Stewart Binns - Anarchy

On cold nights in Norwich, with snow swirling around the massive walls of her cathedral, I would imagine the sights she described to me. When I finally saw Jerusalem, it was as if I had been there before.

I began to regard my own trials and tribulations at sea, and in Anatolia, as my personal crusade; Livia’s death was part of the sacrifice that so many others had to endure. I came to the conclusion that Hugh de Payens was right: what had been fought for a generation ago was worth protecting from the non-believing Muslims and from those Christians who had lost the vision and rigour of the Great Crusade.

After spending the night in our new lodgings beneath the vaulted arches of the Temple of Solomon, we rose early the next morning to take the oath of our new Order. With our sergeants-at-arms standing behind us, the nine of us stood in a small circle beneath the twelve tall arches of the Temple of Solomon. We drew our swords and held them with the tip down, resting on the floor in salute, and bowed our heads.

Hugh de Payens, Grand Master of our new Order, then read our vows, which we repeated in unison.

The Cord around our waists signifies our chastity, thus making us pure in the eyes of God. We shall speak little and be courteous when we do. We shall avoid the company of women and the temptations of their flesh. We shall eat bread and water and wear simple robes and bear without complaint much hardship and labour. We do this in God’s name, answerable only to Him and our Master.

When the vows had been spoken, the Master addressed us in turn, concluding this solemn initiation.

Be a truly fearless knight, secure in every way, for your soul is protected by the armour of faith, just as your body is protected by the armour of steel. You are thus doubly armed and need fear neither demons nor men. Be at one with your Maker, for He will make you worthy men.

So, in a simple ceremony, I had become a founding knight of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ of the Temple of Solomon. Little did I know then how powerful our Order would become in the affairs of the Holy Land, how influential it would be in the affairs of the Church of Rome, and how far it would reach into communities across the whole of Europe.

Life as a Templar passed quickly. The daily routine was like that of a monk, but also similar to the discipline of a professional soldier, so neither Eadmer nor I found it too demanding. The constant liturgy of mass and prayers was tedious, but it gave me time to reflect on recent events and to come to terms with Livia’s death. I came to think of it as a time of cleansing.

By the turn of the year, we had recruited over 150 knights and had more than 500 men in various squadrons and specialist militias. There were occasional skirmishes with Muslim raiding parties, but we dealt with them effectively, adding considerably to our reputation. By January of 1120, knights began to arrive from all over Europe, swelling our numbers to the scale of a significant army.

The mood within the Order remained brotherly, but Master Hugh was becoming an increasingly potent force within the Christian states. Some of the brothers thought his authority was beginning to be autocratic and even cruel. Disobedience was punished severely, as was dissent. Solitary confinement for days on end within our headquarters was one of the milder penalties. Floggings were commonplace, as were public humiliations – such as being required to do multiple Stations of the Cross around the Temple walls in the heat of the day, wearing no more than a loincloth.

Master Hugh continued to smile benignly, but some younger recruits began to say that the fixed smile disguised a troubled man.

My own serious reservations emerged after Godfrey de Saint-Omer began to give impassioned sermons about the temptation of women. He said that one of the new recruits had come to him to confess that he had been seduced by a succubus in his sleep and that she visited him every night to repeat the torture. ‘Lucky boy’ was Eadmer’s sardonic reaction, a sentiment I shared. But two days later, Godfrey declared that he had been unable to cleanse the demon from the young knight’s soul and that he would have to have it flogged out of him.

He was given thirty brutal lashes, which was a punishment so severe that he had to be taken to the monks at the nearby Hospital of St John of Jerusalem. Sadly, his wounds became infected and he died of a fever a week later.

Although the disquiet in the Order grew, most brothers accepted that the Christian States had been made weak through sin and that rigid discipline and the cleansing of the soul was the only way to redemption. Thus Hugh’s authority remained largely unchallenged.

Nevertheless, after a couple of days of thought, I decided to talk to our leader.

‘Master, may I raise an issue with you?’

‘Of course, Brother Hal.’

‘Brother Godfrey is preaching about the temptations of women, which is all well and good. But on the matter of the young monk who said he was visited by a succubus, is it not to be expected that young men bound by vows of chastity should dream of women?’

For a moment, Hugh’s smiled wavered. There was a sudden flash of anger across his face, before he resumed his benign grin.

‘My son, his dream was not about a woman. It was the Devil defiling him in his masquerade as a woman.’

‘But, Master, what sin did the boy commit that led to him being flogged?’

‘His sin was obvious; he let the Devil into his soul.’

I realized that our Master had a totally closed view on the matter and that further discussion would only provoke his anger. He looked at me imploringly with his piercing eyes.

‘Are you troubled, my son? If you are, you can talk to me or to Brother Godfrey. Because of his wisdom and total devotion to God, I am going to appoint Godfrey as Grand Chaplain of the Order, to be responsible for our spiritual well-being. You know, succubae can be very persistent – having been driven out of one member, they can easily attack another.’

There was something unnerving, even threatening, in Hugh’s question.

‘Master, I am only troubled by the death of a young Brother who had dreams about women.’

This time, Hugh de Payens’ mask of benevolent charm disappeared for more than a moment.

‘Do you question my absolute authority on all matters, spiritual or temporal?’

‘No, Master.’

I had no choice but to back down, although I did not like to be bullied and despised his blatant abuse of power. Hugh’s compassionate countenance returned, and I took my leave of him.

I had realized two things: those who thought that Hugh’s charm was superficial were right; and in the long term, my future did not belong with the Knights Templar. However, it soon became clear that once the Oath of the Templars had been taken, there was no turning back. Leaving the Order was not permitted. This was clearly a concern that Eadmer and I would have to address when the time was right.

In the middle of January 1120, our Master led the nine founding members of the Order to Nablus, a Samaritan city forty miles north of Jerusalem. A Great Council had been called for all the Christian States of the Holy Land to discuss their existing problems and produce an agreement for the future. Hugh intended to speak to the Council about his vision for the security and prosperity of the ‘Outremer’ – the name the Franks gave to the Holy Land.

The Council of Nablus was a sight to behold. The entire Christian ecclesiastical and secular nobility of the Holy Land was there, supported by their military and personal entourages. The fields around the city were covered in row after row of tents and pavilions, each topped by the pennon of a knight or gonfalon of a lord. Hundreds of horses were tethered in long picket-lines, their bay coats glistening in the sun, lending straight lines to the patchwork of colourful canvas.