Medieval - Blood of the Cross

by Kevin Ashman

  The room broke out into conversation as the merits were discussed between all present. Sir Khoury sat back down amongst his comrades and watched as Sir John walked to the floor to present his case.

  ‘Pray silence for Sir John of Cambridge,’ ordered the herald and the noise died down to allow the Castellan the chance to speak.

  ‘My Lord,’ he said, ‘fellow Knights. The testimony from the order of the Hospitallers is indeed a heartfelt plea and yes, I acknowledge fifty men fell that day, a fact to be mourned by all present here. But put that number against those who fell at Jaffa or Jerusalem. Compare them against those who died in battles across the Holy-land from Hattin to Antioch and the uncountable skirmishes between. Yes the Hospitallers died in the service of Christ but let it not diminish those who fell before and those yet to give the ultimate sacrifice. The Hospitaller dead are acknowledged but in the case of the true cross, their numbers are irrelevant. Acre is the one true stronghold left in the Holy-land and is the beating heart of the Christian presence here. Since Lionheart ousted Sah-la-din we have been the gateway to Jerusalem for pilgrim or warrior alike and it has fallen to this city to provide safe passage to all who crusade. Within these city walls we harbour Knights of all orders, Hospitaller, Templar and Teutonic, both Christian and Secular. We house dozens of nationalities from German to African and look after the welfare of pilgrims across the world. Outside of these walls, countless villages rely on our fist to protect them from the ravages of the infidel and we serve them selflessly, often falling in their name.’

  ‘State your case, Sir John,’ shouted a voice, ‘you bore us with your boasting.’

  ‘The truth is this,’ continued Sir John, scowling at the man, ‘our sources had already identified the resting place of the cross at Al Kahf and we were but a day away from not only securing the relic but inflicting a devastating blow on the Hashashin, seizing a castle into the bargain. Our men were in place, primed for the assault when this boy,’ he pointed dramatically at Garyn, ‘climbed in and stole the cross like a common thief, craving the gold for himself and his traitorous brother. So I say this, the cross belongs to Acre and the Castellan therein. Any glory or financial gain from the discovery belongs to me and my men. As for the boy, far from being rewarded he should be hung as a common criminal.’

  Again the room broke into argument before Longshanks called for silence.

  ‘Strong words, Sir John, now regain your seat for the last of the submissions. Father Williams, the floor is yours.’

  The Abbott walked forward and the room fell silent.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘my plea is simple and made under the auspices of the Law of England. The order of St Benedict is an honourable one and our Abbey falls under the jurisdiction of King Henry himself. Your words about the bravery of your men are indeed impressive but the simple fact is this. The boy made a deal back in Brycheniog and under the law of the land, is duty bound to honour that agreement. He came here to gain possession of a relic, not in the hands of any Christian but hidden away by the infidel. He has stolen nothing in the eyes of the law or indeed God and I say this. Trumpet not the tales of Knights who failed to find it over a hundred years but laud the achievement of a simple boy and a Benedictine Monk who succeeded where others have failed. The cross was obtained legally, on behalf of the Benedictine order, from infidels outside of God’s grace. It is the object of an agreement lawfully made under the auspices of King Henry and as such, the payment should be made forthwith. My case is so made.’

  Again the gathering broke into loud discussion before Longshanks turned to Garyn.

  ‘Boy, do you or your spokesman have anything to add before I make judgement?’

  Garyn stayed seated but Brother Martin stepped forward.

  ‘My Lord,’ he said as the noise died down, ‘we have listened to all petitions and our answer remains the same. We seek not honour or glory and have no opinion as to where the final resting place of the cross may lay. Indeed we seek no payment in handing it over, all we ask is that which was promised at the beginning, the release of Garyn’s brother. He is but one man and languishes within the dungeons of Sir John under false accusation. We are law abiding citizens, my Lord and the decisions regarding the artefact are above the likes of simple men. We leave this in your royal hands but we ask, nay, beg one thing of your royal mercy. Grant us the life of Geraint ap Thomas and allow him home to till his lands alongside his only surviving family. Our petition is thus made.’

  Longshanks and his advisors stood and the noise died down for the last time.

