by Kevin Ashman
Garyn watched him walk over to his horse and then ride after the last wagon. Within moments they had disappeared into the treeline and Garyn turned to see the rescued girl talking to Eric, the mercenary he had first met many months earlier.
‘Hello again,’ said the girl as he approached.
‘I am Garyn, ‘he said ‘and have been tasked with returning you to your father.’
‘So I am told,’ she said, ‘and the sooner we go the better.’
‘Why the urgency?’
‘It is a tale for later, Garyn,’ she said, ‘but suffice to say, I yearn to see my home again.’
‘Understandable,’ said Garyn and turned to Eric.
‘Are you to show us the route?’
‘I will ride alongside you today only,’ said Eric, ‘and be gone by dawn. By then your path will be clear. Now, as the lady says, look to your equipment and let’s get out of here.’
----
Chapter Twenty Three
The Mountains of North Wales
Garyn and the girl rode up into the mountains. They took the little known paths and were soon deep amongst the huge rocky monoliths that separated North Wales from the rest of the country. Eric had left them earlier in the evening and they had one more night to spend above the snowline before they descended into Conwy. Garyn made a small fire and warmed some meat in the flames before sitting beside the girl.
‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked.
The girl pulled her woollen cape tighter around her.
‘I will be fine,’ she said, ‘though truth be told, my stomach aches for a taste of that mutton.’
‘It won’t be long,’ he said. ‘So, we haven’t had a chance to talk much, why don’t you tell me something about yourself.’
‘Not much to say,’ she said.
‘You could start by telling me your name.’
‘My name is Bethan Roberts and I am the daughter of the Sheriff of Conwy.’
‘The daughter of a Sheriff,’ said Garyn, ‘why does that raise concern within me?’
‘Not all such men are corrupt, Garyn, my father is a good man.’
‘How did you come to be a prisoner of Burke?’
‘I was visiting my family in the mountains when he attacked the farm. He killed everyone but my face was recognised and he ordered me taken alive.’
‘Did he …I mean, has he hurt you?’
Bethan stared at Garyn with a cold, intense stare.
‘If you mean did he force himself on me, then yes he did, over and over again. Not just him, Garyn but also his men.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ she said, ‘it was not you. Yes they treated me like a common whore but I do not judge all men by their actions. They are filth who deserve to die but I will not allow them to ruin my life further.’
‘You are very strong,’ said Garyn, ‘many women would crumble at such treatment.’
‘Well this one won’t. I will go home and recover my strength. After that, I will engage the best men I can to find this pig and cut out his eyes. I may not fall apart, Garyn but neither will I forget. Whether it is this year or next, he will feel my wrath.’
‘Back in the valley you said you needed to return as soon as possible. Is it to embark on this path of retribution?’
‘That is one reason, but there is another. During my time in Burke’s tent he talked freely before me. I suppose he thought it was no risk as he intended to kill me anyway. He talked with other men of a mission from Lord Ridgeway to steal an artefact from under Llewellyn’s very nose.’
‘What artefact?’
‘The true cross.’
Garyn paused and looked at Bethan.
‘That’s impossible,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘Because… well, it just is.’
‘You are making no sense.’
‘The true cross lies elsewhere in a safe place.’
‘You are wrong, Garyn. It lays in the abbey at Conwy. I have seen it myself.’
‘You may have seen something, Bethan but I promise you it wasn’t the true cross.’
‘You decry my statement quickly enough but offer no explanation. Why should I countenance your words?’
‘Because they are true,’ said Garyn. ‘The golden cross was sent from Acre to Rome by Longshanks himself.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Because I was there when he made the decree.
‘Even if you are right, who is to say that the cross ever made it or perhaps a switch was made en-route? Perhaps the one in the hands of the Pope is fake and ours is the real one.’
‘It matters not,’ said Garyn, ‘whichever lies within the abbey at Conwy, it will not contain the true wood of Christ.’
‘You make no sense, Garyn. Back up your words or we will change the nature of this conversation.’
‘I cannot, Bethan for I have already said too much. Let the matter lay and we will say no more about it.’
‘You are a strange one, Garyn,’ said Bethan. ‘You are a young man yet your eyes are already old. Methinks you have seen many hardships already in your life.’
‘The mutton is done, Bethan,’ said Garyn leaning forward, ‘let’s eat.’
----
Two days later they rode into Conwy and headed to the town centre. Within moments crowds gathered around the horses as Bethan was recognised by many of the passers-by. Messages were sent to find the Sheriff and within half an hour, a band of riders galloped into the village, led by a giant of a man clad in black chain mail. He slid effortlessly from his horse and Garyn watched as Bethan threw herself into her father’s arms.
‘Bethan,’ gasped the man, ‘are you in good health?’
‘I am a little tired but nothing worse,’ she answered.
‘Where have you been? We thought you were dead.’
‘And I would soon have been if it wasn’t for this man and his comrades,’ said Bethan indicating Garyn. ‘They rescued me from the clutches of a man called Burke.’
‘I feared as much,’ said the Sheriff and turned to face Garyn.
‘What is your name, Sir?’ he asked.
