The girl looked at him with a mixture of shock and extreme embarrassment.
‘How dare you!’ she vehemently whispered. ‘I am pissing!’
‘I can see that,’ Savage said, realising to his discomfort that he was now lying in the stream of hot urine that trickled away from the puddle Galiene was making and already it was seeping through his jerkin. He could not move though. If he rolled back out the guard would see him. ‘What are you doing here?’
Galiene quickly pulled her dress down and tried to regain what little modesty she could. ‘We came to find you. MacHuylin’s cousin Aengus survived the shipwreck and sent word about what had happened.’
‘How did you get out of Carrickfergus Castle? I heard it was besieged.’
‘When he heard that the army of Ulster had lost the battle, the keeper of the castle ordered all the women and children to leave and make for Dublin. We got away just before the Scots arrived. The castle garrison came out and there was terrible fighting in the streets, but it gave us time to flee.’
Savage thought of Henry de Thrapston and the desperate struggle that must have taken place against much greater odds. He was a brave man and now he would be surrounded and besieged in the castle. He could only hope that de Thrapston’s faith in the strength of his fortress would prove justified.
‘Connor MacHuylin met up with us as we were going south,’ Galiene continued in a rushed whisper. ‘He told us the news of your shipwreck and how he planned to continue your mission to steal the Grail. Mother refused to believe you were dead and insisted we come with him to Scotland. We were on our way up this mountain when those guards ambushed us and took us prisoner.’
‘They must have seen you coming up the mountainside,’ Savage reasoned, realising just how lucky he was not to have been spotted also. There had been three of them, though, which would have stood out more. ‘How many Scots are in the chapel?’
‘Three. And one Irishman,’ Galiene replied. ‘There’s one man they call Ulick who is evil. He looks at me in an awful way and he longs to kill us, but the Irishman says he has to wait until Montmorency and John Bysset get here in case they want something else done with us. He says they are on their way here now.’
Four of them to one of him. They were odds that Savage did not like, but if he waited much longer it would be six to one when the Hospitaller and Bysset got here.
‘Mother and MacHuylin are tied up. They treat me like a slave,’ Galiene hissed. ‘I have to cook for them, clean their weapons and tidy up. It’s hateful.’
‘Galiene, have they—’ Savage hesitated, unsure if a girl her age would understand what he meant. ‘Have they touched you in any way you did not like?’
‘Not yet,’ Galiene replied, and Savage saw that she understood full well. ‘The one called Ulick promised he will though. When he does, I will make sure he regrets it.’
Savage was taken aback at such ferocity in one so young, but heartened all the same. ‘You’re your mother’s daughter.’ He smiled.
‘Why would I not be? I’ve had no one else to bring me up,’ the girl spat back.
Savage ignored the jibe and peeked round the rock to see where the Scottish warrior was. ‘I’ll make up for that I promise, but first I’ve got to work out a way to get rid of your guards.’
‘Hurry up, will you?’ the Scottish warrior shouted. ‘Or I’ll come and get you.’
‘I must go back,’ Galiene said. ‘Mother and I have a plan to deal with the guards. Wait until a little while after they have eaten their supper before you attack.’
Savage was about to ask why but the girl just said, ‘Trust me,’ and then was gone. He peered round the side of the rock and saw the Scots warrior propelling her by the scruff of her neck back into the decrepit chapel.
Savage contemplated what to do. The clouds that cloaked the summit were thinning and he could see that the sun was getting lower in the sky. Every moment he waited Montmorency and Bysset would be getting closer. He recalled the figures he had seen starting the ascent of the mountain behind him. That must have been them. Galiene said she had a plan, but could he afford to wait?
Now that the mountaintop was empty again, one thing he could do was get closer to the chapel and try to see what was going on in there.
Savage got up and took a look to see if anyone was around. The mountaintop was deserted now, which was good because the middle of the summit was flat and devoid of boulders that could provide cover to hide behind.
He quickly covered the distance to the ancient chapel and crouched down beside the wall. There was one, narrow window midway down the side of the stone wall that was little more than a hole. Through the gap he could hear voices from inside.
