The Return of the Knight Templar

By Albuquerque

Jean felt the speed of his horse increase and made a great effort to keep in line with his Templar brothers. The clash of the two armies made a noise similar to a peal of thunder. From then on, there were only shouts, bodies of men and animals falling to the ground, and blood staining the sand, mixed with the noise of the steel weapons clanking on their impact.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: May 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781466988231

Albuquerque

Tulio Cavalcanti de Albuquerque was born in Rio de Janeiro, Brasil, in 1938 and, since 1988, lives in Natal. He is a navy officer, retired, and works in tourism. Since he travelled for the first time to France in 1959, he became passionate of medieval themes.

Book preview

THE ATTACK

R einaldo was almost hit by the first shots. He had awakened around half an hour earlier and, after breakfast, was busy choosing a spot, near the river bank, for celebrating mass.

The problems with the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC) began when a few groups of guerrillas crossed the border with Brazil fleeing from attacks by the Colombian regular army. Since then, the Brazilian government had ordered its army to move toward the probable border-crossing points.

The group of FARC guerrillas had attacked at 7:00 a.m., rapidly crossing the creek at a shallow point. The surprise was not complete only because of the warning received from the two sentinels who were guarding that point on the bank of the creek. The attackers opened fire with their AK-47 rifles in an intense barrage. There were around twenty men who took part in the attack, notwithstanding the Brazilians’ numerical superiority, with thirty-two soldiers. The sentinels were killed by the first bursts fired by the guerrillas’ Russian-made arms, but not before they could fire their FAL rifles and wound three attackers, who were lying, moaning, on the far bank of the creek.

At the same moment, the other members of the Brazilian platoon, who were having breakfast in the clearing near the river, improvised as a provisional campsite, grabbed their guns, which they kept until then at arms length, and sought protected positions to face the attackers.

The shouting was intense on both side. Reinaldo, a Brazilian Army Chaplain with the rank of Captain, was preparing the small altar on the folding table, well behind the place occupied by the dead sentinels. The first bullets hit his suitcase containing the religious trappings to be utilized in the mass. Instinctively, he threw himself on the ground, saving his life by a fraction of a second. The heat was suffocating at that point of the Amazon jungle so close to the equator. He was perspiring abundantly. A sergeant and a soldier came running and remained at his side, all of them being protected by some cases of provisions.

Father, keep down and don’t raise your head, the sergeant shouted to the Chaplain.

In the intense firefight, attackers and defenders looked alike in the small clearing, making for a tremendous confusion. The bursts fired by the handheld weapons made a thundering noise. At the next moment, on looking around, Reinaldo witnessed a terrible scene: the sergeant’s head had exploded in a cloud of blood and the soldier had been hit in the chest by various shots. The two men’s blood bathed his uniform, turning it dark red. Without thinking about what he was doing, through pure instinct, he grabbed the rifle which had fallen from the sergeant’s hands and, with a strange calmness, he began to take aim and, with incredible precision, to mow down the attackers who were moving through the campsite. His shots hit their mark and brought down five Colombians.

The Chaplain’s intervention neutralized the impetus of the attack. Some guerrillas were able to flee, going back across the river. Alves, the First Lieutenant who was the platoon commander, was wounded, shot in the chest, and a sergeant was in command of the small group that had escaped unhurt from the attack. While a medic tried to help the wounded, Reinaldo began to administer the last rites to those who were breathing their last breaths. His thoughts barely allowed him to concentrate on the prayers. How could he have dared to take up a weapon and shoot his fellow men? How had he been capable of committing a deadly sin, taking the life of those whom he should love, going against all the laws of God and the Church? It would have been a thousand times better if it were he who was stretched out there, dead, fulfilling the holy duty which he had assumed on accepting the priesthood.

The military base in São Gabriel da Cachoeira, which was alerted by radio, sent two helicopters with medics and reinforcements. The casualties were high: six dead and seven wounded, on the Brazilian side, and eight dead for the guerrillas, who took their wounded with them when they withdrew. The entire action lasted not more than five minutes and the destruction in the campsite was considerable, with most of the tents showing bullet holes. Reinaldo was evacuated without even celebrating mass. The commander thought it best to cancel the mass, fearing a new guerrilla attack.

