Galloglass Book One the Templar

by Seamus O'Griffin

  Marin was smiling like a cat with a bird. Little did he realize how mismatched he was. My longsword gave me an advantage in reach, and I would use that to great effect. He came at me, all fury and intent, and struck at me twice, trying to drive me back. I slipped both attacks and disengaged. Marin was confident, sure of his ability. I could tell by his face he thought I was scared. Again he attacked, his sword coming in horizontally. I was in a high hanging guard and met him blade to blade, stepping to my left. His sword, caught in a bind, was forced up and away as I pivoted on the balls of my feet back to my right, twisting both my hips and wrists. My blade, now inside his guard, chopped down in a powerful blow that cut his wrist. His sword dropped to the ground with an audible clank, his gauntleted hand mangled. As I stepped back, I watched his eyes widen in surprise. Marin slowly went to his knees in shock, his wrist pumping blood. "If you would save him, you had best bind his wound now," I said to his second as I walked away, snapping my wrist to flick the blood off my blade.

  "Are you mad? Kill him now!" hollered de Flor as I stepped back and cleaned my sword with a rag from my belt. Fate is a funny thing. Had I known then what trouble he would cause, I would have slit his miserable throat. But, I was young and not wise in the ways of men. It would be a hard lesson but one I would never forget. "No. It is enough that every day he look down at what he does not have and remember that I was the one who took it."

  De Flor shook his head and drew his dagger, intending to finish him. "Do not. It is done," I said.

  "You are a fool. I do not think you understand. He will try to kill you at every opportunity."

  I shrugged. "Let him try. The next time I will take his head."

  We left Marin in the care of his second and within minutes were mounted and headed back to the Templar citadel. The guard said nothing as I entered the postern gate that evening. He was used to my coming and going and asked no questions. The next morning, after Prime, Himbert pulled me aside and asked, "What do you know of a Hospitaller by the name of Marin de Montcalm?"

  "I believe he was the Hospitaller who accompanied me when we met Ascheri. Why?"

  Himbert gave me one of his penetrating looks. "He was accosted last night by an unknown assailant. They say he lost his hand."

  "Indeed. So why ask me?"

  "It is also said that you were in the company of Brother de Flor last night?"

  "If you know this then why ask?"

  "Because what I don't know is if the two are related?"

  "They are not. Brother de Flor and I were enjoying one another's company. He was letting me sample some of the wine he has acquired."

  "You mean thieved. That brother is no monk, and he certainly is not one with whom you should associate."

  "So now you would take the place of my mother?"

  Himbert scowled at me. "You will learn. In any event you are to meet with Master de Beaujeu in his chambers after Sext."

  I looked questioningly at Himbert, but he shook his head. "I have no idea. Just be there."

  Five

  "I have just received word that the Count of Tripoli is dead," stated Master de Beaujeu as he stared out his tower window, hands clasped behind his back. "As Bohemond had no heirs, the city should go to his sister, Lucia."

  Himbert made himself comfortable on a bench in the master's solar. "There is a problem?"

  "There is always a problem where Tripoli is concerned. Lucia is in Apulia, and she is married to an Angevian. Narjot of Toucy is the Admiral of Charles I of Naples. The city's elders want no part of Charles and his scheming. They have offered Tripoli to Bohemond's mother, Princess Sybilla of Armenia, but there is a problem in that as well."

  I watched Himbert as he sat passively, waiting for de Beaujeu to unburden himself. The master turned and continued, "Sybilla would appoint Bishop Bartholomew of Tortosa as her bailli to rule in her place. Her offer has been discovered. The Lord of Giblet has not forgotten Tortosa's role in the deaths of his brother and uncle. As leader of Tripoli's Commune, Bartholomew Embriaco has declared the city a republic and asked for Genoa's protection."

  I shook my head and spoke up. "I'm sorry, master, but I am confused."

