Lions of the Grail

by Tim Hodkinson

  ‘I have no one else to turn to, Richard, so I thought of you. We went to the castle looking for you,’ she said at the conclusion of her tale. ‘They told me there that you had gone to the church.’

  ‘Lucky for me you did,’ Savage commented. ‘And if it wasn’t for this brave little girl here, we’d both be dead.’

  He smiled down at Galiene who lay in his arms. The little girl immediately frowned and returned his gaze with one of irritation.

  ‘Just what is Bysset up to down at your castle?’ Savage said. ‘I think I should ride down there and see what’s going on as soon as possible.’

  When they arrived at Carrickfergus Castle, the fortress seemed strangely deserted. There were only a few men-at-arms standing around the gatehouse. The courtyard was empty and most of the horses were gone. All the justiciar’s light horse troopers were gone and the fortress was a lot quieter without the associated hubbub of gathered troops and nobles. It was clear that the earl and the justiciar had left Ulster and begun their journeys southward. Without the troops the great fortress seemed somehow naked, vulnerable and unprotected.

  Savage passed Galiene to Alys and de Thrapston hurried them off towards the castle keep where he knew he would find the physician. The earl may have gone, but his northern staff would remain behind to keep his houses running while he was away.

  As they walked away the little girl, her face still white from pain, shot a hostile glance at Savage and stuck her tongue out at him.

  The outer courtyard of the castle had been turned into a charnel yard. The bodies of the attackers killed in the battle the night before lay unceremoniously dumped on the rain-soaked cobblestones. Half a day after their deaths, they were starting to stiffen and their flesh had turned a ghastly pale colour as the blood settled to the bottom side of the corpses or drained out through their wounds.

  Savage and de Thrapston had slung the bodies of the two assassins over the ponies they had ridden to the church on. Savage loosed the rope that tied them to the saddles and let the corpses thump onto the cobblestones of the outer courtyard, adding to the company of the dead already gathered there. As he did so, the clatter of hooves made him turn around.

  MacHuylin and his cousin Aengus Solmandarson, flanked by his clan of galloglaich warriors, rode through the castle gate into the courtyard.

  ‘You’ve been busy,’ MacHuylin commented, looking down at the bodies.

  Savage rolled one of the corpses over with his boot so it lay on its back, showing the galloglaich the dark curly hair and swarthy skin of the man’s face. ‘I was right about the assassins,’ he said.

  MacHuylin regarded the corpse with interest. ‘So that’s a Saracen, is it?’ he mused. ‘You hear all sorts of wild stories: about how they have heads beneath their shoulders, wicked sharp teeth like lions, things like that. But really they just look like us. In fact—’ he smiled ‘—with those dark looks, are you sure they aren’t Welsh?’

  Savage shared his laugh as MacHuylin dismounted.

  ‘Well I’ll add one corpse to your two,’ the galloglaich said. ‘The abbot is dead.’

  Savage shot a reproachful glance at MacHuylin who held up his hands. ‘Don’t worry, we didn’t kill him.’

  Aengus dismounted and joined them. ‘Somebody else did that for us,’ the Hebridean said.

  The horse behind him bore the body of the abbot. He was lying on his back, arms and legs dangling down either side of the pony. In death he appeared even more gaunt than when alive and his skin was now of an unearthly pale pallor like the belly of a fish. The eyes that had been rimmed with raw red skin the day before now stared vacantly from pink sockets.

  ‘We found him in his cell with his throat slit and he’d been stabbed in the heart,’ Aengus said as they examined the corpse.

  ‘Just like Talbot,’ Savage commented. ‘Another victim of the assassins’ knives. At least these two won’t be killing anyone else.’ Savage gestured to the bodies lying on the cobblestones.

  ‘I just hope that’s all of them,’ MacHuylin said. ‘What on earth were Saracens doing here? How did they get here? Why are they killing people?’

  ‘Good question,’ Savage said. ‘What about the rest of the friars?’

  ‘They’re all terrified,’ Aengus replied. ‘When we arrived they were cowering like frightened rats, wailing that the abbot’s death was God’s revenge for letting “strangers” stay amidst them.’

  ‘The “strangers” were these assassins,’ Savage explained. ‘The abbot was harbouring them and gave them their own rooms in the friary. Did the monks know anything about these “strangers”?’

