by Kevin Ashman
‘I’m not so sure…’ started Thomas.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Garyn.
Everyone looked at the boy.
‘Garyn, you don’t know…’ started Elena.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Garyn again.
‘But…’
‘Elena, leave it be,’ said Thomas. ‘The boy has spoken, let him be the judge.’ He turned to face the Monk.
‘Brother Martin,’ he said. ‘Garyn is our only son and we beseech you to take care of him as would we.’
‘He is not our only son,’ interrupted Elena quietly.
Thomas took a deep breath before continuing.
‘I beg pardon,’ he said, ‘Garyn is the only son here. Our other boy, Geraint is in the service of the King though we have had no word from him for two years.’
The Monk nodded in understanding.
‘I understand he was summoned at the last recruitment?’ he said.
‘He was,’ said Thomas. ‘When Henry needed archers, Geraint and ten others from the village answered the draft. A few months later we heard he was stationed in London but since then we have not heard a word. As you can see, his silence weighs heavily on my wife’s mind, as indeed it does mine so the sight of another son leaving gives cause for concern.’
‘I understand,’ said the Monk, ‘and be assured, he will be treated well.’
Thomas looked at Elena for acceptance but she just turned and walked into the forge. The Monk turned to Garyn.
‘Get your things, boy,’ he said. ‘I want to be back at the Abbey by dawn. The fewer eyes that see us pass the better.’
Garyn ran back into the forge but slowed to a walk as he saw his mother sitting on his cot.
‘Mother, are you alright?’ he asked.
Elena wiped away the tears and forced a tight lipped smile.
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘I’m just being silly.’
‘I will be fine,’ said Garyn, ‘it will only be for a few days and when we have the cow we can sell milk to the travellers.
Elena smiled at the boy’s reassurances.
‘Come here,’ she said and leaned forward to pull him into her arms. ‘You just take care and come back soon.’
Garyn assured her he would and watched as his mother put some things into a hessian sack.
‘I’ve put in a second pair of leggings and a tunic.’ she said over her shoulder, ‘as well as your nightshirt and your cloak.’ Garyn fastened his belt around his waist and placed his eating knife in the scabbard. When they were done, they re-joined the men in the other room.
‘Ready?’ asked the Monk.
Garyn nodded
‘Wait,’ said Elena and added some cheese and a piece of pork to the sack. ‘What about the cold nights?’ she asked, ‘will he need a cover for his bed?’
‘Elena, that is enough,’ said Thomas. ‘You treat him like a babe.’
‘We have heavy blankets he can use,’ smiled the Monk. ‘Rest assured, he will not go cold or hungry.’
Thomas unbarred the door and the Monk stepped outside. Garyn turned to his father and Thomas held out his arm as if to another man. Garyn hesitated before taking his father’s hand. It was the first time he had been offered the manly gesture.
‘Be the man I know you can be, son,’ said Thomas.
‘I will, Father,’ said Garyn and turned to his mother.
‘Worry not, Mother,’ he said. ‘I will be back before you know it.’
‘I know,’ she said, pulling him in for another hug. ‘Be careful and when you come back, we will kill one of the chickens to feast like Kings.’
Garyn smiled at the thought of his favourite meal.
‘I will dream of it every night,’ he said and pulled from her arms. He stepped out of the door and walked toward the Monk standing a few paces away before turning to wave goodbye.
‘Be safe,’ called Elena quietly and watched as her son disappeared into the darkness.
Thomas followed them across the yard and as Garyn entered the treeline, the blacksmith called the Monk to him.
‘Brother Martin,’ he said quietly.
The Monk turned to face him.
‘For the boy’s sake and the demands of courtesy I have held my tongue,’ said Thomas, ‘but I warn you now, if anything happens to that boy whilst in your care, I swear before God you will pay with your life.’
‘It is sad that our paths have come to this, Thomas,’ said the Monk. ‘I thought the years would have long healed old wounds but I see they still weep hatred.’
