Lions of the Grail

by Tim Hodkinson

  Montmorency was perched on the edge of a table. John Bysset stood beside him and sitting next to him was his uncle Hugh. Beside them was a fat middle-aged man fantastically clad in a red and yellow tunic who could easily have been mistaken for some sort of minstrel or troubadour.

  ‘Well, now,’ the justiciar said. ‘I’ve been to many tournaments where someone got killed, but not usually in such a cold-blooded, deliberate way. You men represent law and order here – what the hell is going on?’

  There was silence. The earl shrugged. ‘Who knows? Men get killed every day in Ireland.’

  ‘I want Syr Talbot’s killer found, Richard,’ the justiciar continued. ‘These are uncertain times. I believe a messenger brought a message from the king, warning of a Scottish attack. I hope this is not the start of something worse.’

  John Bysset gave a loud tut. ‘Hardly,’ he sighed. ‘Talbot was a notorious womaniser. He was probably killed by some jealous husband he cuckolded.’

  ‘Or maybe it was a woman,’ Montmorency added, his eyes glittering with an idea that had evidently just occurred to him. ‘Some bitter woman he jilted probably killed him.’

  ‘Edmund, this is Syr Johan D’Athy,’ the Earl of Ulster referred to the fat man dressed in red and yellow. ‘Johan is the Sheriff of Carrickfergus County. I have already charged him to find Talbot’s murderer.’

  At the mention of his name, D’Athy puffed up his chest like a multi-coloured balloon. ‘I’ll have the bastard strung up by tomorrow morning, sire,’ he said.

  The justiciar raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘I’m sure you will,’ he said. ‘Whether the particular bastard you string up will be the same one who carried out this murder will remain to be seen.’

  D’Athy looked somewhat deflated by the justiciar’s sarcasm.

  ‘So who do you think could have done this?’ le Bottelier asked. ‘Apart from jealous husbands, who else could have killed Talbot? What about the Clan Eoghan?’

  The seneschal stroked his beard at the mention of an old enemy. The Gaelic kingdom that lay to the west was always trying to push the boundaries of the Earldom of Ulster back towards the sea.

  ‘It’s possible,’ he said. ‘King Domnall Ui Neill never misses a chance to hit us. But why? Why randomly kill one man?’

  The earl snorted. ‘You know as well as I do, Thomas, what the Irish way of warfare is: an ambush here, a murder there. If you cannot beat someone in open battle then try to wear them down, pick them off whenever they get the chance. Ui Neill could have a man in among the Gaels at the tournament.’

  Montmorency shook his head. ‘The Clan Eoghan is too weak to move against the Earldom of Ulster.’

  ‘Will there be many Gaels at the feast tonight?’ the justiciar asked.

  ‘Some,’ Earl Richard replied. ‘All trusted allies. Muircetach and Thomas Ui Cahan, the princes of the Ui Cahan clan, Deirdre and Niamh their wives. A few of the MacArtain clan. MacHuylin’s clan. We have nothing to fear from any of those folks.’

  ‘Let’s not take any chances,’ the justiciar said. ‘I will add my one hundred cavalrymen to your castle garrison. They can all stand guard while the banquet is held. But setting the native Irish aside, what about the message Savage brought? Do you think this could have anything to do with the Scots?’

  The Earl of Ulster looked annoyed at the suggestion. ‘Not this again,’ he groaned. ‘Do you really believe that Robert Bruce, my own son-in-law, would be planning an attack on my lands and I would not know about it?’

  The justiciar did not reply for several moments. Finally he said, ‘Have you heard the news from Scotland? Their Parliament is sitting at Ayr right now.’

  The earl looked puzzled. He shook his head.

  ‘The Parliament’s decrees have already reached me in Dublin via the king’s spies. I’m surprised you have not heard,’ the justiciar said. ‘King Robert Bruce has named his brother Edward as his successor to the throne.’

  The earl’s jaw dropped. His astonishment was undeniable. ‘What?’ he growled.

  ‘I’m sorry that you heard it this way, Richard,’ Edmund Bottelier continued, his tone softening somewhat. ‘But if your daughter gives birth to a son, he will not be the next King of Scotland. The Scots Parliament has dubbed Edward Bruce heir to the throne.’ He paused for a few moments, then added: ‘And Ireland.’

