by Katz, Yoram
When the sun disappeared, strange silence fell over the defeated city. The flickering red of burning fires all around town made the place look like hell on earth. Pierre found himself wandering in a different world, trying to detach himself from the disaster surrounding him. For a moment, he convinced himself that this was just a nightmare, and that he could will himself to snap out of it and everything would return to normal, but then came a knock on the door, and he was thrown back into the harsh reality.
Thibaud Gaudin, the treasurer, Guillaume de Caffran, Mark de Tramelay and Louis de Clairvaux, the senior Templars still alive, walked quietly inside. Their seemingly calm faces concealed the storm raging in their hearts. Pierre signaled them to sit down around the table in the middle of the room. The four dropped heavily into their chairs, staring at their leader. The silence in the room spoke a thousand words.
“The situation is grave,” said Pierre at last. “The walls, as you all know, were breached this morning and the heretics are in control of the city. Thousands were killed and not all citizens were able to flee in ships. The Knights Hospitaller were beaten and defeated, and those of them who were not slain ran for their lives. The Hospitaller Fort fell to the Saracens and de Villiers, the Hospitaller Grand Master, was wounded and dragged by his men to be evacuated on one of their ships. King Henry and his soldiers have escaped to Cyprus as well.”
He waited a moment to see the impression of these grim words on his subordinates. Not a muscle moved in their faces, and Pierre noted to himself with satisfaction, that he could not have found better comrades in the company of whom he would wish to end his life.
“We are the last warriors in Acre to face the Saracens,” he said. “We have our small pier, and perhaps we may receive some provisions and help by way of the sea…” He paused for a second, realizing that he did not really believe what he had just said. No help was coming and he knew it, but he had to preserve a glimmer of hope in the hearts of these brave men. “But I will not conceal from you the severity of the predicament we are in. I summoned you here to decide our course of action at this critical time… perhaps the most crucial the Kingdom of Jerusalem has ever known since the liberation of the Holy Land.” He turned to Mark. “Captain of the Guard, please report the status of personnel in the fort.”
De Tramelay passed his gaze around before speaking. “We have in the fort about 200 knights, 150 of whom are fit, and about 400 sergeants and soldiers, out of whom 300 are fit. There are also about 200 civilians who have found shelter with us, most of them women and children. About sixty of them are able-bodied men who can fight.”
“Our chances of survival are slim,” observed Pierre, “but we must protect the civilians first.” He turned to de Caffran, who had been a member of the delegation to the Sultan Al-Ashraf Khalil two weeks before. “Guillaume, what are the chances for an honorable agreement with the Sultan?”
De Caffran thought a while. “We can try,” he said cautiously, “but we will have to fight first. The Sultan is drunk with victory now. Only when he understands that we are willing to fight to the end and can inflict heavy casualties upon him, will he be persuaded to offer us honorable terms.”
Louis de Clairvaux could not restrain himself anymore and jumped to his feet. He was the youngest in the room and the most hot-tempered. Despite his young age, he had already won himself a reputation of a fearless knight and a revered leader of men. “Damn the Sultan and his Saracen fiends,” he shouted in anger. “Brothers, if we are to die here, let us take him with us and as many of his heathen officers and men as we can. The Kingdom of Jerusalem lives and our brothers will be back to avenge us. Let us fight to the death, I say, and not grovel to the infidel dogs.”
De Severy signaled him to sit down and the young man slammed furiously into his chair. Pierre gave him a severe look, concealing the affection he felt for the youthful commander. He was once like that, but now he had to assume the responsibility for the lives of hundreds of people, and the years had turned him into a sober and cool-tempered commander. “Mark?” he turned again to the Commander of the Guard for his assessment. De Tramelay was a man whose judgment Pierre had learned to value.
“We must be prepared to wield our arms and fight,” said Mark quietly. “If an honorable offer arrives from the Sultan, let us discuss it and if not… we’ll take him and many of his men with us.”
“Thibaud?”
Thibaud Gaudin nodded his agreement with his comrades. De Severy passed his gaze over all four of them. He thought for a while. “Very well,” he said at last, “we will fight. I believe the siege will be upon us within hours. Mark, you handle the civilians. See how they can be effectively recruited into the ranks of your men. Louis, you shall prepare the defense plan. Also, check how many vessels we still have, which can sail from our small pier if necessary. Guillaume, you will take over the logistics. Check our food and ammunition reserves and the viability of operating the west pier for receiving supplies. In addition, try to open a communication channel to the Sultan. We shall meet here again in two hours with your reports and discuss our readiness for battle.” The four stood up.
De Severy raised his hand. “Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomine tuo, da gloriam." His four comrades repeated after him.
Pierre signaled Thibaud to stay. The other three turned and left the room, each to his assignment. The two knights were left alone, facing each other.