  De Beaujeu smiled and opened his hands toward Himbert, indicating that he should continue. "The rivalry," Himbert began, "between the Count of Tripoli and the Lords of Giblet has been going on since Bohemond returned from Armenia in 1277 and took possession of the city from his mother Sybilla and her governors. What started the war is not clear, some real or imagined insult. What is certain is that the conflict escalated, forcing both the Genoese and the Venetians to choose sides along with the Military Orders as well, much like the War of St. Sabas in Acre. The fighting ended only last year when Bohemond captured Guy Embriaco, the Lord of Giblet, and William Embriaco, Bartholomew's brother, buried them up to their necks in sand outside of Nephin and watched the two starve to death over the course of several days. The Bishop of Tortosa was Bohemond's confessor and also the one responsible for suggesting that Bartholomew's cousin and brother receive such a punishment as it absolved them of shedding the blood of another Christian."

  I shook my head at the thought of cooking in sand buried up to my neck. "So why does this concern us?"

  Master de Beaujeu scratched his beard and then said, "Bartholomew Embriaco, though Genoese, has been an ally of ours in the past. Perhaps he will listen to reason. I am sending you and Himbert to Tripoli with some of our Turcopoles to reinforce our garrison there. You are to seek an audience with Bartholomew and deliver a message I have prepared. He must understand that Genoa can't be given free rein in Tripoli. Control of Tripoli would upset the balance of trade in the Levant. Genoa would achieve hegemony over the trade with Alexandria to the detriment of Venice and Pisa not to mention ourselves and the other Orders as well. Trade is what fills our coffers and allows us to arm men and hold castles. This must not be interfered with."

  "And if he refuses to listen," asked Himbert, "an accident perhaps?"

  De Beaujeu shook his head. "No, at least not yet. There are many factors to be considered before we make such a move. No, I want you to talk, watch, listen, and then report directly to me. I will make all of the necessary arrangements with Marshal de Vendac. I expect you to leave at first light."

  I bowed to the master and then held the door to let Himbert and myself out. Himbert waited until we were descending the tower stairs before saying, "I want you to say as little as possible when we arrive in Tripoli. I will deliver the introductions. Embriaco does not need to know your position right away. Let him guess. It will make him quite nervous when he discovers de Beaujeu's mailed fist is watching him."

  I nodded in agreement. "Is there anything else I should know?"

  Himbert stopped and said, "Yes. Bartholomew Embriaco's wife has a well deserved reputation for liking young knights. I suggest you get to know her. It is a task I am quite sure you will be up for. I am told she is quite beautiful."

  "You are joking."

  "No. I want you to get close to her. Be discreet. She will know her husband's plans. It is up to you to discover them without getting caught."

  We continued walking, descending until we were on the level where our rooms were located. Himbert clasped my shoulder. The bell calling us to vespers sounded. "You do understand you must be able to resolve the Temple's needs with your commitment to God."

  I grinned. "Himbert don't take this wrong, but I can assure you I will have no difficulty with this."

  Himbert scowled and pushed me. "You are still a heathen and quite possibly a heretic. Go to vespers and ask for God's forgiveness. You are obviously in need."

  What can I say? I was neither a heathen nor a heretic but I was certainly in need of God's mercy, and so I went to vespers and I prayed with my brothers. There is a quiet beauty to be found in the ritual of the mass, and I will say that after all this time, I still attend the daily office whenever possible. Then, as now, it proved to be a time of contemplation and comfort.

  When the
mass was over, I went to the evening meal and then on to the stables and the armory where I checked my horses and my gear. As a Templar knight, I had in my possession two war horses, a saddle horse and a pack horse for campaigning. This was typical of all our knights in the Levant and one of the reasons that it took so much money to run the Order. This also did not include the horses of the sergeant-brothers or our Turcopoles. The animals were cared for by our grooms and squires. However, it was the responsibility of every knight-brother to ensure that his horses were ready for combat at any given moment. A mount was quite possibly the most important piece of equipment a knight would ever use. Any failure on a knight's part not to check on the animal's health and well being could be fatal to both himself and the men who rode with him. I never failed to keep up with my horses, and they in turn never let me down.

