Deus Vult E-Book

James Lopez

• Herausgeber: WS
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 561

Beschreibung

A Tale of the First Crusade

Leseprobe

Deus Vult

A Tale of the First Crusade

by James Lopez

Copyright © 2022 James Lopez

Cover Illustrations © 2022Nic Ferrari

The right of James Lopez to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Acts 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN

978-0-578-32542-2 Paperback

978-0-578-32541-5 e-book

Published by Iron Crown Publishing

Interior set in Palatino by Cathy Helms of Avalon Graphics

Interior illustrations by Nic Ferrari of Bramastudios.com

Edited by Aaron Redfern of Historicaleditorial.com

To

My Mom

The strength of your faith has always been an inspiration.

And

In Loving Memory Of

My Dad and Desie

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

1. Darkness Before the Dawn

2. Wisdom From a Stranger

3. The Tournament

4. The Cross and the Question

5. The Hermit

6. A Tale of Sorrow

7. The Great City

8. The Confrontation

9. Into the Great Unknown

10. The Siege of Nicaea

11. The Split

12. Rebellion in the Ranks

13. Dorylaeum

14. The Burden of the Cross

15. Two Paths

16. A Lost Soul

17. The Holy Land

18. An Intimidating Prospect

19. The Seeds of Hate

20. Alea Iacta Est

21. The High and the Low

22. Diminishing Control

23. The Messenger

24. Vying for Power

25. Thieves in the Night

26. The Massacre

27. A Twist of Fate

28. The Holy Lance

29. The Hour of Reckoning

30. The Black Death

31. The Siege of Ma’arra

32. The Wicked Feast

33. On to Jerusalem

34. Revelations by the Fire

35. Jerusalem at Last!

36. The First Assault

37. Gifts From the Sea

38. A Curious Spectacle

39. Trust in a Good Man

40. The Second Assault

41. Revisiting an Old Strategy

42. The Third Assault

43. Sorrow at al-Aqsa

44. Romans 12:19

45. Deep in the Realm of the Dead

46. A New Journey

Epilogue

Author’s Note and Acknowledgements

PROLOGUE

The iridescent light from the stained-glass windows of the cathedral cast a luminescent glow about the figure in white robes as he stood high on the pulpit, looking down upon the huddled masses. Below him, princes, nobles, commoners, and peasants, all were spellbound by His Holiness, Pope Urban II, and all stood in silence, hanging upon his every word. He stood before them like a messenger from God, ready to deliver the final judgment.

The tension in the air was palpable, and the silence in the sanctuary was fraught with anticipation. The Pope’s sermon was unlike anything they had ever heard before, and the terrible images conjured by his speech had filled his audience with horror and outrage. The Holy Land and holy city of Jerusalem, the very city where Christ had walked and was crucified, had been overrun by a Saracen horde that had violated everything that was sacred.

The Christians living in the city had been slaughtered like human cattle. None were spared, not even the women and children, whose blood filled the streets and whose corpses were trampled upon by the Saracen invaders. Torn from their homes and dragged from their places of worship, the Christian inhabitants cried out for mercy, but none was given. In the end, the churches were burned, the crosses torn down, and in their place the crescent moon of Islam was raised, casting its shadow across the land.

When the Pope’s sermon finally concluded, the hushed crowd was stunned by what they had heard. His fiery words had branded a terrible picture in the minds of all those who came to hear him and had captured their imagination. At last, the Pope spoke again, his thunderous voice shattering the silence. “So let it be known that any man who, for devotion alone, and not to gain honor, money, or lands, journeys to Jerusalem and liberates the holy city from the hands of the Saracens, may substitute this journey for all penance, entering unto heaven upon death, and shall be spared from the fires of hell! Deus vult! God wills it!”

A great cheer erupted from the masses in the crowded cathedral that shook its very walls. Men, princes and peasants alike, embraced each other, ecstatic from the proclamation, and began shouting and chanting in unison: “Deus vult! Deus vult! God wills it! God wills it!”

* * *

On November 27, 1095, Pope Urban II had ignited the passions and stirred the hearts and minds of all the nobles throughout Europe with his fiery sermon and promise of a lifetime of penance in return for a holy war against the Saracen Turks.

Europe’s most powerful feudal lords had decided to put away their warring and quarrels with each other and unite in a combined effort to retake the Holy Land and the sacred city of Jerusalem from the Turkish invaders. The Pope’s proclamation had set into motion a gathering of the princes of Europe as they prepared their armies to answer God’s call to avenge the atrocities that had taken place in Jerusalem and restore the rule of the Pope and the holy Catholic Church. An eternity in heaven was promised to all those who took up the cross and the sword and set upon the perilous journey to carry out the will of almighty God.

1

DARKNESS BEFORE THE DAWN

Dark storm clouds blanketed the sky, and thunder echoed through the valley. The flashes of lightning revealed the silhouette of a lone horseman who struggled down the winding path beneath the pouring rain.

The winds howled, and the darkness of night had descended upon the valley as the rains beat mercilessly down upon the perilous mountainside path. Muddy water flowed down the pass beneath the horse’s hooves, causing the beast to slip frequently, and threatened to send both horse and rider tumbling over the cliff and into the valley below.

The young knight dismounted and began leading the beast slowly down a narrow part of the pass that rounded a corner. The water rushing down the pass was now ankle high and cascaded over the cliff on his right like a waterfall. Lowering his head against the violent wind and stinging rain, he squinted and gritted his teeth as he doggedly moved forward in the middle of the raging tempest. A flash of lightning brought him backward in time for a brief moment to when he had lowered his head and knelt, receiving the touch of a sword on his shoulders, bestowing upon him the honor of knighthood. The crackling of thunder that followed brought back the concerned faces of loved ones bidding farewell as he had set out alone from his home in Castile, weeks ago. He knew he had come too far to turn back now or let anything stand in his way.

