The Templar’s Bowl
by
Peter “Lou” D’Alessio
Copyright © 2011
Chapter 11: Master of The Fleet that Never Was:
‘Brother Sergeant Roger le Flor’
It was like falling into a well with the Templars at the bottom and a priest and doctor at the top. I would feel myself being pulled up like a bucket of water on a rope. At the top, I’d blink my eyes open and peek past the people in the room and look east out my window to see if the bay was still there. Then I’d be released and fall back into oblivion.
At any time in a three-century period, if the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon had more than ten large ships internationally, it would have been considered a lot. But by 1187, we had ships docked at our stronghold of Acre, and from the port of La Rochelle our vineyards had been licensed to export wine—and other things—to our fortresses throughout the world. In 1233, we had a fleet of two at the port of Marseilles licensed to transport 1,500 pilgrims a year to the Holy Lands, departing at Easter tide and over the summer. From early on there was a great need to transport coin money, foodstuffs, and especially men... and horses. The moving of horses was key to our military operation, and it is not an easy task to move a vigorous rouncy or palfrey over water. In a Norse Dragonship with oars, the oars grazed their flanks. You cannot tow them in a pen for they are high-spirited, and if their masters cannot calm them, not being there, a disaster is at hand. Even the captains porting horses must excel at timing, for a Knight does not ride off a ship into battle. A horse must regain its stomach and legs. So, no matter what, the captain must always arrive a week before a battle. The Templar fleet, so far as the world was concerned, was a handful of European ships rolling from east to west and back again, and if more were needed, we rented... but I shall talk about this endeavor later. These slow steady ships were known, not for their speed or beauty, but for their safety. When not serving for transport, we found “other things” for them to do! Seeing our flag of Sidon, a pirate knew that to stop us was to die, so we traveled with little interference.
There were few exploits of note with these sea-going oxen, but there were a few sailors of note. In 1291, Sergeant-Brother Captain Roger de Flor, the captain of our ship The Falcon, got himself convicted of privateering (a polite term for being a pirate) and was sentenced to hang—of course, our Grand Master Guillame de Beaujeu (who some said died more of the misery Brother Roger had forever given him than the Muslim ax that took his head) and his successor Thibauld Guadin expelled de Flor from the Order, the Pope having denounced de Flor as a thief and an apostate. In 1224 Henry III, to help with his war with the French, rented the ship of Brother Thomas of the Temple of Spain (and eventually bought it) and licensed two of our ships, La Templere and La Buzzard, out of the port of La Rochelle. I do believe Brother Thomas went to King Henry with his ship.
Things were happening in the Holy Lands at sea all along. By 1177, Salah el Din began importing timber from Europe to build better ships. He was enlisting European crews to run them. It got to be so bad that the Church placed a ban on any Christian willing to captain or pilot for Muslims! By 1187, Salah el Din ruled the coastline of Syria and the Palestine. Through the siege of Acre in 1189, he disguised his ships by sailing with pigs aboard to fool the Christian defenses for two years. Only when King Richard arrived with a large fleet in 1191, was el Din’s power broken. To try to hold the line, even our brothers the Teutonic Knights held a fleet of four galleys and maintained an Admiral of the fleet! In truth, even though these four ships were to shallow in draft, sailed too low, and were not sturdy, they had more credibility at sea than we. Our sailors seemed inexperienced and thoughtless. More than once when moving with a convoy, a rudder would snap and we would be at the mercy of whoever had a spare rudder.
Our slow and clumsy European ships, whether for cargo or battle, truly did not serve Templar purposes in the grand scheme of things. These ships had little space for drinking water—a small number of days at most—so they had to cling to the shoreline. Not that it mattered; they were not sturdy enough to weather the storms and fierce waves of open waters, and easily toppled over in high winds. So, seemingly, we hugged the coast and ambled on for months to get anywhere. But as we did with most effects of importance, things were done in silence that the world need not know.
As soon as the early twelfth century, Vikings and Templars had a strong but quiet working alliance. I suspect that there was a realization that these two great tribes of warriors would only extinguish each other in battle. Wiser to work together. The Vikings, as the Templars, had been spreading out across the world, and each had needs that could be met by the other. We had known that the Viking Dragonships and their Knarrs and Karves served better than any ship of Europe or even the clever crafts of Islam. They drew little water and their ingeniously constructed frames could not be twisted apart by timber-wrenching waves even in the Atlantic. With great consideration, offers of silver (they preferred silver over gold!) and, more importantly to the Norse, iron were offered to chieftains for use of Norse shipwrights. It was with great considerations that Templar leaders offered stores of iron. It was thought at last that we really knew not what these wild warriors would do with the iron. If they made weapons to kill Christians, our hands would be clean in God’s sight.
