The Crescent and the Cross Page 5

  ‘Mind your tongue, d’Orbessan,’ the senior lord barked, pointing angrily at the blood-spattered knight. ‘These are Brothers of the Temple, not backstreet harlots, and you will adopt appropriate manners with them, lest I decide that your fealty is not worth the effort of putting up with your ways.’

  The blond knight flashed Arnau a dark look, then turned and bowed his head to the Frankish nobleman, who glared at his man. ‘Get back to your places, the three of you.’ Then he turned to Arnau. ‘My apologies, good Brothers. His manners are bestial, but his sword arm is strong and will be of sufficient value on the field of battle to make up for the rest. If this man was in your employ somehow, I would be pleased to make reparations.’

  Arnau shook his head. He tried not to be offended by all of this. In truth, he owed Amal nothing, though the offhand manner of his murder rankled regardless. Still, this nobleman was being polite and deferential, even had he been the man who ordered the killing.

  ‘No, that is not necessary, my lord,’ he said calmly. ‘The man was no warrior, but the time for appeasement and tolerance is past, I fear. With the Papal call, such men have become our enemy as much as any slavering Berber horseman.’

  ‘Quite so, Brother,’ the nobleman agreed, and Arnau tried to ignore the accusatory glare he could feel burning into his back from Tristán, who had held that very stance against him moments earlier. ‘Whence are you bound? Toledo, I presume?’

  Arnau chewed his lip. Yes, he was, but not yet as part of the Templar contingent and not to gather at the muster for the main event. He had a feeling that the information that he was bound for Almohad lands in search of a captured knight might not be greeted by some of this group with wild enthusiasm. Circumspect and non-committal was the way to play it, he decided.

  ‘We are,’ he replied, willing Tristán to keep his mouth shut for once.

  ‘Toledo and no further,’ added the squire as if on cue, a touch of bitterness in his tone.

  Arnau ground his teeth and turned, shooting a warning glance at Tristán. ‘Not until the main contingent of the Order arrives,’ he said. Not a lie. A sin of omission, perhaps, but at least not a lie. Lord, but he had been around Ramon too long to make a good monk.

  ‘Then you should travel with us,’ the nobleman said inevitably, and Arnau swallowed his argument. It would sound extremely suspicious if he were to refuse such an offer. He pasted a smile on his face.

  ‘That would be most welcome. Thank you, my lord.’

  ‘I am Count Raymond, Vicomte de Creyssel, Baron de Roquefeuil, and these are the knights of my household. We make for Toledo at the Pope’s insistence to answer the call of the kings of Aragon and Castile. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Brother…’

  ‘Arnau de Vallbona,’ came the reply. ‘And my squire, Brother Tristán.’

  ‘Vallbona. I know the name from somewhere,’ frowned the count.

  ‘I suspect we met many years ago at Santa Coloma.’

  A smile washed across the baron’s face. ‘You are one of Berenguer’s men, of course!’ He shrugged and gestured at the white habit with its red cross. ‘Were one of his men.’ Arnau bowed his head, and the baron folded his arms. ‘Then you are most welcome in our company. I do hope your vows do not entirely foreswear comfort, for my seneschal and his men rode ahead to have all made ready for us at the next town, while my baggage train follows on. Tonight we shall eat rich game and drink wine and talk of the campaign to come. I would be grateful for any information you can give me on what we are to face, for the Moor is something of an unknown menace to my knights and I.’

  Arnau chewed his lip again. What he really wanted was to avoid this lot entirely. Perhaps at least he could do something to shatter the image of the Moor en masse as enemies of God. To say all Moors were alike was as farcical as saying the same of all Christians, after all. There were Moors still who did not share the fanaticism of the Almohad caliphate, and it preyed on Arnau’s conscience that men like Amal would die in droves in the coming days for their connection to the conquering Almohad zealots.