‘What do you expect,’ asked Thomas, ‘we have managed to rebuild our lives and have moved on. Now you reappear as welcome as a plague and expect us to hand over our son as if the past never happened.’
‘The past is past, Thomas,’ said the Monk. ‘Leave it where it lies.’
‘Just look after our son,’ said Thomas, ‘and when he is returned, stay away from my family.’
The Monk nodded silently.
‘I understand,’ he said and turned to follow Garyn into the wood.
Thomas returned to the house and joined Elena.
‘What did he say?’ she asked.
‘Nothing of importance,’ said Thomas. ‘Come, we should retire for the morning beckons. Fret not for despite the circumstance, Garyn could not be in safer hands.’
Elena nodded in agreement, realising her husband was probably right.
But he wasn’t right, in fact, he couldn’t have been more wrong, for Garyn was about to be in more danger than either would ever realise.
----
A few hours later, Brother Martin knelt on one knee before the Abbot. He bowed his head and made the sign of the cross before kissing the Father’s hand.
‘Was your task successful?’ asked the Abbot.
‘It was,’ said Brother Martin. ‘The boy sleeps in a cell near the prisoner. He will be taken to him tomorrow.’
‘Is he aware of his purpose?’
‘He is.’
‘And no others know of this?’
‘Father, I had to break your instruction to get the family to let him leave. I know I have failed you but there was no other option. I accept any punishment God deems suitable.’
Father William paused, slightly shocked at the admission.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘This is a problem. How many others know of this situation?’
‘Only the Blacksmith and his wife,’ said the Monk. ‘But they have been sworn to secrecy.’
The Abbot nodded.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Let the boy sleep tonight but have him taken to the prisoner at first light.’ He lifted his crucifix toward the Monk. ‘You acted in the service of God, Brother and that merits no punishment. Thank you, you may leave.’
The Monk kissed the crucifix and retreated from the room. Father William sat in silence for over an hour before reaching for a bell at his side. Within moments, a servant entered the room and knelt before him.
‘You rang, Father?’
‘Phyllip,’ he said. ‘Bring me the prisoner.’
‘Which one?’ asked the servant, ‘the infidel?’
‘No, the brigand you caught stealing the bread.’
The Servant nodded and left the room. With a sigh, the Abbot stood and crossed the room to face the life-sized image of the Crucified Christ suspended from a wall. Father William prostrated himself before the cross and silently prayed, begging forgiveness for what he was about to do.
----
Chapter Three
The Homs Gap
Syria
The dark skinned man crawled forward to the edge of the escarpment. The sun was almost up and it was important he was in place before the dawn. His white linen cloak protected him from the last of the night’s chill and he knew it would also keep him from the worst of the sun’s rays as he watched for the infidel patrols. Once in position between the rocks, he withdrew his knife and placed it before him, along with a water skin and a bag of food including dates and goat meat.
Abdul Malik was a scout and served in the armies of Sultan Baibaars, the region’s prominent warlord and leader of the Mamluk Dynasty. Like all Mamluk warriors Malik had originally been bought as a slave and his earliest memory was being separated from his mother in the markets of Cairo but far from being the start of a life of drudgery and servitude, his purchase had been the start of a military life envied by many free men of the time.
Every Mamluk warrior had started their lives as slaves and they took great pride in maintaining that heritage. Over the centuries, previous rulers had trained slave armies to fight for them and as those armies had gained strength, they turned on their rulers and became an entity in their own right. As they grew in influence they continuing the tradition of recruiting only slaves and quickly came to dominate Egypt and Syria by virtue of their exceptional skills in warfare.
‘This is good,’ said Malik, surveying the valley before him.
Behind him, Ashia, a fellow scout settled in to his own position and followed Malik’s gaze. The position gave a clear view for miles in both directions. It would be a long day but the task was one they were used to. The main strengths of a Mamluk scout were patience and discipline.
‘It is a likely route,’ said Ashia.