Amidst the thunder and pouring rain, an even louder noise from above caught his attention and thrust him back into the present. He turned to look up and was struck by a sudden deluge as water swept down the mountainside. His horse whinnied in terror as the force of the flood waters tore them from the path and dragged them both toward the edge of the cliff and the muddy darkness below.

He flailed his arms in a panic, frantically clawing at anything he could find to hold on to as he felt himself careening over the edge. His hands grasped the empty air, and he felt weightless for a moment before his back and head slammed against a steep slope. Pain shot through his body as he began to tumble end over end down the mountainside. Jagged rocks and small trees tore at his sides and limbs as he fell. He desperately tried to slow his descent, but to no avail against the force of the water rushing down the muddy slope.

He continued to tumble out of control down the mountainside until it felt as though he were about to lose consciousness, but at last, his body collided with a large tree, which finally broke his fall. His breath came slowly and in great heaves as he clung to the tree with water flowing all around him. When he was finally able to catch his breath, he opened his eyes, looked around, and realized he had reached the tree line at the bottom of the steep slope. A flash of lightning revealed his horse lying on its side, pinned against some trees not far away.

Battered and bruised, he felt his body and moved his limbs, looking for signs of broken bones, but there were none. He was covered in mud and his tunic was shredded, but his mail armor had saved his flesh from being torn to pieces by the sharp rocks and small trees during the fall. Slowly and cautiously, he stood up and, using the nearby trees to steady himself, he made his way to his horse, wading through the rushing water.

When he reached his horse, its head was under the muddy, flowing water, and there was no movement. Its body was still, twisted and broken. The young knight stood by the once proud steed and leaned over it, placing his hands upon its neck as he lowered his head. The rain fell from his forehead in a steady stream as he stood over the beast and closed his eyes, recalling the fearlessness it had shown when they had charged into battle one year ago. The victory that day had been great, and his actions had earned him the honor of being knighted.

“Thank you . . .” he said, bidding his final farewell beneath the thunder and pouring rain. He stood motionless for a time before lifting his hands and slowly began removing items from the saddle. He had lost his sword, his lance, and most of his belongings, but taking what was left, he packed the items into a saddlebag, which he slung over his shoulder before making his way downward into the forest.

Into the inky blackness, he blindly made his way forward through the forest. After he had staggered through the darkness for what seemed like an eternity, the slope of the forest floor began to level off, and the trees began to thin. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the angry sky was now calm and gray as dawn began to break. A light mist arose from the forest floor and curled about his body as he walked, and all was a heavy, dreamy, white silence as he wandered into a clearing.

The young knight’s legs felt as though they were about to collapse beneath him, so he sat down to rest upon a large, flat stone that jutted out from the misty forest floor. His head hung low, and his heart felt heavy as he pondered his difficult, near hopeless situation. He clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut. It was the same feeling he’d had many years ago as a young boy, the old and faded memories echoing from his past. As a child he stood, shivering and alone with naught but the clothes on his back, when he was brought into the court of his uncle after his father was slain by raiding Saracen Moors. He recalled the men bringing in the lifeless body of his father while he stood by, helpless and alone. His uncle had graciously taken him in and raised him, and even though his uncle had always treated him like one of his own sons, deep inside he had always felt the need to prove himself worthy of the kindness his uncle had shown him and live up to his great name.

Months ago, news of the Pope’s proclamation and calls for a holy war had reached the Kingdom of León. He had listened with wide eyes to the incredible news. Eager to test himself and bring honor to his family’s name, he had set out alone from his home in hopes of joining the army of Count Raymond of Toulouse who was gathering forces to journey to the Holy Land. The count would be holding a great tournament in the coming days to allow knights and warriors to earn honor and distinguish themselves in combat.

He hung his head with the realization that the tournament was only days away, but with almost no provisions, no horse, and no idea where he was, there was little hope of competing in Count Raymond’s tournament. He heard a voice deep inside him as he recalled the words of his uncle: No matter what situation you find yourself in, be strong in your faith, never lose hope, and always give thanks to God. His fists loosened, and he opened his eyes and looked to the heavens with a sigh. Though his situation was bleak, he knew he could have easily suffered great injury or even death from the fall, but he had not.

He got up from the rock he was sitting on and knelt on the cold, hard ground. He put his elbows on the rock and folded his hands in prayer as he bowed his head and closed his eyes. Lord God, thank you for sparing my life and keeping me safe from injury. But I am lost, oh Lord, and need your help. If it is your will that I am to take part in Count Raymond’s tournament and join his forces as they journey to the Holy Land, please help me find my way.

Rising from the ground, he looked around the clearing. He knew that he was at the bottom of a deep ravine with the high cliffs rising up just beyond the forest he had wandered through. He decided to follow along the base of the cliff with the hope of finding a path that would lead him back to the road he had been on before being swept into the ravine.

He walked through the forest along the base of the cliff for a long time, until the trees began to thin again and he came to another clearing. He stopped and stared for a moment, unsure that he could believe what he was seeing. Rising out of the mist like a mythical palace, he beheld a series of buildings in the distance that seemed as though they were carved from the solid stone cliff itself. The magnificent buildings had intricately carved steps that led up to terraces, and some of the buildings had two or three levels. Flowering gardens could be seen on the terraces, and well-manicured trees and bushes lined the front of the buildings. All the structures were so perfectly recessed into the base of the cliff that they were nearly camouflaged from sight. Had he not walked into the clearing, he would have missed them entirely.

