Lions of the Grail

by Tim Hodkinson

  She started off down the track again. Behind them, the voices of their pursuers were receding.

  ‘It sounds like we’re losing them,’ Savage said as they hurried along.

  ‘We must keep going. My horse is not far,’ Alys replied. ‘After my father’s death I needed a way to bring in money to keep the estate going. I learned the art of astrology. Casting horoscopes for wealthy clients like the earl brings in a good income, but not enough. I also have to fall back on the lore my wet nurse taught me when I was a little girl. She was a “wise woman”. Folk who were sick paid her for a charm or potion to cure them. Now they come and see me when they need a remedy.’

  ‘Or a curse. Sounds like a witch to me,’ Savage said. He was familiar with the sort of ‘cunning folk’ she referred to. Every village had one – usually old – woman who knew what herbs cured what diseases or cast love spells or divined where stolen or lost property could be found. As far as he was concerned it was peasant superstition.

  ‘Well you would think that way with your “convictions”, Richard,’ Alys said with a bitter sneer. ‘Tell me: did you ever find the Holy Grail?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Grail. I seem to recall you jilted me to go and seek the Grail or some such nonsense.’

  ‘Alys, I left Ireland to join the Order of Knights Templar.’ Savage was indignant. ‘I went to fight for Christendom. I believed in what I was doing. I was sincere, not like most of the freebooters who went to fight in the east. I really believed that Christian order had to be defended from heathen chaos.’ He shook his head, amazed himself at his own naivety.

  ‘I’m sure we’re all so grateful,’ Alys mocked. ‘And what about me? Was I not worth fighting for?’

  ‘You’re still bitter about it, even after all these years?’

  ‘Have I not got a right to?’ Alys spat back, flames of rage blazing behind her eyes.

  Savage shrugged, feeling very uncomfortable.

  ‘I was in love with you, Richard,’ Alys hissed. ‘You knew it. I thought you loved me.’

  Richard was quiet for a moment. He scratched his head awkwardly and looked away, avoiding her glare. ‘But I did—’ he began.

  ‘Did you?’ Alys cut him off. ‘Did you really? Well you had a strange way of showing it! How do you think I felt, Richard? Eh?’

  Savage sighed and rolled his eyes.

  ‘How do you think it feels when the person you cared for more than anything, who you would have died for, who you would have given the world for, chooses the world rather than you?’ Alys said.

  Savage was astonished to see a strange liquescence in her eyes. In all the years they had spent together in their youth he had only seen her shed one tear, and that was when she had broken her arm while out riding. Even that had been quickly dashed away by her angry hand.

  ‘We were to be married,’ she continued, ‘but you had to go and save Christendom, or find the Holy Grail or whatever it was that was more important than getting married to me.’

  There were a few moments of bitter silence as they continued to walk. The denseness of the trees and undergrowth was beginning to thin as they approached the edge of the forest.

  ‘Why didn’t you marry someone else?’ Savage finally said. ‘Get yourself a rich husband and you won’t have to fiddle about with potions and stargazing any more.’

  ‘Oh I’ve tried that, don’t you worry,’ Alys responded. ‘Edward FitzPatrick. A man supposedly from a good family with a reasonable fortune. Actually a complete waster: little more than a drunk and a philanderer who was just after my manor. Thankfully he died within a year of our marriage.’ She caught sight of the look on Savage’s face. ‘And no, Richard, I did not kill him. He fell off his horse coming home drunk from one of his mistresses and broke his worthless neck.’

  ‘You had a child with him before he died though: the little girl. What age is she? Eleven?’

  ‘Ten,’ Alys retorted quickly, glancing away from him and avoiding his eyes. ‘Galiene: she is my only help and succour in this world. I’ve brought her up to look after herself.’

  ‘What about this John Bysset fellow?’ Savage asked, his voice betraying more interest than he affected.

  Alys looked at the ground. ‘Syr John is courteous and attentive to me. He has his own fortune so has no need of my lands, so I can be sure he is interested in marrying me for myself. He may be rather full of himself but why should he not be? He is young and fit – good-looking too – and still is, despite your efforts in the tournament today.’

  Savage was surprised again to see what looked like the hint of a playful smile on the corners of Alys’s mouth. ‘How is he?’