  ‘Fellow Knights,’ said Longshanks loudly, ‘this audience is suspended until dawn. I will make my considerations overnight and deliver the judgement on the morrow. Until then, we are adjourned.’

  The Prince and his Knights marched out leaving the gathering deep in argument. Brother Martin grabbed Garyn and pulled him from the room, followed by Sir Khoury and his comrades.

  ‘Another night to wait,’ said Garyn as they eventually entered the Hospitaller headquarters, ‘will this never end?’

  ‘A few hours only, Garyn,’ said Brother Martin, ‘and then it is done, one way or the other.’

  ----

  The following morning Garyn and Brother Martin once more made their way to the hall in The Castle of the King’s constable. The room was busy with many of the same Knights but access had also been granted to the less important people who made the castle their home. Squires and soldiers jostled for position while Pages found what room they could alongside the several ladies who had also turned up to see Longshanks deliver the King’s justice. Finally the Herald called the room to order and the noise settled before Longshanks once more entered accompanied by his advisors. This time, the Prince did not sit down but stood at the centre of the hall.

  ‘Good people,’ he said, addressing the crowd, ‘The hour is early and there are tasks that we must be attending. Therefore I will be brief. I have given the matter much thought and have come to a decision that hopefully will satisfy most, if not all. The priests have examined the relic closely but cannot agree on authenticity. However, the feeling is that it is indeed a fragment of the true cross.’

  A gasp echoed around the room.

  ‘In the circumstances and if proved true then it has the potential to become one of the most important relics in Christendom and must be treated with the respect it deserves. My judgement is thus. It seems that two parties want the cross to be placed in the hands of the church, albeit in different locations. The true cross belongs in one place only and that is in Rome under the protection of his Holiness the Pope. In an effort to acknowledge all parties, I charge Father Williams to convey the cross at all speed to Rome under the protection of the Knights Hospitaller. Those chosen will be held personally responsible for its safe passage. Sir Khoury, do you accept this charge?’

  The Knight stepped forward and bowed his head.

  ‘We do, Sire.’

  ‘Father Williams, do you accept?’

  For a few seconds the Abbott paused and though he had an angry look upon his face, he knew he had no option. Finally he stepped forward.

  ‘I do, Sire.’

  ‘Good,’ said the Prince and turned to Garyn.

  ‘Garyn ap Thomas, your part in this whole affair gives me concern. You kept secrets from the church and deliberately avoided the involvement of those better than you. Your secrecy and stubbornness put many lives at risk and bearing in mind the enormity of the potential gains, you would have been better served involving the crown. However, your role cannot be ignored and without your stubbornness, the cross would still be in the hands of the infidels. You are accused of treachery by Sir John and ordinarily that alone would warrant redress but in recognition of your part in this, you will be released immediately without charge though banished from the Holy-land with immediate effect. Safe passage will be provided as far as Venice, from where you and the Monk will make your own way to England.’

  ‘What about my brother?’ asked Gary
n but the Monk dragged him back into the crowd.

  ‘Shut up,’ hissed Brother Martin, ‘he has not finished.’

  Longshanks turned to Sir John.

  ‘Sir Knight,’ he said, ‘your continued policing of the Holy-land does indeed deserve merit and you are commended for your relentless pursuit of the relic. As a reward you will be presented to the King on your return to England and suitable position found for your service. However, I find your accusations against the brother of Garyn ap Thomas unfounded and demand his immediate release from your gaol. In addition, in way of compensation and in recognition of their part in this, you will gift him and the Monk each a purse of silver from your own treasury equivalent to the weight of the cross. These monies to be repaid by the crown on your return to England.’

  Silence fell as Sir John faced the Prince, his face seething in anger. Despite the acknowledgement of his work and the promise of a place in court, everyone in the room knew he had just suffered a very public rebuke.

  ‘Sire,’ he said quietly,’ I pray permission to humbly protest and appeal the gift of silver. This boy and his brother are guilty of subversion and treachery. The only thing they both deserve is a noose around their necks.’

