by Kevin Ashman
The Abbot walked across the room. He reached forward and shook the man gently by the shoulders. Immediately the man jumped in fright and scrambled to the back of the cot, pulling his hood across his face.
‘Be calm,’ said the Abbot. ‘These men are friends.’ He turned to the blacksmith. ‘This man was brought here a few days ago,’ he said, ‘and as you will soon see, he is in need of your particular skills. I assume you have your tools?’
The blacksmith removed the bag from over his shoulder.
‘I do,’ said Thomas, ‘but see no task.’
The Abbot turned to the prisoner.
‘Please stand up,’ he said.
After a few moments, the man struggled to his feet and stood before them with his head bowed, the deep hood covering his features.
‘I am going to undo your cloak,’ said the Abbot. ‘We mean you no harm. Do you understand?’
The man nodded. The Abbot reached out to undo the ties around the man’s shoulders and stood back as the cloak fell to the floor.
Thomas and Garyn stared in disbelief. The man was nothing more than skin and bone and every rib could be seen through his parchment-thin flesh. His black hair fell in a tangled mess around his shoulders and a matted beard fell to his chest. Around his neck he wore the iron collar of a slave with similar bands around his waist and ankles. His hands were restrained in cuffs and all were connected to each other by several short chains, restricting his movement to an absolute minimum. His face was heavily pitted from some sort of disease and they could see the unmistakable scars of the whip across his torso. Despite his appalling condition and the restrictive physical constraints, there was one more thing that kept father and son staring at him in astonishment. His skin was as black as the darkest night.
----
‘Who is he?’ asked Thomas eventually.
‘He is a prisoner from the Holy-land,’ said the Abbot. ‘And has been sent to us by our brothers engaged on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.’
‘Since when has the order condoned slavery?’ asked Thomas.
‘We don’t,’ said the Abbot. ‘and that is why we asked you here. Our brothers saved his life and I would free him from his chains.’
‘But why send him here? Surely it would have been easier to free him in his own lands.’
‘That is not your concern,’ said the Abbot. ‘All I need you to do is release his chains. Our tools barely mark the surface. Do you think you can do it?’
Thomas approached the man, who took a step backward in fear.
‘Does he speak?’ asked Thomas.
‘Not that I know of,’ said Father William. ‘Though he seems to understand most of what I say.’
‘What is your name?’ asked Thomas facing the man, but he remained silent. ‘I need to look at your chains,’ continued Thomas. ‘I won’t hurt you.’ He stepped closer and put his hands up to the collar, feeling the quality before examining the chains and the bands around the hands and feet. Thomas stepped back. ‘The chains will be straight forward,’ he said, ‘but the collars are of quality steel. They will take time.’
‘Take all the time you need,’ said the Abbot. ‘Enemy or not, no man will wear the yolk of slavery within these walls.’
‘Do you think it is safe to release him?’ asked Thomas.
‘He is as weak as a new-born,’ said the Monk. ‘You are quite safe.’
‘There are some other tools that I will need,’ said Thomas, ‘but I have enough to be getting on with for today.’
‘Then I will leave you to it,’ said the Abbot. ‘The door will be locked from the outside but attended at all times. Just knock when you are ready.’ He left the room and they listened as the key turned in the lock.
‘Replace your robe,’ said Thomas, turning to the prisoner and pointing at the garment.
The man bent, lifted the cloak up to his shoulders but due to the chains connecting his shackles to his waist he was unable to tie the cords. Garyn stepped forward and tied the knot for him.
‘Sit,’ said Thomas pointing at the cot. As the man dropped to the cot, the blacksmith pulled up a chair and sat before him.
‘Look,’ said Thomas eventually. ‘I don’t know why you are here but like the Father says, it is none of my business. I am an honest man, here to do an honest day’s work. I mean you no harm and would like to think you will return that sentiment.’ He fell silent, staring at the man, wondering if he had understood anything at all.
