by Kevin Ashman
‘Garyn, did you do any commissions for the Abbey?’ asked the Monk.
‘We made a gate once and there was talk about some cart wheels but apart from that, no. Why do you ask?’
‘Look.’ said the Monk and held out the blade of a knife. ‘Is this one of your fathers?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Garyn examining the blade. It was a typical eating knife with a pointed end for stabbing pieces of meat. ‘It may be but if it is, it’s not one I recognise.’
‘Perhaps he was asked to repair it,’ said Garyn, ‘but hadn’t yet told me.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Brother Martin. ‘Do you mind if I take this?’
Garyn shrugged.
‘It’s not mine,’ he said, ‘take it.’
They carried on checking the building for another hour before heading their separate ways.
----
‘Brother Martin,’ said the servant as the Monk entered the Abbey kitchens, ‘you are not tasked to the kitchens until tomorrow. How can I help you?’
‘Alwyn,’ said the Monk. ‘I have a question to ask. Do you have a list of all the items in the kitchen?’
‘There is one with the Abbot,’ said Alwyn, ‘but I have been here a long time and know exactly what should be here. Is there a problem?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said the Monk. ‘Can you tell me what eating knives you have?’
‘Which type?’ asked the servant.
‘Those with a cruciform near the hilt. We sometimes use them in the hall.’
‘I know the ones,’ said Alwyn, ‘they were a gift to the Abbey from the manor and are used when we have guests to share the meal.’
‘Can you show me one?’
Alwyn went to a cupboard and retrieved a box. Inside there was a pile of knives, each with an elm handle and a blade inscribed with a crucifix.
‘Here they are?’ he said and pulled one out.
‘Are they all here?’ asked the Monk.
‘They are,’ said Alwyn, ‘there is a set of fifty, a beautiful gift from Cadwallader himself.’
‘Count them,’ said the Monk.
‘I can assure you they are all there,’ said Alwyn. ‘I am diligent with such matters.’
‘Please humour me,’ said the Monk and watched as the servant counted the knives, not once but three times.
‘I’m sorry, Brother Martin,’ said the servant, ‘there seems to be one missing. I don’t know how this could have happened, I counted them myself only three days ago and they were all there.’
‘Are there any others in existence?’
‘No the set was specially commissioned.’
‘So do you think this may be the missing piece?’ He placed the twisted blade on the table. Alwyn examined it closely before looking up at the Monk.
‘It is,’ he said, ‘but what happened to it.’
‘It was found in the remains of a fire,’ said the Monk, ‘but I don’t know how it got there.’
‘It was here a few days ago,’ said the servant, ‘I swear it.’
‘Do not fret,’ said the Monk. ‘Do you recall exactly when it was counted?’
‘It was the night before the blacksmith’s fire,’ said the servant. ‘I remember because it was the night that rogue tried to steal a loaf and was thrown into a cell.’
‘Ah yes,’ said the Monk, ‘I remember. I expect he regrets the deed now, Cadwallader is not known for leniency in such cases.’
‘Oh,’ said the servant in surprise, ‘he won’t be facing justice, Brother, the Abbot set him free. In fact, he brought him in here himself and told me to give the man food for his family. I thought it was strange but obviously the Abbot thought mercy was more advantageous than punishment. Truly he is a pious man.’
‘Did you stay here the whole time they were here?’ asked the Monk.
‘No,’ said Alwyn. ‘The Abbot sent me to get a blanket. He said it was a gift for the family. I was gone no more than a few minutes. Do you think that rogue stole the knife?’
‘Perhaps,’ said the Monk. ‘Thank you, Alwyn, your help is greatly appreciated.’ Without waiting for a response, Brother Martin left the kitchen and returned to his cell. It was almost time for mid-morning prayers and he had a lot on his mind.
----
Garyn returned to the Church and spent the next few hours chopping firewood for the Priest. As he worked the events of the past few days whirred around his mind like a storm wind, picking up the information before discarding it once more when it did not make any sense. Finally a voice dragged him back to reality.
‘I think that may be enough,’ it said.