  As the nobleman ordered the column on once more, Arnau and Tristán fell in alongside them. Fortunately, one of the other knights engaged Count Raymond in deep conversation and the Templars were left to their own devices. Arnau made sure they rode on the far side of the group from d’Orbessan and his fellow blood-spattered killers, and the other knights only occasionally politely engaged them in conversation, mostly leaving them to ride in peace. At least Tristán seemed to have stopped complaining, though now he glared repeatedly at his commander instead.

  The sun was close to disappearing behind the hills when they reached a small village by the name of Benifallet, where the local inn had been cleared of other guests and given over entirely to the passing crusaders. Arnau tried not to feel guilty for such preferential treatment. It rather went against the grain of his monastic vows, and he was grateful when it became clear that there was not enough room at the inn for the entire group and that three locals had offered to open their houses to the travellers for a generous recompense. Arnau and Tristán accepted accommodation with a merchant in the village, sharing the house with two other knights who seemed to keep themselves to themselves.

  As they were shown to a small, basic room, he heaved a sigh of relief, thanked their host, blessed him and closed the door.

  ‘Go on,’ he said finally and wearily to Tristán.

  The squire spun around. ‘That was hypocritical, Brother. To take so against me and then steal my own stance a moment later.’

  ‘I know. I apologise. I was trying to smooth over a potentially volatile situation. It was not my intent to insult you or be so hypocritical.’

  The fire in Tristán somewhat quenched by the ready contrition, he grunted. ‘And I accede that perhaps Amal’s death was unnecessary.’

  Arnau nodded. ‘I would have liked to see him safe. You are young, Tristán, and ardent in your beliefs, and that is to be applauded, certainly. But I have seen much change in the past few decades, and the world is a more complex place than simply good Christians and bad Moors. Amal was no fanatic, for all his adherence to their heathen ways. In my youth, the more learned and peaceful Moors were valued, even heretical as they are. The crusade will change all of that, of course. And perhaps that is inevitable. Perhaps it is even a good thing in the end, for Iberia cannot be truly part of Christendom while the Moor holds any sway. Still, I fear I belong to an older, more tolerant time.’

  The squire shrugged. ‘They can renounce their false god and kiss the Christ on his cross and be welcome in the new world, Brother.’

  Arnau nodded sadly. ‘Certainly these Franks can only see enemies of God in the Moor. We must be on our guard among them. Especially d’Orbessan and his friends.’

  ‘He is an arsehole, isn’t he.’

  Arnau turned a shocked expression on Tristán, but his admonition turned to a forgiving smile at the sly grin on the squire’s face. ‘Watch that language, Brother.’

  ‘My apologies. But he is.’

  Arnau chuckled. ‘We’d best just leave everything here and disarm. It will be time for vespers shortly.’ The two men removed their sword belts and chain shirts, unbuckling their spurs and neatly arranging everything on a cupboard. A quick splash of tepid water from a bowl to remove the dust of the day’s journey, and the two men, now dressed only in their habits, the white of the full brother and the black of the sergeant, left their room and descended the stairs, emerging out into the purple light of the evening. Almost on cue the single bell of the village church began to clong, and the two Brothers fell in with the various Franks and locals as they made their way to the service.

  Arnau could see the village priest’s nervousness in his facial twitches as he watched the massively extended congregation pour into his small plain chapel. Foreign lords and Templars were not his standard fare, and the look he threw towards Arnau suggested he half expected the two Brothers to step in and take over his service. Arnau gave the poor p
riest an encouraging nod and then he and Tristán found a small space at the periphery where they took up a role as merely part of his flock.

  The service was simple and understated, yet all the more powerful for it, to Arnau’s mind. There was something unusually divine about stripping away the golden trappings of the great churches and the martial accoutrements of the military orders and listening to the heartfelt piety of a poor village priest. Clearly, from the serene and pious look on his face, Count Raymond was of a similar opinion. Despite Arnau’s recent prejudice against the Franks and the unpleasant situation in which he had met this particular group, Arnau found himself warming to the man. Raymond seemed genuine. The same could not necessarily be said for his men, of course.

