by Kevin Ashman
Geraint turned to face Misha.
‘This is it,’ he said. ‘After this, there is no turning back.’
‘You must do what you have to do,’ said Misha.
Geraint nodded.
‘I will return, Misha, I promise and when I do, we will seek a way to be together. Whether that is in this land, or one we have not yet trod, we will find a place who’s people will not judge.’
‘Then I will wait with undoubting patience,’ said Misha, ‘or until age leads me to my grave.’
‘You there, make your choice,’ shouted the man.
‘I must go,’ said Geraint and kissed her on the cheek before turning to join the last of the men boarding the ship. Within minutes he was on the gently moving deck and looked down at Misha on the wharf.
‘Until next we meet,’ he shouted and received a wave in return.
‘Clear the wharf,’ shouted the harbour master and the crowd still ashore manoeuvred carts and horses as they jostled to return to their villages.
Geraint watched as Tom Thatcher drove the cart out of the gates and within minutes, they disappeared from sight.
‘Everyone gather together’ shouted a voice and Geraint joined fourty other men before the forecastle. ‘You have made your choice of your own free will,’ he continued, ‘and whilst you are on this ship you will answer to me on a daily basis. My name, as far as you are concerned is Logger, and I act on behalf of the Captain.’
‘What’s his name?’ asked a voice.
‘That is of no consequence to you and if you should have cause to talk to him, you will address him only as Captain. The forecastle here,’ he pointed behind him, ‘is out of bounds to everyone except the Captain and his staff. The castle at the stern is where the food will be distributed while at sea. There will be one meal a day of hot broth, weather permitting and an issue of dry oats for every man. Use it sparingly as on occasion, the oven will not be fired and you may have to go without hot food for many days. Oats and water make an adequate meal when times are hard.’
‘But what of our own food?’ asked Geraint. ‘We each brought stores for three months.’
‘It is no longer yours,’ said Logger, ‘but adds to the communal pot. We have a long voyage before us and only by sharing everything can we hope to reach our destination.’
‘Where do we sleep?’ asked another voice.
‘You will soon be allowed into the hold. Below deck you will find three levels. The top level is where the food and equipment is stored. Find what space you can but know this. Any man found cutting in to any container seeking un-issued rations will be thrown overboard without hesitation. This is not up for discussion, so don’t even think about it. On the next level down, you will see a platform on either side for the permanent crew aboard this ship, the mariners. Upset them at your peril for though their task is menial, they are highly thought of and good fighting men. When we disembark, they will stand alongside you as pike men in any conflict. There may be times when you too will take turns at the oars if need be but when we make landfall, you will revert to the skills each has brought with you.’
‘Finally,’ he continued, ‘there is the lower hold but there is nothing down there for you as it’s where the horses are kept as well as the barrels of water.’ He looked down at the river. ‘The tide is about to turn. We will be leaving within the hour and will anchor off the coast while the ship is made ready, so I suggest you try and find yourself somewhere comfortable to lay your packs. This will be your home for many months so choose well. Once out to sea, you will be addressed by the leader of this quest and it is he who will answer any questions you still have. Now, get yourselves sorted out and muster again at the sound of the bell.’
‘Months?’ said a man beside Geraint as they dispersed. ‘What journey east takes more than a month?’
‘Perhaps the intention is to seek a sea route to the lands of the Mongols,’ said Geraint. ‘It is said they know the source of silks, spices and precious stones.’
‘To what end?’ asked the man, ‘They are a warlike people and can turn as fast as a rabid dog. There are already merchants who travel those routes, let them have the risk of losing their heads.’
‘We haven’t yet left port and already you criticize the reasoning,’ laughed Geraint.
‘On the contrary,’ said the man, ‘I embrace the ultimate adventure but the lack of knowledge frustrates me.’ He held out his arm. ‘My name is Marcus and I am an archer from Builth.’
‘I too am an archer,’ said Geraint, taking the man’s arm as a sign of comradeship, ‘but hail from Brycheniog’
The men dispersed to find themselves a space and Geraint found himself below deck, struggling to see in the dark hold. Candlelight seeped from holes in the clay pots hanging from overhead beams and it seemed that every spare inch of space was taken up by the huge amount of stores. Many men made their bed space on top of the stores, using sacks of grain as a mattress whilst others burrowed between caskets or barrels, relishing the privacy the temporary walls would bring. Geraint struggled to find any room and made his way down to the lower level, passing the side staging where the rowers would bend their backs to their tasks. The seats were empty at the moment but he could see the horsehair mattresses beneath the benches where each man would sleep between shifts.
The hold got darker as he reached the lower level and the smell of animals was heavy in the air. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom he could see a row of horses, each tethered to a rail fixed to the ship’s side. At the far end there were sacks of grain and bales of hay filling every inch of space. He made his way forward and looked hopefully at the huge stack of hay.
‘What do you think you are looking at?’ said a voice from the darkness.
Geraint spun around and faced the man coming out of the shadows.
