Michael Spradlin - Keeper of the Grail

“Yes, sire?” Uh-oh.

“He tells me a certain squire rode to his rescue at a critical point in the fight this afternoon.”

From his tone I couldn’t tell if he was angry or proud.

“He did?”

“Yes. Apparently this squire gave up his horse so the King could return to safety.”

I shrugged, staring at the fire.

“Tristan, what you did was incredibly brave. And also dangerous. I believe I left you with orders to stay at your post unless I required your assistance during the fighting.”

I looked up at Sir Thomas and saw the concerned smile on his face. He wasn’t mad exactly.

“Forgive me, sire, I don’t know what came over me. When I saw the King there with the Saracens about to overtake him, I…well…I just reacted,” I stammered.

“I understand. And you’ve become quite the hero to the entire army. You saved a comrade without thinking of yourself, and the King, no less. That is one of the marks of greatness in a warrior, Tristan. But please. No more such acts of bravery. England can always get a new King. Good squires are not easy for me to find,” he said.

I looked at Sir Thomas and he winked at me.

“Get some rest,” he said. “We ride out in the morning.”

It felt good to receive his praise, but in truth Sir Thomas’ words did little to resolve the conflicting emotions that poured through me. I struggled to understand what I had seen that day, and more important why any of it had happened in the first place. Finally, exhaustion overcame me, and I slept right there by the fire.

The next afternoon our forces rode onto the plains surrounding the city of Acre and relieved a large force of Crusaders that had besieged it some months earlier. It was a beautiful spot, sitting right on the seacoast. From our position I could hear the waves crashing against the rocks below, and the sound was almost comforting somehow. The city itself sat on a promontory that jutted out into the sea. Out in the harbor, several Crusader ships bobbed in the waves as they blockaded the port. Beyond the stone walls, I could see the tiled rooftops of the buildings inside and as we moved into position the Saracens began to yell and jeer at us from the battlements, but they soon lost interest and fell silent.

“It’s a pretty spot,” I said to Quincy as we surveyed the countryside.

“Yes, it is. Sir Basil was here years ago. He says it was quite a wild place then. There are caves below the city, and I guess many pirates and marauders used them as a base. Perhaps we’ll have a chance to explore them someday,” he said.

I would rather have left the caves to the pirates. I much preferred the open air. And who knew? There could still be pirates hiding in them. I’d never met any, but I was fairly certain I wasn’t going to like pirates, just on principle.

The garrison of Saracens inside Acre had been holding out for months, desperate for the Saladin to send reinforcements, which he had yet to do. Upon his arrival, King Richard met with the Saracen leaders under a flag of truce and immediately demanded they cede the city to his command. They refused.

For six weeks we camped outside the city, fighting sporadically but mainly waiting for them to just give up. Exhausted and running low on food, they were overwhelmed with sick and wounded and could barely mount a defense. The King preferred to wait them out, not wanting to needlessly sacrifice men in an assault when it seemed likely they would capitulate before long.

Their surrender finally came on the eleventh of July and Acre was ours. We marched inside the gates, and I watched the Saracens, now prisoners of war, being led away.

The Christian citizens of Acre were overjoyed to have the city under the Crusaders’ control once again. They had been well treated during the Saladin’s occupation. He had issued proclamations allowing them to worship as they pleased and to keep their homes and businesses. But when the siege began, not only was the city surrounded, but the Crusaders had closed off the port as well, and no supplies at all could get in or out. With no medicines and very little food the people had grown sick and hungry.

The King immediately sent word to Cyprus and points east, and in a few days’ time ships began arriving with food and medicines. The Templar physicians enlisted the aid of us squires to help them treat the sick, and we shared our food with some who were near starvation. In these days the true character of men like Sir Thomas, Sir Basil and Quincy and the other Templars was revealed to me. They were not just there to fight for fighting’s sake. Their purpose was the liberation of their fellow Christians.

The first days of our reoccupation, when I wasn’t attending to my duties, I took what time I could to explore the city. As in Dover, a marketplace took up the center of the city with stone paved streets leading in and out of it in all four directions. Every building was constructed of stone with brightly colored awnings covering the doorways and windows. It was a marked contrast as all of Dover’s buildings were built of timber and though it had been a noisy, lively place, Acre felt more subdued and quieter. Perhaps the long siege had taken some of the spirit out of the people.

Being inside Acre confirmed what I’d felt as we had ridden out from the beach upon first landing here; that I was in an alien place. Everything from the spicy smells of the cooking fires to the elegant archways of the buildings and temples was new and unusual. It was going to take some getting used to.

Sir Thomas and I moved our belongings into rooms in the Knights’ Hall. Unlike Dover, where the squires had slept in separate quarters, knights and squires shared rooms. Our days quickly assumed a routine similar to life at the Dover Commandery. We attended to our horses and equipment, and worked on preparing the city’s defenses. Though we had broken and beaten a Saracen force on our way into the city, no one expected the Saladin to give up easily.

“This defeat won’t sit well with the Saladin,” Sir Thomas said as we walked along a parapet above the east wall. “He’ll be back soon, and we’ll likely be on the other end of a siege.”

Sir Thomas was possessed of an uncommon energy in those days. He was everywhere at once. I was amazed at the depth and array of his knowledge of battle tactics. I learned much just by watching him. No detail was too small. He would climb high in the towers and along the battlements that lined the city walls, looking for weaknesses. He constantly checked the sight lines of the archers and made sure that each siege engine or ballistae-the large mechanical crossbows that threw giant arrows at the enemy-was placed in the most strategic position. He was fanatical about making sure our positions were as well defended as possible.

Each day, thoughts of what I had seen on the battlefield paraded through my mind. I wondered how Sir Thomas was able to dedicate himself to a life like this. How could a man accept such horror and carnage and not be affected by what he saw?

One morning as we finished our inspection of the northern battlements, I couldn’t keep my questions to myself any longer.

“Sire, forgive me, but I am troubled by something,” I said.

“I could tell. You haven’t been yourself the past few days. Tell me what it is,” he said.

“It is the battle, sire, what I saw, what we did…” I couldn’t find the words.

“You have a good heart, Tristan. I could tell it bothered you. It should. It was horrible,” he said.

“So why do we fight, then, if it is such a terrible thing?” I asked.

“That’s a good question, Tristan. A warrior, a true warrior, must always ask if his cause is just. The taking of another’s life is not a trifle. You fight because you must. There can be no other option,” he said.