In short time, a fleet of lapstrake-constructed ships floated all the waters Templars knew. These “rented” ships served us better than faithful dogs. Our banks sent coin and paper credits across the known world faster than it had ever been done before, and under the flag of Sidon we protected our ships and ravished the shipping of our enemies. This was the fleet I was given Mastery of through the efforts and concerns of Brother Theobor and the Grand Master Jacques de Molay. As Theobor told me, Masters are not born—they are made. So at a young age I was given over from Theo to a ship’s Master of uncommon skill and military leadership to learn my craft... at least, that is what I was told!
’Brother Sergeant Roger le Flor’
I, Brother Sergeant Roger le Flor, Ruggero or Ruggiero de Flore, Rutger Von Blum or Roggero Flores—whichever you prefer or depending on situation—Sergeant of Templars and Captain of their ship, The Falcon, was born in the year 1267, the son of a German Falconer Richard Von Blum. When I was eight, I was sent to sea on a Templar Galley, and by God, I’ve had my feet on a ship’s deck longer than on dry land! In the space of years, I became the most able of seaman and grew into the Captaincy. I entered The Templar Brotherhood and was given the black surcoat and Red Cross of Sergeant. I had learned also the art of warfare and in 1291, when Mamluk Sultan Al-Ashraf Kahil caused the fall of our beloved port of Acre, I rescued several very wealthy citizens and, after several machinations (all unintentional, I assure you!) and personnel disputes, they were kind enough to reward my bravery by denouncing me to the Pope as an apostate and thief! Thanks to the efforts of the good Pontiff I was thrown—reluctantly—from the ranks of Templars. Needless to say, I was tried and convicted of Privateering and sentenced to hang. With thanks to a certain rather corpulent, bearded Templar of whose acquaintance I had been since I’d first sailed to the port of Hambor, I fled to Genoa. I borrowed a large sum from my friend Ticino Dora, bought a ship... and turned pirate for real with a great zest!
For years Templar ships had flown under the flag of Sidon. They had taken their black pennant and placed a white skull above crossed leg bones, and those of evil intent seeing that flag knew to leave well enough alone. The legend of the Skull of Sidon told of a great lady of Maraclea who was loved by a Templar against the laws of the Order. This Knight was a Lord of Sidon. She died of a sudden and of unknown cause and on the night of her burial, he crept to her grave, dug up her body, and debased it. Then a voice from the void bade him return in nine months time, for he would find a son. He returned at the appointed time, opened the grave again, and found a skull on the leg bones of the skeleton, the skull and crossbones. The same voice bade him to guard it well, for it would be the giver of all good things, and so he carried it away with him. It became his shielding intelligence, and he was able to defeat his enemies by merely showing them the head. The legend said that with the death of the Knight, the skull passed to the possession of the Templar Order. I am told they actually have the skull with their sacred relics, but I do not believe that.
I do believe that flying the skull pennant over my ship was the best idea this old rogue ever had! Seeing it, my prey would believe I was a Templar ship and not even resist as I boarded them with wicked intent. I never wished to kill, only to rob, and these affairs often turned into bloodletting contests! But with the flag flying overhead, I took many ships with nary a drop of bloodshed. I was aboard before a spear could be thrown, and I laughed at the captured crew for cowardice and stupidity and the ease that I, Roger de Flor, had in taking them over. This happened to the greatest of frequency and soon a vessel’s watch, seeing the flag flying over my ship drawing nearer and nearer, would call to the crews that ’Jolly Roger’ was coming to get them! A strange thing to be almost remembered for.
Yes, I was a pirate, but I was also the most experienced military leader of my day. It’s amazing how many righteous Nobles will turn their heads to piracy when they need your skill. By 1302 I was called upon by the Byzantine Empire to defend them against the Ottoman Turks. I did so quite ably. On April 30, 1305 assassins found me at Adrianople in Turkey, and my cavalry was slaughtered also with me that day. My men, after a long and violent war, destroyed the Greeks who had done this. I was avenged of my end and honored as a Commander.
But enough of me! Be aware that what I became was with knowledge of the Templar knights. When my friend Theobor brought me the boy Thompson, I had barely been a captain a full season. As Theo said, my reputation preceded me!
