Date:         Thu, 18 Jan 1996 08:44:35 -0600
Reply-To:     Bob Gansler <rgansler@FACSTAFF.WISC.EDU>
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         Bob Gansler <rgansler@FACSTAFF.WISC.EDU>
Subject:      Knights Temporal, part 2

Knights Temporal
A ContiNEWity story by Bob Gansler
Part 2

THE PARIS TEMPLE - PARIS
JULY 9, 1307
   The Temple was bustling with activity.  Servant brothers and even Knights
were carrying all sorts of things from one corner to the other.  Despite all
of the activity, there was an underlying order to all of the scrambling.  At
a table in the middle of the facility were gathered a number of Knights.
They were all paying close attention to the old man at the head of the
table.  His face showed the lines of age and the scars of battle.  He was
Jacques De Molay, the Grand Master of the Knights Templar
    "Destroy our records.  Let them find nothing of any importance, if they
should come." De Molay ordered the Templars who were hurrying.  He held a
copy of the Rule of the Order, in his hand, or so his servant had told him.
De Molay could not read the document to verify that.  De Molay was not
literate at all, and that is the way he liked it.  Literacy was one of the
many worldly things was unnecessary for a dedicated Knight.  The purpose of
the Templars was to fight; there should be no need on the part of the
Knights for reading pleasures.  The affairs of the Order that required
literacy could be more effectively dealt with the serving brothers.  The
Knights should have their minds set on combat and their souls set on God, or
so De Molay reminded his charges on every opportunity.
    "But what shall we do with everything else?  You are having the brothers
pack our things, but to where will it be taken?" Gerard de Villiers asked.
   De Molay turned to the Master of the Paris Temple, "My dear De Villiers,
even though you are a true and trusted brother, I cannot divulge everything
to you.  The Fair King will soon fall upon us, I fear.  We must ensure that
the Order survives.  We shall most of the Order's worldly upon the decks of
our mighty fleet."
   De Molay put his hand on De Villiers shoulder "And you, good Master,
shall take fifty horses and 150,000 gold florins and depart from Paris to
Germany.  Our brethren there have been informed of your impending arrival."
De Molay removed his hand and clasped his hands together prayerfully "Now,
make the necessary preparations and assign the required men."  As De
Villiers turned to do as he was told, De Molay exhorted "Go, God make ye
worthy men!"
   As De Villiers departed, De Molay gathered together some other
high-ranking Templar officials.  They took their places at the table and
listened intently to the Grand Master's words.
   "Gather up the remainder of the treasury here in Paris," De Molay began.
"I have already issued orders for the fleet to put in at La Rochelle.   You
shall take the treasury and load it upon the galleys."
   A Templar spoke up, "To where shall the fleet set sail?  If the worst
comes to pass, there will be no place in all of Christendom that will
provide us safe haven."  At this, the other Templars seated at the table
began to express their own opinions on the matter.
   De Molay haltingly stood up, "Peace, brother Knights.  Peace, I say."  At
this, the commotion stopped. The officials knew that they had been
disrespectful in their outburst.  Ordinarily, De Molay insisted on order and
discipline.  The officials were thankful that he was in a forgiving mood
despite all of the troubles which loomed on the horizon.
   De Molay seated himself again. "I have developed a plan.  We shall find
safe harbor in Europe, although not on the Continent.  We will have the
fleet sail to Scotland."
   A wave of surprise overtook all of the officials seated at the table.
One spoke up, after having been acknowledged by De Molay.  "Scotland, Grand
Master?  Why should we find refuge in that land?"
   De Molay signaled and a serving brother brought over a stack of papers.
De Molay nodded to the brother as he received the papers.  He spread the
papers over the table.
   "These reports are from my agents within Avignon.  As you are probably
aware, the land of the Scots is still under the Interdict.  The king, Robert
the Bruce, has been excommunicated.  He has been contacted and he has
assented that he shall give us refuge, as he has no love for Clement.  We
may continue to serve the Lord's will there, in whatever way we can.
Furthermore, because of the Interdict, any papal bull disbanding our Order
will not be proclaimed there."
   An official asked to be acknowledged and De Molay granted him leave to
speak.  "I stand confused in this matter, Grand Master.  There seems to be
inconsistency in your plan."
   De Molay replied with controlled rage, "And what, pray tell, is that,
brother?"
   The official continued "Either we are pledged to the Church or we are
not.  Either we are held by the words of the Pope or we are not.  You have
repeatedly told us since you assumed the Grand Mastership, that the world is
a world of absolutes.  Absolute discipline, absolute authority, absolute
good, and absolute evil.  Your words bespeak uncertainty.  We should either
stand up to the Pope or we should bow down before him."
   Another official rose to speak.  "I favor the former.  The Pontiff is the
Philip's servant, not God's.  Why should we be held to his orders?  He does
not represent the Church."
   De Molay paused and the officials waited for his reply.  With a fire in
his eye, he began, "In the eyes of the people, he is the Church.  Perhaps it
is a test from God for Clement to sit in the chair of St. Peter.  We will
not disobey the Church in its temporal sphere, no matter how corrupt it may
become.  Send the fleet to Scotland, where the Church holds no sway.  I will
remain and strive to convince the Pontiff of the error of his ways."
   The officials nodded and went off to obey the order to sail.  One turned
back and asked, "Grand Master, if I may.  You have spoken of the treasure of
this world, but what of that of the next.  What shall be done with the
reliquaries - the sliver of the True Cross, the saintly bones, and the others."
   De Molay rose from the table slowly again.  "Fret not over them, brother
knight.  There are plans already in place to safeguard them."
   De Molay turned to a knight who had observed all of the activity at the
table from his vantage point of directly behind De Molay.  The residents of
the Temple had become accustomed to the sight of the knight who was
invariably at the right hand of  the Grand Master.
   De Molay sighed momentarily out of exhaustion.  The knight stood resolute
as always, awaiting to fulfill any order that De Molay uttered.
   De Molay sighed once again, "I would have you at my side if dark days are
to come.  God has given you a special favor, De Penne."
   De Penne stepped forward and faced the Grand Master. "Yes, he brought me
back from the dead ..."

