by Kevin Ashman
All eyes turned to face Garyn.
‘Is this true?’ asked Goddeff.
Garyn stared in annoyance at Tom but eventually answered.
‘It is,’ he said, ‘but it was not through choice. My path was forced upon me.’
‘Still, it is an impressive list for one so young. There is a long night before us, Garyn, perhaps you would make it shorter by sharing your tale?’
‘It is not one I have repeated since my return,’ said Garyn, ‘and the telling will bring back memories unwelcome.’
‘You are amongst men of common mind,’ said Goddeff, ‘for most here have tales of similar vein. Humour us and share the story.’
Garyn paused and looked around the room. The firelight cast its dancing light amongst those gathered and he knew they were the faces of hardened men. Finally he agreed and for the next hour, retold the story of how he retrieved the true cross from the tomb of Sinan in Syria. Throughout the telling not one voice interrupted him as all were enthralled with the tale and despite his nervousness, he found the opportunity to share his story with similarly minded men very satisfying. When he was finished there were a few murmurs of admiration and even Eric nodded toward him in recognition of his feat.
‘If you speak true then you have my respect,’ he said, ‘you should ride with us, Garyn of Brycheniog, there is always a place amongst us for a man of your ilk.’
‘I am yet unaware of your calling in this life,’ said Garyn, ‘for all I know you could be brigands.’
‘I will share that we are a band that lives outside of the binds of feudal living,’ said Goddeff, ‘but brigands we are not. We travel between those who seek a fist to deal with inequality, yet call no man master.’
‘I would say that makes you mercenaries,’ said Tom.
‘Call it what you will,’ said Goddeff, ‘but it is honest work for honest pay.’
‘And are you in the pay of anyone as we speak?’
‘We have just finished a commission,’ said Goddeff, ‘but there is no shortage of takers. It is often cheaper and easier for the rich to hire expertise rather than maintain their own garrison. So, what say you, Garyn? Does Eric’s proposal stoke a fire within? Does a life of valour appeal to your inner bear or is it the path of a lamb before you.’
‘I am no warrior, Goddeff,’ said Garyn, ‘yes I can hold my own in a fight but I feel I would be the weakest of your band.’
‘Yet you seek to serve in the armies of Llewellyn?’
‘I suspect a mercenary life demands a far higher standard than one in the lines of an army.’
‘Whether soldier or mercenary, death’s scythe strikes equally across all men.’
‘I am honoured with your offer, Sire but my route lies elsewhere.’
‘So be it,’ said Goddeff. ‘In the morn we will seek different paths, but until then I will retire to the warmth of my blanket. Sleep well, Garyn.’
Each man made himself as comfortable as possible in the little space available and before long Garyn fell into a dreamless sleep, warmed by the embers of the fire.
----
The following morning, Garyn and Tom watched as the men readied their horses but before they left, Goddeff approached Garyn.
‘May your path be fair, Garyn of Brycheniog and perhaps one day we will ride together.’
‘Perhaps so,’ said Garyn, ‘but I fear my sword arm is not strong enough for your needs.’
‘Then as a teller of tales,’ laughed Goddeff, ‘for your story was well told even if it was made bigger than the truth.’
‘I don’t know what you are saying,’ said Garyn, ‘my tale was true.’
‘I have no doubt that in the main it was,’ said Goddeff, as he mounted his horse, ‘but I know you held back on the final destination of the true cross.’ He looked down from his saddle at the young man. ‘I don’t blame you, Garyn for it makes a good end to the tale but in my trade I hear a lot of things and I know the relic lies in the hands of Llewellyn. I suspect that is why you head north.’
‘You are wrong,’ said Garyn, ‘the cross is in Rome and we ride only to seek only a future with the Welsh Prince. Your knowledge falls far from the truth.’
‘Whatever you say, Garyn,’ laughed Goddeff, ‘it is no business of mine. Follow the paths northward and seek out the village of Mynydd-Du. They are fiercely loyal to Llewellyn and may be able to supply the information you seek. Fair ye well, young man and live long for I hear it is far better than the alternative.’ With that Goddeff spurred his horse and galloped after his men, leaving Garyn to stare after him in confusion.