When he arrived at the base, where the 12th Border Battalion was headquartered, Reinaldo prepared his report and had lunch in the officers’ mess hall. There he had to tell several times what had happened, for those who were on duty and for those who had been called following the attack. At last, when the meal was over, he was able to remain alone in the small room that he shared with another officer and reflect on the tragic event. He couldn’t understand his behavior during the attack. It didn’t make any sense. Not for him, a priest. He had never fired any gun before. It’s true that, being with the troops, he had already handled some small arms, out of mere curiosity, and he knew something about their operation. But shooting his fellow men, in such cold blood and with such excellent aim, was something he wasn’t able to face. With a great effort, he tried to put his thoughts in order. He would celebrate the 6 p.m. mass, in the battalion chapel, when he would confess his sin to Father Francisco, who always came to help him. On Monday, he’d go talk to the Bishop, tell him what had happened and ask for counsel. The rest of Sunday passed rapidly. Lieutenant Colonel Peçanha, the battalion commander, came to congratulate him on his courage in combat that morning, without even noticing the priest’s embarrassment and shame.

Chaplain, your intervention at the border decided the combat in our favor.

Father Francisco himself treated him in a strange way, as if he were seeing him for the first time.

Finally, night fell. Sunset in the Amazon region is an indescribable spectacle. The sky in the west displays a myriad of dazzling colors. The green of the tropical jungle becomes darker and the enormous horizon, which is unveiled in all of its 360 degrees, takes on the grandeur of a divine temple. It’s a moment of great spirituality. Reinaldo walked to the chapel with the enormous burden of repentance for the lives he had taken that morning. He was anxious to ask forgiveness from God for the sins he had committed. Finally, the hours went by, mass was celebrated, and he found a little peace in confession. Later, in his room, he fell into a deep sleep, which was a refuge for his torment and doubts.

Then the dream came. It was a dream that was different from all the others that he had had before. More realistic, more colorful, everything more intense, as if he were actually living through the events of the dream and feeling the real sensations himself. Suddenly, he found himself visiting a strange land, in a far distant past…

THE YEAR 1186

T he month of November, in the year 1186, was unseasonably cold. Autumn was reaching its height and in the region of the Duchy of Anjou, it was exacting its annual toll of the foliage in the woods that bordered the Loire River. Jean de Saumur was traveling in the company of his squire, Pierre, with the only material assets that were left to him: the horse, the weapons that he had inherited from his father and that had never been lost in combat, his war horse, Valiant, led by Pierre, mounted on a third horse. The day before, he had delivered to the representative of the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, Sir Robert de Fontaines, his castle in Mont-Rémy, his lands, two villages with their respective vassal tenants, various property improvements and all the movable property, which were donated to the Order of the Knights Templar. The following night, they would arrive in Orléans, where, after Sunday mass, he would take the oath of initiation to enter the Order, together with four other knights, in the presence of the representative of Grand Master Gérard de Ridefort.

They rode along the road that following the river’s course, constantly on the alert for any signs of an ambush, since that region was the frequent target of robber bands. By nightfall they intended to arrive at a small monastery of the Carthusian Order, where they would ask for lodging.

The rest of the day went by without any difficulties until they spied, shortly before dark, the small hill where the monastery had been built. They were welcomed by the abbot, a monk with very white hair and a severe look, and they said their evening prayers with the other members of the small brotherhood. After a frugal meal, composed of rye bread, beer and lamb, they went to sleep.

Very early the next morning, they took leave of the abbot, thanked him for his hospitality, and resumed their journey. Pierre continued to worry about highwaymen.

Sir, we must remain on the alert so as not to be surprised by bandits.

