Anarchy

by Stewart Binns

  I was not a particularly religious man, but the fundamental principles of the Great Crusade appealed to me. They were the values central to the Mos Militum and the other codes of chivalry that my family had always believed in. Although the crusaders had committed many sins and behaved with unbridled barbarity on many occasions, their original cause had been laudable and their virtues admirable. It was in this context that a group of men appeared in my life who would have a profound influence on my story.

  Their leader was a man called Hugh de Payens, a knight from Champagne in France, and the others were his lifelong companions. They were Godfrey de Saint-Omer – who had served with Hugh in the contingent of Geoffrey of Bouillon in the Great Crusade – Andre of Montbard, Payen of Montdidier, Archambaud of St Amand, Geoffrey Bisol and two monks: Gondemere and Rosal.

  Eadmer and I were sitting drinking fresh lemon juice in the shade of Antioch’s huge walls when the group of knights appeared. They were a formidable array of warriors. Hugh and Godfrey were perhaps fifty years old, battle-scared and bronzed by the hot son of the Levant. The others were younger, in their forties, and equally intimidating. Eadmer and I tensed when they approached – such was their bearing, they could easily have been mistaken for brigands – but we were reassured by the smiles on their faces. We noticed that they were all dressed in the same way: each wore a black ankle-length hooded cape, and under it a long white cappa robe tied at the waist. Both the cape and the cappa had the insignia of a red crusader cross over the left breast. Their weapons were humble: a lance of plain ash, a simple yeoman’s sword, an undecorated dagger, a heavy Norman mace and a triangular white shield with a black band at the top. Their helmets resembled the Norman design – except they were domed, not conical – and they too were decorated with the crusader cross.

  We stood when they reached our table. Hugh introduced himself and his companions, and I responded and asked them to sit. Their hair was cropped short and their beards closely trimmed. Most noticeably, their eyes shone with a solemn intensity that was fascinating. They were clearly men with a purpose.

  ‘Your name goes before you, Harold of Hereford.’

  It was when he spoke again, with his deep harmonious voice, that I remembered who he was. His shorter hair and beard had changed his appearance a little and he was wearing different clothes, but it was suddenly clear to me that he was the knight who had killed his opponent with a single blow from his mace in Paris three years previously.

  ‘I am honoured that you know my name, Sir Hugh.’

  ‘No such formalities, my friend, my name is simply Hugh.’

  ‘And mine is Hal. This is my sergeant, Eadmer. We have met before, in Paris. I was in service to King Louis and we were enjoying a drink by the Seine.’

  Hugh looked a little disconcerted, and he hesitated before replying.

  ‘Ah, yes … I remember. He was a man who had a score to settle with me from many years before – an evil individual – the world is a better place without him.’

  ‘Well, you made sure of that.’

  Hugh de Payens smiled, just as he had done when we met him before, and then returned to his purpose.

  ‘Your exploits in escaping from Anatolia are well known here, as is your survival at Sarmada. You and your sergeant are brave men indeed.’

  ‘Thank you, but our deeds are modest compared to some.’

  ‘On the contrary, your reputation is what led us to approach you.’

  This total stranger then did something unexpected. Immediately followed by his companions, he fell to his knees and bowed his head in prayer.

  ‘We give thanks for the life of Lady Livia Michele, Princess of Venice, who, driven by despair, took her own life. Now she is at peace, restored to her beauty and dignity, thanks be to God.’

  Hugh then took my hand and pulled me down to kneel next to him. He put his left arm around me and his right around his friend Godfrey de Saint-Omer, prompting the others to form a circle of brotherhood.

  ‘We humbly ask, Lord, that you permit us to share the pain of Harold of Hereford, thus making his burden easier to bear. Amen.’

  We all responded in unison, after which Hugh pulled me to my feet and embraced me like a long-lost brother – as did each of his companions, in turn.

  Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, I ordered some wine.

