by Kevin Ashman
‘Derwyn, come here.’
The man crouched and ran the several paces between them. Garyn was kneeling upright and before him was a cleared piece of grass revealing a stone slab.
‘Is this it?’ asked Derwyn. As he spoke, a cloud passed from before the moon and in the light he could see the engraved image of an eagle with outspread wings grasping a thunderbolt. Garyn smiled up at his friend.
‘I think it is,’ he said, ‘help me remove the spoil from around the edges.’
The two men scraped away the dirt in the joints. The attention it had received from the mason a few years earlier meant it came away easily and soon there was a clear gap around edge. Garyn inserted his dagger and slowly prized up one side.
‘Derwyn,’ he said, ‘use your knife to aid me, I fear mine may break.’
The two men worked together and moments later the edge of the small slab raised just enough for Derwyn to get his fingers underneath. He tilted the slab upward and let it drop to the grass beyond, revealing a dark foreboding hole leading down into the bowels of the earth. Derwyn made the sign of the cross upon his chest.
‘I suppose we are going down there,’ he said, ‘into a dead man’s tomb.’
‘You stay here if you like,’ said Garyn, undoing his sword belt, ‘I will descend alone. Just be ready to pull me out when I call.’
Derwyn nodded and retrieved some tinder he had kept dry beneath his gambeson.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘when you are within, strike a flame to light your way.’
Garyn took the tinder and dangled his feet over the edge.
‘I hope this is indeed a tomb and not a well,’ said Derwyn.
Garyn grimaced at the thought.
‘Only one way to find out,’ he said and lowered himself over the edge. For a few seconds he hung there but after a deep breath, he let go and dropped into the space below.
‘Garyn,’ whispered Derwyn, ‘are you ok?’
‘I’m fine,’ came the hollow reply, ‘the floor was just below my feet.’
‘Hurry up and find the sword,’ said Derwyn, ‘I’m sure I can hear the spirits of Romans all around me.’
Down in the tomb Garyn smiled at the superstition of his friend but took out his flint and set about striking a light. Moments later he had a flame and quickly retrieved a candle from his tunic. When it was fully alight he stood up and held it high to see around the tomb.
The tomb was small and in the centre lay a stone sarcophagus. The casket was open and the lid lay discarded on the floor alongside it. Garyn took a deep breath and walked over to peer inside. The remains of a body lay within, the corpse secure within a richly decorated shroud bearing the emblem of a Roman eagle. For a moment Garyn stared at the body, his heart racing and though he was tempted to open the shroud, he could not bring himself to desecrate the man’s last veil of rest. He stepped back from the casket and held the candle high to find the sword but the walls were bare, the artefact was nowhere to be seen.
Garyn sat back against the wall and recalled the story Philippe had retold.
‘The sword was hanging above Macsen’s head,’ he had said but Garyn had examined the ceiling and there was no sign of any weapon or indeed fastenings from where it once hung. His heart sunk as he realised the tale must have been false and his journey had been in vain.
‘Garyn,’ hissed Derwyn from above, ‘do you have the sword?’
‘I do not,’ said Garyn, ‘and I fear it has been taken.’
‘By whom?’ asked Derwyn.
‘Either the mason or someone else has been here since,’ answered Garyn.
Silence fell until Derwyn’s voice whispered menacingly from above again.
‘Is the corpse still there?’
‘It is.’
‘Then I suggest you get out as quickly as you can.’
‘Why?’ asked Garyn, ‘the dead can’t hurt me.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Derwyn, ‘his ghost could be standing in a darkened corner as we speak, wielding his sword in vengeance.’
Garyn smiled at his friend’s vivid imagination.
‘I think not,’ said Garyn.
‘You don’t know that,’ said Derwyn, ‘this world is full of strange things. He may have heard you coming and reached for his sword to defend his resting place.’
Garyn laughed again.
‘Even if he did,’ he answered, looking up at the darkened ceiling, ‘he would never have reached it from his coffin…’ the sentence lay unfinished as Garyn’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in realisation.
