by Kevin Ashman
‘It will take too much time,’ said Father William, ‘and the situation in the Holy-land deteriorates by the day. By the time we get him back and you share the information, it may be too late to seek the relic.’ It was the Abbot’s turn to fall silent as he pondered his actions.
‘There is another way,’ he said eventually, ‘one where we will both benefit.’
‘And that is?’ asked Garyn.
‘You can find it for me,’ said the Monk. ‘Go to the Holy-land and seek this relic in my name. When you have found it, travel to Acre and present it to someone there who will act on my behalf. When he is in receipt of the relic, he will arrange the release of your brother.’
‘How can I go to the Holy-land?’ asked Garyn. ‘Such things are beyond normal men.’
‘On the contrary,’ said the Monk. ‘Pilgrims make the journey every day with no more than the clothes they stand in and a belief in God. You on the other hand are a wealthy man and can pay for such passage.’
‘I have no wealth,’ said Garyn.
‘You have the money from the sale of your father’s land.’
‘That money is to rebuild the forge,’ said Garyn, ‘It is an investment in my future.’
‘A future without your brother, it seems,’ said the Abbot.
‘There is much to think about,’ said Garyn. ‘I will leave now and consider your words.’
‘Do that,’ said the Abbot, ‘but the decision must be made soon for the next ships leave for the continent within the month. You will need to be on one of those ships.’
‘I will return tomorrow with my decision,’ but I have one more question. ‘Up until now, your messenger has always been Father Martin. Is he here?’
‘Father Martin is no longer with us,’ said the Abbot. ‘He left the Abbey weeks ago.’
----
After a sleepless night, Garyn finally walked back up to the Abbey with his decision. Again he waited until the Father finished prayers but finally they stood before each other in one of the chapels.
‘I have thought of your offer,’ said Garyn, ‘and made a decision. I will do as you ask and travel to Palestine to find this relic. Assuming I am successful, I will then meet with your representative. That much is agreed.’
‘Go on,’ said the Abbot.
‘However,’ continued Garyn, ‘there will be no exchange in return for an unfulfilled promise. I will hand over what you seek only when I see my brother released. When he is safely on a ship, Then and only then will I will hand the relic over.’
After consideration, the Abbot nodded.
‘It seems we have an arrangement,’ he said, ‘but know this well. I have many contacts throughout the Kingdom and overseas. Any sign of treachery on your part will not bode well for your brother, or indeed you. Do you understand?’
‘I understand,’ said Garyn, ‘but am only interested in the return of Geraint. The relic is but a means to an end.’
‘Then be gone,’ said the Abbot, ‘for I would imagine you have a lot to arrange.’
Garyn left the Abbey and walked down the hill. He had no idea where he would arrange passage to the Holy-land but knew the place to find out.
----
Cadwallader sat in the main hall of his manor house, talking quietly to his fellow Knights. A servant entered and asked to speak to him.
‘Sire, there is a Garyn ap Thomas at the door, he begs audience.’
‘Let him in,’ said Cadwallader. Garyn was shown in to stand humbly before the lord of the Manor.
‘Master Garyn,’ he said, ‘twice within a month. What errand brings you to my door once more?’
‘Sire, I have a boon to ask,’ said Garyn. ‘I seek passage to the Holy-land and would request I share your journey.’
‘Garyn, we have already discussed this,’ said Cadwallader.’ My Knights and Squires already prepare and we sail within weeks. You are no archer and my pike men have already sailed. I cannot carry pilgrims and will not demean your father’s name by enrolling you as servant. Go home and tend to your lands.’
‘Sire,’ said Garyn. ‘I will go to Palestine with or without your help. I would rather ride under your banner but will travel alone if necessary. Is there anything I can do to change your mind?’
The Knight stared at him in admiration.
‘You have a determination that is admirable, young man,’ he said, ‘and there may be a way. Foot soldiers I do not need and Knighthood is beyond you. Yet there is always room for cavalry in any unit. I assume you can ride so what I suggest is this. Go home and hone your skills as a rider. Be back here in three weeks and we will test your horsemanship as well as the lance. I don’t expect you to be an accomplished cavalryman but there will be a long ride through Europe and you will need to earn your keep. Do this and I will find you a place amongst the horsemen but I am not promising anything.’