  ‘Not for us, Hal; we do not take alcohol. Some lemon juice would be more to our liking.’

  I noticed that Hugh did all the talking. His companions were hanging on his every word, like disciples.

  ‘Hal, we are eight in number, men who have recently come together devoted to a cause: the cause of the Great Crusade and the protection of Christians everywhere. We are a militia, Christ’s Militia, bound by our own code of chivalry. The defeat at the Battle of the Field of Blood at Sarmada was the final straw for us. Enough is enough. Men like Roger of Salerno have no place in the Holy Land, especially as princes. We heard that he raped and sodomized the Lady Livia and beat her like a dog. That is the kind of evil that we aim to drive out of the Latin Principalities. King Baldwin has given us lodgings and stables on that most holy of places, Temple Mount in Jerusalem, the Temple of Solomon, so we will call ourselves the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ of the Temple of Solomon – in short, the Knights Templar.’

  ‘It is a worthy cause, Hugh. I wish you well.’

  ‘You can do more than that. You can join us. Eight is not a good number; we want to model ourselves on the Nine Worthies of Chivalry.’

  ‘Forgive me, but who are the Nine Worthies of Chivalry?’

  ‘They have been identified by scholars and sanctified by his Eminence, Garmond of Picquigny, the Patriarch of Jerusalem. They are three noble pagans: Hector, Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar. Three honourable Jews: Joshua, David and Judas Maccabeus. And three gallant Christians: King Arthur of England, Charlemagne of the Franks and the mighty crusader, Godfrey de Bouillon. We revere them as men whose deeds we try to emulate.’

  ‘Great men indeed, and a noble cause. But why would you want me to join your group? I am not a crusader … and I am not sure that I am all that worthy.’

  ‘On the contrary, you are as worthy as any of us. You are young – we need young recruits, and you can help us find them. You are English – we are Franks, and so we need someone to help us find good Englishmen. Most importantly, you are brave – that is evident from your deeds. Men of courage and integrity are rare in the Holy Land. Greed and cowardice have replaced the values we fought for in the Great Crusade. We would rather let the Holy Places revert to the Muslims – many of whom still hold to a code of honour – than let them rest in the hands of men who are not worthy of the name Christian.’

  ‘Well, I am flattered. Tell me more about your mission here in Antioch.’

  I looked at Eadmer – I could tell he was suspicious, as always. He was scrutinizing these strange men with his usual intensity. I brought my attention back to Hugh’s words.

  ‘I understand from the stories in the taverns that you follow the code of chivalry called the Mos Militum?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Well, our Order has the same principles. We apply them to bring Christian justice and honour to all. We are going to build a military order of devout men all over Christendom which will be an army of Christ. King Baldwin has given us an allowance to recruit enough men to protect the route between Antioch and Jerusalem; each of us will be responsible for a squadron of cavalry along the way. That is our first commission. But one day, we will be a colossal army to match the mighty host that came here from Europe to liberate this land.’

  ‘That is an ambitious plan.’

  ‘Indeed it is. But don’t have any doubts, it will be done.’

  Hugh de Payen
s spoke with passionate conviction, his pale blue eyes mesmeric and piercing. He had a ready smile, and his tanned face was etched by wrinkles of happiness. He was a beguiling man – a man I wanted to believe in. My mother had described such men when talking about the leaders of the Great Crusade, many of whom had turned out to be immoral hypocrites. Were Hugh and his Templars the same: zealots with feet of clay?

  I needed to find out more.

  ‘So you are in the service of King Baldwin?’

  ‘No, my friend, we are a brotherhood; we serve only our God, our mission and one another. The King provides us with lodgings, stables and horses and a small stipend. We live under strict discipline by our own rules, which include modesty, chastity and frugality. As soon as our Order is well established here, I will return to Europe where I will seek the blessing of His Holiness, after which I will found communities in all Christian domains and kingdoms to provide the resources to support our cause.’

