by Kevin Ashman
‘It is good to be back,’ said Tarian, ‘but my command are exhausted. Task men to take care of our horses and arrange some food. As soon as they are within the boundary, double the guard and stand to the defences. We may be being followed.’
‘Were you successful in your task?’
‘We have brought back two men,’ said Tarian, ‘one of whom is your fellow.’
‘Marcus is alive?’
‘He is, but lucky to be so.’
‘And the other?’
‘A native of this land but not one of the attackers. He also speaks our language.’
Geraint paused as the information sank in.
‘A fortuitous outcome,’ he said eventually, ‘does he have news of Madoc?’
‘I don’t know but as soon as the patrol is bedded down, I intend to find out.
----
Within the hour all horses were rubbed down and covered with heavy blankets to protect their sweating bodies from the night mist. Tired lancers sat around sheltered fires and roasted pieces of meat on the hot stones whilst others immediately rolled in their blankets, exhausted after the two day campaign.
Some of the Knights sat around a central fire talking quietly amongst themselves and were eventually joined by Tarian and Geraint. Behind them came Marcus and Achak who took their place amongst the Knights.
‘Sit,’ said Tarian indicating a vacant rock. One of the Knights handed Achak a piece of raw meat and they watched with fascination as the native barely warmed it up before eating it almost raw. When he was done, he drank deeply from a leather flask and looked around the men as each fulfilled their need to eat. Finally they fell silent and all eyes turned to the native.
‘Achak,’ said Tarian, breaking the silence, ‘I understand you speak our language. Is this true?’
‘Some,’ said Achak.
‘Good,’ said Tarian, ‘can you tell us who you are and how it was you were held prisoner in that village?’
‘I am Achak of the Mandan,’ he replied. ‘I live across the great river with my people. I was taken by the Apalach to die on their fires.’
‘These Apalach, are they the people we fought?’
‘Yes.’
‘And they are your enemy?’
‘Apalach are enemy to many. They carry the war bow easily.’
‘You say they are many.’
‘Like Buffalo on the plain.’
‘What are Buffalo?’ asked Tarian.
‘This,’ said Achak, picking up what was left of his meat.
‘Achak,’ said Tarian, broaching the subject they were all waiting for, ‘how is it you speak our language?’
‘They are the old words’ said Achak, ‘our children learn them before they learn to speak as a Mandan.’
‘What do you mean the old words?’
’They were spoken by those who came before.’
A murmur circled the fire and men sat straighter as they waited for him to continue.
‘Achak,’ said Tarian, ‘we would share your story. Would you tell us about those who came before?’
The native looked around the fire as each bearded face stared back in expectation. Finally he took a breath and related his story.
‘At first the Mandan were a people that were not a people,’ he said, ‘our ancestors came from a land afar and the old men talked of the days when spirits with heavy coats ruled these lands. Mandan served the spirits and grew strong in their shadow. They were days of plenty and Mandan were feared by all. But then the spirits were angered for they left our lands and our people were as ghosts upon the plains. Other tribes saw the Mandan were weakened and they grew strong. They preyed upon my people as the Wolf upon the Buffalo. Our women were taken to bear children and the men burned upon the fires. Yet the Mandan stayed loyal to the spirits and walked the plains without a home for the wind had sung that one day the spirits would return.’
‘When was that?’ asked Tarian.
‘More seasons have passed than fish in the streams’ said Achak, ‘but then the spirits forgave us for the huge war canoes of the ancestors sailed up the great river once more and brought those who spoke the old words. This time they brought their women and settled amongst our people to live alongside our ancestors. They shared our food and in return they taught us many things. We learned their words and together the spirits and the Mandan grew into a strong people. But the other tribes again grew angry and carried the war bow against us. Though we were strong, the others were many and our ancestors fled up the great river, seeking a place of peace but always the others came. The spirit people built villages protected by walls of trees but fire arrows of the Apalach burned them down. My ancestors showed the spirit people where the ancients had built villages of stone and they were greatly pleased for the walls were like those of their homeland. War parties fell against them many times but they were safe and finally the Apalach returned across the great river.’
