same bowls, my host serving me with the choicer cuts of venison and beef, and urging me to try the sauces that his cooks had prepared to accompany the roasted meats. If the food was good, and I could not deny that it was, the wine was truly exceptional, pale yellow, tart and refreshing, coming Sir Aymeric told me from vineyards that the Order cultivated in the region of Champagne. Once again I was impressed with the reach and power of this organization, and reminded of its wealth. We spoke of inconsequential things, platitudes and gossip, for the first part of the meal. I praised the food and the wine, and my host told me how impressed he was with my growing reputation as a knight. Harmless stuff. I mentioned how thunderstruck I had been by the cathedral of Notre-Dame, its beauty, the majestic scale of the project, and my host concurred. But then he said: ‘Do you think, Sir Alan, that God wants us to expend so much treasure and time on these great edifices? Surely they serve to aggrandize Man and not Our Lord — surely the whole world is God’s masterpiece and anything Man builds can only be a pale, imperfect imitation of the wonders of Nature that Almighty God has already made.’
I choked on a large piece of peppery roast beef. I had never thought of it that way before. But how could building churches be wrong? And this was coming from a Templar, a warrior dedicated to the service of Christ.
Sir Aymeric took a frugal sip of wine and continued: ‘Consider a tall tree in a wood; see how glorious it is, soaring, magnificent and yet alive, providing shade for mankind and a place of shelter for all God’s creatures — birds, squirrels, spiders and tiny insects. Can one of de Sully’s big stone columns, most cleverly carved in the image of a tree, whose purpose is merely to prevent an absurdly high roof from falling on our heads, ever truly compete with a mighty hundred-year-old oak? And de Sully is, in fact, felling trees by the thousand on his lands to use in building his cathedral. Is de Sully not destroying something truly beautiful, which reminds us of the perfection of God, to create something artificial that is but a monument to Mankind’s ambition — and a rich source of revenue for the Church from the swarms of pilgrims who come to gawp at it?’
For an instant, Robin leapt into my mind: he too preferred trees to churches, the clean wildwood to the venal priest-ridden city. And then I remembered the Templar clerks exchanging my three pounds in hard silver for a piece of parchment worth only two, and I said: ‘And does Notre-Dame truly bring in rich revenues for the Church?’
‘Ah, you have me there,’ said Sir Aymeric, chuckling. ‘I see some of the disputative air of the University of Paris has sharpened your wits. I must confess that no, it does not: Notre-Dame’s pilgrims bring in a small amount, and in future years they will undoubtedly bring in more, but the costs of building the cathedral must be almost beyond computation. Indeed, many people wonder how Bishop de Sully can afford such a vast expenditure of treasure. No one knows how he manages it — except the good Bishop himself! And God, of course.’ The Templar laughed to show that he did not mean his words to be taken seriously.
A suckling pig was brought into the room, carried high by two servants, with a baked apple stuffed under its crisp snout. The Templar carved into it with his own knife and helped me to a portion of its unctuous melting flesh and a piece of the glossy brown skin. It was astonishingly good. Then Sir Aymeric said, in an altogether more serious tone: ‘Sir Alan, I imagine you are wondering why I have invited you to dine with me — particularly after the unpleasantness last year with’ — he paused, swallowed with some difficulty as if the words were choking him — ‘the inquisition of my lord the Earl of Locksley.’
‘I did ponder it a little,’ I said drily.
‘Well, I must confess I have an ulterior motive for seeking your company. I meant what I said earlier about your prowess as a knight; it has been noticed in the highest circles that you are a warrior of unusual skill and courage. Did not King Richard himself dub you? And so I have asked you here to plant the seed of an idea in your head — but first I must ask you an important, nay, a vital question; a somewhat intrusive question, which springs partly from our unfortunate encounters last year. May I ask it?’
I nodded warily, saying nothing.
‘Are you truly a devout and humble Christian?’ said Sir Aymeric. ‘Do you reject the Devil and all his demons and love the Lord Our God and His only son Jesus Christ with all your heart and soul?’
He looked at me intently, his brown eyes burning with the passion of his faith. I answered him with full honesty.
