Templar Prize

by Deanna Ashford

  ‘Richard will be furious if he finds out.’

  ‘He will not. You should send one of your men to find my horse. I left it on the other side of the oasis.’

  ‘Later.’ Stephen was having great difficulty concentrating as Edwina seductively rubbed her pelvis against his groin. His cock was becoming harder by the moment.

  She smiled, knowing quite well what her seductive movements were doing to him. ‘Stephen, I swear that I can feel –’

  ‘I am well aware what is happening to my body,’ he interjected in a strained voice.

  Even from a distance, Sarak stood out in the barren landscape as a stark reminder of the power of the Knights Templar and it made Stephen think of the famous fortress of Kerak, which was built along similar lines and was said to be the finest military stronghold in all Christendom.

  Although much smaller, Sarak was still a remarkable fortress and was designed to be easily defendable with only a limited force of men. Surrounded by high thick walls, it had four tall towers. Deep escarpments protected it on three sides, while the fourth had a wide, deep waterless moat which was only traversable by a drawbridge. Also Sarak was fortunately located on a promontory close to the Mediterranean, so it was relatively easy to ship in supplies. Stephen thought that this was no doubt why it had managed to hold out so long against the Saracens as he and his men rode towards it.

  There were no Saracen forces surrounding the walls: they had left long ago, defeated by the determination of its defenders. Just a few birds circled its high battlements and their raucous cries penetrated the still air, sounding to Stephen like a warning of danger. The citadel had a menacing air about it and Stephen felt it closing in on him as his horse clattered across the drawbridge and into the bailey.

  Telling himself not to be so foolish, he glanced back at Edwina. With her eyes lowered, her hair covered and dressed in a squire’s uniform, which she had sensibly carried in her saddlebags, she looked every inch a squire, albeit a rather scrawny one.

  He heard the ominous rattling of chains as the drawbridge was raised and the heavy thud of the massive metal-studded gates being pulled shut. Stephen halted, his men lined up behind him, and looked around the large bailey. There was no sign of any civilian occupants at all, just a fair number of Knights of the Temple, in their white surcoats fronted by red crosses, and a few sergeants and squires of the order dressed in their usual black habits.

  Stephen dismounted and walked towards the small group of knights who stood at the main entrance to the large inner keep. The commander of the garrison was Bernard le Motte. Stephen presumed that Bernard was the tall man in the centre of the group, who looked to be uncommonly thin. His grey hair was cropped very short and his skin was drawn so tightly over his sharp features that his face had an almost cadaverous air about it.

  ‘Greetings.’ The master, like all Templars, wore a thick beard because his order did not permit him to shave.

  ‘The Comte de Chalais at your service,’ Stephen said, feeling very conscious of all the inhabitants’ eyes focused upon him alone. Usually he didn’t find such evident curiosity troubling but he did so today. There was something eerily strange about this place and a slight shiver ran up his spine as he climbed the wide stone steps to the door of the keep.

  ‘Comte.’ A tense, almost unemotional smile crossed the man’s tight features. ‘I am the Master of Sarak, Bernard le Motte.’

  Reaching inside his surplice, Stephen brought forth the letters he carried, which were wrapped in a leather wallet. ‘Communications from His Majesty King Richard and the Grand Master of your order, Robert de Sable,’ he said as he handed it to Bernard.

  Judging by the brief moment of concerned confusion which ensued, the Templars did not know that a new Grand Master had been elected after his predecessor had perished at Acre. ‘We were not aware,’ Bernard said after he’d conducted a short conversation with his companions. ‘We have lived in virtual isolation here for a long time.’

  ‘I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Gerard de Ridefort died bravely in battle,’ Stephen replied. Bernard was staring at him with eyes so dark they looked almost black in the bright sunlight. They had a strange flat quality about them which he found immensely unsettling.

  Bernard nodded. ‘Comte, you may not recall but we have met before, many years ago at court in Jerusalem.’

