last. I can say that as certainly as I can say the sun will rise tomorrow. We need to pull ourselves back from the brink of our own extinction.” His voice was calm, sincere. “If we do not, it will be the end of a Christian Holy Land. And your father and all those brave men before him will have died in vain. I know you do not want that.”
“No, my lord,” murmured Will. What else could he say? The grand master expected him to hate the Saracens, expected him to want to fight for the Temple’s possessions and for Christendom’s dream. It was the view of most good Christians, all good knights.
For two centuries they had come, those the Muslims called al-Firinjah : the Franks. After they invaded the great cities of Antioch, Tripoli and Jerusalem, wresting them bloodily from the Muslim, Jewish and native Christian inhabitants, the First Crusaders settled, establishing four Latin states. Here, they gave birth to generations who would never know the rolling hills of England or the verdant forests of France and Germany, but whose vistas would be the endless, timeless deserts of Syria and Palestine.
Crusade after Crusade swept out from the West, men and women seeking riches in wealthy Eastern cities and absolution for their sins. But over time, their numbers diminished. Weakened, the Franks tired of the constant struggle to defend Jerusalem from the infidel. The city that had called so many with its siren song to dash themselves against its walls had been back in the Muslims’ possession for thirty-two years. Of the four Latin states established by the First Crusaders, only the County of Tripoli and the Kingdom of Jerusalem, of which Acre was now the capital, were still in Christian hands. The County of Edessa was gone, and of the former Principality of Antioch only a port remained. The vessels that glided into Acre’s harbor were mostly half-empty, filled with mercenaries and straggling lines of pilgrims, those running from poverty and crimes committed, those running to a new life.
Will knew the grand master was right. Many of the men were despondent, bitter over what they had lost in Baybars’s campaigns. Despite the Anima Templi’s efforts for peace, the Templars and others still watched the horizon for those kingly ships that would herald a new Crusade and the return of Jerusalem to Christian hands. For the Franks were being forced closer and closer to the sea with every year that passed, their settlements eroded by the Mamluks, and no one knew how long they could remain, teetering on the edge of the Mediterranean’s green-blue line.
As the grand master began to speak of how he intended to restore their position within the Holy Land, the words of the seneschal came back to Will, heavy with gravity. He could prove to be one of the gravest threats to peace we have faced since the treaty was signed.
“We must work to unify the territories Baybars has left us with. We are fractured, unwilling to pool resources, weakened. Acre is ...,” Guillaume searched intently for the words, “... a plump worm that wiggles on the end of a hook.” His gaze focused on Will, who had been starting to feel as if he weren’t even in the room; the grand master seemed to be speaking to some larger, invisible audience. “Most of us are too preoccupied with our own internal convulsions to notice the predator that lurks in the water beneath us, waiting to open its jaw and snap,” Guillaume closed his fist, “one last time.” He rose and took a candle and taper to the fire. “We must work together if we are to survive the peril that will inevitably come our way again.” Bending down, he held the taper in the flames. “The enthronement of my cousin should help in this matter. In time, I am confident he will help to unite us.”
As the grand master lit the candle, Will realized how dark it had become since they had been talking. Soon the bells would ring for Vespers, calling them to chapel. “Is that definitely going to happen, my
“No, my lord,” murmured Will. What else could he say? The grand master expected him to hate the Saracens, expected him to want to fight for the Temple’s possessions and for Christendom’s dream. It was the view of most good Christians, all good knights.
For two centuries they had come, those the Muslims called al-Firinjah : the Franks. After they invaded the great cities of Antioch, Tripoli and Jerusalem, wresting them bloodily from the Muslim, Jewish and native Christian inhabitants, the First Crusaders settled, establishing four Latin states. Here, they gave birth to generations who would never know the rolling hills of England or the verdant forests of France and Germany, but whose vistas would be the endless, timeless deserts of Syria and Palestine.
Crusade after Crusade swept out from the West, men and women seeking riches in wealthy Eastern cities and absolution for their sins. But over time, their numbers diminished. Weakened, the Franks tired of the constant struggle to defend Jerusalem from the infidel. The city that had called so many with its siren song to dash themselves against its walls had been back in the Muslims’ possession for thirty-two years. Of the four Latin states established by the First Crusaders, only the County of Tripoli and the Kingdom of Jerusalem, of which Acre was now the capital, were still in Christian hands. The County of Edessa was gone, and of the former Principality of Antioch only a port remained. The vessels that glided into Acre’s harbor were mostly half-empty, filled with mercenaries and straggling lines of pilgrims, those running from poverty and crimes committed, those running to a new life.
Will knew the grand master was right. Many of the men were despondent, bitter over what they had lost in Baybars’s campaigns. Despite the Anima Templi’s efforts for peace, the Templars and others still watched the horizon for those kingly ships that would herald a new Crusade and the return of Jerusalem to Christian hands. For the Franks were being forced closer and closer to the sea with every year that passed, their settlements eroded by the Mamluks, and no one knew how long they could remain, teetering on the edge of the Mediterranean’s green-blue line.
As the grand master began to speak of how he intended to restore their position within the Holy Land, the words of the seneschal came back to Will, heavy with gravity. He could prove to be one of the gravest threats to peace we have faced since the treaty was signed.
“We must work to unify the territories Baybars has left us with. We are fractured, unwilling to pool resources, weakened. Acre is ...,” Guillaume searched intently for the words, “... a plump worm that wiggles on the end of a hook.” His gaze focused on Will, who had been starting to feel as if he weren’t even in the room; the grand master seemed to be speaking to some larger, invisible audience. “Most of us are too preoccupied with our own internal convulsions to notice the predator that lurks in the water beneath us, waiting to open its jaw and snap,” Guillaume closed his fist, “one last time.” He rose and took a candle and taper to the fire. “We must work together if we are to survive the peril that will inevitably come our way again.” Bending down, he held the taper in the flames. “The enthronement of my cousin should help in this matter. In time, I am confident he will help to unite us.”
As the grand master lit the candle, Will realized how dark it had become since they had been talking. Soon the bells would ring for Vespers, calling them to chapel. “Is that definitely going to happen, my
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