Garyn looked up and saw a pretty girl standing near the churchyard wall. She was wrapped up against the winter’s cold and despite the head scarf, he smiled as he recognised the attractive face.
‘Elspeth Fletcher,’ he said. ‘Good day to you.’
‘And to you,’ said Elspeth with a sunny smile. ‘I think you may have enough kindling for two winters.’
Garyn looked at the enormous pile he had accumulated.
‘I lost track,’ he murmured.
‘Obviously,’ laughed Elspeth before adding, ‘do you have many chores today?’
‘Nothing that can’t wait,’ said Garyn, ‘though I should tidy this lot up.’
‘Well,’ said Elspeth, ‘I have to go up to the manor for my father. Perhaps you would like to join me on the walk?’
‘I would like that very much,’ said Garyn.’ Give me a few minutes.’ He busied himself stacking the wood in the porch of the church and sweeping up the splinters before returning the axe to the tool box.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘I am ready.’
‘Then come,’ said Elspeth, ‘it looks like it is going to be a sunny day.’
Garyn joined the girl and they walked along the footpath until they reached the traders road leading past the manor house a few miles away.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Elspeth.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Garyn, ‘confused, I suppose.’
‘Why is that?’
‘I still cannot understand why someone would kill my family,’ he answered, ‘that and the discovery that my father was once a Knight who fought in the Holy-land.’
‘Really?’ said Elspeth, coming to a halt. ‘Are you sure?’
‘One of the Monks told me,’ said Garyn, ‘so I suppose it must be true.’
‘But why didn’t your father tell you?’ asked Elspeth.
‘I know not’ said Garyn and they carried on walking in silence.
‘I wonder if your father knows,’ he said eventually. ‘He and my father shared ale on many nights and was his closest friend. Do you think he told him?’
‘If he did, my father never shared the knowledge with us,’ said Elspeth. ‘I could ask him if you like?’
‘No, what is done is done and I wouldn’t want to make your father feel awkward.’ They carried on walking but as they crossed the stepping stones of a shallow ford, Elspeth slipped and Garyn reached out to grab her hand.
‘Here, let me help,’ he said.
They crossed the river with no further mishap before turning from the track and making their way across the fields.
‘That was nice,’ said Elspeth.
‘What was?’
‘Back there,’ she said, ‘when you held my hand. You could do it again if you like.’ She glanced up at Garyn and he could see she was blushing furiously.
Garyn was taken aback. He tried to respond but struggled to find the words.
‘I…I…Um, I suppose…’
‘I am sorry, Garyn,’ she said, ‘I forget myself and have embarrassed you. Please forget I said anything.’
‘No,’ said Garyn, ‘I mean, yes, I would like to do it again, if it pleases you.’
‘It does,’ said Elspeth with a smile and held out her hand. Garyn took it gingerly and they walked for several hundred paces in silence, each enjoying the quiet intimacy of close contact for the first time.
�
�This is nice,’ said Garyn eventually.
‘It is,’ said Elspeth. ‘Garyn, would you be offended if I was to say I find your company very pleasing?’
‘Not at all,’ said Garyn.
‘And do you like me too?’
‘I do,’ said Garyn, ‘and always have. You are the prettiest girl in the village by far.’
‘Really,’ said Elspeth, ‘you have never said so.’
‘There were far too few days outside of the forge to seek your company,’ said Garyn, ‘and even when our paths crossed in church or at the market, you were always with your mother or father. How could I say?’
‘Are you afraid of my father?’ asked Elspeth.
‘Not as much as your mother,’ said Garyn.
Elspeth laughed and cuffed him across the shoulder.
‘Garyn ap Thomas, you say the cheekiest things.’
‘Well, she is a formidable woman,’ said Garyn. ‘A man can talk to a man but a mother can be like a she-wolf when it comes to her pups.’
‘Then why don’t you talk to him?’ asked Elspeth.
‘Who?’
‘My father, silly.’
About what?
‘Well, you could ask him if you could call on me and perhaps we could walk out.’
Garyn stopped and stared at the girl.
‘What are you saying?’ he asked.