  Stephen managed to hide his surprise, while thinking that he surely would have remembered such a strange-looking man. ‘I regret I do not remember our meeting. However, I was very young and most probably not paying as much attention as I should have to the visitors at court.’ He glanced back at his men, who had dismounted and were waiting patiently for orders beside their horses. ‘I am sorry that I was unable to bring more reinforcements. Unfortunately, the Grand Master wished to keep as many men as possible with him for the final assault on Acre.’

  ‘No doubt he explains it all in his letter.’ Bernard turned the leather wallet in his hand but did not undo the ties that held it closed. ‘We have managed to hold out against the Saracens for three years, and they no longer trouble us now.’ He turned to whisper something to his companions that he clearly did not want Stephen to hear. ‘Forgive me, you must be hungry and thirsty. Perhaps you would like to partake of refreshments in our rectory? I will have quarters prepared, but I must warn you that we live very simply here.’

  ‘I am a soldier, I would not expect otherwise. Anything will suffice.’ Stephen glanced back at Edwina who stood demurely behind him. ‘My squire, Edward, can share my quarters. There is no need to trouble yourself by providing more than one room.’

  Bernard le Motte frowned thoughtfully as he read the last of the three letters. The first two had been much as he had expected. There had been a greeting from King Richard, followed by a few encouraging words regarding the bravery of the knights defending Sarak and a couple of brief sentences about his plans to retake the Holy Land. The grand master’s letter had recounted how Gerard de Rideford had died. Bernard was pleased that it had been a noble death. It was clearly the will of God that the former grand master had sacrificed himself for Christ. Apart from that there had been a brief explanation about the small number of reinforcements and the letter had finished with prayers for their continued success.

  Bernard reread the letter from Guy de Lusignan. He had served the King of Jerusalem for many years and he felt concerned. Apparently the Comte de Chalais was close friends with Balian of Ibelin and they were, with other nobles of the Latin Kingdom, plotting to dethrone King Guy and make Princess Isabella queen. Bernard knew that he could not allow that to happen. ‘Of course I will help you, my friend,’ he said softly.

  Bernard rose to his feet, filled with a determination to defend this noble cause. He had been chosen by God to help King Guy and King Richard destroy Salah ad-Din and drive the infidels from the Holy City forever. Nevertheless, he would have to be careful what he said to his knights: there were those among them who shared his zeal but might not agree with what he planned to do about King Guy’s request, as it wasn’t precisely legal according to the rules of the order. Other reasons must be found; perhaps heresy was the answer, he thought, as he rose to his feet.

  Setting the first two letters on a nearby table, he placed the other in a secure secret pocket he’d had constructed inside his surplice. Usually it contained one of the three holy relics he owned, which were at present safely stored in his room. The Knights of the Temple were forbidden to own personal belongings. However, he felt that he was above such petty rules; the relics had helped him achieve success and had made him almost invincible.

  ‘Master.’ Brother Gerard hurried into the room. He acted as both chaplain and clerk in this small community and he was the only brother Bernard could trust with his deepest secrets. ‘Is the news good?’

  ‘You may peruse the letters.’ Bernard pointed to the two missives. ‘Then you can read them to the brothers when they eat their meal.’ He paused, then added, ‘I have other news from my friend
, our noble king.’

  ‘Long may he live,’ Gerard said enthusiastically. ‘He is well, I trust?’ Gerard added with a tight smile. He did not say more but Bernard sensed that something was troubling him.

  ‘He intends to marry soon a recently widowed noble-woman, Edwina de Montfort. Not only is she an heiress, she is kin to both King Richard and our dear departed Queen Sibylla.’

  ‘Propitious news.’ Gerard nodded. ‘Very propitious. However –’ he stepped closer to Bernard ‘– there is something important we must discuss right now. It is most unpleasant and concerns the Comte de Chalais.’

  ‘Unpleasant?’ Bernard enquired, hoping that whatever it was it might be something to aid his cause. ‘In what way?

  ‘As instructed, I had him watched,’ Gerard replied. ‘And it appears that the comte has an unnatural relationship with his squire.’

