The Honorable Knight

by Patrick John Donahoe

  Ian ordered Adhemar’s assistant, a monk, to provide Adhemar with fresh clean water and bedclothes, and to bathe the Bishop to cool him down. Ian went to the kitchen and watched as the cook, a monk, started to prepare lunch without first washing his hands. Flies buzzed around the kitchen and the door was open to the courtyard. Ian discovered a stinking outhouse in the courtyard with a swarm of flies buzzing in and out, and passing back and forth between the outhouse and the kitchen.

  Ian strode back into the kitchen, grabbed the cook by the front of his robe, and demanded, “What’s your name, Monk?”

  “Brother François, my lord.”

  “Do you wash your hands before you prepare the food for the bishop? Do you wash the vegetables and fruit before you prepare the food?” Ian demanded. He pointed to the flies swarming over the food lying on the counter. “Do you stop the flies from landing on the bishop’s food?” Ian’s eyes flashed anger and his voice carried throughout the bishop’s apartment.

  Shaken by Ian’s outburst, the man said, “N . . . not always, my lord.”

  “You and your assistants will begin here and now. If Adhemar dies of typhoid, it will have been literally by your own hands. Do you understand!?” Ian reached for the hilt of his sword.

  Shaking like a leaf, the monk replied, “Yes, my lord,” and bowed in obeisance.

  “And keep these damn flies out of here and off the food. Remove the outhouse far from the kitchen. You can damn well walk some distance when you have to relieve yourselves.”

  The cook and his assistants, in dread of serious injury, nodded assent to all of Ian’s demands.

  Ian felt inadequate in his role as healer to save Bishop Adhemar from typhoid. His mother’s Book of Healing indicated serving ground white willow and a dab of honey in hot water every two hours as a treatment for diarrhea, and allowing the patient plenty of rest. Ian hovered over Adhemar and fretted over his inability to do any more than help him be comfortable. Ian broke out a bottle of Adhemar’s favorite cognac, but the bishop refused strong drink.

  Adhemar, in his weak and semi-hallucinatory state, had chased away his regular physician, which made Ian feel both favored and overwhelmed with responsibility.

  Ian stayed by Adhemar’s bed day and night and read Adhemar’s beautifully illustrated bible aloud to help keep himself awake. He read and reread the story of Job, and felt ashamed to complain about his own circumstances.

  Early the third morning after Adhemar had taken to his bed, Adhemar beckoned Ian to lean in close, and whispered, “I want to make my peace with God.”

  Noting a clarity in the old man he hadn’t seen since his vigil began, Ian replied, “I’ll find Father Benedict.” Ian knew Benedict was Adhemar’s favorite priest.

  Adhemar whispered in what little voice he had left, “No, I wish to make my peace with God through you.”

  “But I’m not a priest!” Ian protested.

  “I would rather you than any priest I know. I hear you reading my Bible when you’re sitting by my side and think I’m asleep.”

  Ian blushed, but kept his peace.

  “When I look upon you, my young friend, I see a holy man and a knight arrayed in white, a warrior monk. I’ve seen this in a vision.”

  Ian nodded, giving in to a dying man’s last wish, and took hold of the old man’s hand.

  “When I’m gone, please take my cache of parchment and paper, quills and ink, and with Raymond’s guidance scribe a letter to the Pope telling him I regret not securing Jerusalem under Christian control.”

  “No, Father, it’s not your --”

  “Please, my son, humor an old dying priest. And when you’ve composed an adequate letter, keep the rest of my writing supplies for the additions and translations of your Book of Healing . . . and keep my Bible. You’re the only one who reads it.”

  Ian started to protest again, but Adhemar said, “Shh . . . I begin the end.”

  Adhemar began in a soft whisper. “Father in Heaven, please forgive me for my weaknesses and sins.” Adhemar coughed and tapped Ian on the shoulder, indicating for Ian to be patient. He cleared his throat and began again, “. . . and receive this unworthy soul into thy kingdom through the Atonement of thy Holy Son, Amen.” Adhemar’s eyes remained wide open staring off into space.