TEMPLAR FORTRESS - ACRE
1291
   Oliver De Penne stood at his post inside of the Templar Fortress, the
Temple, in the city of Acre. The Templars were more than ready to spill
their blood to keep their hold on the last remaining Christian part of the
city.  Every Templar secretly hoped that he would be the one to run his
sword through the treacherous leader of the Saracens, Sultan al-Ashraf
Khalil.  He had offered generous terms of surrender a few days earlier, and,
although the Templars would have preferred to fight, they knew that the
safety of the women and children came before such warrior desires.  It was
their charter, after all, to protect the inhabitants of the Holy Land.  When
the sultan sent some of his troops inside of the city to monitor the
surrender, they succumbed to their baser instincts and began to rape and
plunder the city.  The enraged Templars took up their arms and slew the
Muslim troops.
   The sultan had apologized for the travesty and invited a delegation of
Templars out for him to receive and to whom he could express his personal
apology.  When the Templars entered the Muslim camp, they were apprehended
and beheaded in full sight of those who still remained within the Temple.
After that, no terms of surrender were offered and none would have been taken.
   As De Penne surveyed the landscape, he saw no signs of Muslim activity.
For someone who seemed determined to take the last Christian bastion of the
city, Sultan al-Ashraf Khalil did not seem too eager to challenge the
fighting-mad Templars.  De Penne smiled, "The Saracens fear us Templars most
of all."  He did not dwell on the thought, as pride was inimical to his oath
as a Templar.
  Suddenly, the walls began to shake.  De Penne, along with his brethren,
looked around.  Had the Muslims begun a barrage of catapult fire?  They
quickly ascertained that the Muslims had not.  The source of the trembling
came from underneath.
   "Mother of God!" De Penne exclaimed.  The Muslims had undoubtedly set
their engineers to tunnel under the Temple's walls.  Their usual method of
operation was to dig under the walls and support them temporarily with
timbers.  Once the walls were completely supported by the engineered
woodwork, the timber would be doused with naphtha and set aflame.  The
inevitable result would be that the walls would come tumbling down.
   The Templars quickly formed into fighting parties.  Once the walls fell,
the Muslims would surely commence with an attack.  No sooner had the
Templars organized than the walls crumbled severely and two thousand Muslims
came storming over the walls.
   The Templars and Muslims met in pitched battle for only a few minutes.
The foundation could not handle the weight of the engaged warriors and gave
way.  The entire Temple collapsed, burying Templar and Saracen alike.  De
Penne had managed to parry a thrust at him as he saw stone come crashing
down on him.