  Bernard tensed. ‘Are you certain about this?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bernard bobbed his head up and down nervously. ‘I assigned Brother John the task of keeping a close eye on our guests. He was peering through the peephole into the comte’s quarters when he saw them enter the room and bolt the door. To his consternation the comte and his squire then kissed each other passionately.’

  ‘I must see this for myself.’ Bernard’s heart began to beat out of control and his palms felt sweaty as he strode from the room followed by Gerard.

  It was only a few paces to the stone staircase and he climbed it quickly, hearing Gerard’s laboured breathing as they reached the top. Turning left, he hurried forwards until he reached a small storeroom, which contained far more than mere supplies. Behind a concealed panel in the far wall was the entrance to the narrow tunnels that honeycombed the walls of this citadel. Few of the occupants knew of their existence, only Bernard, Gerard and a small number of select Templars whom he knew he could trust implicitly. Bernard had made use of the tunnels since he had become master, using them to spy on the few visitors they’d had, and on the acolytes in their first months of service, as well as members of the order he had come to suspect of misdeeds.

  He, like all other masters, insisted that the members of the order slept in lighted rooms, always dressed in shirts, breeches and shoes. With many men confined in one place for long lengths of time, temptations existed. Therefore, brothers were forbidden to look upon each other when unclothed because it might encourage lewd sexual relationships between them.

  Now it appeared that such a relationship was occurring in the comte’s room. Bernard felt agitated as he opened the concealed door and stepped into the narrow passageway. Of course he had faced such uncomfortable situations before. However, in the past he had thought it his duty not to rely on hearsay and he had secretly witnessed what occurred first hand before deciding on a suitable punishment. The odd thing was that he couldn’t seem to erase the perversities he had seen from his mind. When he lay down to sleep at night he saw them again and again in his head and even in his dreams, making his body burn with a strange fire that was difficult to extinguish.

  As he walked along the dark passage he became more and more agitated. The hair shirt he had put on beneath his clothes only two days ago began to rub even more uncomfortably against the sweaty skin of his chest and back.

  ‘Here,’ Gerard whispered, pausing to silently draw back the wooden shutter that concealed the peepholes drilled in the stone.

  Bernard leant forwards and put his eyes to the holes, his heart beating excitedly in his chest as he tried to ignore the strange sensations forming in his groin. The first thing he saw was the Comte de Chalais standing stark naked in the centre of the room. For some inexplicable reason the image burnt its way into his mind. He saw a wide muscular chest and powerful arms formed by hours of training and swordplay. The comte’s skin was smooth with a faint golden tint, not white and pasty like his own. He couldn’t help but admire the flat stomach and he tensed as he caught a brief glimpse of Stephen’s sexual organs before he turned towards the bed. Now he was faced with a strong back, webbed with muscles, firm hard buttocks and powerful thighs, which were doing remarkably strange things to his equilibrium. He supposed it was because in his estimation nudity of any kind was sinful.

  Forcing his eyes from Stephen, Bernard spotted the squire, fortunately not naked but dressed in shirt and breeches, standing by the bed. Just like his master, the boy must be steeped in iniquity because he cared too much for his appearance and had grown his blond hair long. It was drawn into a plait at the nape of his neck but Bernard could not gauge how wickedly long it actually was because the plait was tucked inside the neck of the boy’s shirt. The squire was attractive with handsome, almost girlish looks. Perhaps that was why Stephen chose to use him in such an unnatural way.

  Then Bernard glanced back at the muscular man. Stephen stepped towards the bed and Bernard shivered as he caught a glimpse of a cock that looked uncommonly large, although, of course, he was no expert on such matters. It hung against the sac of balls, slapping against powerful thighs as the comte moved closer to the squire. He said something that Bernard couldn’t quite hear and the youth laughed and laid down on the bed on his stomach, his buttocks pointed towards his master.

  With a muttered oath Stephen jerked down the squire’s breeches to expose a creamy, perfectly formed naked bottom, which looked tempting even to Bernard. Hastily crossing himself, Bernard watched in lewd fascination. He found himself holding his breath in anticipation as Stephen curled his fingers round his cock and masturbated, rubbing his hand up and down the shaft until the organ grew thicker and larger, turning into a rigid rod of impressive size.

