THE CURSED KNIGHT TEMPLAR

19th September 1192 AD

Yosef Gideon stood on the chilly quarter deck of the Ambrosia Hand and gazed at the raging Mediterranean Sea as they sailed to Jaffa from Cyprus, he was hugging himself. He was wearing a thick Knights Templar white robe with the red cross sewn on the front, underneath the robe was a long-sleeved tight-fitting tunic. On his feet, he wore the standard-issue non-decorated leather sandals issued by the Order of Knights Templar. They had seen better days and if one looked properly, there were grease and blood stains that could not go away no matter the amount of washing

The sky was hidden behind the heavy dark clouds, and the horizon was nowhere in sight with high waves blocking his sight. Such weather was not conducive for being on the deck for non-seasoned sailors, more so as the ship bobbed up and down with the sky threatening to release an awful bucket of rain. The sails had been reduced considerably to reduce the storm dragging the ship off course.

He had lost morale to count the number of days he had been on this wretched ship since he left Cyprus. Despite it being cold and chilly on the swaying quarter deck, the cold had not yet gone through his robe and tunic. As such, he could rather brave this damned weather than be on the main deck with the drunk and foul-mouthed crew. Every day and night spent with the captain and crew of Ambrosia Hand was a tough test on his patience as a godly man and vows as a knight of the church. Their filthy, blasphemous talk, as well as faith in the heathen gods. Tempting him to stick his sword through them but he restrained himself and decided to be alone on the dangerous deck.

He smiled when thought about what the Grand Master could have done to them if he was subjected to such vile talk and beliefs, that fellow could have probably had them buried at sea by the third day of the voyage. He had a fiery temper, that all those who knew him had to tread carefully.

Soon, the skies parted and it began raining heavily on the deck and in the sea. Visibility was so low, and the raging waves increased in intensity. Rocking the ship up and down like a Spaniard riding a bull in the arena.

The mighty storm waves battered the ship from bow to stern, with some of the waves rushing through the railing of the deck, making it wet and slippery. Yosef began having second thoughts about the safety of being out on the deck in such weather but his stubbornness as a warrior and knight won out, so he endured. If the sailors were not intimidated, what about him a warrior of the church who had been to hell and back? By now, his robe was dripping wet, the curly black hair on his head was wet, with droplets of water running down his dark face onto the broad chin and then falling five feet and six inches to the foamy deck.

To a passerby, he looked like a clothed statue hugging itself.

"Dear Sir Yosef, it is not safe out here, return to your deck!" Shouted one of the sailors perched atop a mast called Dollo of Romania.

"Thank you for your concern Dollo, I can manage." He replied while almost losing his footing on the deck.

"This is no normal storm, Sir Yosef, don't tempt the devil." Dollo reiterated his concern.

All of a sudden, the ship was hit by a large wave, it tilted 30 degrees on the starboard side and part of the wave crashed onto the quarter-deck. Knocking Yosef off his feet and sending him flying several meters down until he crashed into the hard-wooden deck with a thud, the sound was masked by the storm.

The deck was now very wet and slippery. The momentum from the fall, sent Yosef slipping across the deck heading to the railing on the side of the ship.

The fall was an awful one, Yosef was momentarily dazed and confused by it. When he regained his senses. He was slipping on the deck towards the sea.

Frantically, Yosef looked around for what to hold on to but it was just an empty, slippery and wet deck before him as he slipped closer and closer to the edge of the ship with the sea beckoning to him.

A Thousand thoughts ran through his mind of drowning at sea, amidst this raging storm. If he crashed into the sea, there is no doubt that he could be swept far away from the ship. In minutes, he could be beyond the range of rescue. The likelihood that these sailors could undertake a rescue mission for him in this mighty storm, at the risk of their lives was null.

Secondly, his thick Knight Templar robe could soak up water like a sponge weighing him down as he struggled to stay afloat or swim.

Closer, and closer Yosef slid across the deck until he crashed into the wooden railing. The force of the fall was great, his body slid through the railings and he could see the raging stormy sea on the side of the ship.

Desperately, Yosef gripped his right hand onto the nearest railing as he was about to fall overboard. Forcefully, he gripped the wet and slippery wooden railing. Yosef tried to stretch his left hand to also get a grip on the other side of the railing but the ship was hit by another strong wave and his body ended up swaying up and down, left to right. He almost lost his grip on the railing. Fear welled up in his stomach, and despair assailed his soul.

In his heart, Yosef lamented why he had to take this journey and leave the comfort of Cyprus. Moreover, he had been offered a clerk job in the local Templar Temple by his good friend Marshal Jacob. Now here he was, about to drown in the Mediterranean Sea. As a warrior, he could have preferred to die on the battlefield felled by the arrow or sword thrust of an Arab warrior while defending the Holy land. At least then, his surviving brethren in the Order could eulogize him in poems, and songs. He could also get a decent burial, not forgetting the guaranteed entrance into the pearly gates as His Holiness the Pope could forgive all his transgressions.

