Knights of the Black and White tt-1

by Jack Whyte

  He walked on in silence, waiting, and when nothing came from behind him, he began again. “I believe that Jesus was crucified and died. And after his death, his brother James, whom men called James the Just, continued to head their commune until his death. James was murdered on the steps of the Temple, and his death—far more so than the death of his brother Jesus—caused insurrection and rebellion, leading directly to the last Jewish war against Rome, when Titus destroyed the Jewish nation and those few who survived the destruction were scattered to the ends of the earth.”

  He stopped suddenly and turned on his heel to look back at them. “That is what I believe, and none of it should surprise you, for you have heard it all before, from your sponsors and tutors in the Order. We have evidence, within our Order, for all of it, but it might not all be true. Or it might be totally false, its interpretation lost over the centuries since our families first came here, after their flight from Jerusalem. In my own heart and mind, however, I believe it. But now comes the hard part. And it’s the part, I know, that causes all the grief you feel over this.”

  He started walking again, more slowly this time, and his companions walked on either side of him, their heads bent.

  “All our families, all of them who do not belong to the Brotherhood of the Order, are Christians, and that is what makes this all so difficult, because I also believe that the Christian Church, as it exists today, is built upon a myth created by the man called Paul. Paul was a gentile, we all know that, but nobody really knows today what a gentile was. Do you know, Goff?” Godfrey wrinkled his nose and shook his head, and Hugh smiled. “Well, a gentile was anyone who was not a Jew, and to the Jews, that was all that mattered. I believe that Paul was a friend of Rome, which is a spy, in the pay of the Empire, and I believe that he was an opportunist of the first magnitude. He never knew Jesus—although he knew the brother, James, and James knew Paul, and disliked and distrusted him.

  “I believe, absolutely, that Paul somehow heard mention of the Raising ceremony practiced by the Essenes of the Community. He could never have witnessed it, for the Essenes’ rites were practiced in secret and Paul was twice an outsider—a gentile and uninitiated—but I believe most certainly he heard of it, and he misunderstood everything he heard, except the most important part—the outline of the premise involved. He took the idea of resurrection that had been practiced in secret for centuries by learned men, and from it, and around his gross misunderstanding of it, he built an edifice that now rules the world in which we all live. He even invented a name for it after a time. He called it Christianity, based upon the Greek name he eventually dreamed up for the man Jesus—the Christus.

  “Then, once he perceived the success of his message and could see where he might go with it, he stripped it, his fundamental idea, of everything Jewish that might be offensive to the Romans, and he constructed his new religion with great skill to appeal to Roman tastes, traditions, and superstitions, incorporating most of the favorite myths of Rome, and of Greece, and of Egypt, and all their gods.

  “He took the story of the virgin birth, for one thing, from several sources. Mithras, the Roman soldiers’ god, for example, was born in a stable, delivered of a virgin. And Horus, the god-son of Isis and Osiris, was born of a virgin, too, and destined to die to expiate the sins of mankind. Paul named Jesus the Son of God in that tradition, and cited his resurrection as the sign of his divinity. Paul the saint made Jesus the Christ an immortal. But the most blatantly untrue thing he did was to deny James’s existence as Jesus’ brother by denying his existence and transferring the power of the founding bishop to Peter the Rock.”

  “Tell us about this Mithras,” Godfrey said. “I’ve never heard of him.”

  Hugh smiled. “Not surprising. He was a very powerful god in his day, the Lord of Light, worshipped by most of the soldiery of the Empire as the Soldier’s God, but he was soon absorbed completely into Christianity and disappeared. Even the Cross that Christians revere today was his—the white, four-armed cross of Mithras, and it was an ancient symbol even before Mithras. It certainly was not the Cross that Jesus died on.”

  “What are you saying?” Payn sounded scandalized. “Are you telling us you don’t believe Jesus was crucified?”

  “No, Crusty, I am not. Jesus was crucified. There is no doubt in my mind of that. But he was crucified on the only kind of cross the Romans used, which was a simple T shape, with no upright above the crossbar.”

  Once again he looked from Godfrey’s face to Payn’s. “Now that—all that I’ve said about Mithras—is true. That evidence exists, and although it has been hidden from casual sight by the Church, they cannot destroy it, much as they might like to. It is historical fact backed by incontrovertible and indestructible evidence.”

  He looked squarely at each of his friends in turn, then twisted his lips into a grimace before continuing, his tone and demeanor more serious than at any time since this had begun.

  “But that’s all ancient history and Mithras does not concern us here, so to answer your questions as fully as I may, I will say this: I have become convinced, simply from reading what exists in our Order’s Lore, that there is not one of the godly or miraculous events attributed to Jesus that was not in existence, and being marveled at, centuries before he was born, from the curing of lepers to raising the dead.

  “The Jesus who lived in Galilee and died on the Hill of Skulls was a man—a patriot and a rebel. But he was not Jesus the Christ, because, as I said, the ‘Christ’ part of that name—the Greek Christos, or Savior—did not exist until Paul invented the name long after the man Jesus was dead … That, too, I believe.

