Stewart Binns - Anarchy

I read John Comnenus’ account of the words of advice he had been given by my grandfather: ‘Lives – even great ones – soon become memories. Learn from the past, but live your life in the present, and hope that the future will benefit from what you do on earth. Remember, once your time is over, it has gone forever.’

I knew then what I had to do. I had completed my journeys in the footsteps of my family, now I had to return to England to find the path to my own destiny.

Fulham Palace, 10 April 1187

My dear Thibaud,

Spring is here in London – rejoice!

I don’t think I could survive another winter like the one we have just had. Sadly, my health is not improving, and I’m feeling more and more lame.

Back to a man who knows more than most about the trials and tribulations of this earthly existence. I warn you, my friend, his account will spare no details in giving you the measure of Hugh de Payens, founder of the Knights Templars. As their Grand Master, he seems to encapsulate all that they have since become: superficially worthy and pious, but underneath dangerous zealots who obey no one but themselves. Use the information within these pages as you see fit to undermine the malign influence the Templars have within the Church; I certainly will.

Given the intimate details of the story at this point, I have made the decision to use only a single scribe for this part of Harold’s story. I have chosen Father John; he is a good scribe and the finest of men. His discretion can be relied upon. With only one monk to write the account, I fear my pace has slowed down a little. But at least I have been getting a little more rest – I was often tempted to go on too long into the night by using the next scribe’s stint with the quill. Mercifully, I am now getting some sleep.

But time is of the essence; onwards with my account.

After leaving the Peloponnese and travelling via our safe haven at St Cirq Lapopie to check on the harvest, Eadmer and I reached England in March, 1128. All had been well on our estate and I travelled with a lightness of heart and sense of contentment, the like of which I had not experienced before. The bezants that John Comnenus had given me were sufficient to allow us to travel like lords and live luxurious lives, but, for the time being, we chose not to. We preferred to travel alone – in part, because I was still unsure about my sympathies for the values of the Knights Templar. I had neglected the task I had been charged with in Jerusalem and realized that one day there would have to be a reckoning. We were also renegades in England so when we arrived at Dover, we adopted new identities as mercenaries from Aquitaine – Robyn of Hode and his sergeant-at-arms, William of Scaerlette, names I borrowed from villages in the dukedom.

Eadmer was still composing ballads and his singing was improving all the time. Not only was his voice soothingly melodious, but his lyrics were usually thoughtful and sometimes amusing. Most of his songs were based on our adventures – usually with a good deal of poetic licence – and included the ‘Ballad of the Lonely Knight of Venice’ and the ‘Ballad of the Siege of Tyre’, in both of which Eadmer, the doughty sergeant-at-arms, was at least as much of a hero as Hal, the worthy knight.

London was agog with stories when we arrived. King Henry had secured a marriage arrangement with Fulk, the Count of Anjou, for his widowed daughter, the Empress Matilda, to marry Fulk’s son and heir, Geoffrey. Although he was only a boy of fifteen, he was handsome and virile and, it was assumed, would produce a son and heir to continue the Norman dynasty. An alliance with Anjou and Maine was also vital to the defence of the King’s hold over Normandy – especially in view of the persistent threats from William Clito.

There had been many suitors for Matilda’s hand. An empress in name, still only twenty-six years old, and the nominated heir to the throne of an ageing King of England, she was the most coveted prize in Europe. Besides all those inducements, she was also a woman of great beauty and charm and had a fine mind and ready wit. Princes and lords came from realms far and wide, but the King turned them all away. He knew what he wanted – a son that suited his purposes and an alliance with Normandy’s strongest neighbour. So it was done.

London also brought us news of our friends, the Knights Templar. I was still a Templar – indeed, a founding member – but I had managed to put them to the back of my mind. I had a new purpose now, and it was not focused on the zealotry of the Templars.

Hugh de Payens had been in England for some time and had become the source of fascination. The Order had firmly established itself as the military guardians of the Christian States of the Holy Land. As Grand Master, Hugh had acquired almost messianic status in the minds of many; young men from all over Europe were rushing to become ‘Knights of Legend’, as they were being hailed. The Order’s wealth had become immense. They had been granted lands, and some lords had even left their entire estates to the Templars in their wills, believing it would earn them forgiveness for all their sins in the Kingdom of Heaven.

The Grand Master had been all over England and Scotland accepting grants of land and money and collecting recruits. He had been to see King Henry, who had given him a cartload of gold and silver, the like of which had not been seen since the days of the Danegeld. According to the local gossip, Hugh was still in London with his new recruits and a vast fortune, staying in the crypt of the small Saxon church All Hallows by the Tower.

Although I was reluctant, I knew it was an ideal opportunity to bring to an end my relationship with the Templars. I also knew it might be a task fraught with danger. Hugh was a powerful man, made even more so by the Pope at the recent Council of Troyes, where he had granted the Templars their own Religious Rule as a fully fledged Order in the eyes of God and the Church.

I sought Eadmer’s opinion. He was typically blunt.

‘Stay away from him; it’s a thing of the past, from another place. We’ve moved on.’

‘But we’ll have to deal with it sooner or later. The Templars have reached every corner of Europe.’

‘You see! You’ve asked me my view, but you’ve already made your mind up.’

‘I have – but it’s always good to have your advice.’

I smiled at my friend, and he responded in his imperturbable way.

‘So, let’s get on with it. What’s the plan?’

All Hallows was surrounded by young men busy going about their duties. It looked as though the Templars were preparing to leave.

I approached a senior knight, notable by his Templar’s cross on his sleeve.

‘Sir Knight, I am looking for the Grand Master. Would you know where I can find him?’

‘And who are you, sir? And what is your business?’

‘I am Harold of Hereford.’

He looked startled and all within earshot stopped what they were doing.

‘Do you mean, Harold of Hereford? One of the nine founders of our Order?’

‘I do.’

He immediately drew his sword, as did those around him.

‘Harold the Heretic! The Grand Master warned us we may find you in England.’

I quickly took my cloak and wrapped it round his blade, before pulling him towards me and placing him in a firm headlock with my forearm at his throat. Eadmer held the others at arm’s length with his sword as I prodded my captive’s neck with the tip of my seax.

‘Templar training is obviously not what it was, my friend. Where is he?’

The knight struggled, so I pushed harder with my blade until blood began to flow.