A robe of burlap, a knight of God, a sword, an armor, and faith in his eyes. Warrior-monk, on horseback or on foot, in the shade of a plane tree, I thought I had found you again. Among your own, I could watch you, valiant and serene... Fighting, and then… falling. Despite your promise, I saw you cry out, I saw you hate with the sword of desire. A robe of burlap as his only fortune, a sword, an armor… and this crescent moon on the foreheads of the knights. Some have not forgotten… Twice struck by the sword… A posthumous ceremony, in the time of the Templars.
