Lions of the Grail

by Tim Hodkinson

  Savage was silent for a few moments as he considered what had been said. Repanse re-entered the hall with the next dish, a blancmange of chicken in spiced almond milk. She served Savage and the castle lord then once more she placed a serving in the wide gold dish and she left again, going out through the eastern door. Savage wondered just who she was going to serve from the gold dish, but decided he had more important questions to ask.

  It was time to take another risk.

  ‘I didn’t really come here to join Robert Bruce’s army,’ Savage said.

  ‘I had already guessed that. You’re not a very good liar.’ The lord of the castle smiled.

  ‘Alys de Logan and Galiene her – my – daughter are besieged in Carrickfergus Castle by Edward Bruce’s army,’ Savage continued. ‘I came here to steal the Grail and take it back to Ireland. I want to use it as a bargaining chip: to exchange it for Alys and Galiene.’

  There was silence for a few moments. Savage began to worry that he had miscalculated.

  The lord of the castle finally spoke. ‘Well, now, that’s probably the best reason I’ve heard for seeking the Grail for a very long time.’

  Relief flooded over Savage. ‘Syr, you speak as though you know of this secret order who founded the Templars. I believe you are a member of that order. I believe you know many secrets and know much about the Grail. Can you help me? Do you know where I can find a place called the Noquetran?’

  The lord looked puzzled. ‘The Noquetran?’

  ‘I heard Edward Bruce say that is where he keeps the Grail,’ Savage said. ‘There is a chapel there called Merlin’s Chapel.’

  The clouds of mystery cleared from the lord’s face and he began to laugh heartily.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Savage asked.

  ‘The Noquetran!’ The lord chortled. ‘Edward Bruce called it that did he? The man who claims to be King of the Gaels cannot even speak their language properly! Cnoc Dreann, my friend – or “Noquetran” as Edward Bruce’s Norman French tongue would say it – is a mountain in these parts. Its name means the Hill of Sorrow. The pagans used to climb up it at their Easter rituals. There’s an ancient burial cairn on the top of the mountain they call Merlin’s Chapel. There’s a very old church up there too.’

  ‘Is it far from here?’

  ‘A good half day’s ride east,’ the lord said. ‘Follow the valley inland then ride along the edge of the great forest. Finally you will come to another wide valley. Cnoc Dreann is at the far end of it. You cannot miss it.’

  ‘I must go there,’ Savage resolved, rising from his seat.

  ‘I agree you should go there, and I wish you good luck,’ the lord said. ‘But, my friend, it is late and you will not get far in the dark. Cnoc Dreann will still be there in the morning and Carrickfergus Castle will still be besieged. You have dangers to face so sit down and enjoy the rest of your dinner, then get a good night’s sleep. Your quest begins in the morning.’

  Savage realised he was right. He sighed, rubbed his eyes and sat down again.

  ‘Now…’ the lord smiled ‘…it is so rare to have company here, and much rarer to have a guest who has travelled to the east as you have. I miss Outremer: the warmth of the climate, the exotic food. Let us talk more of that.’

  From there the conversation flowed freely. Savage found his host to be pleasant, intelligent and very knowledgeable. As they talked, a succession of courses were brought to the table, each one delicious and cooked to perfection.

  After the excellent meal the nobleman and Savage, now feeling quite stuffed, sat long into the night talking. As they chatted about their eastern travels and other shared topics, they nibbled dates, figs and nutmegs, cloves and pomegranates, all washed down with spiced wine. Finally, electuaries were brought: medicinal concoctions to aid digestion. After this they drank old mulberry wine sweetened with syrup.

  At length the nobleman yawned and beckoned to some nearby servants who came over.

  ‘My friend,’ he said, ‘it’s time to retire for the evening. Goodnight.’ Then, to the servants: ‘Take me to my apartments.’

  The four servants each grasped a corner of the spread that covered the couch and lifted the nobleman with it, then carried him in the makeshift bier out one of the doors of the hall.

  Contented and well feasted, Savage made his own way to bed in his room in the tower, hoping that so much rich food eaten so late would not bring him nightmares. He needed all the rest he could get, for in the morning he would face who knew what trials on the summit of Cnoc Dreann.

  54

  Savage awoke to the sound of birdsong. It was well past daybreak. He got up and found clean clothes had been left for him. The same fine woollen shirt and green woollen breeches as the day before were there, but they had been augmented by apparel suitable for travelling: a dark green, hooded long cloak, a leather jerkin and a pair of leather riding boots.

  Once dressed, he left the room and descended the spiral staircase to the base of the tower.

  Outside the tower door waited a well-groomed chestnut palfrey. It was bridled, saddled and obviously intended for him. Behind its saddle was tethered a leather shoulder bag containing enough provisions for a day’s riding. A heavy sheepskin jerkin and thick woollen cloak were bundled alongside it.

  Savage took the horse and led it around the castle, looking for the nobleman so as to say goodbye. Like the day before, the castle was deserted. Savage could find no one anywhere. The hall was empty, the fire out. The only sound in the dark stone fortress was the twittering of birds.

