‘If his life is in danger I need to know,’ Ibrahim’s eyes narrowed, ‘he is not to be harmed…..can his guards be trusted?’

  ‘There is a problem,’ Hashim placed the empty cup on the mat in front of him and placed a hand over it when the old man tried to refill it, ‘he has no guards.’

  Ibrahim looked surprised, ‘No guards? Where are his own men?’

  Hashim inclined his head slightly, ‘The Christians fight for the same God,’ he shrugged, ‘but they also fight each other, his own men are not welcome and he would be in more danger if they were.’

  Ibrahim looked thoughtful, ‘You have already given me much to consider…… does he trust you?’

  ‘I think so,’ replied Hashim cautiously.

  Ibrahim leant closer to Hashim, ‘You must stay close to him. He will need men he can trust….I will think about this.’

  Hashim nodded, ‘What else do you need to know?’

  ‘My master wishes to know everything,’ Ibrahim smiled, ‘I will be here every morning and we will talk.’

  ~

  By the time Hashim walked through the gates of the castle and made his way towards de Capo’s quarters, the day’s activities within the walls had started in earnest as the servants and grooms hurried about carrying out their duties. The guards who were on duty when he left had been replaced, and as he walked towards the steps leading to the balcony on the first floor he stopped as his name was called, ‘Hashim!’

  He turned to find Leopold standing inside the shadows of the armoury, wearing only his gambeson but carrying an arming sword that, judging by the gleam on the edge had recently been sharpened.

  Hashim greeted Leopold in his own way, ‘As-Salaamu `Alaykum.’

  Leopold ignored the courtesy Hashim had offered and walked out of the shadows with the blade held over his shoulder, ‘What’s in the bag?’