Yosef resolved in his heart not to drown or lose at heart at such a perilous hour. He averted his eyes from looking at the sea beneath him as he swayed dangerously on the rail with only one hand. Tightly he exerted force on his hand on the railing despite the railing being wet and slippery. Moved the other hand up until it also got hold of the railing. Now he had to raise his body over the hull of the ship if he was to stand any chance of surviving. Unfortunately, it was no easy feat. The ship rocking in the storm, any strenuous movement on his part to raise his legs over the hull to pass through the railings was fraught with risk.

Since the strong waves were hitting the ship frequently. Yosef observed them and discovered the interval and patterns so that he could determine the best time to act.

By now. His right hand was aching from the effort of holding on, and his clothes were all soaked to the innerwear. However, all the tension of having his life at risk of drowning dispelled any notion of feeling cold.

At the predetermined interval when the raging waves swept past the ship and there were a few seconds to the next high wave colliding into the ship.

"Dear Father in Heaven, save me and grant me the strength to survive this test," Yosef cried out in prayer before he exerted force into his hands to raise. He managed to get a better hold on the railings to move a bit higher. All that was remaining was to raise higher slightly and slid through the railings.

"1, 2, 3!" He counted before exerting force in his limbs to climb up.

"Pop." Yosef heard the sound coming from the right shoulder socket as he put pressure on it to raise.

"Bloody Mary!!!"

Sharp tingling pain assailed Yosef from the right shoulder joint to the fingers, accompanied by numbness and spasm of the muscles. The pain was terrible and Yosef lost his grip on the railing. With one hand, he was now tightly holding on to the railings, it all looked bleak for him.

It dawned on him, that he was no longer in a position to save himself. It was just a matter of time before the left hand got tired from holding on to the railings. Then he could fall over into the sea and drown.

Chucking his pride and ego aside, he cried out. "Help, help, help me, am about to fall overboard, someone help me please." He looked up to see which sailor was close by to run to his rescue. Unfortunately, those sailors not on duty had rushed into the quarter deck or cookroom when the storm started.

Looking up at the middle mast with its' sail tied up. He saw Dollo of Romania.

"Dollo, Dollo Dollo! Please come and save me, am almost falling overboard!", Yosef cried out in a loud voice over the noise from the storm. He also endeavored to make eye contact with Dollo. Dollo looked him in the eye and began laughing loudly as he slid over the thick mast pole like a monkey on his way down.

Hope swelled in his heart when he saw Dollo climbing down the mast, once on the deck. Dollo looked at him deeply as if contemplating whether to save him or not.

Dollo licked his wet lips, then forcefully blew his nose while closing one nostril with his finger, all the while having a slight twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

Instead of coming over to railings to give him a hand. Dollo ran away with the agility of a seasoned sailor on the wet deck, he pushed his way into the cook-room where most of the sailors had assembled to hide from the storm.

By now, the intensity of the storm and raging waves had slightly reduced. This could have been a consolation to Yosef except for his painful right hand and shoulder (which were barely holding on to the railing) as well as the tired left hand that was about to let go whether he liked it or not. The left hand was now bearing the biggest portion of holding him up, weariness was already setting in. How long he could carry on like this, Yosef was not sure.

For several minutes which seemed like forever. He waited for help that was not coming.

Suddenly, the cook-room opened and 3 sailors ran out led by the Chief mate Musa heading towards the starboard railing where Yosef was hanging on for dear life. The last sailor was carrying a thick bundle of coiled rope.

The sailor with the ropes looked similar to Second mate James. Amongst all the sailors, he was the only one Yosef had not interacted with since he boarded the Ambrosia Hand; he was a reserved fellow who rarely talked unless spoken to or had something to relay to the Chief mate. At first, Yosef had mistaken him for a mute sailor.

Second Mate James ran to the capstan and deftly weaved the rope tightly around it. He tossed the rope to another sailor Pato and lastly it ended up with Chief mate Musa who passed it around his waist twice before approaching Yosef.

"Hold on Sir Knight, we shall get you out of this," he spoke reassuringly in a deep Macedonian accent.

"Now this is what am about to do, going to pass this rope under your armpits, you just hold on to the railings a little bit longer and you will be safe." Chief mate Musa added as he tossed the rope above the railing to reach Yosef.

"Oooo thank God who has sent you Musa, my hands are almost giving up but I can manage to hold on for a little while. Thank you, thank you." Yosef fervently thanked Chief mate Musa.

Patiently and skillfully, Chief mate Musa tied Yosef up before bending over the railing to drag him up. He put his hands under Yosef's armpits and pulled him up quickly past the railing to land on the deck. With the rope still tied around him, Chief mate Musa and other sailors led Yosef to the warm cookroom.

Entering the warm cookroom. The spicy and hot air assailed them, making Yosef realize that he was very wet and cold.

Seated at the entrance of the cookroom was the sailor Dollo of Romania wantonly munching on a spicy fried chicken drumstick. When he saw the Chief mate Musa and the other sailor Pato escorting Yosef. He quickly pocketed the chicken drumstick in his pocket, licked his oily lips, and began clapping loudly.