Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[_Tristan_]

Hughes’ Story

The French Templar Renegade

The boat prow ploughed a deep furrow in the waves of the Mediterranean. Standing at the rail, the wind lashing at his face and sweeping from around his torso the red crossed white tabard, Hughes was contemplating all that happened in the last years of his life… The treachery of the French King, the fights, the travels, the pain of losing comrades in arms… All that would stay with him for his whole life…

As the boat neared the coast of Europe once more, Hughes thought about that time, what seemed so long ago now but was only two years back, at a time when he left those shores on a mission given to him by the Commander of the Order…


These were hard times for the Order. The King of France, once the Order staunchest ally, had turned against it out of simple greed. With the breaking up of the Holy Roman Empire, the King had seen his opportunity of re-conquering the lost parts of his ancestors’ land at last within reach. But conquest meant armies and armies meant funds to recruit them, alas the French coffers were quite empty. So the famed treasure of the Templars loomed great in the King’s mind as the means to that end.
For some time, he had done his utmost to get the approval of the Pope and thus had his wish granted of having the Templars declared heretics. Then he set Roger de Mauchaut, nothing more than a mercenary turned noble, to lead the “crusade” on the Templars. In less than a year, de Mauchaut had killed many brothers of the Order and arrested the rest. Those stood trial on grounds of heresy and refusing to confess of their alleged crimes were burned at the stake.
Now, only this greatest Commandery of the Order remained but de Mauchaut was on its way… In a day or two, the assault would come…

So, Hugues was surprised when the Order brother came knocking at his cell to give him the summons to the Commander’s chambers. Only once in his life of service to the Order had he been summoned to those halls, on reaching the brother rank with his fellow squires. Now, while still young, he had faced many battles against the Infidels and had risen through the ranks, on his merit alone.

On entering the Commander’s chamber, Hughes was struck by the number of high-ranked members present. Kneeling in front of the dais where the Commander sat, he awaited his master’s words.

“Hugues de Cervole, you are one of the youngest but also one of the most worthy of our men. The Order is greatly threatened this day and we have a mission for you, a mission of the utmost importance.
The French King has been courting the Pope these last years, up to the point where the Pope is ready to grant him his every favour. Fearful of our power in his lands and jealous of our influence, the French King has convinced the Pope to declare us heretics. On these grounds, he has been arresting our brothers and putting them to judgement. But we are not heretics and this is all a masquerade to lay his greedy fingers on the riches of the Order. This is our last stand, Hugues but should we fall, our riches must not fall into the hands of our enemy.
This is why you are needed. I know that you would preferably stand and fight with us, and should you not fall stand the trial and burning at the stake that awaits most of us, but this is not to be.
You are to stay free and leave here with a small company of men and take away our treasury out of reach of the French.”

At that, Hugues tried to object, but a swift and commanding gesture from the Commander silenced him.

“I know… There might be no glory in this mission but if the Order is to be reborn one day, as it will surely die with us, you must succeed...”

The Commander then fell silent for a moment. A scribe handed Hugues a sheaf of papers.

“Here are forged papers bearing the French seal that identify you as Hugo von Holland, from you mother’s name, a German lady, if I remember correctly. They will allow to impersonate a Flemish merchant en route from Antwerp to Palermo. This should allow you free passage to the coast.”

Sensing the dismissal, Hughes bowed deeply and went out of room, taking a good look at the faces of the men present, men he would see for the last time of his life.

On leaving the Commander’s halls, Hughes went directly for the men’s quarters and found Guillaume, the Old Templar brother that had served under his command during many campaigns.

“Guillaume, you are to choose sixty brothers. Have them make preparations for a long trip to I don’t know where yet. All arms and armour, victuals and such are to be prepared also. Have them take also civilian clothes as discretion might be the better part of valour on this mission. Have them be ready by tomorrow at noon… At least, we won’t be running shamefully… And one least thing, please fetch the maps from our campaigns in Africa… I think I might be onto something…”

With Guillaume’s departure, Hughes was left to himself. He was both proud of the trust put in him by the Order and angry at being forced to run when the Order faced its hour of greatest need.

Guillaume came back less than an hour later, handing Hughes the requested maps.

