by Kevin Ashman
‘Garyn and I will finish what it is we came to do. If it is God’s will that we fall, then so be it but we will not see you enslaved when so close to freedom.’ He looked toward Garyn. ‘Is this agreeable to you?’
Garyn nodded.
‘It is the best course,’ he said, ‘and if we fail, then at least it will not be in vain. Pursue freedom, Sir Knight and if we never see you again, say a prayer in our name.’
‘I will do that,’ said Sir Khoury and got to his feet.
Misha also stood and helped Jennifer up.
‘A few hours more,’ she said, ‘and we will reach the horses. One more effort and you will be on the road to safety.’
‘May God go with you, my friends,’ said Khoury and followed the women into the darkened forest.
Garyn watched them go before looking toward Brother Martin.
‘Be calm, Garyn,’ said the Monk, ‘God is with us.’
----
The sky was already dark when they approached the bend of the river but they knew they were near due to the overwhelming stench. As their eyes got used to the darkness they followed the rivulet of filth up to the rock face and peered upward.
‘I can see no further than the height of three men,’ said Garyn.
‘Put your trust in God, Garyn,’ he said, ‘the girl climbed down so it is possible.’ Garyn started to take off his thawb.
‘What are you doing?’ asked the Monk.
‘If I am going to do this, at least this way I won’t be weighed down by shit laden clothes. Besides, when I return I will be immersing myself in that river and will need dry garb.’
‘Good idea,’ said the Monk, and started to disrobe.
‘No,’ said Garyn, grabbing his arm. ‘You are not coming with me.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Brother Martin. ‘The two of us will climb.’
‘No,’ said Garyn again, ‘the task is mine and mine alone. You have already done more than could be expected of any man. This last stage holds the most risk of failure and I have no right to ask you to fall in my name.’
‘Garyn, everything I have done so far has been of my own free will. I will not stand back now and cast you adrift. Besides, the chances are you will not be able to open that tomb alone.’
‘That is a chance I have to take,’ said Garyn. ‘If it is too heavy to move then the chances are that two men would not be enough anyway. I have to do this, Brother Martin. I have travelled across the world in a quest to save my brother, relying on the goodwill of others. Now the time has come to prove my mettle and I will not risk your life any further. I will climb alone and would have no more argument. You stay down here and ensure we are not compromised. If I cannot move the slab, I will return immediately but in any event before the dawn. If I am not back by the time the sun rises, you must leave this place as fast as you can for I will have been captured and I do not know long I could withstand torture.’
‘Garyn,’ said the Monk eventually. ‘When we set out I joined a young man on a fool’s errand. Before me stands a man on his own righteous Crusade. Your father would be proud of you.’
Garyn nodded and threw the thawb over to the Monk. He tied the rope belt around his waist along with the pouch containing his knife and started the climb dressed only in his Braccae, the knee length undergarment made from fine wool.
The first touch of the slimy walls made him cringe and the smell was putrid but slowly, his hands sought out the next hand hold and he made his way up the cleft. Over and over again he gagged at the stench but his resolve was firm and within minutes he was out of sight of the Monk.
For the next hour he climbed, resting regularly and found the climb easier than he had expected. The higher he went the worse the smell became and he found himself scooping fresher waste from the ledges to obtain hand holds. On two occasions someone above emptied buckets down the fissure and he clamped his eyes and mouth shut as the contents splashed over the back of his head but each time he thought of his brother and continued the climb. Finally the darkness seemed to ease and he realised the moon’s light was seeping down from above as he neared the top.
The sound of people talking made him stay inside the cleft for a long time, crouching on a ledge as he waited for the people to pass. Eventually the noises eased and he climbed up to peer over the wooden fence placed to stop people falling down the cleft.
