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Boulder after boulder came thundering at the gates. The wave of Saracens hit Acre like a hammer on an anvil. They sent their entire force toward every side of the city, and the scaling ladders sprouted up like weeds among the battlements and parapets.
The giant siege engine disoriented everyone, and for the first few minutes of the onslaught there was nothing but confusion and fear within our ranks. Over the roaring noise, I heard Sir Thomas shouting not far from where I stood.
“To the walls! Forward! Fight!” Finally his words were drowned out by the commotion. He swung his sword back and forth like a demon, striking down man after man. I worked my way through the morass of bodies until I reached his side.
“Tristan! Come with me! To the Knights’ Hall! Hurry!” he shouted. He turned me toward the steps leading down from the battlements, pushing me forward. I didn’t understand at first. Fighting was going on all around us, and Sir Thomas was headed in the other direction.
At the bottom of the steps he took the lead and raced through the streets. The roar of the fighting receded, and the center of the city seemed eerily calm as we ran. In a few moments we burst through the door of our room in the Knights’ Hall.
Sir Thomas’ tunic was caked in dust and blood. A vicious cut on his left arm still bled. Without a word, I tore a piece of cloth from my own shirt and wrapped it tightly around the wound.
He strode quickly to the table and began writing on a piece of parchment.
“Tristan, we’re about to be overrun. There is time for only one last lesson in tactics. What would you, as a soldier, do in this situation?”
I hesitated for a moment, wondering how Sir Thomas could remain so calm amid the chaos that surrounded us. Even though we had been fighting steadily for weeks now, he was, like always, calm, cool and completely in control of his emotions.
“Sire, I’m not sure what you’re asking…I…”
“Quickly, think! You are a Templar; you fight to the last man. Surrender is not an option. So what do you do?”
I tried to change the subject.
“Sire, we must see to your injuries,” I said.
“No time for that now,” he said. “You can’t surrender, you can’t escape. What is your plan?”
“I would look for a place to make a last stand,” I said.
“Excellent! But where? Here we are, inside a walled city, about to be overrun. Where would you fight? What ground would you choose?”
I thought for a moment.
“The Crusaders’ Palace, sire,” I said. “The palace is the place I’d pick. It is well built, the thick sandstone walls can withstand fire, and it will cost the Saladin many soldiers to overrun it.”
“Well done!” Sir Thomas said. “It would appear that I have trained you well. To the palace we shall go. But tell me, lad. If you had something that could not, must not, fall into enemy hands, how would you attempt escape from this place?”
I thought for a moment. Part of me wanted to just open the door, grab Sir Thomas and find a horse and ride out. We would take our chances trying to make our way through enemy lines rather than be overrun by Saracens, trapped inside the city as we were.
“Quickly. Think!”
“The caves! Most of the Saladin’s men are deployed against the city walls. I would try to reach the caves below us, then attempt to sneak past whatever forces hold them, make my way along the shore, and when clear of the enemy lines, climb up the cliff side and follow the coastline until I reached safety.”
“Ah, but how would you get to the caves, lad? The city is surrounded. There is no way in or out,” he said.
Try as I might, I had no answer. “I don’t know, sire,” I said. “I’m afraid I don’t know.” I shrugged, disappointed that I could not come up with an answer.
“Don’t worry, Tristan, you’ve done well. You’ve done quite well.”
Finishing whatever it was he had written, Sir Thomas walked to the fireplace. He grasped a small dagger lying on the mantel and used it to pry a rock loose from the hearth. When the rock was removed, I could see an empty space behind it. Sir Thomas reached into the hole with his good arm and pulled out a leather satchel.
“You have but one last duty for me,” he said, hanging the leather satchel on my shoulder.
“We Templars have guarded what you now hold since our earliest days. In time, it has become almost the very reason for our existence. I’ve told you the story of our founding. We are the Warrior Monks sent by the King of Jerusalem to protect pilgrims traveling on the roads to and from the Holy Land. As our numbers and influence have grown, we’ve become guardians of many of the relics of our faith: the Ark of the Covenant, the One True Cross and this, the Holy Grail. Christendom’s most sacred objects are safeguarded and protected by Templar Knights. And they must be kept safe at all costs. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sire,” I said.
I felt my heart sink. Sir Thomas had just handed me the most venerable and mysterious relic in the history of mankind.
I knew the story of the Holy Grail. Or at least some of the stories, I should say. Many did not believe it even existed. Some said the Templars kept the Grail safe. I’d had no idea that it was true.
“Only the Master of the Order and a handful of carefully chosen brothers know the truth and the locations of these relics. The Grail is never kept in one place for long in case someone outside our circle should learn of its whereabouts. We were not able to move it before the Saladin surrounded us. With the city lost, we cannot chance it being found. So I entrust it to you. You must tell no one that you have it, not even another Templar.
“The satchel has a false bottom,” he said, taking the bag back. He opened it and showed me how the layer of leather that lay across the bottom of the satchel covered a secret compartment. When he pushed down on the edge 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.