  ‘Master,’ Gerard whispered anxiously.

  ‘Silence,’ Bernard hissed, his excitement rising to fever pitch.

  Bernard felt his own penis grow harder but studiously tried to ignore it, concentrating on his need to bear witness to this appalling incident. He saw Stephen ease the squire’s legs apart then move, thrusting his cock deep inside the youth, who immediately gave a loud groan of pleasure. To be honest Bernard was unable to see this as clearly as he would have wished, because in the process of impaling the squire, the comte had moved and all he could see was the man’s muscular buttocks thrusting lewdly back and forth. Even so he was captivated by the sight of the erotic movements, finding the vision so compelling that his own shaft grew even harder until it felt as if it might explode. There was almost an animalistic air about these two people enjoying such forbidden pleasures and Bernard was so very tempted to slide his hand under his surplice and press it against his aching cock.

  Soon his breathing became as laboured as that of Stephen’s, who was still energetically pumping into the willing squire. Bernard’s heart missed a beat and his fingers curled, his ragged nails digging into the stone wall as Stephen withdrew and flipped the squire over. The boy’s long shirt concealed his sex for a moment and then the comte ripped it off, revealing the surprising sight of two round firm breasts tipped by erect cherry-coloured nipples. Bernard’s gaze slid down to the squire’s groin, hardly able to believe it was a woman. What had possessed this knight to bring a woman, disguised as a boy, to this sacred place?

  Yet he could not fail to be moved by her nakedness. In truth he might have envisaged it in his youth but he had never seen a woman unclothed before and it was a magnificently inspiring sight. He began to understand how such a sinful creature might have tempted Adam in the Garden of Eden. Her long golden hair confined in a fat plait flopped across one pert breast. As she lay there smiling seductively at the comte, she parted her thighs to reveal all of herself to the onlookers. Bernard swallowed and gave a soft sigh as he watched the line of wicked pink flesh opening up between her pale thighs. He so wanted to be there, naked on the bed with them, and he watched enthralled as Stephen eased his rigid cock back inside the woman again. As the thrusting started, she wrapped her legs around Stephen’s lean hips and Bernard could not resist the temptation a moment longer. His hand surreptitiously reached beneath his surplice and he grabbed hold of his
penis, rubbing it through the rough fabric of his breeches, while he watched the two of them rutting together.

  Their pleasure appeared to rise as swiftly as his. He saw Stephen’s muscles go rigid and he emitted a loud grunt as he climaxed. That noise was followed by a sharp scream from the woman as she too came. Confusion erupted inside Bernard’s body as he felt a quite indescribable pleasure consume him. Then his own muscles tensed and his cock pulsed with a wild pumping pressure. The strange sensation was followed by a wonderful warmth and a powerful sense of release.

  Unable to comprehend what had happened to him, he leant back against the far wall, shivering slightly as he became aware of a strange damp stickiness in his breeches and he realised in disgust that he had climaxed, something he had never allowed himself to do before, because self-gratification was a mortal sin in his eyes.

  Yet none of this was truly his fault, he told himself: it had come about because of the Comte de Chalais’s strange shameful behaviour. Bernard vowed that he would be punished for this as well as his other crimes. Turning, he leant towards Gerard. ‘Go find the strongest sleeping potion we have, put it in a jug of our finest wine and send it to the comte.’

  When she awoke Edwina was confused, very confused. She had opened her eyes to discover that she was lying on a hard narrow bed in a cell-like room with stone walls – a place she did not recognise at all. ‘Stephen,’ she gasped, although barely a sound escaped her lips as her tongue felt thick and swollen in her mouth.

  ‘My lady, are you recovered?’

  Edwina blinked to clear her vision and saw an elderly man with a white beard and wearing a black habit, leaning over her. ‘Who are you?’ she just managed to say, although her mouth felt as parched as the desert she had recently crossed.

  ‘I am one of the brothers,’ he said in a gentle voice. ‘You have been unwell.’