The Parchment (19 page)

Gerard rode over to one of the Templars. “Is the sun playing tricks with the man's eyes?”

“No. Pilgrims call this place Montjoie. From here, when the sand does not blow, you can see Jerusalem.”

Gerard jumped off his horse and clambered up the side of the hill behind the others. In every pilgrim's mind there exists an imaginary Jerusalem — an idealized place where the Son of God lived and died. What Gerard saw that day from Montjoie beggared his imagination. Shimmering magically in the afternoon sun was a city of turquoise domes and golden crosses. As he stood looking at the distant Jerusalem, Gerard knew that destiny had brought him here.

The first sight of Jerusalem affected each pilgrim in a different way. After months of traveling, most wanted to be left alone with their innermost thoughts and emotions. Others sought to share the excitement and joy they felt. Like children, they danced around in circles, embracing and kissing anyone in sight. One man stripped naked and rolled head over heels down the side of Montjoie. Although each pilgrim reacted differently, there was one bond they all shared in common. They were devout Christians who had risked their lives to come to Jerusalem to experience the closeness of Christ. What sustained them through their long and dangerous pilgrimage was not theology or the promise of papal indulgences, but the dream of worshipping at the place where Jesus had died and risen from the dead. Now they were almost there.

Without warning, an elderly German pilgrim struggled to his feet and threw off his cloak. “I must pray at the Tomb of Christ — I must go, I have not much time.” Before anyone could stop him,
the old man started to hobble down Montjoie toward the City. The fervor of the old pilgrim struck a deep chord in the hearts of others in the caravan. As if some floodgate had opened, groups of pilgrims began to follow the old man down the side of the hill. As the number of pilgrims grew, a Templar rode after them.

“Jerusalem is over four leagues away,” the Templar shouted. “You have no water. In this heat, you will not get halfway there.” The Templars' stark warning went largely ignored. Even Gerard paid no heed to it as he ran wildly down the side of Montjoie.

After running for half a league, the old German pilgrim staggered and collapsed on the sand. His breathing became labored as though a heavy stone had been laid on his chest. He cried out for water. Minutes later, a second pilgrim collapsed on the ground, then a third and a fourth. They all stretched out their hands and begged for water.

Without stopping to help, Gerard ran past the old German and the other pilgrims who lay on the ground. The city, like a siren, pulled Gerard irresistibly toward it. Nothing else seemed to matter except reaching the walls of Jerusalem. The glare from the sun made it difficult to see the ground ahead of him. Gerard tripped over a rock and fell on his knees He stood and stumbled again, this time falling face down on the ground. Wiping the sand from his eyes and mouth, Gerard struggled back up. Twenty meters more and he fell a third time. He lay on the ground exhausted, gasping for breath.

Then Gerard heard the voice — it came from somewhere deep inside of him. “Have faith, Gerard. Jesus fell three times on His way to Golgotha.” As he lay on the burning sand, a shape began to materialize in front of him. A nimbus of bright light surrounded it. Gerard blinked, his eyes convinced that what he was seeing was an illusion. But the figure gradually grew larger and more distinct. He heard the sound of hoofbeats and could see a rider wearing the familiar red cross of a Templar. When he reached Gerard, the Templar jumped off his horse and pulled a goatskin bag from his saddle. Water poured into Gerard's mouth. When Gerard had drunk his fill, the Templar rode off to help other pilgrims who had collapsed on the ground. Soon more Templars rode out from
Jerusalem with water. Despite their efforts, however, dehydration took the lives
of
five pilgrims. Like Moses and the Promised Land, God had allowed them to see Jerusalem but not enter it.

His strength renewed, Gerard stumbled ahead. The battlements of Jerusalem lay only half a league away. With one final burst of energy, he reached the city's walls. Gerard fell to his knees sobbing, his leg cramping with pain. Holding out his hand, Gerard gently caressed each stone as if it were a precious relic. He took the piece of parchment his mother had given him and pushed it into a crack in the city wall. He could hear his mother's voice whispering in his ear. “Gerard, your destiny lies here in Jerusalem. Follow God's plan.” A door blew open in his mind. He pulled out from under his shirt the copy of Evardus's chronicle that Edouard had given him. Was it his destiny to find the copper scroll?

