Medieval - Blood of the Cross

by Kevin Ashman

‘Sorry Lady,’ said the man, ‘your fate is sealed. Make your peace with God.’ With that he spurred his horse to follow his three comrades already galloping across the sands, leaving the woman alone with the driver of the cart.

  Jennifer turned in panic and saw the lines of Mamluk riders coming closer, hundreds of horses interspersed with as many camels. Behind them, she could see hoards of warriors on foot, each wrapped against the desert heat, their weapons gleaming in the blazing sun. The driver jumped from the cart and ran forward to meet them, pleading for his life and holding out his arms extolling the virtues of Allah the Just.

  The lead riders rode by him without acknowledging his presence, galloping after the distant mercenaries but as the next wave neared, a group of ten broke from the main body of the Halqa and approached the cart. As they neared, one of the riders drew his sword and decapitated the driver without breaking stride.

  Jennifer’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to erupt and watched in horror as fountains of blood spurted from the dead man’s neck, leaving streaks of red staining the scorching white sand. Expecting to die, she quickly composed herself and made the sign of the cross before tilting her head back to look up to the Lord.

  ‘Holy father,’ she whispered, ‘welcome me into your glory I beseech thee.’

  The lead riders reached her but the expected blow never came. Instead the man who had killed the driver, leaned down and wiped his blade on her dress. The rest of the riders laughed at the gesture and circled their camels around her, talking in a language she didn’t understand.

  Finally another man rode up and lowered the fabric from around his mouth.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  ‘I am Jennifer of Orange,’ she replied, ‘wife of the Castellan of Acre.’

  ‘A prize indeed,’ said the man and spoke to the others in his own language.

  ‘What are you saying?’ demanded Jennifer drawing a small knife from amongst her skirts. ‘Keep your filthy hands off me because I swear I will cut my own throat before succumbing to your disgusting needs.’

  ‘Put your little knife away, Lady,’ said the man. ‘We are Mamluk and have honour to exceed any of your so called Knights. You will come to no harm from us, you have my word but you will become our prisoner and when the time is right, will be ransomed back to the Christians. Can you ride?’

  ‘I can,’ said Jennifer.

  The warrior whistled and a boy riding a camel came over, leading another camel behind him.

  ‘I can’t ride that,’ said Jennifer, ‘and besides, it stinks.’

  ‘As do you, Lady,’ said the warrior. Walk or ride, the option is yours. Without another word the group headed back to the passing throng leaving the boy, the woman and two camels behind them.

  Jennifer turned to the boy and realised she had no choice.

  ‘Come on then,’ she said, ‘let’s get this over with.’

  ----

  Chapter Eleven

  Brycheniog

  For the next few days, Garyn stayed around the Church, helping the Priest repair a storm damaged roof. There was no sign of Elspeth and Garyn thought he had ruined any chances of wooing her he may have had. He visited the ruins of his family home on a daily basis, often staying several hours before wandering back to the church again, devoid of any idea what he was going to do. Finally he realised he was going nowhere fast and resolved to do something with his life. He laid a sprig of winter Holly on his family’s grave before walking to the village and that evening, found himself knocking on the door of Elspeth Fletcher.

  ‘Master Garyn,’ said Jayne Fletcher, opening the door.’ It’s good to see you, come in.’

  He entered the house and found himself in a long room with an open hearth. To one end of the room, bundles of arrows lay tied together, waiting to be delivered to the manor and many more lay un-fletched on the table.

  ‘Garyn,’ said, Elspeth standing up in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Um, I have come to see your father,’ said Garyn, ‘and would beg audience.’

  The man at the table looked up at the boy before standing up. He brushed the feathers from his jerkin and walked around the table to stand before Garyn.

  ‘Garyn ap Thomas,’ he said, ‘welcome to my home. I am sorry about your family, your father was a good friend.’

  ‘Thank you Sir,’ said Garyn.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ asked the Fletcher.

  ‘Sir, first of all I have brought you a gift,’ said Garyn, handing over his birthday knife. ‘I know it isn’t much but it is all I have.’