  Ian closed Adhemar’s eyelids with a gentle touch of his fingertips, covered the bishop’s face with the bed sheet, then left the room to notify Raymond that Adhemar had passed on to his great reward.

  Sixteen

  Ian and Jacques led the knights who would follow them on a forage for food in the surrounding countryside. Ian had often noticed that the departing and arriving knights took no heed to protect the supply lines from France to Antioch. Ian presented the situation to Raymond, but Raymond was too sick and distracted to formulate a plan to address the problem. Raymond suffered from exhaustion and worry, especially since he was now solely in command of the largest Crusader army.

  When Raymond was finally well enough, he led the army to Ma’arrat-al-Numan where Jacques and Ian built a siege tower, which allowed them to pour over a wall of the city. Once inside they found the city had little food or riches to offer. Raymond opted to continue toward Jerusalem.

  On their route was the town of Arqa, which they tried to capture, but Raymond’s army had lost the desire to invest time and energy into taking another resource poor town. On 7 June 1099, a gorgeous summer day, Raymond’s army reached Jerusalem.

  Ian sat on the ground on the hillside of the Mount of Olives and wept with tears of exhaustion and joy when he saw the city of Jerusalem on the other side of the Kidron Valley. After three long years of horrific battles, fatigue, hunger, and hardship, he finally arrived, not as a pilgrim, but as a liberating knight. There were many times in battle when he doubted he would ever see the holy city when so many of his fellow knights had turned back from injury or illness, or longing for home, or had died along the way. He thought, I am but a poor Irish farm boy; and wondered, who am I to have reached Jerusalem, unscathed, as a Crusader knight.

  He wondered what the next few days, or weeks, would bring. He occasionally doubted the righteousness of his participation in the Crusade given the number of men he had killed along the way. His only comfort was Saint Augustine’s writings that a just war could be fought, that is, a just war conducted by a just authority. He believed Pope Urban II, in order to provide Christian’s with safe access to the Holy Land, had initiated a righteous cause. Still, the killing often sickened him.

  A light breeze blew against the side of the hill, and the city below seemed too perfect for the death and destruction that would soon follow.

  Jacques approached Ian and sat beside him.

  They were both silent for a few minutes taking in the view, then Ian asked, “Do you see the gold and silver domes within the walls of the city?”

  “Yes, my brother. I do.”

  “The gold dome is the Dome of the Rock and the silver dome is the Al-Aqsa Mosque. The platform they sit on was where the Temple of Solomon stood. We’re finally here . . . where Abraham, Jesus, and the apostles lived and walked.”

  “I wonder if it was worth it, and we still have one more battle to fight.”

  Ian reached over to his brother and laid a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. “Yes, one more siege . . . and another bloody battle. We need food and water . . . and timber to win again.”

  “I was looking for you to tell you that Raymond has ordered us to set up camp on the west side of the city, and find timber to build our ladders and siege engines. One of the local Christians informed Raymond that we might find enough wood in Samaria, so I’m going there tomorrow morning. He also told me to tell you that two Genoese galleys will sail into the port of Jaffa within the next few days. You’re to lead an expedition and bring back the supplies.”

  “I would like a swim in the sea,” Ian replied in an almost dreamlike voice.

  Jacques continued, “When we’ve both returned, I need you to direct the crews building our
towers and ladders like you’ve done so well before. Then, once the city is ours, perhaps we can rest. Many of our comrades intend to return home to France once the city is taken.”

  “It’s been three long years. Do you ever miss our family in France?” Ian asked.

  “Every day.”

  “Have you ever missed Esmeralda?”

  “I have.”

  “Even though she’s married and you’ve been finding comfort with our laundress?”

  “Well, like I’ve said before, I always love the one I’m with.”

  “Even if the girl you’re with is uglier and looks more like a blacksmith than Louis? You could weave a carpet from the hair in her armpits.” Ian teased with a somber tone in his voice.

