Stewart Binns - Anarchy

Their leader was a man called Hugh de Payens, a knight from Champagne in France, and the others were his lifelong companions. They were Godfrey de Saint-Omer – who had served with Hugh in the contingent of Geoffrey of Bouillon in the Great Crusade – Andre of Montbard, Payen of Montdidier, Archambaud of St Amand, Geoffrey Bisol and two monks: Gondemere and Rosal.

Eadmer and I were sitting drinking fresh lemon juice in the shade of Antioch’s huge walls when the group of knights appeared. They were a formidable array of warriors. Hugh and Godfrey were perhaps fifty years old, battle-scared and bronzed by the hot son of the Levant. The others were younger, in their forties, and equally intimidating. Eadmer and I tensed when they approached – such was their bearing, they could easily have been mistaken for brigands – but we were reassured by the smiles on their faces. We noticed that they were all dressed in the same way: each wore a black ankle-length hooded cape, and under it a long white cappa robe tied at the waist. Both the cape and the cappa had the insignia of a red crusader cross over the left breast. Their weapons were humble: a lance of plain ash, a simple yeoman’s sword, an undecorated dagger, a heavy Norman mace and a triangular white shield with a black band at the top. Their helmets resembled the Norman design – except they were domed, not conical – and they too were decorated with the crusader cross.

We stood when they reached our table. Hugh introduced himself and his companions, and I responded and asked them to sit. Their hair was cropped short and their beards closely trimmed. Most noticeably, their eyes shone with a solemn intensity that was fascinating. They were clearly men with a purpose.

‘Your name goes before you, Harold of Hereford.’

It was when he spoke again, with his deep harmonious voice, that I remembered who he was. His shorter hair and beard had changed his appearance a little and he was wearing different clothes, but it was suddenly clear to me that he was the knight who had killed his opponent with a single blow from his mace in Paris three years previously.

‘I am honoured that you know my name, Sir Hugh.’

‘No such formalities, my friend, my name is simply Hugh.’

‘And mine is Hal. This is my sergeant, Eadmer. We have met before, in Paris. I was in service to King Louis and we were enjoying a drink by the Seine.’

Hugh looked a little disconcerted, and he hesitated before replying.

‘Ah, yes… I remember. He was a man who had a score to settle with me from many years before – an evil individual – the world is a better place without him.’

‘Well, you made sure of that.’

Hugh de Payens smiled, just as he had done when we met him before, and then returned to his purpose.

‘Your exploits in escaping from Anatolia are well known here, as is your survival at Sarmada. You and your sergeant are brave men indeed.’

‘Thank you, but our deeds are modest compared to some.’

‘On the contrary, your reputation is what led us to approach you.’

This total stranger then did something unexpected. Immediately followed by his companions, he fell to his knees and bowed his head in prayer.

‘We give thanks for the life of Lady Livia Michele, Princess of Venice, who, driven by despair, took her own life. Now she is at peace, restored to her beauty and dignity, thanks be to God.’

Hugh then took my hand and pulled me down to kneel next to him. He put his left arm around me and his right around his friend Godfrey de Saint-Omer, prompting the others to form a circle of brotherhood.

‘We humbly ask, Lord, that you permit us to share the pain of Harold of Hereford, thus making his burden easier to bear. Amen.’

We all responded in unison, after which Hugh pulled me to my feet and embraced me like a long-lost brother – as did each of his companions, in turn.

Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, I ordered some wine.

‘Not for us, Hal; we do not take alcohol. Some lemon juice would be more to our liking.’

I noticed that Hugh did all the talking. His companions were hanging on his every word, like disciples.

‘Hal, we are eight in number, men who have recently come together devoted to a cause: the cause of the Great Crusade and the protection of Christians everywhere. We are a militia, Christ’s Militia, bound by our own code of chivalry. The defeat at the Battle of the Field of Blood at Sarmada was the final straw for us. Enough is enough. Men like Roger of Salerno have no place in the Holy Land, especially as princes. We heard that he raped and sodomized the Lady Livia and beat her like a dog. That is the kind of evil that we aim to drive out of the Latin Principalities. King Baldwin has given us lodgings and stables on that most holy of places, Temple Mount in Jerusalem, the Temple of Solomon, so we will call ourselves the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ of the Temple of Solomon – in short, the Knights Templar.’

‘It is a worthy cause, Hugh. I wish you well.’

‘You can do more than that. You can join us. Eight is not a good number; we want to model ourselves on the Nine Worthies of Chivalry.’

‘Forgive me, but who are the Nine Worthies of Chivalry?’

‘They have been identified by scholars and sanctified by his Eminence, Garmond of Picquigny, the Patriarch of Jerusalem. They are three noble pagans: Hector, Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar. Three honourable Jews: Joshua, David and Judas Maccabeus. And three gallant Christians: King Arthur of England, Charlemagne of the Franks and the mighty crusader, Godfrey de Bouillon. We revere them as men whose deeds we try to emulate.’

‘Great men indeed, and a noble cause. But why would you want me to join your group? I am not a crusader… and I am not sure that I am all that worthy.’

‘On the contrary, you are as worthy as any of us. You are young – we need young recruits, and you can help us find them. You are English – we are Franks, and so we need someone to help us find good Englishmen. Most importantly, you are brave – that is evident from your deeds. Men of courage and integrity are rare in the Holy Land. Greed and cowardice have replaced the values we fought for in the Great Crusade. We would rather let the Holy Places revert to the Muslims – many of whom still hold to a code of honour – than let them rest in the hands of men who are not worthy of the name Christian.’

‘Well, I am flattered. Tell me more about your mission here in Antioch.’

I looked at Eadmer – I could tell he was suspicious, as always. He was scrutinizing these strange men with his usual intensity. I brought my attention back to Hugh’s words.

‘I understand from the stories in the taverns that you follow the code of chivalry called the Mos Militum?’

‘I do.’

‘Well, our Order has the same principles. We apply them to bring Christian justice and honour to all. We are going to build a military order of devout men all over Christendom which will be an army of Christ. King Baldwin has given us an allowance to recruit enough men to protect the route between Antioch and Jerusalem; each of us will be responsible for a squadron of cavalry along the way. That is our first commission. But one day, we will be a colossal army to match the mighty host that came here from Europe to liberate this land.’

‘That is an ambitious plan.’

‘Indeed it is. But don’t have any doubts, it will be done.’

Hugh de Payens spoke with passionate conviction, his pale blue eyes mesmeric and piercing. He had a ready smile, and his tanned face was etched by wrinkles of happiness. He was a beguiling man – a man I wanted to believe in. My mother had described such men when talking about the leaders of the Great Crusade, many of whom had turned out to be immoral hypocrites. Were Hugh and his Templars the same: zealots with feet of clay?