Before him was a courtyard, enclosed on four sides by steep stone walls. Wooden buildings nestled against all four sides and Garyn could see candlelight through the slats. Misha had explained that the poorer classes lived here, and the Hashashin themselves lived within the inner stone keep. She had also told him that the tomb of Sinan lay in the next courtyard against the far wall but the huts in that area were occupied by the common soldiers of the Ismailis.
Slowly he made his way through the shadows and under the archway to the next yard. He paused as he took in the detail. Similar huts lined the walls and an open stable contained several horses covered in their blankets. Sounds of talking filtered through the shutters but he crept onward slowly, taking care not to scare the animals. The lack of guards was surprising but he guessed that they were so secure in the safety of the castle, they never saw the need for guards within the walls itself.
Finally the tomb lay before him and his heart sank as he saw the size of the task. The hardness of the bedrock meant that those responsible for the internment of Rashid ad-Din Sinan had built the tomb upward rather than dig down. The simple base had been constructed with tightly fitted stone blocks to waist height and a single ornately carved slab formed the lid. Though the tomb itself was simple, either side was guarded by life sized stone sculptures of prancing horses.
He ran forward and tried to slide the slab aside but it failed to budge and his heart sank as he realised he would not be able to move it alone. Over and over again he strained against the rock without success and finally sat back amidst the shadows as he considered his options. Even if he climbed back down and brought up the Monk, he doubted even two men could move the slab but there was no way he could give up now. He stared at the tomb in frustration. For a moment the clouds parted and the tomb was lit by the moonlight, giving the stone horses an eerie life of their own and suddenly Garyn had the answer.
As soon as the courtyard fell dark again, he hurried back to the stables and finding a coil of rope, and a harness, led the horse back across the yard. He secured the rope around the lid and tied it to the horse’s harness before holding its head and encouraging the beast forward.
‘Come on,’ he whispered gently, ‘this way.’
The horse shuffled forward and took the strain but again without any success.
‘Come on,’ said Garyn again and encouraged the horse forward. Over and over again they strained together and finally Garyn’s heart leapt as the sound of sliding stone on stone reached his ears.
‘That’s it,’ he whispered, ‘again.’
Suddenly the horse lurched and the stone slab slid forward to teeter on the edge of the base. Garyn eased the horse back before running to the tomb. Deep inside he could see a shrouded body and though his heart raced, he knew he had little time. He reached in and searched the tomb, running his hands alongside the corpse but found nothing. For a few seconds he was devastated. Surely Masun hadn’t been lying all those months ago? Slowly realisation dawned. If this important man had indeed been buried with the cross, it wouldn’t have just been thrown in the tomb without thought, it would have been laid within the shroud as a burial gift.
He took a deep breath and drew his knife before leaning in and cutting through the remains of the long dried fabric. The shroud fell open and Garyn ripped the cloth apart revealing the naked body of the long dead Sultan. The man’s skin was shrivelled and blackened and the skin had rotted back on his skull, revealing the exposed death grin typical of all long dead corpses. For a second, Garyn thought his heart would stop in fear but then his eyes fell to the man’s chest and he saw the prize he so desperately craved
.
He picked up the relic and lifted the thick golden chain over the corpse’s skull. He wiped away the dust and for a moment stared as the gold surface shone in the moonlight. The sheen was mesmerising but more than this, the image of a sliver of timber embedded into the vertical bar of the golden crucifix made him almost forget to breathe. If it was authentic then this small piece of wood had been touched by the body of Christ himself.
Garyn wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees there and then and pray to the Lord above but he knew he had to get out of there. So far he had been lucky and it was only a matter of time before he was discovered.
Leaving the tomb open, he left the horse behind and made his way quickly back to the first courtyard. Silently he climbed over the fence and back down the cleft. Climbing up was hard but climbing down was even harder and several times he almost fell. Finally he reached the floor and stood gasping for breath as Brother Martin approached.
‘Garyn,’ he said with excitement, ‘thank the Lord. You have been gone hours, are you alright?’
‘I am,’ said Garyn.
‘Did you find it?’