Peeking in through the window, Savage had a good view of what was going on. The chapel was a small, one-roomed building, narrow but high-roofed. At one end of the church a simple stone altar stood. From its design Savage judged it to be very old, probably eight or nine hundred years, and it had clearly been abandoned for some time. The roof was slate, but the years of extreme weather on top of the mountain had ripped many holes in it. The stone flagged floor was carpeted with moss and in the relative shelter given by the walls, weeds sprouted through its cracks.
Near to the altar was a crumbling wooden pillar that helped support the roof. MacHuylin and Alys were sat on the floor, their hands bound behind them around the pillar. One end of the chapel was completely filled with stacked firewood and a fire had been built in the middle of the church. A large iron pot was suspended over it and Galiene was stirring the contents. A rich, herbal aroma rose from the pot, prompting the saliva to flow in Savage’s mouth. After the long climb he was absolutely starving.
The only items of furniture in the building were a few stools and a decrepit table at which sat four warriors. One was the warrior Savage had seen earlier with Galiene. There was nothing special or expensive about his equipment and he looked like a sergeant. He was no knight. Neither was one of his companions, a black-haired man with a large knife. The other two warriors were different, clearly knights or noblemen. Both were middle-aged but looked battle-hardened. One of them was tall, blond-haired and with a wild bristling beard. He was wrapped in heavy, colourful Scottish apparel and his eyes were bright and to Savage, a little bit too wild-looking. He carried a wicked, heavy iron hand axe. He looked down at Alys and as he did so he ran his tongue along the sharpened blade of his axe, seeming to relish the harsh metallic taste. Savage recognised the sort of man this was: a dangerous, unpredictable killer who slew people for the pleasure it gave him. Knowing that Alys and Galiene were in the custody of such a man sent a chill through his blood.
The last man was thin, tall, black-haired but greying, with a close-trimmed beard. Savage recognised the purple lion rampant emblazoned on his expensive cloak: the arms of the Irish de Lacy family.
As Savage watched, he saw Galiene take something out of a leather pouch she wore and surreptitiously cast it into the pot, just before the Scots nobleman strode over to see what she was cooking.
Suddenly he realised what she meant when she had told him to wait until after they had eaten. She must be trying to poison them.
‘Stew,’ the Scots nobleman grunted, looking down with disgust at what was in the pot Galiene stirred. ‘More peasant food. I’ve had nothing but this rubbish since Bruce sent me here.’
‘Oh be quiet, Ceannaideach,’ de Lacy said peevishly. ‘It smells good. It’s ages since I’ve had stew.’ He took a deep, appreciative sniff of the appetising steam rising from the pot.
‘It’s all I could make with the muck you have up here,’ Galiene said.
‘Shut your mouth, wench,’ Ceannaideach growled. ‘Soon we’ll have no more need of a skivvy. Then I’ll slit your pretty white throat.’
He gave her a look that showed he anticipated that time with relish.
‘Calm yourself,’ de Lacy said. ‘You know John Bysset ordered these prisoners are not to be harmed.’
‘Aye. I still don�
�t know why.’
‘He’ll be here soon with Montmorency and you can ask him yourself. But I know he intends to marry the woman to get legitimate claim to her lands.’
Alys looked up at this. ‘I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man alive,’ she spat.
De Lacy chuckled. ‘I doubt you will have much choice,’ he said. ‘But you won’t have long to suffer: you’ll be killed after the wedding. Ulick.’ He turned to Ceannaideach. ‘If you aren’t keen on the stew then join me in guarding the Grail. We shouldn’t be leaving it unguarded and I wish to say my prayers before it and then eat.’
Ceannaideach grunted his assent and both men left the chapel. Savage crouched back down beside the wall and made his way to the corner of the building so he could watch where they went.
Leaning forward against the driving wind, their heavy cloaks billowing out behind them, Ceannaideach and de Lacy battled their way against the elements across the mountaintop until they reached the entrance of the ancient mound. De Lacy stopped momentarily and made the sign of the cross, then they both went inside, stooping slightly to enter the low doorway.