‘It will either be this way or the valley of the snake,’ said Malik. ‘Either way we can be upon them within the hour. Our task is to forewarn the Amir as soon as they break the horizon, that way the Amir’s thousands can meet them with full strength.’
The second scout nodded with understanding.
‘It will be a great day,’ he said.
----
Twenty miles away, Husam al Din, Baibaar’s right hand man entered the tent of the Sultan. Other rulers would expect their men to prostrate themselves at their feet but Baibaars was different. He too had been a slave and to him all his men were equal except for the rule of command. Expressions of inferiority were reserved for the prayers to Allah, not to other men.
‘Husam,’ said Baibaars from behind a netted curtain. ‘I was told you had arrived. What news from our scouts?’
‘The crossed devils ride through the Homs Gap,’ said Husam. ‘They avoided our Halqas by travelling through the night and are within the influence of Chevalier. They will be in the safety of the castle within hours.’
‘They proclaim military might and chivalry yet run like rats in the night,’ said Baibaars.
‘They cannot run forever,’ said Husam.
‘We do not have forever, Husam,’ said Baibaars walking into the carpeted area of the tent. ‘We need to seize the moment. Since Louis of France fell in Egypt the Christian resolve has weakened. If we wait for the right moment, we will always hold back.’
‘There are still many Knights in the area,’ said Husam, ‘and though they are spread out between the Christian forts, any battle will bring their brothers running like dogs to a hare.’
‘I do not fear the Crossed Devils, Husam. Have I not forced them to their knees at Arsuf and Anthilth? Did they not beg for mercy at Haifa and Safad? In Jaffa and Ashkalon the very walls shook at the thunder of our horses’ hooves yet still they come, each generation intent on seizing Jerusalem in the name of their Popes.’
‘Their holy men never set foot in Jerusalem yet send thousands to die in their name,’ said Husam.
‘They call themselves the Knights of God yet celebrate pain and death like none I have ever seen. When first the crusaders were victorious almost two centuries ago, it is said the streets of Jerusalem ran with blood, yet when the great Sah-la-din recaptured the city, he ordered the streets washed with rose water and they call us the infidels.’
‘Allah will prevail,’ said Husam.
‘He will,’ said Baibaars, ‘but it is my destiny to rid this land of the Crossed Devils scourge before I am summoned to the afterlife. Even the Mongols tremble in fear at my name and before I die, I will see the last Crusader ship leave these shores.’
‘A heavy burden to bear,’ said Husam
‘Yet one I welcome.’ said Baibaars ‘and the time to act is upon us. Allah has sent distraction to their eyes and doubt to their hearts. While they still shudder from the loss of a King, we will take them on where they least expect us. We will take their castles from them and force them to run back to their homes like beaten dogs.’
‘Their combined armies are mighty,’ said Husam.
‘They are,’ said Baibaars, ‘but individually they are weak. Break them into pieces and the biscuit becomes crumb.’
‘What would you have us do?’
‘The infidel stronghold is no doubt Acre,’ said Baibaars, ‘but it enjoys the protection of the outlying castles and support from the sea. Other strongholds are the White castle, Chevalier and Tripoli. One by one we will take them apart until only Acre stands and when it is done, we will unleash Allah’s wrath upon its walls.’
‘Are we to lay siege?’
‘Not yet. First we will provoke the garrisons of the forts to come out to face us. We will taunt them with our presence under their noses. Our people will graze their cattle within sight of their walls and move our caravans within the Homs gap as we please. We will move the villagers east denying the Christians the source of their taxes. We will pollute the wells and take what crops we need. Pastures will be burned and markets destroyed. Let them play at being Kings for their kingdoms will be wastelands.’
‘They will not sit back and allow this to happen,’ said Husam.,
‘No, they won’t and when they venture forth, we will strike like the desert snake but fade away as shadows, each time wearing them out. We will spread word of our might, kindling fear in their hearts and finally, we will lay siege to these so called impregnable walls. We cannot wait any longer, Husam. The time is right, the time is now.’
