Crusdae, page 26
“Please heaven our Brothers never taste this drug!” the Templar from Tyre half whispered. “The good Lord only knows to what ends it would lead them. Life in this fabled Orient is too full of temptations without that.”
“Have no fear: the formula for this potion is known only to the Seneschal and myself,” William reassured him. “No Christian could indulge in such practices without the gravest danger to his immortal soul.” He paused as though struck by another thought, sighed deeply and then continued:
“Gentlemen, my Brothers, it is my sad duty to tell you of a circumstance that has grieved me to the depths of my being. The chance interception of a messenger placed in my hands proof of a shameful betrayal. The Hospitalers are offering to ally themselves with the Mongols in order to prevent us from propagating the True Faith to the ends of the Earth!”
“What? Impossible!”
“Christians would never ally themselves with infidels!”
“Let evil days fall on those dogs! May they roast in hell forever and ever....”
“What are we waiting for? We can help them on the way!”
“We must inform our Holy Father, the Pope.”
“Bastards! Sons of bitches! Without faith or loyalty.”
Each, in his own way, cursed the unexpected alliance.
William of Beaujeu raised his hand for silence and said gravely:
“God will judge them, my Brothers. The renegades will answer to Him on His Judgment Day. Perhaps they have an imperative reason for this action. For the moment at least, it does not affect my plan. I leave good, solid garrisons in the Mesopotamian cities. Yet, I cannot understand how they, monks like us, serving the cause of our Lord, Jesus Christ, could fight their Brothers. Thank God, I have the Archangel’s fiery sword which—without any doubt—will bring them to reconsider. But I spend too much time on this distressing subject when we should be thinking only of breaking camp. Let everyone take his accustomed place in the ranks, and may the Lord Jesus Christ grant us victory.”
There was great joy among the Crusaders; after a long period of inaction they were finally setting out on a new campaign. They boasted to one another and showed off new weapons. This one had an ax with two blades curved like a crescent moon; that one, a long slash-hook for cutting horses’ tendons; still another, a fine coat of mail or a shiny-new helmet with a crest of multicolored feathers.
Only the elegant, and eloquent, John of Grailly stayed away from the hubbub and confusion. He had asked his squire to bring him writing materials and was composing a poem to his beloved. In it he swore to be eternally faithful and pledged himself to bring honor to her colors which he wore on his shield.
One hour later, the army was under way.
The attitude of the host differed profoundly from that which had gripped them when they left Alexandretta. All knew that a harsh task lay ahead and they sang psalms with solemn voices, beseeching the Lord to favor their enterprise.
Oriental splendors gave the long column an unusually colorful appearance. All the knights wore splendid silken capes and even the trappings of their horses had luxurious touches, harness straps embroidered with gold reflecting the sun. There were camels too, driven by Turcopoles, and some war chariots in the Chinese style, carrying bowmen and soldiers with slingshots. The mangonels had been reduced in size by using exotic woods and their larger wheels did not sink so deeply into the ground.
The Templars, however, had made no concession to the fashions of the hour: they kept to their sober white mantles with the scarlet cross. The only luxury they allowed themselves was the richly chased or damascened weapons they captured from the enemy. Among the leaders, only one was missing: the Seneschal. The Grand Master had entrusted to him the heavy burden of commanding the forces left in Mesopotamia. Some of the knights had hunting dogs with them, and others sported a falcon on their wrists. This was no ostentatious whim but a wise precaution: game would still be needed to vary the monotony of the daily rations.
The effective forces had been so greatly increased that William divided them in half, entrusting one division to his Marshal. The vanguard was commanded by John of Grail-ly and the rear guard was assigned to the trustworthy Swiss, Otto of Granson.
All this multitude formed an immense iron-clad snake which gave an overwhelming impression of power. The anthems sung by these soldier-monks could be heard for miles, clarioning the virile resolution of these Christian Crusaders.
The early stages of the journey were uneventful: after reaching Mulecte, south of the Gelachegan Sea, the knights rode through rich valleys covered with green vegetation and orchards. In six days they reached Shibagan, where an orgy of consuming canteloupe jam was not without distressing intestinal consequences.
After that they entered a wild, uncultivated region where the dust tarnished somewhat the finery of the knights. They were easily consoled, however, by indulging in the pleasures of the hunt without restraint. Game was abundant and the loads of the provision wagons were increased with parts and haunches of venison...
In the market town of Talakan, they stocked rock salt, useful for preserving the meats. A little further on, they came unexpectedly into a region rich with vineyards where the natives produced an excellent wine. That night squires and knights fell asleep with reeling heads but, on the whole, more content with their destiny.
Clement Tholon even declared, *T swear, if ever one day I get back to Auxerre, I have to take back some of these vines to get at least two or three hogsheads of this wine. .. .”
Six days later the column entered the province of Badakhstan, which they discovered to be a real treasure find. No one left without pockets filled with lazulite, silver and precious stones very similar to rubies. The expedition was tinning out to be quite promising, especially since there were no signs at all of the Mongols.