  ‘Ireland?’ Thomas de Mandeville said. ‘I don’t recall anyone asking us about that.’

  ‘No,’ the justiciar said. ‘I somehow doubt Edward Bruce is expecting us to just hand the throne of Ireland over to him. Their intentions are clear, gentlemen. Sooner or later the Scots will come to take what they want. Richard, I had begun to wonder if you knew about this but your reaction shows me that you did not.’

  The earl clenched his fist and slammed it down onto the arm of his chair. ‘God damn him to Hell! The sly bastard,’ he hissed.

  ‘You see now Robert Bruce’s true regard for you and your family,’ the justiciar said.

  At that moment a commotion erupted outside the door of the tent. The captain of the justiciar’s bodyguard was shouting: ‘No one goes in or out during the council – justiciar’s orders.’

  Connor MacHuylin’s voice could be heard responding: ‘Get out of my way, you arsehole.’

  The earl stood up. ‘That’s the captain of my galloglaich troop,’ he explained. ‘He really should be in here.’

  The justiciar nodded and Earl de Burgh swept the tent flap open. ‘MacHuylin. By God’s bones, man! Where the hell have you been? Assassins running around killing folk and the chief of my bodyguard is nowhere to be seen! I could have been murdered in my seat at the lists for all the good you would have been. I suppose you’ve been off swiving with some wench in the woods, eh? Well it’s not good enough.’

  ‘You know this man, sire?’ the justiciar’s captain asked.

  ‘Of course I do. Let them in, you idiot,’ the earl grunted and the captain stood aside.

  MacHuylin was out of breath from his frantic horse ride from the woods. He nodded to the assembled men in the tent. ‘Earl Richard,’ he panted. ‘Savage and I were chasing John Talbot’s killers—’

  ‘You know who killed him?’ Johan D’Athy asked.

  MacHuylin shook his head. ‘We didn’t see their faces; they were disguised as lepers. Hiding out at the friary.’

  ‘What nonsense is this?’ Montmorency objected. The justiciar held up a hand to silence him.

  ‘There were two of them. They got away on horses,’ MacHuylin continued. ‘We chased them up the hillside. It looked like they were heading for Doagh. When we followed them into the earl’s hunting woods there were more of them: soldiers waiting to cover their escape. I got away but they must have got Savage.’

  ‘Is he dead?’ John Bysset asked, eagerly.

  MacHuylin shrugged. ‘I turned round and he wasn’t there any more. They meant business. Well armed and wearing chain mail.’

  ‘Who were they?’ the justiciar demanded.

  Again MacHuylin shrugged. ‘I don’t know. They weren’t wearing any recognisable livery.’

  ‘English or Irish?’

  ‘They weren’t dressed in Irish clothes,’ MacHuylin said. ‘I reckon there were about fifteen of them. I’m going back to find out right now, though. This time I’ll have my men with me.’

  ‘You do just that,’ the justiciar responded. ‘Take as many men as you need. Savage must be rescued.’

  ‘If he’s still alive,’ MacHuylin commented, as he turned and left the tent again.

  ‘I’m going with him,’ Thomas de Mandeville said, following the galloglaich out of the tent.

  ‘This is worrying news,’ the justiciar commented. ‘Richard, you and I will talk more at length about this and other matters. These other men have important work to do. Montmorency?’

  The Hospitaller hopped off his perch on the table to his feet. ‘Yes, my lord?’

  ‘I gather you have been asked to create defence plans for the earldom. I urge you to w
ork with the seneschal to make sure that Ulster is well prepared to defend itself from attack, either from the west or from across the sea.’

  Montmorency bowed his head in obedience.

  ‘Syr Hugh,’ le Bottelier addressed Bysset. ‘Your lands in the glens are closest to Scotland. Bruce will have to sail past your realm to strike. We will have need of your ships to patrol the seas, and your men-at-arms to watch from the coast.’

  ‘You can rely on us, sire.’ John Bysset smiled.

  ‘And you, D’Athy.’ The justiciar finally addressed the Sheriff of Carrickfergus who immediately snapped to attention. ‘You work with MacHuylin to find out whoever killed Talbot. By the sound of it, it wasn’t a jilted woman and this could be the start of something much more serious. Now go, all of you.’