The gates of Jerusalem were closed from sunset until sunrise. As the evening shadows began to lengthen, crowds of late-arriving pilgrims hurried to reach the city before the gates were shut. Somewhere amidst these throngs, Gerard heard pilgrims singing a hymn he had learned as a child. “God is my shepherd and my staff,” it began. The music reached out to Gerard like an encouraging hand. When he joined in the singing, Gerard felt the oneness that unites all Christians. Drawing strength from the faith of those around him, he steadied himself and staggered toward the gate of the Holy City.

At the Damascus Gate, a merchant caravan arriving from Antioch was given priority in entering the city. Gerard stared curiously at a long line of camels carrying woven rugs from Azerbaijan and Tabriz. The animals passed before Gerard like disembodied spirits, their padded feet making no sound on the desert floor. Behind the camels rode wealthy Saracen merchants on magnificent white stallions. As a sign of wealth and position, one of the merchants carried a hooded falcon on his arm. What amazed Gerard most, however, were the Numidian bearers — each one tall and regal in bearing and each capable of balancing double his body weight on his head. Absorbed by the spectacle of the caravan, Gerard did not notice the
swarm of vendors busily seeking customers before the Damascus Gate was closed.

A short, unpleasant looking man accosted Gerard. “For three copper coins, I'll sell you a piece of John the Baptist's staff and take you to the place on the River Jordon where John baptized Jesus.”

“I'll take you there for only two coins.” The second man grabbed Gerard's arm and held it tightly. “And I'll add a stop at the house of Joseph of Arimathea for no extra charge.”

Gerard pushed the two men away only to have a portly Lebanese merchant shove a vial of perfume under his nose. “Buy it for your wife.” Gerard shook his head but the merchant was persistent, pulling out of his pocket a small packet of tea from Persia. “She may prefer instead this aphrodisiac.” Gerard shook his head again. Undaunted, the merchant put the tea in Gerard's hand and waited to be paid. Gerard threw the tea on the ground and kicked the merchant as he bent to pick it up.

The haggling frenzy outside the Damascus Gate was suddenly interrupted by shouts of pain. Off in the distance, Gerard saw a line of pilgrims approaching the city. Each carried a heavy wooden cross on his back.

“Who are they?” Gerard asked a well-dressed man standing next to him.

“You have never seen a procession of contrition before? These pilgrims are called
flagellantes
because they mortify their bodies with whips and carry crosses into Jerusalem as a sign of their sinfulness.”

As they drew near to the Damascus Gate, the flagellantes lay down their crosses. They knelt on the ground and, in loud voices, recited their sins — fornication, robbery, and sodomy, to name a few. As they confessed their sins, they untied ropes from around their waists. Begging God for forgiveness, the flagellantes whipped themselves on their backs and legs. The blows came faster and faster.

“See the red stripes on their backs.” The man pointed to three penitents who had collapsed to the ground. “They have fainted from loss of blood. Their scourges contain pieces of metal.” Gerard was revolted by what he saw.

When the last of the caravan had passed through the Damascus Gate, the pilgrims surged forward to enter the city. Gerard's heart pounded with pent-up emotion as the excited crowds carried him along. Passing through the gate was a triumphal moment for Gerard. God had called him to Jerusalem, and now he had answered his call.
“Domine Non Sum Dignus
”— “Lord I am not worthy.” Gerard recited the ancient Latin prayer as he stepped over the threshold of the Holy City.

The Damascus Gate opened into a warren of narrow streets and alleyways. From the faces of those he encountered, Gerard could sense conflict and division. A Jew with dangling phylacteries stared sullenly at a Saracen fingering his worry beads. A white-robed Dominican glared at a Byzantine priest with the beard of an Assyrian king. An Arab woman, her eyes squinting from under her galabeya, muttered obscenities at a passing Christian knight.

Exhausted, Gerard walked a few more streets into the city, but had to stop and regain his strength. He sat down against the wall of a house and started to fall asleep. A familiar voice startled him.

“So my nursing skills were successful, Gerard de Montelambert.”

Looking up, he saw Marguerite bending over him. “Do you have lodging in the city?” she asked.

“No,” answered Gerard.

“Come with me then. I have quarters not far from here.”

Outside Marguerite's house, an old man sat under an awning dreamily pulling on a water pipe. The old man motioned for Gerard to inhale the vapors.

Marguerite smiled. “He wants you to take the pipe. He will be insulted if you refuse his hospitality.”

