The Honorable Knight

by Patrick John Donahoe

  “Your friend, Jacques, here, has commissioned my father, Mordecai, to fashion a standard French knight’s sword and scabbard. Are you as unoriginal as he is?” Serena scooped a dipper full of water from the quenching jar, sloughed the oil coating back off into the jar, and drank the dipper full in three gulps. “Please excuse my manners. Would either one of you like some cold water?”

  They both shook their heads ‘no.’

  Ian continued, “I’d like a scimitar of Damascus steel, a sword like the Saracens carry, with a slightly curved and narrow blade. Not the shiny sword like the Crusaders carry, but a folded metal sword like the ancient Celts and the Saracens forge. Can you make this?”

  “You’re a discriminating customer, not like the usual Crusader clients who contract with us.”

  Ian noticed her throw a sharp glance at Jacques. “I cannot make a contract with you, and especially not for such a unique weapon. Mordecai, my father, has to negotiate the details and costs. Such an order will be expensive.” She leaned back against the bellows.

  Ian studied her self-assured manner . . . in a world where women held their places in the background, subservient to even the lowliest man. Ian liked the idea that he and Jacques, two Frankish knights, addressed her almost as an equal. He suspected that she enjoyed the idea also.

  “We can return and talk to your father later, if required,” Jacques said.

  “Yes, but for now, please write down the basic requirements so he can consider the challenges and cost, and be prepared when we return,” added Ian.

  Serena took a sharpened stick of chalk and a flat piece of slate from the worktable behind her and said, “Tell me again.”

  “The requirements are, a Saracen sword of Damascus steel, blade length thirty inches, sharpened along the outside curve, sharpened along the point of the inside edge, with an ivory or hardwood grip, and a jackal’s head pommel. Do you have all that?”

  “I do.”

  “We will return tomorrow to talk to your father, and you, too, I hope.” Ian smiled at this intriguing female. They turned to leave.

  Jacques said, “Good day to you, Serena.”

  “Good day, sir knights.”

  As they walked down the tradesmen’s alley, Jacques turned to Ian and punched him in the arm.

  “Wasn’t she everything I told you?”

  “She was.” Ian felt for the first time in his life that he was in love, but was reluctant to mention it to Jacques because maybe Jacques was in love with her, and he saw her first.

  Mordecai returned to the blacksmith shop to find Serena flattening a steel billet with a vengeance. He asked, “Daughter, are you taking out some anger on the metal or just trying to forge it in only one round?”

  “Neither, Father. I don’t understand men.”

  “We’re equals then, for I do not understand women.”

  “Why would a young man bring another young man to meet me and encourage the other young man to take an interest in me?”

  “Perhaps he thinks the other young man is a better match for you.”

  Serena pounded the billet harder with the hammer.

  “Do you have feelings for the first young man?”

  “No . . . yes . . . maybe. What do I know?” Serena dipped the billet in the quenching jar and looked at her father.

  “Who is this young man?” Mordecai asked.

  “The Frankish Crusader we’re making the basic sword for. His friend, Ian, wants a Saracen sword, with a thirty inch slightly curved blade, a hard wood or ivory hilt, and a jackal pommel.”

  “Such an unusual request, especially for a Frankish knight. Did you discuss the price with him?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Good girl. When are they going to return?”

  “Tomorrow. Time enough for you to estimate a price.”

  “How is the initial forging of the two blades for the German knights coming along?”

  “This is the first one.” Serena pulled the billet out of the quenching jar and held it up for her father to examine.

  “The Germans are not due to return from their trip to Antioch for three more weeks, so when you have their blades prepared you can start on your Frankish knight’s sword while I work on the hilts and pommels for the German swords.” Mordecai took the billet from Serena and examined the length, the edges, and the straightness. “You’re doing well; a few more forgings and it will be ready for filing and sharpening. Be careful to cup the edges, to toughen them, but don’t make the cups so thin so the edge chips off. Keep the edge taper even on both sides. Remember, don’t take your anger out on the blade. Skillful hammering, not angry hammering will make a better blade.” Mordecai handed the partially forged billet back to Serena.