  ‘Thank you, Garyn,’ said the Fletcher, placing the sheathed knife on the table, ‘but what have I done to deserve such a thing?’

  ‘Nothing Sir,’ said Garyn, ‘at least not yet.’ He took a deep breath and looked around before continuing. ‘Sir, I seek permission to call on your daughter and to go out walking.’

  The room fell silent and Elspeth blushed furiously, staring at the floor. Her mother smiled broadly and stared at her husband in anticipation.

  ‘Really,’ said the fletcher. ‘Well, I think you had better take a seat. Woman, bring ale. There are serious matters to discuss here.’

  Elspeth’s mother brought two tankards as her daughter cleared away the unfinished arrows from the table. Elspeth’s eyes caught those of Garyn but he turned away quickly, afraid he might lose his nerve. When the table was cleared, the two men sat opposite each other and drank the ale in silence.

  ‘Elspeth, come away,’ said her mother, ‘we will take a walk. This is men’s business.’ Mother and daughter left the house and walked down to the village. The Fletcher took another long drink from his tankard before breaking the silence.

  ‘So, Master Garyn,’ he said. ‘What makes you so interested in my daughter?’

  ‘Well, Sir,’ stuttered Garyn, ‘she is clever and makes me laugh. When we talk, I am enthralled at her words and I find her company pleasing.’

  ‘And…?’

  ‘And what, Sir?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘Your answer is well practised, Garyn yet tells me nothing. Tell me how you feel about her and why I should allow this to happen.’

  Garyn hesitated.

  ‘I find her very fair of face, Sir.’

  ‘My daughter is a very pretty girl, Garyn. I would imagine all young men of your age find her attractive. Why should I choose you?’

  ‘Other boys may see her beauty,’ said Garyn, ‘but I see far more. Her being glows about her and her face fills my every thought. Even now, though my days are yet dark, her presence sends rays of light to my deepest soul. I find myself longing to see her smile and hear her laughter each and every day. I hurt when I do not see her, sir and have come to realise, my world is darker without her.’

  ‘Poetic words,’ said the Fletcher, ‘but words do not fill hungry mouths. What can you offer her that others cannot?’

  ‘I know my father and you were once friends and thought you may be amenable to the idea.’

  ‘Let’s get something straight, Garyn,’ said the fletcher, ‘yes we were good friends but that has no bearing on who I allow to court my daughter. The decision will be made on merit alone. So I ask again, what future can you offer her?’

  ‘Well, as you know, Sir, the forge is but a ruin. However, I learned the trade at my father’s anvil and intend to rebuild my family’s home as good as it once was. A blacksmith can earn a good living, Sir and I would not be found wanting as a husband.’

  ‘A husband,’ said the fletcher in surprise. ‘I think you get ahead of yourself young sir.’

  ‘My apologies,’ said Garyn, ‘but I have to be honest and say that I see our future together.’

  ‘And does she share this view.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Garyn quietly, lowering his gaze to the table.

  ‘Well, that is a conversation for another day,’ said the Fletcher. ‘A Blacksmith is indeed an honourable trade, Garyn but the task you set yourself is a ster
n one. How do you intend to accomplish this alone?’

  ‘My father had some land,’ said Garyn, ‘so I will sell some pasture to the manor or the church. With the money I will hire labour, restart the business and establish a place in the community.’

  The fletcher nodded.

  ‘An admirable intention,’ he said and sat back in his chair to consider his decision. Finally he sat forward and withdrew the gifted knife from its sheath.

  ‘This is a fine knife, Garyn,’ he said. ‘Did you make it?’

  ‘No Sir, the work is of my father’s hand.’

  ‘I thought so,’ said the Fletcher, ‘he was a very skilled man. Do you share this skill?’

  ‘I think so Sir, I have been taught well.’

  ‘You have fine intentions, Garyn but as yet there is no evidence that you are able to meet them so my decision is this. Yes you may call on my daughter but there are conditions. First of all, you will act toward her with the utmost honour and will not seek carnal knowledge outside of wedlock.’

