by Kevin Ashman
‘I desecrated the one true cross,’ said Garyn. ‘While I was in my cell in the headquarters of the Hospitallers in Acre, I tore apart the artefact and removed the sliver of wood that once touched Christ’s bloody flesh.’
Sheriff Roberts stared in astonishment and stayed silent for a while before finding the right words.
‘I did not know what to expect, Garyn but I did not expect that. Are you certain?’
‘As certain as I sit here.’
‘If this is true, what did you do with it?’
‘I hid it about my person and replaced it with a piece of wood from a cheap stool.’
‘But why?’
‘I was sick of the pain and suffering such false imagery could cause and thought that if I removed the holy fragment, then it’s draw would diminish and men could live in peace, a foolish ideal in the circumstances.’
‘And what did you do with the real fragment?’ asked the Sheriff.
Garyn paused before answering.
‘I placed it in the dying hands of a great man before he went to his grave.’
‘And you saw him buried?’
‘I did.’
‘So you are sure the fragment lies with him?’
‘I dug his grave with my own hands,’ said Garyn.
‘But in the abbey I heard you say the fragment was real, if that is so, how can it be in two places at one time.’
‘It can’t,’ said Garyn, ‘and that is what is so confusing.’
‘Who else knows of this?’ asked Roberts.
‘Only one other,’ said Garyn, ‘one whom I once called friend.’
----
In the abbey at Conwy, Father Carter shared warmed wine with four men in his rooms. They had been there all day and one of the men paced back and forth nervously.
‘We should go and get him,’ snapped the nervous man, ‘after all this time our quarry is within touching distance and we wait like frightened lambs.’
‘Be patient, Buckler,’ said Brother Maynard, ‘we have not come this far to fall at the final hurdle. Let the law take its course and we can take him back alive.’
‘Gerald will accept his head as evidence,’ said Buckler, ‘why wait for someone else to make a decision? We can get in there, kill him and be back on the road south within hours.’
‘Alive he is worth twice as much,’ said Sir Gibson, ‘and besides, I will not be party to the murder of a man without trial. Curb your impatience, Buckler, a few more hours matters not.’
The Abbot spoke up, interrupting the conversation.
‘What I don’t understand,’ he said, ‘is what act can be so vile that Sir Gerald demands this boy should die?’
‘It matters not, Father,’ said Sir Gibson, ‘just be comfortable in the knowledge he is a brigand and as such lies outside of the law. When the Sheriff hands him over, he will be returned to justice in Brycheniog.’
‘I just think we should give him the chance to explain his story,’ said the Abbot. ‘After all, he saved an innocent’s life just days ago and as such, may deserve a little mercy himself.’
‘We have been on the road for over a year,’ said Buckler, ‘and the only mercy he can expect from me is a quick death.’ The Abbot was about to argue but the sound of door slamming made them all look at each other.
‘What’s that?’ asked Dafydd who up till now had remained quiet.
‘It is the main door of the abbey,’ said the Abbot, ‘it seems we have company.’
‘About time,’ said Buckler, ‘let’s get this over with.’
The five men walked out into the main hall and stopped before the altar. At the far end, they could see the Sheriff of Conwy and Garyn walking down the aisle toward them. Nobody spoke but as they grew closer, Garyn’s eyes locked on those of Dafydd, the friend he had rode alongside on his journey to Acre many years previously. Finally they all stood opposite each other and waited in the silence.
‘Sheriff Roberts,’ said the Abbot, ‘thank you for coming. I am sure we can resolve this sorry state of affairs in an amicable manner.’
‘Forget the meaningless talk,’ demanded Buckler, ‘hand him over.’
‘Buckler, hold your tongue,’ said Sir Gibson, ‘I am in charge here and this will be done in the proper manner.’ He turned to face the Sheriff and Garyn. ‘Sheriff,’ he said, ‘I have here a communique authorising the release of this criminal into my custody. On behalf of Sir Gerald of Essex, I am grateful to you for doing your duty and I will ensure suitable reward is sent back as soon as we return.’
‘Sire,’ said the Sheriff, ‘I understand you are keen to carry out your task but I question your authority here and would seek more information from the Abbot.’
