The Road To God Is Paved With Sins [Updated: 31/11/2014]

[McScottish]

Awesome update Mc Scottish, really loved this update. The chapters, the dialouge,the narration....well done. I loved it mate

Wow great stuff, McScottish. I am kicking myself I did not notice this early. I already love this story, you've created. Cant wait for more.

Muchos gracias, compadres! There's more coming, at some point. Hopefully be getting to some action as well...we'll see.

[The Wandering Storyteller]

Np, waiting for more

[McScottish]

Chapter Dexu, Part Une

That year was not the last I would here of the Ayyūb dynast known as Saladin in the realms of Christendom, far from it, I would hear of his exploits more and more as the years wore on and I grew from a petulent youth into something of a man.

Though, truly, does any man ever cease having something of the child within him?

Not that it matters, not where Saladin was concerned, the Saracen leader going from strength to strength, yet a peace nevertheless existing between Muslims and Christians in the Kingdom of Heaven, a peace that would soon come to an end.

Following the fall of Aleppo, an event that really concerned me none, things happened to me which would happen to any growing boy; I grew taller, my shoulders broader and a downy fluff of hair appearing on my chin- nedless to say that the other Brothers looked upon me with the patience of parents, some giving a smile when they saw me stroking what I believed to be a very manly patch of hair.

"Stop playing with that," Brother Johnathan scolded me one day after prayers, "you are still an oblate in the eyes of this convent, do not forget that. Only once you have taken your vows can you be proclaimed as a Brother, and a member of our family here."

An oblate, for those who do not know, is a secular layman that has given him or herself into the care of the monastary, priory, and so forth that follow the Rule of Benedictine. They give up all wordly possessions, if they had any to begin with, and are considered part of the community, following the Rule as closely as possible without being an actual monk or nun, dressing in simple secular clothing but living as the monks do. Needless to say, as an orphaned child given into the care of the Benedictine community, I surely was one.

"I will become a Brother though, you will see," I half snorted, cocking my head and glaring at the robed figure by my side, towering over me as usual and with a blank expression on his face, "you will see."

Life went on for me, or as we say Ora et labora- prayer and work -my lessons in becoming proficient in medicine and caring for the sick ending rather abruptley during the last few months of my ten-and-fourth year of age. On that day it was decided that I simply did not have the correct character to become on of the infirmarians, such as the Brothers in Jerusalem, but would be of more use doing Gods work holding the hilt of a sword and pushing my arm through the straps of a shield.

"Wymond," called one of the Brothers from the doorway of the communal eating hall, a German named Aelwulf I believe, "Brother Johnathan wishes to see you in the training yard, with haste."

The training yard; That patch of grass covered earth, wide enough for ten men to train in the art of warfare quite comfortably, racks of weapons and pieces of armour lined up along its outer edges, and wooden-fenced areas seperated for training between pairs or groups of those Hospitallers more warrior than monk. Although we, myself included, were all a blending of both...some simply leant more toward one than the other.

I ran as if Satan himself was coming after me, my feet covered only in soft leather shoes skidding on the path of gravel that led into the training yard, my adolescent face reddened and my breath coming in elongated breaths both in and out. By the time I reached it, slowling only as I stepped onto the grass, I was nearly collapsing from self-imposed exhaustion as it was.

There was Brother Johnathan, but not as I had ever seen him before; there he stood, alone, covered from head-to-toe in the garb of his Order and bearing a sword of stout oak and a shield. A simple conical helmet covered his head, a coif covering his head and neck, the nose-guard splitting his already scarred features into something even more intimidating, maille glinting slightly where his cappae, his monkly robes, did not cover his forearms and lower legs. Truly, he was a sight to behold.

"Come, Wymond," he said with one of the first smiles I had seen upon his face, "let me show you the beginning of your life as it shall be from now until you leave this Earth."

Had I known how right he would be, I may never have stepped any closer to him, but fled in a panic.

No, I stepped forward, like the cocky whelp I was, striding with as straight a back as I could toward him until I was barely an arms length from him. Well within the reach of a sword.

"Here!" Came his booming voice again, his hands slipping another sword from behind his shield and tossing it to me. It was from then that things began to go badly for me, as I dropped it to the grass rather than catch it. "Pick it up, boy," he commanded, "do not ever drop your sword again."

"What have I bought down on myself?" I thought as I leant over to pick up the sword from the ground, straining even to lift it, looking to my opponent for some explanation, "we train as the Pagan Romans did," he said as his smile grew even wider, "making sure that our training weapons weigh twice as much as those of steel."

Without announcing it he stepped forward threateningly, the smile completely vanished and his steely eyes boring into me from the shadows of his helmet, I scurried back with the wooden arming sword in my hands and out of reach of his own, "usually a knight is trained some years before yourself, taught how to ride, how to use a sword and shield, how to use a lance, and all of what it means to be a knight in the service of his liege. Now, I know you can ride, I have seen it for myself, but you are a little older than most to be beginning your training, and this is why we shall be doing this each and every day."