At that moment, Jean felt a strong emotion, caused by the memory of the attack on the small chapel of Our Lady, built by his grandfather in the woods near the castle. Two years had already gone by since the misfortune which had beset his family. On that distant morning, while he was visiting the Duke of Anjou, his wife, Melissande, went to pray in the chapel, accompanied by little André, her two-year-old son, who was being carried in the arms of his nursemaid, Constance, and by a young page. It was only possible to know what had happened afterwards from the report of a peasant, who was working for the monk in charge of the chapel, at that moment. Even though he was seriously wounded, the peasant was still able to tell the castle guards about the attack, just before dying. The guards came running immediately, on seeing the flames which were rising above the trees in the woods. A group of around ten highwaymen, armed with wooden lances, knives and bows and arrows, emerged from the woods and invaded the chapel. The poor peasant, who was performing his duties in the yard behind the chapel, on hearing the shouting, took haste to flee, but while he was running, he was hit in the back by two arrows. After looting the place, the evil-doers locked the monk, the page, Melissande, Constance and André in the temple, and immediately afterwards, set it on fire. The castle guards did not arrive in time to avoid the tragedy, since the building contained a great deal of wood, which rapidly caught fire. The hunt for the assassins, carried out by a group of knights on horseback and another group of guards and archers on foot, was unsuccessful, after a day of intensive searching. Pierre’s voice interrupted Jean’s sad memories.

Sir, the abbot told me that right after our entry into the Order, we will be sent overseas.

Pierre, the Order exists for this very purpose, which is the defense of the Holy Land and the pilgrins. We will certainly be sent there. We are going to swear to defend those holy places, so dear to our religion, and to fight to the death, if need be, against the Saracens. Why do you insist on following me, even after I relieved you from your duties as a squire?

"Sir, when you were born, I was ten years old and lived with my parents in the castle of your father, Marquis Mont-Rémy. I will never forget the day when we were all celebrating your birth, the birth of your parents’ first son. It was then that the Marquis called me and said, ‘Pierre, you shall be my son’s squire. You shall start your training in the use of arms tomorrow. You must serve him with your complete loyalty and protect him with your own life until the end of your days!’ And I replied, ‘I swear I shall do so, Sir.’

I shall never abandon you, Sir Jean, unless death prevents me from following you.

With his voice choked with emotion, Jean was only able to say, Thank you, my friend. Your company and friendship lighten the burden of my pain.

They continued on their journey, now under the timid autumn sun, reflected on the waters of the Loire, which flowed just below the path. When the sun was on high, they stopped in the shade of a large tree, whose golden foliage still resisted the constant wind. There they sat down to eat the bread which they had brought from the monastery, with a few pieces of lamb, and drank water from their canteens. They took care of the horses and resumed their journey, after a brief rest. A few hours later, it became intensely cold, and the two travelers were anxious to arrive at the monastery of the Order. At last, before nightfall, they spied the walls of a large city. They crossed through the Saint-Marceau gate and finally arrived at the monastery of the Templars.

THE DOUBT

R einaldo awoke at the sound of reveille played over the barracks loudspeaker system, at six o’clock in the morning. The sun was already strong and the heat was unbearable. He recalled all the details of his dream. It seemed like he was watching a film. He had neither read nor heard anything in the last few months referring to the Middle Ages. That dream didn’t make sense. He got ready quickly, since breakfast call would be at seven o’clock.

During the morning he asked to speak to Colonel Peçanha. Colonel, I’m asking your permission to go and talk with Bishop Dom José, this afternoon, in the diocese.

Of course, Reinaldo. I also want to inform you that I’m forwarding to our headquarters in Manaus a decoration request, recommending that you be awarded the Distinguished Service Medal for your bravery in the combat with the FARC guerrillas on the border.

Reinaldo made no comment and asked permission to withdraw. That afternoon, he was received by the Bishop of São Gabriel da Cachoeira, Dom José Mendonça de Oliveira. The Bishop, a cleric born in the state of Bahia, very pleasant and kind, was over sixty years old, and had spent many years in the Amazon region. He was curious to know the reason for that unexpected visit. The Chaplain then told him about what had happened on the border and the dream of Jean and Pierre. And after a brief interruption for coffee, served from a thermos bottle in small plastic cups strategically arranged on a table alongside the Bishop’s table, Reinaldo said, I thought that, above all, I needed to come here and tell you what had happened and seek your counsel.

Dom José remained pensive for some time before replying. Well, my son, what happened to you was really a traumatic experience. From the Church’s point of view, you committed a deadly sin. However, the situation in which you found yourself was out of the ordinary. Your action was in defense of your own life and that of your comrades in arms. Furthermore, you repented, confessed and was forgiven by Christ and the Church. Your dream, however, may mean something more profound, some doubt regarding your real personality. Are you absolutely sure of your priestly vocation?