‘And why would you do that?’
‘Because all may not be as it seems and there is a possibility this man is innocent of all charges.’
‘Horse shit,’ shouted Buckler. ‘The man is as guilty as sin itself and you have no right to challenge our authority. We demand you hand him over immediately or face the consequences.’
Sir Gibson grabbed the arm of Buckler as he reached for his sword.
‘Be still,’ he said, ‘the man has asked for further evidence and there is always merit in such an action.’ He turned to face the Sheriff. ‘We would not see an innocent man die, Sir so what is it you need to know?’
‘I would question the honour of Father Williams of Brycheniog abbey,’ said Roberts.
‘What has he got to do with anything?’ asked Buckler.
‘He has everything to do with this,’ said Roberts, ‘and I hear worrying tales about his integrity not only as a man but as a servant of God.’
‘Sheriff,’ said Father Carter quietly, ‘you besmirch the name of a man I hold in great esteem. I refuse to accept he is of low morals and request you withdraw that statement.’
‘He is the sponsor of these men,’ shouted Garyn, ‘and has personally paid them to ensure my death.’
‘Sir Gerald of Essex paid our fee,’ said Sir Gibson, ‘not the Abbott of Brycheniog.’
‘Gerald may have passed you the purse,’ said Garyn, ‘but I am telling you, Father Williams is the paymaster.’
‘Young man,’ said Brother Maynard, speaking for the first time, ‘I can assure you that no servant of the cloth would pay for the death of another man, no matter how heavy the evidence to his guilt. That is the role of the law, who in this case is Sir Gerald of Essex.’
‘On the contrary, Brother,’ said Garyn,’ the man we speak is not only capable of doing such things but has already sent many to their graves.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘Is it?’ sneered Garyn, ‘he arranged the murder of my family as well as blackmailing me to steal an artefact from the holy-land so he could further his own name.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I don’t expect you do,’ said Garyn, ‘but take not my word for it,’ he turned to face Dafydd, ‘ask him!’
Everyone turned to Dafydd and could see the strain on the young man’s face.
‘What is he saying, Dafydd?’ asked Sir Gibson, ‘do you know anything of these accusations?’
‘I…’ started Dafydd.
‘Tell them the truth, Dafydd,’ said Garyn, ‘you know full well my story, tell them of my persecution from that so-called man of God.’
‘I’m not sure, Garyn,’ said Dafydd, ‘they were stories only. I have no way of knowing what was true and what was false.’
‘I told you the truth,’ hissed Garyn, ‘be true to yourself and speak honestly.’
Everyone stared at Dafydd as a bead of sweat ran down his brow.
‘Well?’ said Sir Gibson.
Dafydd looked around the group. Every pair of eyes was upon him until finally he took a deep breath and spoke out.
‘Like I said, I heard his stories only. I have no knowledge if they were true.’
‘Dafydd,’ shouted Garyn, ‘don’t do this.’
‘I am sorry,’ said Dafydd quietly, ‘but
I stand by my words.’
‘Well,’ said Sir Gibson, ‘It seems your accusations are no more than the ramblings of a condemned man. Sheriff, I hope your doubts have been answered and I ask again, will you release this man into our custody?’
Sheriff Roberts turned to face Garyn
‘I am sorry, Garyn,’ he said, ‘there is nothing more I can do.’
‘Wait,’ shouted Garyn and turned once more to face Dafydd.
‘You were once a man of honour, Dafydd. Where is that man who rode against the infidel?’
‘Garyn, I have never witnessed any matter to doubt Father Williams. If I did, then perhaps my actions would be different.’
‘Then ask yourself this. What about the cross?’
‘What cross?’
‘The one true cross, Dafydd. What part did Father Williams play in persuading you to dig up the poor corpse of Brother Martin?’
A gasp of horror escaped Brother Maynard and all heads turned to face Dafydd.
‘I know not of what you speak,’ said Dafydd.
‘Yes you do, Dafydd for apart from me, only one other man knew the location of his grave and that man is you. I accuse you of digging up the grave of a man of God and stealing the fragment of the cross.’