  Arnau’s gaze slipped around the room as his head rose from prayer, but in the press, he could not see the blond mane of d’Orbessan. Perhaps that was a blessing. It would be quite a journey to Toledo, and it was going to be increasingly difficult staying away from the man, yet deep in his soul, Arnau knew that there was no chance that they were ever going to be comfortable with one another, so there was little point in attempting to reconcile with him. They would just have to muddle through as far as Toledo and from there he could lose these Franks and very likely never see them again. His attention slipped back to the priest, who was moving to close his service with a prayer and dismissal. The man surveyed his congregation and raised his face to Heaven as he spoke.

  ‘Almighty God and Heavenly Father, who of Thine infinite love and goodness towards us, hast given to us Thy only and most dearly beloved Son, Jesus Christ… we humbly beseech Thee to grant unto all here who call upon Thy holy name, that we may daily increase and go forwards in the knowledge and faith of Thee and Thy Son by the Holy Spirit, so that Thy holy name may be for ever glorified, and Thy blessed Kingdom enlarged; through Thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with Thee in the unity of the same Holy Spirit, world without end. Amen.’

  Arnau nodded his approval and smiled as he felt the piety wash out from the crowd in the church. Clever fellow to adapt an old form and make it sound as though he was personally advocating the reconquest of Iberia on behalf of the Lord. He had appealed to the crowd before him on their own personal level, and had he a mind to do so, this simple village priest might have had his fill of bounty from the lords there assembled. He was a good man, though, and simply sought to enhance the sanctity and strength of their endeavour.

  ‘Go forth in peace,’ the priest announced, making the sign of the cross over the room’s occupants.

  The service ended and the congregation began to depart, funnelling through the narrow door and out into the warm evening air, and Arnau and Tristán waited for the rest to leave first, then brought up the rear after they had thanked the relieved priest for a wonderful service and complimented him on his work and his church.

  Most of the crowd had already made their way into the inn, and only a few locals and one or two Franks milled about in the village. Arnau’s attention was drawn by a low rumbling noise, and he watched with interest as the count’s baggage train arrived, more than an hour behind their master. The horses were detached from their traces and led off to the inn’s stable, the carts parked up beneath a sloping roof at the rear of the building and the important gear that would be required for the evening ported into the place for their master. Two dozen servants busied themselves about the work, and Arnau’s spirits sank as the figures of d’Orbessan and one of his cronies emerged from the inn’s back door.

  The two had not noticed the Templars nearby as they laughed over some private joke. The unnamed knight crossed to one of the wagons where a buxom girl was helping to unload a bundle of linens. Sneaking up behind her with a grin on his face, he slipped a hand beneath her dress. The girl shrieked in shock, and the man fell backwards laughing and staggering away.

  Messire d’Orbessan moved across to them and said something quietly to the girl, who gave him a worried look and then nodded with apparent gratitude before scurrying off with her linens. The knight crossed to his friend and slapped him around the side of the head. ‘You have less class than a piggery, you know that, Jean?’

  The man objected to the slap, but then slid into a sheepish grin. ‘Fun, though.’

  Arnau was just about to slip away when d’Orbessan turned to him. Arnau flinched. He’d thought the man was unaware of his presence. ‘Have you finished ogling while Jean here gropes harlots? Vow of chastity getting to you, is it? Perhaps you can find one of your Moorish catamite friends to ease your discomfort, eh?’

  He spat on the floor and then he and his friend stomped off into the inn, laughing.

  ‘Sometime, when he’s least expecting it, I’m going to punch that grin through to the other side of his head,’ Tristán grunted and for once, despite himself, Arnau was minded to agree with his belligerent squire.

  This was going to be a long trip.

  4. The Gathering of Christendom

  17 June 1212, Toledo

  It was one of the most breath-taking sights Arnau had ever experienced. Toledo, ancient city and current capital of Castile, dependent upon the ever-shifting borders of the land, sat atop a plateau in a bend of the River Tajo, deep and wide. High walls that spoke more of a Moorish origin than Christian towered over the plain below, as decorative as they were defensive, a packed collection of reddish-brown tiled roofs within broken up here and there by belfries and crenulated towers.