  Savage decided that the lord of the castle was once more at his favourite sport of fishing. Mounting the palfrey, he rode out of the castle gate and down the forest path to the river. Following the river, Savage found no sign of the moored coracle or anyone fishing on the banks. Nevertheless he rode on for about a mile downstream, until he came to a small lake. Bobbing on the water of the lake was a little boat with someone sitting in it.

  Savage hailed the boat and waved to attract their attention. The occupant turned and Savage saw that it was the young woman, Repanse de Schoy. As he watched, she pulled on the oars, rowing the boat over to the shore while Savage dismounted from his horse.

  ‘Good morning,’ Savage greeted her as the boat reached the edge of the lake. ‘I was hoping to see your uncle. I wanted to say goodbye and thank him for his generous hospitality.’

  He grasped the end of the boat to steady it as Repanse rose from her seat. She gathered up a bundle wrapped in sack cloth from the bottom of the boat and carefully stepped out onto the shore.

  ‘My uncle asked me that I give you this,’ she said, passing the long bundle to Savage.

  Savage unwrapped the cloth. Inside was a sheathed sword. Suddenly captivated, he gazed at the terrible beauty of the weapon. He could only guess at its expense. The pommel was of the finest Arabian or Greek gold. The scabbard was intricately embroidered with the sort of gold thread work that the Venetians specialised in. He half drew it and studied its blade. The fine, burnished steel blazed with reflected sunlight and Savage saw that runes were engraved on the sword, though what they said he had no idea.

  ‘He said that a knight is not much use without a sword.’ Repanse smiled.

  Savage snapped the sword back into its sheath. ‘This is too generous. I cannot accept such an expensive—’

  Repanse held up a hand to silence him. ‘My uncle insists. He has no use for it himself and simply prays that you will put it to good use.’

  Savage girded the sword onto himself; amazed and grateful.

  ‘My lady, I am overwhelmed with his generosity,’ he said. ‘Tell me, what is your uncle’s name?’

  ‘He is called Bron,’ Repanse said. ‘But let us waste no more of your time. You must be on your way if you want to reach Cnoc Dreann before nightfall. The top of the mountain will be cold so there are heavy clothes bundled on your horse.’

  ‘I have many questions—’ Savage began, but Repanse just held up her hand again for silence
.

  ‘You must go,’ she said simply. From her tone it was clear this was an order, not a suggestion. ‘Follow the valley east.’

  Savage realised that she would answer no more questions. He saluted her and mounted his horse. With one more look over his shoulder he spurred the palfrey and rode off around the bank of the lake and along the river that continued from its far shore.

  He had travelled several miles when he came to another path that branched to his left. Savage judged by the position of the sun and by what side of the trees the thicker branches grew on, that this new path went west, while the one he was on went south, so he took the new path.

  It was not long before he began to regret the decision. The path became little more than an animal track that twisted and wound its way through dense thorns and undergrowth beneath the tree canopy. At least it was getting steeper, which meant he was climbing up the valley side. Eventually the angle of the ground and the tugging thorns made him dismount. On and on he climbed, sweating and panting, until quite suddenly he emerged from the treeline into grassland, a few hundred yards from the summit of the valley side. He slogged on to the top then stopped to take his bearings, rest and break out the provisions packed for him.

  As he munched his way through bread and fruit he looked back over the valley. Castle Corbenek nestled amidst the green trees that filled the valley, which was more of a glen, and a great glen at that. He was sitting on the summit of a ridge of high hills, which made up one side of the glen. From up here it was possible to see for miles around. Turning to look ahead he saw that gentle slopes made their way down from the ridge. These were wooded too, but much more lightly than the denseness he had just clambered through. Eventually these thinned out into a wide, level plane, which was bordered on both sides by hills.

  Then he saw Cnoc Dreann.

  At the far end of the plane was the vast bulk of a huge black mountain. It stood alone, its sloping sides towering up from the ground to disappear into the clouds. It looked like it was holding up the sky. It seemed enormous.

  Savage mounted his horse and rode towards the mountain. It took some time and when he got to the foot of Cnoc Dreann the sun was already high in the sky. The mountain looked daunting and he briefly hesitated, wondering if he had time to scale it before darkness fell. There was no choice though. He had lost enough time already and who knew what had happened back in Carrickfergus.

  He rode as far as he could but when he reached the edge of the forest beyond which trees would not grow, he had to dismount. He found a suitable tree to tether the palfrey to, put the shoulder bag over one shoulder and strapped his sword to his back to avoid tripping over it on the climb. Over his other shoulder he slung the bundle of heavy clothing, then began the ascent of the steep mountainside.

  As a choice of place to keep something special, it was inspired. No fortress was as secure. No army was large enough to surround the mountain, and it would take an attacker so long to climb anyone on the summit would have plenty of time to quietly slip away while they toiled their way up.