‘Shall I summon the Amirs?’
‘Do that and together we will draw up a plan of attrition such as the Christians have never seen.’
‘How soon do we start?’ asked Husam.
‘We have already started, Husam,’ said Baibaars, ‘the first blow is about to be dealt.’
----
High in the mountains, Malik felt the hand of Ashia shaking him gently.
‘What is it?’ he whispered, instantly awake,
‘A dust cloud,’ said Ashia,
Instantly Malik was at Ashia’s side, peering into the distance.
‘A sand storm perhaps?’
‘Too low,’ said Ashia. ‘It is the dust from many horses.’
‘We will wait a moment more,’ said Malik. ‘We need to be sure.’
Ashia nodded but ten minutes later, both men rode as fast as they could back to their camp, absolutely certain about what they had seen. A column of Crossed Devils was riding toward Acre and though they were almost a hundred strong, they were no match for a full strength Halqa.
----
Fifty Miles to the south, a soldier lowered his lance toward a lone rider approaching the Castle of the King’s Constable deep in the city of Acre.
‘Hold,’ shouted the guard, as the rider rode toward the castle gate. ‘State your business, stranger.’
The horseman reined in his horse and pulled back his hood. His head was shaved bald and he wore a full beard hanging down to his chest. His hands were covered with metal gauntlets and beneath the open cape, the guard could see a chainmail shirt and the hilt of an impressive sword.
‘I ride to speak to the Castellan,’ said the rider. ‘Who holds this honour?’
‘The title falls to my master, Sir John of Cambridge,’ said the guard. ‘An honour bestowed by the King of England himself, Henry of Winchester.’
‘And long may he reign,’ said the man. ‘Send word to your master, I seek audience for I have information for his ears only.’
‘And who is it that demands such audience?’ asked the man, ‘for my master opens the gate for few men, especially those who know not his name.’
‘I have been many years away from the walls of Acre, soldier,’ said the rid
er, ‘and the politics of the city changes quicker than mortal man can follow. My name is Abdul Khoury, Knight Hospitaller. I have a message for this Sir John.’
The guard glanced at his Comrade. The Hospitallers were once the major military force in the region and though their fortunes had taken a downward turn in the last twenty years or so, they were still famous for being formidable warriors. They still had their own smaller castle within the walls of Acre but their main fortress lay two days inland, the castle of Krak des Chevalier.
‘I will send word,’ said the guard and spoke to another comrade through the bars of the inner gate. The second man turned and ran into the castle.
‘Tell, me,’ said the rider, ‘why is the castle secured thus, are you at risk of attack?’
‘There is word of Mamluk assassins in the city,’ said the guard, ‘and we lock down until they are caught. What of you traveller, from whence do you come?’
‘From Krak des Chevalier,’ said the Knight.
‘A dangerous ride for a man alone,’ said the guard.
‘I never said I was alone,’ said the Knight, ‘My men rest within our order’s headquarters near the sea wall Do you have a drink you can share, friend?’
The guard retrieved a skin of water from around his waist and gave it to the impressive Knight.
Khoury drank deeply before wiping his mouth.
‘Clean water,’ he said, ‘a treat indeed.’
‘We are blessed with several wells within the town,’ said the Guard. He hesitated before continuing. ‘Tell me, Sir Knight, I hear Krak des Chevalier is a majestic fortress, impenetrable to any who assault her walls.’
‘Chevalier is indeed such a place,’ said Khoury.
‘It is said that the Knights of Saint John garrison the Castle and live a life of Chivalry and Piety.’
‘Such is our calling,’ said Khoury. He looked up as the messenger ran back across the courtyard.
‘Open the gate,’ cried the man, ‘Sir John will see him.’
Within moments the spiked defence swung open allowing the rider through. The messenger took the horse’s reins and led it to one side to a waiting groom.