It was Reinaldo’s turn to remain pensive before replying. He looked in the direction of the window in the rear of the room, through which one could see the beautiful view of the Negro River, with its dark waters contrasting with the dark green of the dense forest on the opposite bank. He sighed at length and said, looking firmly in Dom José’s eyes, Bishop, I’ve always had doubts. I see them as doubts that could possibly occur to any Catholic, in moments of weakness. Perhaps the most important, which involves the very basis of our belief, concerns the Resurrection of Jesus. However, what has been tormenting me, in recent months, is doubting whether I’ll be able to devote myself, with all my soul, to the work of the Church, without wishing to do other things. Living through other types of personal experience. In short, the answer to your question is, no. I’m not sure of my priestly vocation. What do you advise me to do?

Dom José arose and walked to the window, where he remained for some time looking at the distant forest. "Our religion is based on dogmas that are difficult to accept. And many of them don’t make sense. Just as life doesn’t make sense. Where do we come from, where are we going and what are we doing here? A French philosopher, who died a little while ago, wrote a book entitled My Philosophical Will, in which he comments on these doubts. Jean Guitton wrote this book at the age of 97 and died at 99. In one of its passages, he states, I believe in God because I have difficulty in believing in Him. If God were easy, he’d be within reach. He wouldn’t be transcendent and He wouldn’t be God. But if God is God, there’s an unbalance between Him and us. It’s not surprising that, in order to perceive Him, we must make use of the tip of our mind.

Regarding the Resurrection, which was also one of his doubts, he found the truth he sought in the testimony of the apostles. He argued that, if twelve men witnessed an event which was so difficult to accept as true, and they didn’t change their accounts in the Gospel, even suffering torture and faced with the violent death that befell most of those men, in different times and places, it’s obvious that, no matter how extraordinary this episode was, it really happened. They were people from all the different social classes, some rich and well-educated, like Phillip, others poor and illiterate, like Peter. All of them, nevertheless, maintained the same version of the event they had witnessed many years before their death.

The Bishop turned around slowly and looked at Reinaldo with a tired expression on his face. As to the vocation, I think you’ll have to find your own truth. I know you’re entitled to go on leave from the army. I suggest that tomorrow you ask the Colonel’s permission to travel to Rio de Janeiro, your home town, to find there the answers to these questions. When you return, we’ll talk again.

Feeling more relieved, the Chaplain rose, took leave of Dom José and returned to his barracks. The next day he would ask the Colonel’s permission to go on leave. That night he slept peacefully. He had some dreams, nothing special, recalling only a few details of them on awaking, but he certainly hadn’t returned to the Middle Ages.

At ten o’clock the next morning, he obtained the Colonel’s authorization to travel the following day, on leave, to Rio de Janeiro. That same afternoon he’d go to Santa Tereza Church and ask Father Francisco to replace him in the barracks during his absence. After all, he’d already filled in for Francisco during his two-month trip to Rome on a pilgrimage. He’d make use of the remaining hours to search, on the computer available in the Officers’ Recreation Room, for information on the Order of the Templars, which had appeared in his dream. Surely he’d be able to find lots of research material on the Internet. His knowledge of the Order was superficial. He knew that it had been created during the Middle Ages to fight against the Saracens, defending the holy places in the Middle East, and that it was active during the crusades. It was a religious military Order, which had been excommunicated and abolished in the 14th century, after a trial initiated by King Phillip IV of France. The good faith of this trial has been under discussion until today, and many believe that the Order was a victim of a great injustice.

The rest of the day went by according to schedule. His friend, the priest, agreed to replace him, and back in the barracks, he obtained some important information regarding the Templars from the Internet. At night, tired, he went to bed earlier than usual, and fell into a deep sleep. A dream, which was already familiar to him, had begun, after the sensation of a brief journey through a dark tunnel, from which a bright light emerged, drawing him toward a door which opened onto the ancient distant world that awaited him…

THE ORDER OF

THE KNIGHTS TEMPLAR

A fter a night’s sleep in the cubicle frozen by the autumn cold, Jean awoke on being called by his