He rubbed his eyes, staring in near disbelief. Is what I am seeing real? Why would there be such a place in the middle of nowhere?

He continued to walk farther into the clearing, and ahead of him he could make out a path that led to the main building. On the outside of the building, above the large wooden doors at the front, he could see the shape of a cross. It appeared to be a church or possibly a monastery. He followed the path until he came to the double doors at the entrance of the building. He grasped the large iron ring attached the door, then lifted it and let it fall with a thud as he stood and waited. A few moments passed, and he could hear movement from inside. Then one of the large wooden doors creaked open to reveal a young woman who peered at him from inside.

She was dressed in the black robes of a nun and wore a wooden cross about her neck. She had answered the door with a smile, but her smile began to fade and her brow began to crease as her eyes moved up and down, studying him. “What happened to you?” she asked. “Were you robbed and beaten?”

“No,” he answered, looking down and picking at a shred of fabric from his torn tunic. “I was on my way to Toulouse when I became caught in the storm and my horse and I were swept over the mountain pass. My horse was killed, and I wandered for a long time before I found this place. Can you help me?” He looked back up at the young woman. “I have some coin, but most of my belongings were lost. I can pay you a little . . .”

The young woman hesitated for a moment, then moved back as she opened the door and motioned for him to enter. Her smile returned. “Please, come in. What is your name, sir?” she asked as he entered.

“My name is Sir Rodrigo Santos. I am a knight from Castile,” he answered, looking around. The inside of the building was clean and spacious, but humble. There were no stained-glass windows, ornamentation, or tapestries adorning the plain stone walls. There were only wooden benches, a pulpit, and some wooden tables near the front of the sanctuary. Strange, he thought. This humble interior belies the extraordinary exterior of these buildings. “What is this place?”

“This is the monastery of San Juan de la Peña, and I am Sister Mary, one of its caretakers,” she replied.

Rodrigo saw a cross hanging on a wall at the back of the sanctuary and bowed his head in silence for a moment. Thank you, Lord, for hearing my prayers and bringing me to this place. He reached into his saddlebag and withdrew a small bag of coins, which he extended to Sister Mary. “Here. It is all I have.”

“Please, sir,” she gently replied, “there is no need for you to pay. This monastery welcomes all who come here, and no one in need is turned away. There are some rooms here where you may stay and rest a while. There is not much there, but it is quiet and comfortable. Toulouse is only a few days’ journey by horse, but several by foot, I am afraid. I must go, but when I come back, I will bring you some food. There is a bucket of water there to clean yourself and a straw mat to sleep on. You look like you could use some rest.”

Rodrigo returned her kind smile and nodded. His eyelids felt heavy, and his limbs ached with every movement. “Thank you, Sister,” he said as he followed her to the back of the monastery and entered a room. It was simple, and in the middle of the room was a wooden chair and a table with some drinking water. On the wall there was a cross. A straw mat lay in the corner with a blanket, and next to it was a large bucket of water and a small cloth.

Rodrigo removed his tattered tunic, armor, and boots and washed the mud from his face and body. He splashed some water over his head and placed the cloth against his face as trails of brown water cascaded down his neck and chest. If I leave on foot tomorrow, I will not be able to compete in the tournament, but, God willing, I may still be able to join Count Raymond’s army. I cannot return to my family and uncle a failure. I must find a way to answer the Pope’s call to liberate Jerusalem and the Holy Land from the Turks. He gripped the cloth tightly and twisted it with all his strength, wringing every last drop of water back into the bucket. When he finished cleaning himself, he looked around the room. His clothes were still damp, but there was a monk’s robe folded on one of the tables. Donning the robe, he lay down on the straw mat and almost instantly drifted into a deep slumber.

2

WISDOM FROM A STRANGER

The creak of the chair startled Rodrigo from his sleep. He sat up and stared at a strange man sitting at the table, eating from a plate of food. Rodrigo immediately took notice of his garb, for he had not seen its like before. A brown cloak was draped over the back of the chair, faded and worn but with an intricately woven pattern with strange symbols that were foreign in nature. He wore a blue tunic with gold fringe, fastened with a leather belt with a gold buckle, and brown trousers. The worn leather sandals on his feet were in the style of the ancient Romans. Who is this strange man? His clothes do not look like they are from Europe, nor from any country that I am familiar with.

The man turned his chair to face Rodrigo, who was sitting up on the mattress. He had a broad smile under a thick black beard and wavy black hair with streaks of gray. The stranger stared at Rodrigo with coal-black eyes that seemed to look right through him.

“You must have been tired. You have been sleeping most of the day,” the man said, his deep voice breaking the silence and nearly startling Rodrigo. He held up a piece of bread that he was eating. “Pull up a chair and join me. There is plenty here to eat.”

Rodrigo felt his stomach growling. He stood up slowly and gingerly as he stretched his sore and bruised limbs and stiff back. The last rays of the setting sun illuminated the small room through a window in the corner. “Yes, I will join you. Thank you.” He pulled up a chair and sat down. The stranger passed him the drinking water and some bread with a plate of meat and fruit. Rodrigo bowed his head and said a quick prayer before he began hungrily consuming his meal. The stranger ate in silence as Rodrigo devoured his food like a starving wolf. When Rodrigo was finally satisfied and pushed his plate aside, the stranger spoke.

“It seems you have not eaten in weeks,” he said with a laugh. He glanced at Rodrigo’s armor and tunic lying by the bed. “Though you are wearing a monk’s robes, I can clearly see that you are not one. Tell me your name, sir, and what brings you to this place.”