  ‘They insisted that they were forbidden by the abbot to have anything to do with the strangers housed with them,’ Aengus replied. ‘Apparently they were told they were lepers, but they were not kept with the other lepers in the Lazar hospital. The monks suspected that their visitors weren’t Christians, though. They were never seen in the chapel for prayers and never attended the Mass.’

  ‘I think that confirms for me that the abbot was providing a safe house for them,’ Savage said. ‘The question is: why?’

  MacHuylin grunted. ‘He’s a FitzGerald. Sorry, was a FitzGerald. The FitzGeralds have been sworn enemies of the earl’s family ever since his grandfather turfed them out of their lands in Connaught. That abbot’s appointment by the Bishop of Armagh to the friary in Carrick is one of the reasons behind the earl’s current dispute with the Church.’

  ‘After we called there yesterday, they knew their hideaway at the infirmary was discovered, so the assassins must have decided to cover their tracks,’ Savage surmised. ‘They killed the abbot who knew who they were and who they were working with. We can safely assume that the rest of the friars knew nothing, as they claim. Otherwise you would have found a whole monastery full of corpses.’

  MacHuylin tutted. ‘Bloody heathen savages. These Saracens are barbarians.’

  His sentiment was echoed by various nods, head-shaking and “ayes” among the rest of the galloglaich company.

  ‘Actually, they look on us as barbarians,’ Savage said. ‘Their knowledge in medicine, geometry, geography, astronomy, arithmetic and natural philosophy far outstrips the most learned men in Christendom.’

  Surprised eyes fixed on him from all around.

  At that moment Henry de Thrapston returned from the keep. He was now accompanied by the seneschal and Congal MacArtain. The three men strode across the courtyard to join the others.

  De Mandeville viewed the various dead bodies and shook his head. ‘Well this is a right shambles,’ he commented.

  Savage and MacHuylin gave their accounts of what had occurred that morning.

  ‘I thought you said you trusted the person who sent you the message to come to the church?’ de Thrapston asked.

  ‘I thought I did,’ Savage replied. ‘It was encoded in a Templar cipher. The only person I know who would know how to use that is…’ He trailed off, a memory of Hugo Montmorency in a white robe, its shoulder emblazoned with a red, equal-armed cross resurfaced in his mind and he swore quietly as realisation dawned on him. ‘Montmorency. It wasn’t who I thought sent that message; it was Montmorency. He was a Templar before he betrayed us and joined the Knights of Saint John. He must be in league with these assassins.’

  ‘He seems to make a habit of betrayal,’ commented the seneschal. ‘He’s sold the rest of us down the river too. He’s been working to lay the way for the Scots to invade us all along. And he’s not alone. God knows how many of our friends and cousins here in Ulster are part of this damned conspiracy.’

  ‘Syr Thomas,’ Savage said, addressing the seneschal. ‘We know the Scots are coming. Send out messengers, gather the feudal army here and prepare for defence. This invasion is imminent.’

  The seneschal nodded grimly. ‘I agree, but you must realise, Syr Richard, we need to be damn sure when and where a threat to us from Scotland will arrive before we move troops to meet an invasion. All our strength is directed westwards, t
owards our enemies in Tyr Eoghan. They’ll seize upon any weakness of our borders and, before you know it, Ui Neill will come pouring across the Bann while our army has its back to him waiting for the Scots.’

  MacHuylin pointed at the corpses from the previous night’s fighting lying across the courtyard. ‘If you ask me,’ he said, ‘Ui Neill is already here. Those are Tyr Eoghan warriors.’

  De Mandeville was silent for a moment. He scratched his close-cropped grey hair. All the men could see the strain on his face as he frowned, trying to work out what was the best thing to do. Finally he sighed and looked up at the clouds above as new drops of rain began plopping down from the sky.

  ‘Right.’ The seneschal finally spoke. ‘Gentlemen, we are now at war. Connor, I need your galloglaiches to ride to the forts around the earldom and tell them to prepare for battle. I want men up on the headland above the Rinn Seimhne peninsula at the head of Carrickfergus lough. It’s only twelve miles to the Scottish coast from there and they can keep watch on anything crossing the sea. I will draft more detailed orders and muster the Bonnaught of Ulster. I’ll send riders to tell the knights and lords of earldom to muster at Carrickfergus with all the troops they can raise. The army will gather here. Anyone who does not come will be assumed to be a traitor. Henry?’