‘Garyn, you are not making this easy for me,’ she giggled. ‘I am saying if you were to offer courtship, then I may not turn you away.’
‘But…’
Elspeth’s face fell.
‘Oh Garyn,’ she said, ‘I am so sorry. Here you are still grieving for your poor family and I am filling your head with the silliness of girls. Please forgive me.’ She pulled her hand from his and hitching up her skirts, ran up the slope away from him.
Garyn took a few moments as her words sunk in but as she disappeared over the crest, he shook himself from his surprised stupor and called after her.
‘Elspeth, wait,’ he cried. ‘It is I who should offer apology for being such a knave.’ He ran after her but as he crested the hill, saw she had stopped just a few paces further on. He came to a stop beside her, staring in awe at the sight which lay before him.
In the shallow valley below, the forests had been cleared for over a mile and in the centre of the clearing, the most impressive building he had ever seen sat serenely in the winter sun. It was much bigger than the Abbey and consisted of a fortified building, castellated along the roof edge as a defence against any attack. On either end, a large chimney stack reached up into the sky, pouring smoke into the crisp air above and three rows of windows were set deep into the thick walls, each window higher than the tallest man. To one side, a courtyard was a hive of activity as grooms saw to their master’s horses and in the distance, Garyn could see two rows of soldiers practising their skills with bill hooks and maces.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ said Elspeth, looking at a group of finely dressed ladies walking in the sun. ‘Oh how I wish I could live such a life.’
‘It is a magnificent estate,’ said Garyn. ‘I had no idea it was so big.’
‘Have you never been here before?’
‘No,’ said Garyn. ‘We always followed the track and did our business at the gate house. There was never any need to come up here.’
‘Then come,’ said Elspeth. ‘It is much more impressive close up and if we are lucky, we may get something hot from the Kitchens.’
‘Elspeth, about what you just said…’ started Garyn.
‘Forget it,’ said Elspeth, ‘just pretend it never happened.’ Before he could reply, she ran down the slope toward the manor, leaving a trail of footprints in the sparkling snow.
Garyn ran after her and as they approached the building they both slowed to a walk. The guards at the manor door looked their way but before Garyn could voice his concern, one raised his hand and waived.
‘A very good morning to you, Miss Fletcher,’ said the man in a strange accent.
‘And to you, Pierre,’ answered Elspeth. ‘Is Master Reynolds present today?’
‘He is,’ said the guard, ‘go around to the courtyard and ask for him there but be quick, His Lordship is due back and it wouldn’t be good to get in his way.’
‘Thank you Pierre,’ said the girl and Garyn followed her around the side of the enormous building.
‘Is he French?’ asked Garyn.
‘What do you think?’ laughed Elspeth.
‘I don’t know,’ said Garyn, ‘I have never met a Frenchman before.’
‘He is from Normandy,’ said Elspeth, ‘and is a soldier in the pay of Cadwallader. That’s all I know.’
‘Who is this Master Reynolds you asked after?’
‘The head stockman,’ said Elspeth. ‘He looks after all beasts on the manor and keeps a flock of geese on the estate. He has their fallen feathers collected for us and we use them to fletch the arrows for the bowmen. Others are collected as well but goose feathers provide the best flights by far.’
They entered the courtyard and stared around at the activity.
‘It’s busy,’ whispered Elspeth.
Garyn didn’t answer, he was too busy looking at the fascinating work going on around him. Dozens of grooms brushed vigorously at their horse’s coats while younger boys carried buckets of manure out of the stables to unload them onto a waiting cart. The sound of a blacksmith’s anvil brought the memories back but before he could say anything, Elspeth grabbed his arm.
‘There he is,’ she said, ‘come on.’
They walked across the yard toward two men struggling to encourage a huge pig into a different pen. When they were successful, Elspeth coughed politely.
‘Master Reynolds,’ she said, ‘a very good day to you.’
‘Mistress Fletcher,’ smiled the man, ‘thank you for coming. And who is this young man?’
‘This is Garyn ap Thomas,’ said Elspeth, ‘son of Thomas Ruthin the blacksmith.’
