The Templar Knight Read online

  “No, that is true,” replied the Templar knight. “Men like me don’t end up in prison at all, and I’m sure that you know why. But I have lived in Palestine for ten years; I am not here to steal goods and then go home after half a year. Most of the men who work for the Knights Templar speak Arabic. My sergeant’s name, by the way, is Armand de Gascogne; he’s quite new here and doesn’t understand much of what we’re saying. That’s why he is so silent, not like your men, who don’t dare speak until you give them permission.”

  “Your eyes are sharp,” murmured Yussuf, red-faced. “I am the eldest, you can already see gray hairs in my beard; I am the one who administers the family’s money. We are merchants on our way to an important meeting in Cairo, and…I don’t know what my brother and my friend would want to ask one of the enemy’s knights. We are all peaceful men.”

  The Templar knight gave Yussuf a searching glance but said nothing for a while. He took his time eating some of the honey-drenched almonds. He paused and held up a piece of the delicacy to the firelight to examine it, concluding that these baked goods must have come from Aleppo. Then he pulled out his wineskin and took a drink without asking permission or offering an apology, and handed the skin to his sergeant. Afterward he leaned back comfortably and drew his big, thick white mantle around him with its terrifying red cross, looking at Yussuf as if he were assessing his opponent in a game of backgammon, not as a foe but as someone who must be evaluated.

  “My unknown friend and foe, what use do any of us have for falsehoods when we eat together in peace and both have given our word not to harm each other?” he said at last. He spoke very easily, with no rancor in his voice. “You are a warrior, as I am. If God wills, we shall meet next time on the battlefield. Your clothes betray you; your horses betray you, just as your harnesses do, and your swords, which are leaning against the saddles over there. They are swords made in Damascus; none of them costs less than five hundred dinars in gold. Your peace and mine will soon be over; the truce is about to be ended, and if you don’t know this now, you will know it soon. Let us therefore enjoy this strange hour. It’s not often that a man gets to know his enemy. But let us not lie to each other.”

  Yussuf was struck by an almost irresistible urge to tell the Templar knight honestly who he was. But it was true that the truce would soon be ended, although it had not yet been felt on any battlefield. And their mutual oath not to harm each other, the reason they could sit and eat together at all, was valid only for this evening.

  “You’re right, Templar knight,” he said at last. “Insh’Allah, if God wills, we will someday meet on the battlefield. But I also think, as you do, that a man should get to know his enemies, and you seem to know many more of the faithful than we know of the infidels. I now give my men permission to speak to you.”

  Yussuf leaned back, also drawing his mantle closer around him, and signaled to his brother and emir that they were allowed to speak. But they both hesitated, accustomed as they were to sitting an entire evening and just listening. Since neither of them made any attempt to speak, the Templar knight leaned toward his sergeant and carried on a brief whispered conversation in Frankish.

  “My sergeant wonders about one thing,” he then explained. “Your weapons, your horses, and your clothes alone are worth more than those unfortunate bandits could ever have dreamed of. How did it happen that you chose this perilous road west of the Dead Sea without sufficient escort?”

  “Because it is the quickest route, because an escort arouses a great deal of attention…” replied Yussuf slowly. He did not want to embarrass himself by again saying something that wasn’t true, so he had to weigh his words. Any escort of his would certainly have attracted attention because it would have consisted of at least three thousand horsemen to be considered safe.

  “And because we trusted our horses. We didn’t think a few worthless bandits or Franks would be able to catch us,” he added swiftly.

  “Wise but not wise enough,” the Templar knight nodded. “But those six bandits have been plundering these regions for almost half a year. They knew the area like the backs of their hands, they could ride faster on these stretches than any of us could. That was what made them rich. Until God punished them.”

  “I would like to know one thing,” said Fahkr, who now spoke for the first time and had to clear his throat because he was stumbling over his own words. “It is said that you Templar knights who reside in Al Aksa have a minbar there, a place of prayer for the faithful. And people have also told me that you Templar knights once struck a Frank who tried to prevent one of the faithful from praying. Is this really true?”