Garyn reached into the waistband of his Braccae and retrieved the cross.
‘I did,’ he said, ‘and it is even more beautiful than we expected.’ He handed over the cross before brushing past the Monk and walking quickly away.
‘Where are you going?’ hissed Brother Martin.
‘Where do you think?’ asked Garyn, ‘the river.’
‘Be quick,’ said the Monk, ‘for we have to be gone as soon as we can.’
‘I will be as quick as I am able,’ said Garyn, ‘but I have to rid myself of this filth. I would rather face a Hashashin blade than bear this stench a moment longer.’
The Monk nodded and as Garyn disappeared, he did what Garyn had wanted to do in the castle. Holding the cross to his chest, he fell to his knees and prayed.
----
Chapter Nineteen
The Forests of Jabahl Bahra
Since the battle with the Mamluks at Wadi al Ayun, Sir John’s force had made good ground through the forests toward Al Kahf. His guides were the best available and they knew the routes well. The men were motivated and up for the fight but despite this he knew they were not equipped for a siege and success depended on surprise and good fortune. Those who knew the castle told him it was impossible to breach its walls but a surprise attack at the cave gates could catch the defenders unawares and leave the way open to the castle above. Sir John had his doubts but knew he had to see it for himself.
The dawn approached, though the darkness within the trees still made the column nervous as they made their way through enemy territory and took up offensive positions. Two scouts approached and reined in their horses alongside Sir John.
‘Sire, our men overlook the castle,’ said one. ‘The gates are still locked but will be opened with the dawn. If we can be in place by then, the time will be opportune.’
‘How far away is it?’ asked the Knight.
‘An hour’s march.’
‘Then delay no more,’ said the Knight, ‘and lead us there with all haste.’ He turned to Sir Bennett. ‘Order the men to leave their packs. From now we travel lightly bearing arms only. If we are routed, our rendezvous will be here.’
Sir Bennett carried out his orders and within minutes, the column was a frenzy of activity as they made ready for war. Soon they were formed up again, each man carrying his weapon of choice. The archers ran forward with the scouts to deploy at advantageous positions above the castle, while the mounted Knights took a circuitous route to approach the gateway unseen. The foot soldiers waited patiently, knowing their skills would only be required should the horsemen be successful. Once the gate was taken however, their violence would know no bounds and already bloodied steel would once more shine with the glaze of Mamluk blood.
----
Brother Martin and Garyn ran through the woods back toward the village, where they had left the horses. They knew the animals would be gone, for Misha would have given them to the Hospitaller Knight and the Lady but the Monk still had his purse and they hoped they could buy a horse from the village. They stopped for a rest and after they caught their breath, Garyn asked to see the cross once more. The Monk handed it over and watched as the boy examined the artefact in detail.
‘It is truly beautiful,’ he said.
‘Which part, Garyn,’ asked the Monk.
Garyn looked up, confused.
‘All of it,’ he said. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason,’ said the Monk, ‘but I have seen great men fall to avarice when faced with such treasure. The gold and jewels are indeed wonders to behold but are courtiers only to the true treasure.’
Garyn looked again at the cross. The solid gold crucifix was heavy in his hands and the jewels sparkled like the night stars yet always his eyes were drawn by the dull brown of the wooden sliver at its centre.
‘Fear not Brother Martin,’ said Garyn. ‘To my eyes the golden glow is but mud compared to the sunlight that emits from the heart of the piece.’ He handed it back to the Monk before continuing. ‘Now you must tell me something.’
‘Go on,’ said the Monk.
‘You are a man of God,’ said Garyn, ‘and you hold in your hands one of the holiest relics in Christendom. Your heart must be bursting with fervour yet deep inside you must know I intend to trade this bauble for the life of my brother. Does this not cause you angst?’
The Monk stared at the boy before answering.