‘That was in the days of my father’s grandfather and as the years passed like the wind, the last of the spirit people died out. Their children joined with our children and became Mandan. Now there are no more Spirit people but we teach our young the old words for the spirits still sing that they will return and become as many as the Buffalo. When they do, the Mandan will be waiting.’
The men stared at him in silence, astonished at the story they had been told.
‘Achak,’ said Tarian, ‘these spirit people who came in the time of your grandfathers. Did they have a leader?’
‘The stories tell of a great man as strong as a Buffalo and as tall as a tree.’ said Achak.
‘What was his name?’
‘He was known as Madoc.’
The men around the fire looked at each other as the implications sunk in. Finally Geraint broke the silence and said what was on all their minds.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he said in astonishment, ‘we have found it, Tarian, the link to Prince Madoc.’
----
Chapter Fifteen
Brycheniog
1276
Garyn and Tom Thatcher rode hard through the night and well into the next day, keeping off the well-trodden roads and finding their way along the smaller paths over the mountains of Mid Wales. Finally they saw an abandoned shepherd’s hut and stopped to seek shelter from the afternoon rain. Both horses were taken into a side room and wiped down. The two men returned to the main room and removed their wet cloaks and jerkins before wrapping their riding blankets around their shoulders and sitting against the walls. Tom produced bread and fruit from his pack and they ate in silence as they listened to the rain outside.
‘We could do with a fire,’ said Garyn.
‘There’s some kindling there,’ said Tom, ‘but no firewood.’
‘How’s your hand?’ asked Garyn, looking at the way Tom held his heavily bandaged injury.
‘It’s painful,’ said Tom, ‘but gets better each day. I am told that as long as I can avoid infection it should heal, though I am unlikely to ever get full use again.’
‘That Abbot has a lot to answer for,’ said Garyn quietly.
‘He does,’ said Tom, ‘and you have suffered more than most.’
‘I have,’ said Garyn, ‘and I believe he was responsible for the fire that killed my family.’
‘Do you have any evidence?’
‘If I did, I would present it before the court and seek justice. As it is, I only have the word of a dead Monk.’
‘Then there is no proof.’
‘Perhaps not for the court but it is enough for me and one day he will feel my blade between his ribs.’
‘You would kill a man of the church?’ asked Tom.
‘Any man who kills to achieve his aims is no more holy than you or I, Tom no matter what cloth he wears. Justice demands I settle the account. The only reason I have stayed my hand this long is because I had to think of Elspeth and would not put her at risk. Now he has even taken her from me and there is nothing to stop my blade. I will seek refuge
in the north for now but one day he will see my face again.’
‘If you kill him, then you are no better than he.’
‘He has already made me an outlaw, I have nothing else to lose.’
‘You have your life.’
‘A thing of little value,’ said Garyn, ‘I have lost everything and only the fact that Geraint fights on distant shores keeps me from riding back right now.’
‘Have you heard from him?’
‘No, nor am I likely to. The fleet upon which he sailed was shrouded in secrecy and their destination was unknown. All I know is he expects to be back within three years. I will wait that long and then seek my retribution.’
The two men fell silent and listened to the rain outside. Finally they wrapped themselves in their blankets and lay upon the floor to sleep.
----
Garyn wasn’t sure what woke him but the room was dark and the rain had stopped. Tom Thatcher snored lightly beside him but apart from that, the silence was total. He lay motionless for several seconds, listening intently in the dark and was about to accept that he had been dreaming when the noise came again. It was a cough. Garyn rolled over and shook Tom’s shoulder.
‘What..?’ started Tom, waking instantly but Garyn’s hand covered his mouth.
‘Shhh, there’s someone outside.’ Both men got slowly to their feet and walked over to the barred doorway. Garyn peered out between the slats.
