Medieval - Blood of the Cross

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘Even if he also wishes this, if he is contracted to a master then he may not be able to leave.’

  ‘Again I understand this may be a problem but I hope that a deal I made with someone back in Wales may ease the process.’

  ‘Ah yes, the Abbot of St Benedict in Brycheniog.’

  ‘You know of him?’ asked Brother Martin in surprise.

  ‘We often have dealings,’ said Sir John. ‘In fact, I received a letter from him not six weeks ago telling me of your situation.’

  ‘Then you must be the one he talked about,’ said Garyn, sitting forward in his seat. ‘The one who has Geraint’s fate in his hands.’

  ‘I am indeed,’ said Sir John. ‘He landed here many months ago as part of a relief force on behalf of Henry and has been stationed within Acre under my command.’

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Garyn. ‘Can I see him?’

  ‘Alas, no,’ said Sir John. ‘At least not yet. You see, the letter asked me to place your brother under armed guard until such time certain promises made by you were honoured. Now, I have no idea what those promises are but of course I had to carry out the whim of such a holy man as the Abbot.’

  ‘You imprisoned him?’

  ‘I have. Oh he is safe enough at the moment but I have to admit, his circumstances are somewhat uncomfortable.’

  ‘Where is he?’ shouted Garyn standing up. ‘You have to let him go, he has done no wrong.’

  ‘Well, that isn’t exactly true,’ said Sir John. ‘You see, he has been accused of aiding the enemy and awaits execution for being a traitor.’

  ‘That’s absurd,’ shouted Garyn. ‘Why would my brother aid the infidel?’

  ‘Garyn sit down,’ said Brother Martin, seeing the coldness in the Knight’s eyes. ‘Hear the man out.’

  ‘Very sensible,’ said Sir John as Garyn regained his seat. ‘Your brother’s quarters were searched and we found a purse of Muslim gold beneath his mattress. Of course he denied all knowledge but the evidence was damning. He has been sent to gaol until I decide his fate.’

  ‘Is there to be no trial?’ asked Garyn. ‘What about the King’s law?’

  ‘Out here I am the law,’ said Sir John and you would do well to remember it. So, down to business. I need to know what it is you seek and how you intend to get it to me.’

  Garyn stayed silent and stared at the Castellan.

  ‘Garyn, let’s dispense with the games of children,’ sighed Sir John. ‘I do not have the patience of your Abbott or indeed the inclination to enter into futile debate. I am a wealthy man and have estates throughout England. Before the year is out, I will once more gallop amongst those hills with the sweet rain on my face so it matters not if you tell me or not.

  One of two things will happen here today. One, you will tell me what I want to know and your brother lives or two, you keep silent and your brother is hanged within the hour. Should the second option come to pass then before this sun sets, you, young man will be found to be in possession of a similar purse of Muslim gold and will also be put to death as a traitor, but only after weeks of unbearable torture. The choice is simple and it will be made now.’

  Garyn stared at the Castellan with hatred, not understanding the speed with how things were unfolding.

  ‘Then why are you doing this?’ he asked. ‘If you have so much, why kill someone who has never done anything wrong?’

  ‘Because I can,’ said Sir John, ‘and because you have stirred my curiosity. Money I have, station I have but depending on this artefact, I could have a place in history. So, this is the last time of asking. What is it you seek?’

  ‘Tell him,’ said Brother Martin quietly.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Garyn

  ‘Tell him,’ said the Monk even louder.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said Garyn, ‘I can’t for I do not know myself.’

  The Castellan stood.

  ‘Then our business is done,’ he said, ‘and your brother will die within the hour.’

  ‘Wait,’ shouted Garyn, ‘I can’t tell you for I truly do not know. The man who told me was a Muslim prisoner and said he was a poet amongst his people. He would not tell me where or what the actual relic was in case I had a loose tongue but said if ever I was to see the Holy-land, most men of note would understand his words.’

