Medieval - Blood of the Cross

by Kevin Ashman

  Medieval

  Blood of the Cross

  by

  K. M. Ashman

  Published by

  Silverback Books

  More Books by K. M. Ashman

  The India Sommers Mysteries

  The Dead Virgins

  The Treasures of Suleiman

  The Mummies of the Reich

  The Tomb Builders (Coming Soon)

  The Roman Chronicles

  Roman I – The Fall of Britannia

  Roman II – The Rise of Caratacus

  Roman III – The Wrath of Boudicca

  Roman IV – Boudicca’s Daughters – (Coming Soon)

  The Medieval Saga

  Medieval I – Blood of the Cross

  Medieval II – In Shadows of Kings

  Medieval III – Sword of Liberty

  Medieval IV – Ring of Steel (Coming Soon)

  Novels

  Savage Eden

  The Last Citadel

  Vampire

  Follow Kevin’s blog at:

  WWW.Silverbackbooks.co.uk

  or contact him direct at:

  KMAshman@Silverbackbooks.co.uk

  Medieval

  Blood of the Cross

  Copyright K M Ashman 2013

  All rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  ----

  All characters depicted within this publication other than the obvious historical figures are fictitious and any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Author’s notes

  Chapter One

  The Kingdom of Brycheniog

  Wales 1269

  Elena Wyn tended the fire in the stone hearth, feeding in the extra logs to warm the contents of the pot. The sound of metal on metal echoed from the other room on the ground floor as her husband worked the ore to make a new plough blade for the manor. Elena paused and wiped the sweat from her brow. The combined heat from the furnace and the hearth meant the single living space was stuffy but it was better than the piercing cold that lay outside the thick stone walls.

  Wales was in the grip of winter and the snow lay knee deep throughout the valley, forcing the villagers to stay indoors and ride out the storm. Ordinarily this meant only a few days isolation but the snow seemed never ending and they were relying on the dried fruit and salted meat they had put aside for times such as these. Throughout the summer, Elena kept pigs and chickens but though most of the birds were kept alive for the eggs, it made no sense to feed the pigs through the winter so every autumn they butchered the animals and salted the meat to preserve it for the colder months. In the spring, she replaced her stock with piglets bought from the manor farm, using the small amount of coins her husband earned from the occasional traveller needing a horse shod or a knife straightened.

  Every family in the village made their own arrangements against such winters and though often the precautions were unnecessary, if anyone neglected to prepare and the weather caught them out, then the ensuing hunger was a cruel bed mate.

  Elena stirred the potage, happy that it was thickening nicely. She turned to her five year old daughter sitting in the window alcove, peering at the white world outside through a crack in the shutters.

  ‘Lowri, summon the men,’ said Elena. ‘The meal is ready to be served.’

  The girl jumped from the stone ledge and ran to the door separating the two rooms. The blast of heat was instantaneous and Lowri waited until the sounds of clashing iron eased.

  ‘Father,’ she shouted when there was a pause, ‘food is ready.’

  Thomas Ruthin looked over and smiled at his daughter before straightening up and stretching his back. The young boy on the bellows also stopped and pulled a rag from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. Garyn was her fourteen year old brother who worked alongside his father at the forge.

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t eaten it all, Lowri?’ teased the boy.

  ‘No, we haven’t touched it yet,’ answered Lowri with a haughty shrug.

  ‘Well, that’s a shame,’ said Garyn, lowering his voice menacingly, ‘because now I’m going to eat it all …and then I’m going to eat you.’ He crouched and ran with arms outstretched toward his sister, chasing her into the living area.

  Lowri squealed in delight and ran around the table before seeking refuge amongst the folds of her mother’s skirts.

  ‘Enough,’ chided Elena, ‘the pot is hot and you will burn.’

  ‘He’s going to eat me,’ cried Lowri.

  ‘No he’s not,’ said Elena, ‘Garyn, leave your sister alone.’

  Thomas walked in, closing the door behind him to shut out the smells of the furnace.

  ‘It smells good,’ he said taking his seat.

  Elena wrapped a piece of cloth around the handle and hoisted the pot from the flames to the table.

  ‘I put in another piece of pork this morning,’ she said, ‘as well as a basket of dried apples and some grain. This pot should last for three days.’

  She placed five wooden bowls around the table and silence fell in the room as Elena filled just four, leaving the fifth empty alongside a knife they knew would remain unused.

  ‘Prayers,’ said Thomas and they linked hands. ‘Heavenly father,’ he said, ‘we thank you for your bounty and pray you bring our son home safe. Amen’

  ‘Amen,’ answered the family.

  Elena looked toward the empty place setting before glancing at her husband with a sad smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Thomas just nodded and gave her an encouraging smile of his own.

  ‘Can we start?’ asked Lowri.

  ‘Wait,’ said her father suddenly, ‘I’ve forgotten something.’ He left his seat and disappeared into the workshop.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘I have no idea,’ answered his mother.

  ‘Can we start, pleeease,’ whined Lowri.