‘I’m looking for somewhere to sleep,’ said Geraint, ‘and I thought…’
‘You thought wrong,’ said the man. ‘Get yourself topside.’
‘There’s no space up there.’
‘Then set up on deck, plenty of room there.’
‘What about the weather?’
‘Not my problem.’
‘But why can’t I sleep down here? I won’t take much space.’
The wizened old man drew closer and squinted up at Geraint before snarling through rotten teeth.
‘Coz this is reserved for the special guests, see, me and them.’ He gestured his thumb over his shoulder toward the horses. ‘They is more important than either of us see, and if anything happens to any of em, it’s my hide that will get flayed. Wivout the beasts, we stands no chance where we are going, see and the master would throw every damned one of us overboard before he lost even one of em. Now, take your stuff and get back up that ramp.’ He turned to walk back into the gloom.
‘Wait,’ said Geraint, ‘what if I help?’
The man stopped and turned.
‘What do you know about beasts?’ he asked.
‘My family own two horses,’ said Geraint, ‘one cart horse and one Destrier.’
‘A Destrier you say. How comes a knave such as you owns a charger?
‘I am no knave,’ said Geraint, ‘I am a trained archer who has served in the crusades. The Destrier belongs to my brother and my father was a secular Knight.’
‘And you expects me to believe that?’
‘Believe what you want,’ said Geraint.
‘So why are you on this damned ship and not in some distant castle fighting the heathen?’
‘That is a story for another day,’ said Geraint, ‘but I will say that my father is now dead and my brother runs the family blacksmiths.’
The old man’s eyes widened slightly, reflecting the flickering candlelight.
‘You are a blacksmith?’
‘No, my brother is.’
‘But you were brought up around blacksmiths?’
‘All my life.’
The old man rubbed his chin and walked around the hold mumbling to himself
before returning to face Geraint.
‘Perhaps there can be an arrangement after all,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you stay down here away from that lot and in return, you can help me wiv the beasts. How does that suit?’
‘What will I have to do?’
‘Feed and water em, twice a day, brush em once a week and clean up their shit and piss as needs be. When the weather is good, take half of em up each day to walk around the deck. Keeps em strong, see.’
‘And what do I get in return?’
‘A bed of hay and the company of beasts better than any man I ever met.’
Though the hold stank, Geraint had made a short sea voyage once before and knew how uncomfortable the journey could be, especially when men were packed as tight as apples in a barrel.
‘Agreed,’ he said and held out his hand. ‘My name is Geraint Ap Thomas.’
The old man ignored the gesture and turned to shuffle away.
‘What do I call you,’ asked Geraint, walking after the man. ‘Surely you have a name?’
The old man turned and stared into space.
‘I had a name once,’ he said, ‘but the crew, they calls me Spider.’
‘Good to meet you, Spider,’ said Geraint. ‘So where shall I put this?’ He took his kit bag off his shoulder.’
‘You can doss over there,’ said Spider, pointing to a corner. ‘Take a bale of hay for a bed but don’t piss your breeches in the night. I don’t want my beasts eating pissy hay, see.’
‘No problem,’ said Geraint and walked over to the corner. Within a few minutes he had made a small living space and unrolled his blanket over the hay. ‘So,’ he said, turning around, ‘where exactly do you think we are going?’ But there was no reply. Spider was nowhere to be seen and before Geraint could look for him, the sound of a bell rang out from above.
He walked up the ramp, past the rowers now taking their place on the benches and joined the rest of the enlisted men on deck watching as the ships eased away from the wharf. Up on the forecastle, a weather-beaten man wearing a heavy coat gave orders to Logger who shouted them across the deck to all who needed to hear. Geraint rightly assumed he was the Captain and watched with interest as the man went quietly about his business.
For an hour they were powered downstream by the steady strokes of the oarsmen and behind them, three more ships followed in their wake. Gradually the river widened and eventually the estuary opened up to the sea allowing the ships to spread out. Orders echoed around the ship and the men got out of the way as the mariners raised the sails to take advantage of the strong breeze.
Two men carried a box between them and passed it up to the forecastle where the Captain and Logger spent several minutes securing it down to a fixed table. Finally Logger climbed down and joined the men on deck. Another man climbed up the ladder to join the Captain. This man was far larger and Geraint could see he wore a dark green tabard beneath his heavy black cloak. A chainmail coif lay loose about his neck and his hand rested naturally on the hilt of a heavy sword. He was obvious a man of nobility and held himself with a self confidence that demanded respect. He stepped toward the rail overlooking the deck and looked down at the men before addressing them loudly.
‘Fellow travellers,’ he said, ‘men at arms. My name is Tarian and I am the master of this quest. I am sure you have many questions about our destination and I make no apology for keeping the secret amongst a few trusted men but the reason will soon become clear.’ He paused and looked down at the expectant faces before continuing.