  ‘What words?’ asked Sir John.

  ‘He told me a poem,’ said Garyn, ‘and made me memorise every word. He said that within the poem was everything I needed to know about a relic so powerful, it could start or end wars.’

  ‘Tell me the poem,’ said Sir John.

  ‘If I do, how do I know you will keep your word and release my brother?’

  ‘You have the word of a Knight given before a man of God,’ said Sir John.

  Garyn looked toward Brother Martin who nodded silently.

  The boy took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he remembered the words.

  ‘Oh blinded men who will not see,

  the truth is not where it should be.

  When Sah-la-Dhin came close to death

  from steely blade with Sinan’s breath,

  the price he paid for lengthened life

  protection from assassin’s knife,

  was not of slaves or swathes of gold

  but bounty from a battle old.

  Where Christian wood, the cause of tears,

  a remnant of a thousand years

  was hidden from the Sultan’s gaze

  and cost the bloodiest of days.

  Where murder was the story made,

  three thousand slain by Christian blade,

  the price of life was nought but tree,

  a simple gift that couldn’t be

  for Sah-la-Dhin no longer knew

  the resting place of aged yew,

  the bounty of those glory days

  won hard beneath the Horned one’s gaze.

  So seek the trophy not within

  the treasuries or Sultan’s whim

  but in the place where all men sleep

  and place their trust and bones to keep.

  Where mountain men with feared name

  ensure it’s not seen again.

  The yew that Christians so desire

  was not destroyed in Muslim fire

  but hides away in trees afar,

  the Castle of Jabahl Bahra.’

  When he had finished, Garyn opened his eyes and saw both men staring at him with open mouths.

  ‘Do you know what it means?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh yes, Garyn,’ said Sir John standing up again. ‘I know very well what it is.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Brother Martin. ‘It has been lost for a hundred years but if these words are true, then the holiest of relics lies within our reach.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Garyn. ‘Will someone tell me?’

  Brother Martin turned to him.

  ‘It is the holiest of holies, Garyn. Your poem reveals the resting place of a sacred artefact stained by the life blood our Lord Christ himself, the remnants of the true cross of Calvary.’

  ----

  Sir John paced back and forth across the small courtyard deep in thought. He had dismissed the Monk and the boy and instructed them to be ready for an expedition to Jabahl Bahra within two days. However, Sir John knew that although Jabahl Bahra was less than ten day’s ride away, it may as well have been ten thousand for between Acre and the Bahra mountains, Baibaar’s forces dominated the countryside in a grip of steel. Any unprepared column setting out would be cut down within days and to raise a force strong enough to fight through would need detailed explanation. That was something he did not want to do. If Longshanks found out about this, he would surely retrieve the relic and claim the glory himself. No, he had to be clever and make a plan alone. There was plenty of time and although Baibaars was indeed an obstacle, ironically the arrival of Longshanks meant the situation could change at any time. Sir John knew that all he had to do was wait and make sure nobody else knew t
he whereabouts of the relic.

  ----

  Across the city Brother Martin was busy packing his meagre belongings into a leather sack. Garyn stood behind him with a perplexed look on his face.

  ‘But why?’ he asked. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Garyn,’ said the Monk. ‘I have seen men such as he before and the greed was written across his face as if it had been inscribed. You have to trust me in this. It is too dangerous to stay here for if I am correct, we will either be framed for treason very soon or feel an assassin’s blade across our throats. We have to leave and do it now.’

  ‘But if I run, I will be condemning my brother to death.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said the Monk. ‘If we run and are successful in retrieving the relic the only lever he has against you is your brother. He would be a stupid man to lose that advantage and believe me, stupidity was not an evident trait. I think he will keep him alive at least until this situation runs its course. Besides, if I am wrong there is nothing you can do to save your brother. Even if we knew where he is being held, which we don’t, there is no way we can get him out without a fortune in compensation. The die are cast, we have to get out of here.’