  I was intrigued. There was such a plausible certainty about Hugh de Payens. Then Godfrey de Saint-Omer spoke. He had a more moderated tone than Hugh, but still possessed the same look of unwavering conviction.

  ‘Hugh is Grand Master of our Order. We follow him in strict obedience. You will be required to do the same.’

  These Knights Templar sounded very similar to my grandfather’s Brotherhood of St Etheldreda at Ely, and my father’s Brethren of the Blood of the Talisman – except their cause extended beyond the borders of a single domain. I needed time to think.

  ‘Hugh, I would like to reflect on everything you have said. May we discuss this tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course, my friend. We leave for Jerusalem in two days’ time. There we will take our oath together on Temple Mount in the eyes of God, and our mission will begin. Let us meet here tomorrow evening.’

  As the Templars left, I noticed the expressions on the faces of those around us in the tavern. It was plain to see that these men had a charismatic effect on all who met them. I turned to Eadmer, who was ready with a question.

  ‘You are tempted to join them, aren’t you?’

  ‘Intrigued, for sure. What do you think?’

  ‘They certainly look like they can fight – confirmed by the way their leader despatched that man in Paris – but I’m not sure about the frugality and the chastity!’

  I couldn’t help a wry smile at Eadmer’s blunt assessment.

  ‘I’m sure that the chastity part only applies to the knights. Sergeants will be exempt.’

  ‘You are tempted, I can tell. Do you really think you could live on bread and water and give up women on a permanent basis?’

  ‘Nothing is forever, Eadmer. Besides, after what happened with Livia, I have decided to avoid the fairer sex for a while.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it means we can travel to Jerusalem and have the chance to meet King Baldwin.’

  ‘Quite right! But let’s sleep on it and decide in the morning.’

  At breakfast the next day, Eadmer and I agreed that we would join this strange group of men. There was no doubt that the Templars – and in particular, Hugh de Payens – had an aura about them. So I decided that, for the time being, their journey was worth following. Eadmer also had one shrewd suggestion to make before we departed for Jerusalem.

  ‘If, God help us, we are to commit to a life of “frugality”, let’s leave our money with one of the Jewish moneylenders here. They offer good rates for a sum as large as ours.’

  ‘Always thinking, Eadmer – what would I do without you? When you get the promissory note, add it to this one.’

  I gave him a note written in Latin twenty years earlier by a Lombardian usurer in Toulouse.

  ‘This is the balance of the sale of my family’s home in the Lot, in Aquitaine. It is an idyllic place, but tragedy struck. My father’s first love, a beautiful Muslim girl called Mahnoor, was murdered there by assassins sent by her own father. Later, my grandfather’s extended family died in an outbreak of the putrid fever, and so it was sold before my mother and father left on the Great Crusade.’

  Eadmer looked at the note closely.

  ‘I can’t read the Latin words, but I can count the numbers. This is a lot of geld. We must make sure that if we ever travel back to England, God willing, we go via Toulouse to retrieve this promise.’

  ‘It has been a long time. Perhaps the lender is long dead. But it would be good to see the place that I know was very important to my family. There is a small plot on the land where several precious people are buried. We kept ownership of the plot; it would be good to pay my respects there. Let’s agree that we will return via Aquitaine when we travel back to England.’

  Eadmer smiled at me with the mischievous grin he reserved for moments of mockery.

  ‘Agreed! Assuming you haven’t become a religious fanatic in the meantime …’

  When we met Hugh and the Templars later that day, there was a genuine sense of brotherly comradeship between us as I confirmed my willingness to become the ninth and final founding member of the Knights Templar.

  Before we left for Jerusalem the next morning, Rosal – a Cistercian monk and the least fearsome of the Templars – cut my hair and trimmed my beard. He gave me my new white cappa robe, and my cape and shield. Eadmer got the same haircut, but as a sergeant-at-arms wore a black cappa under his cape.