   De Penne awoke but everything was dark.  He strained his eyes until he
could see a few shafts of light breaking through the darkness.  He was
trying to get his bearings when he realized the awesome weight that was
pinning him down.  He tried to move his arms to relieve the pressure, but
they were pinned to his sides.  De Penne began gasping for air and then
everything went black again.
   The cycle of "awakening" and "blacking out" seemed to continue
interminably.  De Penne could not tell how long it had actually been -
hours, days, weeks.  In his moments of consciousness, he raised a silent
prayer to heaven, pleading with God to either rescue him or let him die.  De
Penne felt he had fought well for the Order; he deserved a quick death.  De
Penne regained his composure.  Perhaps, this was Purgatory; perhaps he was
dead and had not gained remission of all his sins, even though he had taken
up the cross.  De Penne steeled himself.  If this was life or if this was
after-life, he would bear his suffering as a Templar, as a true Knight of
Christ.  His pride demanded no less.  Then all was black again.
   The next time that De Penne awoke, he did not feel the pressure crushing
him from all sides.  His eyes were blinded by the light of the daytime sun;
he had been confined to the darkness for so long.  The light was so bright
to him.  He felt something inside of him, something that was completely
unlike anything he had ever felt before.  He could barely make out a
white-cloaked figure, seemingly hovering above him.
   "Am I in Heaven?" he asked fearfully.  He was not sure which answer he
would prefer.
   The figure laughed. "Greeting, brother.  I trust that you have recovered
from your death well."  The stranger offered his hand to the dirty and
bloodied Knight.
   De Penne clasped the hand. "Are you a fellow member of the Order?"
   The figure was coming more into focus as De Penne's eyes adjusted to the
light.  He laughed again "No, I am no brother Templar, Franj, but I am a
brother of sorts to you."  The man pulled De Penne free of the rubble and
helped him to his feet.
   The mention of the word "Franj", the Arab word used to describe all of
the European Christians helped De Penne focus his senses.  He could now make
out the figure in front of him for who it was.  "What mean you, Saracen?"
De Penne lifted up a quick, silent prayer of thanks as he spied his sword
now.  He sheathed it, as the Saracen carried no weapon that he could see.
   The man replied sincerely, "We are brothers, connected in a kind of
magical way.  You can feel my presence, can you not?"
   De Penne dusted himself off and scowled.  "You are a demon, in league
with Satan, your master.  I can sense the _evil_ emanating from you."
  The man extended his hands peacefully,  "I am not evil nor a demon; I am
simply Hamza.  I was once the chief sergeant of Saladin."
   De Penne was incredulous.  "Saladin?  He has been dead for years, and so
must you be if you knew him.  Unless you are a demon or have sold your soul
to Satan."
   Hamza continued to converse in a pleasant tone, despite the aggression of
De Penne.  "I have done no such thing, Christian.  I am what Allah has made
me.  I am Immortal, unless you cut off my head.  You are an Immortal as well."
   De Penne brushed off the talk as nonsense.  He was more concerned about
other weightier matters and demanded,  "How stands Acre?"  although in his
heart he knew the answer.
   "Acre stands no more.  It has fallen to the forces of Islam.  The Holy
Land is once again ours." Hamza said with a touch of pride.
   Hamza continued, "However, such battles between the Christians and the
Muslims are not as important as the battle in our new life.   You are
Immortal now, by what force some of us are gifted with it, I know not."
   De Penne was adamant.  "I am alive by the Lord's grace.   It must be that."
   Hamza dropped his pleasant tone.  "You are an Immortal, Christian.  You
have much to learn about the Rules, the Game, Holy Ground."
   De Penne pushed Hamza away.  "Fie!  The only rules I follow are those of
the Church and those of my Order.  I shall not follow something a Muslim
says, lest I lose my soul."
   Hamza pointed at De Penne.  "If you do not listen to me, you will soon
lose you head and die forever more."
   "I'll not suffer your lies any longer heathen."  With blazing speed, De
Penne drew his sword and slashed a savage cut across Hamza's chest.  Hamza
clutched at the wound and sank slowly to his knees.  He tried to say
something but only a wheeze escaped from his lips.
    De Penne stood with a sneer on his face.  With the Saracen's death, he
once again felt a peace in his soul.  He waited for a few moments and
convinced himself that the demon in human guise was truly dead.
   "Foolish infidel!  I have killed you, and I have not taken your head.
Know that in whatever fiendish hell to which I have dispatched you!"  De
Penne collected himself and began the long trek to the coast.  He would find
some way back to the Templar headquarters, wherever it was now.

Bob Gansler
rgansler@facstaff.wisc.edu
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