‘I do believe with all my heart that Jesus Christ is my Saviour and the Saviour of all Mankind. I cannot answer for my lord of Locksley, except to say to you again that he is no demon-worshipper, but I try to be as good a Christian as I may — though I am of course a sinner like any other man, and I pray that God will have mercy on my soul.’
Sir Aymeric was smiling broadly at me: ‘That is a good answer, Sir Alan. Then I will plant my idea, if I may. Have you ever considered joining the ranks of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon? A man of your talents on the battlefield, if he wished to take our oath and accept the discipline of the Order, would receive a warm welcome among the Brethren.’
I was stunned. Me, a Templar? I was flattered and outraged all at once: this brotherhood was made up of the best fighting men in the world, the very best, and to be asked if I would join them was an almost unbelievable honour, a compliment of the first rank; and I must confess that, in that moment, the idea of a life serving God with a humble heart, with a guarantee of a Heavenly reward was most appealing, too. But the Order had clashed several times with my liege lord, and while they had made peace earlier in the spring and were now officially reconciled, less than a year ago they were seeking to have him burned alive for what they described as his heretical beliefs. Did they really expect that I would abandon my master and go over to his enemies? Did they think I would join up with an Order that Robin described as ‘blood-thirsty, God-struck maniacs’? It was almost beyond belief…
Another thought crawled out from the back of my mind: could this be some sort of ruse to trap me, or a stratagem to ensnare Robin? Either way, I could not accept the offer. I was betrothed to Goody, for one thing; and Templars were celibate — which seemed to me then, as a lusty young man, a very high price to pay for a place in Heaven. But, a part of me was flattered, and it occurred to me that it might be wise not to turn them down with a curt refusal.
I said: ‘I am sensible of the great honour that you do me by making this proposal — and I believe that I could be a contented man as a member of the Order, but I must think about it deeply, and pray, of course. I am certain that God will show me the true path.’
‘Of course, of course, it is not a thing that a man can decide lightly over dinner. But may I tell you something that may influence your decision. I know that you fought, and fought with courage against the Saracens in Outremer during the Great Pilgrimage — but I suspect that you, like many of the men who survived it, feel that it was not a well-managed expedition, that too many Christian lives were sacrificed for naught.’
He had struck the target full on: I felt that the Great Pilgrimage, for all its good intentions and for all the valour of the men who took part, had achieved nothing but an ocean of spilled blood — Christian and heathen alike — but I did not generally trouble to express this unpopular opinion to my fellow men, unless they too had experienced the mindless carnage of that ill-fated campaign.
Sir Aymeric continued: ‘It is not generally known, but our new Grand Master, Sir Gilbert Horal, has set his heart on finding an acceptable permanent peace with the Saracens in the Holy Land. He is one of a new breed of Templars, which I must say includes myself, who feel that the years of useless slaughter in Outremer must come to an end, and if it is humanly possible we must learn to live with Saracens as our neighbours, and undertake to share the blessed land where our Lord Jesus Christ lived and died.’
I was moved by his speech: Robin was wrong — these men were not ‘blood-thirsty God-struck maniacs’ but good men trying to serve Christ and find a reasonable solution.
‘It would make my heart glad to become a Brother of the Order,’ I said quite truthfully. ‘I am deeply touched by your offer, and I thank you for it. But I must contemplate quietly on it and pray for guidance first.’
And there we left it.
The servants brought more wine, rich puddings and tarts, and fruit — golden oranges from the southern lands, sweet as nectar. And I asked Sir Aymeric the question that had been in the back of my mind for most of that fine meal.
‘Sir Aymeric, what do you know of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Our Lady and the Temple of Solomon? Their badge is a blue cross on a white field with a black border.’
‘The Knights of Our Lady? Ah, Sir Alan, now you are taking me back to my days as a novice. I have not seen that badge or heard that name for many, many years.’
‘But you do know of them?’ I persisted.
‘Oh yes, they were part of the Order once — and famous, too, for their deep faith and prowess in battle. It was our new Grand Master himself who formed the Knights of Our Lady, oh, a good thirty years ago in Spain. Sir
