Standard of Honor (26 page)

“I see. It's all in here, eh? Well, you had better sit down while I read it. Have you eaten today? No, probably not …” Henry turned to where Ector stood by the
door, watching and awaiting instructions. “Bring food and drink for Sir …” He turned back to the other man. “Do you have a name, Master Hospitaller, or are you merely a grim and spectral presence? Speak up, sir.”

“My name is Gautier, Sir Henry. Gautier de Montdidier.”

“Montdidier, you say? Then we should know each other.” Henry moved to sit in a chair by the fireplace, waving to the other man to sit across from him. “An ancestor of yours and one of mine were among the founding members of the Temple. Did you know that?”

“I did.”

“Then why do you wear the black mantle of the Hospital rather than the white of the Temple?”

Montdidier's lip curled in a smile, and he dipped his head slightly to one side. “Mayhap I prefer it that way, but in truth I have followed the Rule of Blessed Benedict since I was a stripling boy. I was orphaned at birth and raised in a monastery in England, so when I came of age to be a knight—my father had been one, killed in battle before I was born—it was but natural that I should join the Knights of the Hospital.”

“Aye, I suppose it would have been … Ector, food and drink for Sir Gautier de Montdidier, and see to it that his men are fed, too. How many did you bring with you, sir, and where are they now?”

“Six men, Sir Henry, and they are all in your courtyard, awaiting word from me on where they should go next.”

“Aye, well, they may stay here for the night, but that will depend upon just how ‘immediately' I am to leave,
so permit me to read this missive of yours, and I will be able to give you a response.”

In truth, Sir Henry had been ready for weeks, having put all his arrangements in place to ensure that his estates and lands would be cared for in his absence, presided over by a man Henry had known and trusted for years, the eldest brother of his dead wife. But the instructions in Richard's letter were succinct and to the point. Henry was required to make his way to England as soon as might be, in the company of Sir Gautier de Montdidier, there to take up his duties as Master-at-Arms
to Aquitaine
.

The distinction did not escape him, and it was an interesting one. There had been no mention of Aquitaine in his first meeting with Richard. The position he had been ordered to take up then had been Master-at-Arms to Richard, no more and no less. It was a small point, of no real consequence since Richard, as Duke,
was
Aquitaine, but Henry found its presence there in Richard's letter amusing. He surmised that the political situation in England had changed since Richard's return, and probably radically. But he was far from unhappy with the new development. He would feel much more comfortable as Master-at-Arms to Aquitaine, a position he had held and enjoyed for years in the service of the Duchess, than he would as Master-at-Arms to an army of Englishmen, with their guttural morass of a language.

There was no mention of André in the letter, but Henry had expected none. André had seldom been at home since first meeting the knight de Sablé, and he
seemed to be enthusiastically caught up in preparations required for his upcoming admission to the ranks of the Temple Knights. Henry knew he would meet his son again in England before they set sail, and he was content with that, knowing the young man to be safe and well. He released the end of the scroll, allowing it to spring back into its cylindrical shape, then held it between the fingertips of both hands as he looked over to de Montdidier.

“Why you, Sir Gautier? Why did Richard send
you
to bring me to England, with but six men? Did he think me incapable of traveling alone?”

“I doubt that, Sir Henry. I believe it was the King's wish that you and I spend some time together, so that we could converse on the journey.”

“Converse about what? I have no wish to demean or to insult you, Master Montdidier, but I doubt that you and I have anything in common. The difference in our ages alone would make sure of that.”

“Perhaps because he thinks you might learn something from what I have to say. I am newly come from Outremer and I was wounded in the debacle of Hattin. I know that the King has assigned to you the task of finding some new means of confronting and defeating Saladin's armies. He believes I may be able to assist you with that.”

Henry looked at the Hospitaller now with far more respect. “You may indeed. And God in His Heaven knows I require all the assistance He can send me. But how came you to survive Hattin that day? I have been
told that Saladin murdered every captured member of the military orders, both Templars and Hospitallers, after the fight.”

