Joe stands in the torch-lit hall of the fortress, the red cross banners of the Knights Templar hanging from the stone walls. Armored knights murmur among themselves, expecting a call to arms.
Joe raises his hand.
“Brothers,” he says, “put down the swords for a moment and listen.”
A few helmets turn. One knight grips the hilt of his blade.
“We have been fighting the Muslims for generations,” Joe continues. “Every year more blood soaks the sand between us. Every year more gold flows out of our treasuries.”
He paces slowly across the chamber.
“Tell me something… who truly profits from endless war?”
Silence.
Joe answers his own question.
“Not the farmer. Not the pilgrim. Not the knight who dies in the desert.”
He looks around the room. “The only ones who win in a holy war that never ends are the bankers who lend money for it.”
The knights exchange uneasy glances.
“So I say this: let diplomacy resume with the Muslims. Talk before steel. Trade before siege.”
He taps the map table where the lands of Jerusalem and the surrounding caliphates meet.
“Peace fills markets. War fills graves and debt ledgers.”
One older knight finally speaks.
“You would have us trust our enemies?”
Joe shakes his head.
“No. I would have you talk to them. Even enemies can negotiate. Even rivals can share water in the desert.”
He folds his arms.
“Because if we do not learn that lesson… this war will last centuries, and the only empire that rises from it will be the empire of debt.”