The principal (and epinominous) protagonist in the novel Tale of the English Templar is Sir Percival "Percy" de Lacy. When the novel opens, he is 25 years old and has been a Templar roughly six years. He is assigned to a commandery in Cyprus, but has carried dispatches from the Seneschal of the Order on Cyprus to the Master, who is temporarily in France at the invitation of the French King. To his great misfortune, he is still in France on Friday 13th of October 1307. He is arrested, imprisoned, abused and tortured along with the other Templar prisoners. The experience transforms him.
The excerpt below describes the new Percy, the man he is after being rescued from the clutches of the Inquisition and is gradually regaining his strength. This is a period of transition. He has not yet become the resistance leader he will be, but it the scene in which he commits to fighting back against injustice. It takes place in the Leper Hospital where he has been hidden after his escape, and the other protagonists are the French nobleman who rescued him, the nun who nursed him back to health and his squire, and a Templar sergeant to escaped arrest.
They sat around [Madeleine's] oak table late into the night, drunk half on Commandaria and half on hope. They went through Madeleine’s reserves of candles, discussing drugs that make men sleep and drugs that simulate death itself. They drew the dungeon of Chauvigny in the sand of the garden, using pebbles for guards, and they discussed every danger on the road from Chauvigny to Lys-Saint-Georges.
Niki nodded off to sleep sometime after matins, and not long after that Brother Giles dropped his heavy head on his arms and started snoring. Madeleine blew out the last of her candles and started clearing the table. Percy disappeared out of the door to the river, and Geoffrey stretched and yawned contentedly. After a moment, pushing himself to his feet, he carried his pottery mug to the basin where Madeleine was collecting the dirty things and told her, “We can sleep in the loft, Sister. You should have more privacy here, not share this cottage with four rude men.”
“You are like a father to me, Monsieur,” Madeleine answered, without looking at him, her tongue loosened from too much wine. “While the others are my brothers because they are Jean’s.”
Geoffrey laid a hand on her shoulder in thanks and then glanced towards the door through which Percy had disappeared. He seemed to be taking a long time. He hoped that the younger man hadn’t fallen. His legs must be even more unsteady than his own!
He went to the door and discreetly looked out. He did not see Percy. He stepped out into the cool night. The heavens were studded with stars, and the Milky Way was a dirty smudge across it. He identified Orion and Cassiopeia and then brought his eyes back down. Now, his eyes better adjusted to the dark, he could see Percy standing on the bank of the river some ten yards away.
He made his way somewhat unsteadily down the worn path to the river. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Percy looked over and gave Geoffrey his close-lipped smile. Then he looked back towards the river. This whole night they had talked and planned. Percy did not know how much was wishful thinking and how much was meant in earnest. For his part, he did not believe they could achieve anything. The odds were against them, and he could not — not even under the influence of the Commandaria —believe that they would be successful in freeing a single captive Templars. More likely they would themselves be captured or killed. Pray God it would be the latter!
But he knew too that he owed this old man his life. He was naked but for what this man had given him. He would do whatever Geoffrey wanted of him because he could not do otherwise. He owed him more than he could ever repay. Except by dying with him for the sake of his dream.
“I have no right to expect your assistance, sir.” Geoffrey remarked cautiously, sensing Percy’s scepticism. “Your duty is to return to Limassol and report to your commander.”
Noting that Percy recoiled, he added, “King Henry of Cyprus dismissed the charges against the Order as absurd and categorically refused to arrest a single Templar. You need not fear persecution there.”
Percy unconsciously shook his head. He had heard from Madeleine that his brothers in Cyprus were untouched by the events in France. But that was precisely the reason he could not bear the thought of returning. He could not face the pristine world of a Templar commandery where no one could imagine or understand what Philip of France had done. Percy pictured the regularised life with its strict rules, the monotony of training at arms punctuated by mass. He thought of the tedious chapter sessions in which infractions of the Rule were confessed and punished — crimes such as talking at meals or failing to properly tend one’s stallion or coveting another man’s newer equipment. How could he ever again take such ‘crimes’ seriously? Worse still, how could he take the nonsensical plans of recapturing the Holy Land seriously? Even before his arrest he had been conscious of how out of touch with reality his Order in Cyprus had become. They were living in a dream world. He could not return there and pretend that they were still a powerful, rich Order destined to fulfil a sacred mission. He couldn’t stand the lies any longer.
Geoffrey responded to the shake of Percy’s head and the subsequent silence with, “I can understand if you prefer to return to your family in England. The English King is prepared to turn a blind eye to Templars still at large.”
Again, Percy shook his head. He could go home even less than he could return to Cyprus. He could not face his family after what he had become. They were powerful border lords who had never seen the inside of a dungeon, much less felt the bite of shackles around their wrists and ankles. They would look at him askance and wonder if he hadn’t really been guilty of some crime. They would be repelled by his scars.
“The decision must be yours,” Geoffrey said helplessly in the face of the enigmatic silence of the younger man. At moments like this, Geoffrey felt no superiority of age. On the contrary, he became acutely aware that he had been carried away by his own enthusiasm. He had been babbling crazy ideas like a green youth. Suddenly, he felt as if he were a boy awaiting the judgement of an elder brother or father. But Percy said nothing.
Geoffrey sighed, then looked sidelong at the gaunt man towering beside him. Percy was dressed in some of Niki’s cast off clothes. The wool was darned, stained and patched in places, and it stank of horse sweat from the afternoon’s bareback exercises. Geoffrey had seen apprentices who looked less shabby but none who stood with shoulders so proudly squared. They were still thin, Geoffrey noted with a stab of pity, but they were starting to fill out again. If he got regular exercise with sword and lance he would regain the stature of a knight.
Geoffrey drew a breath. “Whatever you decide, you will be outfitted as befits your birth and rank with destrier and palfrey, arms and armour, decent tack, cloak and clothes.”
“That would cost a small fortune,” Percy protested. To fully outfit a knight cost more than the annual income of a prosperous farmer or tradesman.
“I am not a pauper.” Geoffrey replied. “Better you are well-outfitted than that my grandson should lavish yet more finery upon himself when I die.”
“And your granddaughter?” The words tumbled out without thought, and Percy regretted them at once. He did not rightly know what he meant. Geoffrey need not buy destrier and armour for his granddaughter.
“Felice is at the mercy of my despicable daughter-in-law at present, and there is little I can do about it,” Geoffrey admitted with a sigh.
Percy nodded, ashamed he had raised the subject. The girl was not his affair. “I will help you, Monsieur, in as much as I am able. But I beg you to understand one thing: I will not let myself be taken again. I will kill myself first...” If I have the chance, he added mentally, his stomach turning over as he remembered the night of his capture.
“I will give you my sword,” Geoffrey answered, as if this would solve everything.
“You can’t!” Percy protested. The sword a man received when knighted by a king was not a weapon one gave to virtual strangers. “It was—”
“It is yours,” Geoffrey told him, and then he turned and retreated to the cottage.
As an aside, professor, I must note that your excerpt shows just how far from bible teachings all of mankind has fallen.
ReplyDeleteGod's law is quite clear: Geoffrey granddaughter is at Geoffrey's "mercy," and so is his daughter-in-law, the wife of his son. There is much Geoffrey can do on behalf of his granddaughter and in regards to his daughter-in-law.
Also, though not noted in your excerpt, God's law requires a bride price, not a dowry. A man must pay for his bride, the bride's father does not pay a man to marry his duaghter.
Nothing that Jesus Christ taught changed any of this.
These so-called "Christians" had failen further than many realize.