Rodrigo introduced himself and recounted his fateful journey from Castile on his way to Count Raymond’s tournament in Toulouse. “Although I will not arrive in time to compete in the tournament, I may still be able to join Count Raymond’s army. I will not let this misfortune deter me from answering God’s call to take back the Holy Land and liberate Jerusalem from the Saracen Turks. The atrocities being committed there against the Christians must be stopped.” The stranger said nothing, but stared at Rodrigo with a faint smile as he sat back in his chair. “And what about you?” Rodrigo asked. “Your clothes and your cloak have strange markings. I have not seen their like before. What is your name, and where do you come from?”

“My name is Marcellinus,” the man said. “I am a traveler and a wanderer and am new to this part of Europe. I was once a chronicler in the royal Byzantine court in Constantinople, but that was many years ago. I was much younger then, and at that time, I became disillusioned with my work and began traveling extensively. My travels eventually brought me to Jerusalem, where I worked as a scribe for several years, and then later to Alexandria in Egypt. From there I journeyed to Italy, and I have been traveling through Europe for nearly a year now. I work in different places to replenish my purse, and when the wanderlust strikes me, I set off on a new journey and adventure.” He smiled.

Rodrigo sat up and leaned forward at the mention of Jerusalem. “You were in Jerusalem for several years? When did you leave, and what did you see while living there?”

“It was nearly three years ago that I left Jerusalem. It is an ancient and magnificent city with a wondrous history. I enjoyed my time there; however, I find myself only able to stay in one place for so long.” Marcellinus poured some more water into his cup while Rodrigo stared at him intently. “I guess one could say that I was born with a restless soul.”

Rodrigo’s eyes narrowed. Why did he not mention anything about the crimes being committed against the Christians in the city? Is he hiding something?

“You said you are originally from Constantinople. Are you a Christian?” Rodrigo asked.

“I was raised in the Orthodox Christian Church from the time of my youth, so yes, I am Christian,” Marcellinus said before taking a drink of water. “Since then, however, I have grown older, and wiser, and now I choose to worship God in my own way, not in the way of Orthodox Christianity or Roman Catholicism.” Marcellinus lowered his cup, and his gaze locked with Rodrigo’s. “I know what you are thinking. One can hardly travel through Europe at this time and not hear all that is being said about what is taking place in Jerusalem and the Holy Land.” Rodrigo’s gaze softened, and he looked down at his plate for a moment as Marcellinus continued. “I can tell you this—all the stories of the atrocities being committed against the Christians in the city by the Turks at this time are not true.”

“What?” Rodrigo exclaimed, frowning. He would dare to suggest that the Pope is spreading lies? “How can they not be true? The Pope himself has spoken about the slaughter of innocent Christians in Jerusalem. You would accuse the Pope of lying to the people of Europe?” he asked, pointing his finger at Marcellinus.

Marcellinus’s expression did not change as he sat back and tore a piece of bread from his plate. “I am simply telling you what I have seen and witnessed with my own eyes,” he said in a calm voice.

Rodrigo put his hands on the table and leaned toward Marcellinus. “Tell me then, why would the Pope lie about such things?”

“Why, indeed?” Marcellinus answered. He leaned back in his chair and looked at Rodrigo while he took a bite of bread. There was silence for a tense moment, but Rodrigo stood up from the table and walked to the center of the room as Marcellinus continued. “It is a good question to ask, so let us take a moment and discuss it. Tell me, what effect have the Pope’s words about the atrocities in Jerusalem had on all the nobles and princes in Europe?”

Rodrigo paused for moment as he thought. “It has brought them all together, united under one cause, to reclaim the Holy Land and the city of Jerusalem and restore the rule of the Pope and the holy Catholic Church.”

“That is correct,” Marcellinus replied. “What is more important to understand is that this unification has stopped the constant warring and fighting among those nobles in Christendom. It is true that Jerusalem is now under Turkish control, but they took the city nearly four hundred years ago! In the holy city right now, Christians, Jews, and Muslims all live together in relative peace. Most of the killing being committed by the Turks at this time is against other Turks. They are constantly fighting each other for lands and power, much the same way the Christians do here in Europe.”

Rodrigo remained speechless, and he began pacing about the room as he thought. So, not only is he suggesting the Pope is spreading lies, but it is to further some kind of agenda? “I cannot believe that our holy Pope would lie outright to the people of Europe for the reasons you have mentioned,” Rodrigo said, stopping and folding his arms across his chest.

“The Pope’s message is not only for the sake of unity among the European nobility,” said Marcellinus. “I believe there are other reasons as well.”

“What other reasons?”

“The Turks have been encroaching upon the borders of the Byzantine Empire for some time now,” Marcellinus said. “It is fairly well known that Emperor Alexios Komnenos, the Byzantine ruler, has made an appeal to the Pope for aid against the Turks. So, it seems that the Pope has yet another reason to call for a Christian incursion into the Holy Land, none of which has anything to do with atrocities being committed against Christians in Jerusalem.” He wiped his hands on a cloth next to his plate.

Rodrigo said nothing, but shook his head and began pacing again. That may be true, but regardless of the reasons, how could the Pope, the Holy Father, be spreading lies and falsehood to the people?

“And I have also heard,” Marcellinus continued, “that the Pope has offered all who take up this journey penance for all their sins.”

Rodrigo stopped pacing and turned to Marcellinus. “Yes, that is true. What of it?”

“Is the Pope God? Does he have the power to absolve the masses of their sins?” Marcellinus asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Rodrigo.

“Well, no, but he speaks for God!” Rodrigo answered loudly.