  ‘I would never do such a thing, Sir,’ said Garyn.

  ‘Remember, Garyn, I was once your age and such promises are hard to keep. Anyway, the second condition is this. You will rebuild your family home as intended and in this I will offer help. However, you will not seek marriage until you can bring me a knife such as this, made by your own hand, from your own forge. That way, I know your trade is true and her future is secured. During this time, Elspeth will not be bound to you by any promise and she can walk away at any time. Are we agreed?’

  Garyn nodded quietly, willing to accept any conditions imposed.

  ‘I have plenty of time, Garyn but I have only one daughter. Do not let her down and do not break her heart. Understood?’

  ‘Yes Sir,’ said Garyn.

  ‘Good,’ said the fletcher, ‘now, when was the last time you ate?’

  ‘I had oats at the church yesterday, Sir.’

  ‘Then take off your cloak, Garyn, for today you will dine with us.’

  Garyn held back a smile. It had all been far easier than he had thought.

  ----

  The next few weeks were magical for Garyn and he spent at least an hour with Elspeth every day. He even managed to sell a pasture to the manor farm and held a promissory note for enough money to hire labour as soon as the weather broke. Occasionally the Fletchers allowed him to eat with them and such evenings were amongst the happiest he had ever spent. On one such evening he coughed politely and asked for attention.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said, ‘but I have a poem and beg permission to read it to Elspeth, here in front of her family.’

  ‘You are literate?’ said Elspeth’s father in surprise.

  ‘I am, Sir. I learned at my mother’s knee .’

  ‘Then proceed, Garyn,’ he said and sat back in silence, impressed at the young man’s ability to carry out the traditional custom.

  ‘It’s not very long,’ said Garyn, ‘and not very good.’

  ‘Get on with it,’ said the father with a forced smile.

  ‘It’s called, Elspeth Fletcher,’ said Garyn and took a deep breath before starting

  ‘Elspeth Fletcher, fair of face.

  Easer of nightmares, creator of laughter.

  Hair of softest down with sparkling streams captured in your eyes

  Patient be for soon the wind changes and happiness beckons.

  Already you hold my heart and soon yours will be mine

  For evermore.’

  He looked up nervously.

  ‘That’s it,’ he mumbled.

  ‘That was lovely, Garyn,’ said Elspeth’s mother.

  ‘Hmm,’ not bad said Elspeth’s father. ‘The next will be better I expect.’

  ‘Thank you, Garyn,’ said Elspeth as he handed her the parchment. ‘I will keep it close to me always.’

  ----

  The following morning Garyn woke to find an overnight storm had washed the snow from the ground and he made his way up to the forge to start clearing the mess. For an hour he dragged burnt timbers from the rubble, piling them against a nearby wall but had hardly made any difference when he heard a voice behind him.

  ‘Garyn ap Thomas?’

  Garyn turned and saw a hooded Monk behind him

  ‘Brother Martin?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said the Monk removing his hood, ‘Brother Martin is unavailable. My name is Brother Steven and I am here on the Abbot’s business.’

  ‘What does he want?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘He asks you meet with him this morning to discuss a matter of greatest urgency.

  ‘I have nothing to say to him,’ said Garyn.

  ‘Perhaps not but he has words you may want to hear.’

  ‘Nothing he says has any interest to me,’ said Garyn. ‘Tell him my answer remains the same and I want nothing more than to proceed with my life.’

  ‘He has word of your brother,’ said the Monk and watched as Garyn froze to the spot, his mouth open in astonishment.

  ‘What word?’ asked Garyn eventually, ‘is he alive? Where is he?’

  ‘All will be revealed at the Abbey,’ said the Monk. ‘Come, there is no time to lose.’ He turned and headed back up the trail, closely followed by Garyn.

  Half an hour later he was once more in the Abbot’s cell, though this time alone as he waited for Father William to arrive. Eventually the door opened and the Abbot walked in, pausing to genuflect before the cross before taking his seat behind the simple wooden table.