  All three of the faithful now gave their full attention to the enemy. But the Templar knight smiled and first translated the question into Frankish for the sergeant, who at once nodded and burst out laughing.

  “Yes, there is more truth to that than you know,” said the Templar knight after thinking for a moment, or pretending to think in order to spur his listeners’ interest. “We do have a minbar in Templum Salomonis, as we call Al Aksa, ‘the most remote of prayer sites.’ But that is not so unusual. In our fortress in Gaza we have a majlis every Thursday, the only day possible, and the witnesses then swear on God’s Holy Scriptures, on the Torah, or on the Koran, and in some cases on something else entirely that they regard as holy. If the three of you were Egyptian merchants as you claimed, you would also know that our order conducts a great deal of business with the Egyptians, and they do not share our beliefs. Al Aksa, if you wish to use that name, is where we Templar knights have our headquarters, and where many people come as our guests. The problem is that every September new vessels arrive from Pisa or Genoa or the southern lands of the Franks with new men filled with the spirit and the zeal, perhaps not to enter paradise at once, but to kill unbelievers or at least lay hands on them. These newcomers create great difficulties for the rest of us, and each year, shortly after September, we always have disturbances in our own quarters because the newcomers turn against people of your faith, and then of course we have to deal with them harshly.”

  “You would kill your own kind for the sake of our people?” gasped Fahkr.

  “Of course not!” replied the Templar knight with sudden vehemence. “For us it is a grave sin, just as it is in your faith, to kill any man who is a true believer. That can never come into question.”

  He went on after a brief pause, his good humor restored, “But nothing prevents us from giving rogues like that a good thrashing if they refuse to be persuaded. I myself have had the pleasure on several occasions…”

  Quickly he leaned toward his sergeant and translated. When the sergeant began nodding and laughing in agreement, a great sense of relief seemed to come over everyone, and they all joined in with hearty laughter—perhaps a bit too hearty.

  A gust of air, like the last sigh of the evening wind from the mountains near Al Khalil, suddenly carried the stench of the Templar knights toward the three faithful, and they shrank back, unable to hide their feelings.

  The Templar knight noticed their embarrassment and rose to his feet immediately, suggesting that they change sides and wind direction around the muslin coverlet, where Emir Moussa was now setting out small cups of mocha. The three hosts complied with his suggestion at once, without saying anything offensive.

  “We have our rules,” explained the Templar knight apologetically as he settled into his new place. “You have rules about washing yourselves at all times of the day, and we have rules that forbid doing so. It is no worse than the fact that you have rules permitting hunting while we have ones forbidding it, except for lions; or that we drink wine and you do not.”

  “Wine is a different matter,” objected Yussuf. “The prohibition against wine is a strict one, and it is God’s word to the Prophet, may peace be with him. But we are not like our enemies; just consider God’s words in the seventh sura: ‘Who has forbidden the beautiful things that God has granted His servants and all the good He has given them for their sustenanc
e?’”

  “Well, yes,” said the Templar knight. “Your scriptures say many things. But if, for the sake of vanity, you want me to expose my modesty and make myself fair-smelling like worldly men, I might just as well ask you to stop calling me your enemy. For just listen to the words of your own scriptures, from the sixty-first sura, words of your own Prophet, may peace be with him: ‘Faithful! Be God’s disciples. Just as Jesus, the son of Mary, said to the white-clad: “Who will be my disciple for the sake of God?” And they answered: “We will be God’s disciples!” Among the children of Israel, some came to believe in Jesus while others rejected him. But we supported those who believed in him against their enemies, and the faithful departed with victory.’ I particularly like the part about the white-clad…”

  At these words Emir Moussa sprang to his feet as if he were about to reach for his sword, but halfway there he restrained himself and stopped. His face was red with anger when he stretched out his arm and pointed an accusatory finger at the Templar knight.