“Captain, the men have been chosen and are making preparations at the very moment. Will you give me an hint of what is going on ?”

“We are to secure the Order’s future and we’ll have to disguise ourselves as merchants doing so. I can’t tell you much more than that. See to the preparations. I’ve some work ahead of me.”

Hughes then set to studying the maps that covered the northern part of Africa, its unforgiving deserts and uncharted regions. Once something happened I those uncharted regions that gave Hughes an idea of what he had to do…

At noon the next day, Hugues donned his chain-mail armour, his red crossed white tabard and came to meet his men in the courtyard of the Commandery…

“Men, I know that you would all prefer facing the oncoming storm… But that is not to be… Our Master has put upon us the heaviest burden of them all : to carry on the crusading spirit of our forefathers and make sure that the Order survives even if only one of us still lives… So we will ride from these walls and not look back but instead look to the road in front of us and the future it leads to… Now, mount up and let’s be on our way…”

Mounting himself, Hughes took the head of the column of riders and wagons, all the men in armour and wearing the colours of the Order. At the gates of the Commandery, he halted his horse and turning in his saddle, he saluted the Commander watching from a balcony high in the main tower of the Commandery. The Commander returned the salute and Hughes spurred his horse through the gates to the head of the column.

The convoy had not covered five leagues that a young brother came riding hard on its tail, calling for Hughes.

Hughes came to meet him. He remembered his face but not his name, one of the last recruits, a boy his own age when he himself joined. The boy’s horse was covered in sweat, having been driven hard, the boy himself panting from the exertion of the ride.

“Cap… Captain… The Comm.. The Commander has sent me to warn you that you must make haste and be as far away as possible in the morning. The French have assaulted the Commandery. As I left, the fighting was still going on but we were on the losing side. Our brothers put a valiant fight but the French are vicious and numerous.”

Hughes was torn between his duty and his honour.

“Guillaume, take the lead and go as fast as you can to Aigues-Mortes. There buy passage on as many ships as necessary to carry us to Africa, at whatever price the captains of those ships require. I’ll meet you up the road.”
“Amaury, pick thirty men and join me. We ride to the Commandery. We must help our brothers. Boy, remain with the convoy. What’s your name ?”

“Arnoul”.

“Fine, Arnoul. You did well. Now, rest. You’re coming with us. Wherever we’re going…”

Hughes and his thirty men rode back to the Commandery, as hard as they could without taking too much strain on the horses. A full day ride passed before they reached the Commandery grounds.

When they crossed the last hill that hid the citadel from view, Hughes had a vision of Hell. The French catapults and mangonels had breached great holes in the citadels’ once impregnable walls. Fires burned within its halls. But more frightening were the upturned crosses where the men nailed to them hung limply and the stakes that finished burning. But most horrifying of all was the smell of burnt flesh that hung heavy in the air… the true smell of Hell…

Everything that Hughes had believed in, everything that he fought for lay in ruins at his feet. This was too much… Tears streaming from his eyes, Hughes turned to his men.

“What you see yonder is the work of the devil… The French devil… That devil has a name… de Mauchaut… We must root out this evil… Men !!! Form up !!!”

The thirty brothers put their horse in a tight line on the ridge overlooking the French siege camp. Hughes snapped a sharp order.

“Charge !!!”

As one, all the horses started down the hill… The French were still celebrating and had taken no notice of the riders coming… Death from above… Lucifer falling down to Earth…

The horses gained speed and the thunder of their hooves finally turned some French heads… But even above the thunderous roar of the horses’ charge, Hughes’ voice could be heard calling one and only name.

“de Mauchaut !!! de Mauchaut !!! Show yourself !!!”

Some of the French footmen tried to put up a fight but the momentum of the horses struck them down. Their lances broken, the Templar brothers took their swords out and struck left and right, driving their horses with their knees,

Hughes himself was making a bee-line for the largest tent in the camp, sure to find his nemesis in that tent.

Finally, he reached the tent and dropped from his horse. The guards at the entrance of the tent were quickly dispatched. And as Hughes was about to go in, a giant of a man came out, wearing a fine armour of plate, worked in intricate gold designs, a look of malevolence upon his face.