‘Thank you, Sire,’ said Garyn, ‘it is enough.’
‘Sire,’ called a voice from a corner, ‘I suspect the boy does not even own a horse. How can you allow him spurs?’
Garyn recognised the Squire who had insulted him weeks earlier and though he felt his anger rise, he held his tongue.
‘Is this true, Garyn?’ asked Cadwallader. ‘Do you have a horse?’
‘Not yet, Sire,’ said Garyn. ‘But I know where to get one.’
‘Then you will have your chance,’ said Cadwallader. ‘I will see you in three weeks.’
----
As he left the Manor, Garyn diverted toward the courtyard where they had obtained the feathers. As he entered he spoke to a groom, asking about the whereabouts of the stockman, Reynolds. The groom pointed toward the stable and Garyn entered to find the man sweeping out a stall.
‘Master Reynolds,’ said Garyn.
‘Hello again,’ said the stockman, before peering over Garyn’s shoulder. ‘Is Miss Elspeth not with you today?’
‘No Sir, I am alone.’
‘To what end?’ asked the man.
‘Sir, I am looking to buy a horse,’ said Garyn, ‘and would seek your recommendation as to where I can get one.’
‘Well,’ said the man scratching his chin thoughtfully, ‘I suppose you could go to any of the farms, they have plenty of work horses. You may pick up a bargain.’
‘I don’t need a work horse, Sir, I need a Courser or even perhaps a Destrier.’
The man stared at Garyn in surprise.
‘Why would you want a charger?’ he asked. ‘Lord Cadwallader has already made it clear there is no route to Knighthood open to you.’
‘I know that,’ said Garyn, ‘and have turned my sights away from that path but he has offered me the chance to ride as light cavalry if I can pass a test.’
‘When is this test?’ asked Reynolds.
‘Three weeks,’ said Garyn.
‘Impossible,’ said Reynolds. ‘Have you even ridden a horse before?’
‘I have on occasion,’ said Garyn, ‘when we had to deliver our heavy commissions on a cart.’
‘A cart horse and a Charger are completely different animals,’ he said. ‘It cannot be done.’
‘I have to try, Sir,’ said Garyn, ‘for the sake of my family.’
Again the stockman stared in silence.
‘Do you have any money?’ he asked eventually, ‘for horses of that nature do not come cheap.’
‘I have this,’ said Garyn and handed over the promissory note he had earned from the sale of the land.’
‘It is a handsome amount,’ said the man, ‘but falls short of any beast here. You may find something suitable in the other villages.’
‘I do not have time,’ said Garyn. ‘Do you not have anything within that price range?’
‘There is one,’ sighed the stockman, ‘and I have already been tasked with selling him. He is a strong steed but suffers with an injury and it would be a wager to get him fit in time.’
‘I’ll take it,’ said Garyn.
‘But you haven’t even seen him,’ said Reynolds
.
‘I don’t care, it is my only chance. Where is it?’
The stockman took the note and led Garyn to the far end of the stables.
‘Before we go on, Master Garyn,’ he said, ‘let me give you your first lesson in horsemanship. This horse has quality breeding and is not a beast of burden. If you are to bond as you must, then do not refer to the animal as it. The beast will become your comrade and if you are unlucky enough to ever ride him into battle, he will be the closest thing to a friend you will have. Understood?’
‘Understood,’ said Garyn.
‘Good,’ said the stockman and opened the stall door.
‘Garyn, this is Silverlight, your new Courser.’
Garyn stared at the huge horse, taking in the strength and beauty, recognising the animal as the horse rejected by Cadwallader weeks earlier.
‘He is wonderful,’ he said smoothing the animal’s back.
‘He is,’ said the stockman, ‘and was selected as one of Cadwallader’s mounts for the coming crusade but fell lame at the last moment. He is on the mend and I can’t promise he will be ready within three weeks but he is the best I can do.’