Another step forward for him, and another back for me, his sword held lazily by his side while my own was raised in an imitation of what I imagined a 'guard' would look like.

"In between prayers..." he said as he slid his feet in my direction "...after mass..." closer he stalked, like a wolf closing in on a wounded deer, "...before you go to bed in the evening and thus shall the cycle begin anew."

Now he struck, my eyes trying to follow his movements but losing their focus as he lunged forward, the dull yet still painful tip of the oak sword hitting me square in my sternum and causing me to begin coughing. While I sought to regain my mental and bodily balance he hit me again, my own sword arm, my left, swinging in an attempt to strike him that ended with my blow glancing from his shield and his return with the face of his shield knocking me backward until my spine pressed against the wooden fencing surrounding the whole yard. It did not cease here. Again and again he struck me, not enough to break bone or split flesh, but hard enough to cover my entire upper body in livid and angry purple bruises.

By the end of my 'training', having already been exhausted from my wrongfully excited enthusiasum, I did collapse to the grass. I dropped my sword then, to Hell with him! Bringing my knees up to my chest and arching my back until my forehead touched my legs. There I remained, my entire body quivering with a fear I had not felt before, what passion or aggression I may have summoned to fight back having dissipated as soon as the first blow was struck. Perhaps the worst part, my nose creasing as I realised in between my scattered thoughts, was that I had pissed myself.

"That was disgraceful, Wymond. A disgrace to this Order and to God. I am not certain what I expected of you," sighed the disappointed Brother as he stood over my hunched body, "but know this; you lost because of your fear, and you let that fear defeat you. I will help you to harness that fear, have no fear of that." I can only assume that he looked at me for a moment, deciding whether to continue his assault, but then deciding better of it, "get up Wymond, get up. I do not know where the assured youth that I saw before has gone, but I hope that he enters this yard once you have gone to the infirmary and gotten yourself seen to."

Then he was gone, at least for now, leaving me laying stinking in my own urine and in pain each time I tried to move- I was there for some time before I picked myself off the floor, placing the training blade back on its rack and hobbling away to the infirmary..

What I found there I did not expect to, but I am to this day glad that I did.

[Merchant of Venice]

Another great chapter I love how Wymond went from this cocky teen to this fearful kid so quickly! I'd give you rep but I need to spread it around first!

[McScottish]

Another great chapter I love how Wymond went from this cocky teen to this fearful kid so quickly! I'd give you rep but I need to spread it around first!

Make sure you do, Merchant...make sure you do. Thank you for the praise.

[Stívarðr Reynitré]

I love this. This is yet another reason why I spend so much time here! I'm hoping to keep tabs on this in the future. Definitely one to watch!

[Axis Sunsoar]

Just caught up on the story, and enjoyed it immensely. Rep coming your way of course.

Possibly my favorite part of the story is how seamlessly the words of the old man in the present blend in to each story, creating a flowing narrative that gives the feeling of transporting you back at the beginning of each chapter, without a awkward "time machine" sentence.

[McScottish]

Gratitude to you both!

If I noticed half of the things that you point out, well, I'd be far more big-headed than I already am.

Glad you're enjoying it though, I do try, and every comment (compliment or not) is worth the time put in. I would write it anyway, but no-one can deny that knowing someone is reading and enjoying it helps a lot.

[McScottish]

Chapter Deux, Part Deux

She was a vision disguised as a nun, her hair- which I assumed to be a fiery red from the unruly locks that had shifted loose -tucked as best it could be beneath those folds of material, her eyes like stormy grey clouds and yet nowhere as threatening, her lips like the most beautiful flower, and her peculiar pointed face completely free of any scars, marks or blemishes. When I entered that infirmary, bruised and battered and smelling of piss, and she descended some stairs to meet me...I thought I had been killed by my Brother and been recieved into the Lords bosom, truly.

"Are you in need of succour, Brother?" She asked me, her voice like a choir of what I believed Angels must sound like, her eyes looking over my body and a sense of knowing entering her eyes, Ï see you must have been on in the training grounds. Please, come and lay here."

I was escorted, under the watchful eye of the colder and more humourless nuns, to a small pallet. I was told to lay myself down, and to tell her what had happened. This I did, retelling it to her in as few words as possible, for I wished to hear her voice again, though she must have been many years older than myself- a full grown woman no less.

"Please remove all your clothing, except for your undergarments."

As anyone would, I did as I was bidden, removing all of my clothing and then laying there as silent as the grave. She studied me more closely, narrowing her eyes and wetting her lips as she pressed and prodded my naked flesh. My mind seemed to become locked isinde itself, seeing the whole scene from outside my body, and before I knew it she was gripping jars of ointment and rubbing things onto me.

