As he came around a large rock, Savage saw a small boat, riding at anchor midstream. The boat was a hide and wicker coracle and in it sat two men. The man at the back of the boat was enjoying the sun while his companion fished with a line. Both were very finely dressed and it was plain to see that these were no humble peasants who relied on fishing to eat.
Savage called hallo and waved to them. ‘Excuse me, sirs,’ he said, ‘can you tell me who owns that castle back there through the woods?’
‘I can, brother.’ The fisherman looked up at him and smiled. Judging by the well-groomed, long grey hair that hung down from his head, Savage took him to be rather old. He spoke with the same curiously mixed accent that the woman Repanse had possessed. ‘You’re the young man the sea washed up, aren’t you? Good to see you’re better.’
‘You’re from the castle?’ Savage asked.
‘It is my castle,’ the fisherman replied. ‘And I’m pleased to welcome you to it – now you’re in a better state to comprehend that welcome.’
‘I’ve much to thank you for,’ Savage began but the fisherman held up a hand to quiet him.
‘Pardon me if I seem rude, sir,’ the fisherman said, watching the water with the eye of a hunter, ‘but fishing is the only kind of recreation I can enjoy these days and I like to indulge myself. We shall talk at length tonight at supper.’
Realising he was being dismissed, Savage left the grey-haired castellan to his fishing and began trekking back along the path towards the castle.
Repanse de Schoy’s warning came back to him and he feared that perhaps he had ventured too far in his weakened state. Sweat was beading across his forehead and his breathing had become laboured. His legs felt as if someone had attached lead weights to them.
Pushing himself onwards, he made it back to the castle drawbridge. When he reached the watchful gate tower, Savage was met by four serving lads who, seeing his fatigue and guessing his reluctance to climb all the stairs back to his bedroom, led him up to the galleries in the walls instead.
In the cool restfulness of the surrounding stone Savage found a couch upon which he lay down and without further ado fell asleep. He drifted off wondering where on earth he had ended up and just how friendly this mysterious fisherman who owned the castle would be if he knew the real purpose of his mission.
52
Savage awoke. The cooler air and change in light told him it was evening. Two serving lads who were hovering nearby saw he was awake and showed him the washroom before leading him to the castle hall for dinner. The howling emptiness in his belly affirmed just what a good idea that was.
Entering the square hall, Savage saw that its interior was different from most castle halls. It was large enough to comfortably seat well over a hundred people. There was no raised dais at one end where normally the lord and his lady would sit. Neither was the fire situated along one wall. Instead, a great blaze roared right in the centre of the room. Around the fire, aligned with the corners of the hall itself, were four stone pillars. The strong, stout pillars supported a high, wide chimney made of bronze that efficiently extracted the fire’s smoke from the room.
Savage was led into the middle of the room, near the fire. Close to the fire was a couch, on which an old man with long iron-grey hair reclined, leaning on one elbow. Savage realised that this was the lord of the castle who he had met earlier, fishing. Now closer, he saw that he was not, in fact, elderly. He was middle-aged certainly but must have gone prematurely grey. The lord wore a sable hat the colour of blackberries, the crown of which was covered by purple cloth that matched the colour of his flowing robe.
Seeing Savage, the man smiled.
‘My friend who the sea threw up,’ he said. ‘Forgive me for not getting up to welcome you properly. I’m not able to.’
The lord struggled to raise himself a little higher on the couch. Savage saw that one of his legs was sticking out of the purple robe and noticed how withered and stick-like it was.
‘Old battle wound,’ the lord said, patting his hips sadly. ‘I took a spear right through both thighs. They’re useless now. Still, mustn’t dwell on the past. At least I can still indulge one passion: plenty of time for fishing.’
As he spoke Savage tried to place his accent. He spoke Norman French which had a lilt of Scots to it, but only as much as someone who has spent time in a country rather than been born there would pick up. There was a hint of something else too, perhaps eastern.
The lord smiled. ‘We have much to talk about. Sit down, brother.’
Silently and unseen, servants had placed a plush, upholstered chair behind Savage so that all he had to do was sit down. The heat from the fire was uncomfortable but the invalid lord probably needed extra warmth.