‘You are growing into an astute young man, Garyn,’ he said, ‘and yes, you are correct. This relic belongs in a place of God and the Pope himself would send armies to reclaim it should he know of its location. The Pious man within me demands I take it immediately to Rome and place it before the Pontiff. Christ’s glory demands this shard, this beauteous splinter soaked with his very blood is revered at the very centre of the Christian world. Until I found out what we were seeking I held no such doubts but now we have it within our hands, my heart is torn in two. I am nothing if not an honest man, Garyn and I will admit to doubt. On the one hand, my pledge demands I see out my debt to you and your family but does my honour outweigh my debt to Christ? Is honour no more than pride, which in itself is a mortal sin?’
‘Your words concern me, Brother Martin,’ said Garyn. ‘My brother’s life hangs in the balance and you hold the only means of my ever seeing him alive again. If you feel this way, how do I know you will not change allegiance at the last and deny me the outcome I seek?’
‘Truth be told, Garyn, I’m not sure how I feel at the moment but what I do know is this. I know that many would benefit from this gift and the spiritual lives of many outweigh the physical life of one. The truth of the matter is this, the cross belongs in the hands of a church, not the treasury of one Knight. The glory of Christ belongs to all men, both Knave and King.’
After a few moment’s hesitation he handed the cross back to Garyn.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘take it into your keeping. I have lived a long life, Garyn and though I finally chose the way of Christ, the early years were not ones of virtue. I have killed the innocent and fornicated with whores. In my time I have stolen, lied and cheated and though I finally turned to the cloth, I fear the darker side of my soul lies just beneath the surface. This cross is the means to riches and fame for those with lower morals and at this moment, I feel I am a mere scoundrel faced with temptation.’
Garyn took the cross in silence.
‘We should be going,’ said the Monk, ‘dawn is upon us and the Hashashin will find the opened tomb at any moment.’
Garyn nodded and both men set out once more, setting a fierce pace to distance themselves from the castle.
----
Five miles away, Sir John of Cambridge lay above the valley of Al Kahf Castle. His men were deployed and his Knights were poised at the forest edge. The plan was simple, he had several men at arms hidden in the undergrowth near the cave gate as well
as two dozen archers. As soon as the entrance opened, his archers would slay any horsemen that emerged while his men at arms would slay the gatekeepers. Though they were few in number, their role was only to engage the enemy as long as possible until the Knights arrived and charged through to the castle path. It was a risky strategy but with good fortune, Sir John calculated his horsemen could be at the upper gates before any alarm was raised. Once there, and with the support of the following force of foot soldiers, they would wreak havoc amongst the garrison while he sought the cross.
‘Are the men ready?’ asked Sir John.
‘They are,’ said Sir Bennett. ‘The gates will open any second now.’
‘Then gird your loins,’ said Sir John. ‘History beckons.’
For several minutes they waited but still the gates remained closed. Down below, he could see the upturned faces of his hidden soldiers looking to him in confusion. The sun was well up and yet the gates remained closed.
‘What trickery is this?’ asked Sir John, ‘surely our presence is not known?’
‘It can’t be,’ said Sir Bennett, ‘We were silent in our approach.’
A noise behind them made them turn and they saw one of the scouts running toward them.
‘What’s happening?’ demanded Sir John, ‘you told me the gates opened at dawn.’
‘And indeed they do Sire,’ said the scout, gasping for breath, ‘but there have been developments.’
‘Explain.’
‘Sire, my men have been watching the castle from the high bluff and since dawn there has been much activity within its walls. As soon as the sun rose, we saw the glint of mirror messages being sent from their towers and have seen answers from distant hills. Something is wrong and though we know not what causes their angst, the walls are being manned with defenders as we speak.’
‘Then we are discovered,’ said Sir Bennet.
‘I don’t think so,’ said the scout, ‘we have also seen them preparing a column of horsemen on the upper slopes. If they feared a siege they would keep their men inside their defences. It seems they are sending a patrol somewhere but fear an attack.’