‘He is perfect,’ said Garyn. ‘Can I take him away today?’
‘No,’ said the stockman, ‘I will prepare him for you. I know what works with him and he has the best chance of recovery here.’
‘But how will I learn?’
‘You can take a loan of a smaller animal to learn the basics,’ said Reynolds. ‘I will attempt to make him ready but will need him right up to the last minute.’
‘Thank you,’ said Garyn.
‘I think you set yourself on a fool’s errand, young sir but admire your spirit. Now, we will select a steady animal for you to ride away, one that will be patient with your clumsiness.’
Garyn followed him out across the courtyard. Within the hour he was riding slowly away on a much smaller horse. Across his lap, he carried a wooden training lance, a gift from Reynolds.
‘He is going to get himself killed,’ said a groom with a laugh, ‘he has no idea of horsemanship.’
‘Perhaps not,’ said the stockman, ‘but you can’t take away from his determination. The boy has spirit.
----
Chapter Twelve
Krak des Chevalier
The first missile from the Mangonels flew straight over the outer defences and landed harmlessly on the ground between the outers and the castle itself. The defenders looked on quietly, knowing full well it was only a matter of time before the Mangonels operators adjusted the settings and brought their machines in range. Mangonels were essentially catapults but rather than rely on tensioned rope to provide the power they used the force of gravity instead. Giant boxes full of rock were hoisted up high within the framework of the catapult and when they were allowed to drop, the attached arm revolved around a pivot expending extreme force to fire its missile upward. The addition of a sling at the end increased the power even more and a Mangonel could fling heavy loads hundreds of paces before smashing against any fortress walls. It was the most powerful siege engine of the time and the one most feared by any castle defenders.
By reducing the weight in the boxes the range was lowered and three shots later, the first boulder smashed against the outer wall. Immediately the upper blocks disintegrated at the impact and two men fell to their deaths amongst the rubble. A cry of fear rang out amongst the defenders as the first impact was quickly followed by two more.
‘Hold firm,’ shouted the Sergeant at arms as some made their way to the towers. ‘Move to either side for they will target the breach. Keep your heads down until ordered otherwise. When they attack, they will be funnelled through a killing zone and be easy pickings for our arrows.’
Over and over again the hail of boulders came and piece by piece, they knocked down the wall until the breach was no more than a pile of rubble almost twenty paces wide. Across the Plateau, Baibaars stood alongside Hassam and watched as the wall fell before him.
‘Majesty,’ said Hassam, ‘the breach is complete. Shall I have our forces advance?’
‘No, Hassam,’ said Baibaars, ‘we will be patient. Have the Mangonels change their aim and work the breech wider. We will not send any more men to unnecessary death. Instead, have them replenish the siege engines. Put every man to the task and ensure the hail of rocks goes unabated throughout the night. Change the crews regularly and give the Christians no respite. We will press the assault tomorrow, Hassam but we will do so over the rubble of their puny defence.’
----
Inside the castle, Najaar and Khoury watched the assault unfold from the top of the gate tower.
‘It seems the Sultan thinks on his feet,’ said Najaar, ‘and his tactics changes like the wind. In times past he would assault any breech with unfettered aggression but this time, his patience will deliver benefits.’
Khoury looked at the remains of the outer wall. Occasionally the Mangonels would change the nature of their missiles and send clay pots containing burning oil to smash amongst the ruins, lighting up the targets for the Mangonel operators.
‘Have you withdrawn the men?’ asked Khoury.
‘I have,’ said Najaar, ‘and they now man the arrow slits of the castle. At least the Mangonels will be useless against Chevalier itself, the walls are far too thick to fall.’
‘You are right,’ said Khoury, ‘but it seems this Baibaars has more tricks up his sleeve than our archers have arrows. Who knows what he will come up with next?’
For the rest of the night, the sound of rock smashing against rock reached the castle and by the time dawn came, the outer wall was no more than a line of rubble across the Plateau. Once again Khoury looked down at the eastern approach and watched as the Mamluk army moved their camp up onto the level ground where the Palisade once stood. There was no way out of the castle, now, the real siege had begun.