‘Garyn, bring me another chair,’ said Thomas eventually, ‘I think in this case, actions speak louder than words.’ He leaned forward and lifted one of the prisoners’ feet, revealing the clasp around his ankle.
‘The task will need the benefit of the small anvil,’ said Thomas examining the clasps, ‘but at least we can give him some mobility. Hand me the large file and the tongs.’
Garyn opened the sack and retrieved the tools.
‘Hold these fast,’ said Thomas, clasping a link of the chain in the jaws of the tongs and placing it on the chair.
Garyn did as he was told and as soon as the chain was secured, Thomas set about it with the sharp edge of the file, slowly cutting into the link. It took a long time and father and son exchanged places many times before Thomas called a halt.
‘That should be enough,’ he said, ‘bring me the spike and the two hammers.’ He placed one hammer on the stone floor and balanced the blunt end of the spike on the flat side of the hammer head. ‘Hold the spike still,’ said Thomas and lowered the cut link over the pointed end of the spike. Using the other hammer, he drove the link down onto the bar, forcing the link apart. Within moments the link opened enough to allow the next through the gap and the first leg was released.
‘There you go,’ said Thomas wiping the sweat from his brow, ‘the first of many.’
They sat against the wall and Thomas unwrapped a cloth containing the remains of the bread and cheese from Elena. As they ate their meal, they watched as the prisoner stretched his leg and scratched at the scars where the chains had chafed for so long. Garyn stood up and walked over to stand before him.
‘Careful, boy,’ said Thomas.
Garyn broke his piece of cheese in half along with the bread and offered it to the prisoner. The man stared at Garyn for a few moments but didn’t move.
‘Take it,’ said Garyn.
The man slowly pushed his chained hands through the front of the cloak and accepted the food.
Thomas watched as the two shared the meal in silence. Eventually he too stood and walked over with the flask of wine Elena had prepared.
‘Drink,’ he said. ‘I have had enough.’
For the remainder of the day they worked on the rest of the chains and on one occasion, sent for the Abbot to ask if the prisoner could be taken to the forge but the request was denied, despite being assured the process would be much quicker.
‘He stays here,’ the Abbot had replied. ‘We will pay you well for your time.’ After that, Thomas and Garyn focussed on the task in hand and by the time night fell, all the prisoner’s chains were removed.
‘That’s enough for one day,’ said Thomas. ‘Tomorrow we will bring a brazier and the small anvil. The collar will have to be softened before being worked but it won’t be easy. We will have to protect the skin from the heat.’
Garyn packed away the tools and walked to the door. Behind them the man watched them leave but as the door was unlocked, they heard him speak for the first time.
‘Wait,’ he said and both men spun around in surprise.
‘Masun,’ he said. ‘My name is Masun.’
----
Chapter Two
Brycheniog
It had taken three days to cut the metal from the prisoner and during that time, the only person he would speak to had been Garyn. It had only been simple phrases, asking for basic things like food or water but nevertheless, it was communication and the Abbot had given Garyn a coin in gratitude. When the man was freed, the blacksmith and his son returned to their
home under oath of secrecy thinking it would be the last they heard of the matter.
It was a week later when everything changed. Once more the family of Thomas Ruthin had shared supper before retiring to their beds and it had taken just minutes before the only sounds in the house were the scratching of rats and the snores of the blacksmith but the night was only half done when Thomas was woken by someone banging on the door.
‘What was that whispered?’ Elena.
‘I think someone is outside,’ said Thomas
They both jumped as the noise came again.
‘Grab a candle,’ said Thomas, ‘I’ll see who it is.’
‘Be careful,’ said his wife.
Thomas clambered down the ladder closely followed by Elena. He grabbed a hammer from the forge and stood before the barred door.
‘Who is it?’ he asked through the planks.
‘Thomas Ruthin, please open the door,’ said a voice.
‘Declare yourself, stranger,’ said Thomas.
‘It’s Brother Martin from the order,’ said the voice. ‘Please could you let me in?’