‘As you know, our beloved country is fractured, its inner borders disputed by many men each claiming title to their neighbour’s lands. Brother kills brother whilst above us, Prince Llewellyn argues politics with the court of a King who has lain dead for over a year. That King’s heir, Edward Longshanks makes his way from the holy-land as we speak and instead of strengthening our walls against his armies, we quarrel like children at play. Make no mistake for though Henry was a tyrant, Longshanks will make him look lenient and his treasuries will already be making space for welsh gold.’
‘Yet amongst us there are a few who are not willing to let that happen. Together we have identified a way of uniting all Welshmen under one banner, of brushing aside every claim without argument and forging our fellow countrymen into an alliance with an unbreakable cause.’
‘For over a year we have made our plans and put together this fleet to seek what it is that will ignite that flame of nationalism. This ship and those you see around you have been paid for by the treasuries of patriots and they expect no return. Their names will be kept from you for they are nobles of great renown and should we return successful, as I fully intend to do, then and only then will their names be made public as the heroes they truly are.’
‘Today we set out on a voyage that few have made before, certainly not within our lifetimes. The journey before us is virtually unknown but with fair winds and God’s grace we will reach our destination with strong hearts and iron resolve. Be of good heart and bend your backs into any task set before you for only by sharing our strength will we succeed in aiding the weak.’
‘Some amongst you will have doubts and we will not shy from open debate but know this. From this day forth there is no turning back. We will sail into the face of every storm, suffer the greatest calms and ride the highest seas without any thought of falling short. Only with this mind-set do we have any chance of success and when we make landfall, as we surely will, you men will cast eyes upon what few have witnessed before, the richness and bounty of a new land.’
‘So, I say this. Set to your tasks with vigour and look forward to returning as rich men, not measured by the weight of gold in your purse but by the freedom in your hearts as liberators of a united homeland.’
He pointed to the box on the forecastle.
‘Behind me is an instrument used by the seamen from the east. It is capable of telling us which direction to sail, even when the stars are covered by cloud. With this box, we will sail across seas unimagined and find treasures undreamed of, knowing that even in the darkest of nights we know where we are under God’s sky.’
‘Yes there will be earthly rewards but do not let greed cloud your vision for they will be but mere trinkets compared to the greater treasure, that which will bind us once more and free us from the yolk of Henry. Fellow countrymen, your wait is over and I can now reveal we sail not east to the holy-land but west across the great ocean to find a strange land once trodden by our ancestors. Once there, we will bring back not only hope and renewed belief but a burning flame to light the path against the English. Comrades, rejoice for today we set forth to seek the legacy of one of the greatest sons of Wales and in the process, become the fuse that will unite our country in common cause once more.’
----
Chapter Five
The Hills of Gwent
1276
Tom Thatcher and Misha rode the cart back to Brycheniog but were only half way when the night closed in. Tom led the horse off the track and found a small clearing where they could bed down for the night. He fed the horse and set up a small shelter made from oiled calf skin for Misha.
‘Where will you sleep?’ asked Misha.
‘Well, eventually I will sleep under the cart,’ said Tom, ‘but there is a village at the bottom of the valley and I thought I would make a visit to the tavern.’
‘I will come with you,’ she said.
‘No, Misha,’ he said, ‘taverns are not places for ladies such as you.’
‘Why not?’
‘They are places of ruffians and murderers,’ he said, ‘and you may get hurt.’
‘If they are so bad, why are you going?’
‘I crave the ale they serve, Misha, and besides, there is other entertainment that I may partake of.’
‘You talk of whores?’
‘Err, you could call them that I suppose.’
‘They are either whores or they are not.’
‘Well, yes, then I suppose they are.
’
‘I will still come with you,’ she said. ‘I will watch your back while you seek relief.’
‘No,’ gasped Tom. ‘I don’t know what you do where you come from but over here it is a private business.’
Misha shrugged.
‘I would not watch the act itself but guard the door.’
’I will be perfectly fine without you.’
‘But you said it is a dangerous place. What is to stop a brigand cutting your throat while you are distracted.’
‘I can look after myself,’ he said and threw his cloak about his shoulders. ‘No, you stay here and get some sleep. Light no fire and you will attract no attention. We are far enough off the track to avoid the eyes of passers-by.’
‘When will you return?’
‘Before dawn, I promise.’
‘Then let it be so,’ said Misha and watched him walk out of the wood.
----
Half an hour later, Tom Thatcher walked into a tavern already busy with aching farm workers and travelling troubadours. Monks mixed with labourers and serving wenches dipped wooden tankards into casks of frothing ale, struggling to meet demand as thirsty men demanded attention. Men sat in groups talking the politics of the day while others played games of chance to increase the weight of their purses. Dice seemed to be the favourite in this tavern but Tom had long learned the outcome was down to nothing but chance and avoided the small group huddled around the upturned cask used as a dice table. He made his way through the throng to a table with an empty bench before beckoning one of the serving wenches.
‘A tankard of ale,’ he shouted over the noise, ‘and make sure it is full. I will not part with good coin for half a mug of froth.’
‘We are honest folk,’ stranger’ answered the wench, ‘and you will find fair measure for fair coin. Do you want something to eat? We have good Cawl for another coin.’