  ‘His face is a mess. But it will heal quickly. How long it takes his pride to recover is another matter,’ Alys said. Her face softened as she broke into a sunny grin. ‘John is of the opinion that punching someone in the face as you did is the action of a common thug and very unchivalrous.’

  ‘And you agree?’ said Savage.

  Like a ray of sunshine between clouds Alys’s smile faded and the usual hard hostility returned to her eyes. ‘I’m only a woman, Richard. What would I know about your silly little boys’ games?’

  They emerged from the trees into the edge of a wide, sweeping meadow that led downhill towards the sea. They were now on the other side of the woods from where the tournament arena was, but in the distance they could see the turf ramparts that surrounded the town of Carrickfergus, and the castle brooding on the rocky promontory, giving it the appearance of being built in the sea itself.

  Alys de Logan’s old warhorse was tethered to a tree nearby. There were no sounds of pursuit coming from the woods.

  ‘It looks like we’ve escaped,’ Savage said as they finally stopped beside the horse. ‘Have you any idea who they were?’

  Alys shook her head. ‘They’re Irish, but they dressed like English men-at-arms; that’s all I can say. I was up here late last night—’

  ‘On May Eve? In the dark?’

  Alys scowled. ‘I’m a witch, remember? There are certain rites we must perform. May Eve – Beltane – is one of the holiest nights of the year. Herbs gathered on May Eve are extremely potent. Anyway, I saw them last night in the woods, huddled round a little campfire. I heard one of them telling the story of Una the banshee who haunts these forests, which is how I had a fair idea they would be frightened by the appearance of a “banshee” today. He was talking in Irish. If pushed I’d say it was a Tyr Eoghan accent.’

  Savage nodded. ‘Lucky for me some folk still believe in fairies. I want to thank you for saving my life.’

  Alys turned to look him in the eye. For a second he held her gaze as neither said anything.

  Alys finally broke the silence. ‘Don’t be under any illusions, Richard. My father loved your father like a brother. I did it for his sake, and for no other reason. This changes nothing between us.’

  ‘For whatever reason you did it, I’m grateful,’ Savage said.

  Again their gazes locked, perhaps for a moment too long. Then Savage looked at the shaggy old horse and smiled.

  ‘By the Good Lord,’ he said, ‘is this Cernach, your father’s old warhorse? He must be long past retirement age now.’

  Alys swung herself nimbly into the saddle and looked down at him. ‘It is Cernach. A woman like me cannot stretch to afford a new horse, so he must serve me as he did my father.’

  There was a loud meow from the long grass and Alys’s large cat ran out and leapt up onto its mistress’s lap.

  ‘What an extraordinary animal,’ Savage commented. ‘I’ve never seen a cat so tame. It’s almost like a dog.’

  Alys smiled and stroked the cat, which purred and stretched luxuriously. ‘Lu is very familiar with me.’

  ‘You call him Lu?’ Savage asked, stretching up to stroke the animal himself. ‘After Lugh the old pagan Irish sun god?’

  The cat hissed and spat at Savage’s approaching hand. A mischievous smile spread across Alys’s face that all of
a sudden made her look about fourteen years old. ‘No – after Lucifer. And he does not like anyone but me.’

  ‘Should I ride in front then?’ Savage said. ‘The cat can sit behind you.’

  ‘You, Syr Richard, will not be riding anywhere,’ Alys said. ‘I share Lu’s aversion to being close to you and, anyway, I am going home to my castle. It’s about four miles back to Carrickfergus in that direction. You will walk.’

  27

  ‘My lords, the time has nearly come…’

  The Scottish lords kneeling before the altar of Alloway Kirk were surprised to hear their king’s voice interrupting the service. A spear of late afternoon sunshine lanced through the one tall window to light the altar and the squat, powerful figure of King Robert Bruce, who now stood beside it, bathed in the warm russet glow. The priest, who had been reciting the liturgy, bowed his head and quietly withdrew to stand beside a door in the nave.

  They were hearing Mass. The chapel was so small only ten of them could gather there, which was why Robert Bruce had chosen it. Their knights and men-at-arms all waited in the graveyard outside. Inside, the barons had said their confessions then the time had nearly arrived for the Eucharist. It was then that the king had stood up.

