Medieval II - In Shadows of Kings

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ laughed Garyn and watched her go back into the house to get ready. For a few moments he reflected on his life so far and realized that at last, he was getting over the death of his family in the fire and though he had suffered badly in the holy-land, that was now behind him and his life was getting back to normal. He was with the woman he loved, his brother was safe and the family forge where he intended to make his living, was almost repaired. Life was good and all he could see before him was a future as a blacksmith surrounded by strong sons. Little did he know that fate was about to intervene and an old adversary would force him into an uncertain future he could never have imagined in a thousand lifetimes.

  ----

  Several hours later, Garyn and Elspeth delivered their cargo of arrows to the manor but as they drove the cart up to the courtyard, they could see a crowd gathered before the doors, many holding their heads in their hands as wails of anguish filled the air.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ gasped Elspeth, ‘what’s happened?’

  ‘I’ll find out,’ said Garyn and leapt from the cart to approach the crowd.

  ‘Garyn,’ called a voice and he turned to see his brother running toward him.

  ‘Geraint, what’s happening?’ he asked, ‘has there been an accident?’

  ‘Worse,’ said Geraint. ‘There is news about Cadwallader, he has fallen whilst serving Longshanks.’

  Garyn’s face fell for he knew the man well, having travelled to the holy-land with him a few years earlier and though he had been a hard master, he had also been very fair.

  ‘Is he badly injured?’ he asked, dreading the response.

  ‘He is dead,’ said Geraint. ‘A messenger arrived this very morn with the terrible news. The letter is from Longshanks himself and in it he says Cadwallader fell in a skirmish on the outskirts of Acre many months ago. He instructs the family to make ready a tomb, for his body is being returned for burial.’

  Garyn looked around the gathered people.

  ‘Are all these his workers?’

  ‘They are?’ said Geraint.

  ‘There is much grief, they must have thought a lot of him.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Geraint, ‘but they also grieve for the certainty that is now lost. With Cadwallader, they knew what to expect. He was hard but fair and everyone knew their place. His wife is ill and as he has no sons, his land falls to his eldest daughter. Already there is talk that Cadwallader’s brother will arrange for her to be married to an English noble with a view to securing peace on the borders of his own lands. If this happens, the estate will be sold off to the highest bidder or gifted to a Longshanks loyalist.’

  ‘It is a sad day,’ said Garyn eventually, ‘but no amount of fretting will change what has happened. All we can do is keep working and carve out our place amongst the people of the village.’ He turned to face his brother. ‘Geraint, this news has dragged us down but we need to focus on us. You are getting stronger by the day and now the forge is almost done, you can come home with us, back to the place where we grew up together.’

  ‘I don’t know, Garyn,’ said Geraint. ‘A lot has happened since I last set foot in that place and I’m not sure I can face the memories.’

  ‘The only memories will be happy ones,’ said Garyn. ‘Besides, you said yourself there is no way of knowing what will happen to this place now Cadwallader is dead. Many of these people have no other option but to accept whatever fate throws at them but you have a choice. Come home with me and Elspeth. Make your place at our side and help me rebuild that which was lost. There is room enough for you and Misha and you can stay as long as you want. It is as much your place as mine.’

  Geraint thought for a while as he watched Cadwallader’s tearful daughters come out to calm the people.

  ‘We will come,’ he said at last, ‘but only until I know my own mind. I feel there is no place for me in farming or indeed at the forge but for now, I will need to earn our bread.’

  Garyn smiled and walked back to the wagon to share the news with Elspeth while Geraint went in search of Misha. Misha was a member of the Muslim Hashashin people who had helped him in the holy-land. For that she had been condemned and had fled for her life, joining the brothers on the journey back to England and nursing Geraint back to health in the process. Both had been taken in by Cadwallader’s family as farm workers when they returned as recognition of Geraint’s service to the family but this news cast doubt upon their future.

