A Templar's Apprentice by Kat Black Page B

remembered his daggers as they landed in the man’s chest and brow. My gut heaved.
    â€œAye, we fight, but we give praise to God in equalmeasure. We share many of the abbeys o’ the Cistercian Brothers an’ in return see to their safety.”
    Brother Andrus nodded and helped himself to a bannock. “It suits both, ye see.”
    The Templar continued. “Together we study mathematics an’ astronomy, which is the patterns o’ the stars an’ sky. We map an’ navigate the sea an’ land.” He gestured to the table. “These maps an’ charts represent two hundred years o’ travel.”
    I approached, interested. Da did all of the plotting, but it was to places he’d been scores of times. “Here is the first place we must travel.” He pointed to a large mass of land on the map before him. “The land o’ the Saxons. Ye’ve not been much beyond the villages?”
    I shook my head no.
    â€œYe’re far beyond your boundaries now,” he said.
    â€œHow long did I sleep? How far have we traveled?” I asked, excited by the prospect of what I saw before me.
    â€œIt matters not. We’ve many days ahead. Ye’ve missed nothing.”
    From the moment we’d met, he had been serious and vigilant. Now, as I looked up to see him deep in a series of mathematical computations, he seemed at ease. He took pleasure from the work of divining our direction. That much was obvious.
    â€œWhat o’ the crew?” I asked. “Seamus said the captain an’ first mate were killed. Do ye have enough men to operate a vessel as large as this?” The ship to me was enormous. It would take a crew of fifteen or more to see to the daily duties of sailing her.
    â€œAye. We lost two,” he replied. “But we will make do.”
    I was quiet then, thinking of the faceless crew. I would know them, sooner or later. As the Templar said, we had a long distance yet to travel. I thought then of the trip, of being away from my home and my family. I’d wanted to get away for so long, but now that I had, I suddenly felt small and frightened. My fingers closed over the hourglass on the table. Its sleek shape seemed molded to my palm.
    â€œâ€™Twas not long ago that the only way to gauge sea travel was by the glass in yer hand,” the Templar said.
    â€œAye? I know naught o’ gauging distances.”
    â€œI will take my leave now,” said Brother Andrus with a smile, scooping up a bit of herring on the way. “When Brother Alexander has an eager ear, long lessons inevitably follow.”
    The Templar didn’t acknowledge his remark. “The instruments that ye see here are o’ a new breed o’ navigation, Tormod. An’ this” — he hefted the object aloft — “is the greatest o’ all. ’Tis called an astrolabe.”
    It was beautiful in a way I was unaccustomed to. “’Tis old,” I said, running my fingers along the timeworn brass.
    â€œAye. The Arabs have been using them for many years. This was a gift from a friend.”
    An Arab friend.
I didn’t know any Arabs or anyone who knew any for that matter.
    He held the astrolabe by the small loop at its top. The strange instrument was a series of discs held through the center with a peg. The top layer was cut away and I could see the disks below.
    â€œWhat do ye use it for?” I asked, lifting it. I turned it in the light spilling in from the window. It made strange patterns on the floor.
    â€œAstrolabes can show us how the sky looks at a specific place an’ a given time. If ye know where ye are, an’ where ye want to go, then figuring out how long it might take to get there is simple.”
    The ideas he so easily proclaimed were enough to draw me readily into the discussion. We spent much of the morning at it. We spent much of the day at it.
    I didn’t hesitate in the asking of the many questions that