  Rosal did not say much, but he gave me a reminder of the strong code of discipline to which I must now submit.

  ‘Remember, Harold of Hereford, Hugh is our Master. You must be sure always to address him as such.’

  Jerusalem was over three hundred miles from Antioch. It was a long and exhausting journey in conditions Eadmer and I had never experienced before. Although it was mid-October, when the sun reached its zenith it was unbearably hot. The summer had been unusually dry and the autumn had brought little rain to soften the ground. Around the middle of that first day, I surveyed the barren and remote environment of our route and asked Hugh the most obvious of questions.

  ‘Master, how do just nine knights and their squadrons protect a road as long and isolated as this?’

  He gave me an answer that was equally evident to him.

  ‘With faith, my friend.’

  We passed many pilgrims on the road, mingling with myriad caravans of traders and merchants whose predecessors had trodden the route for centuries. The names of the ancient cities we visited prompted many memories for me. They were placenames I remembered from the Gospels, and cities that my mother had described in such detail: the magisterial Phoenician port of Tripoli, home to countless tribes and tongues; Sidon, with its many Roman buildings still in daily use, its bustling markets selling everything from silks and spices to swords and slaves; and Acre, the greatest port in the Holy Land, richer, it was said, than any European kingdom.

  Everything that my mother had passed on to me, as told to her by my grandmother, about the wisdom of the ancient world and the great achievements of Egypt, Greece and Rome, seemed to be there before my eyes: towering domes, triumphal arches, circuses, theatres and hippodromes. I was utterly captivated by the journey.

  The whole experience was enhanced by being with Hugh de Payens and the Templars. Wherever we went, Muslims looked on in awe. Christians bowed their heads; some even fell to their knees and crossed themselves. The Templars seemed to epitomize the indomitable knights of the First Crusade. I felt invigorated in their presence, knowing that I was travelling in my family’s footsteps, and I saw them in my mind’s eye: my grandfather, mother and father, and the fearless Adela.

  When we reached Jerusalem, the feeling of euphoria was multiplied. After enduring the pain and hardship of an almost impossible journey from Europe, here was the Holy City that thousands of Christians had fought and died for.
I remembered, word for word, my mother’s description of Jerusalem: ‘It was a thing of wonder. From the top of the Mount of Olives you could see the holiest places in the world for the three religions of Abraham. There before us, beyond its lofty walls, were the Dome of the Rock, the Temple of Solomon, the al-Aksa Mosque and the Holy Sepulchre – the most revered buildings in the world. They glowed in the sun, their walls bleached white, their domes, minarets and crosses gleaming symbols of man’s devotion to his maker.’

  On cold nights in Norwich, with snow swirling around the massive walls of her cathedral, I would imagine the sights she described to me. When I finally saw Jerusalem, it was as if I had been there before.

  I began to regard my own trials and tribulations at sea, and in Anatolia, as my personal crusade; Livia’s death was part of the sacrifice that so many others had to endure. I came to the conclusion that Hugh de Payens was right: what had been fought for a generation ago was worth protecting from the non-believing Muslims and from those Christians who had lost the vision and rigour of the Great Crusade.

  After spending the night in our new lodgings beneath the vaulted arches of the Temple of Solomon, we rose early the next morning to take the oath of our new Order. With our sergeants-at-arms standing behind us, the nine of us stood in a small circle beneath the twelve tall arches of the Temple of Solomon. We drew our swords and held them with the tip down, resting on the floor in salute, and bowed our heads.

  Hugh de Payens, Grand Master of our new Order, then read our vows, which we repeated in unison.

  The Cord around our waists signifies our chastity, thus making us pure in the eyes of God. We shall speak little and be courteous when we do. We shall avoid the company of women and the temptations of their flesh. We shall eat bread and water and wear simple robes and bear without complaint much hardship and labour. We do this in God’s name, answerable only to Him and our Master.