----
‘Shall we move the Mangonels forward?’ asked Hassam.
‘Yes,’ said Baibaars but do not target the walls, send the missiles into the inner courtyards. Arm the slings with clay pots and fill them with burning oil and human waste. The walls may be strong but human spirit is easily broken. And bring me my engineers, there is no time to waste. There is rain in the air and that will only hinder our progress.’
----
For days the expected attack never came and even the Mangonels fell silent as a rain storm swept in from the west causing the timbers to swell and the ropes to stretch. Life was difficult in the castle as the two thousand strong garrison waited with frayed nerves, unsure what to expect next. The villagers between the outer defences and the inner ward huddled in makeshift tents and awaited their fate.
For ten days the Mamluks held back their forces and even Khoury wondered what their next move would be but unbeknownst to him, Baibaars’ engineers had found the one weakness in Chevalier’s formidable defences, the South west corner. Subsequently, early on the eleventh morning, the defending Hospitallers’ world fell in on them.
----
A deafening crash echoed around the castle and clouds of dust billowed into the air. Sergeants called the castle to arms and soldiers ran everywhere, trying to find out what had happened. Sir Khoury ran down from his quarters brandishing his sword and met Najaar leading a group of Knights toward the outer walls.
‘What’s happening?’ shouted Khoury.
‘The Western tower has collapsed Sire,’ shouted the Knight.
‘Tunnellers,’ spat Khoury, ‘Baibaars must have undermined the tower, It’s the only place the walls are not embedded into the rock.’
‘The damage is done, Sire,’ said Najaar, ‘we have to get swords down there or the outer ward will be overrun.’
‘Then summon the Knights,’ shouted Khoury, ‘and deploy to the breach, this is no skirmish, Najaar, we fight for Chevalier itself.’ The sound of hundreds of warriors charging to the assault reached the defenders’ ears along with the screaming of the panicking villagers as they
realised the Mamluks would be through the breach in minutes. As one they ran toward the inner gate, desperate to seek the safety of the inner castle and away from the Mamluk army. High on the outer wall, archers sent their lethal arrows toward the massed hoards and though many enemy fell, it had little impact on their number.
‘Make way,’ roared Khoury, forcing his way through the terrified villagers, ‘stand aside.’ The Hospitaller Knight forced his way through, leading almost two hundred Knights toward the breach. As they ran, the lead warriors of Baibaars started to pour over the collapsed wall into the inner ward.
‘For God and glory.’ screamed Khoury and swung his mighty sword toward the first of the enemy. Immediately he was set upon by dozens of warriors, each screaming the name of Allah, but the Knights were also accompanied by hundreds of men at arms and they fell upon the enemy in an equally religious fervour. All around him, fellow Knights smashed into the warriors. Swords cut men in half and maces smashed skulls while up above, the archers picked their targets carefully. The Garrison’s foot soldiers used their pikes to force back the flanks, but still the Mamluks poured through the gap.
As the battle raged, the frightened villagers ran to the inner gate causing mayhem at the drawbridge.
‘Keep them moving,’ screamed a sergeant, ‘force them to the back of the courtyard, we have to clear the gate.’
Khoury fought like a madman, as did his fellow Knights, carving their way through waves of marauding Mamluks. The Hospitallers were heavily armoured so any damage from a warrior lucky enough to land a blow from their smaller curved swords was minimal. Over and over again they forced their way through the oncoming warriors, trying to reach the opening in the wall, knowing full well that if they could reach the breach then the defence would be easier. If not, the waves of Mamluks would just get stronger and eventually the outer ward would be overwhelmed.
‘It’s no good,’ shouted Najaar over the sound of battle, ‘they are coming faster than we can kill them. We have to withdraw.’
Khoury looked back toward the main gate.
‘There are villagers yet in the outer ward,’ he shouted. ‘I will not sacrifice them to these heathen. A few more moments brothers, that’s all I ask.’