  Everyone left the tent except for the earl and the justiciar.

  When they got outside, John Bysset pulled Montmorency aside and spoke quickly in a hushed, anxious tone. ‘The earl did not take the news from Scotland well at all. What do we do now? This will turn him against us.’

  ‘Do not worry. I have been preparing for all eventualities,’ Montmorency hissed. ‘An unpleasant surprise awaits the earl that will get him out of our way. All dies are now cast and the time has come to make our move. We will strike at the feast tonight.’

  26

  Beneath the brambles, Savage peered through the branches, trying to see what had made the terrible wail.

  His pursuers, rooted to the spot, their faces white masks of terror, also looked around frantically.

  Their big leader was far from pleased.

  ‘What are you doing, you weak-kneed cowards?’ he shouted.

  ‘That was the cry of the banshee!’ one of the spearmen groaned. ‘It means death!’

  ‘What nonsense is this?!’ King Domnall Ui Neill, the leader of the men roared. ‘Suibne, where are you? Tell these fools there are no banshees here!’

  ‘I’ve heard there is, my king.’ The voice of the poet came from the undergrowth beyond the clearing where Savage and MacHuylin had been ambushed. ‘The lore of the land tells us that these woods are haunted by the banshee called Una.’

  ‘Damn you, Suibne, you’ve filled these men’s head with fairy tales and nonsense!’ the king shouted. ‘Are you men or children?’

  ‘I’ll fight a hundred knights in armour, my lord,’ one of the spearmen wailed, ‘but I’m damned if I’ll fight a fairy. Certainly not the death fairy herself.’

  ‘There she is!’ one of the crossbowmen squeaked, pointing down the woodland track.

  Savage risked giving his position away by moving so he could look. To his astonishment, he could see the figure of a woman dressed in a heavy green cloak standing on the path. She had the long hood of the cloak drawn up over her head, hiding her face in shadow. One very pale hand was raised towards the men-at-arms, a long, slender finger pointing in their direction.

  The awful wail emanated through the trees again, a howling, screeching keen that set the teeth on edge and sent a shiver down the spine.

  ‘Shoot it, for the sake of our Lord!’ King Domnall shouted. When nothing happened he turned round to see that all his warriors had turned tail and were running as fast as they could down the woodland path away from the apparition in green.

  For a couple of moments he hesitated. Then, aware that he was alone with Savage somewhere in the bushes and an approaching banshee, he decided the best option was to follow his men. Taking to his heels, he ran off down the path.

  Silence descended on the woods. Even the birds had been frightened away by the banshee’s howl.

  Savage lay very still. He knew the legend of the banshee well, the Irish death fairy whose scream warned of impending doom. He no longer believed in God, devils and certainly not fairies, but until he knew for sure who this weird vision was he had no intention of revealing himself. It could be a ploy of the ambushers to find his hiding place.

  ‘Richard Savage, I know you are here, hiding like a rat in the bushes somewhere.’

  To his surprise, the banshee in the green cloak spoke in French. There was something familiar about the woman’s voice. ‘They won’t stay away for long. Come with me if you want to live.’

  Savage still did not move. The banshee gave a shrug, evident even through the heavy folds of her cloak.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ she said and turned to go. ‘Stay and die.’

  ‘Wait!’ Savage called, cautiously raising himself from the brambles. ‘Who are you?’

  The banshee stopped and turned around to face him again. She pulled back the hood of her cloak and her long black hair tumbled down around her pale-skinned face.

  It was Alys de Logan.

  Savage blinked, unable to believe what his own eyes told him.

  ‘Follow me,’ was all she said and started off down the woodland path.

  Savage ran after her. They walked quickly down the path for a short while, then Alys took a sharp left turn, pushing aside thick undergrowth to reveal another, smaller path – narrow and barely more than an animal track – running off through the trees.

  ‘It’s a poachers’ path,’ Alys explained. ‘This wood is part of the earl’s personal hunting forest. The ordinary folk are hanged if they are caught hunting here so the poachers have these secret paths criss-crossing the woods. Those men who ambushed you aren’t locals. They won’t know about them.’