  Garyn paused but finally turned to his own equipment. A few minutes later a knock came at the door and one of the other young men answered before turning to shout across the room.

  ‘Brother Martin,’ he called, ‘there is a comely young wench asking to see you. Are you allowed to lay sight on such a fine woman?’

  The rest of the men started laughing as the Monk walked to the door to find the slave girl from Ahmed’s house standing outside.

  ‘Misha,’ he said, recalling her name. ‘Has your master sent you with a message?’

  ‘He has, Sire,’ said the girl, ‘but I would seek privacy to share it.’

  ‘Come in,’ said the Monk, ‘we can talk in the rear yard.’

  They walked through the crowded room, ignoring the lewd shouts of the men as they passed.

  ‘Let me know her price, Brother,’ shouted one. ‘I have several coins to spend.’

  ‘After you, my friend,’ shouted another.

  The laughter continued as they made their way through and finally stood alone in a tiny yard covered with dried goat droppings.

  ‘Is the boy here?’ asked the girl.

  ‘He is,’ said the Monk.

  ‘Then summon him for these words are for his ears also.’

  Brother Martin called Garyn and they stood together as the girl relayed the message.

  ‘Sire,’ said the girl. ‘My master promised word of a guide who knows the way to Jabahl Bahra and the ways of the people there.’

  ‘He did,’ said the Monk. ‘Do you know of such a man?’

  ‘I do,’ said the girl, ‘though it is no man. I am the person with such skills.’

  Both men looked at the slight girl in confusion. Her black hair fell to her waist and matched the almond brown of her eyes. She was draped in a long white cape that covered her small frame and an ornate chain of simple steel lay around her throat. Her wrists were heavy with dozens of bracelets.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said the Monk. ‘You are but a girl.’

  ‘My name is Misha ain Alsabar,’ she answered, ‘and my people are descended from a line of esteemed servants to the Sultans. My mother served the descendants of Rashid ad-Din Sinan himself, and I grew up in the forests of Jabahl Bahra.

  ‘But why are you willing to help us, Misha?’

  ‘My master has promised me freedom if your quest is successful,’ said Misha ‘and I yearn to see my family again. He said you are an honourable man and once you have obtained that which you seek, you will let me go with my master’s blessing.’

  ‘What is to stop you running away as soon as we leave Acre?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘I have been brought up in the ways of the Hashashin and my word is worth more than life itself.’

  ‘And you think you can take us there?’

  ‘I can though the journey is dangerous.’

  Garyn looked at the Monk.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘I think we have no choice,’ said Brother Martin. ‘We have to get out of here and this meeting is opportune.’ He turned to the girl. ‘Misha, we will accept your master’s offer. How soon can you be ready to travel?’

  ‘I have already prepared,’ said Misha, ‘and have a horse waiting outside the city walls.’

  ‘You have a horse?’ asked Garyn in surprise.

  ‘My master used some of the coins left by your friend,’ said Misha. ‘He has also organised supplies enough for ten days. After that, we are on our own.’

  ‘Then I guess there is no reason to wait,’ said the Monk. ‘Tell us where and when.’

  ‘Meet me within the hour outside Saint Anthony’s gate,’ she said. ‘Be prepared to ride hard and be guided by all I say.’

  The Monk nodded.

  ‘We will be there.’

  The girl turned to leave and was escorted back through the quarters to more cat calling from the young men. Finally they were outside but before she left she turned to the Monk once more.

  ‘Be careful,’ she said, ‘for the Castellan has eyes everywhere. You need to move quickly but I suggest you do one more thing before you leave.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Make peace with your God, Christian for there is a possibility none of us will return alive.’ With that she walked back up the whitewashed street and disappeared into the busy city.

  ----

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Castle of the King’s Constable

  ‘Gone,’ shouted Sir John. ‘What do you mean gone?’

  ‘They left this morning, Sire,’ said the messenger, ‘and were seen leaving the city via the Gate of St Anthony.’