“Does he?” asked Marcellinus, the tone of his voice now matching Rodrigo’s. “So, tell me, does God want all the nobles in Europe to wage a holy war against the Turks for reasons that are naught but lies?” Marcellinus’s deep voice was loud and commanding and, in that moment, Rodrigo heard the voice of his uncle. Marcellinus’s piercing gaze showed an unwavering clarity as they stared at each other. Rodrigo averted his gaze and stared at the ground. He searched for words but could find none.

Marcellinus put his cloth down, calmly pushed his chair back, and stood up. He turned his gaze from Rodrigo and looked around for a moment as he dusted some crumbs off the front of his tunic. “I respect you, Sir Rodrigo, for your passion and conviction of what you believe is the truth. If it is your destiny to travel to the Holy Land, then you will see with your own eyes what is truth and what is not.” He replaced his chair back under the table and walked to the door before turning back to Rodrigo. “Wherever fate leads you, always remember this. Place your trust in God and not in man. Men are fallible and may lead you astray, but God will always guide you to truth and salvation.” Rodrigo looked up at Marcellinus, who gave him a quick smile and nod before going out the door and closing it behind him.

Outside the room, Rodrigo could hear Marcellinus speaking in the sanctuary with Sister Mary, although he could not hear what they were saying. That evening, Rodrigo sat at the table for a long time, staring at his drinking cup and thinking about all that had been said. I cannot believe that His Holiness the Pope and the holy Catholic Church are spreading lies and falsehoods for their own political ends. There is only one thing I can do. I must journey to the Holy Land, not only to bring honor to my family’s name, but to discover for myself what is truth and what is a lie. If everything the Pope has said is truth, then I will be carrying out the will of God. If everything he said was a lie, then . . . Rodrigo frowned and lowered his head, and his hands knotted into fists upon the table. He got up to lie back down on the straw mattress. Night had fallen and it was now completely dark in the room, yet he lay awake staring at the ceiling. At last, he fell asleep, tossing and turning in a fitful slumber.

* * *

A cock’s crow roused Rodrigo from his sleep. Rising from his bed, he gathered his belongings. As he left the room, he saw Sister Mary in the sanctuary carrying some books and approached her. “Sister Mary, my thanks for everything you have done for me. Your kindness and the hospitality and generosity of this monastery will not be forgotten. I will set out for Toulouse and do not want to waste any time, since I travel by foot. Will you help me one last time and tell me what paths I must take to take to get there?”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide and a smile on her face. “Did he not tell you?”

“Who? Tell me what?” Rodrigo asked.

“The man that was here, Marcellinus. He left early this morning, but said he wished to aid you in your travels. He said you were on a journey to the Holy Land and hoped to find something there.”

A smile came across Rodrigo’s face. “That is true. What did he not tell me?”

“He left one of his horses for you. And a full pack of provisions. The horse is tied outside the monastery, and the provisions are there as well.”

Rodrigo smiled again and bowed his head. Selfless acts of kindness seem to be rare thing in this world, but since I arrived they have been shown to me twice, by both Sister Mary and Marcellinus. “I may or may not pass this way again. Thank you for everything, and if the man Marcellinus ever comes back, please give him my humble thanks as well.” Then, turning, he walked through the door and exited the monastery.

“I will,” said Sister Mary. “Follow the main path from the monastery until you reach the village. The villagers will guide you the rest of the way. God be with you!” she called out as she watched him from the doorway.

Rodrigo walked to the post outside the monastery where the horse and provisions were waiting for him. He took the reins and mounted. The sun was cresting the cliffs above the monastery, flooding the valley with the light of the new day. Rodrigo took a deep breath and filled his lungs with the crisp morning air as he thought about how quickly his fortune had changed and the destiny that lay before him. He spurred the horse into a gallop down the pathway toward the village. Toulouse was only days away, and Count Raymond’s tournament awaited.

3

THE TOURNAMENT

The blaring trumpets signaled the beginning of the assault on the castle walls. With their swords, axes, and shields raised high, the attackers let out a thunderous battle cry as they raced toward the walls. Rodrigo felt his heart pounding in a mixture of fear, excitement, and pure adrenaline as the assault began.

The knights and warriors in the tournament were divided into two groups, the attackers and the defenders. A section of Count Raymond’s castle was used to conduct the battle. Fifty warriors would assault the wall with ladders, while another fifty would defend the castle walls and protect five flags placed in different areas along the wall. The two most difficult flags were placed in the well-protected flanking towers on either side.

In moments, the attackers had reached the base of the wall. The ladders went up, and metal hooks attached to the top of the ladders came down, biting into the wall. Frantically, the attackers began scrambling up the ladders as others tried to hold them in place to keep them from being pushed off the walls. The clash of steel rang out as axes and swords fell upon those who had reached the top. Their weapons had been blunted, but the dangers they faced were very real. It was not uncommon for men to suffer grave injuries or even be killed in such tournaments.

Rodrigo climbed as fast as he could. One of the grappling hooks on the ladder beside him was pried loose, and the ladder was pushed away from the wall. He watched as several men still hanging onto the ladder fell backward. As the ladder fell back to the ground, some of the men were caught by their fellow warriors below, but others landed hard upon the ground. Reaching the top of the wall, Rodrigo leaped onto the walkway in the midst of the yelling and the chaos. Immediately, he was attacked by two of the defenders, who came at him from both sides. A heavy mace swung downward and was met with Rodrigo’s sword as he parried the blow. An axe came crashing down upon his shield on the other side with such force that his arm went numb from the impact.

