And Armand again followed Arn de Gothia’s example, swallowing the entire contents of the bowl in one gulp so that the water ran down his surcoat. Panting, he removed the empty bowl from his lips, surprised to find one of the white-clad knight-brothers ready to take it from him with a bow. He hesitated; he had never imagined being waited on by a knight. But the man in white facing him saw his embarrassment and understood it. He gave a nod of encouragement to Armand, who handed over his bowl with a deep bow.
Jerusalem’s Master had thrown one arm around Arn’s shoulders, and they were carrying on a lively conversation, almost like worldly men, as they walked toward the far end of the hall where cook’s servants in green were setting the table for dinner. Armand followed after receiving another encouraging nod from the knight-brother assigned to serve him.
They took the seats that Jerusalem’s Master proffered, with Arn and the Master at one end of the table, then the two knight-brothers, and at the far end sergeant Armand. On the table were placed fresh bacon, smoked lamb, white bread, and olive oil, wine and vegetables and great steaming silver bowls of water. Arn said grace over the food in the language of the church as they all bowed their heads, but then they pitched in with good appetite and drank wine without hesitation. At first only Jerusalem’s Master and Arn spoke; they seemed immersed in memories of the old days and old friends, matters that the others at the table could not share. Armand stole a glance now and then at the two high brothers who seemed to know each other very well, behaving like close friends, which was not always the same thing within the Order of the Knights Templar. Armand was careful not to eat more or faster than his lord; he kept checking that he wasn’t ahead of him in either wine or bread or meat. He had to show moderation even though it was a banquet, and not gobble his food like worldly men.
And as Armand had suspected, the meal itself was brief. Suddenly Jerusalem’s Master wiped off his dagger and stuck it back in his belt, and so all the others did the same and stopped eating. The cook’s servants in green came over to the table at once and began clearing it off, but they left the bowls of water, the Syrian glass goblets, and the ceramic wine carafes.
Arn thanked the Lord for the gifts of the table while all bowed their heads.
“So! That was surely a well-deserved wage for your efforts, brothers,” said Jerusalem’s Master, wiping his mouth carefully with the back of his hand. “But now I want to hear how you acquitted yourself, young sergeant. My brother and friend Arn has given you a favorable accounting, but now I want to hear it from you.”
He regarded Armand with a look that seemed quite friendly, but Armand noticed something sly in his gaze, as if he were now going to be subjected to another of the endless tests. He thought that the most important thing was not to boast.
“There isn’t much to say, Master of Jerusalem,” he began uncertainly. “I followed my lord Arn, I obeyed his orders, and the Mother of God showed mercy on us, so we were victorious,” he muttered with his head bowed.
“And you feel no pride for the part you played? You simply proceed humbly along the path that your lord Arn assigns you and accept gratefully the grace that the Mother of God shows you and so on and so forth?” the Master of Jerusalem went on, his tone barely disguising the irony of his words. But Armand did not dare understand the meaning of this irony.
“Yes, Jerusalem’s Master, that is so,” he replied modestly with his eyes focused on the table. At first he didn’t dare look up, but then he thought he heard some merriment from the other end of the table. He glanced up at Arn and saw him laughing broadly and almost shamelessly. For the life of him Armand couldn’t understand what was wrong with his answer, or what could be so funny when they were speaking of serious matters.
“Oh, I see!” said Jerusalem’s Master. “I see that you have an ingrained concept of the way a sergeant should speak to high brothers in the Order. Then let me put it this way. Is it true, as my dear brother Arn here has told me, that you want to be accepted as a knight in our circle?”
“Yes, Jerusalem’s Master!” answered Armand with sudden enthusiasm that he could not hide. “I would give my life to…”
“No, no, not like that,” Jerusalem’s Master laughed, raising his hand. “As a dead man we have not much use for you. But one thing you must now learn. If you want to become one of us, one of the brothers, then you have to learn never to lie to a brother. Think about that, now. Don’t you think that my beloved brother Arn and I were once young like you? Don’t you realize that we were sergeants like you? Don’t you think that we can see through your dreams, because they were our dreams too? Don’t you imagine that we understand what pride you feel for what you have accomplished, which as far as I can see was fully worthy of a knight-brother? But a brother must never lie to another brother, and you must never forget that. And if you’re ashamed of unworthy thoughts, if you’re ashamed because you’re proud of what you did, then it’s all right that you feel such shame. But it’s always worse to lie to a brother than to feel pride, or what you may think is pride. You can always confess your pride. But faithfulness to the truth before brothers is what you must never forsake. It’s that simple.”
Armand sat with his head bowed, staring at the tabletop, and could feel his cheeks aflame. He had been reprimanded, even though the words of Jerusalem’s Master were friendly and his tone brotherly.
“Now we’ll start again,” said the older man with a weary little sigh that didn’t sound quite genuine. “What happened and what did you accomplish in the battle, my good young sergeant?”
“Jerusalem’s Master,” Armand began, feeling his head turn to air and all his thoughts flee like birds, “we had been tracking the robbers for a week, we had studied their tactics, and we realized that it would be hard to catch them in the act. We had to find a position where we could meet them face to face.”
“Yes? And then…did a good situation present itself?”
“Yes, Jerusalem’s Master, at last it did,” Armand went on with renewed courage, having convinced himself that he only had to present a normal account of battle. “We discovered them as they were pursuing three Saracens unknown to us up into a wadi which formed a trap like a sack. It was just what we were hoping for when we saw them begin pursuit from a distance, because they had used that tactic before. We took up position and attacked when the time was ripe; my lord Arn first, of course, and I on his flank behind him as the rules prescribe. The rest was easy. My lord Arn signaled to me with his lance how he would first launch a feint against the robber on the left in front, and that opened a good gap for me to aim and strike with my lance.”
“Did you feel fear at that moment?” asked Jerusalem’s Master in a suspiciously gentle voice.
“Jerusalem’s Master!” replied Armand loudly yet hesitantly. “I must admit that I did feel fear.”
He looked up to see how the others around the table reacted to this. But neither Jerusalem’s Master nor Arn, or the other two high knight-brothers, betrayed by their expressions what they thought about a sergeant who showed fear in battle.
“I felt fear, but also resolve. This was the opportunity we had waited for so long, and now we could not fail! That was what I felt,” he added so rapidly that his words stumbled over each other.
Now Arn carefully pounded his Syrian wineglass on the table and then Jerusalem’s Master did the same, followed by the two knight-brothers, and then they all burst out in laughter that was hearty but not malicious.
“So you see, my good young sergeant,” said Jerusalem’s Master, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, “what one must endure as a brother in our Order. You confess to fear, eh? But let me tell you this. Any one of us who does not feel somefear at the crucial moment is a fool. And we have no need for fools among our brothers. So, when can he be initiated as a brother in our Order?”