“He did. I watched them die and expected to die myself, for I was badly wounded. But I lived through the day, lying among the dead without being discovered, and I managed to crawl away into hiding after darkness fell. I had an arrow in my groin and was too badly wounded to have any hope of escaping, so I stripped off my surcoat, having no wish to be recognized as a Hospitaller, and managed to don a plain brown surcoat that I stripped from a dead man. I then surrendered myself the following morning. They took me captive, tended to my wound, treated me humanely, and eventually offered me for ransom with four other knights, none of whom were of the military orders. I was fortunate.”

The doors opened and Ector entered, followed by two servants carrying food and wine on trays. They laid the contents of their trays on one of the tables and then left without having looked at either knight. St. Clair looked at the food, and then at Montdidier.

“Well, Master Montdidier, the King was right. I do wish to speak with you, at length. You are the first person I have met who was actually there that day at Hattin.” He stood up and waved towards the table. “Eat, and when you have finished Ector will show you to a sleeping chamber, where you may rest for a few hours. I will dismiss your men to my barracks building as I leave, and I will see you later, but I have things
I must do now. We will leave at dawn the day after tomorrow. In the meantime, my home is yours.” He dipped his head in a salute and went out, closing the doors behind him and leaving the Hospitaller to his food and drink. A moment later, he was back.

“How did you come here, Sir Gautier? By what route?”

The other swallowed a mouthful of food. “From the west. Landed at La Rochelle, then followed the road northeastward through Niort, to Poitiers, and then northwestwards to here.”

St. Clair nodded. “That's the best route. Far shorter than traveling northwest to Nantes and Saint-Nazaire. How long did it take you?”

“From La Rochelle to here? Five days … today's the sixth. We traveled twenty miles each day, sunrise to sunset.”

“Hmm. Well, we will need more time than that, returning. I'm taking four men with me, and a cart for my belongings, which means we will have to travel at the speed of the cart. We'll be fortunate to make fifteen miles a day.”

“So, seven days.”

“Aye, but no more than that. How long, think you, will we have to wait for a ship?”

“No time at all. We already have one awaiting us— the ship that brought me over here. It will remain there in La Rochelle for fourteen more days, then sail without us if we have not yet arrived. We would be presumed dead by then.”

“I see. Then we had best make haste, and do what we can to remain alive.” St. Clair nodded, as if agreeing with his own comment, then left again.

THE WIND HAD DIED SUDDENLY
about half an hour earlier, and now Henry St. Clair stood on the stern platform of the ship bearing him and his party from La Rochelle to England, leaning out over the starboard rail and peering down into the waters below. He stood with his legs spread, his knees flexing against the erratic, unpredictable movements of the ship's deck, and his right elbow hooked around a rope that stretched up like an iron bar into the mass of rigging above his head. He was untroubled by the pitching, rolling motion of the deck beneath his feet, leaning forward in fascination, craning his neck as he watched the heaving water surging beneath him. At one moment it would seem close enough for him to reach down and touch the surface, and then within the space of a heartbeat it would swoop away and down, baring the entire side of the ship until the stern rose clear of the water. It would hang there for long moments, before the vessel tipped forward and plunged down the following slope of the wave, smashing prow first into the trough at the bottom and sending vast sheets of water sweeping backward over the deck to saturate everything before it drained away.

In the waist of the ship, he knew, the crew were working like madmen, trying to throw the trapped seawater out of the cargo hold faster than it came in, but conditions now were nowhere near as dangerous as
they had been even an hour earlier. Then, with a gale howling over and around them, whipping spray and spume from the surface into an impenetrable fog, it would not have been possible for him to stand where he stood now. The waves, while still enormous, were smooth, their sides marked with patches of foam that rose and fell placidly as the swelling waters passed beneath them.