  Jacques punched Ian’s shoulder, as a playful gesture, but Ian did not respond.

  “Why so melancholy? Jacques asked. “We’re finally here.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you miss Rosemarie even though she may be married to that buffoon, Jean Fontaine, by now?”

  “I do. . . I have done, and will continue to do, all that’s asked of me, but for a little while longer can we just sit here and enjoy the view?” Ian stared unblinking across the Kidron Valley at the object of their quest.

  “You should have been born a Frank instead of an Irishman. I’ve always known that you were much more religious than I, but I see you also have a more romantic heart than even I do.” Jacques punched Ian’s shoulder again, hard, but again Ian remained immobile, staring straight ahead.

  Jacques braced himself with his arms around his knees, hands clasped, and the two sat quietly side by side, brothers and best friends, and both stared at the object of their three-year quest, the holy city of Jerusalem.

  Ian returned with the supplies and the Genoese troops, led by their commander Guglielmo Embriaco. Guglielmo dismantled the Genoese ships and brought the wood to Jerusalem for use in siege towers. Ian and Jacques helped the Genoese build their siege tower and built their own for Raymond with the wood Jacques had brought from Samaria

  Desperate to gain the city because his men and their animals were dying of thirst and starvation, Duke Godfrey of Bouillon, leading another army of Crusaders, had his knights push a tower against the north wall, while Raymond attacked the west wall. Two of Godfrey’s Flemish knights were the first to cross over the wall into the city, followed by Godfrey who heroically fired bolts at the defenders while under a hail of arrows.

  After three long years of arduous traveling and fighting, Raymond’s and Godfrey’s armies entered Jerusalem, and slaughtered nearly all the inhabitants within the walls of the city. Ian joined in the first charge through the Gate of the Column and slew as many as were within reach of his sword as he hacked his way through the population. Jacques followed soon after since his war machines were no longer necessary.

  When Ian and Jacques met a stone’s throw from the Dome of the Rock they were both wading ankle deep in blood, and their tunics were drenched in blood. Ian’s left arm ached from holding up his shield and fending off sword, ax and hammer attacks, while his right arm ached from swinging his heavy sword and cutting through human flesh and bone all afternoon. All around them lay the bodies of the dead, stabbed, battered, and bleeding, many with limbs and heads amputated. The heat of the afternoon sun raised a stench strong enough to make a goat gag.

  Ian watched as one of Godfrey’s knights, bloodied front head to foot, waded like an angel of death through the bodies and blood and stabbed each body that appeared to still be alive.

  Ian sloshed his way toward the knight, unsure of whether to stop him or assist him, when he felt something grasp his ankle. He looked down to see one of his own knights staring back at him.

  “Please kill me,” the man pleaded.

  Ian saw the man had suffered fatal wounds in the chest and across his face. He hesitated to satisfy the man’s request. He could not bring himself to kill a man he had fought with side by side. Ian held his sword point down and steeled himself to finish the man off.

  The man gasped his last breath, whispered, “Receive me,” and died, his eyes wide open and staring up at the bleak sky, releasing Ian from an odious task.

  Jacques exchanged stares with Ian.

  Ian noted a grim fierceness in Jacques’ countenance. Jacques bent over and retched into the stink beneath his feet. Ian, shocked at Jacques’ loss of control, retched also. When all the contents of his stomach were loosed, he stood upright on unsteady legs and asked, “Is this what we set out to do, my brother? To kill men like murderous demons?”

  Jacques shook his head and replied, “No, my brother. No, it’s not. And why have we not been harmed except for minor cuts and bruises and arms so heavy they hang at our sides like dead weights?”

  “I don’t know. If only Adhemar were still with us. Maybe he could provide counsel. All I know is I’m covered in dead men’s blood and I feel filthy to the depths of my soul. Let us go to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and ask forgiveness for our sins.”

  “You know I’m not a faithful believer, but this day I will accompany you, my brother.”