God help me, but I responded as any red-blooded man would- much to my everlasting shame.

Before I could stop myself I had become engorged; the nun, her name Sister Elsabeth, glaring at me as her cheeks flushed red and trying not to look at the thing that had just presented itself.

"A-apologies, my lady...I..."

Well, what could I say? I was a young man, hot-blooded and full of all manner of this and that! She was so beautiful, so...yes, those thoughts are best left to me and my mind.

"You may dress yourself now..."

"Wymond," I said by way of introduction.

"Yes, Wymond."

She managed a smile, shooing me out of the infirmary all the while, placing a jar into my hand and pointing back toward the Monks cells. A place where I may one day be, for now living in my own room alongside the other secular Brothers.

"And Wymond," she called after me, "try not to get hurt again."

By the time I was back in my sparse lodgings I could think of only three things; changing out of my clothing and bathing myself, becoming a far hardier soul and one day rising higher than Brother Johnathan, and Sister Elsbeth and her...nevermind, that is between a man and God.

Now, more wine! This tale gives me a thirst, and a roaring sensation between my loins. Send in that maid from London, she's young and pretty. Ha!

[McScottish]

Chapter Deux, Part Trois

The training yard very soon became my life, that hollow rectangle of earth and grass, much of which I tasted in the coming months, a place that would have been familiar to most of my fighting brethren for three years from the early age of twelve. It was much to my annoyance, and to the merriment of Brother Johnathan, that I had began my own path to full Brotherhood and therefore to God at the ripe age of ten-and-four years instead. Oh, I could ride a horse competently enough, and swing a sword and shield like the amateur I was, but if I was to rise from anything but a boy playing knight...then I would have to show my older Brother that he would not stand in my way.

When he had told me I would eat, drink and breath combat I had inwardly sniggered at this mans fantasies, but very soon my body and I came to realise that there was no hint of jest or lies in his words. No, it was each and every day that I would present myself, clothed only in a padded gambeson, hose and a layman's tunic, to combat this fully armoured Hospitaller. I suppose the only equality between us were the weighted weapons we used!

Very soon my days, and inexorably my sleepless nights as well, transformed into faint images of being struck over and over again and then returning to the infirmary where I would once again see my angelic vision named Elsbeth.

Who could have known that it would be her presence that would finally see the end of, or at least headway toward the end of, my domination by Johnathan?

One day, a wet and dreary afternoon if I recall, this...heaven-sent Sister was once more applying ointments to my bruised and battered body when, as if talking to herself more than to her smitten patient, she made it known that she would be coming to see me train with her own eyes. For too long, she said, she had healed me day after day in various ways- now she would stand by the fence and see for herself why this should be so.

I could do nothing but shake my head dumbly, standing and limping off toward my cot for some rest, my mind never resting even as my body did. The women, even though a nun she may be, that I desired was coming to see me train...me! HAH! If there is a greater reason for a man to show some steel in his spine and some fire in his belly, I would surely like to know! Now, where was I, this wine makes my mind blur...oh, yes, the day I proved my worth.

************

I recall it being a murky afternoon, right after our noon time mass and then our noon meal, with the drizzle of moisture ever present in the air. By the time I reached the training yard, that had turned inevitably into a quagmire of mud, I was already shivering through the thickness of my clothing and flexing my fingers to keep them active. As for my feet, well, I barely noticed them and the lack of feeling I got from them. Such is the curse of England- the day may be but partially wet, but the wind and cold will tear straight through you nonetheless.

"The Oblate shows his face once more," boomed Brother Johnathan from within the confines of his hooded helmet, looking like the perfected blend between monk and warrior, his mail glinting as a sickly beam of sun penetrated the cloud above us, "will you taste mud today, Wymond? Or shall it be I?" He questioned as he threw my training sword to me, a shield already looped about my right arm, my left- according to many to be the Devil's hand -snatching it from the air and weighing it gently as I squelched through the mud to within a javelins throw of my superior.

A thought entered my mind then, my eyes moving across the surrounding ground, falling haltingly onto the black-cloaked figure of a slender woman, unruly strands of fiery hair still peeking from beneath her habit, and thus did I know that Sister Elsbeth had indeed been speaking to me. She stood silent and still, her eyes- the very same colour as the clouds and sky overhead -barely visible inside the hood of the cloak in which she swathed herself.

"Defend yourself!"

He had come toward me with the quickness of a serpent, and the noiseless movement of a shadow, his sword already thrusting toward my exposed face and barely finding my shield in its way.

"Pay attention, lad."

We circled one another, a dance so often done over the last eleven months, my mind receding back into itself and the fire in my belly cooling until it resembled only embers. My eyes now never left those of my adversary, shaded and narrowed as they were, using the corners of my eyes to notice any movement.