Bending low at the knees and wheeling around, Rodrigo swung his sword in an arc at the legs of the warrior on his left. The heavy blow buckled the knees of the warrior, who collapsed on the stone walkway. Rodrigo turned quickly again and raised his shield to defend against the blow he knew was coming from the other side. The mace came crashing down onto his shield, just above his head. Lowering his shield and striking quickly before the warrior could recover from the swing, Rodrigo smashed the pommel of his sword into the warrior’s face. Blood sprayed from the warrior’s shattered nose, knocking him off balance and sending him reeling backward.

Rodrigo hesitated for a moment, staring at the man as he fell to the ground, blood pouring from between the man’s fingers as he held them to his face. Rodrigo’s heart was pounding, and his mind was racing. He did not wish to seriously injure his opponents, but he felt caught in whirlwind of violence and action with no choice but to push forward. He lowered his head and set his jaw as he swung his sword and fought his way toward the flags. I must not let fear and concern cause me to lose sight of my goal!

* * *

High above, two men watched the action from a tower overlooking the castle wall. One of the men, Bishop Adhemar of Le Puy, watched the violence and chaos unfolding below with a keen interest, his steady gaze following every action. The permanent scowl etched on his stern face was accentuated by his forked beard. A papal legate and representative of the Pope, Adhemar was no ordinary bishop. Aside from his duties in the Church, he commanded troops, including several ranks of cavalrymen, and had been ordered by the Pope to join with Count Raymond’s forces as they prepared to journey to the Holy Land. Upon his arrival at Count Raymond’s castle, it was Adhemar who had organized the tournament and spread the word throughout the lands.

Adhemar pointed to one of the warriors below. “Look, this one shows some promise,” he said, leaning over to Count Raymond, who watched the battle beside him. “He fights as though his very life depends on victory.” Adhemar stared intently as he took a sip of wine from his goblet. I will need to find out who this man is. He may be one that I can use.

“He certainly fights like a man who believes in the cause,” Raymond said, looking down at the battle. “We will see how long that lasts as the day goes on. Jerusalem will not fall in a single afternoon. The men who take it must be willing to give everything they have, and more. And that, Bishop Adhemar, will be the final test in a long and difficult campaign, if we make it that far.” His kindly, bearded countenance was now marred with a frown as he turned away from the wall and sat down on a chair next to a table filled with meats, bread, and fine wine. Count Raymond of Toulouse was one of the wealthiest and most pious of the European nobles who had committed to waging a holy war for the Pope and the Catholic Church.

“If we make it that far? Do you have doubts, my lord?” said Adhemar, raising an eyebrow as he turned to Raymond.

“I have been in enough wars and campaigns to know that this difficult journey will test the mettle of all the men who go with us to the Holy Land,” Raymond said, staring into his goblet as he swirled its contents.

“Yes, my lord,” Adhemar said, turning his attention back toward the battle taking place below. “All the men shall be tested, and only the strongest, bravest, and most righteous will be there when Jerusalem falls.”

“We shall see, Adhemar, we shall see,” Raymond replied.

The battle for control of the walls raged below them throughout the morning while Count Raymond and Bishop Adhemar continued their conversation in the tower. All the while, Adhemar had kept a watchful eye on the individual actions of those engaged in combat.

“The tournament fighting has been quite fierce, my lord, as was expected,” Adhemar said. Without taking his eyes off of the battle, he motioned for the servant waiting behind them to come and fill his goblet. “There are acts of skill and valor from both sides. I have my eye on a few who have stood out so far.”

“Yes. The fighting has been intense,” Raymond said as he set his empty goblet aside. “It is a shame that some have already given their lives to prove their honor and bravery. I do not wish to see any more good men throw their lives away needlessly for sport. Should that happen, I may consider calling an end to the tournament.”

“What?” Adhemar turned from the battle and stared at Raymond with a frown. “No, my lord, you must not,” he said firmly.

“I must not?” Raymond asked, looking back at Adhemar with raised eyebrows. “Need I remind you, Bishop Adhemar, that you are a guest here? I will do as I see fit in my own castle.”

Adhemar took a sip of wine from his goblet, but his stern gaze did not break from Raymond’s. “And need I remind you, my lord, that no one is above the Pope, and I, as his representative, insist that the tournament continue to its completion. The Pope has requested that five knights be chosen from this tournament for a special purpose. It is my duty to His Holiness to fulfill his request after the tournament has completed. You may do with the rest of the men as you please, but you must allow the tournament to continue to the end.”

Count Raymond stood up from his chair and walked to the edge of the tower before turning to Adhemar. “Very well, Adhemar. But if any more of these warriors give their lives for this tournament, I will hold you responsible, and you will deliver the last rites yourself.”

As Adhemar turned from Raymond back toward the action below, a faint smile curled upon his lips. “Of course, my lord. It would be my honor.”

* * *

The midday sun beat down upon the attacking force as they huddled in a group below the walls to rest from the fighting and lick their wounds. The fierce battle had raged all morning, and the sun was now high in the sky. The first assault had gone well, and the defenders had yielded two flags. The second assault had been much more difficult, as the defenders had used their experience from the first assault to repel the attackers more effectively and had only yielded one flag. The attackers were preparing for one final assault. The last two flags were in the towers on either side of the wall and would be even more difficult to capture.

Rodrigo wiped beaded sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand as the droplets ran down his face, stinging his eyes. His hair was matted and wet, and he knelt with one knee on the ground and his steel helmet on the other. He looked at the men around him. Most were sitting on the ground, leaning against their shields with their heads hung low. Some were lying flat on their backs, breathing heavily from near exhaustion.

Rodrigo’s mail armor was damaged and torn in some areas from the force of the blows he had received, as was the armor of many others. His hand rested on the hilt of his heavily notched sword, and his shield lay by his side, dented and cracked. A heavy silence hung in the air, a stark change from the mood after the first assault, when the group had been buzzing with energy and ideas on how best to assault the walls and capture the flags.