‘Of course,’ he gasped, ‘the old man never said the sword was on the ceiling only that it lay above Macsen.’ He jumped up and walked over to the discarded sarcophagus lid.
‘Come on,’ he grunted to himself, ‘be there, I pray.’
With a groan of effort he overturned the lid exposing the underside. Garyn reached for the candle and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw a linen wrapped bundle secured to metal rings in the stone surface. The sword had been fastened to the inside of the sarcophagus lid and had been overlooked by whoever had robbed the tomb.
‘Derwyn, you beauty,’ he shouted.
‘What have I done?’ came the reply from above.
‘You told me where lay the sword.’
‘I did?’ asked Derwyn in confusion.
‘You did and our quest has not been in vain. Pass down my blade.’
Garyn’s sword belt thudded to the tomb floor and Garyn removed his weapon from the sheath before striking at the chains holding the package to the stone lid. Within seconds they fell apart and Garyn picked up the bundle.
‘Help me up,’ he said and reached up to grasp Derwyn’s outstretched arm. Minutes later both men walked quickly back to the place they had left the horses.
‘Will you not open it?’ asked Derwyn, ‘it may not be that which we seek.’
‘It has to be,’ said Garyn, ‘and besides, there was nothing else there. If this is not the sword then our quest is over.’
‘At least put my mind out of its misery,’ said Derwyn, ‘I would see this famed sword that holds a country’s liberty to ransom.’
‘Not here, Derwyn, as we know the land is alive with men eager to use their sword arm. We have come too far to have it snatched away this late in the game so when we are assured of safety, then and only then will we gaze upon what we have obtained.’
----
An hour later, both men were secreted deep in a nearby forest and had erected a tent against the changeable weather. Derwyn lit a candle and at last, they both gazed at the linen package between them.
‘Here goes,’ said Garyn and gently cut away the bindings with his knife. Within seconds, the rotting fabric fell away and Garyn gently pulled it back to reveal the prize within. Both men stared in silence until finally, Derwyn spoke.
‘Is that it?’ he asked in disgust.
Garyn stared at the weapon before him. It was indeed a sword but the condition left a lot to be desired. The handle had come away from the tang and the blade was thick with rust.
‘What did you expect?’ asked Garyn, barely hiding his own disappointment.
‘I expected a sword of an Emperor,’ spat Derwyn, ‘perhaps a golden blade and a jewel encrusted handle. Surely an Emperor would demand such things for his funeral?’
‘I expect there were jewels and gold aplenty in the tomb,’ said Garyn, ‘but don’t forget, the mason got there first. Macsen was reputed to be a fearful fighter as well as an Emperor and no doubt this sword was his favoured weapon. It has lain in the tomb for almost a thousand years and time has taken its toll.’
‘Still,’ said Derwyn, ‘how are we supposed to unite a nation behind a lump of rust?’
‘It is the idea behind the sword, not the blade itself,’ said Garyn, ‘but I understand your worry. Many men wait to see the sword revealed before committing to the cause so perhaps this may not be the right path.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The people
may lose heart if they saw the sword like this, but only we know the poor condition and I’m sure a good sword smith can get it back to its former glory. Whatever we present to Madog will be welcomed as the true Macsen Sword and the people can embrace the tale as true.’
Derwyn looked at his comrade in the gloom.
‘You would present a false sword?’
‘No, not a false sword but a renewed one. We could have the blade melted down and re-forged but add in anything extra to reform it to its former glory. The original will still be there but in a form that the people expect.’
‘What about the handle?’
Garyn picked away at the splintered wood.
‘There seems to be some left of a hard nature. A new handle can be easily carved and what is left of this could be cut away and sunk in as an inlay. At least that way the spirit of Macsen is retained and the uprising gets its focal point.’
‘We could add some jewels,’ said Derwyn.
‘I think you are now pushing the idea too far,’ said Garyn. ‘I am happy to refresh the memory of Macsen, but draw back from making it a tale of frivolity.’