  “I’m sorry Father. I won’t let my feelings affect my work.”

  “Did the new Crusader tell you what kind of scabbard he wants? A Saracen blade will require a more challenging scabbard than a Frankish sword.”

  “They didn’t mention a scabbard.”

  “If they return when I’m not here, ask him to describe the scabbard and tell him I’m determining the price. For your sake, do not become too attached to either of these men. We need to associate with our own kind. No happiness can come to a young Jewess who is too friendly with a Crusader.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Nineteen

  Jacques, ever one to look his best, kept combing his hair and studying the result in the reflection of his polished helmet.

  “I can’t believe you invited Serena and Desiree to have a picnic with us. An Arabic girl and a Jewish girl having lunch with two Christian knights.” Ian jostled Jacques’ arm trying to muss Jacques’ hair. “Well, at least two knights.”

  “Godfrey keeps reiterating we’re a Christian city now, with tolerance for all, whether they be Christian, Jew, or Muslim. As long as we do not offend the sensibilities of any of those three factions, we can serve as exemplars for peace. Besides, faint heart never won fair lady. You’re such a bumpkin. How can you still be a virgin at nineteen?”

  Ian held his peace, not wanting to tell Jacques about how he had one-time sex with Fiona, and not being able to tell Jacques he had sex with Rosemarie several times. Maybe Jacques was smoking Ian out to get him to admit his dalliances with Rosemarie, but he resisted taking the bait. Turning the discussion back to Jacques, Ian asked, “Do you ever think about how Esmeralda’s child could have been your own?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “So you drown your sorrows entertaining our laundress?”

  “Not anymore. She told me another knight has asked her to marry him.”

  Ian waited for more, but Jacques kept preening. “So what did you do?”

  “I wished her a wonderful life with many children. I’m too young and impetuous to marry.”

  “And selfish.”

  “A man has his needs.” Jacques winked at Ian. “Well, what do you think? Am I presentable?”

  Ian gave Jacques the once over, noted his new Italian ruffled shirt, knee britches, and imported Italian leather boots, freshly shaved face, and blue black hair swept back in a pompadour. His bright blue eyes almost sparkled with mischievousness. “You, my brother, are quite the handsome rogue. Both girls will swoon over you and ignore me.”

  “If I see this is so, I’ll bring the conversation back to you, so you won’t feel left out.” Jacques punched Ian in his well-muscled shoulder. “Let’s be off. The girls are probably waiting.”

  Ian and Jacques made their way from their quarters in the stables down to the tradesmen’s quarter, and then to the hospital and picked up the girls. This had become the pattern for meeting the girls. Serena could be seen in public with the two young men as long as both were with her. Desiree required another female in the group when they were together because of the strict Muslim rules about a single woman not allowed to be in the company of single men, not of the same family, alone. However, this was Jerusalem, and she would be in the company of another woman, even though Serena wa
s a Jewess, and two French Crusaders, who were highly respected in the city. No one dared challenge them.

  They made their way to the Garden of Gethsemane, laid a clean blanket on the ground, and set their basket of food in the middle. Each contributed something to the lunch. Ian brought his favorite bread and goat cheese, Jacques brought his favorite wine and a large cluster of grapes, Desiree brought a lamb and dumpling stew and a jug of cool fresh spring water, and Serena brought a large fig and pecan pie for dessert.

  Ian’s mouth watered when he smelled the delicious aromas of lamb stew and fig pie. He offered to pronounce a blessing on the food so they could get started. “Oh Lord, we thank thee for the bounteous blessings we enjoy and for this food. We ask thee to bless it to nourish and strengthen our bodies. Amen.”

  While Desiree ladled out stew into four of her own hand carved teak bowls, Jacques poured wine for three of them and filled a cup with water for Desiree. As they ate, the sun shone down through the ancient olive trees and a warm spring breeze blew through the Garden.