  Garyn and Elspeth paid their respects to the family and delivered the arrows to the overseer of the manor. Geraint and Misha finally reappeared and by the time nightfall came they were all back at the forge with what meagre possessions Geraint and Misha owned. Elspeth helped Misha make up a temporary bed in the driest corner of the building.

  ‘It seems the lure of the tavern was too much for Tom Thatcher,’ said Garyn. ‘He didn’t turn up today.’

  ‘It matters not,’ said Geraint. ‘Now I am here perhaps we can finish it together.’

  ‘That would be good,’ said Garyn. ‘I have to get Elspeth home. Will you be all right here tonight?’

  ‘It is more comfortable than the stable he has been sleeping in,’ said Misha. ‘We will be fine.’

  ‘Until the morrow then,’ said Garyn and left the unlikely pair alone in the part finished forge with only a candle for company. As they rode back to the village and the house of the Fletcher, they talked quietly of the day’s events and the implications they may have.

  ‘If he really is dead,’ said Elspeth, ‘what will become of his men who are still out there?’

  ‘Some will return,’ said Garyn, ‘but some will stay and join the ranks of a new master. I expect many will come under the sway of Longshanks himself.’

  ‘But they are Welshmen,’ she said. ‘Surely they would balk at serving an English Prince.’

  ‘There are no such divisions on crusade,’ said Garyn, ‘and the petty arguments of back home are for politicians not brothers in arms, besides, Edward is no longer a Prince, he is now the King of England and the treaty between Llewellyn and the crown, no matter how precarious means their loyalty falls under his banner.’

  ‘You say his body will be returned for burial but surely it will rot long before it reaches the manor?’

  ‘His corpse will be disembowelled and his bones stripped of all flesh within days of his death,’ explained Garyn. ‘All soft tissue will be burned or buried but his bones will be packed in salt and returned home to be buried in the land of his birth.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ said Elspeth.

  ‘Yet preferable than being buried in a land which does not share our beliefs. How could a soul rest in un-consecrated ground?’

  ‘I suppose your right,’ she sighed, ‘but it is so sad.’

  ‘Shed no tears, Elspeth,’ said Garyn, ‘for it is no sadder than any other man who falls in service away from home. Unless they have enough coin saved for their return, many ordinary men are doomed to have their bodies burned where they fall or even left to become carrion for the buzzards. Cadwallader is lucky to have been a man of privilege for at least his family can tend his grave.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Elspeth. ‘What do you think will happen now?’

  ‘There is no way of telling but one thing is sure, it won’t be long before there is a new Lord of the manor in place. Some things never change, Elspeth and though names may be different, fealty will still be expected by whosoever takes over Cadwallader’s mantle. All we can do is continue what we do and let the world take care of itself. More than that is beyond us and it is not worth worrying about that we cannot influence.’

  ----

  For the next few weeks they all worked hard finishing the forge. Tom Thatcher eventually turned up and the roof was finished in plenty of time for the winter. Shutters were added and all the walls scrubbed to remove any signs of the blaze. While the two women plugged any gaps in the walls with a mixture of horsehair and clay to block out any drafts, Garyn and Geraint cut down an
aged Oak in the nearby forest and though the whole tree would be used to fuel the fires for much of the winter, the main reason was to obtain a base for an anvil.

  Eventually they cut a piece of the lower trunk the height of a man’s waist and dragged it back to the house, placing it on the flat edge like a low table near to the actual forge itself. Geraint removed the bark and fashioned a skirt of Iron to enclose the trunk, before casting a solid block of steel two feet long by one foot wide and as thick as his fist. This was the working surface and he cut an inch deep trench into the oaken surface to hold the steel slab in place.

  With the anvil done, they spent the last of the money on provisions for the winter and told the merchants that they were in the market for iron ore. Finally they went from house to house in all the local villages passing word that the forge was back up and running.