  ‘I must depart for the Western Isles,’ King Robert said. ‘It’s time that rebellious part of my realm accepted their rightful king. My ships and my army wait for me at Tarbert. We sail in the morning. You, my brother Edward, must return to Ayr and await young Syr John Bysset’s return from Ireland to guide your ships across the Moyle Sea. This is the last time we shall all be together for a long time. We go to war, so perhaps for some of us this is our last meeting.’

  The faces before him were grim, determined.

  ‘Now I must lay out my plans,’ the king said. ‘Ulick.’

  The Chieftain of the Clan Ceannaideach looked up, expectant.

  ‘Yours is the most important mission,’ Bruce said. ‘You must take the holy treasure to its place of safety on the mountain of the Noquetran. Guard it there with your life.’

  Ceannaideach’s disappointment was obvious on his face. ‘Sire,’ he protested, ‘I want to fight! I want to go to Ireland!’

  Bruce laid a hand on the kneeling lord’s shoulder. ‘I know you do, Ulick, but someone must guard the treasure while the wars are raging. It is the most precious thing we possess, and all our hopes depend on it. I cannot risk it falling into the hands of our enemies, so until the battle for Ireland is won, it must remain here in safety and I need my most trusted, most valiant warrior to guard it.’

  Ceannaideach’s back straightened and his chest puffed out noticeably.

  ‘Neil and Thomas, I want you to go with my brother to Ireland.’ Bruce said to Syr Neil Fleming and Thomas, the Earl of Moray.

  Edward Bruce scowled and rose to his feet.

  ‘Robert, I don’t need nursemaids,’ he said. ‘At Bannockburn we each commanded a schiltron. Mine put the English to flight, in case you’ve forgotten. I managed that on my own.’

  The king smiled. ‘I know, Edward. We have fought together many times. I know how capable you are, but you go to conquer Ireland. The battles you will have to fight will be hard, so I want my most trusted barons at your side. Neil and Thomas have led our troops through our greatest tests. I want them to go with you to Ireland.’

  Fleming and the earl nodded their acceptance. Robert Bruce held his brother’s challenging glares for several moments more, then Edward finally sighed and nodded too.

  Suddenly the door of the chapel opened. All heads turned to see a tall, black-haired man in the doorway. His beard was trimmed close and he was wrapped in an expensive woollen cloak. On the right shoulder of the cloak was emblazoned a purple lion, rampant on its hind legs. At the sight of this badge a murmur of disquiet ran through the church. The barons all started to their feet, recognising the emblem of the noble Irish family of de Lacy. Several of them dropped hands instinctively to where their swords would have been. This was a church, however, and none of them were armed.

  The newcomer smiled, and deliberately placed his hands on his hips, pushing aside his cloak to reveal the broadsword strapped around his waist.

  Robert Bruce was as surprised as his barons by the arrival of the newcomer, but he was a king. He did his best to appear unruffled.

  ‘Syr Walter de Lacy,’ he said. ‘What brings one of Ireland’s most powerful barons to a wee Scottish kirk? And you come armed into a church, sir? Surely you have nothing to fear in a house of God?’

  De Lacy laughed. ‘Oh really? I seem to recall you murdered Red Comyn, the only man who could challenge your right to the throne, while he was praying in church. I don’t intend to let that happen to me.’

  ‘What do you want, de Lacy?’ Bruce said, dropping his demeanour of pleasantry.

  ‘That is a good question, King Robert,’ Syr Walter de Lacy said. ‘You and I cannot be said to be on the same side. Indeed I fought against you in the Old King Edward’s wars in Scotland. However, I have received an unusual offer from Domnall Ui Neill, King of the Clan Eoghan, of Tyr Eoghan in Ireland. He is no friend of mine either – we’ve been fighting each other since the day we were born – and yet now he offers me peace and an alliance. He says we have a common cause, and that cause is the one of your brother, Edward, who is proposing himself for the vacant High Kingship of Ireland.’

  ‘What do you think of this proposal?’ Edward Bruce said.

