Michael Spradlin - Keeper of the Grail

Pirates? Storms? Sea monsters? No one had spoken of these things before we left. Why had no one told me this?

Sir Thomas chuckled when he saw the look that crossed my face. “Rest easy, lad. We’ll be fine,” he said.

But I wasn’t listening, as I was still considering pirates and sea monsters.

“Here it is, Tristan. Watch.”

By then our ship had hoisted sail and cleared the harbor. Looking where Sir Thomas pointed, I could see the white cliffs of Dover behind us. I’d never before viewed anything so beautiful in my life. The chalk-white cliffs were bathed in the soft light of the sun. Rising up out of the ocean with no warning, it was as if God had reached down from heaven to pull the cleanest and purest part of the earth out of the ground for all to see. They towered over the city like a heavenly fortress, and I soon forgot all about pirates while I drank in the sight.

I watched the cliffs retreat from us as we turned south in the channel. Here the water was rougher, but the wind was stronger, and we picked up speed.

Shortly after daybreak we reached Portsmouth. There we were greeted by the King’s fleet. The Lionheart’s flagship sailed out of the harbor, leading a line of twenty vessels. His banner with the three golden lions on a crimson background was attached to the main mast, flapping proudly in the breeze.

At least that is what I was told. I saw none of it, for I lay in my hammock belowdecks, thrashing, vomiting and clutching my stomach, wishing that I were dead.

I’ve always been healthy and seldom caught the sicknesses or fevers that would strike the monks at the abbey. On that day, however, I believed that I was making up for it all. I had never felt so ill. Each movement of the ship sent my stomach reeling and rolled my eyes back in my head. I lay in the swinging hammock promising to do anything God asked if he would just make the ship stop moving up and down and side to side.

It was Quincy who told me of the rendezvous and the impressive array of ships that now sailed toward Outremer. The motion of the ship didn’t seem to bother him at all. He visited me often in the hold, where I could scarcely lift my head, keeping me apprised of events as they happened on the ship.

Finally, on the third day, my stomach settled somewhat and I made my way to the deck, squinting in the sun like a mole. As the deck heaved to and fro, I thought I would be sick again. I held fast to the deck railing until the wave of nausea passed. It felt good to breathe in the fresh air. The life of a sailor was definitely not for me.

Sir Thomas found me on the deck, desperately clutching the railing.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“I’ll be happy to never sail again,” I said.

“Ha. Be glad we’re not taking the land route. It takes months. Riding along, choking in the dust, burning in the sun, freezing in the rain. Saddle sores. Believe me, this is much better,” he said.

“If you say so, sire,” I answered, still feeling miserable. Sir Thomas chuckled again at my discomfort and moved off.

Most of the time on the ship I was bored beyond belief. We were often out of sight of land, with nothing to look at but water. And more water. There was little to do except sleep and pace about the deck. Some days I even took a turn at the oars just to have something to do.

Once in the Mediterranean the wind was stronger and the ship moved over the water at a quicker pace. Passing through the Strait of Gibraltar I saw the mighty rock that had guarded the passage since time began. A few days past the rock, we sailed around the Isle of Cyprus, not stopping, for the King wished to reach Acre as soon as possible.

Three weeks to the day after leaving Dover, the ships made landfall a day’s ride to the west of Acre, at a spot where the coast leveled out to form a natural harbor. We had to swim the horses to shore, and it took two full days to move all of the cargo and supplies off the ships. My legs felt as if they were made of stone columns when I first stepped on land after nearly three weeks at sea. I wanted to kiss the ground, but merely rejoiced that it didn’t move as I walked upon it.

I wasn’t sure what I had expected of Outremer, but the land surprised me. Having heard the knights speak of the arid desert, I was surprised to find the coastal area, although rocky, to be full of green trees and shrubs. The climate was warmer than England to be sure, but in many ways it reminded me of Dover, except here the cliffs were made of rock, not chalk.

We made camp right on the sand. Within a day, the beach became a city of campaign tents, each one flying a regimento or battle flag. Large cook fires were built, and as we sat around them at night, I loved watching the embers rise high into the sky. It was as if each one carried a message to heaven. The Templars conducted mass by firelight and passed the hours in song and storytelling while we waited for orders to march.

The King’s headquarters tent was not more than a few yards away from where I slept. Now and then I would see him outside his tent, at a table holding maps and other documents. He spent hours in consultation with his military advisers. Plans were being made and battle orders drawn. Word passed through the camp that Saracens were near.

We spent the next week organizing, resting and preparing to move toward Acre. When the horses had rested and regained their land legs, the call came to move out. Quincy and I went with the other squires to retrieve our knights’ horses from where they were hobbled on the shore. Quincy seemed calm, whistling quietly to himself as we gathered up the saddles and halters.

“Aren’t you nervous?” I asked.

“What? Nervous? Why? Oh yes. This is your first time in enemy territory. You get used to it,” he said.

“Really?” I couldn’t imagine that.

“Oh sure. You’ll see. The knights are well trained. They know what they’re doing all right. It’ll be fine,” he said, smiling. But his confidence was not contagious. I still felt on edge.

I had Dauntless saddled and prepared to go when Sir Thomas found me. His chain mail had been polished to a high sheen, and there in the sun I helped dress him. When he was properly outfitted, he mounted the horse. He took the battle sword from me and buckled it securely around his waist. I handed him his iron-tipped lance, hoping he wouldn’t notice my shaking hands. He settled himself into the saddle, stood up and down in the stirrups a few times to find a comfortable spot, then sat still.

“Are you ready?” he asked me.

No! I wasn’t ready for anything other than perhaps getting on board the ship and sailing back to England.

“Yes, sire,” I said.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

In truth I was terrified. My hands quivered as I attended to my duties, and my breath came in small gasps. It felt as if I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. My vision began to close in. I was in no way prepared for this. Everything that had come before-the training, the practice, the days in the Commandery-was as faint as a dream. However, I could not, must not, let Sir Thomas feel that he had made a choice unworthy of him.

“A little,” I answered.

“That’s good, Tristan. If you had told me you were not afraid, I wouldn’t have believed you. The important thing is to stay alert at all times. Here in Outremer, battles tend to happen quickly and with little warning. Keep your eyes open. If a fight starts, stay focused on your duties. We’ve practiced and discussed it many times. The most common thing is that I’ll lose my lance or it will break. Stay near the quartermaster, and if you see me riding back, ride forward with a replacement. You’ll do fine. We may not even engage the enemy. Our scouts have seen Saracen patrols, but have not yet encountered a large force. We might march to Acre unopposed,” he said.