  Moving quickly, they set off down the little track, having to crouch low to avoid tree branches and thorns that grasped and tugged at their clothes.

  ‘Who are they? What is going on?’ Savage asked as they hurried along.

  Alys de Logan gave him a sharp glance and touched her finger to her lips. ‘Keep your voice down,’ she hissed. ‘There are more of them in the woods and they’ll hear you. These secret paths pass by sometimes within feet of the main pathways.’

  ‘How do you know about them?’ Savage whispered. ‘Why are you up here anyway?’

  ‘I come here often to gather herbs,’ Alys replied. ‘There are certain times when it’s better to pick them. May Day is one of the days some herbs are at their most potent. No doubt you have heard I am a witch.’

  ‘I was told that, yes,’ Savage said. ‘I was surprised, I must say. What does your father make of that? And your brother, Robert?’ Savage was careful not to mention Alys’s mother, who had died giving birth to her.

  ‘They’re both dead,’ Alys said. ‘Plague.’

  Savage was taken aback slightly by her bluntness. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Robert and I were good friends. Your father and mine were like brothers.’

  ‘Shht.’ Alys stopped and held up a hand, signalling that he should both stop talking and walking. The little poachers’ path had come to the edge of a clearing in the wood. Through the foliage Savage could make out the figure of a man standing in the clearing. He wore the same blue tunic as those who had ambushed him.

  ‘Another one of them,’ Alys breathed, almost inaudibly.

  Behind them, through the trees, the sound of shouting could be heard. King Domnall had obviously succeeded in rallying his men, and the hunt for Savage had restarted.

  ‘We have to get past this one if we’re to escape,’ Alys whispered. ‘There’s no way round the clearing.’

  Savage considered how they could do this quickly and quietly. Through the branches he could see the man was standing half turned towards them, a drawn sword in his hand. He was unaware of them watching him, but as soon as they stepped into the clearing he was sure to shout and all his friends would come running. Somehow Savage had to rush to him, cover his mouth and silence him before he had a chance to raise the alarm, all the while trying not to get impaled by the man’s sword.

  This would be difficult.

  He cursed the fact he had no weapon. There was no choice though, so he stepped in front of Alys, putting a hand out to motion that she should stay back.

  ‘I’ll handle this,’ Savage murmured, stepping forward out of the cover of the tre
es. The man in the clearing saw him immediately, raised his sword and opened his mouth to shout a warning.

  Something silver shot past Savage’s head from behind him and hit the man in the clearing with the solid thunk of a blade striking deep into flesh. The man’s mouth was open but no sound came out, his breath stopped in his throat by a throwing knife that was now embedded up to the hilt just below his Adam’s apple. His eyes bulged and he grasped at the knife hilt, trying desperately to suck air in through his blocked windpipe as he sank to his knees.

  Alys de Logan pushed past Savage and reached the man as he started to fall forward. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head back, swiftly drawing another larger knife across his throat beneath the chin, severing the large veins and completely cutting his windpipe. Immediately she pushed him face down to the ground where he coughed and gurgled slightly as his lifeblood bubbled out into the grass. Very quietly, but very quickly, the man died.

  ‘I’m not the little girl you left behind here any more, Richard,’ Alys said as she drew her throwing knife out of the dead man’s throat and wiped it clean on his cloak.

  ‘So I see,’ Savage said, shocked but impressed at the speed and ruthlessness with which she had dispatched the man.

  ‘These days, Richard, a woman on her own has to learn to look after herself. Come on, the path continues over here.’

  With the sound of King Domnall’s men approaching behind them, Savage hurried after Alys as she set off down another little poachers’ pathway on the other side of the clearing.

  ‘For your information I am not a witch – at least not in the ignorant way people like you would define it,’ Alys said as they hurried through the trees. ‘With my father and brother dead I was left alone. I had to find some way to hold on to the family estate. That’s not easy for a woman on her own, you know. I had to fall back on my natural talents and use the gifts God gave me to survive.’

  Savage stopped, his face betraying dismay. ‘You became a prostitute?’

  Alys flew around to face him. ‘No,’ she spat. For a second her hand hovered worryingly in the vicinity of her knife hilt. ‘Trust you to immediately think of that! I mean my intelligence, not my body. I am clever, so I’ve had to make the most of that.’