“Remember, Richard, he is a man of great courage and faith, a Sergeant of Templars, and a Captain of ships. His knowledge of the seas and oceans and sailing ships is greater than any Brother in the order! Show no fear of God nor man, storm nor wave, watch him like a hawk, and you’ll be fine!” We walked the wharves of Marseilles looking for something. Theo had forgotten to tell me what. He looked preoccupied with some weighty thought. Me? I was so excited I was almost wetting my pants. In my native time, young boys dreamt of running away to join the circus. In the thirteenth century, it was stowing away on a ship bound for the Aegean or Black Sea. We stopped suddenly. “There!” Theo pointed to a far dock. “There’s his ship, our ship, the Saint Anne!”
She was big!
It was a cog ship for transporting. Broad and roomy, it had a deck and a raised platform at the stern and bow. Unlike the lapstrake designs, this giant floating box had clinker outer planking, with strong crossbeams protruding through the sides, holding the vessel together. She had a straight stem and sternpost not rounded and cleanly curved as the Norse ships, and she was big!
“Aye boy, she’s more than twelve lasten!” I looked up at my mentor. “Twenty-four tons, boy, more than twenty-four tons. I see you haven’t memorized the lists of nautical terms and measurements I gave you...”
Before I could answer, the salt air was shattered by a loud shrill whistle emanating from a short, balding, pot-bellied man (a sailor, judging by his dress), who was grinning from ear to ear. “ ’WAY! YOU FAT S’FATCHEME! YOU AND THE BOY, GET UP HERE, AVANTAAAAAY! I GOT WINE FROM GREECE AND BREAD FROM HOME!”
Theo looked at me with that twinkle in his eye that said I was in for adventure. “And that, Master Thompson, is Sergeant Brother Captain Roger de Flor!” Theo had grabbed me by my collar and I found we were breaking into a trot. “He’s just called me a fat son-of-a-bitch, and has given us permission to come aboard and test his stores!” My feet moved, but my mind didn’t! Roger de Flor was not who—or what—I was expecting. He was a Sergeant! Where was the black surcoat with the Red Cross? By the time Theo reached the gangway, he was virtually dragging me behind him. De Flor had been walking towards us, and now he too was picking up speed. When all the extra tonnage collided with each other, I was a safe four feet behind.
As Theo and de Flor slapped backs and insulted each others’ manhood, all the sailors working the rigging and moving cargo stopped working, and a chorus of “ou’s” and “ah’s” rang out with every jibe. Obviously Brother Theo and Brother Roger had a long and interesting history. As attentions focused on the two old sinners I looked around at my new home. This was not a unified Templar unit. There were sailors here from Spain and Greece, Italy and Turkey, and some really exotic places like northern Africa’s Barbary Coast... all over the world. How did they all communicate? The Saint Anne was stout, but old. I really wondered how she weathered storms with those high masts of hers.
As the verbal storm began to sink down, I studied de Flor, my new master. His mannerisms and speech seemed to be of the Italians, but his face was of the Germans. He reminded me of many of the Teutonic Knights I had met in the Holy Lands. Yes, he was a bit pot-bellied, but his arms and hands were easily as powerful as Theo’s. I was looking at his dress and trying to determine its origins when de Flor saw me studying him.
“A’, little paisan, ever see what salt air does to chain mail? T’is better to save your Templar gear for the land!” I looked up at the smiling Captain who continued, “It’s not good! Ask Brother Theo, he’ll tell you. The salt eats it away while you wear it! Now, little paisan, Theo says you need to know how the Masters sail. He thinks someday you may even be Master of the fleet that never was! Let me see your hands!”
I lifted my hands and he seized them in very, very strong grip. I think he expected me to try and wriggle away like a trapped child might, but I squeezed back as best I could. “Not bad. So you don’t like to break and run, de Flor likes that! Ever been to sea, know anything about sailing?”
“My father was Master of ships and...”
“Mine was a falconer, boy. But I don’t know how to fly! On these seas we don’t waste time talking around things. I ask again. Do you know anything about sailing?”
I spoke directly and firmly, perhaps with more authority than my station allowed. “No sir! Why else would I let this fat bastard drag me here?” Instead of a boot to my bottom, my two Masters roared with laughter. “Why indeed, little paisan! I like him Theo, he’s one of us already, and he’ll do well! Do you know where we go, boy? To where the world collides with the sky! Can ye chart the skies, follow Polaris to the end of the horizon and back again? Can you stand at my back and drive off the Muslim pirates who will stalk us and try and make slaves of the honest Pilgrims we carry? Can you, boy?”
“Yes sir!” I fairly screamed with delight.
“Then grab a handful of bread to eat and follow me. We’ll find you a place to sleep and work for you to do. We sail on the morrow’s tide!”
