Templar's Acre

CHAPTER TEN

The following day, Baldwin was pleased to see a familiar figure enter the garden while he was practising with his sword.

‘Sir Jacques!’ he cried, thrusting his sword into the scabbard. ‘I am pleased to see you again.’

‘And I you,’ the knight said.

‘Do you know Ivo?’

‘Very well. He asked me here. He said you have made powerful enemies already.’

‘He worries too much,’ Baldwin said, irritated that his business was being discussed behind his back. It made him feel like a child.

‘Ivo seeks to help you defend yourself.’ He indicated Baldwin’s sword. ‘You practise every day?’

‘Yes, but I don’t think I need to do it so often.’

‘Oh. You have seen battle before?’

‘Yes, on the ship,’ Baldwin admitted grudgingly. Youthful pride made it hard to admit to his failure.

‘That is good. A man learns more from defeat than from victory,’ the knight smiled gently. ‘It is the way he copes with hardship that defines him.’

‘I don’t need to worry about my sword skills,’ Baldwin said smugly.

‘Oh? Good. Would you show me, then?’

Baldwin looked at him. The knight was wearing his little coif again, as he had in the street when they had first met, but meeting Sir Jacques’s gaze, he saw that as well as the gentle kindness in his eyes, there was also a measure of shrewdness. Still, he was a very old man. . He saw the knight’s eyes crinkle at the edges, as though he was reading Baldwin’s mind.

‘Yes, of course I will show you,’ he said.

Both drew, holding their swords aloft. Sir Jacques held his single-handed, almost lazily. His relaxed stance made Baldwin think he was unprepared, and he stabbed from a high guard. His sword met empty air, as the Leper Knight span about and tapped Baldwin on the shoulder with his blade, continuing his whirl away, until he was at Baldwin’s side.

Baldwin frowned. ‘I was always taught not to move my feet,’ he protested.

‘Ah, I am sorry, my friend. I have learned much from my enemies here in Outremer. They tend to fight with lighter mail, and move with great speed. It is useful, I have found, to emulate them. Please?’ With his sword held in an apparently negligent grip, he beckoned Baldwin with his left hand.

It was infuriating. Baldwin took the high guard, and slashed a blow to the left, followed by a feint to the heart and a raking movement from the right, but each time, the older knight was simply not there. Once Baldwin almost caught a trailing length of tunic, but that was the nearest he came to marking his man.

‘How do you do this?’ Baldwin demanded. ‘Whatever I try, you have moved before I strike.’

‘I have practised my manoeuvres every day for five and twenty years,’ the Leper said.

‘But doesn’t your disease slow you?’

‘Oh! You were being kind to me, allowing for my disability?’ Jacques said with a beaming smile. ‘I had not realised.’

‘No, I mean. .’ Baldwin was confused. He had thought Sir Jacques must be leprous to be a member of his Order, but the man moved with the rapidity of a striking snake. It was clear he was no cripple.

‘I do not have leprosy, my friend. I serve my Order from compassion for others, and to repay a debt.’

‘Why did you join the Lepers, if you don’t have the disease?’

‘I wanted to offer my life in service. If it pleases God, and I hope my efforts do, then I can die knowing my life has not been wasted. And helping a young Crusader must also give comfort to God. Or so, at least, I pray.’

Baldwin was feeling the strain. His arm was tired, and the air from the sea humid; his armpits were sweaty, his back running with moisture. He wiped his face.

‘Come, Master Baldwin. Another bout?’

Again that infuriating beckon. Baldwin took his time, placing his feet carefully, thinking. Each time the Leper Knight had whirled, he had moved to the right, coming back behind Baldwin’s sword hand. This time, he resolved, he would meet his opponent as he went.

His sword rose into the True Gardant, his fist above his line of sight, the swordpoint dropping down before him, aiming at the knight’s belly, and then he moved. He stabbed downwards, then span, bringing the sword round to hack at the knight’s thigh — but the knight wasn’t there.

A sword tapped his head.

‘Sorry, I thought you might try that.’

Baldwin was furious. He gritted his teeth, grasping his sword tightly, almost thinking to attack in earnest, but then he saw the smile on the knight’s face grow pensive.

‘My friend, I hope I have not offended you? However, if you are to survive here, you will need to practise with a Saracen I know. He can teach you much. It is not that your skills are at fault, but here men use curved blades, and a drawing cut. If you wield a sword in battle against men in armour, it is less a cutting device than a hammer. You wield a hand-and-a-half sword like a long-handled maul, because cutting through mail is not easy. Sometimes you may use it as a spear, which can work, but not always. However, in the city here you will find few wear mail. Good swordsmanship is more important. Especially against the Genoese.’

Pietro walked into the garden bearing a tray of cool drinks, and behind him was Ivo.

‘I asked Sir Jacques to test you,’ Ivo said. ‘If you become embroiled in a fight with Buscarel, you will need more speed and guile than the skills you learned in England.’

‘So you think me incompetent with a sword?’ Baldwin snapped.

‘No. You are good. Just not good enough,’ Ivo said.

Sir Jacques chuckled. ‘We all had to learn when we came here.’

‘If I fought the Genoese, I would die in moments,’ Baldwin said sulkily, shoving his sword away. He felt a wave of self-pity. ‘I didn’t land a single blow on you.’

‘If you met with a man as old and feeble as me, perhaps yes,’ Jacques chuckled.

‘I came here to fight, and at that I am a failure. In my first battle at sea, I was beaten; in the streets you had to save me. I cannot fight anyone. I am pathetic.’

‘You have much skill, my friend,’ Sir Jacques said kindly. ‘But you need to learn how to watch your opponent and anticipate his moves.’

‘What, am I to spend my time learning and not fighting?’

Ivo nodded. ‘There are no great battles to fight yet. Some time soon, perhaps, we’ll have need of more swords. The Sultan Qalawun wants all Christians thrown from this land.’

‘You see, he hates us,’ Sir Jacques continued, ‘and so he should, for we wish nothing less than the denial of all his ambitions: we seek the recovery of Jerusalem for God’s chosen people, for the Christians. There will come a day when your arm’s strength may lead to the protection of the people of this city. Until then, you must prepare yourself, as the Knights of Saint Lazarus do, and as the Knights of the Temple do: by practising with sword and lance and knife and mace — until you can wield all weapons to their best effect, to the glory of God.’

He stood and rested his hand on Baldwin’s shoulder. ‘Come! You fought well today. With practice, you will fight still better, and be a great joy to all Christians.’