  “Infidel!” he cried. “You speak the language of the Koran; that is one thing. But twisting God’s words with blasphemy and ridicule is another matter that you would not be allowed to survive if it weren’t for His Majes…because my friend Yussuf has given you his word!”

  “Sit down and behave yourself, Moussa!” shouted Yussuf harshly, regaining his composure as Moussa obeyed his command. “What you heard were indeed the words of God, and they were from the sixty-first sura, and they are words you ought to consider. And don’t think, by the way, that the phrase ‘the white-robed’ refers to what our guest spoke of in jest.”

  “No, of course it does not,” the Templar knight hurried to smooth things over. “It refers to those who wore white robes long before my order existed; my clothing has nothing to do with it.”

  “How do you happen to be so familiar with the Koran?” asked Yussuf in his customary and quite calm tone of voice, as if no disruption had occurred, and his high rank had not been almost revealed.

  “It is a wise thing to study your enemy; if you like, I can help you to understand the Bible,” replied the Templar knight, as if trying to joke his way out of the topic, seeming to regret his clumsy invasion of the faithfuls’ territory.

  Yussuf was about to utter a stern reply to his lighthearted talk of entering into blasphemous studies, when he was interrupted by a long drawn-out, horrifying scream. The scream turned into something that sounded like scornful laughter, rolling down toward them and echoing off the mountainsides above. All five men froze and listened; Emir Moussa immediately began rattling off the words the faithful use to conjure up the jinni of the desert. Then the scream came again, but now it sounded as if it came from several spirits of the abyss, as if they were talking to each other, as if they had discovered the little fire below and the only people in the area.

  The Templar knight leaned forward and whispered a few words in Frankish to his sergeant, who nodded at once, stood up, and buckled on his sword. He drew his black mantle tighter, bowed to his unbeliever hosts, and then, without saying a word, turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness.

  “You must excuse this rudeness,” said the Templar knight. “But the fact is that we have the scent of blood and fresh meat up in our camp, and horses that must be tended to.”

  He didn’t seem to think he needed to offer any further explanation, and with a bow he stretched out his mocha cup for Emir Moussa to refill it. The emir’s hand shook slightly as he poured.

  “You send your sergeant into the darkness and he obeys without blinking?” said Fahkr in a voice that sounded slightly hoarse.

  “Yes,” said the Templar knight. “A man must obey even if he feels fear. But I don’t think that Armand does. The darkness is more of a friend for the man who wears a black mantle than the one who wears white, and Armand’s sword is sharp and his hand steady. Wild dogs, those spotted beasts with their horrid barking, are also known for their cowardice, are they not?”

  “But are you certain it was only wild dogs we heard?” asked Fahkr doubtfully.

  “No,” replied the Templar knight. “There is much we do not know between heaven and hell; no one can ever be certain. But the Lord is our shepherd, and we shall not want, even though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death. That is doubtless what Armand is praying as he walks along in the dark right now. That is what I would pray, at any rate. If God has measured out our time and wishes to call us home, there is nothing we can do, of course. But until then we cleave the skulls of wild dogs as we do those of our enemies, and in that respect I know that you who believe in the Prophet, may peace be with him, and deny the Son of God, think exactly as we do. Am I not right, Yussuf?”

  “You are right, Templar knight,” Yussuf confirmed. “But then where is the borderline between reason and belief, between fear of and trust in God? If a man must obey, as your sergeant must obey, does that make his fear any less?”

  “When I was young…well, I am not yet a particularly old man,” said the Templar knight, seeming to think deeply, “I was still preoccupied with that sort of question. It is good for your mind; your thoughts grow nimble from exercising your mind. But nowadays I am afraid I grow sluggish. You obey. You conquer evil. Afterward you thank God—that is all.”

  “And if you do not conquer your enemy?” asked Yussuf in a gentle voice, which those who knew him did not recognize as his normal voice.