From his spies, the Grand Master learned that Kaidu was by no means anxious to confront him and had pulled his troops back. He was hoping that his cousin, Kubla, occupied with fighting in China, would come to assist him in halting this iron-clad army, never yet defeated. However, the Khan of Khans, who did not particularly like Kaidu, sent his son, Nomuqan, at the head of an army to fight against him. From his priceless allies, the hashshashin, William learned that Kaidu had seized Yarkand and Khotan, towns located on the route the Crusaders must follow. Further, he had met with Nomuqan and the two Mongol chieftains appeared to be reconciled. After celebrating Kubla’s victories in China, they had decided to unite their forces to do battle with the Templars.
The hour of a new encounter was drawing closer. The Grand Master informed his Seneschal of the situation by means of the Baphomet transmitters, so that the latter would not tie himself down with some rash sorties against the Hospitalers.
He also ordered him to occupy the rich city of Samarkand, to cover his left flank, menaced by Nomuqan’s troops and those of his general, Bayan.
The Crusaders’ progress was now more difficult: following the Vakhsh River, they left Badakhstan and entered the foothills of the Pamirs. The scaling of the high tableland had begun.
Not a soul lived in this desolate region; no trees, no birds. The only creatures seen were some long-horned, wild sheep who kept at a great distance. Snowy summits towered above the army on every side. The cold was becoming more and more unbearable, and the waters of Lake Sirikol were frozen. For the first time the Crusaders suffered from chilblains. There was, however, enough vegetation for the horses and mules who shivered under the icy winds.
It took them almost sixty days to reach the province of Kashgar. Fortunately, the Mongols did not show themselves there, and the Crusaders were agreeably surprised by the mildness of the climate.
William of Beaujeu found himself faced with a troublesome problem of strategy: somewhere ahead of him, probably in the vicinity of Yarkand or Khotan, Kaidu’s army lay in wait for him. The Khan, perhaps to deprive his troops of any hope of retreat, had mustered them with their backs to the great desert. Chi the Templars’ left flank were the forces of Kubla’s son, Nomuqan; soldiers few in number and with little experience in battle. Still, it would be better to engage them separately. To achieve this, the Grand Master ordered his Marshal to pursue a northward course into Uzbekistan in order to draw Nomuqan’s forces away. He also advised his loyal assistant Commander to ask that more mercenaries be recruited in Mesopotamia to increase the number of his troops.
The seemingly endless trek over the high Pamirs had taken more than fifty days and had completely exhausted the Crusaders.
William studied their situation: on their right, the snow-covered Kashmir Mountains; in front of diem, Kaidu’s Mongol troops; on their left flank, those commanded by Nomuqan; and behind them the Pamirs.
At any cost, the men must rest before moving on to the unavoidable encounter with Kaidu. The Grand Master, therefore, ordered that camp be set up around the city of Kashgar. Knights and foot soldiers alike rejoiced at this respite. Each hoped to forget, if only for a moment, the monotony of the long haul. The town certainly had fewer attractions than Baghdad but there was a large caravansary where merchants following the silk route broke their journey. The local beauties learned quickly enough that these rough soldiers possessed the wherewithal to buy their charms and, inevitably, a wave of debauchery broke over the town.
The white-manded Templars, however, did not succumb and William of Beaujeu took no repressive action: he was occupied with other matters....
An unsuspected affront awaited him: his need for more atomic grenades grew increasingly pressing. His stock was far from depleted but, in view of the numerous forces that might be hurled at the Crusaders, he wanted a safety margin which he hoped would be achieved by the trans-muter. However, Brother Joubert did not even bring him a report. That fact, he felt, called for an investigation. The learned Brother had been installed In a convenient room in the Grand Master’s own quarters and, when the latter paid him a visit, he found Brother Joubert drowsing with his arms around a half-empty wine jug.
“By Christ!” William thundered. “You choose a fine time indeed to turn yourself into a drunken pig. Is this your gratitude? You know how urgent it is for us to make use of the transmuter and you waste precious horns giving yourself up to tippling.”
The Templar staggered to his feet. “Don’t get all worked up, ve-venerable— I didn’t drink that much . . . just enough to give me fresh courage for my work . . . besides, Horace said. ...”
He belched, shook his head and took another swig from the jug.
“You drunken sot! Your breath reeks from ten feet away. . . .” Furious, William snatched the jug and dashed it to the ground. “Here I am facing further battles and with my stock of missiles that emit (he lightning depleted. A way must be found to make this confounded casket function. Why aren’t you working, incompetent?”
“That is going too far! Perhaps I’m not quite myself at the moment but I am not incompetent . . . I’ve proved that. It’s just that this devilish engine doesn’t want me to know anything about it. I’ve spent hours pondering this cursed problem, without any result....”
'“But when we left Baghdad, you had plans,” William said in a more conciliatory tone. “You hoped to clear up the mystery of the fluid which operates it.”
“Well, yes! I worked at that, but no use, and nothing I could do about it. Besides, I prefer to look at Baphomet”
“Baphomet! And why, please?”
“He’s not like you. . . . Without wanting to offend you, vene-venerable Master... he says nice things to me. He’s the one who told me to take a drink and not to wear myself out.”