‘A point well made,’ said Derwyn, ‘and I agree. If we can find a sword smith, the blade can be renewed in a matter of days. By then, Madog will either have taken Caernarfon and the presentation will be in a timely manner or he will have failed and the sword will be of little consequence.’
‘Then it is agreed,’ said Garyn. ‘On the morrow we will ride south and find a village with a sword smith. When the task is done, we will return and find a way to reach Madog without having our necks stretched. Now we should get some sleep, this forest is dense enough to keep us safe and I expect no trouble to come this way.’
‘I will check the horses,’ said Derwyn, ‘and then we can rest. ‘He got to his feet and crouched as he walked to the tent flaps but as he stepped outside, he gave a cry of pain as a spear head burst through his spine and he fell back into the tent, shaking uncontrollably as his dying body lost control of his functions.
----
‘Derwyn,’ shouted Garyn and reached over to his friend but it was too late, Derwyn was dead. Garyn reached for his sword and crouched low in the tent, not sure what to do. Before he could decide a voice called out.
‘Don’t be stupid, Welshman,’ said the voice, ‘you are surrounded by armed men. Throw out your sword and surrender yourself.’
‘Never,’ snarled Garyn looking around for an escape route, ‘I would die first.’
‘That may well be necessary,’ said the voice, ‘but I sincerely hope not. I have a proposition for you.’
‘What trickery is this?’ asked Garyn, ‘you just want me out there without contest.’
‘We can kill you where you stand,’ said the voice, ‘or indeed, fire the tent and listen to you burn but that is not what I want. Come out of your own free will and you have my word, no harm will befall you. Indeed, once you have heard my proposition, if you do not agree then you are free to leave unharmed, complete with that fascinating trinket you found in the tomb of Macsen.’
‘You know about that?’ asked Garyn.
‘We heard every word,’ said the voice, ‘but I digress, the offer is an honourable one and if you decline, you are free to leave.’
Garyn paused but knew he was trapped. There was nothing he could do. He glanced down at the corpse of Derwyn and whispered something to him.
‘I’m sorry, friend but I swear you will be avenged.’
He walked toward the tent flap and called outside.
‘So be it, stranger,’ he said, ‘hold your spears, I am coming out.’ He threw his sword before him and ducked under the opening flap. No sooner had he stood up than a man grabbed him from behind and he felt a blade against his throat. Garyn realised there were only two men there but he was already disadvantaged and waited for the slice that would end his life.
‘Well, well,’ said the same voice from the darkness, ‘we meet again, Garyn Ap Thomas, it has been a long time.’ A man stepped out of the shadows and Garyn squinted in the moonlight, his memory struggling to recall the face.
‘I know you,’ he said at last, ‘you are the English knight who sent me to the stocks all those years ago, a deed ultimately responsible for leading me into the life of an outlaw.’
‘Indeed I am,’ said the man, ‘and in case your memory fails you, let me re-introduce myself. My name is Gerald of Essex and I am now the Sheriff of Brycheniog, amongst other things.’ His smile faded and he stepped closer to Garyn, his voice lowering menacingly. ‘Our mutual friend sends his regards.’
Garyn stared with hatred at the man who had played a large part in ruining his family.
‘If you speak of the Abbot, I had hoped he was rotting in hell by now.’
‘Indeed it is he of whom I speak,’ said Gerald, ‘and truth be told, his health is indeed a worry, however, his heart still beats, his wealth is greater than ever and men still suffer from his, shall we say, unique way of doing business.’
‘You waste your words on me,’ said Garyn, for I think no more of him. I hope he dies screaming in pain as soon as possible.’
‘I think you may retract that hope, ‘said Gerald, ‘for I have a message from him, especially for you.’
‘Why would I want to hear anything he has to say unless it is a confession returning my lands to me?’
‘Alas, it is not that,’ said Gerald with a sickly smile, ‘it is however something you hold just as dear to your heart.’
‘Where is the message?’ asked Garyn.