‘You speak false, Garyn, retract your accusation.’
‘I will not. You dug up the body on the orders of Father Williams and delivered the cross fragment to him.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Only you know the detail but I assume in return to finance the rest of your training.’
‘You have no proof of that.’
‘What did he tell you, Dafydd? Did he say it was for the glory of God? Did he say it would be displayed in the abbey at Brycheniog? What price is enough to rob the grave of a friend?’
‘I say again, Garyn,’ said Dafydd drawing his sword, ‘retract your accusation or I will demand redress.’
‘Garyn, your wild accusations help you not,’ said the Sheriff quietly. ‘Unless you have proof, let it go. The law must be allowed to take its course.’
‘I have proof,’ said Garyn, ‘and it lies in this very room. Look to the cross of gold upon the wall, Dafydd. What do you think lies within?’
Dafydd shook his head nervously but did not speak.
‘I’ll tell you what lies within, Dafydd, a piece of wood from Christ’s cross, the same wood that soaked up his blood in Calvary,’ he paused before adding, ‘and the same fragment that I placed in the hands of brother Martin before I buried him.’
‘That’s impossible…’ said Dafydd
‘You would think so, Dafydd but I have seen it with my own eyes and it still bears the marks of my knife where I prised it from its housing in that cell in Acre. It is exactly the same piece.’
‘This is going nowhere,’ said Sir Gibson, ‘you weave tales of trickery but all aimed at deceit. There is no purpose in pursuing this further.’
‘Then let me give you purpose, Sir Knight,’ said Garyn. ‘My life lies in the hands of four men sent on the whim of an evil man. To prove my case I accuse Father Williams of Brycheniog of paying this man to dig up the grave of Brother Martin to retrieve the fragment of the true cross for his own end. Once in his possession he aimed to sell it to the highest bidder and line his own coffers with the proceeds.’
‘That is a serious accusation, Garyn,’ said the Sheriff.
‘It is but I will add meat to the bones. I think that as he was known to have recently returned from the holy land, and professed to taking the cross to Rome he couldn’t then declare the artefact without casting suspicion on his own name. He had to conceal his new found bounty and seek an alternative method to realise its value. What better way than to conceal it within another golden cross and have it sold via a different route.’
‘Utter nonsense,’ said brother Maynard.
‘Is it? Ask Father Carter where he got the cross from.’
All heads turned to the Abbot.
‘Well?’ asked Garyn.
‘It is true we received it from Father Williams,’ he stuttered, ‘but it has been in their possession for many years.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Garyn.
‘His envoys told us so,’ said the Abbot and the room fell silent as he realised the weakness of the argument.
Garyn finally broke the silence.
‘The fragment within that cross is the same piece I brought back from the holy-land and the only way that can be is if it was stolen from a dead man’s grave. If Father Williams sent that cross to you, then he is an accomplice.’
Silence fell in the room again as the implications sunk in.
‘Show me,’ said Dafydd.
‘Show you what?’
‘Show me the fragment.’
‘Enough of this trickery,’ shouted Cobbler and before anyone could move, he drew his knife and lunged toward Garyn.
Garyn reacted slowly but Sheriff Roberts saw the move coming and hurled himself at the would-be assassin. Both men fell to the floor but before Garyn could help, Dafydd drew his sword and held it to Garyn’s throat.
‘Leave it, Garyn,’ he said, ‘this will play out as it will. Move and I will slice your throat from ear to ear.’
‘Why are you doing this, Dafydd?’ gasped Garyn, ‘We were comrades in arms.’
‘You know why,’ said Dafydd quietly, ‘my future has been snatched from me yet again. I have no sponsor and without Knighthood, I have nothing.’
‘Is this the course of a true Knight, Dafydd?’ asked Garyn. ‘Where is the honour in this?’
‘All I am doing is apprehending an outlaw,’ said Dafydd, ‘old friendships do not come into it.’
Behind them the two men fought on the cold slabs of the abbey but within moments Sheriff Roberts disarmed Cobbler and pinned him against a column.
‘How dare you try to kill a man in a place of worship,’ he hissed, ‘I will see you hang for this.’