Thomas lifted the bar and pulled the door inward slightly though tightened the grip on the hammer shaft. Behind him, Elena stretched over his shoulder with a lit candle to illuminate the visitor’s face. The man stepped into the candlelight and Thomas recognised the Monk he had met a few days earlier. Behind him Elena’s face dropped as she recognised the man’s face.
‘Brother Martin,’ said Thomas coldly. ‘What business brings you here at this unearthly hour?’
‘The business of the Abbot,’ said the Monk. ‘Can I come in?’
‘I don’t think that is a good idea,’ said the blacksmith.
‘Let him in, Thomas,’ said Elena, ‘the past is the past and we should not deny hospitality to any man.’
Thomas stepped aside and Elena lit more candles as her husband re-barred the door.
‘Please, sit down,’ said Elena.
The Monk sat at the table and waited in silence until Thomas sat opposite him.
‘Can we get you anything?’ said Thomas. ‘We have no wine but there is some mead left.’
‘Thank you, I am fine,’ said the Monk.
‘Then let’s get this done. How can we help you?’
‘I have a favour to ask,’ said the Monk. ‘The man you freed from the chains gets weaker by the day and refuses food. He is fighting with the mind demons and we fear he is losing the battle.’
‘How does this affect me?’ asked Thomas.
‘It doesn’t,’ said the Monk. ‘It affects your son.’
Thomas glanced toward the door of the workshop where his son was sleeping soundly.
‘Garyn?’
‘Your son is the only person the prisoner has talked to,’ said the Monk. ‘There seems to have been a connection. We want him to come up to the Abbey and see if that connection remains. Perhaps he can bring Masun back from the brink.’
‘He is but a boy,’ interjected Elena. ‘What possible aide could he offer? Surely you need an apothecary?’
‘The soul is a mysterious thing,’ said the Monk. ‘Who knows what medicine it craves?’
‘Can’t you pray for this man?’ asked Thomas.
‘He is an infidel,’ said the Monk, ‘and we fear he is beyond God’s reach.’
‘Surely no man is beyond God’s reach?’
‘The infidels reject God’s grace and seek solace only from the Devil,’ said the Monk.
‘Yet you protect him in the walls of God’s house?’ said Elena.
‘We have our reasons.’
‘How long will Garyn be there?’ asked Thomas.
‘For a few days,’ said the Monk, ‘perhaps a month, no more. You will of course be suitably recompensed.’
‘How?’ asked Thomas.
‘We thought a cow would be a suitable reward for your family,’ said the Monk.
Thomas nodded thoughtfully. The ownership of a milking cow was beyond most people’s reach.
‘It will be yours to keep,’ continued the Monk, ‘and has recently calved so her milk will last at least until next winter.’
‘No,’ said Elena quietly.
Both men turned to face her.
‘Elena, you forget your place,’ said Thomas.
‘I said no,’ said Elena. ‘Garyn belongs here. His place is at home with us. I have already lost one son, I will not lose another.’
‘You are not losing anyone,’ said the Monk. ‘He will be staying a short while only and will be treated well while in our care.’
‘What makes you think I will allow you of all people to care for my son?’ asked Thomas.
‘I know it is a strange situation,’ said the Monk, ‘but I am not the master of my own fortune. I act on the instructions of the Abbot and he knows nothing about my past.’
‘The workshop door opened and all three turned to see Garyn standing in the doorway.
‘Garyn,’ said Elena. ‘You are awake.’
‘I heard voices,’ said Garyn. ‘What is happening?’
‘Nothing of importance,’ said Elena. ‘Go back to bed.’
‘No,’ said Thomas, ‘let him stay. He is no longer a boy, Elena but a young man and as such should have a say in matters that affect him.’ He turned to the Monk. ‘Explain your charge, Brother Martin and either way we can move on.’
‘Master Garyn,’ said the Monk, ‘we have need of you in the Abbey. We think the prisoner may not survive longer than a few days and thought that perhaps if he sees a friendly face he may rally.’
‘But I only talked to him briefly,’ said Garyn, ‘I am as much a stranger to him as anyone?’