  ‘Yes, sire?’ de Thrapston, the Keeper of Carrickfergus Castle answered straight away.

  ‘How well provisioned is this castle?’ de Mandeville demanded.

  ‘I supervised the stocking of provisions yesterday,’ de Thrapston replied. ‘But I’m still restocking after the May Day feasting. I’m waiting for thirty crannocks of wheat to arrive from Dublin.’

  ‘Make sure it does arrive,’ the seneschal pressed. ‘Send messengers after it – damn the expense. A castle is no use if there’s no food in it.’

  The chilling portent of his words was not lost on any of them. If the Scots overran the army the castle would have to rely on its own strength. The garrison would endure the awful conditions of siege warfare.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ the keeper of the castle said, but as he did so he shot a wary glance towards the rain-sodden sky. ‘Wheat is expensive these days though. There was a bad harvest last year and if we have another wet summer famine will come.’

  ‘Syr, I think I should go down to Corainne and see what Bysset is up to at Dame Alys’s castle,’ Savage said. ‘I believe it must have something to do with the Scottish conspiracy.’

  ‘Go,’ de Mandeville agreed. ‘But come straight back here once you see what is going on. I can’t spare any men to go with you, though.’

  ‘I’ll go with him,’ MacHuylin said. ‘He’ll need someone to help if there’s any trouble.’

  ‘Aye, right.’ Savage smiled. ‘Like in the forest yesterday when you left me to my death? Some help you were.’

  ‘I’ll go with you too,’ Congal MacArtain announced. Savage and MacHuylin raised curious eyebrows.

  The young prince shrugged. ‘I want to do something to help,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing for me to do but wait for the army to gather and my father to march our clan north. Anything is better than hanging around here.’

  ‘All right,’ Savage said. ‘We’ll leave as soon as I check if Alys and Galiene are all right.’ He started to walk towards the inner courtyard and the castle’s keep.

  MacHuylin frowned. ‘What is it you see in that witch woman and her devil child anyway? Has she cast a spell on you?’

  Savage stopped and turned to face MacHuylin again. His green eyes locked on to the galloglaich’s. ‘Galiene is my daughter,’ he stated.

  Savage was pleased to see a look of utter astonishment on the mercenary’s face, but it was already falling into a smile as he turned once more to recommence his journey to the castle keep.

  He entered through the inner courtyard to the sound of MacHuylin’s hearty, gut-deep laughter echoing around the castle walls.

  41

  Savage entered the inner courtyard, then climbed the stairs to the first-floor doorway into the castle keep. De Thrapston had said that he had put Galiene in the earl’s own bedroom, which meant he had to climb all the way up to the top floor.

  He wound his way round and round, up the spiral staircase until he came to the door of the room at the top. Alys was standing outside the closed door, gnawing on the fingernails of her right hand. She looked distracted. She was pale, tired and her face was drawn with worry. When she saw Savage coming up she first moved towards him, then stopped herself and avoided his eyes.

  ‘How’s she doing?’ Savage asked.

  ‘The earl’s physician is in with her now,’ Alys responded. ‘He’s treating her wound. The man’s little more than a quack: a leech merchant. I could see to her myself. I always have. I’ll probably have to re-dress her wound when he is done.’

  ‘From what I know of the earl, his physician will be the best in Ireland,’ Savage said. ‘You can’t always do everything for yourself.’

  The old hostility sparked in her eyes and she shot him a spiteful glance. ‘I’ve had to up until now. There’s never been anyone for me to rely on.’

  Savage rubbed a hand over his chin. His mouth was dry and in truth he felt more nervous and uncomfortable now than he had before riding into battle at the tournament the day before.

  ‘Alys—’ he began.

  She held up a hand. ‘Listen, Richard, I’ve been thinking about earlier. I’ve been up all night; I was overtired and upset. I’d just lost my home and I was worried about Galiene too. I let my emotions get the better of me. Don’t put too much stock in what I said in the church.’

  ‘No.’ Savage took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been thinking too.’

  Alys opened her mouth to speak but Savage pressed a finger to her lips.

  ‘Come, let us talk,’ he said. ‘I’m uncomfortable standing with you looming over me. Besides, these spiral staircases always make me a bit giddy.’