“What? You dare to claim he advised you to get drunk?”
“It’s just as I’m telling you, venerable... all this is something we’re not supposed to know. It’s his problem, not mine; that’s why he doesn’t want me to work anymore. Enjoy yourself, dear Joubert. . . . Yes ... he loves me, he does. . . . Stop trying to penetrate the herme . . .
hermetic . . . secrets. Finally, to tell the truth, he forbade me to touch his effigies, except to talk with him.”
“Do you talk with him often?”
“Didn’t I just say so? I like to do it, I do... First, he shows me lots of things with pretty dancing colors . . . and then I hear music, such beautiful music. . . . So, I’d better warn you, don’t count on me anymore. . . .”
“Lord, help me!” William whispered. “This imbecile has been bewitched by Baphomet’s magic charms. How did this devil find out that I was using his effigies for my own purposes? At any rate, there’s no use in counting on the duplicator at the moment. First, we’ll have to sober up this idiot, Joubert. . . .”
With a last furious glance at the drunkard who had sprawled on a chair, singing to himself, the Grand Master returned to his quarters, to which he summoned the Tholon brothers. Clement, busy wrestling with some bawd, was not to be found, but the other two answered his call promptly.
The gloomy appearance of their leader, lost in thought, was chilling and they kept respectfully silent, waiting for him to notice their presence. “Oh yes, there you are,” the Grand Master said, after some moments of abstraction. “I have an undertaking of the greatest importance for you. Already you have done me signal service and I know your discretion well. This time you must be on your guard even more than before.”
“We would suffer torture and death rather than reveal whatever it may be,” Garin, the spokesman for the brothers, assured him.
“I am certain you would. That is why I am confiding a secret of paramount consequence to you. Have you ever heard of Baphomet?”
“There are”—Garin spoke guardedly—“certain rumors circulating. Wild stories without any foundation. . . .”
“Not quite; he actually exists. He is a dangerous being from another world who, at this moment, is held prisoner somewhere in the Kingdom of France. However, this creature, who possesses great powers, has agreed to help us. Images in his likeness allow us to talk with our Commanders over seas, mountains and valleys. Brother Joubert, charged with penetrating the mystery of their operation, had made great progress, so that I hoped the solution was near. Unfortunately, even though far away, Baphomet has corrupted our learned Brother, turning him into a confirmed drunkard who refuses to continue his research. ...”
Guiot, involuntarily, hung his head. How well he knew the Templar’s love for the divine jug, to which Guiot often gave himself up quite willingly.
"Therefore, you are to watch him, night and day, so that he can no longer use the effigy to talk with this creature. Also, see to it that he has no wine. Aside from that, he is free to continue his research, once he is sober.”
“And if he tries to escape?” asked Garin.
“Punish him well, but do not maim or kill him. I trust that he will come to his senses and be capable of rendering loyal service again...
“Won’t he be able to cast some spell on us?” Guiot asked in alarm, at which he got an angry look from his brother.
“‘Never fear, my good man. If you watch him closely, nothing will happen. However, in case of any suspicious actions, call me. Now go and take your stations, and make sure that two of you are always at his side.”
“You can count on us, venerable Master,” promised Garin.
Alone, the Grand Master returned to his meditation. This matter was turning out not at all well: Baphomet had discovered that William was using the effigies for his own purposes and the thing at the bottom of the tarn intended to teach the Templars a lesson by giving them a hint of his powers. Wasn’t there a great risk that Commanders who used effigies to communicate with their leader would be overcome by the same magic? Everything considered, it seemed best to play the game and contact Baphomet direct. It seemed likely that he was unaware of the existence of the duplicating casket and could not reproach the Grand Master with disloyalty on that count.
William stood up and returned to the laboratory where the learned Joubert snored peacefully under the watchful eyes of the Tholon brothers. He took up one of the coffers containing a Baphomet image and went into an adjoining room. After carefully closing the door, he activated it and waited for an answer to his call. Only a few seconds later, the eyes of the statue lit up.
“Ah! It’s you, William . . . I’ve been expecting your call.”
A little surprised, the Grand Master asked, “Why so, noble friend?”
“Come now, don’t play the innocent. I inflicted a benign punishment on Brother Joubert, who was proving too curious. . . . You both have tried, it seems, to unravel the enigma of the mechanism inside my effigies. . . .”
The Templar kept himself alert, ready to break the connection at the first suspicious sign, but made his reply carefully unconcerned:
“What harm is there in that? Brother Joubert only provided me with a means of keeping in touch with my most distant troops, which is most useful. I really can’t see why you should take offense at that.”
“Don’t try to outwit me! I am cut off from my kind mi a hostile planet and only my secrets enable me to survive. If I had wanted to reveal all the properties of my robots to you, I would have done so. You deliberately tried to appropriate them without my authorization.”
“You must understand, noble Sire: my army is, at the present time, months of marching away from its base. We are surrounded by enemy forces. How can I successfully maneuver my troops if I cannot talk from a distance with the Commanders of each detachment?”