  Seventeen

  Raymond put Ian and Jacques in charge of removing the bodies from the streets. Once the bodies were removed, they directed the gathering of rubble and had it placed near the damaged walls and parapets to be used for repairs.

  Ian, Jacques and Jared took a water break from cleaning up the city in the heat of the day.

  A messenger approached them and said, “Raymond summons the two of you,” indicating Ian and Jacques, “to the palace.”

  Ian looked at Jared and said, “Jared, take charge until we return.”

  “As you wish,” Jared replied.

  Ian took one long last swallow of water and dropped the dipper back into the bucket.

  As they walked toward the palace, Jacques asked, “What do you think he wants?”

  “I can’t guess. Since he turned the barons down when they suggested he become the king of Jerusalem, I have no idea what he will pursue next.”

  Jacques continued, “He turned them down because they didn’t really want him to take the crown. They only suggested he become king out of respect because he had been the senior leader of the Crusaders. I heard rumor that he had offended many and some were concerned about his mental state.”

  “The loss of his son, and his wife leaving him, did put him in depression for a time, but I think he’s returned to his old self. I’m glad Godfrey of Bouillon didn’t accept a crown to rule Jerusalem, stating it would be sacrilegious to do so in the city where Christ had worn the crown of thrones.”

  “What do you think of Godfrey’s title of Advocatus Sancti Sepulchi, the Defender of the Holy Sepulchre?” asked Jacques.

  “I like it. It would be quite an honor to fulfill that charge.”

  “It’s been an honor serving Raymond these past three years.”

  “Yes, it has.” Ian, still the humble farm boy at heart, felt uncomfortable being summoned to the palace. Once he and Jacques were inside, he marveled at the mosaic tiled floors and carpet wall hangings depicting Muslim warriors on horseback cutting down their enemies with Saracen swords.

  Someone had strewn a large pile of lounging pillows and cushions along one wall, and set up a large wooden table with eight leather-padded chairs where the emir used to hold court. Crusaders preferred to sit on chairs at tables than to recline on pillows on the floor.

  Raymond and Godfrey entered the room from the side. Ian had only limited contact with Godfrey these last three years, but he noted that Godfrey was tall, although not as tall as Raymond was, had a barrel chest, tree trunk like limbs, light brown hair and beard, and a pleasant noble face with dark brown eyes.

  Godfrey motioned for them to sit at the table and called for his manservant to bring wine for the four of them. Ian felt the tension between Raymond and Godfrey. Godfrey was the barons’ choice to rule Jerusalem; they rejected Raymond, but both men remained civil, if not friendly to each other, a
s brothers-in-arms.

  Raymond started the discussion. “Ian and Jacques, you’ve been my most valued knights throughout our journey. I’m going to secure other areas of Palestine, starting with Ashkelon, and the honor has been given to Duke Godfrey of Bouillon to be The Defender of the Holy Sepulchre.”

  Godfrey who had been studying the young men while Raymond was speaking, then said, “Thank you, Raymond. Now let me tell them my future plans for them.”

  Raymond deferred to Godfrey with a nod.

  “I would like to retain your services. Many of our comrades think our mission is complete and are clamoring to return to their homes in France. I’m asking you to use your demonstrated leadership skills to further serve your pope, your king, and Christians worldwide. I ask you, Jacques, to accept the responsibility of Head Guard for the Holy Sepulchre.” He paused, “You will select, train and assign all the guards, and pay them as well so they will be under your financial control as well as command.” Godfrey paused to observe Jacques’ reaction.

  Jacques hesitated and said, “I’m still but a young man and was hoping to return home, at least for a time. My father is in ill health and may not live much longer.”

  “I respect your wishes and merely request you set up the guard to the point where you could take an absence of a few months then return to continue your duties. I see a bright future here for a young noble knight such as yourself.”

  “If that be your will, another few months would be only a light burden.” Jacques leaned back in his chair and let out an audible relaxing sigh.

  “Well spoken, my son.” Godfrey reached across the table and patted Jacques’ shoulder. “We can hammer out the details of pay and duties after supper this evening.”