‘Perhaps so, but at least he talked to you. We hope that will be enough.’
‘Enough for what?’ asked Thomas.
The Monk looked at the three before shaking his head.
‘I can’t say,’ he said.
‘Then Garyn stays where he is,’ said Thomas. ‘For all we know, you could be putting him in danger.’
‘I assure you…’ stated the Monk.
‘Brother Martin, at least do us the courtesy of honesty. You have need of Garyn and we would like to help but there is something else here. Something you are not saying. Why do you come in the midst of the night? Surely this errand could have waited a few more hours?’
‘We have nowhere else to turn,’ said the Monk. ‘Garyn is our last chance.’
‘For what?’ gasped Thomas in frustration. ‘What task sends a Monk through the night seeking the aid of a boy in the business of holy men?’
‘I am sorry,’ said the Monk, ‘the Abbot has sworn me to silence and demands the boy’s attendance.’
‘We do not answer to the Abbot,’ said Elena ‘we answer to Sir Robert Cadwallader, Lord of this manor and if the Abbot pursues this demand then we will beg audience. Let him judge the merit of your request.’
‘No,’ snapped the Monk a little too quickly
‘Why not?’ asked Thomas, staring at him. ‘Why do you fear Cadwallader’s involvement?’
‘There is no need to go to the manor in this issue,’ said the Monk.
‘He doesn’t know does he?’ asked Thomas. ‘The Lord of the manor does not know the Abbot holds a heathen prisoner from the Holy-land under his very nose. No wonder we were sworn to secrecy, the church is lying to a Knight of Llewellyn.’
‘We are not lying,’ said the Monk, ‘but some things are the business of the church.’
‘What sort of business?’ asked the blacksmith?
‘Brother Martin,’ said Elena, ‘surely you can see why we fret? Unless you share your concerns then how can we entrust you with the safety of our kin?’
The Monk took a deep breath before replying.
‘You are right,’ he said. ‘I have been sworn to silence but we are running out of time. I will explain what I can but I do not know everything.’
‘Then tell me what you can,’ said Thomas.
‘The man in the Abbey is indee
d from the Holy-land,’ said the Monk, ‘but he was no soldier. He was already a prisoner of an Infidel caravan when they were attacked by a patrol of Knights in Palestine. The enemy were killed but this man bartered for his life.’
‘With what?’
‘Information.’
‘What sort of information?’
‘That’s just it,’ said the Monk. ‘We don’t know but whatever it was, it was deemed important enough for the Knights to transport him as fast as they could to the city of Acre.’
‘To what end?’
‘Again we do not know but it cost the lives of fifty men.’
‘How so?’ asked Thomas.
‘The Knights were themselves ambushed on the way to Acre, but fought to the death to save this man. Apparently they were all slaughtered except one. He managed to get this man onto a ship headed for England but during the voyage the Knight died of an infection, though not before telling a fellow sailor part of the tale. The man he told was one of our brothers and he brought Masun straight here from the ship.’
‘What knowledge is worth the lives of fifty men?’ asked Thomas.
‘That’s just it, we still don’t know but whatever it is, if Masun dies, then it will be lost forever.’
Silence fell as Thomas and Elena considered the tale.
‘So what exactly do you want from Garyn?’ asked Thomas eventually.
‘To befriend Masun and help him regain his health,’ said the Monk. ‘We need time to gain the man’s trust and glean what information we can from him.’
‘But it may be worthless,’ said Thomas.
‘I don’t think so,’ said the Monk, ‘for the dying Knight managed to say one more thing before he died.’
‘And that was?’
‘He said that Masun was the key to Christ himself!’
Thomas stared in shock, as did Elena.
‘That’s impossible,’ said Thomas eventually. ‘The prisoner is an infidel.’
‘These were our thoughts also,’ said the Monk. ‘But don’t forget, over fifty pious Knights believed enough to give their lives for him. So,’ he continued, ‘you now share what I know and can see the importance. I ask again, will you allow your son to return to the Abbey with me?’