‘I burned it,’ said Gerald, ‘for I couldn’t risk being caught with such a document. However, I took the liberty of reading the contents. So, do you want to hear it?’
‘Spit it out, Gerald,’ said Garyn, ‘though I imagine nothing that snake has to say interests me.’
‘Perhaps not, but what if I was to say a second person also sent their regards, someone called Elspeth Fletcher?’
Garyn stopped struggling and stared at the English Knight in astonishment.
‘Release him,’ said Gerald and the pressure around Garyn’s throat eased. Garyn shook himself free and stood before the knight.
‘I knew a girl once with that name,’ said Garyn, ‘what of her?’
‘Don’t play games with me, Garyn,’ said Gerald, ‘I know you were both wed and if you hadn’t run from the stocks would probably be still with her.’
‘I ran to protect her,’ snarled Garyn. ‘Your henchmen had targeted me for murder and if I had resisted, she and her family would have joined me on the gallows.’
‘An interesting perspective,’ said Gerald, ‘but let’s move on. The fact is that Father Williams has incarcerated Elspeth Williams and her son in a cell of Brecon Castle. Fret not, she is well cared for but her fate is in your hands.’
‘Why has he imprisoned her?’ asked Garyn, ‘what has she done?’
‘Absolutely nothing,’ said Gerald, ‘in fact after you left she became a perfect citizen. Oh she re-married and had a son but as far as discretions are concerned, she has lived a quiet life.’
‘You are making no sense,’ said Garyn, ‘get to the point.’
‘It is really very simple, Garyn. Father Williams yearns to see your ugly face once more. I’m sure you won’t mind me being blunt for it is obvious he wants to kill you but that is not my concern, my role is to return you to him before he dies.’
‘And why would I do that?’
‘Because if you don’t, Elspeth Fletcher will be strangled on the day of the Abbot’s death.’
Garyn stared at the Knight, his mind racing. He had once loved Elspeth with all his heart but that had been a lifetime ago.
‘And if I return?’
‘She and her son will be released immediately.’
Garyn thought furiously. His conscience demanded he return at once and free the woman he once loved but he also knew that with the Liberty Sword, the very freedom of Wales could lay in his hands.
‘Your hesitation
is interesting,’ said Gerald, ‘but unfortunately time is of the essence and I have to rush you.’
‘My life has not been there for many years,’ said Garyn, ‘and I have not set eyes on my birth town since the day I left. My path lies elsewhere and if you kill me here, then so be it but I will not give the Abbot the satisfaction of seeing me die.’
‘You would abandon the woman?’
‘I don’t believe she has been imprisoned,’ said Garyn, ‘you could be lying.’
‘Indeed I could,’ said Gerald, ‘but let me make this easier for you. After you left, Elspeth Fletcher re married a barrel maker from the village. He was not much of a catch and indeed, a bit of a drunkard but your ex-wife accepted his proposal with almost indecent urgency and they have been married ever since.’
‘Elspeth was a vision of beauty,’ said Garyn, ‘and of strong character. She could have had any man and would only accept the best.’
‘Under normal circumstances, perhaps,’ said Gerald, ‘and indeed there were better men available,’ he paused before delivering the line he knew would entrap Garyn as sure as a fish on a hook, ‘but the thing is, Garyn Ap Thomas, not many men would wed a woman already pregnant with another man’s son.’
----
Garyn stared at the English Knight for an age as the realisation sunk in. The man in front of him had sent him to the stocks for publicly challenging his authority. That in itself would not have been too bad, but when Garyn found out he was to have been murdered in the stocks at the behest of the Abbot, he had no choice but to escape and face life as an outlaw. Elspeth’s father had begged him to never return for if the girl had been labelled as an accomplice she could have lost her life in his place. Garyn had agreed to run and never return even though his heart would surely break but if he had even suspected Elspeth was with child, he would have stayed and taken his chances.
‘You are lying,’ he said, ‘Elspeth was not carrying a baby.’
‘I can assure you she was,’ said Gerald, ‘and subsequently gave birth to a strong boy child she called Thomas.’