‘I suppose you’re wondering where you are,’ the lord said.
‘I admit I’m puzzled,’ Savage said. ‘I was under the impression that Galloway was a wild, savage place but this castle is the height of sophistication. It’s as excellent as any I’ve ever seen – and I’ve travelled quite a bit.’
The lord beamed but looked a little embarrassed at the praise. ‘Thank you, brother. Castle Corbenek is indeed a pleasant home, but, I’m sad to say, the tales you’ve heard about Galloway are true. You were very lucky it was my servants who found you on the beach. Some of the natives who haunt the mountains and forests of this land wouldn’t have hesitated to cut your throat for what few possessions you had.’
‘They wouldn’t have got much,’ Savage grunted. ‘The sea took everything I own. Even the shirt off my back.’
‘What were you doing sailing in such a storm?’ the Lord of Corbenek asked.
Savage took a deep breath and prepared to launch into the cover story he had concocted for himself.
‘I am Richard de Clare,’ he said, announcing the pseudonym he had decided on. ‘My family were from Ireland but I have been in the east for a long time. I heard of King Robert Bruce’s struggle for freedom and I was coming here to lend my sword to his struggle. Unfortunately my ship got caught in the storm.’
The lord nodded thoughtfully. ‘Damned bad luck,’ he said. ‘So you are a knight? Bruce would indeed welcome you into his ranks. But you are now a knight with no horse, no armour and no sword. Not much use to anyone.’
‘I hear his brother has sailed for Ireland,’ Savage said.
‘He has,’ the lord replied. Strangely, the man’s grey eyes seemed filled with deep sadness.
‘You seem sad. You wish you were going yourself?’ Savage asked.
The man gave a little ironic laugh. ‘Quite the opposite. I wish he had not gone.’
‘You have cousins across the Irish Sea?’ Savage probed.
The paralysed castellan shook his head. ‘No. I just think it’s sad that a country that has struggled so long to gain its own freedom should so soon seek to visit war and oppression on another.’
‘But Ireland supplies England with troops, weapons, provisions,’ said Savage. ‘It is hostile to Scotland’s interests.’
‘Doubtless there are many sound, tactical reasons why so much will be expended, why so many lives will be sacrificed,’ the grey-haired lord said, ‘but it cannot be denied either that what drives Edward Bruce is ambition. He wants to be a king like his brother. No, he wants it more than his brother. Robert Bruce will be happy if the expedition succeeds and England’s supply route is cut off. Also, if the expedition fails and his overambitious brother is killed in the attempt…’ he shrugged ‘…a dangerous rival is removed.’
Their conversation stopped for a moment as both spotted a young squire entering the hall with a jug of wine. Two goblets were filled and Savage took a long draught from one, buying some time as he considered the nobleman’s words. Was his dismay at the Bruce expedition real or was he just testing Savage, trying to trap him? The last time Savage had been called “brother” was as a member of the Templar Order. Was this nobleman referring to him by that sobriquet simply out of Christian fellowship? He decided to try a gamble.
‘I
’m glad there was help here for this son of the widow,’ Savage said, using the Templar recognition phrase as nonchalantly as he could manage, while carefully watching the lord’s face to see if there was any reaction.
The paralysed castellan simply chuckled.
‘Tell me,’ he said, seemingly ignoring Savage’s line. ‘What makes you want to fight for Robert Bruce?’
‘King Robert Bruce bears the Holy Grail,’ Savage replied. ‘The cause of anyone who bears such a holy relic must be just.’
‘Indeed, he says that he does,’ the nobleman said. ‘And I have seen it.’
‘You have seen the Grail?’ Savage leaned forward eagerly. His eyes were suddenly bright with excitement.
‘Robert Bruce showed his Grail to many Scottish noblemen to try to gain our support. I saw a grail, whether or not it was the Grail is another question.’
‘You don’t believe Bruce has the true Grail?’
The nobleman shrugged. ‘Who can tell? Perhaps you would know that better than me. He got it from the Templars, your former order.’
Savage smiled. ‘So you did recognise the Templar code word. Were you in the order too?’
‘Dinner should be ready,’ the nobleman said. ‘I hope you are hungry.’