  ‘Hello Garyn,’ he said. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘The Monk said you know where my brother is,’ blurted Garyn. ‘Please tell me what you know.’

  ‘All in good time, Garyn,’ said Father William, ‘please be seated.’

  Garyn sat on the offered chair and stared at the Abbot.

  ‘Garyn,’ said Father William. ‘As you may know, the word of Christ crosses many boundaries and places such as this exist across the known world. Pilgrims travel between them on a daily basis and many of those chosen to serve God spend their lives walking the paths of the humble in a mission to spread the gospels.’

  Garyn nodded silently.

  ‘Subsequently, our network is vast and we have Brothers all over the world from here to Jerusalem itself so when we need certain information, it is only a matter of time before that knowledge is unveiled before us.’

  ‘And you have used this network to find my brother?’ asked Garyn hopefully.

  ‘I have,’ said the Abbot. ‘He is alive and well and still serves in the army of the King.’

  Garyn sat back and breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Where is he?’ he asked. ‘I need to go and see him.’

  ‘That won’t be so easy,’ said the Abbot. ‘He was sent on an expeditionary force overseas in preparation for the forthcoming crusade by Longshanks and currently serves in Palestine.’

  Garyn’s face dropped.

  ‘Furthermore,’ said the Monk, ‘when Longshanks arrives in the Holy-land, your brother will be posted to the lead units on any assault against the heathen. Unfortunately, Crusades are brutal and most such men fail to come back.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘His location was easy to find,’ said the Monk. ‘The nature of his posting was a different matter. At the moment he is just one more archer in Longshank’s army but when my letter arrives at Acre in a few weeks, he will be posted to the more dangerous roles within the garrison.’

  ‘You sent a letter requesting this?’ asked Garyn, his brow creasing with concern, ‘but why?’

  ‘In order that you are more amenable to an agreement,’ said the abbot. ‘You see, Garyn, I still believe that heathen prisoner told you something the night he died. You may protest otherwise but I know different. I want that information, Garyn and unfortunately you have forced my arm. The only way to get you to share what you know is by dangling something worth more to you than your own life, the life of your brother. So, the ar
rangement is simple. You give me what I require and I will send a follow up letter, not only removing him from harm’s way but begging his release from the army. I have certain influences, Garyn and assure you my request will be carried out.’

  Garyn stared in disbelief before standing up and walking around the room, his mind racing from the information. If the Abbot was telling the truth then this could be a way of getting his brother home but if he was lying, then all that would happen is that he would hand over the information for nothing.

  ‘Take some time, Garyn,’ said the Abbot, ‘but not too much. My letter will take a week or so to arrive at Acre but any follow up could be months later. A lot can happen in that time.’

  ‘What if you are lying?’ snapped Garyn, ‘what if there is no letter and you don’t know where he is?’ All this could just be a ruse.’

  ‘It could,’ said the Abbot, ‘but can you take that risk? Could you live with yourself knowing your brother’s life was in your hands and you let it slip through?’

  ‘You know I couldn’t,’ said Garyn, ‘but I will not relinquish the information on an empty promise.’

  ‘Ah, so the heathen did share information with you?’

  Garyn hesitated, realising he had slipped up.

  ‘He did,’ he said finally, ‘but not everything. ‘He told of a relic, hidden in a secret place. Something so holy it could start or end wars in its name.’

  ‘What relic?’ snapped the Abbot’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me,’ said Garyn, ‘he said the lives of too many men would end if the knowledge became available.’

  ‘What about the location?’

  ‘He gave me directions and some other clues,’ said Garyn, ‘but that is all, I swear.’

  ‘Tell me the directions,’ said the Abbot.

  Garyn shook his head.

  ‘I have said enough,’ he said. ‘What about my brother?’

  ‘Tell me the rest and I will have the letter sent this very day,’ said the Abbot.

  ‘No,’ said Garyn. ‘I want proof he is alive first.’

  ‘And how do you propose I do that?’

  ‘I want to see him,’ said Garyn. ‘Have him brought back and I will tell you everything I know.’