  There did seem to be a path but it was little more than an animal track. The climb was hard and gruelling. Many times the steepness of the ground reduced him to clambering on all fours. His thighs and calf muscles burned from the effort. Sweat streamed from him, running into his eyes and stinging them. As he climbed higher and higher it became colder and the wind grew stronger. Several times he slipped and had to grasp bunches of rough gorse to stop falling. The ground at first got muddier and darker but higher up it became little more than a skim of black peat over hard granite rocks. The higher he got the colder it was and soon the sweat that stung his eyes and soaked his clothes was chilled to cold dampness. After unbundling his heavy clothes, he pulled on the sheepskin jerkin and the heavy black woollen cloak.

  It took a long time to ascend the mountain and the sun was lowering in the sky. Savage could see that he had one more climb and he would be on the summit and he stopped for a moment. The wind was strong now and the clouds that had obscured the summit cleared away. He was exhausted and did not know what awaited him, so he had to rest, however briefly. Any ounce of strength he could recover would help him if there was any fighting.

  Savage sat down on a rock and admired the view. It was stunning. He could see for miles. Southwards he could see as far as England and the mountains of Cumbria, while to the east he could see right to the Irish Sea and even as far as Ireland that hovered on the horizon like a dark shadow.

  Far away at the base of the mountain, someone was starting to climb along the route he had taken. It looked like there were two of them; it would be ages before they got to the top, but he could not afford to sit around.

  He waited a short time until the ache in his legs had subsided a little, then got to his feet again and recommenced his journey to the summit where the Holy Grail awaited.

  55

  Savage approached the summit with caution. There was no point charging up; he had no idea what or who awaited him at the top.

  As he carefully picked his way through the rocks the clouds rolled back in. His range of vision closed down to twenty or so feet of strange misty grey. The wind howled over the rocks and buffeted Savage, so at times he staggered.

  He reached the edge of the summit and crouched behind a crop of rocks. The top of the mountain was a wide, flat barren plateau about a hundred yards across and strewn with boulders. Just off centre of it was a mound, an ancient cairn built of rock with a doorway into it made of three large rectangular stones: two upright on either side and one across the top as a lintel. At the far side of the plateau was a little stone building that looked like the sort of chapel built by the early Christian missionaries. It was very old. Moss coated its walls and there were holes in the slate roof. Through the gaps in the roof he could see the flickering glow of a fire.

  Savage decided to make a tour of the edge of the summit to judge his best route of approach. He only got two-thirds of the way round though, as the far edge of the plateau plunged away in a sheer cliff that disappeared off into the mists.

  He was about to creep forward onto the summit when he saw movement. Several figures emerged from the doorway of the ancient mound.

  Savage froze in astonishment.

  Two of them he did not recognise. They were warriors. Hooded, clad in chain mail and with swords drawn they prodded three others in the direction of the little chapel. The other three were obviously prisoners: a man and a woman stumbled forward over the rocky ground, their hands bound before them. A little girl was with them but her hands were not tied. She clearly was not deemed a threat and was propelled forwards with a slap round the head.

  The man was Connor MacHuylin, the woman was Alys de Logan and the girl was Galiene.

  As they entered the chapel and the door was closed, Savage sank back behind a rock. What the hell was going on? What were they doing here? This turn of events complicated things considerably.

  His first thought was to draw his sword and charge into the chapel to rescue them. The blade was halfway out of its sheath when his second thought – that he had no idea how many others were in the chapel – stopped him. He would be no use to anyone if he just charged in and got himself killed. He needed to find out more.

  Carefully, Savage crept forward. Crouched and moving quickly, he went from boulder to boulder, pausing behind each one to make sure no one could see him. He had got halfway to the little chapel when the door opened. Quickly Savage ducked down behind the nearest large boulder. He heard raised voices. He could tell someone was shouting but with the roaring of the wind he could not make out what they were saying.

  Risking a look, Savage popped his head out at the side of the rock to see what was going on. He saw Galiene, arms wrapped around herself in an attempt to ward off the cold wind, had come out of the chapel. Behind her was one of the Scottish warriors he had seen earlier. They seemed to be arguing about something.

  As they got closer to where he was hiding, Savage made out Galie
ne shouting, ‘I can’t go with you watching me!’

  She stopped and the warrior walked up to her. The threatening bulk of the big man towered over the little girl. Savage gripped the hilt of his sword again, cursing himself for not already having drawn it. He tensed his thighs to run forward.

  The warrior prodded a finger on the girl’s chest.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Go behind that rock. But if you try anything, if you so much as look like running away, I’ll catch you and I’ll gut you like a fish. Understand?’

  Galiene nodded. She was doing her best to appear defiant but Savage could tell from the way she held her shoulders and the look in her eyes that she was terrified. His hand itched to rip his sword and to do his own bit of gutting.

  ‘Now hurry up. Go and piss so we can get back inside and you can make our supper,’ the warrior ordered, giving her a shove.

  Galiene turned and scurried behind a rock near where Savage was hidden. She was almost level with him but now both of them were out of sight of the warrior who waited for her return.

  Galiene crouched down, pulled up her dress and began to piss.

  ‘Pssst!’ Savage attempted to get her attention. The howling wind snatched his voice away and he realised he would have to quickly move to where she was. He took a deep breath and slunk to the next boulder. He paused briefly behind it, but the warrior had not seen him. One more to go. He rolled across the pebble-strewn ground and arrived beside Galiene.