‘What was all that about?’ asked Tom walking up alongside him.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Garyn, ‘something about the cross being in the hands of Llewellyn but I know that to be wrong for it was sent to Rome.’
‘Perhaps it never got there,’ said Tom, ‘perhaps the bearer got greedy and veered away from his task.’
‘It was guarded by a unit of Hospitallers,’ said Garyn, ‘and more devout Knights I have never seen. No, I have no doubt it would have reached Rome intact so Goddeff must be mistaken.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Tom, ‘but we will never know either way. Come, it is time to go, we have a Prince to find.’
----
Chapter Sixteen
The New World
1276
‘Sire, the men tire,’ said Geraint, ‘and beg rest.’
‘Not yet, Geraint,’ replied Tarian, ‘we need to find a place we can defend. Achak says we are at risk as soon as we stop and as he is the only one who knows anything about this place, we have to heed his advice.’
‘Of course,’ said Geraint and turned to relay the message.
They had been marching for two days, following the banks of the great river downstream, always on the lookout for the fleet. The banks had become swampy and the undergrowth increasingly tangled the further south they travelled. The going was tough but Achak had insisted they stay away from the easier going on the grass plains a mile inland explaining that the Apalach preferred to fight in the open. The wagons had been discarded and the mounted men stayed inland with orders to avoid conflict and return to meet the main column as soon as conditions allowed. The provisions were shared out and both parties went their separate ways.
Tarian learned from Achak that the Apalach had no horses so the Knight was happy his lancers could stay out of trouble but his foot soldiers were another matter. The harder the path became, the more he worried about the state of his men. Not only did they tire quickly from the difficult terrain but the heat was taking its toll and their heavy packs weighed them down. On top of that, the air was filled with the sound of distant drums and Achak had explained it was the way the different villages of the Apalach communicated.
‘They string the war bows and sharpen their blades,’ he had said. ‘Your hair will look good on the lodge walls.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tarian had asked.
Using the edge of his hand to mimic the action of a knife, Achak demonstrated how many men would be scalped.
‘But why?’ asked Tarian. ‘What use is it to them?’
‘Scalps make warriors strong,’ said Achak.
Since then the men had set to the march with renewed vigour but Tarian knew they had to stop soon. Finally they came across a small island in the midst of the mangroves and whilst there was little in the way of natural defences, the dirty water provided a moat of sorts.
‘This is good,’ said Achak. ‘We will be safe here.’
Tarian looked around.
‘I cannot defend this place,’ he said, ‘it is too open.’
‘Apalach will stay away from here,’ said Achak, ‘it is a place of demons.’
‘What demons?’
‘Sulagi live here,’ said Achak, ‘so we must light fires to keep them away.’
‘Whatever you say, Achak,’ said Tarian turning to face the men behind him. ‘Spread out and see to your kit. We will go firm here tonight.’
&nbs
p; The men were glad of the rest and sought what shelter they could on the tiny island. Search parties were sent out for firewood with instructions not to go far as they could easily get lost in the dense undergrowth. As they waded across the waist deep channels Achak approached Tarian and pointed toward the outgoing patrols.
‘Tell them to stay together,’ he said, ‘or Sulagi will seek their spirits.’
‘They are well armed, Achak,’ said Tarian, ‘and where we come from, we pay little respect to spirits.’
Achak nodded and returned to his space alongside Spider. Soon there were dozens of small fires burning around the island and men sought the heat against the chill of the evening. Dried meat was handed out and while some chewed it raw, others were more patient, using their rations to flavour a shared broth. One young man waded slowly in the water, staring into the depths for any sign of fish to add to the pot. Gradually the light faded and the mood was quiet, when a terrifying sound echoed across the water.
‘Aaarrgh, help me,’ screamed a voice, ‘in the name of Christ help me.’