Hughes stepped back to regain his footing.

The man bellowed.

“It seems you have been looking for me. Let’s see if you fight better than your heretic brothers.”

With this the French leader lifted his double-handed sword in a high arc letting it swoop down towards Hughes. Hughes stepped aside and prepared to counter but however heavy that sword might seem, de Mauchaut was already ready to make a parry with it.

Then it was a flurry of combat… Strokes, parries, feints but to no avail… Hughes’ speed and agility was met by skill and brute force on de Mauchaut’s part, with none of the fighters getting the better on the other.

Still, the fight was not so even-handed in the camp. The sheer number of the French soldiers began to take its toll on the Order brothers. Hughes had the time to see Amaury, being taken down from his horse and clubbed to death by French fanatics…

A quick look around showed him that less than ten men were still fighting, three of them horseless…

It was a losing situation… Hughes remembered the mission he had been entrusted with, and how he was to fail without having accomplished anything towards that goal…

Taking profit of de Mauchaut rising its sword high above his head, Hughes rammed him in the chest, toppling him and ran for the tethered warhorse standing next to the tent. It carried de Mauchaut’s coat of arms : a sable griffin on a red field, as vicious a beast as its master… Hughes cut the reins of the horse and gripping them in his free hand, jumped in the saddle. The horse reared and Hughes called to de Mauchaut.

“Evil fiend !!! You’ll pay for your sins… The day we meet again will be your last…”

Hughes then spurred the horse and called to his men.

“Templars !!!… All is lost !!! Rally to me !!!”

Looking back, Hughes could see five of his men following and de Mauchaut rising up, calling for a horse…

At the top of the hill down which they had charged earlier, Hughes stopped his men… Only five of the thirty had made it through that fight… Two of them had mean cuts on their bodies, the three others bore large bruises. Pursuit had not yet begun but was sure to come.

The next days were spent hiding in woods or caves, the nights riding as hard as terrain would allow. Twice, the French nearly overtook them, but Hughes and his men were riding through lands they knew by heart, and so easily lost their pursuers.

Finally, Hughes and his five companions reached Aigues-Mortes, unopposed. There they met by Guillaume who provided them with civilian clothes, hiding the weapons and the telltale tabards in the wagons. Guillaume led Hughes to the inn where he had booked a room, while the wounded men were getting taken care of. Questions burned in the old Templar’s eyes but he knew better than to speak out of turn.

“No questions, Guillaume, please… I will perhaps tell you later but not for now… How are things going here ?”

“Well, Captain, or as well as might be expected given the circumstances. Everybody seems to accept the fact that we are Flemish merchants en route to Sicily. I’ve managed to find two ship captains ready to have us board with horses and “goods” and take us to Palermo. I’ve set aside a large sum of money, to have them change course while we are at sea.”

“Fine, fine… We’ll be sailing tomorrow as soon as the wind allows… Now, I shall rest…”

Guillaume took his leave and Hugues was left to a restless sleep, full of the nightmarish sights of the last days…

In the morning, after a quick breakfast at the inn, Hughes went to the docks to oversee the loading of the ships. Guillaume was dealing out orders as efficiently as if he had been a cargo-master his whole life.

Soon the whole cargo was loaded onto the boats and the horses had also been taken aboard, with much whinnying… Last to go was de Mauchaut’s warhorse, now Hughes’ own…

With everything onboard, the anchors were raised, the lines taken out, the sails let loose, and the ships left the safety of the harbour…

Hughes stood on the castle looking at the receding quays… A rider reached the jetty just as the ships exited the harbour… A giant of a man seemingly in full plate armour and waving a large sword high above his head…

Taking one last look at the coast, and the man upon the quay, Hughes made a promise to himself.

“If God permits, I will come back and France shall now my wrath… I will repay in blood the blood of our brothers… As for you, de Mauchaut, I shall take special care in dealing with you… You will wish you had met the Devil himself before you meet me…”

With this thoughts in mind, Hughes left the bridge of the ship and regained his cabin, where he once again took to surveying the maps of the uncharted deserts of Africa, to retrace a route from the past…

(to be continued…)