  But the city, impressive and powerful as it was, was not the thing that widened the Templars’ eyes as they approached. Firstly, from a distance it had appeared that the city had long since spilled out over its defining walls, sprawling out onto the plain below. Only as they came close enough for the heat haze to dissipate and for the shapes to resolve into clarity did Arnau realise that this extramural city was entirely formed of non-permanent structures.

  The crusading army of Iberia was simply vast. Its camp was larger than the city below which it sprawled, and, Arnau reminded himself, the force was not yet complete. Over the next week or more it would be bolstered by many more men and horses. How could the forces of the caliph hope to stand against this sea of warriors?

  The count reined in ahead and held up a hand to halt his men, who shuffled to a halt in a clatter of hooves and a jingle of arms and armour. Arnau and Tristán walked their horses a little way forwards to join him. The nobleman turned to the two Templars, a satisfied smile on his lips.

  ‘Here we shall take our leave of you, I’m afraid, good Brothers.’

  Arnau bowed his head. ‘Whence are you bound, milord?’

  ‘The bishop of Carcassonne gathers the nobles of our region to his banner. See there his insignia?’

  Arnau took some time to locate the limp flag amid the sea of similar banners, and when he did, he was disappointed to note that it seemed to be mostly ornate gold ropes and tassels around a figure with a cross and two lambs. He was reminded immediately of the simple poverty of that service in the village church. A call to crusade from that humble man had had every soldier in his church itching to march south for the Lord. How holy did the same call feel coming from a fat man in velvet reclining on a rich couch while servants attended to his golden livery?

  ‘Do nothing by strife, neither by vain glory, but in meekness, deeming each other to be higher in virtue than himself; not beholding each by himself what things be his own, but those things that be of other men.’

  Count Raymond threw him an odd look. ‘Philippians?’

  ‘Musing on the nature of ostentation and piety, milord,’ Arnau said with an easy smile. He drew his attention back from such contemplation and gestured to the count. ‘Thank you for your hospitality on the journey. We would have struggled without it, I am sure.’

  ‘And where are you bound, Brothers?’

  Arnau frowned. ‘I believe the Order’s Castilian houses are already here, having travelled with the main contingent of the king. It is they we should seek out.’

  ‘Then pl
ease pass along my regards, and do not be afeared to join us if you miss our company.’

  Arnau smiled as the count waved the column into motion once more and began to move off. The two Templars sat astride their mounts and watched as the Franks passed into the great crusader camp. As d’Orbessan rode slowly past, he and his small cadre of misfits threw Arnau warning looks. The Frank made an obscure gesture that Arnau interpreted fairly easily as a threat of future violence, and was then gone with the rest. The Templar sighed and pointed to the man at the column’s head.

  ‘He is a good man, the count,’ he said as the last of the riders left, the figure of d’Orbessan mercifully lost somewhere in the press. ‘He will be a true asset to this great endeavour.’

  ‘And his man will be a true ass!’

  ‘Yes, well, with luck that will be the last we see of him.’

  The last twelve days had been difficult, juggling their expected presence with the count and his confidantes, their duties with the liturgical services required by their Rule, and keeping out of the way of a small group of unpleasant Frankish knights as far as possible. There had turned out to be more than three of those, too. By the third day of the journey Arnau had identified seven knights in the column that were subject to the poisonous opinions of d’Orbessan, who easily turned them against the two Templars with stories of their sympathy for the heathen and fantasies of their whoring themselves out to the Moor.

  One night Arnau had attempted to elucidate their travelling companions as to the need for understanding of the sporadic tolerance between the peninsula’s two great peoples. He had explained to the baron how often northern lords would find that they had politically more in common with a Moorish neighbour than their fellow Christians, and vice versa, and that for centuries there had been endless times of cooperation, if sometimes financially driven. He had pointed out that if all the Moors were driven from the peninsula the Christian peoples would be so thinly spread that they could not hope to farm and maintain the land. That while the Moors were nominally the enemy, anyone with foresight knew that they were also a necessity.