As one the men jumped to their feet and ran to the river bank. A few paces out they could see the young boy who had gone fishing but it seemed he was struggling with someone in the water. He thrashed in panic, screaming in fear and pain as he struggled violently against the unseen attacker.
‘What’s happening?’ roared Tarian, ‘are we under attack?’
‘No, it is Sulagi,’ said Achak, ‘ a beast of the water, there is nothing to be done.’
‘Help me,’ screamed the boy again and though the churning waters were rapidly turning red, Tarian grabbed a lance and waded in to help.
‘What are you waiting for?’ screamed Tarian, ‘our comrade needs us.’
Within seconds the river was full of armed men, lunging at the submerged beast that was attacking the boy. Over and over again they attacked with their weapons until finally the struggle ended and they dragged the boy back to the island. Those on shore stared in disgust at the dismembered body.
‘It is too late,’ gasped Tarian, ‘he is dead.’
‘What sort of animal does this?’ gasped Geraint, staring at the place where the boy’s leg had once been.
‘We are about to find out,’ said Tarian and looked along the shore to where his men were hauling something up onto the land. They walked over and stared down in horror. The beast was similar to the lizards that crawled amongst the grasses of home but the size was something from their nightmares. It lay as long as two horses end to end and as high as a man’s knees. The mouth was enormous and lined with vicious teeth, still stained by the bloody flesh of the unfortunate fisherman.
‘It’s a dragon,’ said a voice in awe.
‘It is Sulagi,’ said Achak, ‘the river is their home.’
‘A beast of the devil himself,’ said Geraint.
‘It is no devil’s animal, sacred spirit or dragon,’ shouted Tarian, ‘so there will be no more such talk. This is a strange land with stranger animals and this is no more than that. It fell to our steel as will any others that venture near but the danger is clear. Let no man go anywhere near the water without a comrade or weapon. We will not lose anyone else through ignorance. Achak, you will lead us from here on in and will warn us of anything we need to know. Now get this man buried and get some sleep. We will strike out with the dawn and hope the day brings sight of the fleet.’
Some of the men bent to pick up the body while the others went back to their fires. Spider lingered alongside Tarian as he stared down at the Alligator.
‘Sire,’ he said quietly, ‘the stores are running low and we need to hunt.’
‘Hunt what?’ asked Tarian lifting his gaze toward the tangled undergrowth, ‘even if we caught sight of a deer, there is no way we could run it down.’
‘What about this?’ said Spider kicking the corpse of the dead animal.
‘What about it?’
‘I agree with your view that it is no more than an animal and all animals can be eaten. Perhaps it holds enough meat fill a pot.’
Tarian looked over to Achak who was on his knees in the sand with arms outstretched and head tilted back as he sang a song of respect to the Sulagi spirit.
‘Is there no other way?’ he asked quietly.
‘We need the meat,’ said Spider. ‘The men already hunger.’
‘Do it,’ said Tarian eventually and walked back to the camp as Spider drew his knife.
Achak looked up and his eyes narrowed as he realised what Spider had in mind.
‘It is forbidden to eat Sulagi,’ he said quietly.
‘You may be forbidden,’ said Spider examining the animal’s scales for the best place to insert his knife, ‘but we suffer no such rules. Now, how do I cut this thing up?’
Achak didn’t answer but turned away and walked through the water into the darkness. Spider shrugged his shoulders and called out to some nearby soldiers.
‘You men, help me turn this thing over.’
----
The following morning the men once more set out on their trek. Behind them they left a shallow grave and the stripped carcass of a giant Alligator. Geraint paused to look back at the scene and thought for the hundredth time, this was indeed a strange land.
----
The rest of the day passed without incident and Geraint walked alongside Tarian.
‘Any sign of Achak?’ asked Tarian without breaking stride.
‘None, Sire. I suspect he has returned to his people.’
‘So be it,’ said Tarian, ‘at least we know Madoc passed this way and we need to cross this river.’
‘Without the ships, I can’t see how it can be done,’ said Geraint.