  ‘You forget yourself, Sir Knight,’ said Longshanks, ‘but in the circumstances I will overlook your impertinence.’ He turned to two of the armed men at the door. Guards, go to the Accursed tower and find the one called Geraint ap Thomas. Bring him here immediately.’ The two men ran from the room and Longshanks turned to face Sir John. You may stand down, Sir John.’

  ‘No, I will not,’ answered Sir John to a gasp from the room. ‘With respect, Sire, I am Castellan of Acre and have ruled in Henry’s name for three years. I am the senior King’s man in Palestine and as such demand respect. The chivalric code demands I have fair audience without redress and I challenge your decisions in the name of the King. I demand the cross remains here until we return to England and we can both stand before your father while I appeal my case.’

  Before Longshanks could answer a woman’s voice rung out across the room.

  ‘And what chivalric code is this, dear husband?’

  All eyes turned to see the dishevelled figure of Lady Jennifer of Orange walking across the hall floor. Her hair was a mess and tears ran down her face.

  ‘Lady Jennifer,’ gasped a voice, ‘we thought you were dead.’

  ‘I may as well have been,’ she said, looking to one side. ‘In the eyes of my husband I have been long dead and buried, much to his pleasure and dare I say, amusement. But I have returned and have charges of my own to press.’ She turned to face the Castellan again. ‘So I ask again,’ she said, ‘this chivalric code you preach. Is it the one that allows you to beat your wife until she bled as if wounded, or the one that tells you to steal a portion of all taxes collected for your own treasury? Is it the one that allows you to hang innocents, charged under falsified evidence so you can seize their holdings or the one that allows you to send stolen money home to buy lands in England to better your standing. Which code is it, dear husband for I am sure we all await your explanation.’

  ‘This is nonsense,’ shouted Sir John. ‘The Lady Jennifer is obviously suffering from illness of the mind and needs help. She has been in the hands of the Infidel this past year and has suffered greatly. Someone escort her back to her room.’

  Two of the ladies stepped forward but Jennifer pulled a knife from beneath her wrap.

  ‘Stay away from me,’ she shouted and turned to the Castellan again. ‘Yes I have been held captive,’ she said, ‘and suffered unspeakable horrors but who is responsible, Husband? Who sent me through Muslim lands with just a handful of mercenaries as protection? You knew we would be captured and I wager you thought I would die, but I didn’t.’ She stepped closer with the knife raised. ‘Death would have been a welcome relief from the hell they put me through but I resisted cutting my own wrists and do you know why? For a moment such as this. To see you shamed before your peers and bleed upon my blade.’

  Again she stepped forward but Sir John drew his sword and held it against her stomach.

  ‘Your mind is possessed, woman,’ he said, ‘and your words the product of witchcraft. Put down your knife or I will run you through right here.’

  ‘No,’ shouted a voice and another woman ran forward into the hall.

  ‘It’s Misha,’ gasped Garyn, ‘the slave girl.’

  ‘Hold your sword, Sire,’ shouted Misha, ‘I beseech thee. She is with child.’

  The crowd gasped again as the full implications sank in.

  ‘With child?’ sneered Sir John eventually, ‘so you are both a witch and an adulteress. Your fate is sealed, Harlot, the noose awaits.’

  ‘I am no adulteress,’ growled Jennifer.

  ‘Then who is the father,’ asked Sir John loudly, ‘for I have not set eye on your sour face for a year. Name the Sire of your bastard before these noble men, say his name so we can all know how low you will stoop.’

  Jennifer sneered.

  ‘You demand a name,’ she said, ‘but I cannot answer for I know not.’

  ‘So you have slept with more than one?’ asked Sir John triumphantly.

  ‘If you mean lay down with a man voluntarily then no, there has been none. If however you want the name of one who took me against my will then choose one from many for I lost count.’

  ‘You were ravished?’ demanded Longshanks loudly. ‘Name the knaves and they will pay the price this very day.’

  ‘They are not of Acre, Sire,’ said Jennifer, ‘for they ride their horses amongst the Halqas of Baibaars.’

  The crowd broke into angry shouting as realisation dawned.

  ‘Silence,’ shouted Longshanks and turned to the two people still staring at each other on either end of a sword.

  ‘Are you saying you carry a Mamluk child?’

  ‘I do,’ said Jennifer, ‘an innocent fathered by an infidel in a union of hatred.’