  “Then you die, at least in the case of Armand and myself,” replied the Templar knight. “And on Judgment Day you and I will be measured and weighed, and where you will then end up, I cannot say, even though I know what you yourself believe. But if I die here in Palestine, my place will be in paradise.”

  “You truly believe that?” asked Yussuf in his strange, gentle voice.

  “Yes, I believe that,” replied the Templar knight.

  “Then tell me one thing: Is that promise actually in your Bible?”

  “No, not exactly; it does not say that exactly.”

  “But you are still quite certain?”

  “Yes, the Holy Father in Rome has promised…”

  “But he is only a man! What man can promise you a place in paradise, Templar knight?”

  “But Muhammed too was merely a man! And you believe in his promise, forgive me, may peace be to his name.”

  “Muhammed, may peace be with him, was God’s messenger, and God said: ‘But the messenger and those who follow him in faith and strive for the sake of God, offering up their property and lives, shall be rewarded with goodness in this life and in the next, and everything they touch will prosper.’ Those words are very clear, are they not? And it goes on…”

  “Yes! In the next verse of the ninth sura,” the Templar knight interjected brusquely. “‘God has prepared for them gardens of pleasure, watered by streams, where they shall remain for all eternity. This is the great and glorious victory!’ So, we understand each other, I presume? None of this is foreign to you, Yussuf. And by the way, the difference between us is that I have no possessions, I have put myself in God’s hands, and when He decides, I will die for His sake. Your own beliefs do not contradict what I say.”

  “Your knowledge of God’s word is truly great, Templar knight,” said Yussuf, but at the same time he was pleased that he had caught his enemy in a trap, and his companions could see this.

  “Yes, as I said, you should know your enemy,” said the Templar knight, for the first time a little uncertain, as if he too realized that Yussuf had backed him into a corner.

  “But if you speak in this way, you are not my enemy,” said Yussuf. “You quote from the Holy Koran, which is God’s word. What you say does apply to me, but not to you for the time being. For the faithful, all of this is as clear as water, but what is it for you? In truth, I know as much about Jesus as you know about the Prophet, may peace be with him. But what did Jesus say about the Holy War? Did Jesus speak a single word about you entering paradise if you killed me?”

  “Let us
not quarrel about this,” said the Templar knight with a confident wave of his hand, as if everything had suddenly become petty, although they could all see his uncertainty. “Our beliefs are not the same, even though they have many similarities. But we have to live in the same land, fighting each other in the worse case, making treaties and conducting business in the best case. Now let us speak of other matters. It is my wish, as your guest.”

  They were all aware how Yussuf had driven his opponent into a corner where he had no more defenses. Jesus had clearly never said anything about it being pleasing to God to kill Saracens. But when pressed harder, the Templar knight had still managed to wriggle out of the difficult situation by referring to the faithfuls’ own unwritten laws of hospitality. And so his wish had to be granted; he was the guest, after all.

  “In truth, you do know a great deal about your enemy, Templar knight,” said Yussuf. Both his voice and expression showed that he was very pleased at having won the discussion.

  “As we agreed, it is necessary to know your enemy,” replied the Templar knight in a low voice, his eyes downcast.

  They sat in silence for a while, gazing into their mocha cups, since it seemed difficult to start up the conversation in a natural way after Yussuf’s victory. But then the silence was again shattered by the sound of beasts. This time they all knew it was animals and not some devilish creature, and it sounded as if they were attacking someone or something, and then as if they were fleeing, with howls of pain and death.

  “Armand’s sword is sharp, as I said,” murmured the Templar knight.

  “Why in the name of peace did you take your corpses with you?” asked Fahkr, who was thinking the same thing as his brothers of the faith.

  “Of course it would have been better to take them alive. Then they would not have smelled so foul on the way home, and they could have traveled with ease. But tomorrow it will be a hot day; we must start our journey early to get them to Jerusalem before they begin to stink too much,” replied the Templar knight.