‘Nor can I,’ said Tarian, ‘so our future lies in the hands of Robert of Shrewsbury.’
Both men looked up as the sound of drums started up once again.
‘They sound closer,’ said Geraint.
‘They do,’ said Tarian, ‘pass the word back, we need to increase the pace.’
The column pressed on but as they went, strange calls echoed amongst the trees, causing the men to look about them in fear and tighten the ties of their gambesons. Finally one of the scouts returned to meet Tarian.
‘Sire, the ground opens up before us and there is a rocky hill at the far side. It looks like a good place to go firm.’
‘Good,’ said Tarian, ‘pass the message, one last push and we will make a stand.’
Within half an hour they left the claustrophobic cover of the swamps and emerged onto a grassy plain. To their front, an escarpment reached skyward and Tarian knew it would be as safe a place as he could hope for. The rest of the column left the tree line and stared before them.
‘There is no cover between us and the mountain,’ said Geraint quietly.
‘Perhaps not,’ said Tarian, ‘but we either risk the crossing or stay in the swamp. We will take our chances.’ He turned to face the exhausted column. ‘Men of Wales, I know you tire but we cannot stay here. Rest and safety lie but a mile away and we need one more effort to find shelter. Increase your step and hasten to the hill yonder.’
The column headed into the open, pushing as hard as they could to cross the plain. Within minutes the sound of the drums changed and Tarian sensed that the situation was about to get a lot more serious.
‘Archers break ranks,’ he shouted, ‘and form a rear guard, the rest of the column, make for the crags as fast as you are able. Geraint, have your archers form two lines. I feel we will have need of them before this is played out.’
‘Archers string your bows,’ roared Geraint. ‘Double line, ten paces between ranks.’
The men formed up quickly as the cries from the swamp edge grew louder.
‘Notch arrows,’ shouted Geraint, ‘take aim at the forward edge of the treeline.’
‘Geraint,’ shouted Tarian, ‘drop any man that comes forth and follow us to the rocks as soon as you can.’
‘Arrows, sire,’ roared a voice and every man turned to
see dozens of arrows fly through the air from the forest edge but though there were many, every one fell well short.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Tarian, ‘we are well within range of a bowman.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Geraint, stringing his own bow. ‘Don’t forget these people haven’t even seen a horse so the chances are they haven’t yet learned the benefits of the longbow.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I suspect their weapons are too small,’ said Geraint, ‘with a tension too slack to add any range. If this is the case, then they are doomed for my men can drop them at two hundred paces.’
Another flight of arrows flew from the trees but again fell well short.
‘I think you are right,’ said Tarian. ‘Make the most of this advantage, Geraint but sacrifice none of our men on unseen folly.’
‘Yes, Sire,’ said Geraint.
‘Here they come,’ shouted a voice and everyone looked at the men leaving the treeline. Across the entire front of the forest, lines of Apalach warriors walked carefully from the cover. Each was bare chested and clad only in loin cloths or buckskin leggings. Their naked torsos were daubed in red dye and their long hair tied back. Necklaces of bird skulls and feathers hung around their necks and many had feathers hanging from their hair. More arrows followed uselessly behind those already fired but within moments the bows were discarded and they could be seen drawing knives and axes from their waistbands.
‘Front rank, notch arrows,’ shouted Geraint, ‘take aim, upon my mark.’
The line of bowmen raised their bows skyward and drew back the drawstrings.
‘Loose arrows,’ shouted Geraint and he watched with satisfaction as a line of steel tipped arrows flew through the air toward the enemy. Within seconds, they found their mark and many Apalach warriors fell to the ground.
‘First rank, withdraw ten paces,’ shouted Geraint. ‘Second rank notch arrows, upon my mark…’
Again the order was given and again, dozens of warriors fell to the onslaught but instead of causing fear amongst their number, the devastating hail of arrows only served to raise the ire of the natives. A wail rose from amongst them and within seconds, they started to run toward the archers, brandishing their flint bladed weapons. Behind them, more and more warriors emerged from the tree line to add to the hundreds already charging the archers.