  ‘Then there is no hope for you,’ snarled Sir John, ‘and no place in this world for you or your heathen spawn.’ Without warning he stepped forward and ran his sword through her stomach, driving the thrust until the hilt rested against her body. Cries of no, and murder echoed around the room as Jennifer fell against Sir John, still impaled on his blade. Her eyes closed in pain and blood trickled from her mouth.

  ‘I hope you rot in hell,’ he snarled into her ear.

  ‘I probably will, dear husband,’ she said weakly, ‘but we are wed and I belong at your side.’ With the last of her strength she lifted her own blade and thrust it up through his stomach into his heart. ‘We will go there together.’

  Within seconds both fell to the ground in a pool of blood and the hall erupted into a frenzy.

  ‘Clear the hall,’ shouted Longshanks, ‘summon the apothecaries.’

  The soldiers ushered the commoners out but as soon as they were clear, the two guards sent to bring Garyn’s brother from the dungeon ran back into the hall.

  ‘Sire,’ shouted one. ‘The boy is not there.’

  ‘He has to be,’ said Longshanks, ‘all prisoners are kept in the Accursed tower. Search again.’

  ‘Sire, we were told by the guards he was taken many weeks ago and nobody knows where.’

  Silence fell as the words sunk in. Garyn pulled himself from the Monk’s grip and ran forward to where the priests were administering the last rites to the Castellan and his wife. He pushed one of the priest’s out of the way and grabbed the Knight by the shoulders.

  ‘Where is he?’ he shouted, ‘what have you done with him?’

  The Knight’ eyelids lifted weakly and looked at the boy.

  ‘Tell him,’ said Brother Martin, ‘let your last act be one of mercy and you may yet enter the Kingdom of the Lord.’

  ‘He is beyond even you, boy,’ whispered the Castellan, ‘he is with the devil himself.’

  The man died before Garyn’s eyes and the boy’s head sunk to his chest in defeat as he realised he would never
see his brother again.

  ----

  Half an hour later the hall had been cleared and the blood soaked up with sand before being swept away. Brother Martin sat alongside Garyn at a table while Longshanks talked quietly at the far end of the hall, discussing the day’s extraordinary events. Garyn’s head was down and he cradled a tankard of warmed mead provided by the dead Castellan’s kitchens. Finally Garyn stood up and started to walk toward the Prince. Brother Martin grabbed his hand and pulled him back.

  ‘What do you think you are doing?’ he asked.

  ‘I want audience with Longshanks,’ said Garyn simply.

  ‘Garyn, you do not just walk up to the future King of England. We are only allowed to stay in here out of sympathy and will be thrown out soon enough.’

  ‘I know,’ said Garyn, ‘but I would have word.’ He pulled himself from the Monk’s grip and stepped forward again. Immediately two guards blocked his way.

  ‘Withdraw, boy,’ said one. ‘The day is done.’

  ‘I seek audience,’ said Garyn.

  ‘Not today,’ said the Guard.

  ‘Sire,’ shouted Garyn toward the Prince. ‘I seek audience. Please spare me a moment.’

  One of the guards grabbed him and dragged him toward the door but stopped as Longshanks’ voice echoed around the empty room.

  ‘Let him through.’

  The guard released his grip and Garyn approached the table.

  ‘That’s near enough, boy,’ said a Knight quietly. ‘State your case.’

  ‘Sire,’ said Garyn. ‘You granted me the life of my brother in your judgement. It would seem he is now dead so I seek a different favour in his stead.’

  ‘There is no bargaining to be done here, boy,’ said Longshanks. ‘The judgement was made fairly. The fact that your brother is dead is no fault of mine.’

  ‘I know, Sire but I don’t plead for gold or lands, all I ask is the life of another who still lays in the Accursed tower.’

  ‘And who would this man be?’

  ‘A comrade who also suffered the injustice of Sir John’s rule.’

  ‘Be careful what you say, Boy,’ said Longshanks, ‘for though the manner of his demise was unfortunate, the accusations made by the Castellan’s wife were never proven nor ever will be. As far as we are concerned, he died a valued comrade and true Knight of Henry.’