“Thibaud, my brother,” said Pierre after a long silence, “Providence has placed us sinners in the hardest of trials. Jerusalem fell 100 years ago to Saladin, and now goes Acre. If we lose the Holy Land, our glorious Order will lose its raison d'être, and that can well be the beginning of its end. Someone will have to shoulder the great task of picking up the pieces and saving the Order. Our late Grand Master was the one most fitting for this undertaking, but a treacherous arrow pierced his heart and took him away from us. It is now for you and me to share the burden. I gave it much thought during the last few hours, and I realized that between the two of us, you are the one with the capacity and political connections. You are much more suitable than me to lead the Order from darkness into light again, and redefine the mission of the Poor Fellow-Knights of Christ and the Temple of Solomon. And, who knows, maybe you will be able to persuade the Church to recruit new armies to rescue the Holy Land from the claws of the barbaric heretics and restore its glory.”
Tears came to Gaudin’s eyes, and he lowered his head, unwilling to expose his weakness.
“I am the Marshall, the military commander. I am the soldier,” continued Pierre. “I will lead our men into battle and will strive to provide us all with an honorable death, after we send many Saracens to their graves. We will set an example for generations to come. You should be Grand Master and do your duty.”
Thibaud raised his head. “My place is here at your side, Pierre my brother. We shall fight this battle together, even if it is the last.”
De Severy smiled bitterly. “You must preserve your life. You are our hope, and you must get out of here alive.”
“But you are mistaken, brother. You are the stronger and better man. You are the one who should save us.”
Pierre shook his head. “Who is strong? What is good? Who can tell which of us is stronger or better? It does not mean a thing. The only thing that matters now is saving the Order, and for this specific task God awarded you with better skills than He awarded me.”
Thibaud kept silent for a moment, dazed, and then abruptly shook himself out of it, as if he had just remembered something. “And… where… and where is the…” His voice quivered and the unfinished sentence was left hanging in the air.
“It was my first concern,” said de Severy. “I wanted to deliver it into your hands, but you were away in the midst of battle. I did not know whether or when you were coming back, and I did not want to take unnecessary risks. I placed it in the hands of one of our most valiant knights, Philippe de Charney, with instructions to deliver it to the next Grand Master. He will g
uard it with his life. Philippe boarded a galley a few hours ago, and he is on his way to Cyprus. You will meet him there. It is supposed to be a source of strength. I know you will put it to good use.”
Gaudin shook his head in disagreement. “My good brother, you are asking too much of me. How can I live with the knowledge that I deserted you and my other brothers in the face of the enemy? Who will respect me or listen to me afterwards?”
Pierre de Severy recalled the similar argument made by de Charney a few hours before and smiled. He felt very proud. ‘Lord’, he thought, ‘How lucky I am to live and die with such people by my side!’ He took a few steps forward. “Thibaud, my brother, time is short and we must not talk too much. You know I am right. Had you not returned safe and sound from battle, I would have loaded this task upon my less fitting shoulders. But, praise God, He extended some mercy to us and protected you. You are the chosen one, and now I can assume the simpler task, and burden you with the harder one. Please, save the Order, brother. Only you can do it!”
The two embraced and then de Severy took a step back and got down on his knees. “Let us pray, my brother.”
Thibaud Gaudin knelt by his side.
12. Aryeh Luria - Haifa, January 21st, 2010 (Thursday)
Eitan Barak was Yossi Luria’s business partner. They met during their military service. Eitan was Luria’s deputy in an elite commando company, and replaced him when Luria retired from the army. After leaving the military, Eitan worked for a few years in the state service, performing certain discreet tasks. When he got tired of being told what to do, he decided to quit. At about the same time, Luria’s police career was over, and he was looking for something to do, so the two friends decided to open their own private investigations office. With their knowledge, skill and connections, they managed to set up a reasonably successful business.
The two were now sitting in Luria’s office.
“Well, you want me to take over the Porat case, so you can have time to allocate to the French girl,” summarized Eitan. “I do not blame you. Noga keeps telling me wonders about that chick of yours.”
“This is pure nonsense," said Luria patiently. “While I do need time for this new case, the point is that Porat now knows I am on his tail. I told you he had threatened me. He is going to be extremely cautious now, and I need somebody else to tail him.”
“But why tail him,” wondered Eitan, “when you have already nailed him?”
“I am pretty sure he has another lover; at least one.”
Eitan contemplated this. “Suppose he has, so what? Will his wife pay us by the lover?”
“Just don’t worry about it, OK? She will pay whatever I have agreed with her. It was a piece of cake anyway. I got the bastard in two days. I just want to do a professional job with no loose ends.”
Eitan looked at him amused. “Luria… it is not like we have met today for the first time...”
Luria was not amused. “This is not what you are thinking.”
“And what am I thinking?”
“Eitan, I do have a personal score to balance with this asshole, but this is not about revenge now. I have good reasons for keeping him under surveillance. I want to know what he is up to. The man threatened me, and you know who his friends are.”
Eitan looked at him dubiously. “Are you afraid of Srur?” he asked. “This is not like you. And by the way, Srur is abroad. He left this morning to visit his casino in Prague and will be away for a week.”
“This is neither about Srur nor about fear. This is simply about being ready and staying one step ahead.”
“And what else?”
“Isn’t this enough? My stomach tells me that tailing Porat will pay off.”