The stockman looked at Garyn for a few moments.
‘I hear tell of a fire,’ he said. ‘Is it the same family?’
‘It is,’ said Garyn.
‘Then you have my condolences, Garyn, it is a very sad state of affairs.’
‘It is done,’ said Garyn, ‘and they have been laid to rest.’
The man nodded before continuing.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘it is just as well you have brought some muscle, Mistress Elspeth,’ ‘for there are two sacks to convey to your father and though they are feathers, it is a load too heavy for such a pretty girl.’
‘Two sacks?’ asked Elspeth. ‘Why so many?’
‘Tell your father to double his output,’ answered Reynolds. ‘There are things afoot that demand increased stocks of arrows with little time to prepare.’
‘Warfare?’ asked Garyn.
‘Probably,’ said Reynolds, ‘but not between Llewellyn and the house of Winchester, this time Henry’s son has taken the cross and intends to Crusade.’
‘To where?’ asked Garyn.
‘To Palestine to aid the beleaguered forces at Acre and Tripoli,’ said Reynolds.
‘What would Longshanks see in such a quest?’ asked Garyn.
‘I am not privy to the reasoning of Monarchs or their sons,’ answered the stockman. ‘All I know is Henry begged him not to go but Longshanks amasses an army as we speak. The Landholders’ debts have been called in and taxes have risen throughout the land to pay for the Crusade. It is said he hopes to sail within months.’
‘What about Llewellyn?’ asked Elspeth, ‘what part does our own Prince play in this?’
‘He stays home,’ said Reynolds. ‘Though Henry formally recognised Llewellyn as the true Prince of Wales in Montgomeryshire two years ago, Llewellyn still has to pay homage. Subsequently he has instructed the lords of Brycheniog and Builth to supply Longshanks with a thousand bowmen and fifty Knights. Cadwallader himself intends to take the cross and join Longshanks on Crusade.’
‘Really?’ gasped Garyn, ‘but surely he is too old?’
‘It is true he is fifty years old,’ said Reynolds, ‘but he is a man of great stature and has many campaigns behind him. Perhaps he sees this as a last opportunity to seek Christ’s blessing before he dies. He is taking ten Knighted men with him from the estate and a hundred archers from the outer villages. Anyway,’ he continued, ‘enough idle gossip, I’ll get the sacks and you can take them to the fletcher. I’ll be back in a few moments. Reynolds walked into an outbuilding leaving Garyn and Elspeth outside.
‘Another Crusade,’ said Garyn, ‘and so many men from this manor. I wonder if there would be room for one more?’
‘Who?’ asked Elspeth.
‘Me,’ said Garyn.
‘You are no archer, much less a Knight,’ she said, ‘besides, I don’t want you to go.’
‘You are right,’ sighed Garyn. ‘I chose the forge while my brother chose the sword. He marched from my mother under a patriotic banner and she died not knowing whether he lives or dies. A question I ask myself most days.’
‘Make way for Cadwallader,’ shouted a guard and everyone in the courtyard rushed against the nearest walls to stand in honour of the manor Lord. Garyn and Elspeth did the same and moments later, a troop of ten mounted men in Chainmail armour rode through the gate.
The lead horse was enormous and wore full barding, the armour so necessary for mounts in battle and beneath the armour, a Caparison saddle blanket embroidered with the coat of arms of the Cadwallader household, hung low about the horse’s legs. As they pulled up, the fully armoured Knight lifted the visor of his helmet.
‘Take this one away,’ he shouted as he dismounted, ‘he is lame. Have another ready for me tomorrow. If we don’t settle on four mounts soon I will have to travel to London and purchase the horses I need. That is a distraction I could do without.’ Two Squires ran forward to take the Knight’s gauntlets and unstrap his armour while a third led the limping horse away. A page brought a flagon of water and as Cadwallader drank, his gaze fell upon Garyn standing against the wall.
‘You there,’ said Cadwallader. ‘I know not your face. Who are you?’
‘My name is Garyn, Sire,’ said the boy, ‘Garyn ap Thomas, Son of Thomas Ruthin