  Ian noted that Serena looked beautiful, her face radiant, with her clear slightly olive complexion and striking green eyes, thin but sensuous lips, and exotic demeanor. She was dressed in what appeared to be a new green dress with wrist-long sleeves and ankle-length skirt. When her wrists and ankles were visible he could see they were lovely and healthy. She wore a red plaited bangle on her right wrist.

  Jacques noted that Desiree looked beautiful, her olive complexion, and striking dark, almost black, eyes pierced him to his very soul, her incredibly long eyelashes that she almost batted when speaking, her full luscious lips and shy demeanor. She wore a tight fitting dress that fit tight around her bosoms, giving Jacques’ heightened imagination fuel to consider how lovely she must be beneath the dress. Her frock had wrist long sleeves and was ankle length. Jacques observed how delicate and small her feet were when she removed her sandals and curled her legs up underneath her skirt.

  Serena gave Jacques a once over as she spooned her stew, noting his almost too handsome shaved Frankish face with sharp nose, dark eyebrows, clear blue eyes, and blue black wavy hair. He wore what appeared to be a new shirt, pants, and boots for the occasion. She wondered, did he preen for Desiree, or for me, or for his own vanity?

  Desiree tried to avoid staring at Ian and making her feelings for him obvious. She’d been in close contact with him several times when he volunteered at the hospital, but this day was special, a day out together in a picnic, and she couldn’t resist assessing him in these new circumstances. She noted his usually unruly red brown hair slicked back with a modicum of style.

  Jacques had told her Ian was only fifteen when they first met and his hair was red, but over the past almost five years his hair had turned auburn and his childhood freckles faded into a manly ruddy countenance. Desiree wished she could have seen him as a child. Ian’s green eyes under his red-brown lashes sent a slight shiver through Desiree when Ian gave her his intense soul searching look during their serious conversations, mostly about medicine. She wondered, does he have those same intense feelings about me, or does he see me only as a friend with common interests? A female friend. If there can be such a thing.

  Ian broke the silence. “I know we’re all hungry and this is a grand day for a good appetite, but let’s talk while we eat.”

  “What would you like to talk about?” asked Jacques.

  “How about the future? I’ll start,” suggested Ian.

  “Go ahead,” said Desiree.

  “All right. Jacques and I have been given great responsibilities by Godfrey, being the Head Guards for the Holy Sepulchre and the Palace, but soon we should be able to return to France and Ireland to visit our families. After all, we’ve been away from France for almost four years, and I’ve been away from Eire for five.”

  “What’s your point?” asked Jacques.

  Focusing his attention on Serena, Ian said, “I wonder if it would be possible for you and Desiree to accompany us on our visit. We’d be gone for four to six months.”

  The other three’s jaws dropped. Jacques choked on his food, requiring Desiree to pound him on the back until he coughed out a chunk of lamb.

  “Jacques, are you alright?” Ian asked.

  “Yes, no thanks to you,” Jacques replied.

  “I guess I didn’t think that question through very well,” Ian said.

  After a moment of awkwardness, Desiree said, “I’m honored that you would consider taking us with you, but this would be quite unconventional unless we were married.”

  “I would love to travel to France and Ireland, but I couldn’t leave my father alone in his blacksmith shop. I’m all he has,” added Serena.

  “Let me change the subject a little since I seem to have put my foot in my mouth.” Ian took a sip of wine and paused to gather his thoughts. “I see myself eventually as a physician healer and maybe an apothecary. I want to develop the best herbs and salves and medicines for all manner of illnesses, and learn surgery to repair limbs and wounds. I intend to continue adding to my mother’s Book of Healing, and translate it into as many languages as possible.”

  Ian looked at Desiree, and said, “Thank you, Desiree, for helping translate the book into Arabic. We still have so much to do.” He turned to Serena and continued, “And thank you, Serena, for helping translate it into Hebrew.”

  “You speak of contradictory pursuits, you chop up the enemy on the battlefield, then put them back together again,” teased Jacques.

