I AM Hugh de Argentein

I Am Hugh de Argentein – or so I was called in my earthly days, a Knight of the Temple of Solomon, sworn to poverty, chastity, and obedience.​

I speak from the veil that divides this world from the next, my brothers. The light of eternity bathes me now, yet the memories of mortal flesh burn as brightly as the desert sun of Outremer.  I rode forth in the prime of my youth when the call of the Cross echoed across Christendom. I was old enough to have heard the tales of the First Crusade from the lips of greybeards who had stormed Jerusalem itself. God granted me the burden and the blessing of witnessing the later Crusades, those hard and holy wars for the Holy Land.

In the scorching sands and rocky hills of the Levant I travelled far, from the gates of Jerusalem to the walls of Acre, from the plains where we charged at Montgisard to the desperate stands at Hattin. I fought shoulder to shoulder with valiant brothers: Sir Roland of Aquitaine, whose lance never wavered; Brother Thomas the chaplain, who prayed over the dying even as arrows fell like rain; and young William de Vere, barely knighted, who sang hymns as we rode into battle. Many I saw fall. Their blood watered the ground we swore to defend. The screams of the wounded, the thunder of hooves, the clash of steel against Saracen blades, these sounds still echo in my soul.

I too tasted the bitter cup of war. A grievous wound before the walls of a fortress near Ascalon shattered my shield arm and nearly claimed my life. It was that injury that spared me from the final calamities. While so many noble brothers perished in the fall of the last strongholds, I was carried aboard a ship bound for England, fevered and broken. The guilt weighs upon me still, even in this realm beyond death. Why was I spared when better men, truer servants of Christ, lay cold upon those distant fields? I have carried their faces with me through the centuries: the fallen, the faithful, the forgotten. Their sacrifice humbles me eternally.

Returned to England, I did not lay down my sword in vain. Though my fighting days were ended, my service to the Order continued. In Bristol, upon the land granted us by pious hands, I witnessed and aided the works at our Temple Church, the round nave raised in imitation of the Holy Sepulchre itself. I gave what coin I could muster from my preceptory duties and offered such counsel as an old warrior might to the masons and brothers overseeing its construction. To see that sacred place rise, a beacon of our Order in this green and pleasant land, brought me profound solace. There, in its shadow, I spent my final earthly days ensuring the memory of our fallen comrades would endure in stone and prayer. I oversaw alms given in their names and masses sung for their souls.

I lived a proud life, brothers. The red cross upon my white mantle was no empty symbol. I upheld the Rule of the Temple, protected the innocent where I could, and stood firm against the darkness. My name, de Argentein , I pass with honour to my son, who carries it forthrightly into a new generation. Though the Order faced trials and dissolution in later years, the spirit of our brotherhood cannot be broken by earthly decree.

Now, from the afterlife, I rest in the cemetery of that very Temple Church in Bristol, where my bones lie among the faithful. The leaning tower stands sentinel still, a testament to time’s passage. I harbour no fear, only gratitude. The regrets that once tormented me have been washed in divine mercy. I rejoice that my final acts honoured those who went before me into glory.

Deus vult. God willed it. And in His presence, I stand at last, sword laid down, shield eternal, awaiting the final muster of all true knights.

Remember us living souls, not as legends of gold and mystery, but as men who fought and bled for faith. The Temple endures, not in stone alone, but in every heart that answers the call of duty, integrity and honour.