Savage was starving and as if on cue, a door opened in one of the walls of the hall. Savage noticed that there were doors all around the hall, probably leading to kitchens or other private rooms. As his hungry eyes turned to the opened door a veritable procession emerged.
Two male servants entered, each bearing a pure gold candelabra inlaid with black enamel. Ten candles glowed on each candelabrum. Behind the candle bearers came a squire carrying a white painted lance. To Savage’s surprise, the tip of the lance seemed to have fresh blood on it.
Deciding that it must be some strange local custom, he said nothing in case it might give him away.
Next through the door came the beautiful young woman who had nursed him, Repanse de Schoy. In her petite hands she bore a deep, wide dish made of refined gold, set with many kinds of precious stones. Behind her came another young woman carrying a silver carving dish. The procession halted as servants came forward to erect a table before the nobleman and Savage, over which a stunningly white tablecloth was laid. Warm water and towels were brought so that they could wash their hands, then the food began to arrive.
Repanse laid the silver carving dish on the table before the grey-haired nobleman as the first course came: a haunch of venison in hot pepper sauce. A servant carved the meat on the silver dish, setting the slices on flat loaves of bread. Savage noted that slices of the rich, dark brown meat were also placed in Repanse’s golden dish, which she then carried through another door in the east wall of the hall.
‘Your daughter won’t be eating with us?’ Savage asked.
The lord of the castle gave one of his customary chortles. ‘My daughter? Unfortunately no, she is my niece. She lives here with me and helps to look after me. I don’t know what I would do without her. She is such a selfless girl. Even now she is taking that food to serve someone else who cannot join us.’
Golden cups were set before them and clear, smooth wine poured out liberally.
‘This is excellent,’ Savage said as he tasted the pepper sauce. ‘I prefer hot spicy dishes but it is so hard to get anything more exciting than stew in these islands.’
‘I do as well,’ the nobleman said. ‘They so add to the flavour of the meat. It is a taste I acquired while living in the east.’
‘You were in Outremer?’ Savage exclaimed. ‘I thought I detected an oriental sophistication in your castle. I take it you served there with the Order? Is that where you were wounded?’
‘Syr Richard, how long were you a Templar?’
‘Just over two years. I served in Cyprus and England.’
‘Two years is not long enough to have risen very far through the ranks. You would not have learned many of your order’s secrets,’ the nobleman said as he chewed on a juicy lump of venison.
‘True. That was something that really frustrated me.’
‘Well I will tell you one now. Your order is gone now – ceased to be – so I can’t see that it will do much harm.’
Savage leaned forward expectantly.
53
‘Two hundred years ago, Hugh de Payens founded the Order of Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon: the Templars,’ the lord said. ‘King Baldwin of Jerusalem granted him and nine other companion Crusaders’ quarters on the Temple Mount in the heart of the Holy City. For nine years they didn’t do very much. There were still only nine of them and they spent the time digging beneath the Temple. Then things changed. Within twenty years they were the most powerful military force in the Holy Land. Within thirty years they were the richest organisation in the world. How do you think that all came about so quickly?’
Savage shrugged. ‘A combination of luck and good planning?’
‘Good planning, yes. But not by them.’ The Lord of Corbenek lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. ‘There is another order, Syr Richard. A secret order. It has existed since the very dawn of Christianity. Its members are few in number but great in influence. They possess secrets of incredible power, much greater than anything the Templars or any of their brother military orders knew.’
Savage was suddenly aware his mouth was hanging open and closed it quickly. ‘I’ve never heard of this order.’
‘You wouldn’t have,’ the lord continued. ‘It is highly secretive. Unseen, and working covertly, they have their own aims and goals, and they guide the history of the world through influence and money. Every now and again, however, this order needs to intervene in the affairs of the world in a more direct manner. In that case they make use of an existing organisation or, if one does not exist, they create one.’
‘Are you saying that the Templars were set up by this secret order to fulfil some hidden purpose?’
The Lord of Corbenek nodded.
‘For what end?’
‘To further the order’s strategy in the east.’
‘And what was that? I need to know. I sacrificed a lot to join the Templars.’