Gerard sat down next to the old man and inhaled deeply. A burning sensation in his lungs made Gerard choke and gasp for air.

Marguerite laughed. “Opium is to be inhaled slowly. The drug is like a woman. It prefers to be handled gently.”

His face flushed with embarrassment, Gerard inhaled the pipe again. This time a warm and sensuous feeling coursed through his body.

When he entered the house, Marguerite saw that Gerard was limping. “Gerard, you are in pain. Let me ask one of the women to bathe you. The opium and the warm water will soothe you.”

Gerard smiled. “I thought you came to Jerusalem to change your life.”

Marguerite looked indignant. “I have. A young monk helps me with my daily prayers. He has even taught me some Latin.”

“And what have you taught him?”

“A few things.” Marguerite patted her strong buttocks. “Sit down, Gerard. Let me find someone to massage you.”

Minutes later a tall Ethiopian woman entered the room. Her black hair cascaded down her back to her waist.

The women's voice was like honey. “Marguerite has sent me to bathe you.”

The woman filled a large copper basin with warm water. With a piece of pumice stone, she scrubbed the dirt off Gerard's body. When she had dried Gerard, the woman poured oil in stripes across his back and massaged his neck and shoulders. “The oil is made from the leaves of the acacia plant. It will take away your pain.” She gently rubbed more of the oil down Gerard's spine and lower back. The touch of her hands felt sensuous. The woman massaged his buttocks and moved her hands slowly to his thighs. She laughed when she saw his awkwardness. “You must take more opium.”

The old man had come into the house. He handed the pipe to Gerard.

“This is my first time with a woman.”

She smiled. “Ah! Your first time! Then you have much to learn. When you are invited to a banquet, you must savor the food bite by bite. You do not tear at it like some wild animal. Hunger is best satisfied when the food is digested slowly. The same is true of desire. To satisfy a woman, you must linger over her body.”

As the woman spoke, she loosened her robe.

The next afternoon, Gerard left the woman's bed chamber. He heard her giggling with a new client in the next room. Although the woman was a prostitute, he could not forget the smell of her
body and the pleasure of her touch. Gerard now understood the meaning of passion and desire. And jealousy!

A knight directed Gerard to a nearby barracks that catered to French knights. After securing lodging, he walked to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and knelt before the Tomb of Christ. He felt soiled by what he had done last night. His lust for the woman had won out over his self-control. Jesus must have enjoyed the company of women. The Gospels show instances of that. Somehow, however, Jesus had learned to overcome His desire for sexual intimacy. Gerard knew he must learn to do the same.

While returning to his barracks several days after arriving in the city, Gerard passed near the Golden Gate, where Jesus entered Jerusalem triumphantly on Palm Sunday. A man who sat in the street called out to him.

“Please, sir, a few coins?” From his accent, Gerard knew the man was Provençal. “The Saracens raped and killed my wife. They robbed me of all I had and left me for dead. A pilgrim found me and saved my life.”

“You look fit enough. We can always use able-bodied men in our regiment. Come with me.”

“I cannot go.”

“Why not?”

“Because of this....” The man lifted his cloak. His right arm

was gone. “The Saracens cut it off. They do it so a Christian cannot make the Sign of the Cross.”

“Where did this happen?”

“On the desert road from Jaffa. Saracens are everywhere. They are butchers.”

Gerard gave the beggar the coins he had in his pocket.

That night Gerard de Montelambert could not sleep. The sight of the beggar haunted him. He wondered if the Saracens had laughed as they severed the man's arm. By morning, Gerard had made up his mind what he would do. The Templars were seeking temporary recruits to increase the number of patrols escorting pilgrims
between Jaffa and Jerusalem. Gerard agreed to a four-month commitment.

In Tortosa, Brother Michael had warned Gerard of the hostility between the Venetian and Genoese merchants and the Order of the Temple. Gerard quickly learned, however, that in Latin Palestine hostility and rivalry among Christian factions were not the exception but the rule. It was safer, the Templars would say, to trust the word of a Saracen than the word of a Christian. On the long patrols through the desert, Gerard came to admire the discipline and training of the Templars, but it was their devotional practices that most impressed him. He noticed how two Templars always ate from the same bowl. When he asked the reason, a Templar gave Gerard an uncomprehending look. “To guard against secret abstinence, of course. To praise God, many of our brothers would eat too little.”