“It's dying down. For a time back there, I thought we would be lost.”

Montdidier came to stand beside him, balanced against the motion of the ship as he stretched out one hand to grasp a taut rope. Behind him, Henry noted, visibility had improved considerably, but the low, leaden skies out there still masked the horizon, the line of sea and sky lost in dismal, hazy distance.

“Aye, it appears to be over, and it was bad while it lasted. I confess that for a while there
I
thought we were all going to die, too.” He looked around the deck area and smiled a tight little smile. “But I had to come up to the platform here to safeguard my stomach. The noise and the stench of vomit down below were overwhelming. Now it appears that you and I are the only two of our party who are not retching and groaning,
hoping
to die.” He released his hold on the rope and sat down with his back resting against the ship's side. “Come and sit here beside me. It's wet and unpleasant, but so is all the world at this point. Our last conversation was interrupted by the storm, and just as it was growing interesting.”
Montdidier released his handhold and lowered himself carefully to sit shoulder to shoulder with St. Clair as the older man placed his hands flat on the deck and, with a deep grunt, hitched himself into a more comfortable position.

“Ahh,” he muttered, “that is … much better. These old bones of mine lack padding nowadays. The discomfort, however, is a small price to pay for being able to sit in the open air without being sick like everyone else. Are we still on course, think you? I saw no sign of land.”

“No, nor did I, so I spoke to the captain. He told me we have been blown westward, into the Atlantic, but that we will head straight north under oars, now that the wind has died, and will soon find land again. After that, we will sail northwest again until we round the cape of Brittany, and then it will be north by east until we reach Cherbourg. From there we may see the coast of England, north of us. I asked how long that would take, but all I got in response was a shrug. It depends on winds and weather, he said, so it could take anywhere from seven days to thrice that long. In the meantime, we will stop in at Brest for fresh provisions, then make our way to Cherbourg, and from there it is a single day's sail to England.”

“In other words, we must resign ourselves to whatever happens and be patient.” St. Clair shivered, and pulled his wet cloak around him. “Well, we may be fortunate, I think, that we have so much to talk about, you and I.” Another shiver shook his frame, and suddenly he was shaking as though palsied, aware that
if he did not rid himself of his soaked clothing he would run the risk of falling sick. The younger men around him might be able to make light of chilled physical hardships, but he himself was much too old to tolerate such abuse. He pulled himself to his feet with some difficulty, feeling the stiffness that was already invading his bones, and bracing himself with one hand on Montdidier's shoulder.

“This is madness,” he said. “I have clean, dry clothing in my sleeping space below and I intend to strip off these sodden rags and dress myself in something fresh and warm. You should do the same. Here, take my hand.”

The Hospitaller took Henry's hand and rose easily to his feet. “I agree. I feel as though I have been wet and cold all my life, even though I know it has only been since last night.” He paused. “But if you and I should come to know each other better in the time ahead, remind me regularly, if you will, that I have no desire ever to spend another night in the hold of a pitch-dark ship in the middle of a howling storm at sea. So let us go and dry ourselves as well as we may, and I will meet you here again within the half hour.”

It was closer to an hour later when St. Clair finally emerged onto the deck to find the Hospitaller waiting for him. But he was dry and warm for the first time in many hours, and the sights that greeted him made him feel better than he had in days. The heavy cloud cover had broken up while he was below and the sun was shining now through a widening gap, and he noticed that the crew had manned the oars and were making
headway against the visibly smaller waves. He also noted gratefully that the deck beneath his feet was beginning to dry.

No one paid the two knights any attention as they crossed in front of the burly crewman who manned the tiller and stood staring straight ahead towards the prow. They seated themselves near him, side by side on two large bundles of what looked like netting, and far enough removed from the helmsman that they could speak without being overheard. For a short time after that, they talked of generalities, but Henry was anxious to talk more of specifics and soon went to the heart of things.