  “Most of all, however—and I think this is what you were asking me—I believe that the world has been led astray by men—ordinary, venal, and self-centered men—claiming to represent God and growing rich in wealth and worldly power in doing so. The evidence of that is everywhere, and a man does not have to be a saint to see it. The Church that Paul founded contains nothing today—a millennium later—that has not been created and propounded and promulgated by men, all of them claiming to have access to the ear of God, and most of them having no slightest resemblance to anything that might in any way be thought of as godly, pious, or holy, let alone Christian. They preach and pray about godly and Christian virtues, but few bishops or priests today even bother to conceal their venal worldliness. I believe—and I know, as do you two—that most people are aware of that, even although they dare not—dare not—speak of it to anyone. Despair walks the world today, my friends, and it wears clerical robes. But I believe, too—and more than anything else I believe this—that our ancient Order, the Order of Rebirth in Sion, contains the seeds of salvation that will one day cleanse the world and bring God back truly into the lives of men.”

  He saw the doubt and bafflement in his listeners’ eyes, and he smiled. “Well, lads, you asked me, and I have told you, and now I can see you are obviously more confused than you were before, wondering about what you have learned that contains the seeds of salvation. Well, believe me when I tell you that you have learned it. You simply have not yet recognized what you have learned. But listen to me now, both of you, and I’ll take you as far towards the light as I can go, because I myself can see it only hazily.

  “Think of this. The Church tells us Jesus spoke of himself as being ‘the Way,’ and that he told others ‘The Kingdom of Heaven is within you.’ He asked them to follow him and that he would show them the Way, and he believed that, utterly and without doubt. But we in our Order believe he did not say it as the Son of God. He said it as an Essene, because it was part of his daily life, and the other Essenes of his community spoke the same way, because they believed that man carries God within himself, and that the Way to find God is to search within yourself.

  “Now, if you think long and hard upon what that means, you might realize it means that you can talk to God in your own mind, and in your own prayers. And if you can do that, what need have you of priests? Think about that for a m
oment, and about what it means to our churchly fathers. If a man can talk to God in his own mind, and pray in the security of his own bosom, what need has he of priests, or of a Church—any church?”

  He stopped then and remained silent, watching St. Omer and Montdidier as their faces showed what they were thinking, and he smiled more widely as he saw the conviction dawning in their eyes.

  “You see it now? You see where our Order’s power will someday lie? One day, our Lore—the knowledge that we have in our possession—will dictate and demonstrate the truth, incontrovertibly, that men have usurped God’s covenant with mankind and placed the world in jeopardy while they pursue their own earthly power. It will come to pass, I promise you. There is no doubt in my mind.”

  “When?” Payn’s voice was taut with urgency, but Hugh could only shrug.

  “That I cannot tell you. We can do nothing to promulgate the solution yet, for we have no proof of what we know, and absolute proof will be demanded—demanded loudly and angrily by every corrupt priest and bishop in the world—as soon as we cast off our secrecy and speak out. But we have our Lore, and that Lore instructs us to return to Jerusalem one day, to find and recover the treasury of written records hidden there in ancient times by our forefathers, the founding fathers of what are now the Friendly Families. Those records—the written history of the Jerusalem Assembly served by the man Jesus and his brother James—will show the true beginnings of what would become the Christian Church, although Jesus and his companions called it simply the Way—the spiritual life, lived every moment of every day in the eyes of God and strengthened by the knowledge of the covenant between Him and the men who worship Him … I believe that, too.”

  “Is there a map?”

  Hugh turned to St. Omer. “A map?” He laughed. “I have no idea, Goff. There might be … I don’t know much more than you do, and I’ve mentioned nothing of the mysteries in what I have said. Everything I have told you, everything I’ve talked about, is common knowledge. I’ve simply been more patient in finding things out and piecing things together than you two have.”

  “Then when will we go? D’you believe we will?”

  Hugh shrugged. “I believe someone will, someday. We three might be long dead by then, but I believe someone will go and find the treasure, and once that’s done, the world will know salvation—from the clutches of the churchmen, if nothing else.”

  “And if we had the chance? Suppose we were to have the chance—the ability to sail off and search for this treasure—would you go?”

  “Is that why you asked about a map?”

  “Of course it is. Would you go?”

  “I would. Before the words were out of the mouth of the person asking me. Do you think me mad enough not to go?”

  Payn Montdidier crossed the two paces that separated him from Hugh and wrapped an arm about his friend’s shoulder, holding out his free hand to Godfrey St. Omer, who moved quickly to join them.

  “If you go, we’ll be there with you. You see? That wasn’t difficult at all, what you told us, was it? And yet it was exactly right. I feel as if all the priests in Anjou had been sitting on my chest and you just kicked them all off. Now I can breathe again. What about you, Godfrey?”

  Godfrey St. Omer’s smile spoke for him.

