The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 72: Better Late Than Never

Episode Date: August 29, 2017

When the time came to fight for their King, these knights were prepared to show the enemy what they were made of.

This is the way I heard it. High in the Caucasus Mountains, the spring morning dawns clear and cold as the remote village of Kevsuer slowly awakens. Not everyone, though, is slumbered through the night. At the smithy, the work begins before sunrise. A broad-shouldered apprentice grips his tongs and shoves a bar of pig iron into the blazing coal, carborizing it. He transfers the hot metal into a barrel of water, triggering a furious bubbling, followed by a swift, cloud of white steam that shoots up and swirls around his head. Next to the apprentice, a burly blacksmith strikes swiftly and surely on hot steel.

Sparks fly, the anvil rings, and with every blow another sword comes a little further into being, a sword that will, with the help of God, separate the infidels from their heathen heads. The apprentice notices an armored man in a tattered surcoat striding swiftly toward the smithy. The Lord Commander approaches, sir. The Smith tosses the sword to his apprentice and wipes his gnarled hands on his leather apron. Like his father and his father's father, the smith fashions the weapons that make the crusades possible. And from what he could tell from the Lord Commander's posture, the work was far from finished. The rumors are true, good Smith, the Ottomans are marching upon the Holy Land. A war is upon us, a worthwhile war. The Smith nodded. He knew it was only a matter of time. The crusade launched by Pope Innocent in 1202 was now behind them. But there was no expiration date on his holy directive. Even from their lofty home, high in the secluded reaches of a distant mountain town, the knights of the

order of Matra Day, stood at the ready, eager to defend their Pope, eager to defend their king, eager to march into hell for a heavenly cause. The Lord Commander looked solemnly at the blacksmith. Where do we stand with arms and armor? Where we always stand, my liege, fixing. We take our leave when the snow melts and the pass is clear. We must make Tiflis before it's too late. Yes, Lord Commander, we will be ready. This I vow. In the coming weeks, the Smithy works around the clock, and the knights of Ave Matridae train with great rigor.

They practice on horse and foot, from melee combat with sword and buckler to lance work, from horseback. The knights train as if their lives depend on it, which of course they do. A month later, the snow has melted. The weapons are forged and ready. The Lord commander gathers his men and bow, his head. O Lord, we ask for your protection as we leave our homes and journey to aid our king.

Watch over our families we pray while we wage the just cause on these Ottoman infidels. The knights cross themselves in perfect syncopation, their hands tracing the red crosses emblazoned upon their white surcoats. Their voices rise in affirmation and faith. Amen. The small army makes its way down from their secluded mountain. home through the narrow passes of the mighty Caucasus. The trail is treacherous and narrow, with deadly cliff falls off the mountain. Mile after mile, they work their way down to the wide green fields in the valley far below and into the ancient city of Tiflis.

There, on a cool April morning, the nights clatter up the cobblestones toward a large building in the center of town, where the governor and his staff weighed on the steps of City Hall. Where is the war, the Lord Commander says? Where are the cursed Ottomans? The governor looks quizzically at the mounted knights in the town square. He considers their swords, their lances, their shields, and bucklers. My Lord Commander, I fear the war started nearly a year ago. The Lord Commander frowned.

Apologies, good sir, but we came as soon as word reached us. Now please, let us atone for our war. late arrival. Where are the infidels? The governor looked to his aide to camp and shrugged. Well, he said, better late than never. The governor directs the knights of the Ave Matridae to Saracamus, where the Ottoman hordes are massing on the southern border. They arrive several days later. Their colorful penance streaming from the tops of their lances, the sun glinting off their chain mail. There, after another quick prayer, and a rousing speech from the Lord Commander,

the noble knights lower their lances, steady their mounts, and charge headlong into an army of bewildered and mildly amused infidels. The Turks, you see, were not expecting an enemy on horseback, armed with the finest weapons of the Middle Ages. No, they were expecting an enemy armed as they were, an enemy with machine guns and rifles. mortars and cannons, an enemy that hunkered down in a muddy trench a hundred yards away where brave men were reduced to sniper targets and cannon fodder.

There was no place for chivalry, you see, in the First World War. And that was the meat grinder into which these noble knights had ridden. These knights of Khefsur, sequestered for generations in their tiny mountain, village cut off entirely from the modern world. These crusaders from another age who traveled through the mists of time, eager to defend their pope, eager to defend their king, these brave men who brought a knife to a gunfight and marched into hell for a heavenly cause. It was, by all accounts, a very short battle. Anyway, that's the way I heard it. If you work in your University maintenance, Granger considers you an MVP because your playbook ensures your arena is always ready for tip off. And Granger is your trusted partner. Offering the products you need all in one place, from HVAC and plumbing supplies to lighting and more. And all delivered with plenty of time left on the clock. So your team always gets the win. Call 1-800 Granger, visit granger.com or just stop by, Granger, for the ones who get it done.