  Business was slow but with the dried stores they had bought and the occasional job received from passers-by, they managed to get through the mild winter without too much trouble. By day the young men worked the forge or hunted for whatever they could find in the forests, while the women baked bread or prepared potage for their meals. All four shared the forge together and formed private sleeping areas separated by willow screens. The worst of the cold was held at bay by the thick stone walls and the embers of the overnight fires but even then the warmest place during the hours of darkness was beneath the heavy woollen bed covers. The nights were long and the two young men spent many hours sat at the table talking across a solitary candle as they recalled the past and discussed the future.

  Occasionally Geraint went into the tavern in the village, often not returning until the dawn and when the few coins he may have saved ran out, he had his ale bought by those who wanted to hear tales from the crusades. Often Garyn worried for him but it seemed his brother still suffered from nightmares and often needed the company of men of a certain ilk, fellow soldiers who had suffered as had he. The bond made by such men was unbreakable and Geraint knew any attempt at reining him in would be futile. One morning he came back from such a trip and Garyn came out to find him dipping his head in the horse trough.

  Geraint threw back his head and tied his wet hair back with a leather thong before turning to see his brother staring at him.

  ‘Garyn,’ he said. ‘I am sorry I am late but I have news.’

  ‘Geraint, we have a commission to deliver to the mill,’ said Garyn. ‘It has to be there by noon and it isn’t even loaded yet.’

  ‘I know,’ said Geraint, ‘but the tavern was awash with tales of a coming venture. We need to talk.’

  ‘There will be time to talk later. First we need to get these chains delivered. I’ll get the horse harnessed, you get yourself some food.’

  ‘But Garyn…’

  ‘Later,’ snapped Garyn and left his brother standing outside the forge while he went to the shed where they kept the horses. He had intended to ride alongside his brother on the cart but was so angry at Geraint’s lateness, he decided to ride Silverlight instead, the charger he had brought back from the holy-land.

  An hour later they were on their way and while Geraint drove the cart, Garyn rode on in front happy to keep his distance. Eventually they delivered the chains and were on the way back when they pulled up at a crossroads to eat some food.

  Garyn unwrapped some salted cheese from his pack and breaking it in half, shared it with his brother. The two young men ate hungrily before Garyn broke the awkward silence.

  ‘Misha was worried about you last night. She wanted to come and find you.’

  ‘I know,’ said Geraint, breaking some bread. ‘I don’t mean to hurt her, it’s just that sometimes I need to share ale with others who have known the burden.’

  ‘You can talk with me,’ said Garyn.

  Geraint looked over and smiled.

  ‘Garyn, you are my brother and I love you dearly but your time in Acre bore no resemblance to the life of a paid man in the King’s army.’

  ‘I served as a lancer while travelling through France,’ said Garyn.

  ‘It’s not the same,’ said Geraint. ‘When you reached Acre you were released from service and never saw battle.’

  ‘You know why that was,’ said Garyn, ‘but those months in the saddle were no less service.’

  ‘I do not mean to diminish your time,’ said Geraint, ‘but as paid men we lived alongside each other, trained together and fought for the man alongside us as brother. Many I called friend have been long buried and those who still live, serve in Palestine. But location is just a place, for all men at arms carry the same burden and when I meet someone who has taken the King’s coin, there is a need to share the tales. I am not the only one to feel the need, many feel the same.’

  ‘What is it you miss so much?’ asked Garyn quietly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Geraint. ‘It was hard, we were often cold and hungry and men fell all around us. Yet there is something about that life that aches when it is absent. Perhaps it is the not knowing how long you have left, but whatever it is, I have a gnawing hunger to feel the camaraderie again.’

  ‘You intend re-enlisting?’ asked Garyn quietly.

  ‘I do,’ said Geraint. ‘I am grateful for what you did, brother but now the forge is finished, I see no future for us there. I have to move on.’

  ‘But where?’ asked Garyn. ‘Even you have said the holy-land is all but lost. Why go out there to die when there is so much here?’

  ‘That’s just it,’ said Geraint. ‘I admit I considered taking the cross again but last night I met someone who has offered me a new life. One which meets the burning ache inside, yet gives a new purpose.’

  ‘And who is this man?’