  SIX

  In the middle of September in the year 1095, Count Fulk of Anjou, the third of that name and one of the highest-ranked members of the Order of Rebirth, sponsored a great tourney, near the town of Blois, in honor of the coming of age of his second son, another Fulk, who would, in the course of time, become Count Fulk IV. The circumstances of this public celebration were highly scandalous, for the boy’s mother, Bertrade de Montford, the Countess of Anjou, had deserted Count Fulk some time earlier and was living openly in an adulterous relationship with Philip I, the King of France, and this gaudy event was the Count’s means of demonstrating how little he and his son cared about the faithless woman’s desertion.

  Hugh, Godfrey, and Payn, the latter two accompanied by their wives as a mark of special privilege, attended the celebrations among the entourage of their liege, Count Hugh of Champagne, who had considered it politically necessary to attend the festivities, and they enjoyed the activities hugely, as did Louise and Margaret. Now in their mid-twenties, the three friends acquitted themselves well during the tournament events, but were largely content to leave the most strenuous and tiring contests to the younger knights nowadays, while they themselves concentrated on those activities where skill and physical dexterity were more prized than brawn, bulk, and brute stamina. Godfrey, in particular, distinguished himself in the lists, using a long lance, from the back of a galloping horse, to collect a winning number of ring trophies. These rings were suspended from a pivoting arm counterbalanced by a swinging bag of sand that could whip around swiftly and unseat any passing rider who had failed to pick the ring perfectly from the ribbon suspending it, and Godfrey, to the unconcealed delight of his adoring wife, was the only contestant that afternoon who succeeded in picking the maximum possible number of rings without once being unseated, or even brushed, by a swinging weight.

  Hugh and Payn waited for Godfrey to collect his prize money and turn his horse over to his groom, and then all three of them began to make their way towards one of the refreshment tents in search of the ladies, laughing and gazing around them in wonder at the riot of colors, music, noise, and movement that surrounded them. All of them had attended similar events before—there were usually two, sometimes even three, tourneys each year, within riding distance of the Barony of Payens—but none of them had ever seen anything quite as lavish as this display being mounted by the House of Anjou. They understood that this was not merely a tourney; it was a political statement of no great subtlety, a grand spectacle and a celebration of the county’s success in a variety of ventures—including a public thumbing of the Count’s nose at the adulterous King of France made possible by the annexation of Blois itself into the County of Anjou—over the previous four years. Hundreds, and perhaps even thousands, of people were in attendance from as far away as Burgundy in the far northeast and Marseille in the distant south, and the celebrations had continued for ten days. Count Hugh’s arrival had been a week earlier, and they would be leaving again in another week’s time to make their way homeward.

  They had stopped to stare in awe at a caged pair of lions when Hugh’s man Arlo found them and summoned them to wait at once upon Baron Hugo in his tent, and they obeyed him without comment, curious but not alarmed, since Arlo had informed them at the outset that the ladies were already there.

  Louise and Margaret and several other women were seated outside, but Baron Hugo was in his tent, dictating a letter to Charon, the elderly Greek scholar who had been his amanuensis since before any of the three younger knights were born, and when they entered Hugo waved a hand, indicating that they should wait and be silent until he was done, and then continued pacing, rubbing his forehead with one hand and dictating his thoughts. As soon as he had finished, Charon rose to his feet and left the tent. The Baron crossed to a corner table and poured himself a cup of wine, making no move to offer any to the others, then sipped at it, frowning, before he spoke.

  “We must leave here tomorrow. I trust you are all sated with the pleasures Fulk has provided?”

  The three friends looked at each other in surprise, but Hugh was the only one who responded. “Tomorrow, Father? Why? I thought we would be—”

  “Because I have said so. Is that not reason enough?”

  “It is, and forgive me. I meant no disrespect and had no thought of complaining. I was merely curious.”

  “I know, and I was merely being miserable. I have no more wish to leave early than you do, but we have little choice. The Count has ordered me to return to Payens, there to start making preparations for November.”

  “November? Am I permitted to ask the significance of November?”

  “Aye, I suppose so. The Count has just received word, from Avignon, that the Pope
, Urban, is here in our lands. He has been touring in the south and west since early last month, and he has just left Avignon, on his way north to Lyon, and thence into Burgundy. But while he was in Le Puy, en route to Avignon, he issued a decree that he will convene another great ecclesiastical council, like the one he held in March in Piacenza, in Italy. This one will be held in the Massif Central, in Clermont, and it will start in mid-November. Every churchman and every nobleman in all the lands and duchies has been summoned to attend, and apparently great things are to take place in the course of the assembly. What those great things may be, no one knows, but Count Hugh has charged me with organizing whatever will have to be done within his County of Champagne, and I, in turn, am deputizing you three to assist me. And I warn you, it will not be an easy task. There is much to be done, and alarmingly little time in which to see to it. Fortunately most of the harvest is already in, but the county is far from being ready to do anything quickly. And for that reason, we leave tomorrow, solely because it is already too late to leave today. Now, go and do what you have left to do, because I intend to be on the road by daybreak.”