  Alys hesitated, then nodded her agreement. Savage brushed past her and they made their way on up the stairs to the door that opened onto the roof of the keep.

  Immediately the door opened, a wind damp with the sea and the rain buffeted them and tugged at their hair and clothes. Dark clouds, heavy with rain, skittered across the sky, chased by the wind. Despite the weather, the brightness of the daylight after the darkness of the stairway made Savage frown. He walked out onto the roof of the keep to the crenulated wall. He gazed out over the dull green water of the lough, the harbour and the town. His stomach churned with mixed feelings and dread at what he felt impelled to say. He took a deep breath and turned. Alys stood looking at him. The expression on her face did not help his nerves.

  ‘There was a time, Richard,’ Alys spoke first, ‘when I thought I knew what was going on behind those fierce green eyes. Now I have no idea. What is it you want? What are you looking for? What was it made you abandon me and go off to the east all those years ago? Did you ever find out?’

  Savage shook his head. ‘No,’ he sighed. ‘But listen. Thirteen years ago we were both very young. My head was full of stupid ideas: silly notions about adventure, questing to learn the secrets of life and God, saving Christian civilisation from the Saracens. Now I know these were just dreams, delusions. Mirages that lead men to nowhere but death. You ask me if I found what I sought. The answer is no. I lost everything. I lost my faith in God. Worse, I lost my faith in man. Worst of all—’ he looked straight into her cornflower blue eyes ‘—I lost you.’

  Alys seemed to catch her breath; her right hand went to her mouth. Then she frowned. ‘It’s nice to know you chose a delusion before me,’ she said with bitterness.

  ‘Will you listen to me for Jesus’s sake?’ Savage sighed. ‘Alys, I’ve come to realise, the quest I went on, I was looking for something that would give my life meaning, that would somehow say that this whole time on earth is not some sorry, pointless existence. I travelled from here nearly to the very centre of the world, to Jerusalem, and yet I realise now that it was a mistake. The very t
hing I was searching for all these years lay here all along. I had left it behind me. I thought I was seeking the Holy Grail, but all I was doing was running from the very thing I was looking for all along.’

  Alys frowned. ‘What are you talking about, Richard?’ she said.

  ‘You, Alys,’ said Savage. ‘I’m talking about you. I love you. I always have. I think I always will. I was a fool to think there was anything more important.’

  Alys looked confused, annoyed, then her brow creased and tears began falling from her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She hung her head. ‘I never dared even hope—’ she sobbed.

  Savage strode across to her and clasped her in his arms. ‘I’m sorry, Alys. I’m so sorry for leaving you. I was a fool. If you will take me back, I vow I will never leave you again.’

  She looked up at him. ‘How can I believe you?’

  Savage clasped her face between both his hands. With his thumbs he wiped away her tears then he kissed her. ‘You can’t. It’s up to me to convince you,’ he said.

  ‘I want to believe you, Richard,’ Alys said.

  Savage smiled and kissed her again.

  ‘There’s someone else you need to speak to,’ Alys said. ‘Galiene.’

  Savage nodded and they both left the roof. A couple of turns around the spiral staircase and they were back outside the door of the earl’s bedroom.

  The physician was just leaving. It was the same small, fidgeting man who had attended Savage after the tournament the day before.

  ‘She’s a lucky girl,’ the physician announced in response to their anxious glances. ‘The wound is deep but clean. I’ve washed it and packed it with sage, then sewed it closed. I’ve given her a draught made from the seeds of poppies for the pain. It will make her sleep deeply but that will help her recover.’

  With that, he bustled on down the stairs. Alys led the way into the earl’s bedroom. The chamber was luxurious, with huge, arched windows in all four walls that reached from floor to vaulted ceiling. The view was fantastic. From the dizzying heights of the keep, they could look down on the lough and town. Nestled in the protective shelter of the castle was the busy harbour that was full of vessels of all sizes and descriptions. Beyond the harbour was the walled town. Savage was momentarily distracted by the view and he surveyed the higgledy-piggledy maze of timber-frame buildings crammed inside the surrounding turf ramparts. It was a big town for Ireland, but tiny compared to anything in England. At the centre of the town the tower of Saint Nicholas’ Church rose above the houses like the hilt of a kidney dagger stuck into the land.