Free Brethren: An Epic Adventure of the Knights Templar by Robyn Young Page A

garments of an initiated knight. Although he spent much of his time at Balantrodoch, working, living and praying with members of the Order, he hadn’t taken the vows of chastity and poverty, only the vow of obedience, and was therefore permitted to continue in his duties as a husband and father, dividing his time between the Temple and the estate. His black mantle was the color of human sin, only the pure being able to don the white of a Templar.

    Will lingered by the door, watching his father’s chest rise and fall with each breath. He had been concerned when his father had summoned him in an unusually solemn tone. Laughter floated from the adjacent room where Will’s elder sisters, Alycie and Ede, were playing with Mary, the youngest.

    James Campbell turned at the sound and smiled as he saw Will. “Come here, William. I have something for you. ”

    As Will sat at the table, his father planted a large hand over his. James’s long fingers were stained brown with the oak gall ink he used to keep the preceptory’s ledgers and his palms were soft, unlike the hands of the few knights Will had met, whose skin was coarse with calluses from the regular handling of a sword. During his thirteen years working for the Temple, James had spent several seasons with the knights, learning how to ride their war-chargers and how to fight, but his main obligation had always been to his work. To Will, however, James was as fine a warrior as any man he had ever known; finer, the boy had always thought, as he was also able to read, write, count and speak Latin as well as the pope. Will had even heard him utter a few words in a chanting, musical tongue that James had told him was Arabic, the language of the Saracens.

    “ Do you remember me speaking of a gift your grandfather left to me when he died? ”

    Will’s first thought was the estate. The spacious yet comfortable dwelling, nestled at the foot of a moor with its outbuildings and barns, had once belonged to his grandfather. Angus Campbell had been a wealthy wine merchant who, tired of family squabbles, had left his clan to set up a business alone. Rich and worldly, he had raised his son as a gentleman, had found him a suitable bride, and, shortly after James’s first two children were born, Angus had pledged him to the Templars at Balantrodoch, with whom he had forged close trade links over the years. On his death, Angus had left his gold to the Order and the estate to his son.

    “ Our home? ”

    “ Not the house. Something else. ”

    Will shook his head.

    “ I suppose you were too young then to recall it now. ”

    James rose and headed to the fire where something was propped against the hearthstones. At first glance, Will thought it was a poker, but as his father picked it up and returned to the table, Will saw that it was a sword, a falchion. The short, curved blade, which widened at the tip, looked, from the scars on its convex edge, to have seen battle. The pommel was disc-shaped and the hilt was crisscrossed with a band of silver wire to enhance the grip. It was a stocky blade designed for an infantryman. Will watched as his father laid it on the table.

    “ This sword is a birthright. Your grandfather was given it by his father and before he died he passed it to me. It is now yours, William. ”

    Will stared at his father. “A real blade? ”

    “ You cannot fight with a stick forever.” James smiled. “Well, the day you wield it in battle will be far in the future; God willing never. But I believe you’re old enough to bear it now. I have spoken with the Master at Balantrodoch and he has agreed to accept you as a sergeant-in-training. ”

    Will touched the hilt lightly. It was warm from where it had stood by the fire. “I’m really going? ”

    “ Going? ”

    “ To Balantrodoch. ”

    James studied his son’s face. “I’ve trained you the best I can, William. I’ve taught you your letters and how to ride and to fight, but the skills you’ve learned