‘Can you see anything?’
‘Riders coming up the path.’
‘We have to get out of here,’ hissed Tom.
‘I don’t think there’s enough time,’ said Garyn, ‘but get the horses anyway. We will have to bluff our way out.’
The riders came closer and though Garyn couldn’t see their faces, he could hear them talking amongst themselves.
‘There it is,’ said a voice outside, ‘we will spend the night here.’
Garyn cursed quietly and turned to face Tom.
‘Hurry up,’ he hissed.
‘I’m done,’ said Tom and handed Garyn the reins of his horse.
‘I fear the chase is over before it has begun,’ said Garyn, ‘but I won’t give up without a fight.’
‘Then let us go out and meet them head on, Garyn,’ said Tom. ‘There is no room to fight in here, at least outside we may have a chance to take some of them with us. I would rather die with a blade in my gut than a rope around my neck. Open the door.’
Garyn nodded quietly and after lifting the bar on the door, led his horse out into the night. High above, the moon shone down between the passing clouds and immediately Garyn could see there were at least ten men before the hut, each seeing to their own horses.
‘It seems we have company,’ said a voice and all the men turned to face Garyn and Tom.
For a few seconds, nobody moved but eventually a man stepped forward and stood before them.
‘Well, what do we have here?’ he asked sarcastically, ‘two sweethearts emerging from their love nest?’ The men behind him laughed but the big man’s gaze did not waiver.
‘Who are you?’ he continued, ‘and what are you doing in my hut?’
‘Our names are unimportant,’ said Garyn, ‘and we thought the hut was abandoned. We only sought shelter from the rain. Now it has stopped, we will move on.’
‘Well, it’s not quite as simple as that,’ said the man. ‘You are in my territory without invitation and whilst you are keen to keep your identities secret, I am also keen to know who it is roaming the countryside expecting free lodgings.’
‘We are just travellers,’ said Tom, ‘and seek no trouble. Let us be on our way and we can all get on with our lives.’
‘The more you speak, the more you raise my curiosity,’ said the man. ‘If you were simple travellers, why would you keep your names shielded? For all we know, you could be outlaws with a price on your heads and what sort of good citizen would I be if I was to allow you to roam free? Why, it would be my civil duty to take you to the nearest village and hand you over to the constable.’
‘Tom’s hand went around his back and he drew his knife.’
‘I will die first,’ he said.
The man’s smile slowly disappeared but he remained unflustered.
‘Now that is a mistake, stranger,’ he said, ‘I will ask you once only. Put the blade away before I am forced to make you bleed on your own steel.’
‘At least I will take you with me,’ said Tom.
‘Tom,’ snapped Garyn, ‘do as he says.’
‘I will not go back, Garyn.’
‘Put the blade way,’ said Garyn again.
Slowly Tom put his knife back in the scabbard but kept staring at the leader of the group.
‘I have a suggestion for you,’ said the man eventually, ‘if ever again you grace the threshold of a tavern, buy your friend here a tankard for he just saved your life. Now, let’s start again and this time, no more heroics. My name is Goddeff and I am master of these men. Who are you and what are you doing in my territory?’
‘If this is your territory then can I assume you do not serve the constable of Brycheniog?’
‘The constable?’ laughed Goddeff, ‘I promise you, stranger, you can safely assume I am not one of his men. Now answer my question.’
‘My name is Garyn ap Thomas,’ sighed Garyn, ‘and this is Thomas Thatcher. We hail from Brycheniog in the south.’
‘And what business do you have around here?’
‘None, if truth be told,’ said Garyn, ‘we only pass through to reach the lands of Llewellyn.’
‘To what end?’
‘We seek to join with him and serve in his armies.’
‘Have you been outlawed?’
‘What makes you think that?’ asked Tom.
‘You fear the constable and flee north to serve in a conflict that doesn’t affect your home. Either you are outlaws or you are stupid.’