  I left orders with the grooms to have my Iberian readied for the morning. Like most destriers, Dagda was a stallion, trained for war and mean as any animal I have ever known. I named him after the Irish god of the Earth, and the squires hated him. He kicked and bit at every opportunity. He did not like being handled, yet for some reason I have never quite understood, he tolerated me. He whickered when I entered his stall, eyes rolling, and began to shy until I crooned a small song in Gaelic and he quieted. I ran my hands over him and checked his hooves, and when I was sure he was sound and ready for the journey ahead, I left the stables, went to Compline, and then retired.

  Himbert met me in the morning as I left my cell, thinking to go to Matins. He shook his head and told me to armor up as we would be leaving shortly and with no breakfast, something I detested. To this day I hate starting any kind of endeavor on an empty stomach. Once dressed, I went immediately to the barracks of the Turcopoles and gave them their orders. When next I saw Himbert, he was mounted in the yard of the Temple commandery awaiting me. I was wearing my mail covered by my mantle and carrying my gear, although I had opted not to put on my chausses or mail leggings, as I was not expecting us to commit ourselves to battle, and they were not meant to be worn while riding over great distances. A squire took my gear while another brought me my horse.

  The animal was in a particularly foul mood and would have taken a plug from the squire's shoulder had he not had on mail. As it was, the pressure from the bite was enough to make him holler. The horse lashed out with his hind leg, just missing the mouth of Himbert's mount, causing the animal to shy abruptly and almost unseat my mentor.

  "Damn it, Ronan, control your animal," he snapped peevishly.

  I couldn't help laughing as I pulled myself into my saddle. I grabbed Dagda's ear and twisted it to get his attention and then held on as he bucked once or twice and then settled himself. Himbert shook his head. "Why do you put up with that brute? He's violent, ill-tempered, and unpredictable."

  "If I am ever unhorsed in battle, will anyone else be able to ride him?"

  Himbert shortened the reins of his own mount as the two stallions tried to nip at each other. "Probably not,"

  "Then my point is made."

  Himbert did not agree. I could tell by the look on his face, but he said nothing more about it. Instead he sent me to find the Under Marshal to ask if his footmen were ready to depart. I had patrolled with Peter de Severy on several occasions and liked him. He was big and gruff but genuine. He spoke his mind and did not try to be political about anything. I found de Severy near the barracks. He was armored but had left off his coif and was pulling on his arming cap as I approached. "Brother Himbert wished to know if your men are ready to depart?"

  De Severy scratched his head and scowled, "I don't know who is worse, Captain de Flor or Brother Himbert Blanke. And just what rank does Himbert hold anyway?" he grumbled. "Advisor?"

  I grinned and shrugged my shoulders. He shook his head once again and said, "Tell Himbert to send the Turcopoles on ahead. We will be ready to march when the sergeant-brothers mount. Tell him I hate traveling by sea, but it beats saddle sores and bad weather."

  I laughed and returned to Himbert as two of my scouts rode up. Master de Beaujeu was sending de Severy with a company of footmen by sea to replace those in Tripoli. It was not uncommon for us to rotate men to various garrisons and a journey by sea was much easier on the footmen than having to march close to one hundred miles. The rest of us, thirty sergeant-brothers, ten knights, and sixty Turcopoles, would ride north, patrolling the coastal plain between Acre and Tripoli. And somehow between Acre and Tripoli, I was to think of a way to meet Embriaco's wife without losing my head. "De Severy is ready. He will make for the harbor as we leave. I suppose we are waiting on you Himbert."

  Himbert surveyed the men standing at ease by their mounts and nodded. "Then let us mount and be gone."

