I am still exhausted after the amazing Britcon tournament I had the pleasure to run. I am working on a report from the event, but I thought it would be your great pleasure to read the winning Storyteller Award entry written by Benedict Coffin.
I knew I am in for a treat as soon as I read the email Benedict attached the winning story:
Bartosz,
In the name of the Lord, protector, redeemer and Saviour, Amen. At the
instigation of your messenger I, Benedict, humble servant of the
Hospital of St John of Jerusalem, have caused to be written certain
information concerning that most puissant knight of the aforesaid Order,
the illustrious Raymond de Sancerre. This includes the particulars you
sought of the noble knight and his retinue of followers. I have also,
not at the urging of my own pride but at the command of my superior,
appended some leaves from a little book of my own composition relating
the deeds of the famous Raymond in his service to the Order in
Outremer. I pray that you may find my offering worthy.
Go in the blessing of God,
Benedict
The winner was selected anonymously by Andy Hobday the Barons’ War rules writer .
The Hospitallers’ Welcome
[Outremer, the early thirteenth century]
With a breath, Raymond touched the next bead.
"Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum..."
The shimmering of the heat along the road could play tricks with you if you stared at it for too long. It was easy to understand why the Arabs spoke of devils living in these sun-baked lands and leading men astray. "A shaitan made me do it" might have been an excuse for Mohammad, but the greatest devil of them all had taken Christ himself to gaze on this wilderness and had been rejected. But the distant cloud of dust was a surer sign. Too big and too wide for a caravan. Too fast for a herd of goats.
"... benedicta tu in mulieribus..."
Yes, much too fast even for wild horses. Too purposeful. In the space of half a rosary the cloud had moved appreciably closer to the rocky tel where Raymond stood. They were following the line of the road, built by the Romans who had crucified the saviour in this land. They had passed by at least one pool where they could have drunk and rested. Whoever the riders were, they were making haste, willing to tire out their mounts as the day's heat grew. They had sung terce long before and the sun was climbing towards noon. You did not ride like that without good reason.
"... et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus..."
Raymond cast an involuntary glance back down the valley, where the sun lit the lime-white walls of distant houses, partially hidden by the olive groves. As his head turned back his eyes lifted up the steep slopes to the imposing walls where the Order's banner flew proudly. Even at this distance he could make out shadows slipping between the battlements as the remainder of the garrison readied itself, lifting bundles of quarrels from the store room and spanning arbalests. He had given no command to begin erecting the wooden hoardings. Would he need to?
A discreet cough drew his attention back to the approaching riders. Brother Marcel indicated what he had missed - a second cloud on the horizon. Reinforcements? Pursuers? It did not matter. Tucking the rosary beads around his belt, he shook his shoulders to settle the hauberk more comfortably and then turned to his companions. Marcel, Guillaume, Heinrich, Jean, Nicollo, each standing by their rouncey. Behind them their squires were fussing over the destriers, tightening straps and - yes, young Pedro was trying not to cough as he brushed the sandy dust off a caparison. If God willed him to live, he would learn not to waste his time or breath. The destriers would remain unridden for the moment - the vantage given by the high tel came at a price of stony ground, which was not worth breaking a horse's leg on.
"... Sancta Maria, mater Dei, ora pro nobis pecatoribus..."
He let the rouncey pick her way carefully between the stones as they neared the knot of men by the base of the tel. There was no need for haste and care meant less dust and perhaps an element of surprise. The company before him was an exercise in contrasts. The sergeants wore the black habits of their service proudly and were, with the exception of old one-eyed Etienne, kneeling. Whether in prayer or in rest was up to each one, but many crossed themselves and glanced around as they heard the jingle of harness and hauberk approaching from behind. Too many served for payment rather than for their souls, but they did the Lord's work and were of good heart, for all that Etienne complained that this generation did not compare to those who had died at Hattin or marched with King Richard of England.
Raymond's gaze lingered longer over the arbalesters. Several were drinking. Hardly any wore so much as a padded gambeson. Two had exchanged their chapel de fer for straw hats. Paid men - a mix from Genoa, Pisa and Acre who seemed happier to gamble and drink than to shoot at targets, with half a dozen who spoke Greek as well as French and who told stories of strange saints. They would do. They would have to do. By the mercy of the Virgin he had finer crossbowmen to command, who wore black robes and understood obedience to a brother-knight, let alone their castellan. But there were too few of them and they were needed to man the gates and shepherd in the men, women and children of the valley - such as had not scattered with their flocks.
Doubt had troubled Raymond de Sancerre for too much of his life. Doubt over his father's decision to take up arms with his lord, the count of Sancerre, against the king. A child's doubt that he would ever find safety again, as he watched his home burn in payment. Doubt over God's judgement on the count, who perished at the siege of Acre. Doubt as to how to fulfil his own oaths to God - to take the Cross against the heretics of the Languedoc, or to follow Christ to Jerusalem? Doubt that he was worthy of the black habit of the Hospital of St John, or of the faith they placed in him, entrusting one of the Order's castles and the lands it protected. And today, doubt over the wisdom of leading so many of his men out to meet whatever faced them. The walls were solid, the storehouse and cisterns full, but the certainty of failure, watching houses burn, trees felled and herds driven off... no, that would not fulfil the oaths he had given. Better to face doubt head on and trust the certainty of Christ.
The words of complendium came to him: quam leo rugiens, quaerens quem devoret. No, today the roaring lion would indeed be resisted by those steadfast in the faith. And they would soon see what manner of beast this was. Slipping off the rouncey, he handed the reins to young Arnaud and mounted Blancart. The stallion whickered and snorted at the weight, flanks heaving with anticipation. Another of the squires passed up his shield; he buckled the straps without seeing who it was. Yes, the riders were slowing now, but he could not make out their banners. A flick of his head confirmed that Jean had the order's black flag prominently displayed - as though anyone could pass these lands without expecting to see the white cross. He slung the great helmet on his saddle: for now he needed to be able to see. The tunnel vision of the charge would come later if - quod absit - it was God's will to send foes.
At a roar from Etienne, the brother-sergeants were on their feet, closing to stand shoulder to shoulder, their tall shields presenting a wall of black and white which might yet be tipped with steel spear-points. The arbalesters had their bows spanned and loaded; one of their vintenars was hurrying his twenty men a little way up the tel to gain a better vantage. Raymond's voice rang out over the murmuring:
"Since the days of Judas Maccabeus, the Hospital of St John has served and protected all those in need. By God's grace it falls to us to serve today. By our oaths and our deeds we protect these lands, in the name of God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit; the blessed virgin Mary and Saint John. Stand firm in the strength of God."
From behind, brother Heinrich began the prayer for those going out to fight. "Deus perfectuitatis auctor, Dux virtutum omnium cuntorumque hostium uictor, benedic hos famulus tuos tibi sui capita indinantes...".
Crossing himself, Raymond saw the first of knot of riders approach. Spurring Blancart
forwards, he forced away the doubt in his mind.
"... nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen."