Keeper of the Grail

night’s attack.

“Tristan,” the abbot said. “It would seem that you have made a decision.”

“Yes, Father. I have decided to accept Sir Thomas’ offer and accompany the knights to the Holy Land.”

“Are you sure you feel well enough to travel?” he asked.

“Yes, Father, I feel much better. I was not seriously hurt,” I said.

“I see.” The abbot was quiet for a moment as he considered me. Then he gave me a rare smile. “We knew this day would come,” he finally said. “Admittedly, we did not expect it to happen so soon. But we realized that someday you would leave us. This is a sad day for St. Alban’s.”

I was moved by the abbot’s words. “Thank you, Father,” I said.

Brother Rupert stepped forward, holding out a small leather pouch. Taking it I could hear the clink of coins and feel the weight of them in my hand.

“It’s only a few crosslets,” he said. “We took up a collection amongst the brothers. You might need some essentials when you reach Dover. This isn’t much, but it should help.”

I was too moved to speak. The brothers had all taken vows of poverty, and any money they earned went directly to the abbey. This “collection” must have come from the treasury. This likely explained the pained look on the abbot’s face.

“Brother Rupert,” I said, “I appreciate the thoughtfulness, but I cannot accept this…” I started to hand it back to him, but his hands closed over mine, keeping the purse clutched in my hand.

“Tristan, you are one of us. We would not send a brother out into the world empty-handed. You have earned this with your sweat and your kind heart. Take it and think no more of it,” he said.

Before I could say anything, Sir Hugh broke in. “If you are coming with us, boy, make up your mind. We’re leaving now, and you have no mount, so you’ll have to keep up. Say your good-byes and step lively.” His voice was cold, and tinged with something unsettling.

Brother Rupert shot Sir Hugh a rather nasty look for a monk. He squeezed my hands and clapped me on the shoulder.

“Where is Brother Tuck?” I asked. “I can’t leave without saying good-bye…”

Just then, I heard a commotion to my left and turned to see him coming around the side of the abbey leading Charlemagne, one of our plow horses. Charlemagne wore the ancient saddle that the brothers used on occasion. Brother Tuck beamed at me as he led the horse to a stop before me.

“This is the last of our gifts,” said Brother Rupert. “He will get you to Dover-slowly, but you should be able to keep up. There you can leave him at the stable on the grounds of St. Bartholomew. The priests will care for him until our next trip there.”

I looked at the abbot, who nodded his approval. Brother Tuck smiled, grasping me in a tremendous bear hug that took me off my feet. He set me down, taking my face in his giant hands, kissing me on each cheek. I would miss him most of all. Though he could not hear or speak, Brother Tuck had an uncanny ability to learn and know what was going on about him. He understood I was leaving, and his gesture of kindness touched me deeply.

I looked at the rest of the brothers. They were my family. “Good-bye. I will miss all of you. I promise I’ll return someday. Soon, I hope.”

With that, Brother Tuck boosted me onto the back of Charlemagne. As I settled into the saddle, he handed me the reins. Sir Hugh gave the command to move out. The knights were spectacular horsemen, their chargers leaping forward in unison. Sir Thomas had taken a place near the rear of the column, and as he passed by me, he reined his horse slightly, motioning for me to ride alongside him.

I gently nudged Charlemagne with my heels and he began moving, slowly, as he was used to the plow and not the saddle. He was a gentle soul as horses go, but speed was not his gift. I had my work cut out for me to keep up with the warhorses of the regimento.

This docile horse carrying me away to a new life was my last gift from the hearts of the finest men I’d ever known.

DOVER, ENGLAND 6

After many hours in the saddle the sun moved lower in the western sky. We crested a hill and below us lay the city of Dover. From the hilltop I could smell the ocean. The city, which had been just a small village when I had visited three years ago, had changed much.

On a hill to the north, a large castle was under renovation. I saw men climbing the wooden scaffold encasing the castle keep, crawling up and down ladders like ants. I could see ropes moving, lifting rocks and barrels of sand as the stones were set in place by men at the top of the walls.

Below us the city spread out beneath the white cliffs that rose so beautifully above the ocean. A large marketplace teeming with booths and tents occupied the center of the town. As we rode down the ridge onto the main street leading into the city, I became increasingly aware of the noise.

Vendors in the marketplace called out to everyone. Passing a small inn, I heard the shouts and songs of happy revelers coming from within. The sounds of a blacksmith banging away at a piece of hot steel rang through the air. We were swept away in a wave of bedlam. Even Charlemagne began shaking his head, snorting in disgust at the buzz of activity that surrounded us.

“Have you ever seen a city before?” asked Sir Thomas, noticing the look of awe upon my face.

“Yes, sire, I came here with the brothers a few years ago. But it seemed much smaller then. Not as many people. And quieter.”

“No doubt,” Sir Thomas said. “War has been good for Dover. Many of the Crusaders gather here to board ships for Outremer. King Richard wants the castle reinforced and strengthened. King Philip of France is an ally for now, but allies can quickly turn into enemies. Any force attacking England by sea would make Dover a likely target, so the castle must be ready and able to slow down any invaders until reinforcements can arrive. When I first came here as a boy, Dover was a sleepy fishing village. Now the fishermen are far outnumbered by the innkeepers and the merchants.”

Riding farther into the city, we eventually came upon several large buildings surrounded by a gated fence. Above the entrance flew a banner divided in color, with the bottom half brown and the top half white.

“See the Templar banner, Tristan?” Sir Thomas said. “That flag flies over every Templar commandery. The colors symbolize the heaven above in white, and the earth below in brown. No matter where you travel, you need only look for that banner and you’ll be welcomed as a brother.”

We entered through the main gate. As we reined up, knights and squires hurried out of the building, calling out greetings. As we dismounted, they began to mingle, talking excitedly with one another.

“Our order has a commandery like this in most major cities and towns throughout Europe. Any Templar can rest here, train or reprovision,” Sir Thomas said.

He was interrupted by the approach of a large man with a full beard that hung nearly to his chest.

“Thomas!” he shouted, striding briskly up to Sir Thomas, clapping him vigorously on the shoulders. He was at least a head taller than Sir Thomas and easily the biggest man I’d ever seen, larger even than Brother Tuck. His arms were as thick as small trees, and his hands were the size of hams.

“You smell like a sweaty horse and you look worse,” he bellowed.

Sir Thomas laughed. “Sir Basil, you’ve grown thinner. Surely you’ve eaten since I last saw you?” he asked with a smirk.

Sir Basil roared with laughter, patting his large stomach. “Aye, once I had words with the cook. The food was barely edible when I first arrived. We Templars fight on our stomachs, and this kitchen was in the most pitiful shape. Worst of any commandery I’ve ever seen. Now it has a larder fit for fighting men-I’ve taken care of that. No more cabbage soup and bread. We have real food now. Meats and cheeses galore! But I’ve grown weary keeping the cook in line!”

Sir Thomas smiled. “It is good to see you, Brother Basil. Let me introduce to you the newest member of our regimento. This is Tristan of St. Alban’s. He has been living there with the monks, and has joined us to serve as my