Rodrigo looked down in thought as he replayed the first two assaults in his mind. What would my uncle do in such a difficult situation? His uncle, Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, whom he was named after, was a Castilian warlord and a renowned hero and champion to his people. His uncle had faced overwhelming odds many times in battle and overcame them all with strategy, cunning, and bravery. He was not only a great warrior, but also a scholarly, learned man who had studied the great battles of antiquity. Rodrigo remembered sitting wide-eyed and silent as a young boy, fascinated as his uncle recounted these battles and discussed the strategies that had aided the victorious.

His uncle’s words came floating back to him as he pondered their situation. You see, Rodrigo, all warfare is based on deception. Where we are able to attack, we must appear unable and inactive. We must make the enemy believe we are far away when we are near and strike when they believe we are most vulnerable.

Rodrigo looked around for a moment, and behind them, he saw the large tent where the wounded men were being treated. His eyes grew large as he stood up and called to the others. “Everyone, listen!” he yelled, waving for his companions to move closer to him. “Come close and listen! I have an idea of how we can capture the flags!”

Though they were exhausted from battle, the men gathered around Rodrigo to hear what his sudden enthusiasm was all about. When he had finished laying out his plans, they quickly dispersed and took their up their positions on the ground, gathering the ladders and their weapons in preparation.

* * *

The trumpets blared from the castle, signaling the final assault. A battle cry went up from the attackers as the entire group rushed toward the tower on the far right of the wall. They did not divide their forces as was expected, but instead chose to concentrate their assault on a single target, raising several ladders up against the tower walls. Seeing what was happening, the defenders quickly moved their forces off of the wall and into the tower to repel the assault. The attackers scaled the ladders quickly with shields held high, fending off the terrible blows from axe and sword aimed at sending them down to the ground below.

Rodrigo watched the movement on the walls closely from behind the tent flap while he and others waited in the tents of the wounded. He gave a quick glance behind him at the men inside the tent, then yelled, “Now!” Throwing back the tent flap, he began running, carrying the front of the ladder in one hand and his shield in the other. Four men rushed out of the tent toward the wall, each pair carrying a ladder.

One pair broke off from the small group and headed toward the middle of the wall with their ladder, while Rodrigo and his companion moved closer to the tower on the far left. The ladders went up quickly, and the four men began scrambling to the top as some of the defenders finally noticed what was happening. A cry of alarm went up among the defenders as several left the battle and began moving quickly to the opposite tower. The two knights ascending the ladder in the middle of the wall had just reached the top when they were engaged by the defenders.

Rodrigo reached the top of the ladder unopposed and leaped over the battlement onto the walkway. He glanced at the men in the middle of the wall, holding off the defenders. The walkway was narrow, and the two could hold them back for a time, but not for long.

“Go and help them!” Rodrigo yelled as the man behind him stepped over the battlement onto the walkway. “I will go for the flag!”

The two split up as Rodrigo turned and ran toward the tower, drawing his sword. As he entered the tower, he skidded to a sudden halt. He lowered his sword, and his gaze traveled upward from a pair of large leather boots to the top of a spired helm. A gigantic Norman warrior stood before him, holding an axe in one hand and a sword in the other.

“Ha! Your little ruse may have worked, but did you really believe the flag would be left undefended?” the Norman warrior scoffed as he looked down at Rodrigo. The two stared at each other for a moment, but then the bearded giant roared like a lion and charged at Rodrigo. The fearsome warrior swung his axe as he charged, smashing Rodrigo’s shield as it connected. The force of the blow split his damaged shield and spun Rodrigo around, and he landed on the floor. Rodrigo quickly scrambled away, throwing away the useless shield and narrowly avoiding the swing of the warrior’s sword, which sent sparks flying as the metal struck the stone floor.

“Get up and face me!” the giant yelled as he pressed his relentless attack.

Rodrigo stood up and desperately swung his sword with both hands to parry the next blow from the warrior’s axe. The metallic ring was deafening, and his sword snapped in half, unable to withstand the blow. Rodrigo’s eyes went wide. Not knowing what else to do, he rushed the giant warrior as he recovered from the swing and lunged for his legs. The unexpected move caught the Norman off guard, causing him to teeter off balance for a moment before falling to the floor, yelling and cursing as he went.

Rodrigo sprang to his feet and, picking up the hilt of his broken blade, he ran to the base of the flag flying above the tower and struck with all his might. The metal bit into the wooden pole, but it did not break. Prying the broken blade loose, he struck again, but the heavy shaft held firm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the giant warrior swinging his sword from behind. Rodrigo ducked, and the sword glanced off the top of his helmet, sending it flying from his head to clatter across the tower floor. A sudden dizziness assailed him, and Rodrigo felt his legs go weak as he crumpled to the floor.

Flashes of light filled his vision, and he turned and looked up just as something fell across his face. Pulling it off, he realized it was the flag. The warrior’s sword had glanced off his helmet and into the shaft of the flag, finally bringing it down. Enraged, the giant warrior recovered from his errant swing and roared as he lifted his sword above his head. Rodrigo sat helplessly, knowing there was nothing he could do.

Suddenly, a trumpet blast sounded in the distance, and cheering could be heard from the crowds all around. With a look of anger and defeat, the warrior lowered his weapons. The tournament was over, and the attackers had won.

4

THE CROSS AND THE QUESTION

The crowded feasting hall was alive with conversation, laughter, eating, and drinking. The glow of light from the candles in the chandeliers above illuminated the great hall as the scent of roasting meats from the firepits nearby filled the room. Mortal enemies mere hours ago, the knights and warriors now gathered to feast together, celebrate the end of the tournament, and recount their personal deeds of valor from the day’s combat.

