of the satchel’s bottom, I saw that a small tab of leather popped out of the lining. Pulling up on the tab, he lifted the leather covering, and there, wrapped in several layers of white linen cloth, lay the Grail.
Sir Thomas replaced the false bottom, closed the bag and handed it to me. I placed it on my shoulder, with the strap around my neck. I had no wish to look upon the Grail, no desire to unwrap it from its linen covering and gaze upon its wonders. At that moment I only wished I’d never heard of it. I knew that Sir Thomas was about to order me away from him, and it was an order I had no desire to follow.
“You will carry this satchel to Tyre and find passage to England. You must take what I have given you to Scotland, to the Church of the Holy Redeemer near Rosslyn. Father William is the priest there. He will know what to do. Give it to no one but him. Do you understand? I will stay and hold the palace with the other knights as long as possible. I trust no one but you. And you know that what you carry can never leave your side. If the Saladin were to capture it…” Sir Thomas shuddered.
“But, sire!”
“No. It is done.” Gathering his strength, Sir Thomas rose to his feet. He fumbled at a small cloth bag hanging from his belt, placing it inside the satchel.
“There are coins in the bag. Enough to get you to England, and a letter from me should you need to explain yourself to anyone,” he said.
“Sire, please, if we leave now, we can escape. As you said, there are Templar regimentos in Tyre. I have heard the men-at-arms say that this attack cannot be sustained. The Saladin’s forces may take the city, but if we retreat…”
“Ah, Tristan. This is the first time I have given you an order and you have questioned it. No. I cannot leave. I will die here defending the palace or we shall prevail and drive the Saladin from this place. But you must go-now. What you carry is the rarest thing left in this world, and men will kill for it without thinking twice. Trust no one. Not even another Templar. I have seen what possession of this thing can do to men. It has turned even my brothers of the Temple into glory-crazed hounds. It must not ever leave your side until you reach Rosslyn. Are we clear?”
I slumped. I couldn’t leave him! Since I’d left my home at St. Alban’s, he had been like a father to me. How could I take my leave while he stayed behind? I knew what fate awaited him if he remained here.
Sir Thomas walked slowly across the room and laid his sword upon the wooden table. He picked up his helmet, placing it on his head.
“You have been a joy to me, Tristan. Lancelot himself had no more faithful squire,” he said.
I knew that nothing I could do or say would sway him. Sir Thomas was not an overly stubborn man, just sworn to duty. And duty came above all else.
He was about to speak again when a call to arms came from the courtyard outside the room. And beyond the shouts and sounds of running feet, we could hear the war cry of the Saladin’s soldiers in the streets outside. They had finally breached the walls!
“Come, lad, we must get you to the palace. You were right in your assessment. The way out of Acre is through the caves. In the temple at the palace there is a hidden passage. With luck you can safely make your way to Tyre and find a ship to England. Until you leave Outremer, travel only at night and rest by day. Keep a sharp eye. You should be able to make it there in two weeks, maybe less.”
Sir Thomas did not wait for my answer but turned toward the door as the cries of the warriors in the courtyard grew to a fever pitch. Before I knew what was happening, the door to the room exploded off its hinges and a Saracen burst into the room. He wore a green and white striped turban and looked terrifying. With a vicious yell, a sound so frightening it froze me in place, he raised his gleaming scimitar and came thundering across the room directly at Sir Thomas.
17
I watched in horror as the Saracen’s blade whistled through the air toward Sir Thomas’ head. My hand went to the hilt of my sword, but before I could move from the spot, Sir Thomas blocked the downward swing of the scimitar, spun on one heel and brought his sword around in a mighty stroke, striking the man down.
“Hurry, boy! Now!” he shouted. He jumped over the body of the man who lay bleeding on the floor, through the door and into the courtyard.
The main compound of the city was chaos. Men yelled and horses wailed, and the sound of the battle was deafening. Looking along the main street leading from our quarters I saw only a mass of men, knights and men-at- arms in chain mail fighting Saracens in turbans. In these last few months of the siege we had seen skirmish after skirmish and attack after attack as the Saracens had tried to overrun our walls. But nothing like this. How could they have finally fought their way inside the city?
The sky rained fire. Flaming arrows descended from the heavens, and the thumping sound of siege engines could be heard flinging clay pots of burning oil onto the rooftops of the city. I could hear the whistle of the quarrels fired from the ballistae, like arrows shot from the bow of a giant, and the screams as they found their targets. The brothers would have said that it looked as if the gates of hell itself had opened before us.
Another knight, his mail coat caked in mud and blood, ran past us on his way toward a small group of approaching Saracens.
“They broke through the west gate,” he shouted. “We will rally at the Crusaders’ Palace! Hurry!”
Running a few yards in front of us he launched himself at three attackers. Caught off guard by this approach the whole of them tumbled to the ground, wrestling and fighting hand to hand in the mud of the street.
“My back, lad! Keep a sharp eye!” Sir Thomas shouted, starting down the street as quickly as his battered body would carry him. Surprisingly, we ran untouched by the fighting surrounding us until we reached the first cross street of the main thoroughfare. My sword was in my hand, but I had no memory of drawing it.
As we passed through the intersection of the street, Saracens came rushing toward Sir Thomas, but veered in my direction when they saw me behind him, thinking a young boy an easier target than a knight. The smaller of the two raised his weapon, screaming in rage. I managed to block his first downward thrust, but his sword was much heavier, and my blade flew from my hand. He swung at my head with all his might, and I barely managed to duck. His momentum spun him around so that his back was facing me. I jumped forward, throwing my shoulder into him and knocking him to the ground.
“Run, Tristan!” I heard Sir Thomas say as he pulled at my arm. I glanced around and saw the other attacker lying nearby, apparently dispatched by Sir Thomas while I was otherwise occupied. As I grabbed my dropped sword, he pushed me farther down the street and on we ran.
After several minutes of picking and fighting our way through the chaos we reached our destination.
The Crusaders’ Palace was a small city within a city. Like Acre, it was surrounded by walls. Each corner section held a tower that was manned by several knights, archers and men-at-arms.
The Saladin’s forces were making their way through the streets methodically, building by building, but they had not yet reached the palace. Ahead of us we saw a small group of Templars outside the palace gate, weapons at the ready.
“Hurry, Tristan, not much time,” said Sir Thomas as we sprinted up the steps through the main gate into the courtyard of the palace. None of the Templars paid us any mind as they and their squires rushed back and forth inside and out of the gate, preparing to make a final stand.
Sir Thomas pushed his way through a small crowd gathering inside, and I followed him across the courtyard. Inside the palace was a small temple where the knights held their ceremonies and the priests conducted mass. Small as it was, it was quite beautiful, with thick walls canceling out some of the noise and confusion from outside.
Sir Thomas strode quickly to the altar. It stood waist high and was made of stone. The top surface was a flat section of marble that had been polished to a high sheen. Sir Thomas laid his bloody sword on the altar and reached below the top, pushing on one of the stones making up the altar’s base. It popped inward a few inches and with his hip he pushed against the marble top. The altar swiveled on a pivot to reveal a small wooden door in the floor below it. A secret passage! But where did it lead?
Sir Thomas lifted the door, and I could see a ladder leading down into the darkness. He crossed the floor to