So that was it. The hiding place of the Holy Grail.
56
Savage felt torn.
Barely yards away lay the ultimate treasure, the actual vessel of God’s grace. The pursuit of the Grail was the ultimate quest. Achieving the Grail was physical proof in this mortal world that something existed beyond it.
An old fire within him he thought long extinguished was beginning to glow once more. The old yearning. An insatiable, overwhelming, all-compelling desire to know what lay behind the mysteries of life. All the convictions that had shored up his personality for the past five years began dissolving like sandcastles in the tide. It was such an enormous prospect.
He closed his eyes. Once it would have sounded insane to him, but there was now something more important. He forced himself to go back to the window to see what was going on in the church.
Galiene had dished out two bowls of the stew and was carrying them over to the table where the two Scottish sergeants sat.
They grunted their appreciation, picked up their spoons and were about to begin when one said, ‘Wait.’
Savage’s heart froze. Did they know Galiene had put something in the stew?
The sergeant held out the spoonful of steaming stew to Galiene.
‘You first,’ he said.
Perhaps they did not know, but they at least suspected.
‘No!’ Alys suddenly shouted.
The sergeant leered at the little girl. ‘You wouldn’t be trying to poison us, now. Would you?’ One hand dropped to the hilt of his dagger.
Savage knew he had to act now. At least the odds were down to two to one. He grasped his sword hilt and tensed his thighs for action.
Without hesitation, Galiene took the spoon into her mouth and swallowed the stew.
The sergeants relaxed and began to tuck hungrily into the food, wolfing it down in uncouth mouthfuls.
Savage was confused. He had seen Galiene slip something into the stew but if it was poison surely she would not have so readily taken the mouthful?
Alys dissolved into a flood of tears. Could it be that the brave little girl had once again risked her life to save her mother?
As if she could sense his doubt, Galiene looked up to the window and caught sight of him looking in. She frowned, clearly annoyed that he might ruin everything by being seen and she flicked her eyes to tell him to get out of sight.
Whatever was going on, she seemed to know what she was doing. All Savage could do was trust her. She had asked him to wait, and he would do that.
He moved to the end of the wall where he could keep an eye on the ancient cairn in case Ceannaideach and de Lacy returned. For what seemed like an age he crouched, freezing in the battering wind, despite the heavy clothes he wore. A pelting rain began to fall and Savage contemplated the very real threat that he would freeze to death. The sun moved lower in the sky and eventually he decided that he would have to make a move or it would be too late. Ceannaideach and de Lacy would return or Montmorency and Bysset would arrive on the mountaintop.
Then the screaming began.
Savage’s sword was drawn and he was on his feet in a second. At least the screams were coming from a man but still it was far from a good sign. He kicked open the decrepit door of the church, the wood splintering around his boot as it sprung open.
The sight before him was astonishing. Alys and MacHuylin were still tied up and sitting on the floor. Galiene was crouched on the floor, her knees to her chest, her arms locked around her shins.
One of the Scottish sergeants stood before the altar; it was he who was screaming. His face was a mask of terror, sweat gushed down his cheeks, and he was pointing at the far corner of the church. His sword was grasped in his other hand and he was chopping at the air with it.
Savage took full advantage of the situation. He crossed to the altar in a couple of strides. His sword flashed down and across, catching the Scotsman a slashing blow that dug deep into his chest, cutting downwards from the shoulder. His screaming stopped instantly as he collapsed onto the floor, blood pouring out onto the flagstones.
Only then did Savage turn to see what had so frightened the man. To his astonishment there was nothing in the far corner of the chapel but thin air.
He had no time to wonder what was going on; there was another sergeant to deal with.
The other man stood beside the wooden table underneath one of the holes in the roof. He seemed oblivious to the steady stream of rain that was coming through the hole to soak him as he stared up at the sky with a faraway look in his eyes.
