The Pilgrim Trail

My name is Michel Luc de Payens.  I am French by birth, Christian by calling and a knightly prince by profession.  Along with others I was conscripted by my Pope in the spring of 1095 to defend the Byzantine Emperor Alexius Comnenus.  His empire was attacked by Seljuk Turks (Islamic).  Our efforts there helped repel the Turks.  In reprisal the Muslims banned Christian visitations to the Holy Land. So began the First Crusade to take back the Home of Our Savior.

Protecting pilgrims and soldiers on their trek to Jerusalem was charged to the most fervent soldiers of Christ.  I was one of them.  It was our life for many years to range in Syria between Antioch and Damascus.  We patrolled and protected Christians from bandits and Muslims.  We fought to keep the Lord God in our hearts and in our daily actions.

It was an arduous ride along semiarid terrain.  The helmet was often hot, the air dry.  Horses were slow to respond, slow in movement. They knew better than their human masters that this was no time to sally into the unknown. But what could be done?  There were pilgrims in the balance.  If we did nothing to protect them then more than lives would be forsaken.  Our charge and our calling would be thwarted – our souls damned.  So we rode into an alien land with a prayer and hope that we would always be in time to pluck Pilgrims from disaster.  Hazards were always present on the rode to Jerusalem.

Great throngs had traversed the Pilgrim Trail to the Holy Land.  We had protected many of them.  But we were tired, in need of some kind of succor.  Our world revolved around the largess of the pilgrims.  We gave them protection and they gave us support in food and clothing and good spirits.  In a way we were more dependent upon them than they upon us.  Nine years in the service of our Lord had been rewarding but fraught with peril.  Many of us had succumbed to the violence of the pilgrimage or to sensual pleasures.  Leaving the trail for the ease of less demanding commands back home in France was alluring.  I too had thought of going home and enlisting my services to king and country.  But, the Lord had charged me with this work and I dared not inhibit the expedition of His Holy Sojourn.

Muslims call us “the infidel.”  They say we know nothing of God, nothing of how to live a righteous life.  This may be true.  We soldiers of the Lord have not been without sin.  We have killed in the name of God, in the name of Jesus.  How does any man know if he is indeed the enlightened one or the blasphemer?  For sure the Muslims we have encountered are much more refined than most kings in our homeland.  Does that make them more righteous?  Does that make me less hungry for the Promised Land?

Many say Jerusalem is the only redemption for a soldier of the Lord. We live out a cruel existence on the trail to the Sacred City, a place none of us have ever seen.  We ride the most perilous parts of the road in protection of those who believe enough to risk all to find the City of David.  If life is a test then we have had our catechism again and again.

Today goat herders have reported bandits along the pilgrim trail.  On horse along the road we move to thwart any ulterior action.  We have learned to balance our passion to protect pilgrims with the reality of keeping ourselves ready for what the day may present.  We have few resources and care for horses that must rest periodically as do soldiers.  Food and water require an artful effort to keep clean and potable.  With care, along the trail we find  pilgrims under attack from Muslim warriors.  It would have been better to find bandits.  Bandits negotiate ransoms for pilgrim lives. Muslims kill Christians; there is no haggling for human life if it is Christian.  They take the women and murder the rest.  Their behavior is worse than the bandits. Godless, yet we are the infidel.

Twenty-five knights patrol this part of the rode to Jerusalem.  We charge the small band of Muslim warriors.  They try to flee with two women from the Christian pilgrimage, but drop the hostages and run for their lives.  The conflict is short and the result is positive.  The women are returned to their families and the celebration begins.  Pilgrims are elated.  Knights are validated by their valor and the grateful Christians.  We are invited to celebrate their good fortune.  We eat goat and drink wine.  It is a feast but, there is a problem.

The Muslim warriors escaped.  Undoubtedly they are part of a larger contingent not far away, probably from Damascus.  They never travel in such small groups.  This was probably a patrol party or they were making a reconnaissance; there were only five of them.  It is a bad situation.  We do not let on to the terrible danger these pilgrims are still in.  We coax them to travel quickly to the safety in the citadel of  Acre along the coast.  There is a Christian stronghold there.  We can rest in the shade of palm trees and pray in the church.  Alas, we are still a day’s journey to Acre.  We knights escort the pilgrims, gently prodding but growing more desperate to reach Acre.

Finally we stand upon the dunes overlooking the sea and the sparkling city.  At last we can let our guard down and join the fellow Christians below us.  But there is no rest yet.  The Muslim war party has caught up with us and they begin their attack.  These are angry men, thwarted by God and circumstance.  They want the livestock, the gold and the women.  Their intent is to kill us all to get it.  We are but five hundred meters from the walls of Acre.  There is no gentle prodding now.  We shout and push and we are all running for our lives to the walls of Acre.  The great miracle is that Knights of King Baldwin have witnessed our plight from their post on the ramparts.  They race to our aid.  Great joy!  The day is won, we are safe.  We live to fight again for the Lord God.