‘My name is Garyn ap Thomas and I hail from Brycheniog. I am no Knight, Sheriff but a foot soldier who has ridden with the Blaidd these past few months.’
‘The Blaidd are mercenaries,’ said the Sheriff.
‘They are, Sir.’
‘And you count yourself amongst their number?’
‘I did, but no more. Is that a problem?’
‘Not really. I have never had cause to cross swords with them, yet I find the idea of a roving band of mercenaries distasteful. There is a fine line between Goddeff’s men and those of Burke.’
‘Apart from the fact that one band abducted your daughter while the other saved her.’
‘A point well made, Garyn of Brycheniog. I know not the strength of your sword but your tongue is as fast as a rapier. Come, you will accompany us to our home and feast with my family. We owe her life to you.’
‘Sire, before we go, I would beg a favour.’
‘Name it.’
‘I would go to the abbey and lay hands on the true cross.’
‘The true cross?’
‘Aye. I assume it is still there?’
‘It is, Garyn but you can see it any other day. Come and get rested after your exertions. The abbey can wait until the morrow.’
‘No,’ said Garyn a little too quickly. ‘I need to see it now. I need to put my mind at rest.’
‘From what?’
‘He will not say, father,’ said Bethan, ‘but I add my support to his plea. He saved my life, grant him this small boon.’
‘Very well,’ said the Sheriff, ‘we will accompany you but hurry before the rain sets in.’
The group walked across the square and through the gloomy streets darkened by the overhanging facades of the wooden buildings. Within five minutes the abbey’s tower appeared above the ridgeline and th
e claustrophobic streets opened up to reveal the magnificent place of worship. They walked inside and Garyn was immediately struck by the profound silence within.
‘Where is it?’ whispered Garyn.
‘Over there,’ said Bethan, pointing at a line of people waiting to gain access to the relic. A Cistercian Monk held out a leather bag to collect the pennies required for the privilege of praying before the artefact and above them, a golden cross over a cubit in length was fixed against the wall illuminated by dozens of burning candles. Garyn walked over and stared up in wonder. The others joined him and followed his gaze.
‘Now do you believe me?’ asked Bethan.
‘I need to get closer,’ he said.
‘But why? It is there before your very eyes.’
‘I can’t tell you, Bethan but I have to see it close up.’
‘Bring the Abbot,’ said the Sheriff to a nearby Monk. ‘I would bring this to conclusion.’
A few moments later, the Abbot joined them at the cross and welcomed the Sheriff as an old friend before turning to face the young woman.
‘Bethan,’ he gasped, ‘I have just been told the news but hardly dared believe you are safe. Thank the lord himself. Are you well?’
‘I am fine, Father Carter,’ said Bethan.
‘What happened to you?’
‘It is a long story,’ said Bethan, ‘and with your grace, perhaps I can share it another time.’
‘Of course,’ he said and kissed her hands before turning back to her father.
‘It is good to see you, Sheriff Roberts, you must be so thankful for the return of your daughter.’
‘I am, Father Carter and we will return to thank the Lord in the proper manner but in the meantime I have a favour to ask.’
‘Name it,’ said the Abbot.
‘We need to let this man touch the cross.’
Father Carter turned to look at Garyn.
‘Does he seek a miracle?’
‘On the contrary, Father,’ said Garyn, ‘I need to see if a miracle has already happened.’
‘I know we ask a lot,’ said the Sheriff, ‘but there will be a significant donation to your funds in return.’
The Abbot paused before turning to the nearby Monk.
‘Clear the abbey,’ he said.
A few minutes later, the large doors slammed shut and the Monk returned with a ladder. He climbed up to unfasten the iron clasps before passing the cross down to two other Monks who placed it carefully on the floor.
‘It is even more beautiful close up,’ said Bethan.
‘The gold is dull compared with its true glory,’ said the Abbot and knelt beside the cross. ‘You are very lucky, young man for it is soon to be moved from here and placed in a Cathedral where its glory will be displayed to the masses.’
Garyn knelt down beside him.
‘Where is it?’ he asked.
‘Where’s what?’
‘The wood of Calvary,’ said Garyn.
The Abbot leaned forward and opened a panel in the centre of the golden cross to reveal a glass pane. Everyone leaned forward to see a small piece of aged wood nestled on a red velvet cushion.
‘Do you want to hold it?’ asked the Sheriff.
‘No man can touch it,’ said Father Carter, ‘for none are worthy.’
‘Where did you get it from?’ asked Garyn.’
‘From a friend in the south, he brought it back from the holy land. Do you wish some time alone to pray?’
‘It’s not necessary,’ said Garyn with a sigh, ‘I have seen enough.’
He stood up and walked away, alone with his thoughts. The Sheriff and Bethan watched the Monks replace the cross before talking quietly with the Abbot. Garyn walked around the walls of the abbey, looking at the many tombs of the nobles who had been laid to rest there over the years. His mind was troubled for what he had just seen was impossible.
‘Garyn, we are done here,’ called Bethan, ‘will you join us?’
‘Of course,’ said Garyn and crossed the abbey. He said his goodbyes and left with Bethan and her father. Outside, the storm clouds had gathered and the rain started to fall.