Savage ran straight at him, sword gripped at waist height, one hand on the hilt and the other halfway down the blade. The sergeant didn’t even flinch, move or try to avoid the blow and Savage’s sword went deep into his guts and exited from his back. The weight of Savage’s charge propelled the sergeant backwards until he thumped against the wall. Savage felt the point of his sword grating on the stones of the wall. The sergeant looked at him with a confused expression on his face, then the light died from his eyes and he sagged onto the ground, sliding off Savage’s blade on the way down.
Savage made straight for Galiene and knelt beside her.
‘Are you all right?’ Savage asked.
The girl’s face was deathly pale and sheeted with sweat. She too stared ahead of her, her eyes focused on something invisible in mid-air. The pupils of her eyes were huge and black, like two sloe berries. She was absolutely terrified.
‘It’s not real,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I know that what I am seeing is not real.’
‘It’s henbane!’ Alys cried. ‘I gave her some to put in the stew. The plan was for the guards to eat it so we could escape.’
‘Henbane? The weed?’
‘It’s a poison,’ Alys wailed. ‘If you eat it, it causes terrifying visions to appear before your eyes, then you fall into a sleep, your breathing slows down, then it stops altogether.’
‘That’s why the sergeants were acting so strange!’ Savage deduced.
‘They made Galiene eat some too.’ Alys was distraught; tears streaked down her face. ‘We must give her the antidote or she’ll die.’
‘Have you got it?’ Savage asked.
Alys had no chance to reply.
The battered door smashed open once more. Standing in the entranceway were Ulick Ceannaideach and Sir Walter de Lacy.
For a couple of moments they stood still, surveying the scene in the chapel: both sergeants dead and Savage bending down beside Galiene. It was enough to work out what was going on.
‘It looks like our prisoners have a knight in shining armour come to save them,’ Ceannaideach said.
De Lacy drew his sword; Ceannaideach hefted his heavy axe into a position of readiness. They both advanced warily towards Savage.
Savage rose to his feet, holding his sword before him in both hands. He knew he could not co
unter Ceannaideach’s heavy butchery instrument with his blade so would have to try to avoid his blows.
Carefully he backed away from Galiene towards the middle of the church, to give himself plenty of room to manoeuvre.
Suddenly the two attackers lunged forward, screaming and swinging their battle weapons. Savage countered de Lacy’s blow then leapt sideways to escape the chop of Ceannaideach’s axe.
De Lacy took advantage and stabbed at Savage’s neck. Savage saw the blade coming but all he could do was desperately throw himself backwards to avoid it. The sharp point of the sword missed him by a hair’s breadth, scything through the air centimetres from his eyes. Off balance he staggered wildly sideways then lunged towards the altar.
With the strange sixth sense that comes to a warrior in battle, Savage was aware of Ceannaideach bearing down on him as he ran. Instinctively he leapt clean over the crumbling altar. Ceannaideach brought his axe down in a crushing blow meant for Savage’s back. Savage’s leap took him clear of the blade and it sheared down into the stone of the altar, unleashing a welter of sparks and a hideous grinding noise.
Savage jumped up onto the altar. He might be outnumbered but height would give him an advantage.
Ceannaideach lifted one of the fallen stools and hurled it at Savage to try and knock him back off. The stool struck Savage a glancing blow on his right shoulder then bounced off, smashing itself to shards on the wall.
Savage did not fall, but was unbalanced. Seeing him momentarily sway both de Lacy and Ceannaideach rushed forward.
De Lacy slashed at Savage with his sword. Savage managed to parry and metal struck metal, sending up a shower of bright sparks. The blow knocked him further off balance and Savage knew he was about to fall.
Ceannaideach swung his axe in a scything arc, meaning to cut Savage’s legs from under him. Off balance and tottering, instead of dodging, all Savage could do was jump up into the air. The axe, which was supposed to sever his knees, cut through thin air and instead struck de Lacy. The wickedly sharp blade hit him just below the right shoulder and severed the arm cleanly. The limb, still grasping his sword, clattered to the floor and de Lacy collapsed in shock and pain, screaming hideously while his blood sprayed across the altar.
Lions of the Grail Page 38