  I inclined my head to my scouts, and they headed for the gates of the citadel. They would push ahead and range north up the coastal road as we took our time leaving. I then ordered our standard bearer into the saddle and had him raise Beausant, the Templar flag. The men mounted immediately and soon we were winding our way through the city with me wondering where this was going lead. The irony of being asked to seduce Embriaco's wife did not escape me. I only hoped I was up to the task.

  Six

  Tripoli

  Fall 1287 / Winter 1288

  I shifted in my saddle and tried to wipe the water from my face. The rains of fall had finally come, making the ride up the coastal road from Acre sheer misery. The body acclimates itself to the hot, dry summers. It is not like in the North where there are four distinct seasons. In the Levant, the seasons go from summer to winter and then back. There is no fall or spring and no time for one to adjust to the shift in climate. The wind coming off the Mediterranean was bitter, and it brought with it a cold rain that chilled me to the bone. To Himbert I said, "If I were home, this little squall would be nothing more than a soft winter's day."

  "Aye, but you're not home now, are you?"

  "No, and this wool cloak is doing poor little to keep me warm."

  Himbert nodded as water ran in streaming rivulets off his helm. Like mine, his cloak was soaked, as was his mail and the padded gambeson he wore beneath it. Only the heat put off by our mounts kept us from being unable to function. Breath plumed from our nostrils and those of our horses, sending up little tendrils of fog down the length of the column.

  The column crested a slight rise and halted. Several hundred yards to our front, one of my Turcopoles had halted as well and sat unmoving astride the track. Himbert squinted into the rain and shook his head. "I can't see a thing."

  I stood in my stirrups and leaned on the pommel of my saddle for support. Something further down the trail had him stopped, but I could not tell what. "Hold the men, Himbert. Let me go forward and see what has Marcus so worried."

  I pulled my mount out of line and signaled to the Turcopole I was coming forward. I splashed down the trail, and within minutes I was abreast of him and squinting through the rain to a village several hundred yards to our front. "Trouble?"

  The mercenary shrugged. Pointing to the village he said, "Antonio went in there some time ago. He has not come back this way. In fact, I have seen no movement coming or going."

  "You are sure?"

  "I watched him ride in from the west myself.

  "Shit."

  The Turcopole grinned. "I thought Templars weren't supposed to curse."

  "I'm not supposed to do a lot of things, but that hasn't stopped me yet." I turned and signaled the column forward. "When they reach us, take ten men, mounted sergeants, and circle the village. Block the north end. Stay out of sight. In this rain that should not be hard. If there is trouble, I intend to drive it toward you."

  "No Turcopoles?"

  "No. In this rain your bows are useless. We need to use the sergeant brothers. They are better armed and armored."

  The column was upon us in moments. I pointed to one of the knights next to Himbert as they trotted up. "Brother Rolf, go with Marcus here. If there is trouble, I trust you to handle it."


  Rolf was a small man, whipcord thin. An exceptional swordsman, he was a twenty year veteran of the Levant and completely dependable. Between Rolf and my Turcopole, I knew there would not be any mistakes. The Templar peeled out of line and waited as Marcus went down the column picking men. Soon they were splashing off to my right, and before long, they disappeared into the rain.

  I rode back to Himbert, who was talking quietly about Italian wines with one of my companions, a French knight by the name of Henri d'Avignon, who had moved up as the column rested. I looked back over my saddle at the village and saw nothing moving. To Himbert I asked, "How far are we to Tripoli?"

  "In this weather, another day, unless you ride through the night. We are roughly half way between Beirut and Tripoli. This should be Botron up ahead." Pointing toward the village Himbert asked, "Trouble?"

  "I don't know. It doesn't feel right."

  Himbert twisted in his saddle and nodded off to the west. "Better to be cautious. We are in territory claimed by the Mamluks. There is a large garrison located at Baalbeck some twenty or so miles from here. Though it would be a violation of the treaty, it would not be surprising if they were stalking us, or they could simply be patrolling the coast."

  "You draw trouble like a metal rod draws lightning," grumbled Henri. "I suppose you are going to take us in there, aren't you?"