‘Are you happy now?’ asked Bethan.
‘No, not really,’ said Garyn.
‘You still think it’s fake?’
‘On the contrary,’ said Garyn, ‘I believe the cross is true.’
‘Then why the concern?’
‘Because it means I have been betrayed by one I called a friend.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Bethan.
‘It matters not,’ said Garyn. ‘There is nothing I can do about it, at least, not yet. Come, your father beckons.’
----
Garyn stayed for several days in the house of the Sheriff and was made welcome by the family. In particular, he enjoyed the company of Bethan and found himself drawn closer to her. A week went by and one evening, he was sitting at the family table sharing a meal of chicken and pork. The freshly cooked roasts were a welcome change from the dried meat he was used to and he relished every mouthful. Finally he sat back drinking his ale, enjoying the fact he was warm, comfortable and had a full belly. He made small talk with the family until a knock came at the door and the Sheriff apologised as he was summoned to business in the town. A few hours later, he returned and Garyn could see his mind was heavy with concerns.
‘Are you alright, Father?’ asked Bethan.
‘I am fine, girl,’ he answered, ‘but would have word with this young man. Garyn, can you come with me?’ Garyn glanced at Bethan and answered the unspoken question with a shrug of his shoulders before following her father into a smaller room. A roaring fire burned in the hearth and Garyn turned to see the Sheriff lock the door behind them. They were alone.
‘Please sit,’ said the Sheriff.
Garyn did as he was bid and found the chair extraordinarily comfortable.
‘More ale?’ asked the Sheriff walking over with a jug.
Garyn nodded and waited silently as the man filled his tankard before replacing the jug on the table and taking his place in the other seat.
‘So,’ said the Sheriff, ‘why don’t you tell me what’s going on?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Garyn.
Roberts put down his own ale and stared at Garyn.
‘What I mean,’ he said, ‘is what was all that about in the abbey a few days ago?’
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ said Garyn, ‘forget about it.’
‘On the contrary,’ said the Sheriff, ‘there is everything to worry about.’
‘Why?’
‘Listen, Garyn,’ said the sheriff, ‘my daughter is kidnapped by the biggest band of brigands in Wales and then rescued by notorious mercenaries. She then returns to tell me one of the holiest relics in the possession of the church is being lined up to be stolen and subsequently, the man who rescued her, who admits to being part of a group with dubious reputation at best, asks to see the relic close up. Now, how do I know that you are not in league with these brigands and just wanted to see the cross to find out the abbey’s security measures?’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Garyn, ‘you spoke to your daughter. She was a captive and we released her.’
‘It could have been a situation arranged between you and Burke for this very reason.’
‘I can assure you, I am my own man and have no links with Burke or have any plans to take the cross.’
‘It’s not enough,’ said Roberts.
‘It’s all I have,’ said Garyn.
‘In that case we have a problem,’ said the Sheriff sitting back. ‘You see, I have just been to see Father Carter. A few days after we visited the abbey, he received a delegation from his counterpart in Brycheniog. They brought gifts and matters of the clergy but amongst them was a communique regarding a wanted man thought to be headed this way. Apparently it warned of an outlaw with a grudge against the church. He even went as far as to name this man, and guess what, that very man shares my house. Now, y
ou dare to sit before me, enjoy my hospitality and tell me I have nothing to worry about?’
‘It is not what you think,’ said Garyn.
‘Then tell me the truth, Garyn, for I am under pressure to arrest you right now and have you returned to Brycheniog to be tried as a thief and a murderer. You would be hanged within days.’
‘Sheriff Roberts,’ said Garyn. ‘The man you mention in Brycheniog is as corrupt a man that ever walked this earth. He killed my family, blackmailed me to obtain a relic from the holy-land and tried to have my brother murdered. Since then he has stolen my family’s lands and sought to discredit my name. Subsequently he forced me to run but I promise you this, I am no brigand.’
‘You seem to be a likeable young man, Garyn and the fact that you saved my daughter means I am forever in your debt but surely even you can see the position I am in? Tell me your tale in its entirety and if I see even the tiniest piece of truth in your words, I promise to do all I can to clear your name.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘Why would you refuse to tell the truth?’
‘For there is a profound act within my conscience that may yet condemn me.’
‘And was this act criminal?’
‘It was done with clear conscience and I do not regret it.’
‘Talk to me, Garyn,’ said the Sheriff, ‘for at this moment, I am the only hope you have.’
----
The next few hours, Garyn told the Sheriff of everything he had been through over the previous few years. He left nothing out from the day his family had been murdered right up to the day he rescued Bethan from the clutches of Burke and his men.
‘That’s it,’ he said finally, ‘you know everything.’
‘Not quite, Garyn,’ said Roberts, ‘you mentioned something earlier about one act that weighs upon your conscience.’
Garyn nodded slowly. He had wanted to keep it to himself but it was obvious that his life was on the line. For a few moments he hesitated and thought of his old friend from the holy-land. By filling in this last piece of story he would be doing his friend’s memory a disservice but he knew it had to be done and that if Brother Martin was looking down from heaven, he hoped he would forgive him.
‘Well?’ said Roberts.