‘Tell me,’ the lord said, ‘who is Alys de Logan?’
Savage was astonished, and his face betrayed him. Seeing this, the invalid nobleman smiled. ‘It was a name you often mentioned when delirious with the fever.’
‘She’s a woman,’ Savage grunted.
‘With a name like Alys I should hope so.’ The nobleman laughed.
‘I was in love with her when I was young,’ Savage said, suddenly wondering what else he had betrayed about his mission while raving. ‘But I was torn between her and what I saw as a higher purpose. In the end I chose the higher purpose. I joined the Templars.’
‘An admirable sacrifice,’ the nobleman said. Savage thought he detected a hint of sarcasm in the man’s voice. ‘I’m sure you profited by it.’
‘No, far from it. I lost everything.’ Savage looked away into the flames of the fire.
‘Perhaps your reward will not be in this world,’ the lord suggested. ‘But I understand how you must be feeling. You sacrificed everything for what you thought a worthy cause only to find the cause was false: an empty chalice.’
Savage did not reply. This paralysed rich fisherman knew more than he guessed.
The lord smiled in a kindly way and laid a friendly hand on Savage’s forearm. ‘Let me tell you a piece of wisdom I learned in Jerusalem,’ he said. ‘Take it as friendly advice from an older man who has made mistakes in his life. It is this: “Wine is strong. The king is stronger. Women are strongest, but truth conquers all.” You have to work out what is really important in life, and when you do, you have to be true to that. Everything else is illusion and not worth fighting for.’
Savage nodded. ‘I have a question for you,’ he said. ‘Why did the Templars give Bruce the Grail? He is excommunicated. And how did they get it in the first place?’
The lord turned his
attention back to his meal. ‘Your order, Syr Richard, were inveterate relic hunters. And were so from the very beginning. What do you think Hugh de Payens and his nine companions were doing ferreting away in the tunnels and passageways under the Temple Mount in Jerusalem? They were looking for holy relics. Whoever bears relics holds great power and influence, and the Templars knew that. That’s where their money and power came from. They fought the Saracens, yes, but most of their energy went into hunting holy relics. Then once they had them, they exploited them. They hoarded them, made powerful people pay to get them and supplied them – at the right price – to ambitious kings and bishops. Genuine holy relics attract pilgrims to cathedrals and shrines. Do you know how much money pilgrims bring to a town? Do you think it is a coincidence that the burghers of Santiago, Canterbury or Paris are some of the richest in the world? Relics are good for business, Syr Richard.’
‘And they found the Grail?’
‘They certainly claimed to have found it. Like I said though, is it the real Grail? Who can say? It’s all a matter of faith really. The Templar treasury in Paris was stuffed full of holy relics: enough thorns from the Crown of Thorns to make a hedge. Enough splinters of the True Cross to crucify Jesus five times over.’
‘The treasury in Paris, you say?’ Savage said. ‘Before I was arrested, two French brethren came to the Templar base I was in. They were carrying a holy treasure from the Paris Temple treasury. A treacherous brother Templar – Syr Hugo Montmorency – betrayed us in an attempt to get his hands on it.’
The lord raised his eyebrows. ‘You were arrested for being a Templar? Well, my brother, you really did sacrifice much for your beliefs. Montmorency, I fear, is a fanatic.’
‘You know him?’ Savage was surprised and suddenly defensive.
‘I know of him,’ the lord continued. ‘He is someone who sees the Grail and nothing else. He does not realise that the Grail is a symbol of a higher purpose. It is the quest for it – and more importantly what you learn on that quest – that is what is really important. Montmorency thinks the physical object is what will get him into Heaven, and God knows, after the things he has done to get the Grail, he needs something to get him in there. I believe what happened was that your French brothers escaped to Scotland. As you say, Robert Bruce was excommunicated for the murder of Red Comyn, so the Pope’s authority didn’t stretch to Scotland and they knew they would be safe here. Montmorency tracked them down here but by the time he found them they had already offered their service to King Robert and given him the Grail as a sign of good faith. Montmorency had no choice but to enter into King Robert’s service also. The Grail obsesses him and he wants it more than anything in the world.’
Lions of the Grail Page 36