  ‘In a moment,’ said Elena. ‘We will wait for your father. The soup is still too hot for you to eat.’

  Again they fell silent, the quiet broken only by the crackle of flames from the hearth and the sound of Lowri blowing her soup.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Thomas, re-entering the room. ‘I forgot where I hid it.’

  ‘Hid what?’ asked Elena.

  Thomas produced something from behind his back and placed it on the table before Garyn.

  ‘Your mother tells me it is the anniversary of your birth,’ said Thomas. ‘This is a good day, Garyn so I have made you something as a gift.’

  Elena’s hands flew to her mouth as she gasped at the unexpected gesture.

  ‘A gift?’ said Garyn taking the Hessian wrapped package from his father. ‘For me?’

  Thomas looked at Elena who was beaming with delight.

  ‘For you,’ said Thomas, returning his attention to his son.

  �
��What is it?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘Just open it,’ moaned Lowri impatiently.

  Garyn poked out his tongue at his sister before slowly opening the hessian and revealing a perfectly formed eating knife. The blade shone in the flickering candlelight and the highly polished oak handle was silky smooth to the touch. It was a replica of that used by his father.

  ‘Every man should own his own eating knife,’ said Thomas.

  Garyn picked up the knife and held it up for everyone to see.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Elena.

  ‘And well made,’ said Garyn.

  ‘I should think so,’ guffawed Thomas, ‘or my years as a blacksmith have been wasted.’

  ‘Can we eat now?’ whined Lowri.

  ‘Of course,’ said Elena and while three of the family lifted the bowls to sip at the hot broth, the fourth was already delving through the liquid with his knife, quietly excited at the acquisition of his first blade.

  ----

  ‘It’s stopped snowing,’ shouted Lowri, early the following morning.

  ‘Does that girl never rest?’ mumbled Thomas into the horsehair filled deerskin that formed his pillow. ‘The sun is not yet up and she already seeks adventure.’

  ‘Her spirit fills me with joy each day,’ said Elena, snuggling closer to her man beneath the sheepskin cover. ‘Her laughter is a tonic no apothecary can hope to bottle.’

  ‘I know,’ smiled Thomas, ‘and I would have it no other way. But is a few moments’ extra sleep too much to ask in the morning?’

  ‘You go back to sleep,’ said Elena. ‘I will take her to feed the chickens.’

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ yawned Thomas. ‘The little devil has me awake now, besides, I have a busy day before me.’

  ‘Come,’ said Elena. ‘I’ll get some bread and cheese. You light the fire.’

  They descended the ladder from the sleeping platform in the rafters and Thomas smiled at his daughter’s constant chatter, as he gently blew the fire back to life.

  ‘Can we go out in the snow?’ asked Lowri, peering through the window shutter. ‘It looks so clean?’

  ‘Later,’ said Elena, ‘call your brother first and join us to break your fast.’

  Lowri went into the forge to wake Garyn. Her brother slept in the corner of the workshop in his own cot while she slept in an alcove of the main room. Her nose wrinkled at the smell and she was glad she did not have to sleep in here. It was so dirty. She ran across the workshop and pounced on the sleeping figure of her brother.

  ‘Wake up, sleepy,’ she said. ‘It’s stopped snowing and mother said we could play outside.’

  ‘Go away,’ mumbled Garyn and turned over to get more sleep.

  ‘You have to get up,’ said Lowri. ‘Mother said.’

  With a sigh, Garyn threw back the sheepskin and followed his sister into the living area.

  ‘Hello, son,’ said Thomas. ‘Sleep well?’

  Garyn nodded and sat at the table with his eyes shut.

  ‘Here,’ said Elena, handing him a wooden tankard. ‘There is some milk left, drink it before it goes off. Now the snow has stopped I can go to the village and get some more.’ She placed a chunk of cheese on the table along with half a loaf of flat bread.

  ‘Eat up,’ said his father, ‘we have a busy day before us and you will need all your strength.’

  Garyn produced his sheathed knife from below the table and Thomas had to stop himself laughing when he realised Garyn had slept the whole night with his new knife attached to a belt over his woollen night shirt.

  ----

  ‘So what are you doing today?’ asked Elena as she cut slices of cheese for Lowri.

  ‘The brothers at the Abbey sent word they want a cart re-wheeled,’ said Thomas. ‘We have to go up there, strip the cart and bring the wheels back as templates. God willing, they may have some other work as well.’ He turned to Garyn. ‘Get yourself dressed boy, this commission will keep us going until the weather breaks.’

  Ten minutes later, father and son trudged through the virgin snow toward the far side of the village, their heads covered with hooded capes against the biting wind that still whistled down the valley. Soon they approached the imposing walls of the Abbey and Thomas rapped his knuckles on the large wooden door. He repeated the action until they heard the sounds of bolts being drawn back and the door swung slowly inward with a lazy creak. A Monk stood inside, dressed in a full length black habit secured by a corded belt around the middle.

