Writing for Fun
September 2018
The Endless Vigil - Jan Norman
1189 would be a year to remember; Richard the Lionhart would remember it as being the year he was crowned king of England and then embarked on a crusade to win back the Holy Lands from the Turks. I, Sir William Edgremont, a knighted and wealthy lord of the realm would remember it as the year my life changed forever . . .
I stepped from the wooden tub onto the freezing stone flags of the small, unheated cell-like room in Castle Bayard, dripping water and soap suds. Taking up the rough towel left on the stool nearby I vigorously rubbed my body trying to dry myself as quickly as possible in the frigid air before donning a rough linen vestment laid out on my cot.
One of the Knights Templar monks must have been stationed just outside my door as no sooner had I dressed he pushed open the door and entered carrying a cut throat razor announcing, ‘My Lord it is time.’ Taking a bowl of soapy water from the tub he bade me sit on the stool and began to shave the top of my head. Once tonsured and without another word he led me to the door where four fully armed and armoured Knights of the Temple of Solomon formed a guard of honour. Stationed between them I was escorted out of their castle across the snow covered yard and into their small round Temple Church near the Fleet.
Hugh de Payens, co founder and Grand Master was waiting at the candle lit altar. On the ground a little to the right, in a neat pile, were the garments of my new life: linen undergarments, braided hose and leather boots together with chain mail, armour, sword and the distinctive white tabard bearing the red cross of Saint George, the emblem of a fighting knight and monk of the Order of the Knights Templar.
Around the edges of the Temple stood all the Templar knights of the castle standing to attention but with heads bowed and both hands placed palm down atop one another on the pommel of their swords with points resting on the ground.
Sir Hugh raised his head and looked straight at me. ‘Is the supplicant ready?’
I nodded and raised my arms in the cruciform position and stiffened my body, allowing the armed escort to tip me forward until I lay prostrate on the granite stones before him and God.
What followed was hours of liturgy and prayers, ending with a eulogy first written by Bernard de Bouillon, co founder of the order with Sir Hugh.
‘A Templar knight is truly a fearless knight and secure on every side, for his soul is protected by the armour of his faith, just as his body is protected by the armour of steel. He is thus doubly armed and need fear neither demons nor men.’
Hugh de Payens then raised his sword to heaven and intoned, ‘My Son, you have renounced all worldly possessions, given freely your lands and wealth and made an oath to this Order. You will abide by the rules and live a celibate, god fearing life fighting injustice and protecting the poor and defenceless. All that is required of you now is to spend this night, still prostrate before God, to make your peace with Him and atone for your sins. As dawn breaks, you will then be entitled to don the garb of a Knight Templar and break your fast with your new comrades at arms. God be with you.’
Quenching all but one altar candle he left.
That to me had been the easy bit. During the induction ceremony I had bitten my lips until they were bloodied in an effort to stop myself from crying out in pain and moving against the enforced stillness and unnatural position of my body and the intolerable cold seeping into my bones. Now, with no audience, I allowed myself to shiver and shake and make small movements in the hopes of getting my circulation flowing. Little moans and grunts gave me mental relief. I turned my head to the other side and left skin on the frozen flagstones.
In the blessed silence time became meaningless. I drifted in and out of consciousness. Cold, hunger and thirst became bearable. Images of my past loomed in front of me. First the reason I had taken such a step and eschewed my wealth and power – Marguerite, my beautiful, faithful companion for thirty years, my beloved wife who, a few years ago, had painfully passed beyond the veil and now dwelt in God’s realm.
A hardened campaigner, I had fought, killed or maimed every enemy I could in the name of king or God, without remorse and without compunction but her love for me and all mankind had humbled me and tempered my violence, made me remember I still could feel love and compassion for my fellow men. My love for her, on the other hand, could reduce me to a trembling weakened wreck ready to move Heaven and earth to please her as she did me. She was my safe haven, the reason I came back from wars. She was the reason I stayed sane in this knight’s world of carnage.
I shifted my pain wracked body but could find no relief. Pictures drifted before my eyes, of a dying child, my son, coughing blood and gasping for breath and crying for help. Marguerite devastated; my world destroyed. No other children.
Celina, my second wife, I married more out of lust than love. She was a beautiful fifteen year old. I was 50 yrs of age and should have known better. I enjoyed her body but felt no emotional attachment, no melding of minds. She was avaricious and spiteful and I soon lost interest. Returning home unexpectedly after taking part in a minor skirmish with some of Henry II’s home-made enemies I discovered my new wife in bed with my squire. Needless to say I beat my squire to a pulp and threw him out and delivered Celina into the capable hands of the nuns, paying the Abbess for her lifetime of incarceration and paying the Pope for an annulment of my marriage.
Had I done right by them? Had I even been a good master and comrade at arms?
All I really knew now was that I had many times acted the tyrant, unheeding of the consequences of my actions on others lives. I could hear Marguerite’s voice in my head calling for more love and understanding of people’s weaknesses and foibles.
Openly weeping now I finally accepted that my old life was dead and buried and that in the time I had left I could atone for my past sins and help the poor and needy. This time I would wield my sword for justice and Christianity. I closed my eyes, feeling less troubled.
As the sun rose helping hands literally prised me from the icy floor leaving pieces of skin and blood behind where bare flesh had touched and carried me to my cell as I was unable to move limbs independently.
Another soul bathed me in tepid water until circulation returned and restored movement to my body and life into my soul.
I was now calm and with God. The past was just that, the past. I now lived to do God’s work and fight for Christendom. The Crusade beckoned.