  De Lacy smiled again. ‘Well, it’s interesting. Particularly – as you know doubt are well aware – since I am currently caught between Scylla and Charybdis. That damnable Roger Mortimer, Earl of the March, claims my estates in Ireland. Not content with swiving the English queen behind King Edward’s back, he wants my lands in Meath, and has come to Ireland with his own army that now sits encamped on the southern borders of my lands. I cannot match his strength, but I have nowhere to go. To the north-east is de Burgh’s Earldom of Ulster, to the north-west Tyr Eoghan. Both are my enemies. Now Domnall Ui Neill tells me that your brother is coming to our island and that you are looking for some local support.’

  ‘A baron like you, with castles and knights at his command? We would welcome you with open arms!’ Edward Bruce’s eyes were eager and bright.

  Robert frowned at his brother.

  De Lacy held up his hand. ‘To come over to your side would be a huge step for me to take. I must betray my country, my king, even some of my family.’

  ‘You would be well rewarded,’ King Robert said, stepping forward in front of his brother. ‘We need men like you. Name your price.’

  De Lacy smiled. ‘Judas wanted thirty pieces of silver for his betrayal. My fee is somewhat larger: I want Ulster. Generations of de Lacys were Earls of Ulster before the damned de Burghs usurped my great-grandfather. If I join you, and you win Ireland, I want Ulster back.’

  The Bruce brothers exchanged glances.

  ‘Syr Walter, a moment if you please while I consult with my brother,’ King Robert said, and he and Edward Bruce walked behind the altar where they could talk privately.

  ‘I need not remind you brother,’ Robert hissed, ‘that my wife is daughter to Earl de Burgh of Ulster. If this venture is successful, then if anyone has the right to the high seat in Carrickfergus Castle it’s me.’

  ‘And you’ve already promised Ulster to Domnall Ui Neill!’ Edward whispered, eyebrows raised.

  ‘State craft, Edward,’ Robert said. ‘We need a carrot to ensure his support.’

  ‘Ui Neill’s Gaelic ceithernn troops are all very well but de Lacy can give us armoured knights: heavy cavalry and crossbows. Without that sort of military might we don’t stand a chance of taking Dublin,’ Edward Bruce said. ‘If he joins us who knows what other Irish barons will come on side too? We need him, Robert.’

  The king pursed his lips, thinking.

  ‘Very well,’ he said after a moment. ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘Let us agree to his terms. Let them both think they are going to get Uls
ter, then we will sort it out when we’ve won the war. Besides—’ Edward winked at his brother ‘—a battlefield is a deadly dangerous place. Who knows if they’ll both survive this adventure? If needs be we can make sure one – or both – of them don’t.’

  A wicked grin crept onto Edward Bruce’s face, then immediately disappeared as both men returned to join de Lacy at the altar.

  ‘Syr Walter—’ King Robert held out his hand to de Lacy ‘—we accept your price. Will you join us?’

  De Lacy hesitated. ‘King Robert, I said this was a big step for me,’ he said. ‘Despite my personal difficulties, before I betray everything I hold dear, I need to be sure of the justness of your cause.’

  For the first time the Irish lord’s confident demeanour seemed to slip away. He looked unsure of himself, almost sheepish.

  ‘The messenger King Domnall Ui Neill sent to me was accompanied by a Knight Hospitaller called Hugo de Montmorency,’ de Lacy said, his voice becoming hoarse. ‘He said God has shown his support for your cause by delivering into your keeping the most holy of treasures.’

  There was silence in the chapel. All eyes were on de Lacy and the king.

  ‘King Robert,’ de Lacy continued, ‘if this is true, it would be the proof I need to convince me that joining your brother’s side is the right thing to do. When my great-grandfather lost his lands in Ulster he joined the crusade against the Cathar heretics in southern France; it was rumoured that the heretics held the very same holy treasure in their possession. He fought many battles, killed many men, women, even children in that great struggle. His one aim was to find it and recover the treasure for the true faith. He never did. He died a bitter man, terrified his blood-soaked soul would burn in Hell forever for his atrocities. If it is true that this treasure is real, and that you bear it, then joining your army would be a way for me to atone for his sins. It would prove to me the justice of your cause. How would God allow an unrighteous king to bear this holy vessel?’