  “I think both are noble pursuits,” said Desiree, “perhaps someday we can stop the bloodshed and provide better medical services for all peoples.”

  “What do you see?” asked Serena.

  “Maybe we could develop ways to clear up vision for those with poor eyesight and hearing for those who are deaf, and attach man-made limbs to those who have lost arms or legs,” replied Desiree.

  “That would be wonderful. And what do you want to do in the meantime?” asked Jacques.

  “I’d like to start an orphanage with a school and a hospital for the children. So many children have lost one or both parents, and receive little care from anyone. Many live on the streets to steal and beg their living from the uncaring. And what are your goals, Jacques?”

  “Your goals are so noble, I’ll embarrass myself if I tell you mine,” said Jacques.

  “Please tell us,” Serena requested.

  “I want to be an engineer and build things; buildings, bridges, and roads. I want to be able to build ships and machines that can travel the earth under their own power carrying merchandise around the world, and maybe even machines that can carry people from place to place through the air like on the wings of birds . . . and I also want to develop better war machines and weapons of war.”

  “There seems to be some contradiction in your goals to create and build useful things and also to create and build things to destroy,” said Desiree.

  “There will always be those who would destroy what I would build, and there must be the ability to prevent them from doing so. With any great creation there will be those who destroy. Look at the battles and wars we continue to fight, and the destruction of cities that still goes on today.”

  Ian turned to Serena. “And what do you see for your future?”

  “I’m so used to working five or six days each week for my father fabricating swords, knives, shields, and armor that I haven’t considered what I might like to do with my life. I don’t see marriage and children in my near future . . .” Serena looked away from Ian with downcast eyes.

  Ian tried not to let his disappointment show.

  “. . . But, I don’t want to make swords for the rest of my life. I want to be the captain of my own future. I want to travel, learn languages, meet people, and serve as an advisor, an assistant to rulers, kings, and magistrates, to unearth the truth in criminal cases and foreign affairs, and to prevent evil people from causing harm,” Serena said. She shrugged and added, “Obviously, I don’t really know exac
tly what I want to do.”

  “These are all difficult things for a woman to do, to be a soldier, or a spy, or an advisor,” Ian said.

  “I suppose I’m living in the wrong time or place, or both.”

  “I know two things for sure,” said Ian.

  “What are those?” asked Jacques.

  “I want some of Serena’s delicious looking pecan and fig pie, and I hope we’ll have many more days together, the four of us.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Jacques, lifting his wine cup, followed by Serena and Ian with their wine cups and Desiree with her water cup. “Hear, hear.”

  Twenty

  Ian entered Jacques’ quarters at sunrise, already having taken care of the few daily duties he had to perform. “Roust out of your languor, Sir Lay-a-Bed. Today’s the day we shop for parchment and paper with Serena and Desiree.”

  Jacques grumbled at being woken at such an early hour, but complied since he wanted to see Desiree again.

  Desiree and Serena were helping Ian translate his Book of Healing into Arabic and Hebrew, but Ian had run out of the paper and parchment that Adhemar had given Ian before he died. Ian had two good reasons to be able to continue seeing Serena, her French to Hebrew translation assistance and her making of a Saracen style sword. He intended to use both to the utmost.

  Ian often thought fondly of Rosemarie and Fiona. He wondered if Rosemarie had already married Jean Fontaine and was busy pushing out Frankish babies. Neither Ian nor Jacques had heard from Rosemarie or Luc since taking Jerusalem. Ian also wondered if Fiona had found her rich ancient widower and poisoned him for his wealth. He loved Fiona for her wild Irish ways and Rosemarie for her sly Frankish ways, and couldn’t decide which he would rather have for a wife. Now there was Serena, who was so different from both of them. Serena would be his choice, if he had a choice.

  Ian and Jacques went first to the blacksmith shop as had become their custom to collect Serena, then to the hospital to collect Desiree. Their foursomes had become commonplace to the residents of Jerusalem.