‘Unhand him,’ said a voice, ‘I will decide who dies and who lives in this abbey.’
The Sheriff felt a cold blade on the back of his neck and turned slowly to see the Abbot bearing a blade.
‘Father Carter,’ gasped the Sheriff, ‘what is going on. What do you think you are doing?’
‘I am sorry, Sheriff,’ said the Abbot,’ this wasn’t supposed to happen but you leave me with no other choice.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The path of a Monk is a hard one, Sheriff and after a life of prayer, the nights are no less cold and life is no less short. I grow old, Sheriff and have doubted my faith for a long time. I would see my last few years lived in earthly comfort and the wealth promised by Father Williams would see me a rich man.’
‘You are in league with Father Williams,’ gasped Garyn, ‘I should have known.’
Buckler pulled free from the Sheriff’s grip and picked up his blade.
‘Enough talk,’ he said, ‘now they know the truth, they cannot be allowed to live. They have to be killed.’
‘Over my cold corpse,’ shouted Sir Gibson and drew his sword but it was hardly out of the scabbard before brother Maynard reached around from behind the Knight and dragged a blade across the old man’s throat.’
Sir Gibson dropped to his knees clutching at the wound, his eyes wide with fear and confusion as blood poured through his fingers.
‘He was always the one that was likely to give us trouble,’ said Brother Maynard as the old man died, ‘now let’s bring this to conclusion.’
Before he could move, Dafydd pushed Garyn to one side and with a mighty swing, drove his blade down through the neck of the Monk.
‘Garyn, what are you waiting for?’ he roared, ‘arm yourself.’
Garyn needed no more invitation and bent to pick up the dead Knight’s sword. Sheriff Roberts also took advantage of the confusion and with a twist of his body, turned away from the blade of the Abbot and knocked him to the floor. Buckler saw the danger immediately and before Dafydd could defend
himself, he drove his dagger into the young man’s stomach before turning to run through the abbey.
‘Stop him,’ roared the Sheriff but it was too late, he was already out of the door and headed toward the maze of houses outside the abbey.
Garyn turned to Dafydd and saw the blood pouring through the man’s hands as he clutched uselessly at his wound. Slowly Dafydd dropped to his knees and Garyn ran to his side.
‘Dafydd,’ he said, as he laid the young man onto the cold slabs, ‘let me see the wound. Perhaps I can stem the blood.’
‘It’s too late,’ Garyn said Dafydd, ‘my time is done.’
‘Fight it,’ Dafydd, ‘I will send for a surgeon.’
‘No, listen to me for I need to confess. You were right, I did betray you Garyn, I sold the location of the grave for money but I swear I did not dig up the Monk. That was the work of Father Williams and his henchmen. I have regretted it ever since.’
‘But why?’ asked Garyn gently.
‘I was desperate, Garyn. In a moment of ale-fuelled bravado I boasted of our time in Acre and my loosened tongue let slip the story of the cross. Father Williams heard the tale and his men threatened me with public humiliation and starvation in the stocks if I did not reveal its whereabouts. I could not do it, Garyn, I could not face the shame of the stocks so I told them everything. After that… well, you know the rest.’
‘Worry not, Dafydd, ‘said Garyn, ‘the truth is now known and I do not hold you responsible.’
‘There is one other thing, Garyn,’ said Dafydd weakly, ‘I did not forsake you completely. That night you were released from the stocks in Brycheniog…’
‘What about it?’
‘I was there, Garyn, I was hidden in the bushes.’
‘To what end?’
‘It was I who passed word to Fletcher about your intended murder. I could not reveal myself as I was a trusted man of Gerald. Luckily Fletcher and I got there in time.’
‘You saved my life,’ said Garyn slowly.
‘As you once saved mine,’ said Dafydd and gasped as pain racked his body.
‘I think my time is close, Garyn.’ he said, ‘say a prayer for me when I go. Pray for a misguided soul who only ever wanted to be a Knight.’
‘You are a good man, Dafydd,’ said Garyn gently, ’and in my eyes, will always be the most honourable Knight I have ever met.’