"AH!"

I lunged forward, bringing my shield up to block his counter blow, yet finding my strike sliding from the face of his own, my right arm swinging open as I attempted to knock his blade away. It did not work, and soon his sword was sending shivers down my youthful arm once more, my knuckles turning white with an all-too-familiar rage that built up inside me...only a glimpse of Elsbeth allowing me to remain calm and make sure that his blows fell on my shield or the blade of my own sword.

"Come Wymond, attack." He bellowed, his voice measured and commanding, each word accompanied by a measured blow from his own wooden blade, "you can stand and die, or you can kill me. Which will it be, boy?"

"Do not call me 'boy'," I replied through gritted teeth, all feelings of cold having left my body moments before, my left arm pulling back until half my blade struck out from the side of my shield, my body pulling itself into a half-crouch, "you might regret it, Brother."

His laugh of derision only strengthened my resolve, the corners of his mouth twitching beneath his hood into a mocking smile, his entire stance that of a swaggering knight. Yet, beneath all the false mockery and deliberate arrogance, I only now realised that all he did was calm and measured. For weeks I had taken him for an arrogant and puffed-up knight who was far past his prime, but now I could see...now I could see his true face.

"Please, Brother, the honour of attacking is yours!"

I think that he knew he would fail then, that I had learnt too much to be taunted into action, although my youthful anger was held in check only by the presence of the woman that I believed I loved. If I could even have known what love was! Yes, even as he proceeded through the mud and the drenched material of his cappae swirled through the air, even as his sword and shield worked as one to defeat me, I think that he finally knew I was not that impetuous boy any more. I had taken too many beatings, received too many bruises, fought too many bouts on this sodden earth, to be fooled once more.

It all seemed to move so slowly, like the moments when a cat is about to pounce upon a mouse, everything around you disappearing into wind and only your adversary remaining. Your sole point of attention. Each movement of your own blade and shield as heavy as a block of stone, each parry or blow like a hammer striking the anvil that was you, and each step like a thousand leagues of travel. So it seemed to a boy of ten-and-four anyway.

Step forward, receive cut toward the head, raise shield to block it, and lunge forward with blade and your shoulder behind it. At all times keeping your feet, of course.

This is how I achieved my first 'victory' against my Brother, a simple set of movements, that I am still not sure he did not deliberately cause. To this very day, many years later, I sometimes wonder if he allowed me to best him...no, I think, it was not in his nature to just allow anyone to best him. Not the lowest oblate, and not the highest born knight. Then, of course, it is far easier on my aged mind to believe that I was granted victory by my own skill and by the Lord's good graces.

"Well done Wymond."

Johnathan lowered his weapon and closed the distance between us, placing a hand on my shoulder, an honest smile now on his face. For my own part, I could not stop smiling, grinning even, like a fool.

"Do this often and you shall become a Brother in no time.."

His sword was lifted once more and, as if I should have forgotten, I was reminded that this would be a long day.

"Defend yourself."

[Stívarðr Reynitré]

Excellent entry...

Wrong choice of words maybe.

[McScottish]

Excellent entry...

Wrong choice of words maybe.

Ooooooooh!

[Merchant of Venice]

A cheeky chapter indeed but nonetheless great work.

[The Wandering Storyteller]

Great update mate! Awesome and loved his reactions to the girl, very cheeky indeed, this would indeed serve an powerful uplift in your story. Maybe you could have the Wymond falling in love early and then going onto the Crusades while she awaits him? Or she is married by an evil uncle or Lord that maybe has an feud with Wymond's family? Just suggestions - but its going good!

[McScottish]

A cheeky chapter indeed but nonetheless great work.

Indeed, wanted something comedic before I got back into the seriousness of the 80's training montage.

Great update mate! Awesome and loved his reactions to the girl, very cheeky indeed, this would indeed serve an powerful uplift in your story. Maybe you could have the Wymond falling in love early and then going onto the Crusades while she awaits him? Or she is married by an evil uncle or Lord that maybe has an feud with Wymond's family? Just suggestions - but its going good!

Good suggestions, and I will take them into account.

Nonetheless, I have big plans for Wymond, big plans. Mu-hah-haaaa!

[The Wandering Storyteller]

Eh np, keep us updating mate!

[Alwyn]

I'm enjoying reading Wymond's story. In the latest chapter, I like the sense of his development as he sees Brother Johnathan's 'true face'. More chapters please !

[Merchant of Venice]

I agree with Alwyn, the coming of age symbolized by him seeing the Brothers 'true' face was a nice touch. The descriptive language was all brilliant as well. I see the wait was worth it.

[Ussaid the Hashshashin]

This is quite a tale! Looking forward to the next update!

[Scottish King]

Nice update! Wymond is coming along nicely.