Rodrigo smiled as he joked and laughed with those around him. He basked in the honor and pride he felt as one of the tournament victors, similar to the feeling he had experienced when he knelt on the battlefield among the slain and had been knighted by his uncle for his bravery. Count Raymond must have noticed the strategy we used to win the battle when all seemed lost.Surely the tournament victors will be offered a place in his great army as they journey to the Holy Land.Rodrigo looked around the great hall, and his smile disappeared as his gaze fell upon one of the warriors sitting at a table nearby. The warrior gingerly held a tankard to his lips and sipped his ale through cracked teeth under the red stains of his heavily bandaged face. Rodrigo lowered his head and avoided eye contact, staring down at the table, trying to recall the face of the warrior he had smashed with the pommel of his sword. Our victory has not come without cost, however.Am I the cause of this man’s injury?How many other men were injured in the fighting?

A large hand clasped his shoulder from behind, causing Rodrigo to turn and look up. His smile returned as he saw the bearded face of the giant Norman staring down at him. Rodrigo shook his head and blinked his eyes. “Am I seeing things, or has the giant from the tower returned to menace me once again?” he asked aloud, eliciting laughter from those about him. “In truth, my head is still aching from the blow by your sword.” He rubbed the top of his head, grimacing. “It took some time before I fully regained my senses.”

The Norman warrior smiled as he looked down at Rodrigo and spoke in a deep voice. “You were extremely lucky today in the tower, my friend. If we were to fight again, I do not think the outcome would be the same.”

“It may have been luck,” Rodrigo said, taking a sip of ale and setting his tankard down. “Or . . . it may have been fate,” he said with a grin. A murmur of laughter and agreement could be heard from those around the table.

“Perhaps it was your fate . . . on this day,” the Norman warrior replied. “Should we face each other again, my friend, then we shall see the final outcome of your fate. Enjoy your evening.” He removed his hand from Rodrigo’s shoulder.

“You as well,” Rodrigo said, raising his tankard in salute as the giant Norman turned and continued walking down the long rows of the feasting hall. The sounds of revelry and drinking were now growing louder in the hall as anticipation grew for an announcement by Count Raymond to recognize and honor the tournament victors.

Above the long rows of tables in the feasting hall was another table on a high platform overlooking the revelry. Count Raymond, Bishop Adhemar, and the other nobles sat at the table, looking down upon the crowded hall. A loud banging echoed through the great hall as two guards near the platform began to beat the ends of their spears on the wooden floorboards to silence the crowd. The sounds of carousal and conversation faded as Count Raymond stood up from the table to speak. Rodrigo lowered his head for a quick and silent prayer. Lord God, I have done all I that can. I leave the rest in your hands.

“We feast tonight in honor of a historic day of combat. Today we held the largest tournament ever seen in these lands. Joining me this evening is a representative of the Pope, Bishop Adhemar of Le Puy, and together we witnessed some of the fiercest and finest combat we have ever seen. I know that all of you came to this tournament, some traveling from distant kingdoms, to fight for the honor of joining my army on our journey to the Holy Land. This most difficult and dangerous quest calls for warriors who are not only the strongest, but the most determined and most dedicated to their faith in God. The risks of this journey are great, but the rewards are far greater. The Pope has promised us that heaven awaits all who take up the sword and embark on this noble quest, not for glory or for gold, but to deliver the Holy Land and the city of Jerusalem back into the hands of Christians from the grasp of the Saracen invaders. Although those attacking the wall were victorious, after witnessing the combat today, I have decided that all of you shall join me as we journey together to retake the Holy Land for God and all of Christendom!”

A raucous cheer went up from the men below, and wine spilled from goblets that were lifted high or tipped over as fists and the pommels of daggers were pounded on the wooden tables. The clamor slowly died away as Count Raymond lifted his hand, preparing to speak again.

“I would ask for a moment of silence to honor four warriors who gave their lives today, as a testament of their will to fight for this holy cause.” Lowering their goblets and weapons, all the men in the hall bowed their heads to honor the slain. Rodrigo’s brow creased as he lowered his head. Four men gave their lives today for merely the chance to join Count Raymond’s army? His thoughts drifted back to scenes of devastation he had witnessed after battles with the Saracens. How many more will be forced to give their lives on this perilous journey? I hope that our leaders will not be so cavalier with the lives of their men as they have been today in this tournament.

The moment passed, and Count Raymond spoke again. “Bishop Adhemar would now like to recognize five knights who stood out amid today’s combat for their strength, skill, and valor. I ask that you stand and come forth as your names are called.” Count Raymond moved aside as Bishop Adhemar stood up and unrolled a scroll, looking out among the crowd.

The announcement was unexpected, and Rodrigo sat in tense silence, nearly holding his breath as the names were read from a list. Such a recognition would bring great honor to my family’s name.

“Sir Richard of Hastings, Normandy; Sir Jean of Saint-Léger, Aquitaine; Sir William of Montrodón, Lorraine; Sir Geoffrey of Charney, Provence; and Sir Rodrigo of Castile, in the Kingdom of León.” Rodrigo was the last to stand, and he let out a long exhale as the warriors around them began clapping and pounding the tables in recognition of their honor. Rodrigo looked around at the others who now stood in the feasting hall. Among them was the giant Norman warrior, who was standing a few tables away, towering above those around him. So the giant now has a name: Sir Richard of Hastings. “Your deeds in combat today stood out among your fellow warriors,” Adhemar continued as he lowered the scroll. “As part of this recognition, I would like to meet with all of you personally. Please follow my servants. I will meet you in the sanctuary.”