“You have already said he knows you are on his tail.” Eitan still had his doubts. “He must be a perfect idiot to meet his lovers right now. Yigal Porat is a scum and many other things, but he is no idiot. I believe that in the coming few weeks he will conduct himself like a monk.”
“You may be right.”
“So what do you want me to do?” wondered Eitan.
“Porat’s wife is leaving for London on vacation tomorrow. If he does have a lover, then his lover will expect him to seize the opportunity and devote some attention to her. Am I making sense?”
“I am listening.”
“In this case, either he will call her to explain why he is not coming over, or she will call him to find out why he is not coming. Probably, both will happen.”
“You expect me to bug him? You know what big favors I will need to ask for that and how much it may cost. Besides, bugging a lawyer? He will tear us to pieces if he finds out!”
“If you do it right, there is no reason he will.”
Eitan smiled. “I was just joking. You know I love this stuff. And besides, I loathe the little shit no less than you do.”
The phone rang. Luria picked it up. “What is it, Noga?”
“Your guest has arrived.”
“Thank you, I will see him in a minute.” He put the receiver down, looked at Eitan and stood up. “So, are we in agreement?”
Eitan rose from his chair as well. “Yes sir. I am with you, even though you are not telling me everything. Good luck with the Frenchwoman.”
“Please, Eitan, enough of this nonsense.” Luria escorted his friend to the door and opened it. Eitan crossed the lobby and disappeared into his office.
Luria stepped out. In the lobby sat a Hassidic Jew of about forty, dressed in a black robe, with a beard and side locks framing his face. Having seen Luria, he rose to his feet, grinning. “Peace be upon you, Rabbi Yossi.”
Luria did not hide his joy. “Aryeh,” he called, “it is so good to see you.”
The two embraced. Behind her desk, Noga looked in astonishment at the odd couple. “Can I get you something?” she asked.
“Noga, please meet Aryeh, my cousin. I will thank you for my regular coffee, and it will be muddy black with no sugar whatsoever for Aryeh,” said Luria.
The bearded man smiled and shook his head in appreciation, his side locks dancing around his face. “Well done, Yossi. You remembered.”
“That I should not remember how my cousin likes his coffee…” laughed Luria. “This is one of those things that do not change. It goes back to the times you used to be a sinner like me. New costume does not change old habits.”
Aryeh burst into laughter and slapped his cousin’s shoulder. “You misguided lamb... this costume is already ten years old, but you still call it new… OK, have it your way.”
Luria hugged his guest’s shoulder with his arm, and the two stepped into the office. Luria led his cousin to the small round table in the corner, which he used for informal meetings, and the two sat down on opposite sides. They were silent for a moment, looking at each other affectionately.
* * *
Aryeh was five years older than Yossi. As a boy, the strong and bold Aryeh was a role model for his younger cousin. The families were close and lived in the same Safedi neighborhood, so the kids got to spend a lot of time together. Occasionally, Aryeh would let Yossi take part in the adventures of the gang of kids he led.
In time, Aryeh joined an elite crack unit in the IDF[xvii] and soon found himself in commanding roles. Yossi naturally followed him there and trod a similar path, becoming a company commander. In the year Yossi joined the army, Aryeh returned from a long journey around the world and started studying history at the University of Haifa. Two years later, during a visit to his parents in Safed, he met by pure chance Esther, his future wife. She was a girl from a Hassidic family, and his whole world turned upside down. Yossi Luria never forgot the shock he suffered upon finding out that his beloved cousin had crossed the lines into an alien world. The Hassidic wedding he was invited to, while joyful and lively, was for him a nightmarish farewell party from his cousin, commemorating his departure from the sane world. The dancing Hassidim, the women watching from afar, his Aryeh being carried on the shoulders of the moving, dark human mass… it
all seemed a strange, weird ritual. The whirling black circles of dancing men were like a carousel tossing Aryeh away from reality into delirious realms.
Eventually, Yossi learned to live with his loss. He had to acknowledge that it was, after all, Aryeh’s choice to make. He knew their relationship would never fully recover from this blow, and did his best to preserve something of the old bond they had once shared. But it was becoming harder. Aryeh, always the leader type, became a pillar of his Safedi community. He was constantly busy with one public activity or the other. They saw each other much less frequently than they used to, but they did try to keep in touch, however forced it felt. Yossi was invited to the Brith – the circumcision ceremony of each of Aryeh’s sons, who seemed to emerge into the world at regular intervals of about a year, but the vast distance between their worlds proved a considerable barrier. Luria was never at ease with Esther, Aryeh’s wife. Although not admitting this to himself, he could not forgive her for hijacking the soul and friendship of his beloved cousin and best friend. She, on the other hand, was not keen on a relationship with someone she considered a malignant remnant of her husband’s previous life, which she abhorred and preferred to ignore and forget altogether.
* * *
“It’s a nice place you have here,” said Aryeh. “I am glad you invited me. It was about time I visited your office.”
Luria smiled. “Thanks. I am really happy you could come. I have a case where I can use your help, and I wanted to discuss it with you. Anyway, what’s new in Safed? How is the family?”