‘The answer is we don’t know if we are outlawed,’ said Garyn before Tom could answer, ‘things were moving too fast and we escaped while we had the chance.’
‘And your crimes?’
‘I escaped the stocks, sent there for standing up to an arrogant English Knight.’
‘And you?’ asked Goddeff, looking at Tom.
‘It’s complicated,’ said Tom but said no more.
Goddeff looked down at Tom’s bandages.
‘What happened to your hand?’
‘Trial by fire,’ said Tom.
Goddeff nodded silently and turned to look around his men.
‘What do you think, brothers?’ he said, ‘shall we let them go on their way or bury their bodies behind the hut.’
Tom’s hand went again to his knife.
‘Let them be,’ said a voice, ‘anyone who stands up to the Saes is a friend to me and the cripple has guts.’
‘Aye,’ said a few of the men and Goddeff turned to face Garyn and Tom once more.
‘Ease your minds, men of Brycheniog,’ he said, ‘every man here has reason to avoid the law and you have found kindred spirits. Secure your horses and stay this night amongst us. We have food and firewood. You are welcome to share.’
‘Why would you do that?’ asked Garyn, ‘you don’t know us.’
‘The storm has not yet abated and the night is long before us. I know not if your tale is true but you have an honest manner. Stay or go, the choice is yours.’
Garyn looked at Tom who shrugged his shoulders in silent reply.
‘We will stay,’ said Garyn, ‘and leave with the dawn. Perhaps you could give advice as to the road ahead.’
‘So be it,’ said Goddeff and turned to his men. ‘See to your mounts and go firm here. No need to post a lookout for the coming storm will be our guard this night.’
Within the hour the men were sitting inside the hut enjoying the heat from a roaring fire. Garyn looked around warily, still unsure exactly how to take them as each man ate whatever food they had in their pack. One of the riders took out a dead rat, skinning it be
fore removing the guts and skewering the carcass on the end of a stick.
‘The meat is just as good as rabbit as long as you cook it properly,’ he said, turning the makeshift spit in the flames.
‘Disgusting,’ said Tom.
‘Says a man who has never seen true hunger,’ came the answer.
‘I have been hungry,’ said Tom, ‘on many occasions.’
‘Really?’ answered the man turning to face the thatcher. ‘How hungry have you been, stranger? Ever eaten rotten dog carcass, or the innards of a rancid horse? Ever eaten the flesh of a man?’
‘A man,’ gasped Tom, ‘that is truly against the very laws of God. Surely you haven’t lowered yourself to the level of the devil himself?’
‘I didn’t say I have,’ said the man poking the wood in the fire, ‘I just asked if you have.’
‘Why would you ask such a question?’ asked Garyn.
‘To silence the wittering of one who knows nothing,’ replied the man.
‘I could say the same of you,’ said Tom.
‘Eric is a well-travelled man,’ said Goddeff, ‘and has seen things most see only in their nightmares.’
‘And what makes you think he is the only man to witness such things?’ asked Garyn.
‘I don’t,’ said Eric, turning around to face him, ‘but it raises the bile within me when men of inexperience comment on things they don’t understand.’
‘You know nothing about us,’ said Garyn quietly.
‘What is there to know?’ asked Eric. ‘The cripple is fat around the waist from too much ale and you are a mere babe fresh off his mother’s breast. You have probably never been outside the borders of Wales, let alone seen hardship.’
‘You are quick to criticise,’ said Tom, ’yet could not be further from the mark. Yes I am known to frequent the taverns of Brycheniog but my friend here has probably been closer to death than all of you put together.’
‘Tom,’ snapped Garyn, ‘that’s enough.’
‘No,’ retorted Tom, ‘I will not sit and see your character besmirched.’ He turned to face Eric. ‘Yes he is young but in the past few years, he has seen crusade, infiltrated an enemy castle, been pursued across the holy-land by a hoard of infidels and retrieved a relic that contained a piece of the cross that once touched the flesh of Christ himself.’