  ‘Were they alone?’

  ‘It would seem so.’

  They are fools if they think they can travel without escort,’ said Sir John. ‘The old man hasn’t been here for many years and the boy is yet wet behind the ears. Gather some men and a local guide. They will have travelled northward. Find them and ensure their journey is cut short in brutal manner.’

  ‘Yes, Sire,’ said the messenger.

  ‘Sir John,’ called a voice and another Knight ran into the room carrying a rolled parchment.

  ‘Sir Bennet,’ said the Castellan looking up at the intrusion.

  ‘Sire I have news,’ said the Knight, ‘about the Lady Jennifer of Orange.’

  ‘What of her?’

  ‘Sire, she is alive and well and held as hostage by the Mamluks.’

  Sir John stood up in shock as did many of the men around the room.

  ‘What?’ he gasped. ‘This cannot be. She was killed by the infidels less than a year ago.’

  ‘Apparently not, Sire. This is a ransom demand from Baibaars himself. In it he lists over a hundred prisoners in his hands. Amongst them is your wife. She is alive, Sire. Your wife is alive.’

  The room burst into activity as men raised their voices in support. The Lady had been a great favourite and was greatly missed but despite his outward appearance of gratitude, inside Sir John was seething. The supposed death of his wife had meant he could marry again into another rich family and he had already sent word to England for his trusted friends to make representations on his behalf. Now, with her potential reappearance it meant that not only would his plans be curtailed but he would have to devise a new way of ridding himself of her. His mind snapped back to matters in hand.

  ‘Great news indeed,’ he said, ‘for surely God himself looks down on this house this day. Show me the parchment.’

  For a few moments he read the document, calculating the total cost of the ransom. It included commoners, men at arms and Knights alongside several women and one Lord. Though the price was high he knew it was available within his treasury and could easily be recouped by higher taxation but what was more interesting was the arrangements for payment. At the bottom
of the parchment was the instruction to make the exchange at a Wadi in the north, a lush place of green hills and waterfalls but more importantly, within ten miles of Al Kahf Castle. His mind worked furiously as he realised fate had presented him with an ideal excuse to ride north with an armed column. He looked up at the cheering men and finally held up his hand.

  ‘Loyal Knights,’ he said, as the noise subsided. ‘We should calm ourselves for though the opportunity is indeed ripe for the taking, we have to consider the morals of those who demand the ransom. These may be empty words designed to trick us into the open without sign of the prisoners for it wouldn’t be the first time the heathen have turned to the tricks of Satan. The names on this list deserve repatriation no matter what the cost and I recognise many of those we have fought alongside and long thought dead. Yes, the Lady’s name is amongst them but so are Knights of this very hall. I swear we will do everything to raise this ransom and if this message rings true, then we will bring them back here to the safety of Acre. However, we will not walk into a trap, we will not be tricked into handing over unwarranted wealth and we will not be intimidated by those not fit to hold your shields. No, we will ride out under the banner of the Lord with sharpened blades and steely hearts and show this Baibaars we are not to be meddled with. I hear Longshanks himself already makes inroads into the Sultan’s Halqas and they fear the touch of English steel like no other.’ He looked around the room. ‘Ordinarily I would not think twice in commanding you to ride alongside me but as my wife is amongst those held, I will not risk men’s lives for the healing of my own heart. To this end I seek men to ride with me to retrieve our fellows, the support of a hundred who, of their own free will and if called by Almighty God, will fall to gift their brothers their rightful freedom. So, fellow Knights, I say this. Who amongst you has the heart for the fight? How many are willing to run the bloodied course of true men and die so that others may live?'

  The cheering was deafening as every man raised their clenched fist in support. Over and over again their voices rang around the room and Sir John’s trusted servant turned toward him, struggling to make himself heard.

  ‘Sire, the support is total. Surely such fervour will ensure the Lady Jennifer will soon be safe within these walls.’