  ‘He didn’t say his name, only that he was enlisting experienced men at arms for a voyage across the sea.’

  ‘To where?’

  ‘He would not say more except the ships would sail from Caerleon six weeks from now.’

  ‘Does that not cause concern in your mind?’

  ‘No. The thing is, I have an opportunity to do something for myself, a chance to make my own fortune. He said that they are going to seek a great treasure and those who return will do so as wealthy men with enough gold to buy their own land.’

  ‘You already have land, Geraint. Our father bought the land upon which the forge is built.’

  ‘Yes but it is not mine.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ snapped Garyn. ‘It belongs to both of us and we can work it together.’

  ‘It’s not the same,’ said Geraint. ‘I want something I have earned by my own hand, not fallen at my feet due to the murder of my father.’

  ‘He would have wanted it so.’

  ‘It matters not. I will never be at peace until I have earned my place.’

  ‘And what about Misha?’

  ‘I am doing this for her as well as me. She will understand.’

  A silence fell between them until Garyn spoke quietly.

  ‘Your will is set?’

  ‘It is, brother. I have to do this.’

  ‘How long will you be gone?’

  ‘Two years, no more.’

  ‘I cannot come to your aid if your fate is ill, Geraint, ‘my place is here at Elspeth’s side.’

  ‘I understand, Garyn,’ said Geraint, ’and nor would I expect you to. If my fate is to fall in a foreign land then so be it. All I ask is that you look after Misha and should opportunity arise, help her with passage back to her home.’

  ‘Let us pray that day will never come,’ said Garyn.

  The two young men stared at each other in silence.

  ‘Then we are agreed?’ asked Geraint eventually.

  ‘It gives me no happiness, Geraint but a blind man could see you are not happy. I will not stand in your way.’

  ----

  Chapter Four

  The Port of Caerleon

  1276

  Geraint sat alongside Tom Thatcher as he drove the cart along the busy wharf on the edge of the tidal river. Mi
sha sat in the back alongside a barrel of dried fruit and a sack of salted meat, provisions they had accumulated for Geraint’s journey.

  The river water was high and amongst the myriad of smaller trading vessels, four huge ships lay tied to metal rings embedded into the ground of the dock. Each ship had two masts situated equidistant along the deck and on each end, a small castellated tower had been incorporated into the design. Along the edge he could see the row of openings for oars and toward the rear, a mini drawbridge had been lowered from the side to allow the loading of stores and horses straight into the holds.

  ‘Look at that,’ said Tom Thatcher, reining in the horse. ‘I have never seen such a thing. Surely those doors will leak when at sea and send them to the bottom as sure as lead.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said a voice, ‘they will be nailed shut and re-caulked with pitch before they set sail. They won’t open again until they reach landfall.’

  Geraint and Tom looked at the man who had appeared alongside the cart with a ledger of names.

  ‘And where would that be?’ asked Geraint.

  ‘Who’s asking?’ said the man.

  ‘My name is Geraint ap Thomas and I have enlisted on one of these Cogs though I know not which one.’

  The man checked the list and nodded.

  ‘From Brycheniog?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you are expected.’ said the man, ‘and are designated as deckhand to the Coronet, the flagship of this fleet. I am the harbour master. Your journey is to the east but I know not where for it is a journey of exploration. Your ship’s master will no doubt know more but that is a task for him, not me. Now, unload your cart over for I need to record your goods for taxation.’

  Geraint, Misha and Tom unloaded the cart and watched as a team of workers carried the goods onto the ships. Eventually a man approached and Geraint recognized him from the tavern weeks earlier. All those on the dock gathered around him as he called their names and allocated them a ship.

  ‘I see many faces I recognize,’ said the man, ‘as well as some new to me. Those who will travel on this voyage do so of their own free will, and for the duration, will be subject to the captain’s justice without question. If you are not willing to heed this proclamation, even unto death, then return from whence you came now. Those who still seek the riches this quest promises, then step forward and make your mark.’