  ‘Good morning’ said the blacksmith, removing his hood. ‘We have come about the commission…’ His sentence lay unfinished as he recognised the man before him.

  ‘Thomas Ruthin,’ said the Monk in recognition. ‘It is good to see you again.’

  The two men stared at each other and Garyn detected a hint of anger on his father’s face.

  ‘Brother Martin,’ he said. ‘It has been a long time.’

  ‘It has,’ said the Monk and fell silent again. ‘I forget my manners,’ he said eventually standing to one side. ‘please, come in out of the cold, you are expected.’

  ‘Do you know him?’ whispered Garyn once they were in the gloomy corridor.

  ‘I did once,’ said his father curtly.

  The Monk turned toward them.

  ‘Please follow me.’

  The three men walked down a candle lit corridor. At the end they passed through another door and Garyn stopped in awe as they entered a large chamber decorated with tapestries depicting the glory of God and tales from the bible. Statues of angels lined the walls, staring down piously from above as they passed.

  ‘I thought the Brothers lived frugal lives,’ said Garyn.

  ‘Shhh,’ said his father.

  ‘It’s quite alright,’ said Brother Martin. ‘Your son is very astute and is partly correct. These corridors are for the eyes of the people of the village who expect such things from the order. We live a far more frugal existence than these surroundings suggest and you would find our cells austere in comparison. They passed through the hall and stopped as the Monk knocked on a door.

  ‘Come in,’ said a voice.

  Brother Martin opened the door and they entered the sparsely furnished room. At the far side, another Monk sat at a small table writing methodically in the light from a single slit window.

  ‘Father William,’ said the Monk. ‘This is Thomas Ruthin the Blacksmith.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the sitting Monk as he put aside the quill. ‘I am Father William, the Abbot of St Benedict’s. Thank you for coming.’ He nodded at the first Monk who promptly left the room, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Please, be seated,’ said the Abbot. ‘Would you care for some wine?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Thomas, ‘we have come about the cart.’

  ‘Yes, the cart,’ said the Abbot. ‘Well, there is indeed a cart that needs repair but I have to confess it is of secondary importance to the real reason you were summoned.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Thomas.

  ‘I hear you are an honest man, Thomas and can be trusted to keep your silence.’

  ‘I am a man of my word, Father, a trait that all men would benefit from.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said the Monk, ‘and your son?’

  ‘Our values are shared,’ said Thomas. ‘I will vouch for him.’

  ‘Good,’ said the Abbot. ‘I do have a commission for you, Thomas. It is but a small task but pays well, twice the price of a cart wheel. In return, I require your silence as to what you are about to see and do. Can you guarantee this?’

  Thomas only needed a few seconds’ thought before agreeing. Commissions of any sort were rare during the winter, especially lucrative ones such as these.

  ‘You have my word,’ he said. ‘What is the task?’

  ‘Follow me,’ said the Abbot and picking up a lit candle, led them through a second door. They crossed a courtyard before descending a winding stairway to a set of cells below the Abbey. As they walked along the corridor, they
saw two plainly clothed servants struggling with a sobbing man.

  ‘What goes on here?’ demanded the Abbot.

  The two men pushed the third against a wall and held him securely.

  ‘Father,’ said one, ‘we caught this thief in the grounds. He stole a loaf from the kitchens.’

  ‘Is this true?’ asked the Abbot.

  ‘Father, my children starve,’ said the man over his shoulder. ‘The shutter was open and I forgot myself. I will pay as soon as I am able, I swear.’

  ‘Theft is never an option,’ said the Abbot.

  ‘But my children cry in pain at the ache in their bellies,’ begged the man. ‘Please, just a crust until I can get work at the manor. I beg you.’

  ‘The times are hard,’ said the Abbot, ‘and many feel the pangs of hunger. How would it be if we just allowed all such thefts to be justified so? Crusts we can spare but theft is a crime that cannot be condoned.’ He turned to the servants. ‘Put him in a cell and tomorrow we will hand him over to the manor for judgement.’

  ‘No, please,’ gasped the man, ‘Cadwallader will have my hands. My family will starve.’

  ‘Then pray to God and hope Cadwallader is lenient,’ said the Abbot.

  ‘Father, please have mercy,’ begged the man.

  ‘The Lord will have mercy,’ said the Abbot and nodded toward the servants.

  The two men dragged the prisoner along the corridor before throwing him in a room and locking the door.

  ‘Thank you for your diligence,’ said the Abbot. ‘See if there is warm soup as a reward.’

  ‘Thank you, Father,’ murmured the men and disappeared from the dark passageway.

  ‘A sad testament to these troubled times,’ said the Abbot and continued to the end of the corridor, stopping before a locked door. ‘What you are about to witness, remains in this room,’ he said and turned a large key.

  Thomas and Garyn followed him into the cell and waited in the dark as the door was secured behind them. The Abbot took his candle and lit three more around the room. At first they struggled to see anything in the gloom but as their eyes adjusted, they could see the shape of a man lying on a cot facing the far wall. He was dressed in the type of winter cloak favoured by the Monks.